Remember when I called Billy Ray Cyrus a Pimp?

by Maria on February 4, 2010

in Celebrities, General Bitching

And I said that his daughters were his high priced hookers? And some people thought I was making a mountain out of a molehill?

Well HE’S NOTHING BUT A PIMP.

Yeah, you can explain away his allowing his 9 year old daughter to swing around stripper poles and dress in dominatrix boots and fishnets at public events, fine. But can you explain away his decision to allow her to front a ‘children’s lingerie line‘? [Edit: Apparently it's not children's lingerie, it's just tutus. The collection is fronted by Emily Grace, Noah Cyrus' best friend but is advertised by both girls.]

NO YOU CANNOT.

You stand corrected.

You can call me a lot of things, but never a prude. That just wouldn’t make any sense. I am extremely liberal, I believe that sex isn’t something to be shied away from. I have age appropriate conversations with my daughters about all topics, sexuality included. But if something is supposed to be for adults, it should be for adults – if it’s for children, it should be for children. This is why we don’t watch Hannah Montana in this house, even though I’ll let them watch Kill Bill. There is a difference between kid stuff, which they will emulate and admire much more than adult stuff, because my kids know the difference between what’s ok for them and what’s not. Miley Cyrus blurs that line and I won’t have that, so no Hannah Montana (they come as a package deal). Have you seen her outfits and actions on stage at her concerts for LITTLE GIRLS?!

miley cyrus shaking her hot ass ani Remember when I called Billy Ray Cyrus a Pimp?
miley cyrus hot legs on stage short Remember when I called Billy Ray Cyrus a Pimp?
miley cyrus hot legs and tight shor Remember when I called Billy Ray Cyrus a Pimp?
Remember when I called Billy Ray Cyrus a Pimp?

Yeah, no. Not in my damn house.

Billy Ray Cyrus is a pimp. There is no excuse for little girls acting like that right under his nose. And all those business and publicity decisions are supposed to go right through him, so there’s no excuse: he’s selling their souls sexuality for money and fame. That’s disgusting.

{ 16 comments }

Momspotting: a meme

by Maria on February 2, 2010

in blogging

For a few months now, I’ve been been a MomSpotter. It’s a BlogHer thing, officially called the Family Connections citizen journalism project. Pretty much, that means that I tweet a few times a day, with the #momspotting hashtag about how I use technology in my day-to-day parenting life. I’m quite dull really, and the other 19 or so mom’s are better at the whole deal than me, but I have to break up the monotony of my expletive filled rants and complaints with something, right? And you get to learn more about my AWESOME ADORABLE kids because of this, so you win! Anyway, look: I’m answering questions:

(If you like the meme, feel free to do one yourself and leave a link in the comments or tweet it with the #momspotting hashtag so I can come to your blog and see your answers and make fun of you in your comments.)

1.       Which expensive electronic device do you most often let your older children abuse or your baby drool on?

That would be my iPhone. Goobie doesn’t even ask anyone if she cane use it, she just picks it up and disappears. Our agreement is that she’ll never ignore a call or text, since she knows how, and she can use it whenever she likes. I’m not sure she’s living up to her end.

2.       How many take-out restaurant numbers do you have programmed into your phone?

None. Takeout is super rare, it’s either cooking at home or fast food.

3.       How many hours of television do you so totally not let your kids watch a week?

I have no idea, since our television is always on as background noise, it’s a habit I picked up from my grandparents. It’s always been that way and my kids ARE SMART AND SANE AND GREAT SO THERE.

4.       Do you think people who say “we don’t watch television” at playdates but really mean “we just watch DVDs” are lying liars from Liarville?

Playdates, haha. I don’t do those anymore, playgroups and I have a shitty history, which you know if you’ve been reading this blog for a while. My answer is no. I know a couple of parents with children that have no idea who Spongebob is and although I feel for them greatly, missing out on all the wonderfulness of that beautiful little happy sponge, I get it.

5.       How many miles have you driven with your child and not one device of electronic entertainment in a single car trip?

Hours. They have the radio. Or, and iPod or iPhone plugged into the radio. I figure that’s all the entertainment they need besides what’s out beyond the tinted window or a book.

6.       What’s your record for calls to the pediatrician or Ask-a-Nurse in a single day?

Six. My worries were well worth it, Bella had Pneumonia and had to be admitted into the hospital.

7.       What’s the sexiest thing your husband/partner could text you after a hard day?

Get naked. That’s it. I’m pretty simple. Most likely it’d read “I want to fuck your brains out.” though. That’s more Joey’s speed.

8.       What’s your favorite iPad joke?

Jim had me rolling, the first comparison to a feminine sanitary issue I saw on Twitter with this:
wt4b65ae34c8b93 Momspotting: a meme

9.       What’s the dumbest parenting tool, gear, gadget or device you ever bought?

I’ve never bought one, as far as I can remember. A digital pregnancy test?

