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The End of Mommy Blogs

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I like to believe that's Dr. Pepper in the bottle. Papi had to talk me down off the ledge again last night. I was having my bimonthly emotional crisis*. This time it was brought on by reading too many good-mother blogs. When I first stumble across these I find them inspiring. The moms take professional-quality pictures of children in clothes that they personally sewed from vintage fabric. They make healthy dinners using the organic, locally-grown produce they find at the farmer's market, which of course their children are delighted to eat. Their children eschew Pokemon in favor of Waldorf toys and have yet to watch a television program. They go on "simple living" kicks while simultaneously posting at least daily about the perfectly hip items they found that they COULD buy, because they're also somehow not teetering on the brink of financial apocalypse. They live in mint-condition midcentury houses that are featured on Cookie's blog. All of these things...
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Coookies

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Huzzah -- I've been invited to a cookie swap. Now I need some help figuring out which cookies to make. There's the Nutella cookies , which are molto delicioso . Or these lovely Trios that I brought to the swap last year. They taste fine, but they're mostly pretty. Or these Brown Butter-Brown Sugar Shorties -- even their creator, Smitten Kitchen , acknowledges aren't the most attractive things, but they are (supposedly) delicious. Or the Peanut-Butter-with-a-Hershey's-Kiss cookies. Everybody likes those, and they're easy. What are they called, anyway? [Please do not say, "PB Blossoms" because that is majorly gay.] Or bourbon balls . Because they will get you drunk. Care to weigh in?
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The Bikini Wax: An Internal Dialogue

God, this is horrifying. I wonder if she's as embarrassed as I am. OW! Ow MOTHERFUCKER! Okay, this hurts less than childbirth, but only because it doesn't last as long. What is she saying? I wish I spoke Vietnamese. I think I outweigh the entire staff combined. Dude, where is she going? They need a picture on this ceiling. They would probably put up a picture of Hannah Montana. I will not think about Miley Cyrus. I will not think about Miley Cyrus. Hey, I bet my nails are dry. I wonder if the liquor store next door sells ice. Next time I'm paying more for a place with numbing cream. Which is worse -- being her or being me? OW. Me. At times like this it's good to have some poetry memorized. 'Twas brillig and the ... the ... Dammit. HOW BIG IS MY VAGINA? She could have mowed the back 40 by now. God, how come nobody told me this shit was growing halfway down my leg? Did I water the clematis last night? Next time: vodka first. Next time: Vicodin first.
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