Hello World

Well, I have to admit that I'm amused by the fact that Frank waited until I decided to go on a rant about birth control to announce to his 300+ friendsters that they should read my blog. Now that you're all here I'd like to point out the fact that when you google lady colossal my blog and this come up. I would also like to give a shout out to Liesa, the one co-worker I've told about the blog.

I just got home after being driven by a very odd cab driver. I'm a little tipsy and when the mini-van cab stopped I accidentially opened the front door. He said it was ok, so I got in the front. I urge you never to do this (I think it sends the wrong message). He was an Indian man with an oddly mocking lilt to his voice and he asked me many questions about my night, about my job, and whether or not my baby face gets me carded a lot. He was even so bold as to grab my chin to get a better look at said baby face. It was all very friendly, but I have to admit, I found it disconcerting. I thought I might put him off by taunting him for thinking he didn't need the plastic bullet proof barrier, but he called me on the fact that I wasn't actually carrying a gun. In the end he dropped me off promptly and without incident, so I suppose I should have just taken the baby face comment as a compliment.

Lady troubles

I’m in a shitty mood. I’ve always thought myself pretty immune to the side effects of birth control pills, but I’m starting to wonder if I’m over estimating myself. Lately every time I’m hit with “the curse” I find that by the evening hours I’m prone to angry outbursts, on the verge of tears, and pretty much feeling all around suicidal. For the past few months I’ve taken these reactions as the norm for most menstruating ladies, but in the light of recent conversations I’ve had about birth control I’m wondering if this is a chemically induced funk. My friend Amber suggested I switch to The Ring.

I’m sure that once the movie came out the manufacturers of this ominous sounding form of birth control were really kicking themselves, or perhaps they saw it as free advertising—who knows how these things work. Anyway, The Ring is a new contraption. It’s a little ring that you stick up your cootch. It slowly emits hormones—the same as in The Pill, but in lower doses I think. After three weeks you take the thing out so you can get your period. You throw it away and after a week put in a new one.

Just when you thought birth control couldn’t get freakier they come up with something like this. Well, apparently there are less side effects than with The Pill and you don’t have to worry about remembering to take it everyday.

So now I’m wondering, should I switch to The Ring, despite it’s weirdness, or just stick with what I’ve got? I have to admit there’s something cathartic about the outbursts, but it also kind of sucks. The thing is, getting your period sucks no matter what—and I’m not about to start taking that drug that keeps you from getting it but once a year—talk about fucking with nature. For now I think I’m just going to hole up in my room and wallow.

Baby Boom

What is the deal with nannies lately? They’ve been such a hot topic, from Jude Law fucking his, to Robert DeNiro’s thieving nanny, not to mention the nanny and baby who were crushed under that collapsed building uptown.

My roommates get the weekend edition of the New York Times and every time I pick it up there’s some obnoxious editorial by one of those uptown mommies about who they try to love their nanny, want ever so badly to love their nanny, but try as they might they are filled with loathing at the very thought of her. I just keep picturing these mommies as the evil queen in Snow White, so jealous and despising of their younger counterpart.

Why do ladies who have nannies always hate them so much?

One of these articles was about nannies who steal. The mommy goes on (as they all do) about how she tried to be close to the nanny, accepted her and welcomed her into her home, but then the nanny went and ruined everything by carefully stealing little things here and there over the course of months. I have no doubt this nanny was attempting revenge and she had good reason.

It’s important for nannies to know that the mommy is out to get you. Don’t trust her for a second and if your going to steal her earrings or sleep with her husband you better have your wits about you.
Remember that Nanny who was accused of shaking the baby to death? That happened one town over from where I grew up. A girl at my high school said her mom worked with the mom suing the nanny and everyone who knew her thought she was such a bitch they wouldn’t be surprised if she shook her own baby and blamed it on the nanny.