10.   How many years will it take for your child to become more tech-savvy than you?

NEVER. IT WILL NEVER HAPPEN. Unless they become software engineers or something, they will never know more.

—————-
Listening to: John Mayer – Friends, Lovers or Nothing

{ 5 comments }

I feel like I have to defend myself.

by Maria on January 23, 2010

in Televisión y Pelicula

I don’t watch bad tv. I mean, I don’t watch what is usually considered bad television, I think. I don’t do any reality tv – at all – the last reality show I watched was I Love New York and how many years ago was that? Many years ago. Like before my kids could speak in complete sentences.

I don’t want much comedy because I’m of the opinion that most of it sucks. I stick with drama and I’m picky about what networks I’ll watch my dramas on – because of my stuffiness with networks, I missed out on the treasure that is Supernatural for these past few years and I feel like I’ve not lived because I just watched all 4 1/2 seasons in the span of a week – oh yes I did, 5 years of a show in ONE WEEK because I was that in love.

I just finished listening to my boyfriend and his best friend’s podcast, and he had my lovely love Miss on as a guest this week. And she totally shot down Jersey Shore and said I was going to get her for it. I will not. I totally understand. I hate how people watch these shitty shows and keep them on the air. I’m like, ugh, this is why GOOD shows get canceled – because you dumbfucks watch these crappy reality programs because you’re IDIOTS. You assholes and your stupid scripted reality have cost me Pushing Daises, Journeyman, and a slew of other stellar programs. And why the fuck doesn’t MTV play music videos anymore?!

It pisses my guts, I swear.

BUT

alg jersey shore mtv I feel like I have to defend myself.

I love Jersey Shore. Okay? Okay.

I didn’t start watching Jersey Shore until 4 episodes in. I could not get rid of it, it was everywhere, so I tweeted about it, asking if I should check it out. The response was overwhelmingly YES. So I did. And OhmygodYES.

It’s amazing. It’s just amazing. The fact that these people exist, in real life, and these things happen, and these situations – and The Situation – are real, are actually real, it’s breathtaking. I’m allowed to have a guilty pleasure. This is it.

Jersey Shore is amazing. It’s as simple as that. I’m ready for Season Two.

P.S. I’m with Conan. See you in September, buddy.

P.P.S. There’s a photo of me in my underwear on BlogHer. Who’s RESPONSIBLE FOR THIS?!

{ 14 comments }

There is no title.

by Maria on January 20, 2010

in Fantastical, Write of Passage

For a few months, I’ve had a story rolling around in my head, and it won’t leave. I didn’t want to write it down, I had other ideas. This one felt incomplete, so I pushed it to the rear of my thoughts. It kept resurfacing, and each time it does, it has grown. Every time I think about it, the tale gets deeper, the faces become more clear, the events more precise, but these faces and events are presented in two separate ways, completely different. It flips unexpectedly from past and present tense, it’s confusing and jumbled, but, it’s there, explicitly so since I saw The Lovely Bones last week, and I can’t rid myself out it. So I’ll put it out there, as is, no editing or proof reading. Just stream of consciousness out there:

he disappeared in july. the last anyone saw, he was running around sycamore park with his border collie, toffee. toffee showed up at home after the street lamps were on, clawing at the front door. without caleb.

every saturday at 11am, like clockwork, my mom used to go two doors down, to his mom’s house. she’d make me play outside. if i had to pee, i had to hold it, she’d tell me before we left that i couldn’t come inside with her, so i’d better get it all out then.

mrs. lieber would stand in the door, behind the glass, a kerchief up to her nose, eyes red and swollen, watching me. it was awkward. she used to always say caleb and i could be twins. everybody said that, really. i think it was because we went to the same barber, and our birthdays were only a week apart, but the same blue eyes and blonde hair and lanky builds probably had a bit to do with it. i felt like now, now that she didn’t get to watch caleb play anymore, i was some sort of part time replacement. really, i think that’s why my mom always made me come with her. i hated it.

after those teenagers playing truth or dare in the swamp found caleb’s body, i didn’t have to go to mrs. leiber’s house with my mom anymore. she still visited, but i was free. i guess knowing he was dead made seeing his double a bad thing, instead of a good one. it was awful of me, but i was glad they’d finally found his corpse, so i could get on with my life and enjoy my saturdays again, no longer having to spend them in my dead best friend’s backyard, playing with my dead best friends dog, being watched by my dead best friend’s sobbing mom.

