Mouthing Off: Live Nude….Maids?
Recently, we heard about a sweet little company called the Lubbock Fantasy Maid Service. The Fantasy Maids are a group of entrepreneurial Texas gals who got tired of working in Gentleman’s Clubs and wanted a neater lifestyle. Which means now they’ll come to your house and clean it for $100 an hour—while they’re either topless or fully nude. And all we can say about that is, OMG WHERE THE HELL DO WE SIGN UP?!
Because seriously, if there’s anything we love more than housecleaning, it’s doing it with our jugs flapping in the wind. Don’t you all agree? Why, just think of all those bleach and ammonia fumes wafting their way up your lady parts, making you feel all mountain air fresh and tingly in the nethers! Who needs Summer’s Eve when your hoo-ha has Soft Scrub killing all the germs and caked-on grease inside? And of course it goes without saying that your naked ass will look absolutely gorgeous as you morosely push a Swiffer around the house and spray the shower for black mold and mildew. Rwor! SEXY, SEXY, SEXY TIMES!
Some other ways cleaning naked is a fabulous idea include:
You can polish the silver with your nipples!
And, well, that’s probably it. We should probably quit while we’re ahead here because Lord knows we don’t want the Nudie Housekeeping Association leaving us a hundred lengthy comments about our insensitivity to naked maids. Trust us, they can be quite vicious for a bunch of people who don’t even own pants.
Anyway, while this idea is definitely a little risque, we actually think the Fantasy Maids are the perfect answer for people who are, quite literally, dirty perverts. After all, if watching some hard working woman vacuum your carpet while she’s dressed like a drunk extra from Cabaret makes you hot, who are we to judge?
Oooh, you have (pant) such deep (pant) shag (pant), slobface!
Honestly, we’re just happy the filthy weirdos of the world will finally have their vegetable crispers cleaned out. (That is not a euphemism.) (OK, maybe it kind of is.)
But unfortunately, while we think this is a harmless little company, the Lubbock police department doesn’t agree. No, the coppers insist the Fantasy Maid Service is violating some kind of law or something. And that’s despite the Maids offering a very generous Law Enforcement Discount on their website, too. Um, hello, officers? Don’t you fellas want a waxed woman waxing your floor? Or your credenza gone over with by a bare breasted feather duster? (Again, not a euphemism.) (OK, maybe it kind of is.)
But listen, people. In our opinion, if these women are making money doing something that dirty perverts are willing to pay for and nobody’s getting hurt (or, allegedly, having sex) and the Slim Jim and pizza box littered studio apartments of Lubbock are finally being straightened up, who really cares? They’re all adults here, right? Hell, if someone wanted to clean our houses while naked and covered in cockroaches, we wouldn’t call 911.
Like they say, Cleanliness is next to Godliness. But you know what’s even better? Cleanliness next to Godliness next to Nakedness.
Especially in Lubbock.
Addendum:
To address a couple of our comments, yes, the Fantasy Maids send muscle to watch over the cleaners.
Thank you to Shari at Dusty Earth Mother for the heads up on this.
And, is that Wendi vacuuming? Seriously? Do you really think Wendi would ever….vacuum?
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Parents Behaving Badly Leads to Easter Egg Hunt Cancellation
From the files of Oh, You Thought You’d Heard It All? comes this gem:
If you think it’s in an effort to lower people’s cholesterol levels or to get the children out of the secular chocolate bunny world and into the House of Worship to celebrate the Resurrection, then you are absolutely adorable.
And wrong. Because the reason that the annual Easter Egg Hunt has been canceled is because some parents acted so horribly last year, the organizers would rather cancel the whole thing than have to babysit the parents. Who can blame them?
Reports of parents jumping in to get plastic eggs so that their child wouldn’t have to have the indignity of remaining eggless are mortifying, until you hear one of the parents explain:
You have all these eggs just lying around, and parents helping out. You better believe I’m going to help my kid get one of those eggs. I promised my kid an Easter egg hunt and I’d want to give him an even edge.
That’s right, you better believe it. Because once you make a promise of a plastic egg to your kid, you don’t want to fool around with that blood oath. And if the other parents jumped in and swooped up an egg so that your kid didn’t get one, what would you do? Use it as a life lesson that sometimes people act badly? Or join them because you are not leaving without the motherfokkin’ plastic egg?
