Your Amazonian Vagina. Yay.

Posted in Jesus and L. Ron Hubbard and Buddha walk into a bar..., Reeeaaallly?, The Bell, The Stuff I Should Have Been Writing About, Uncategorized with tags , , , , , , , , , , on February 2, 2010 by Kristan

I am a member of the screwed up labor and delivery club. My baby, who’s now twelve, and I — slightly older than twelve [times three] — almost died when my uterus hemorrhaged. Then Bella’s placenta broke. Although the odds of that happening are incredibly slim, I know quite a few folks who have equally horrifying childbirth stories. I’m sure God would agree it was the miracle of modern medicine which saved all of our lives, rather than that of sheer willpower vs. everything Darwin.

My problem is not with natural childbirth; it’s with the myth this method somehow proves the mother’s strength and determination. Look, any woman with a functioning reproductive system and a hearty vagina can make a baby and have it. It’s science, folks — not some kind of mystical happening bestowed upon humanity by forest faeries and unicorns and nymphs and centaurs and demigods who live in hidden pockets of English moors. If delivering a baby naturally is your gig, cool. Go for it, please. Just don’t expect me to give you some kind of medal later on unless you were stuck in an airplane or on the tram going across the Royal Gorge or something like that.

Have some manners around those of us who never had a chance, okay? A squadron of surgeons put a Franken-zipper across my stomach after they saved my life. It still hurts sometimes. See me pulling out my Golden Uterus/Mother of the Year trophy? Nah, because that would be tacky, and no one cares except Bella. Well, and me. Naturally.

Really want to show the public how dedicated you are to the awe of organic, pesticide-free, crunchy granola motherhood and the way things ’should’ be? Sacrifice more than twenty-four hours of your life. Nurse your baby like this is South America. Get rid of your disposable diapers. Stay at home with your child — not just until it starts elementary school, but until it leaves home. Can’t do that? Welcome to the club then. Perhaps you’re not so natural after all, so get on with your bad self. Having a baby is committal, inconvenient, and often a very unnatural event. Those of us who had to incorporate Plan B can relate. And, Sister, I feel your pain, believe me. Isn’t it enough we’re all thrilled you had an adorable baby without being subjected to your Linda Carter swagger?

That said, I need to have my wisdom teeth taken out. They’re infected. I figure it should hurt a lot less than ‘natural’ childbirth because my vagina seems a lot smaller than my mouth. Plus those teeth really don’t have all that far to travel. Anyone know a good partner who can coach me through this naturally, like it’s supposed to be done, without drugs? I’m just going to rip those suckers out on my own. Then I’ll finally be the Amazon I’ve always bitterly wished I could have been.

Right?

Your sister in this uterine solidarity one way or another,

Kristan

Leave A Comment »

Ann rules. Sarah drools.

Posted in Meet My Mother, political schmolitical with tags , , , , , , , , on November 30, 2009 by Kristan

I just received one of Mom’s special emails — the kind that generally features my address alongside something to the effect of “letterstotheeditor@dallas.news.com”. I live for these.

Mom yelled:

Comparing Sarah Palin to Ann Richards, even briefly is ludicrous. Ann Richards was a savvy astute lady, qualities which are sadly lacking in Palin. Richards also admitted to her faults and mistakes and did not try to blame others…

Oh, man. A can of worms was definitely open somewhere nearby. Apparently, a clever word nerd over at the Dallas Morning News figured out a way to rehash ye olde “Sarah-Palin-is-the-new-Ann-Richards” argument just in time for Madam Alaska’s north Texas book signing this Friday. Without even reading the editorial, my incisors were already beginning to feel a little longer. I raced over to read Wednesday’s article for what was sure to be some kind of mass, vampiric bloodletting in the comment section.

Ouch, and there it was — the writer’s offending element in all of its fire-starting glory:

Though the comparison would surely put a bee in the late Texas Democrat’s beehive, there’s some of the late Ann Richards in Palin, a Western go-getter who pushes hard against gender stereotypes and who has little patience for pretense, either in politics or personal style.