– — – *

no one knew what happened to my boy. there were dozens of people in sycamore park, everyone knew him, how could no one know where he had gone off to? how could so many people be so goddamn stupid and blind? if it were their child, they would remember more, they would think harder. not their son, just mine. not their problem, just mine. the police said everyone saw him playing fetch with toffee one second, but saw neither of them the next. how is that possible? how can no one have thought that was strange?

oh, i wished dogs could speak. toffee carried a pained look in his eyes from the time he came home that first night, like he knew where caleb is, and would have loved to tell me, but couldn’t. he was the last to see him. he sees me cry, and lays his snout sideways on my knee, in comfort. i want to kick him, for not bringing home my boy, but i see he misses him as much as i do. it’s not his fault. i don’t blame him. i blame myself, for trusting that this small town wouldn’t swallow my son whole. i blame caleb, for not being careful, for not staying safe.

emily comes over every weekend, she brings tea. she used to bring bradley and he would play outside, kicking the grass or wrestling with toffee. i’d stand at the backdoor, watching him while his mother tried to pretend things were normal, gossiping about the neighborhood. sometimes i’d catch glimpses of caleb in bradley’s sandy brown hair, shining in the sun, or in those wide blue eyes. they looked so much alike, they had since they were toddlers. dr. cross, the pediatrician, to call them the doppelganger boys and the nickname spread throughout town. they ran with the same purposed gait, their lips curled to the right in the same smile. it was hard to see caleb, but wonderful at the same time. it bored into the gaping hole left by caleb’s absence, making it bigger, but filling it up at the same time.

bradley stopped accompanying his mom on her visits soon after they found caleb. i think emily thought maybe seeing her son would crush me now, but i wished she still brought him. her visits are tedious without him, i tire of her trying to bring a sense of normalcy to my life. nothing will ever be normal again.

#6.

—————-
Listening to: Journey – Send Her My Love

{ 2 comments }

Different.

by Maria on January 17, 2010

in Dance, Dance, Write of Passage

“Are you married, PopTart?” he asked.

“I’m only 18.” I answered.

“Mmm, marry me?” he moaned, grabbing my thighs, causing me to stumble towards him, catching myself on his shoulders. He planted wet kisses along my abdomen, along the hem of my bikini bottoms. I laughed, and ran my fingers through his thick, white hair.

“I’m a bit young for you, don’t you think?” I whispered, picking his face up and looking into his pretty grey eyes.

“Hey,” he said, looking hurt, playfully. “I’m not as old as you think. “This” – he pointed to his hair – “is premature. Started when I was in college. How old do you think  I am?”

“Ummm, 45?”

“Ouch!” he exclaimed, clutching a fist to his chest. “Close, but no cigar, PopTart. I’m 37.”

“And you don’t think that’s too old?”

He grabbed my hand and pulled me down, placing it on his cock, which was hard and swollen.

“Not where it matters.” he whispered into my ear. I squeezed the base and he whimpered. “Marry me.” he repeated.

“You know, Max, I get the impression that you’re already married.” I said as I started to stroke, gently, giving him the friction of just a few fingers.

“How come?” he breathed, tucking my hair over my shoulder and fingering my neck.

“You just…you have an eagerness that the single guys who come in here don’t. Like, I’m an escape. You’re invested in the time you spend here, you obviously look forward to it. It’s not casual. For the married ones, the unhappily married ones, it’s never casual.”

Max sat back on the couch and looked at me, eyes narrowed, hands on his thighs. I released him and stood back.

“You’re perceptive.” was all he said. I had offended him. I had said too much. When was I going to learn that my tendency to over share, to be too honest and forthcoming was not a good thing in this job? I searched inside of my mind for a way to repair the damage – he was one of my best regulars, I made more in one session with him than most other girls made in a day – a week even. He’d already paid my rent for the month, and we hadn’t gotten started yet. I couldn’t think of a remedy, so I told him the truth.

“I don’t mind.”

“You don’t mind what?”

“It not being casual.”

“Mmm. Why’s that?”

“Because, when it’s casual, I feel like a piece of meat. I mean, I am a piece of meat, but it’s funny how being nothing to a guy except a pair of soft hands can make you feel unfulfilled, in comparison to the men that come in and see me as a whole person. Even if I’m just a whole whore.”

He sat up abruptly, frowning, and placed a hand on my hip. “You’re not a whore.”

I had found my way back in. I milked it. “Yes I am. I understand that, I’m alright with it. Someone has to do it, right?” I laughed, making sure it came across as pained and conflicted. I looked up at him with puppy dog eyes, holding them open longer than comfortable to make them water and pursing out my bottom lip ever so slightly.

He pulled me down onto his lap, and I clasped my arms around his neck. For the first time in all of our time together he ignored my breasts in his face, and looked only into my eyes. “You’re not a whore, PopTart. You’re a woman. A woman who’s not afraid of how beautiful she is, but knows how much more she is than that.” He ran his fingertips up the small of my back, and I felt the sincerity of his words in his touch.

“Okay.” I said softly, and I kissed him.

I had never kissed a customer before.

#5.
—————-
Listening to: Radiohead – Nude

{ 1 comment }

← Previous Entries

Next Entries →