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Posts Tagged ‘HOLIDAYS’

Moms

caged-01“She did the best she could….and she still loves you”   –     Marc Maron

 

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valentine-4Saudi Arabia bans Valentine’s Day. The Commission for Promotion of Virtue and Prevention of Vice (religious police) consider Valentine’s Day a “pagan holiday.” They forbid the selling of anything red in the week before February 14. Red clothes, red roses and heart-shaped products are banned. Merchants caught selling such things risk arrest or the closure of their businesses. This has created a black market for roses. The traditional flower costs up to four times its original price. In one of the most conservative Islamic societies on the planet, even married couples are forbidden what would seem to be the most simple and innocent expressions of love: a bouquet of flowers.

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Happy Mother’s Day! Don’t be fooled by appearances. This furry mom’s guilt is eating her up inside.

Cats, Kitten

Cats, Kitten (Photo credit: Wikipedia)

In spite of what your children tell their friends, therapists and parole officers, you are not the worst mother in the world. In honor of mothers everywhere, squirming with guilt and wondering what went wrong, the Culture Vulture has compiled a list of bad moms.

1. Ma Barker. This mom raised four outlaw sons and travelled with them on their violent crime sprees. Because local television news had yet to be invented, the country never got to hear this now-common refrain: “But, really, he was a good boy.”

2. Joan Crawford. Movie-star mom, whose most famous line does not come from any of her films. “No more wire hangers!”

3. Britney Spears. When you lose custody of your kids to Kevin Federline, you know you’ve hit rock bottom as a mom.

4. Gertrude, Hamlet’s mom. The Queen of Denial, she married the man who murdered her husband, Hamlet’s father.

5. Octomom. After giving birth to a litter, some said a cat is a better mother than this mom, but the Culture Vulture thinks that is an insult to cats everywhere.

6. Burnt Marshmallow Mom. This tanning-bed addict makes a Toddlers and Tiaras mom look downright June Cleaverish.

7. Herodias. The original Dance Mom. Her talented daughter, Salome, could have taken home a gigantic trophy. Instead, at the urging of her mom, Salome requested the head of John the Baptist on a platter.

8. Jenny McCarthy. Playboy model, self-appointed expert and spokeswoman for the autism/vaccination connection. Only in America.

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Happy Secretary’s Day! Oops, I mean Happy Administrative Assistant’s Day. Shucks, just doesn’t have the same ring to it, does it? When did secretary become a dirty word? Long before television’s Madmen hit the airwaves, female clerical support staffers decided that secretary was a demeaning title. George Orwell wouldn’t have been surprised. When retail clerks and cashiers become ‘associates’, we know that Thinkspeak has overtaken English as the language of today. Maybe that explains why I can’t find ‘Gal Friday’ in the help wanted section of Craigslist.

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The Culture Vulture finds herself downtown, near the homeless shelter. Most wear bright green T-shirts. A jolly woman, who seems to know everyone, is the unofficial party hostess. She calls out greetings to others mingling in a weedy vacant lot. She wears a green felt fedora (the type found at party supply stores just before St. Patrick’s Day). Another fellow, with glazed eyes, searches for stubbed-out cigarettes in the gutter. He pauses long enough for me to read the slogan on his shirt: “Kiss me, I’m Irish.” Tempting, but, no. A quick mental check confirms the date: April 20, not March 17. What’s going on? Then, it all becomes clear. Every business or charity-event that issues T-shirts to promote their cause, has donated the leftovers to the homeless shelter. What a brilliant advertising scheme! Brand messaging taken to the streets. The wearin’ o’ the green t’isn’t just for those snobs who drink green beer and vomit outside of upscale nightclubs, no sir. St. Patrick’s Day is for everyone: rich, poor, drug-addled or sober. Top o’ the mornin’ to ye.

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Subversive Snowman

Every year, at least one Christmas decoration manages to avoid the return trip into the darkest corners of the garage. This year is no exception. Where does he hide? In plain sight, that’s where.
I’m told the Norwegians have a term for the phenomena of no longer seeing your own home: House-blind. I admit it. I am house-blind. I no longer see the plastic baby gate, the door-knob wrapped in scotch-tape (don’t ask) or the pile of orphaned sunglasses on the shelf in the entryway. And every year, as Easter approaches, I discover something leftover from Christmas. I pass by without seeing it for weeks or even months. Of course, I don’t haul out the ladder to get into the Christmas storage bins for just on item. I stash the sneaky reindeer or snowman in the back of a kitchen cupboard and forget about him. And so his break for freedom ultimately backfires. Yes, he escapes the dreaded eleven-month imprisonment in the garage, surrounded by spiders and cobwebs. But he also risks being relegated to a lonely existence for years to come behind the cans of creamed corn that nobody eats. Take that, Snowman.

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Fail

Failure: Not an Option

1. Keep up with the Kardashians
2. Exercise more (add the word More to any resolution…just vague enough to guarantee success)
3. Eat less (the More Principal in reverse…can be used for swearing, watching TV, wasting time on the internet, etc.)
4. Gain 5 pounds (after losing the 20 I gained last year, next December will speed me to my goal)
5. Write witty and sparkling prose that will be shared at the water cooler (this is just subjective enough that I can delude myself into believing I have accomplished it, regardless of the truth)

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