Another article I read recently was about a mommy who started reading her nannies’ blog. She was so bothered by all the drinking and sex that the nanny had when she was not working that she wanted to fire her. The mommy even admitted that this was mostly out of jealousy since her own life was that of a boring, middle aged person who was too consumed by her own bullshit to even bother watching her own kids.

Finally the mommy decided it was the last straw and there was valid enough reason to fire when the nanny wrote an entry complaining about her job. It was something completely innocuous like, “Work was hell today.” The mommy was so offended by the way the nanny referred to watching their children as “work”.

Can you believe that?! What universe do these people live in? Sure, nannies might like the kids they sit for, but for Christ sakes don’t delude yourself, it’s a job! They need to pay the bills! Not to mention the fact that watching kids is more work than most jobs. It seems that many people take procreation as an excuse to let their narcissism run rampant. Who wouldn’t love my perfect little children.

Some of these moms with nannies are bad, but I have to say the stay at home mommies are worse. These ladies sit around writing their own blogs about organizing birthday parties and playgroups. {note that this one is pleasingly disturbed by the new phenomenon of increasingly racy teen lit--doesn't she realize, disapproving mommies is exactly what we're going for?} These mommies lead the most meaningless and unproductive lives possible, but they obviously consider themselves to be honorable and idealistic visions of motherhood. The children of such ladies will no doubt grow up to be the types overwhelmed by the very prospect of wiping their own asses.

Maybe living in Park Slope, surrounded by an endless parade of strollers has got me riled up.

The Greatest Day

Jason and I were reunited at Coney Island. There couldn’t be a more perfect setting. We planned to meet in front of Nathan’s. He called my cell phone and said, “Where are you?”
“Right here, in front of Nathan’s. Where are you?”
“I’m here.” We bumbled around, peering over heads until I caught sight of him. Good old Jason in his aviators and ragged prepster t-shirt, looking raffish and charming as ever.
“Jason!” I yelled, running toward him.
“Maaargaret,” he hollered back. Carolyn and Brian came lagging behind and they all ate hotdogs and I stole some of Jason’s fries, spearing them with a miniature plastic trident. Then we wandered over to the boardwalk basking in the tacky splendor. It was windy by the water as we admired the Wonder Wheel, the crashing waves, the freakish crowd and Jason said to us, “Today is the greatest day.”
We made our way over to a dive bar called Cha Cha’s where we were served beers by a bartender with magic marker eyeliner, sparkly lip gloss dripping off her mouth,and a dozen tattoos of hearts and roses littering her chest and arms. We sat outside and plotted adventures. We decided murder was the way to go and when Brian left to take a leak we picked him as our victim. Then we remembered we needed him to drive us home.
Once we’d finished our beers we wandered the boardwalk and spotted a crowd at the edge of the shore, including a handful of cops. We decided to investigate. What could it be? A drowning? A beached whale? A ship wreck? A fight? A drunk? Illegal use of water wings? Sea gull attack? The sea gulls were mammoth and fierce that day, so this seemed likely. We siddled over and saw a confused baby seal squirming in the sand. The fuzzy little guy was gazing up at the crowd nervously. He looked like a cute little puppy dog with no ears, no tail, and no legs.
“This is the greatest day ever!” Jason said again. We watched the thing wiggle about helplessly for a while as the NYPD ordered everyone to stay back. The five officers were a very necessary presence as without them the rambunctious crowd would have undoubtedly petted the cute little thing to death. Myself included.
We went back to the board walk and happened upon a band setting up. The bass player, drummer, and rhythm guitar were all Hell’s Angel’s, the lead guitarist by contrast looked like Jerry Garcia, the harmonica player was a Jersey girl in a long polyester gown. When the lead singer took the stage we knew we were in for something good. She was a slightly haggard, sun damaged blond wearing a cowboy hat, a low cut black gown with a slit up the side, one red elbow length glove, and thigh high white boots. As the sun set she belted out Let your freak flag fly, striking poses as the wind whipped through her hair. The greatest day ever.