On the offset readers might not be entirely privy, I’ll take this opportunity to throw a couple of Texan tenets out into vast yonder of the interwebz. First, Yee-haw 101: “Don’t mess with Texas.” Easy enough. Numero dos: “Don’t mess with [Ann Richards'] Texas [hair].” Got that? Okay, moving on then. Next, never compare the Lone Star Saint Richards to anyone –especially a woman Ann would have gladly clobbered in a four-second, backyard rasslin’ match. And, finally, if you’re gonna hyperlink former Governor Ann Richards’ name to something, make sure it isn’t to an image of Nancy Pelosi. Seriously.

To be fair, I don’t think the editorial writer was in Sarah’s corner, and there wasn’t a push to have readers purchase any lip-shticked, hockey mom BS. That was for sure. It’s just that Ann, in all of her glorious, immortal humanity, is down-right (and even dirty) Texas royalty. We get it: Sarah and Ann are both vag-positive, political rock stars. Going any further with that comparison would be like suggesting that porn and Rodin’s nude, bronze forms are in the same league.

Since I’ve brought up porn, though, I’d like to point out that the longer hopeful voters keep masturbating to Palin’s potential run for President, the longer they distract themselves from finding a real candidate. This book thing — the book that goes unnamed here because I don’t wanna sell it any more than I already have — is putting a huge face on D-U-M-B. The SNL team couldn’t write a script any better than Sarah’s fans, who recently showed up for a Columbus, OH, Borders book signing and agreed to be interviewed by the NLM:

*scratches head. I’m off Friday…anyone have a camera with a decent mic?

Florida, oh, Florida.

Stalking Sarah’s right-wing, autograph-fiending, captive audience isn’t just for amateurs, though. MSNBC also provided viewers with unedited, live interviews with Palin fans who were standing in line. It doesn’t get much better than when the reporter hands this ignorant nimrod her supper plate about two minutes into the Q&A:

That’s what happens when you rock a propaganda T and get called out on national television. I am praying hard Jay Leno does a Jay-Walking episode with these lines. How often does an opportunity like this present itself outside a Nascar parking lot? I’m all for everybody expressing individual political beliefs, but if there’s a guy holding a camera in your face and asking basic questions about what exactly it is you support about your candidate, you might wanna rethink your position if the best answer you’ve got is, “Ummm, I dunno,” or “She’s got real experience.”

[Pause for fantasy about what this would have all looked like if Ann Richards was still alive to interview these folks while they waited in line for Sarah Palin. Think: Kill Bill.]

Back to Mom, though. Maybe she should interview the weirdos in the Palin line this week. Mom could correct false analogy offenders with her movie theater laser of justice. After all, letters to the editor are akin to stamping your feet in front of the babysitter. I propose a camera, a mic, and a sick day from school, Ms. Phares. What would Ann Richards do?

2 Comments »

The Bell, Letter Writer Extraordinaire. Snap, snap, snap.

Posted in The Bell, The Stuff I Should Have Been Writing About, beloved with tags , , , on November 24, 2009 by Kristan

A while back I scanned some of Bella’s awesome letters — tattle telling quandaries and Mom-and-Dad billet-douxs, mostly. In a scavenger hunt through Photobucket tonight, I rediscovered a few of those.

The urgent letter to the Principal of W.T. Hanes Elementary:

Dear Mrs. Blevins

If I had to pick a favorite, the letter to Mrs. Blevins would probably be it. It’s got third-grade narcing, “panting,” and is signed with “love.” More importantly, this one demonstrates proper, early parenthetical usage, which makes this maternal word nerd’s heart swell times nine million. I remember scanning it, too, as I only had a few seconds to confiscate the note and replace it in order to avoid suspicion.

The Rick Perry Letter:

Oh, Rick Perry. You foolish politician, you.

The Perry letter was read aloud in a faculty meeting. THEN it was read again at an ATPE function later in the week. I’m tellin’ ya, the teachers really dug this one. I’ll never forget when Bella emerged from her room with her pen and notebook paper, wanting to know what Rick Perry’s address was. He never wrote back, but The Bell wasn’t worried about it. She told me, “Mom, didn’t you see the fake email address I put down there at the bottom? I didn’t want to hear his song and dance, but I didn’t wanna be rude either.”

I was confused, “Wait, huh?”

