Dear Kathy Lee Gifford and Hoda Kotb,

It pains me to write this because I really liked Hoda before today but: What the fuck were you thinking?

Seriously.

I always liked to believe that reporters were given a bad rap. That when people claimed they were taking things out of context, or that practically no background work had been done prior to a segment, that they were just over exaggerating or being whiny jackasses. But today you pretty much proved that the douchebag reporting reputation that has developed on network television is 117% true. You get an extra 17% because seriously, Kathy Lee Gifford? Whoever thought THAT was a good idea deserves an extra 17% of COMPLETE FAIL.

When you interviewed Heather Armstrong today on your show it was clear to me from the very beginning that both of these common failings were true. First Hoda mentioned a passage from one of Heather’s blog posts saying:

Hoda: “You wrote on your blog that you worry that your daughter will resent you because all of her business being put out there…”
Kathy: “Potty training and all those things that are kind of private.”

Well Hoda and Kathy, had you taken time to ACTUALLY READ THAT BLOG POST you’d have quite possibly also mentioned the rest of the passage that explains EXACTLY how Heather feels about it and, in fact, thinks in the long run that Leta will CHERISH all those stories.

From furniture Elhovothat dooce post:

You will resent me for your curfew and the fact that I will not let you leave the house in that mini-skirt. You will resent me for showing up to your school in my pajama bottoms and for raising my hand in a PTA meeting when I hadn’t brushed my hair. You will text message your friends to tell them that I am the most horrible person on the planet because I’m forcing you to study for your exam in the morning. You are going to think that I cannot possibly understand what you are going through, and you will slam the door in my face.

Will you resent me for this website? Absolutely. And I have spent hours and days and months of my life considering this, weighing your resentment against the good that can come from being open and honest about what it’s like to be your mother, the good for you, the good for me, and the good for other women who read what I write here and walk away feeling less alone. And I have every reason to believe that one day you will look at the thousands of pages I have written about my love for you, the thousands of pages other women have written about their own children, and you’re going to be so proud that we were brave enough to do this. We are an army of educated mothers who have finally stood up and said pay attention, this is important work, this is hard, frustrating work and we’re not going to sit around on our hands waiting for permission to do so. We have declared that our voices matter.

If that doesn’t profess the exact opposite of what Kathy Lee was trying not-so-eloquently to imply, that how dare you think about writing about your daughter online and *gasp* POSTING HER PICTURE, I don’t know what could possibly GET IT THROUGH YOUR HEAD short of getting in your face and shouting it through a blow horn.

Had Kathy taken FIFTEEN minutes of her time to ACTUALLY RESEARCH the topic and the person who she was interviewing she might have actually walked away from the interview without looking like the stereotypical, uneducated, assumptive “reporter” that she’s trying to play on TV. And if I had a dollar for every time that I was at my grandmothers and was forced to listen to Kathy talk about her sweet, precious Cody on NATIONAL TELEVISION I too could quit my day job and find something else to pass my time. Like publicly slamming other mothers from my make believe pedestal way up there. *points up*

Both of you are mothers and today you failed your fellow mothers across the nation. You could have turned that segment into a resounding statement about the exploding growth of a community of beautiful, powerful, motivated and brilliant women bloggers. Fellow mothers banding together to form a wave of support for complete strangers, for the mother down the street, for the mother sitting silently on the park bench, for the mother quietly suffering from postpartum depression, for the mother who’s so confused and upset and doesn’t know who to turn to… but instead you chose to go the sensational route.

Seriously. Shame on both of you.

-Anna (proud mommy blogger) Hirsch

I feel like I just sold my soul… For a Diet Pepsi.

So, I’m dying for a Diet Pepsi. DYING. One of the girls that sits by me tells me ALL THE TIME to just have one of her Pepsi’s that she keeps in a cabinet. But this same girl gives me attitude all the time when Ceece and I go to lunch because we don’t ask her if she wants something from where we are going. Now, this girl has NEVER organized a group lunch (I have done more than my fair share), or leaves to get lunch and ask ME what I want, she just expects to be included if anybody else is eating and it bugs the crap out of me. Like, CONTRIBUTE! ONCE! I have no problem picking up something while I’m out if I feel that the favor will EVER be returned.

I always make an excuse and thank her for the offer but tell her no because I don’t want to “owe her one” and that is absolutely how she will take it.

So.

I go downstairs to the vending machine which the guy was filling up this morning… no Diet Pepsi. NO DIET PEPSI! In a building of 300 women! What the hell, Mr Vending Machine Guy!?