The parents acting badly are being labeled helicopter parents. We find that unfair. A parent can be overprotective and hovering (you know, helicopter) without being obnoxious to others. This goes way beyond that.
As parents, we all want what is best for our kids. And that includes Easter eggs and even chocolate and jellybeans. But sometimes we need to step back and realize that teaching our children that it’s okay to push and shove as long as we get the plastic egg is not the lesson we want to impart.
Now, Faberge eggs—that’s a different story.
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Mouthing Off: The Period Party
Do you remember when you got your first period? You were probably 12 or 13, a little freaked out and your mom or another female family member most likely gave you the supplies you needed and told you what was going on. However, if you were anything like us, here’s what probably didn’t happen: you were the guest of honor at a Period Party.
Yep, you read that right.
You see, it’s no longer enough for a young girl to start menstruating; now that particular milestone needs to be celebrated with a themed, invitation-only party. Much like everything else in some kids’ lives today. Seriously, are we raising a generation that’s going to expect balloons and cake every time they pass gas or put the toilet seat down? When will this nonsense end?
While we certainly agree that it’s important to take away the scariness and mystique of menstruating, do tweens and teens really need–or want–that done via a party? Like the one we read about where the guests “…ate red jelly beans, drank raspberry leaf tea, and gave their red balloons panty-liner mustaches.” Then the enterprising mother read them selections from The Diary of Anne Frank while they “dunked tampons in their teacups.” Um, is it just us or does that sound like a scene out of some whacko Christopher Guest movie? Like “Waiting for Aunt Flo” or something?
But if you actually do want to throw your daughter a Period Party, there are many resources out there for you. Like MenarchePartiesRUs.com., who sells a party pack that includes plates, cups, feminine disposal bags and the very exciting “Pin the Ovary” and “Puberty Marshmallow” games. So much more fun than the traditional “run to the bathroom and hope your period doesn’t go through your white pants or everyone in the 8th grade will taunt you until you graduate, you dumbass” game we all played, right?
Don’t get stuck in the fallopian tubes!
Other party activities we’ve read about include serving fun menstrual related food like red Jell-O, playing games like “tampon basketball,” as well as “pin the chocolate on the menstruating woman’s mouth” (Note: WE WILL PLAY THIS WITH YOU ANY TIME), and giving the guest of honor “Welcome to Womanhood” gifts like a thermometer, a red candle and cotton pads. Just what every 12 year old dreams of unwrapping! Wow, it makes us wish we were getting our first periods all over again!
And if that weren’t humiliating enough for girls who don’t even like their mothers to drop them off at the curb at school, older women are often invited to the parties to “share their menstrual stories” with the tweens. Yeah. That’s not traumatizing at all.
“And then there was the time I had my period on my honeymoon, so my husband spent the entire time gambling in the casino while I cried on the bathroom floor. Which was still better than that time I had cramps so painful that I took three Vicodin and crashed the car into Walgreen’s. But not as bad as that other time I got toxic shock syndrome and almost died from sepsis. Ah, good times, good times! Welcome to womanhood, Ashley! Pass the Midol Martinis!”
Of course, it’s every family’s right to do something like this. And first periods have been celebrated by various cultures in different ways for centuries. The Native Americans supposedly held beautiful ceremonies for their young women. And we definitely believe that that menstruation is absolutely nothing to be ashamed of by anyone.
As mothers, we know how important it is to speak openly and honestly with our daughters about their bodies. Education and knowledge is key and we strongly feel that we should always celebrate girls becoming women.
Just without the red balloons, please.
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La Mouthing Off: French Parents vs. American Parents
Just when we thought we’d survived Tiger Mom and her battle hymn, here comes Frenchified Mom telling us that the French mère does it better. And by it, we don’t mean walk down cobblestone streets in stilettos, but rather raising le bebes. Quelle horror! (And now we will stop with the French language references. We studied Latin in high school, and as soon as the Ancient Romans come out with a parenting guide, we’re on it!)
…it struck me that most French descriptions of American kids include this phrase “n’importe quoi,” meaning “whatever” or “anything they like.” It suggests that the American kids don’t have firm boundaries, that their parents lack authority, and that anything goes. It’s the antithesis of the French ideal of the cadre, or frame, that French parents often talk about. Cadre means that kids have very firm limits about certain things-that’s the frame-and that the parents strictly enforce these. But inside the cadre, French parents entrust their kids with quite a lot of freedom and autonomy.