“Mom, it was a decoder email address. He wasn’t going to tell me anything I haven’t already heard before. Politicians. You know what I mean.”

“I think you mean a ‘decoy’, Bella.”

“Yes, that.”

Great.

The Colorado Vacation Letter:

Letter from Vacation with Nana

If I could spend just a few minutes with Bella again at any previous age, this would be the phase I’d revisit. She missed me “so much.” With an exclamation point, even. She wanted to know if Getoff’s baby was born yet, but, in typical Isobel fashion, didn’t want anyone to write back because she was belting out this letter on her way home in Nana’s rental car. The best part: a post script full of danger sure to freak out any mom included “…real prisoners and a dust devil and a cattle drive!”

The Birthday Card for Her Dad:

For Dad

It wasn’t so much the birthday card as it was the backstory. Inside the envelope, she’d enclosed a dollar and forty-seven cents. It was all of her money at the time. She’d overheard us arguing about bills.

Sometimes people with newborns ask me what my favorite age has been of Bella’s. Truly, I have loved them all just as much as they’ve each been challenging in their own ways. When I see her these days trying so hard to be a teenager, but without the teen suffix just yet, I feel incredibly close to her even though she’s pushing me further and further away. Recently, I read a fantastic quote in Mary Pipher’s book about adolescent girls Bella’s age, Reviving Ophelia, in which a mother perfectly sums up every thought in my head at this point:

“I hurl you into the universe and pray.”

The clever, young girl who wrote these letters surely deserves an addendum to the above quote, though, and that makes me less nervous, if nothing else:

“I hurl you into the universe and pray — for others.“

I love, love, love this child forever.

2 Comments »

The Great Toilet Flood of 2009`

Posted in The Stuff I Should Have Been Writing About, at russell's house with tags , , , on November 23, 2009 by Kristan

Today, our toilet flooded everywhere as I was standing helplessly in the bathroom, totally in the nude. After panicking like a little girl, I turned off the water, called Russell, and got his voicemail.

Then the toilet freaked out a second time, so instead of calling a plumber or any of our five million retired neighbors — gossiping and drinking their mid-morning cocktails in one another’s garages — I ran to Facebook Chat and summoned Amanda, Russell’s co-worker.

There can’t be anything more ridiculous than instant messaging someone about how your toilet is out-of-control. If Hanna-Barbera had to transcribe my chat with Amanda for a television audience, it would’ve looked just like this:

If you have to have a catastrophe, you should at least find the best way to deal with it. I’m all for bad animation and monotone vocals any day of the week.

1 Comment »

Local

Posted in The Stuff I Should Have Been Writing About with tags on November 14, 2009 by Kristan

This is the beginning. It doesn’t matter how everything turns out in the end because the biggest battle has already been fought and won, and nobody has to whisper anymore:

In six weeks, I raked up almost six thousand individual hits from all over the country on one article, in another piddly blog, about how my union president arrogantly, or ignorantly, used our dues to fund anti-union activities. He can kill me at this point, and the truth — all of it — still prevails. Good enough for me.

I’ll let Ministry handle the rest of this:

 

2 Comments »

Kanye, please.

Posted in Reeeaaallly? with tags , , , , , , , , on September 14, 2009 by Kristan

Last night, my eleven year-old daughter frantically yelled, “Mom! MOM! Did you see what just happened on the MTV Video Music Awards?! MOOOOOOOM!!!”

In case you were also in the back of your house arranging bookshelves like I was, YouTube  captured the moment (marker :42; it’s disabled here, but clicking the link enables you to open in a different window.):

Yeah, pretty unbelievable. I had to see it twice. Then I felt really awful for Taylor Swift — something I never thought I’d say after she tortured me inadvertently through my daughter’s stereo speakers for the past year.

The drama was a total letdown for tween Bella since the incident involved three of her favorite music peeps. At their impressionable ages, pre-teens haven’t mastered the complexities of media relationships and tend to get caught up in the moment, unable to separate the artist from his/her humanity. (At least, that’s what happened to me when I first saw the weirdness that was David Bowie shaking his butt on camera in unison with Mick Jagger for [shiver] “Dancing in the Street.” )

“Bella, I know you like Kanye’s music, and that’s still cool. He’s got bad manners is all. We just won’t invite him over for dinner.” I could tell my kid was just itching to punish Kanye by deleting his entire catalog on her iTunes library.

