From a recent interview on E!:
Kendra Wilkinson-Baskett has no problem with her son, Hank, watching her work the stripper pole when he grows up.
“I think he’s gonna love it!” she told E! News when asked what her son would think 20 years later about his mom launching her own signature “sport pole.”
“There’s nothing like seeing your mom sexy and happy,” the reality star continued. “Your babies will grow up happy if you’re happy!”
Newsflash! Your son has absolutely zero interest in seeing you sexy! The words “sexy” and “mom” together are enough to make any young man’s brain implode.
Seeing your mom happy, yes.
Seeing your mom on a stripper pole that she told you for years was simply her “workout pole,” only to have your buddies inform you otherwise, no.
You know that you are truly old when you have absolutely no clue as to who is the latest teen heartthrob. Said heartthrob could walk right past you on the street, and you would probably just look at him and think, huh, that kid could use a haircut.
So would be the case with Justin Bieber and me. A while back I did hear about him and some mall pandemonium, but it was a freaking mall, and I thought a bunch of tween girls were maybe just bored and felt like causing some trouble. Turns out that wasn’t necessarily the case, and this extremely fresh-faced (maybe a little too fresh-faced for my comfort, to be honest) young man seems to cause a riot wherever he goes.
I suppose I should be glad that the youth of today are going after someone at least theoretically obtainable, unlike my best friend and I with our extremely unhealthy obsession with certain members of Duran Duran. Seeing as how they were in their late twenties and we were all of twelve, I’m wondering how my mother put up with the bajillion posters of them in my room. Oh wait, that’s right, she just thought I liked their music. Little did she know that Elizabeth and I spent our school recesses walking around telling ridiculous stories of how Simon Le Bon saw me in the audience from the stage of a concert, invited me backstage, and then decided to marry me. Of course. We were best friends because she was in love with John Taylor, so we didn’t have to compete against each other for our future husbands.
But I would like to think that I had a bit more sophistication, even back then, than to admire a dude who would wear these shoes without a trace of irony. And we’re not even going to talk about the hair. Or the watch.
Based on the poll results, it would be fairly safe to assume that cheese made out of human breast milk isn’t going to become the next gastro-fad. No matter how much chefs might like it to be, as sixty-two percent of you said there was NO WAY you would ever try it. Count me in. An intrepid twenty percent stated they might try a bite, and one lone voter thought it sounded tasty. Methinks they were just bored that day.
Anyhoo, this weekend saw the Kids’ Choice Awards go down, and some, er, interesting red carpet choices. More on those later. I want to know what you think of Ms. Katy Perry and her outfit.
Despite not being all that well known around these parts, Benoit Magimel managed to hold on to thirty-three percent of the vote, but Gabriel Byrne emerged as the winner once again.
Continuing with my “international hotties” theme, this next contestant caught my eye on the first season of “Lost” and I count on him as part of my man candy contingent on that show. Those cheekbones! I have a weakness for strong cheekbones…
*And yes, Mr. Kim grew up in the States, but was born in South Korea, which for me counts as “international.” And besides, he’s too good-looking not to include!
My five-month old daughter is one of the few.
One of the proud.
One of the infants born with a full head of hair.
I’m not talking about some sort of wimpy fuzz. No, this chick had hair. The nurses actually couldn’t get over the fact that it even had golden highlights in it from day one and joked that they themselves paid serious money for those kinds of highlights.
It’s pretty much the first thing people remark upon when seeing her for the first time. Not her beautiful blue eyes, or long eyelashes, or her lovely smile which radiates joy.
Yet all around me, I see discrimination against her.
If you look at ads for baby items, from diapers to soap, pretty much all of the babies are bald. Oh, maybe one or two have a patch of wannabe hair on the tippy-top, but for the most part display lots of pink skin.
So is my daughter is going to grow up with a complex about her abundant locks ? Will she look at all of her baby friends and realize she is the only one able to utilize a headband for the actual purpose for which it was made, not just to match her outfit? Will the toddlers down the block snicker behind their hands and say, “Looks like somebody could use a visit to the salon!” Or parents who see her full mane and whisper, “Shouldn’t that kid be walking yet?” not realizing she’s only six months old.
Do follicularly blessed babies not cry when pricked, or laugh when tickled?
They may resemble all the rest in that, they just do it with better hair.
Now, if you are not closely related to a young-ish boy or girl, you probably have no idea what I’m talking about.
And that’s OK.
Captain Underpants is the hero of a series of chapter books by Dav Pilkey, and they happen to be the perfect “gateway books.” They have a great chance at turning your reluctant reader into someone who actually turns off the television to go and read.
Yes, you read that right. My son has done exactly that.
The Munchkin, who is an excellent reader, had yet to discover the joys of reading a book to oneself, rather than enjoying them only with someone else. Oh sure, he would read a book or two at the school library because he was bored and had nothing better to do, it wasn’t entirely voluntary. Reading a story with someone at bedtime was a must, but for some reason, he didn’t want to read alone.
But once we got our hands on these babies, he has begun the wonderful process of reading a book not just because he is bored, but because it is a fun thing to do.
Is there questionable potty humor in these books?
Will your young one’s vocabulary suddenly begin to include potty humor words?
Well, yes, but they were already using them, just not so much around you.
So in exchange for a few week’s worth of hearing “doo-doo” and “underpants,” I now have someone who has branched out to reading many of the other books that have been patiently waiting for him in his personal library.
I’ll take it.
*I received no payment or free product for this review. I spent my own damn money, and it was well worth it.
The New York Department of Education has deemed homemade baked goods unfit for bake sales.
But Pop Tarts? Good to go.
With yet another example of a heavy-handed attempt to “combat” childhood obesity, I’m going to go ahead and state that things are getting a bit out of control. They can say that it’s only the whole-grain version of the Pop Tart that is allowed, but who the heck wants those?
The Department claims that it is not possible for them to know the calorie and fat contents of goodies made in the home, so off limits they shall be.
May I be one to stand up and say that a child is not going to become obese from the occasional bake sale purchase?
If the edumacashional people were truly concerned about childhood obesity, they would ensure that all children partake in physical education, serve truly healthy and tasty meals at schools, work with parents on nutrition at home, and would become leaders in the fight for more open spaces and parkland in urban areas.
But you know, it’s just so much easier to ban chocolate chip cookies, isn’t it?