So I make Ceece get up and walk half way across the building with me to get one from one of the other Pepsi vending machines. NO DIET PEPSI! @&*##$&!

Ceece mentions another Pepsi machine downstairs in the Children’s Hospital wing and YAY! DIET PEPSI! I put in my 5 quarters, the machine roars to life, I actually do a little dance of joy… then it STOPS, spits out my 5 quarters and PUNCHES ME IN THE GUT. I stand there open jawed and wide eyed for a few seconds while Ceece backs quietly away and says a little prayer. Then I might have dropped a few f-bombs and flipped the machine off. And kicked it. Twice.

I just want a GODDAMN DIET PEPSI. And Diet Coke is not an option. NOT. An. OPTION.

The roach coach is outside but to get a Diet Pepsi from them I will have to run through POURING RAIN and dig through the ice with my HAND and that’s just not an option because I’m not sure that being wet and cold is REALLY worth it. Of course, this is where I made a completely wrong judgement call.

So I cave. I ask for a Pepsi from Needy Girl and stick it in the freezer and set the timer on the iPhone for 20 minutes to check on it so it doesn’t blow up and make a huge mess. Before the timer goes off, she asked me where Ceece and I are going to lunch today.

I feel like I just sold my soul… For a Diet Pepsi.

Any fool can criticize, condemn, and complain but it takes character to be understanding and forgiving.

So it has come to my attention that while I’ve been in internet hybernation that the world has continued to revolve around me and there’s so much to talk about “there’s no excuse to not be posting more than I am.”

*shrug*

I’d like to point out that I’ve been pretty active over on flickr. My 365 attempt has been a BIG SUCCESS so far. And by that I mean, I HAVEN’T FAILED! Yet. Yesterday marked my 49th day which means I’ve officially made it farther than any other attempt. This time I let go of the ridiculous notion that all of my pictures are going to be fabulous and planned and brilliantly photoshopped into perfection. And it’s odd because now that I’m not constantly stressed out about getting a shot up, the days that I do take the time to set them up and then photoshop the hell out of them they are coming out pretty damn well! Some of my most favorite self portraits to date, actually. Here’s a few that I’ve loved so far:

THERE! I’m done whoring myself. For now!

Lets see, what else is going on? Okay, I’ll start with this. I was temporarily pissed off at the internet. I lost a few (what I thought were) good friends over a message board around the end of November and I was just kind of like BLAH. And it was one of those things I really wanted to write about to “let it all out” but I know that it will just create more waves and it’s not really worth it. I never thought that by closing down a message board, so many people would turn into complete idiots and OMGHATE ME FOREVER(exclamation point). And to them I can just say: WHAT. EV. ER. If your way of getting over it is to have to kiss the ass of people that you claimed to hate and treated like shit for over two years so be it. I’m glad I finally found out your true character, which is “two face and spineless” and I’ll leave you with this:

You are a lemming. Enjoy the jump, it’s a long way down.

*splash*

Moving along!

I’m starting a “raw diet” today. Another reason I haven’t been around much is that I’ve been feeling like complete crap. Literally. Everything I eat is being ejected from my stomach in a foul manor. EVERYTHING. I eat plain white rice and suddenly I’m in pain and can’t get more than 100 feet from a toilet without panicking. I’ve done a lot of reading online the last few days and I’m thinking if I can get my body to detox it might help. I’m a little worried about protein intake though so while I might not stick to it as stringently as some people, if I do eat meat it won’t be blue cheese encrusted and doused in butter… sadly.

And lastly! I’ll really try and make a more solid effort to blog more. I have still been reading your blogs (Google Reader = *heart*) daily and need to get back into the swing of things around here.

Please don’t lie to me, unless you’re absolutely sure I’ll never find out the truth.

Monday on the way into work what I can only assume was a drunk soccer mom swerved across two lanes and almost side swiped my car. Lucky my ninja like reflexes kicked in and I swerved all the way into another lane to avoid the dive bomb. My ninja like reflexes are strong. Like steal. Usually. Sometimes at 5:30 in the morning they are less like steal and more like tin foil.

At the same time I managed to avoid the 4000 pounds of metal, my LARGE McDonalds Iced Coffee flew into the air, did a complete flip, landed on my passenger seat and exploded into a coffee a-bomb. It filled up the cup holders, landed in my hair, left a film on the front window and pooled up on the floor under seat. It took me a full 45 minutes and an entire roll of paper towels to get it cleaned up enough that I didn’t STICK to the seat when I sat down. THANK GOD it was rainy and cold outside because I can only imagine what that would have smelled like after 8 hours of 100 degree heat in the full sun. *shudders*

So, the day can only get better after this, right??