I won’t tell Bella about the other Kanye video shot moments later backstage as he was being kicked out of the award show, though:

Yes, that is correct. He was yelling for MTV to “give a black man a chance” because he has “the number one record right now.” My god, how many chances does Kanye need for MTV to give him? Isn’t it, like, his channel already? Give a black man a chance? Here’s a short list of black men who were never given chances by MTV, cough, cough, cough: Ed Lover, Fab Five Freddy, Prince, Michael Jackson, LL Cool J, Jay-Z, Snoop Dogg, Tupac, Seal, and Kanye Friggin’ West. I said “short list” because I had to leave off about a million black men for the sake of word count. Kanye has apparently discovered a vacuum in time, and I wish he’d crawl out of that.

My kid is Kanye’s consumer. She’s also Taylor and Beyonce’s consumer. When Kanye hops on stage and flips out like some sort of black-music messiah, who does he think is listening to his point? People his age? Underground black artists the world has yet to discover because of evil MTV? Christ, no. His fan base is who’s observing Kanye’s crazy hour: kids with cable and internet access and iTunes allowance money. He’s not preaching to the ghetto, but he is alienating himself from the people who buy his music. His PR rep must have a continuous stream of panic attacks to go along with that immeasurable job security.

Taylor Swift is a pop artist. She’s the ultimate white girl. So what? As a parent, it’s nearly impossible to find modern music for your child to listen to that doesn’t include heavy sexual overtones and primitive language skills. Even with a Cosby Show rap artist like Kanye, I have to compromise my parental skepticism in exchange for giving my kid music she’s chosen for herself. It’s irritating to constantly tell your kid “no” when all the other children seem to be listening to straight out gangsta rap and songs about getting blowjobs at a club, drinking booze, and overt materialism — all using terms that make me feel like an antique, running to Urban Dictionary right and left. The culture needs to check itself. For that one reason alone, I appreciate sweet, little Taylor Swift.

Ugh. Kanye? Pleez.

1 Comment »

Thirty-six

Posted in Uncategorized on August 28, 2009 by Kristan

Last night my mother celebrated the eve of my thirty-sixth birthday by attaching a Britney Spears cake-greeting to my wall on Facebook. [Processing. Processing. Processing.] Okay: My mother, Cake Maven and Master of All Things White Soul Food, sent an electronic cake. Seems like a defining moment of something. Of the culmination of my past thirty-six years, maybe? This is where we’re at: Facebook cakes. I like it. Where were these cakes when I was on a diet of nothing but neurotic rollerblading and unsweetened, fat-free, plant food?

36: Twice the legal age;  twice as old as my youngest co-workers; able to recall vivid memories from the Land Before Microwaves, Cable TV, and The Internet; old enough to know what real happiness looks like along with real sorrow, terrible mistakes, and the like. I understand what “starting over” means, but I’ve been around long enough to know I’ve escaped unscathed from anything resembling Total Loss.

With Bella in junior high and begging for more independence, my own identity is kinda peeking around the corner going, “Psst. Over here. Remember me from before that whole Mom thing? Is it cool if I come back out now?” It’s uncomfortable defying unwarranted guilt over initiating the process of reclaiming my life as mine, but only out of necessity for Bella’s need to become her own person. (If that sounds confusing, then we’re on the same page.) At any rate, I’ve had to do a lot of thinking about what’s important to me now and if I’m interested in pursuing any of my old, pre-mom goals.

In thirty-six words and proper nouns, I’ll sum up all this ‘thinking’ I’ve been doing.

