Godammit, I’m Mad!

Here is ol’ 8-pack Dara Torres, post Olympics, appearing on the runway in a New York fashion show. I’d like to say that I photo-shopped this picture but no. She really does look like a man. But she’s sporting a baby, like another Important Mom has done recently.

Are babies the new black? Or do they bring a note of pseudo-femininity to an otherwise mannish woman? Dara needs more than a baby to get my vote, and for all I know, it’s Bristol’s baby. Or Piper’s. Twinkle, Sparrow, Spiker, Trooper, what the hell are the other names? I’ve had a glass of wine to enhance my nightly stupor and it’s just kicking in.

Is it sexist to want women to take care of their baby? Is it sexist to disapprove of women whose baby comes second to some athletic or political achievement? Is it sexist to cry Sexist! when someone belittle’s Mrs. P’s dubious accomplishments? Is it sexist of me to admit I’m sexist?

Well, while I’m lashing out, has anyone seen Meg Ryan’s new face? It’s a horrible twisted mask of her other face, with a wide trout mouth and something a little off with her nose, and the whole thing a painful lesson on not fooling around with nature’s plan for your face.  She could have just let it wrinkle and sag, and while she wouldn’t look 25, at least her face wouldn’t be a graphic reminder of bad surgery.  Even Meg has a baby that she got in China, just to stay on-trend.

*PAP Smear: Our next meeting will be Monday evening. Bring your notebooks!

This new reality series will be fun to watch, as long as you have a stiff drink on hand. You’ll laugh, you’ll cry, you’ll want to smash your TV or whoever happens to be sitting next to you.

Grandpa is one of those crusty old guys with a hair-trigger temper. He’s a lot like Hank’s dad on “King of the Hill.” He usually talks in a soft voice, eerily reminiscent of John Travolta with the whistling “s.”

You can never be mean to Grandpa because he was tortured during the war. Not that war, the other one, where the poor little girl got burned with napalm. Anyway, Grandpa was on a bombing mission and ended up getting tortured. You heard me, HE WAS TORTURED. He was tortured for you, much like Jesus, only Grandpa was even braver.

The Church Lady is a real bully, and she smiles when she’s mad. She looks like a librarian, but in fact she tried to oust a librarian in Wasilla when the librarian refused to ban some books. She had to back down from the librarian, but became known for her vindictiveness. People were scared to incur her wrath. She fired the chief of police when she became mayor,  because she didn’t believe “in her heart” that he “supported her enough.”

This season’s highlight is when The Church Lady is questioned about the birth of her baby with Down Syndrome. Instead of just confirming that of course she is his mother, she shoves her pregnant teenager into the limelight to quash the rumors. THEN, the teenage babydaddy is rushed to town as a prelude to a shotgun wedding.

WARNING, SPOILER AHEAD!

In my favorite episode, The Church Lady brings her family on stage at a huge loud convention and reaches for her baby, turning around so the cameras can get a shot of his little Down Syndrome features. Too bad if he should have been shielded from the deafening noise and bright lights! He is a trophy now, just like the dead bears and wolves she loves to shoot.!

Tomorrow, we’ll try to have some fashion or something less horrible, like almost anything.

Sometimes, things that are awful bring us joy; but sometimes, they’re just plain awful. Queen Marie was rightly offended by the notion of fake high-heels made for babies. For $35, you can buy a pair of these shoes, put them on a baby and laugh your ass off. Ha ha, look at the baby! You could also put sunglasses and jewelry on the baby and laugh even more. Sister Wolf says, Give that $35 to a homeless shelter and leave the baby alone.

As a fur-lover and proud carnivore, I am usually happy to see fur accessories, but here’s something that shocked me with it’s assaultive ugliness. Not only are these leg-warmers an abomination, they are even sold out! Presumably, whoever bought them is somewhere right now, laughing at babies in high heels.

For the third and final No, I bring you this photo courtesy of The Look-See. These models were used by Yohji, Etro, and Ann Demeulemeester in Milan. They are not conventional male model types, get it? They are old geezers! This is so funny, like high heels on a baby! But I would rather stick with handsome boys.

The moral here is that some people will be fooled into accepting awfulness as some sort of post-modern joke, but We are simply not having it.

While I’ve been pondering the mutton-dressed-as-lamb issue (evoked by the sight of a 63 year old film director wearing silver lamé jeans,) fate led me to a blog where men were busy explaining why dewy young women are infinitely superior to women over thirty.

Ladies, prepare to give up any illusions of a post-sexist world.  There are men among us who truly believe in their tiny hearts that women are ruined for all intents and purposes once they’ve been soiled by education and experience. Not only ruined, but downright disgusting.

Ah well. Being Sister Wolf, I barged into their conversation and toyed with them. This brought about wounded cries of “Feminist! Angry Woman!” and all the usual charges meant to send women cringing back into their sewing circles.

Let me just say, I FUCKING LOVE MEN! I love them when they’re stupid insecure babies, and I love them when they’re nice grown-up men. I love them when they’re gay and I love them when they don’t even know they’re gay. I love them the most when they love women.

Back to the mutton/lamb thing: In preparing for my Golden Years, I’ve been asking friends for advice about the Cut-Off Date, as in when is it time to give up jeans and a t-shirt and settle into a more age-appropriate dress-code.  Everyone seems to think that one should keep on dressing the way one always dressed. I can’t agree, though. The silver jeans were just wrong for the nice woman who wore them, even though she was as cool as you could ask for, without being Patti Smith.

Patti is the supreme role model for maintaining your coolness and your dignity. But I plan to swap my jeans for long Victorian mourning dresses. I will wear my hair in a bun, and no one will dare bother me. Plus, I will learn to cackle.

Check out this beautiful dress below. This will be the foundation of my Look. Then, check out this whole online shop if you are still drawn to Goth finery. The bustle skirts and petticoats made me moan out loud…as only a woman over thirty can moan.