Tuesday, August 25, 2015

Disney Chicks: They PMS Just Like Us!

The wonderful world of Disney is full of magic, imagination, and...women. We're talking all types of women: damsels in distress, heroines, animals, psychopaths, even creepy human-fish hybrids (I'm looking at YOU, Ariel!).

Disney's first animated short came out in 1928, and the company has made over 50 full-length feature films since then, most of which have included female characters in some capacity. 

That’s a lot of women. And wherever there are a lot of women, there are a lot of hormones: hormones that lead to periods, and all the fun pre-period moodiness that accompany them. 

That’s right, folks, Disney women may be living in fairy tales, but they’re not immune to the bitchy spell cast by Aunt Flo. In fact, it seems as though some of Disney’s leading ladies were actually on the rag—or about to be—during filming.

So, fellow Disney-oplhiliac women, next time you find yourself drowning under the weight of the crimson wave, you may want to consult this list and take solace in the fact that you’re in good (magical, even!) company.

Because, hey, Disney chicks: They PMS just like us! 

They have major mood swings.

They cry over stupid shit.

So, Ariel, let's get this straight: You're sad because Daddy blew up an old globe? You must really love geography.

PS: Where the hell does a mermaid put a tampon?

And they cry whenever they look in the mirror.

OMG, is that a pimple? 

They even cry over vaginas (like, literally).

She's dressed in rags, she's on the rag...maybe she thinks if she weeps into her fairy godmother's vagina, all her troubles will just magically disappear.

(Or maybe FG can find a really tiny pumpkin to transform into a super absorbent tampon.)

They often have resting bitch face.

Forget painting with all the colors of the wind. This chick's paintin' the town red with her vajayjay.

Or, they're just straight up bitches (with anger issues).

Get her some chocolate, STAT.

Or, they're straight up, cold bitches (with anger issues).

This is what happens when Elsa's vagina decides to "let it go."

And sometimes, they're just bitches. Like, literally.

Lolz. Homonymns.

They get bloated. I mean, really bloated...

I feel ya, Ursula. Gotta stick with sweats until Aunt Flo leaves town.

...probably because they stuff their faces with whatever they can get their hands on.

She tells the man of the house that she's not hungry and then sneaks off into the kitchen in the middle of the night to binge on dancing sweets. Makes total sense.

They get weird, uncontrollable cravings.

Mmmmm...poison apple (cue slobbering and poor judgment).

All they want to do is sleep.

Seriously, dude, I wouldn't do that if I were you. Someone's gonna get bitch-slapped.

And if you try to wake them up, they just ignore you.

Get the bloody hell away from me. (See what I did there?)

They have strange compulsions to clean stuff.

Chick's clearly suffering from menorrhagia. I mean, check out that complexion. Someone go get her some damn iron tablets.

Their boobs are extra sensitive during "that time of the month."

...I'll give you a hint: It's the same color as her hair. And it’s apparently making her boobs hurt so much that she has to wear an extra-supportive, hard-shell bra.

They get super defensiveand a little paranoidwhenever they see the men in their lives whispering behind their backs.

Back away slowly, dudes.

They can be standoffish...

...or super HORNy. (Get it?)

And sometimes, they're just downright cray-cray.

She must be on a Ben & Jerry's run.

They have a hard time controlling their behavior around other people.

That "little red dragon" that follows Mulan around everywhere, telling her what to do? Clearly an allegory for Aunt Flo.

And they often find themselves in desperate need of proper feminine hygiene products.

She's a frog, dammit. Someone go get her a freaking pad.

Disney menstruation: Remember, it all started with a mouse...

...who started her period.

(Talk about a maximum absorbency pad.)

Monday, August 10, 2015

Mamas: How About a Little Kindness?

Look around the mothering community—both online and off it—and you’ll see it everywhere: Judgment. Mockery. Contempt. Resentment.



Mamas, what are we doing to one another? Motherhood is supposed to be a force that unites us, not one that divides us.

Perhaps even more importantly, what are we doing to our children? Kids are impressionable. They do as they see, and they look up to us as role models.

Although, sometimes, perhaps we should be looking up (or down) to them.

What kind of precedent should we be striving to set?

Here is my challenge to you (and to myself, because I’m guilty of some of these transgressions as well): Next time you disapprove of another Mama’s actions, next time you are tempted to pass judgment or pick a fight, why not take a step back, lower the boxing gloves, and show a little kindness?