  • 1973: Acquisition
  • 1974: Pride
  • 1975: Joy
  • 1976: Confusion
  • 1977: Princess Leia
  • 1978: Stepdaughter
  • 1979: Ballet
  • 1980: Sister
  • 1981: From the Mixed-Up Files of Mrs. Basil E. Frankweiler
  • 1982: Henrietta
  • 1983: Anxiety
  • 1984: Music
  • 1985: Fear
  • 1986: Negligence
  • 1987: Anger
  • 1988: Journal
  • 1989: Isolation
  • 1990: United Nations
  • 1991: Underdog
  • 1992: Stagnant
  • 1993: Lost
  • 1994: Married
  • 1995: California!
  • 1996: USMC
  • 1997: Motherhood
  • 1998: Poverty
  • 1999: Discovery
  • 2000: Reinvention
  • 2001: Frustration
  • 2002: Hospital
  • 2003: Passion
  • 2004: Focus
  • 2005: Reality
  • 2006: Independence
  • 2007: Bliss
  • 2008: Development
  • 2009: Introspection

There are some words I wish were on this list — around fifty of them to be exact. Of course, now I realize as I enter this new phase of my adulthood that results don’t have to occur haphazardly, and we can choose our paths ahead of time. Barring ease, everything you truly want is yours, but you must ask yourself for it first. And that is an impossible task until you know what it is you really desire.

That said, in the year 2059, I want to celebrate the addition of those yet-to-come fifty words — most of which I plan on choosing and some of which I hope will be pleasant in their future unveilings.

The first thirty-six, done. Thank you and good night.

1 Comment »

You’re MY BEST FRIEND, and I want you to know…

Posted in beloved with tags , , , , , , on August 11, 2009 by Kristan

…this is a much needed break from the political this-and-that going on around these Alexandrian parts:

Julia Nunes, for those of you who haven’t heard, is a kid who started putting her ukulele covers on YouTube during the past couple of years. I instantly fell in love with whatever it was she was doing — whether I liked the original music or not.

When I discovered Julia’s version of this Queen song, though, I was totally sold and enchanted. This girl seems wonderful, talented, adjusted, self-aware, intelligent, resourceful, everything I wish for my own daughter to be when she hits her college years. Here is the role model young girls have needed, I thought.

Apparently, being herself  – instead of a folded and molded version of the young women airbrushed all to hell on magazine covers — has paid off. Within a matter of months, Julia has managed to play for sold-out audiences in London as well as appearing on stage with the likes of musician Ben Folds. Oh, and, uh, she juggles her college obligations along with the rest of her awesomeness.

At last, a Queen cover that does Freddie Mercury justice. And on ukulele. Go, Julia. Woot woot.

3 Comments »

Hobby Lobby vs. Sarah Palin

Posted in Jesus and L. Ron Hubbard and Buddha walk into a bar..., political schmolitical with tags , , , , , , , , on July 5, 2009 by Kristan

Harvey Lacey shared his views regarding that fabulous Sarah Palin with us today on Alexandria: “I think this lady has become a victim of her own advertising,” he wrote in conclusion. 

Indeed.

sarah_palin

I added my own take. (The Palin bait is too easy to refuse on a lazy, Sunday morning.)

“The other day I was secretly enjoying my unintended, three-hour shopping trip at the ultra-conservative and Blue Law-adamant Hobby Lobby. Please tell no one. I SWEAR that I ran in for a frame and got sucked into some kind of black hole of Jesus Christ and half-priced mantle pieces and crazy, little candies called ‘Testamints.’ It could have happened to any of us.

“ANYway, in the clearance aisle, there was just a ton of crap, but in AMAZING abundance there was one item: the pit bull/hockey mom quote mounted on cheesy polyresin. Those things were ALL over the place just begging to be purchased by Stepford soccer moms peeking down the sale aisle (after already finding the fake fruit and flowers and seasonal patio furniture they came for).

“This really reinforces a couple of very basic, fundamental things for me: (a) the hard right wing definitely put too much stock into being able to sell this woman to its target voters — quite literally, even; (b) months later, the people aren’t buying Palin’s trite poo at severely reduced, closeout prices.

“Look, when my elementary school-aged daughter watches the news to crack up at Palin’s ‘jokes,’ that’s an indication Miz Sarah ain’t near the best this Republican party has to offer. In fact, Palin is an insult to true politicians on all sides of the fence — period.”

Neil DeGrasse Tyson mentioned a significant point in a lecture I attended this past February. He explained the correlation of avoidable disasters to our lack of qualified scientists and mathematicians. NDT believes that without properly analyzed funding and public interest, great minds of the future will choose other careers. Perhaps, this theory also applies to qualified public servants and elected officials. 