WRONG!

SURPRISE! Major Medical University is REQUIRING all employees to get flu shots this year because JCAHO is an evil asshole. I can understand that the accreditation is important but I’ve never, in four years, EVER come into contact with a patient. I mean, we work a MILE off campus.

I wasn’t going to get one this year because even though the nurse SWEARS that you should not be sore afterwards, I always am. Last year my arm ached for THREE DAYS. This year when I went in I requested that they inject my left arm so that the arm I use to use the adding machine, answer my office phone and make sweet love to my iPhone would not be sore. I mean, I can go a few days without working or talking to people… but don’t get between me and my daily movie binge. Mother fucker.

Again this year the nurse SWORE to me that I’d not be sore since it’s my “off hand” that got injected. Yeah, she’s a lying ass bitch. My arm is sore from the injection spot all the way down to my hand, with the majority of the discomfort at the inside bend of my elbow. Why do they lie to you? Why not just say, “Yes, idiot, it’s going to hurt it’s a SHOT. Now roll up your sleeve and suck it up, pussy!” I’d honestly deal much better with that.

When I was in 2nd grade I broke my arm and it had to be reset. When I asked if it was going to hurt the doctor looked me straight in the face and said, “It’s going to hurt more than anything you’ve ever felt. But it will be fast and when I’m done it will stop hurting and it will heal the way it should.” And he wasn’t lying. When I look back now, it was second in pain level only to squeezing a human out of my vagina. But, at least he TOLD ME. I knew what to expect. In SECOND GRADE.

I’d say things can only get better at this point bit who am I kidding?!

Is it Friday yet?

Where a kid can be a kid and the parent can go clinically insane.

Next time I mention in my blog that I’m taking Cassidy to Chuck E Cheese, I expect all of you to virtually back hand me. Repeatedly. With a hammer. I love my daughter, dearly. And that’s the only reason I can come up with for voluntarily putting up with 500 screaming, misbehaving, sugared up kids and cheese covered cardboard passed off as “pizza”.

Usually at some point I try and break away from hosting duty (because I paid $20 a kid for SOMEBODY ELSE TO DO THAT) and go throw some balls. Skeeball. Sometimes I think about throwing the balls at the kids but I’ve always managed to control myself. Mostly. When the two year old wearing nothing but a diaper started running across all the lanes, I came pretty close to throwing a ball directly at the parent’s head. Except there WERE NO PARENTS. WHERE WERE THE PARENTS?!

I just threw up my hands and headed back to the table to continue playing hostess since the 16 year old in charge of running the party only actually showed up about three times and one of them was to hand me the bill. I think the rest of the time she was hunched over the toilet puking up whatever it was that kept her out till 5AM and at work looking like DEATH.

The only redeeming value of the trip is that Cassidy and her schoolmates had a blast eating cardboard, drinking liquid uppers and using tickets to buy crappy toys that will get stuck in the vacuum in a week. An absolute blast.

Seriously, hammer to the head. It would be a welcome alternative. Repeatedly.

An open letter

Dear Hollywood Starlets,

Please eat.

I have an almost 9 year old daughter and it kills me every time we see you on the TV and you look emaciated and high. I want to invite you to dinner and cook you a big steak and feed it to you and pat your head and tell you it’s going to be okay. It’s OKAY to eat.

Cassidy has friends at school who already count calories and skip lunch. This started LAST YEAR in THIRD GRADE. These girls worship you. And I know that your first response to this is going to be “I didn’t ASK to be a role model” but please kindly shove those words up your ass. I’m sure they’ll come out during your next colon cleansing and I swear, words are very low cal/low carb.

So you didn’t VERBALLY ask to be a role model. You DID ask me to go see your last movie, buy your posters, your music, your entire clothing line, your perfume, your book, your dolls, your energy drink, your makeup line, and whatever other products you’re being paid to push this week. Little girls like my daughter pay for the alcohol, cocaine and laxatives you swallowed for dinner last night so please, for me, just take a few minutes tomorrow and squeeze a meal in between cigarette breaks and flashing your vagina to cameras. And I don’t mean four grapes. I mean A MEAL, something that contains all the food groups. And no, Redbull is not on any part of the triangle.

A concerned mother,
-Antigone

P.S. – I’d like point out that Miley Cyrus is excluded from this letter. AT LAST, a role model I can stand behind! The music makes me somewhat homicidal when I’m forced to listen to it in the car but still, HOW FREAKING CUTE IS MILEY!?