When you see a Mama struggling with a tantrumming toddler at the grocery store…

Instead of shaking your head, staring, or murmuring about how she can’t control her own children, how about a simple nod of solidarity, and an offer to push her cart through the parking lot while she wrangles her kid into his car seat?

When a Mama acquaintance shares a status on Facebook, praising her kid’s potty-training conquests…

Instead of rolling your eyes, or calling her out for “bragging,” how about sending her a private message to let her know how awesome she is, and asking if she has any tips?

When you see a Mama picking her kid up from daycare in Daisy Duke shorts and a crop top…

Instead of whispering “trashy” behind her back, how about telling her how great she looks, and how much you admire her body confidence?

Or when you see a Mama at a restaurant in sweats and a t-shirt…

Instead of muttering the word “lazy” under your breath, or accusing her of giving all moms a bad rap, how about telling her how much your son would love her Star Wars t-shirt?

Or when you see a Mama at the playground dressed in business attire…

Instead of staring at her like she’s the star of Sesame Street’s “One of these things is not like the other” segment, how about asking how her day at the office went, and commending her for looking so put together, despite working a full-time job on top of being a mom?

When a pregnant Mama in your kid’s playgroup goes on and on about her upcoming gender reveal party…

Instead of scoffing, or calling her an “attention-hog," how about thinking, That’s not for me, but it’s nice to see a Mama so excited about her pregnancy, and then asking her if she’s got a hunch about the baby’s gender?

When you take your kids out for ice cream, and you run into a Mama you went to high school with, who seems to be toting around a few extra pounds…

Instead of snarkily whispering to your husband, “No wonder she hasn’t lost the baby weight,” how about inviting her and her kids to join you, then asking her what she ordered, because “whatever it is, it looks freaking delicious”?

Or when you see that fit Mama who runs by your house every morning, jogging stroller and toddlers in tow…

Instead of labeling her as “selfish” or “obsessive,” how about telling her what a total badass she is?

When another Mama’s toddler pushes yours at the playground…

Instead of tweeting about it on the spot (#disciplineproblems), or making her feel guiltier than she probably already does, how about reassuring her with, “I know, it’s frustrating. Mine went through a pushing phase, too,” and then exchanging numbers so you can plan a play date?

When you drop your kid off at an elaborate birthday party that looks like it came straight off a Pinterest board…

Instead of mocking the hostess with your friends later, or grumbling that she’s setting an impossibly high standard for the rest of you, how about popping your head in to compliment and acknowledge her hard work, then maybe asking if she’d ever be interested in helping you plan an event?

When you see a Mama covered in tattoos at your daughter’s kindergarten graduation…

Instead of trash-talking her with the other moms, or making snide remarks about how “she’ll regret those when she’s a grandma,” how about looking at them—really looking—and asking her the story behind one you find interesting?

When your pediatrician is behind schedule, because the harried Mama in the slot before you showed up 20 minutes late, a baby strapped to her chest and a couple of whining toddlers in the stroller…

Instead of making offhand remarks about how long you've been waiting (loud enough, of course,so that she can hear you), how about giving her an encouraging nod as you say, “Rough morning? Been there, sister.”

We are all different. We have different interests, different bodies, different minds, different parenting styles, and different ways of looking at the world. 

But when we look at each other, here is what we should see: Despite our differences, we are all Mamas. We are all human beings, and we all need to feel loved, supported, and appreciated from time to time.

So when you see a Mama who does it differently than you—who "helicopters" instead of "free ranges;" who offers bottles instead of breasts; who's "crunchy" or chewy or just downright sticky (as most moms of toddlers are); who works outside the home, stays home with her kids, or cries and eats tubs of cream cheese at home when no one else is around—instead of cruelty, instead of judgment, instead of ridicule:

How about a little kindness?

Monday, August 3, 2015

Tan Lines: Seriously, Who Gives a Poop*?

*Well, hopefully we all give a literal poop every once in a while. I've suffered pregnancy-induced constipation and would never wish it upon anyone. I am using the word "poop" figuratively here. In my half-hearted efforts to keep my personal blog PG, I will be using the word “poop” in this post in place of the four letter word that I’d really like to use. The one that rhymes with suck. As in, it sucks trying not to use the word f*** when I’m really irritated.

Buuuuuuuuuuuuuut...on to the post.

In Defense of Tan Lines:

I hear it every time I drop my towel to reveal my bathing-suit-clad body at the pool in front of friends and family. Every. Damn. Time:


“Nice tan lines.”

Cue my eyes rolling so far back into my head that I can see my own occipital lobe, while I spew back a very sarcastic, “Yup! Thanks! They are, aren’t they?”