Druckerman continues:
Authority is one of the most impressive parts of French parenting-and perhaps the toughest one to master. Many French parents I meet have an easy, calm authority with their children that I can only envy. Their kids actually listen to them. French children aren’t constantly dashing off, talking back, or engaging in prolonged negotiations.
Ah, oui. Pretty enviable if you are trying to have a peaceful dinner. But are these qualities necessarily better for children in the long run? If questioning authority is an American trait, then let’s hear it for Old Glory! Because for all the times that we’d like our kids to stop negotiating, asking and interrupting and bend to our will there is a glimmer of appreciation that they are thinking, engaging and participating.
No, it’s not necessarily better.
But it’s not inferior, either.
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Mouthing Off: Holiday Commercials
Oh, you know the ones I’m talking about.
Lexus.
Kay Jewelers.
That one where they won’t stop talking about ORGIES. (Or maybe it’s 4G. Whichever.)
They’re the ever-present car, jewelry, and gadget commercials that make us all feel like a steaming pile of reindeer poop. The ones that suggest you’re probably not a real husband or wife if you don’t fork out some serious cash for blood diamonds this year. I mean, the holiday season is stressful enough, wouldn’t you say? How the hell are we supposed to get into the spirit while being bombarded with images of hipster car drivers with a keen ear for obscure piano music and PDA-loving, diamond-adorned romance novel characters?
It’s CHRISTMASTIME, not Armageddon for crying out loud!
In fact, just the other day, I was enjoying a moment of family harmony after dinnertime. In that brief, blissful five minute period, there were no quarters shoved in the Wii, no sweaty socks sitting on the dining room table, and no shrieks of horror bellowing from the laundry room. The four of us sat on the couch and clicked on the television for some educational programming when–
BAM!
Jane Seymour strikes again.
Suddenly my husband was cursing under his breath about the impossible pressures that are placed on modern man while the children lamented the fact that our Christmas tree wasn’t topped with a Swarovski-studded star. I even found myself daydreaming about chocolate-covered diamonds and humming, “Every kiss begins with…STOP IT! STOP IT NOW!”
We tried to salvage the evening, but a few minutes later, we were subjected to that horrid Lexus commercial. You know the one.
WHY IS THERE A CAR IN OUR LIVING ROOM?!
I WANT A DIVORCE!
I’m not sure what type of feeling it’s meant to evoke, but I’m guessing RAGE isn’t what the advertising executives had in mind. And yet that’s all I can manage to muster when I hear that insipid tune followed by a look of recognition and excitement on some 1%-er’s face. What is this 1953, and we’re all on an episode of Name That Tune? At this point, my family had all had quite enough. My husband flipped the couch over, the children set fire to the Christmas tree, and I went off to find the vodka I buried in the back yard.
And as I lay there in the back yard, covered in dirt and mourning the days of Christmases past, I started scripting my own goddamn commercial in my head. Because who are these people who buy cars for Christmas, and where the hell do they get those ridiculous bows? WHERE? So here’s my version of a more realistic holiday commercial:
*****
Scene: A bickering couple rides in their building’s elevator, late for a holiday party. She digs in her purse for a tape recorder to play the Lexus theme music and surprise her husband.
Him: What the hell are you looking for? Don’t tell me you left your wallet in the apartment, because we are NOT going back, Meegan.
Her: OHJUSTSHUTUPANDLISTENTOTHISMUSICFORAMINUTE! [Presses play.]
Him: I can’t hear anything.
Her: [Banging on tape recorder.] Jesus. I think it’s broken.
The elevator stops and opens. He walks out.
Her: NO WAIT! Why are you always trying to ruin my surprises?!
Him: What surprise? [Spots car parked in front of the building with a red bow.] Ha! Getta load of this! Some asshole bought a $45,000 car for his wife. He probably didn’t even ask her first. Surprise honey, I spent your retirement! What an idiot!
Her: Um, SURPRISE, honey! That’s for you!
Him: [Incredulous.] That’s for ME?
Her: [Beaming with satisfaction.] Mmm-hmm!
Him: Why the…I don’t….I mean…it’s…RED. Why are you always trying to emasculate me?! And are those cloth seats? God, this is the worst Christmas ever.
FIN.
*****
THIS is your American clientele, Lexus. Get it right next year for Pete’s sake.
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