We seem to be gambling more than anything else. It’s all about picking a team and throwing your support and money down one tube, hoping you’ll hit some kind of political bonanza. At least, that’s the message I’m getting. The last Presidential election was akin to watching the Superbowl. When Obama won, we jumped out of our seats and chest-bumped ourselves into tomorrow with popcorn flying all over the couch and horns honking from the neighborhood beyond our windows. 

I meant it when I called Palin an insult to politicians. She is. Let’s vest ourselves into serious politics again with our feet firmly planted in the soil of society rather than private interests and divided parties. 

If Palin gets a cable show, then I’ll probably watch the hell out of it. She belongs on TV programming, not in my government.

I’ll even buy her bobble head. (Anna Nicole, R.I.P.)

5 Comments »

The Quickest Way to Mom’s Laser of Death

Posted in Meet My Mother, The Bell with tags , , , , , , on June 14, 2009 by Kristan

 

photo by russell turns

photo by russell turns

My mother will be furious when she discovers I have posted this here. She’s under the delusion this story paints her in poor lighting, but I think we can all agree it just makes her seem like an extreme badass — or at the very least a heroine to all who’ve paid ten bucks to see a movie only to have it ruined by some holier-than-thou prick and his cell phone. In fact, when I originally wrote this bit, which appeared in a local print version for a handful of readers, Mom wrote an angry letter to the editor, in which she referred to me not as her daughter but as “Ms. Austin.” I’m not immune to the corrective, quirky wrath of Mom, most certainly, but it’s my sincere privilege to admire it at such close range as her understudy.

Now, with that said, behold my fantastic mother:

I have seen my daughter anxious to leave her Nana’s house, but I’ve never seen her sprint to the truck before. As Bella closed the door, she locked it, and said, “Mom, drive. Hurry.”

I knew it was gonna be a great story – something for my feisty mother’s five-hour, future eulogistic outline, even.

“Nana was so embarrassing at the theater.”

“Like, embarrassing for real or embarrassing for cool fifth graders like you?”

“I mean it, Mom. This time she went over the edge.” 

She explained: Mom and Bella decided to attend a matinee. During the previews, a man in the front of the theater began a text marathon. I could see exactly where this was headed. Poor Bella.

“…then the movie started, and he didn’t stop.”

Oh, no.

“…so Nana stood up and yelled, ‘Quit texting! It’s distracting! Stop it!’ ”

“Excellent. Really?”

“YES. She REALLY did that, Mom, but it gets better because…”

The guy had the audacity to tell my mother to sit down. MY mother. Then he foolishly entered Mom’s No Man’s Land when he added, “Just watch the movie and quit looking at my phone, Lady!”

Bella and I shared a moment of fearful silence. I was worried this all was going to end at the police station or something, but, nah. As Bella promised, it got better.

“Mom, Nana pulled a laser out of her purse and beamed it onto the screen of that guy’s phone so he couldn’t text anymore.”

“She pulled out a what?!”

“A laser! Like, on one of those key chain things. You know.”

“Oh, ok! What did the guy do?!”

“He stood up and screamed at her [in Bella's best screaming guy voice], What do you think you’re doing?! Stop it! NOW! And then Nana screamed back [awesome Nana voice here], Stop texting! And then he yelled, No! And she shot the laser again, and it hit him in the eyes!”

Speechlessness.

“Yeah, and he put his hands on his face and totally was yelling, Are you crazy? You could blind me with that! You could blind somebody. And Nana said, Well, then turn around and watch the screen and quit looking at me!“

"It was so embarrassing."

"It was so embarrassing."

I was sooo incredibly glad I wasn’t there. Kind of. 

“Anyway, Mom, then he ran out of the theater to tell on her. I was so embarrassed. The guy’s wife was also very embarrassed. When the manager came back, the guy was angry because he was told not to text anymore.”

That was not really what Mom’s ego needed at that point, especially while she was brandishing a sci-fi, sight-stealing laser.

“And then twenty minutes later, we decided to leave because the movie was really not very entertaining.” She paused. “And that was it. How was your day?”

There you have it. No texting during the movie. You never know; the theater might have an anti-SMS plant in the form of my mother. She is armed and unafraid to punish.

3 Comments »

Next Entries »