Jealous much?

I don't know why people act like I’m exposing some deep, dark (pun intended), shameful secret when I bare my tan lines to the world. It's as though I’m whipping my towel off to reveal a life-sized Justin Timberlake tattoo, the Ramen-noodle-esque hair of his glory days blazing across my chest. (Not that I judge anyone who might have one. You do you. And, hey, I’m all for bringing SexyBack.)

I guess I just don’t understand what the big deal is. I know I’m not the only woman out there with tan lines. And surely I can’t be the only one who doesn’t give a poopity poop.

(Before anyone freaks out, YES, I do wear sunscreen. But sunscreen doesn’t block out all the sun. It, you know, screens it.)

Why are tan lines so socially taboo? I mean, some people are so adamantly opposed to them that they explicitly forbid their presence in any situation where photography will be involved. Seriously. Like, “Hey, don’t forget that the (family portrait, formal dance, wedding, creepy-stalker-guy encounter, etc.) is in a month, so if you’re gonna be outside before then, you need to wear something strapless.”

Are you poopin' kidding me? Sure, let me just go out and buy a new bathing suit so as not to inadvertently blind the photographer with the tiny white line of skin curving around my shoulder.


Granted, they aren't always "tiny," but I honestly still don't understand what all the hoopla is about. This is the twenty-first century. Aren’t we supposed to tolerate, like, all skin colors? So what if they happen to collectively pigment one single human being?

Sometimes, I can't help wondering if my tan lines are the real reason I'm rarely asked to be a bridesmaid (since it's obviously not my non-abrasive, charming personality that's sabotaging me):

Strappy sandals? Okaybut what will we do about her ghost feet?

Low-cut back? Yeah, if we want people thinking they have to stop behind that big white X that looks like a railroad crossing sign spanning her shoulder blades.

Strapless or one shoulder dress? Hey, why are you wearing a white sports bra under your—oh, never mind. I see.

Not to mention the lines on the side of my head and rings around my eyes from wearing sunglasses because I don’t want my eyeballs to melt in their sockets. And spray tans and professional makeup artists can only do so much to fix the "problem."

But, honestly, what do people expect?

It’s summer. And I’ve been living in the Deep South for the last couple years. Tan lines are kiiiiiiiiiiind of inevitable.

So, to all you Judgy McJudgers who be hatin’ on them: Yes (duh), I have tan lines. Tan lines that don’t bother me, so they certainly shouldn’t bother you. Tan lines that I will gladly display for all the world to see, without the slightest hint of shame. Tan lines that I embrace.

Tan lines that are there for a reason, none of which include a secret agenda to ruin photo aesthetics or taint the beauty of humankind with my unevenly-bronzed monstrosity of a body.

No, for legit reasons. Reasonable reasons. Reasons that include the following:

1. I take my kids to the playground when it’s sunny. I don't know about you, but I’ve yet to find a playground that has the same lax rules as those fancy-ass (ha!) nudist beaches in Fronce. (You have to pronounce it that way to get the full snooty effect: Fronce.)

2. I’m a runner, and I push my kids in the jogging stroller a lot. I don’t make a habit of doing this naked:

It's your basic principle of cause-and-effect, folks. This...

…inevitably leads to this…

3. I’m not going to pay money to go lie in a bed that will evenly expose every inch of my skin to cancer.

4. I’d rather play with my kids in the pool than lay on a towel and flip over like a freaking omelet every time an egg timer pings (see what I did there?)

5. The ones around my eyes? I paid for Lasik a while back, and I am super vigilant about wearing sunglasses now because I care about my eyeballs. Also, I’d rather look like a raccoon than squint myself to a migraine. I’ve got kids for that.

6. The ones on my ankles? Well, it's easier to chase my kids around in tennis shoes than in flip flops.

7. That one on my wrist? It’s from my watch. I have toddlers, and if their napping/eating schedule gets thrown off, they devolve into miniature Tasmanian Devils. 

I could go on, but we'll end on 7, since it's the most magical number in the wizarding world, and I love me some Harry Potter.

Bottom (tan)line: I DON’T GIVE A POOP.

So, seriously, can we lay off the tan line jokes? I’ve kind of grown to love them. And when they fade in the winter, I might even miss them.

Because tan lines are sexy, yo. (And they’re a less permanent way of bringing SexyBack than the aforementioned Justin Timberlake tattoo.)


This message is brought to you by natural UV exposure and the author's slightly embarrassing obsession with Justin Timberlake's hit song, "SexyBack."