My daughter loves Snow White.  She wants a Snow White baby for Christmas.  In particular this one.  Long story short, she has the Belle baby from Beauty and the Beast.  Miss Thang doesn’t watch Beauty and the Beast.  She likes Snow White dammit.

Well guess what?  That Snow White is a pricey bitch.  $49.99 for a TODDLER doll?

What the fuck is this world coming too? Seriously?  As much as I’d like to make my little girls Christmas dreams…it’s ain’t happenin’.  Mama don’t have no money tree in the backyard.

Now, let’s move onto my favorite topic of the week.  Tiger-Douche Bag Woods.  What a goddamn tool.  Dude, your wife, she’s a fucking supermodel.  2., this isn’t 1930, dating a cocktail waitress (or 10) isn’t scandalous…unless you are married. C, let’s all say it together, celebrity.  You live a public life, and if you don’t want to live that life, then pack away those golf clubs buddy.

I love the term Tiger used.  Transgressions?  Excuse me?  I’d cut your “transgression” off and shove it directly up your fucking ass….how’s that for cozy?

It’s the holidays…everyone is happy, peachy keen.  Aside from the pricey son-of-a-bitchin’ Snow White doll, I’m done shopping.  Yes, miracles do happen to folks like me.  Now, if I could only get my ass to the post office.  Those packages aren’t going to mail themselves!

I’m a total closet fan of that 17 and Counting show on TLC.If I could figure out how to convince my kids not to kiss anyone until their wedding day – I’d do it in a heartbeat.

My fandom does not make this ANY less hilarious.

I found this image on SynthesisBlog – I don’t know if that’s who made it. Just trying to give credit where it’s due.

I’ve always wanted to use the phrase “bloody wanker” and thanks to this asshat on Wife Swap, I finally get that chance!

Now I’ve only watched Wife Swap a few times – enough to know it is not about the swinging lifestyle. If you haven’t seen it, the basic premise of the show is that two women trade places with one another for two weeks. Naturally, it had to be the women because, ya know, moms and wives are just so replaceable, right? We just lift right out.

Anyway, to make it interesting the show’s producers match up families that are like total opposites. The right wing fundies swap with the tree hugging hippies. The high powered career mom trades places with the vegan homeschooling mom.

This time they swapped the female halves of a snooty, overeducated, environmentalist couple from San Francisco and a chubby, fun-loving, blue collar Midwestern family.  Here’s a quick rundown on the families:

The McSnobbersons – Hubby (Stephen Fowler) is some kind of environmentalist and venture capitalist who was, up until this week, a board member with various “green” companies. He’s a pompous, arrogant, condescending, verbally abusive bloke. And if you couldn’t tell by my excessive use of Britspeak, he’s from England. Wife (Renee Stephens) is a “certified life coach and weight loss counselor”…or at least she was.

The All-Americans – Gayla and….um…her husband are your typical average American family. They live in Missouri, they love paintballing (which I’m not allowed to do anymore according to my friend and ex-fiance Sonny) and they are proud of both their family and their country. I’m sorry I don’t know more about them but this Stephen Fowler jerk’s obnoxious behavior just totally eclipsed the other family.

So that’s the foundation of the episode. But here’s why this particular show brought out the claws and fangs and death threats. I present you with The Stephen Fowler, King of the Wankers, Skool of Thawt. (Sorry, I live in the Midwest and according to Dickhead, I’m too uneducated to spell. Must be all of those cuss words I use rotting my brain cells.)

Thawt # 1 – People from the Midwest are stupid, lazy and uneducated.
Thawt #2 – America NEEDS stupid people because someone has to join the military and it may was well be them.
Thawt #3 – Children should not be allowed to have fun. They should be forced to learn several languages and attend fencing lessons if they ever hope to be anything other than scum.
Thawt #4 – Overweight people do not deserve to be treated with respect and dignity. Their only purpose in life is to give his wife, the weight loss “hypnotist”, lots of money.
Thawt #5 – It is perfectly acceptable to berate, abuse, and humiliate publicly anyone who is deemed to be inferior.

Well here’s a word that I’m sure Mr. Fowler will understand given his vast vocabulary and worldly ways: schadenfreude. It means taking pleasure in someone else’s suffering. And I think its funny as hell that he has had to resign from those non-profit organizations, that his wife has had to remove her website and blog, and that there is even a website called Stephen Fowler Sucks.

Because he does.

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Ok, so I’ve been sitting on the sidelines all, “Well if that chick with octuplets wants to have babies to make some money maybe that’s her talent.”

But for some reason, now that she HAS a website openly asking for donations, well, I plan on making an anonymous (ok, not so anonymous since I’m posting about it publicly) call to the IRS asking how this not a not-for-profit can get donations and ask about the tax ramifications, because man, I was okay with Oprah potentially paying her $2M but get the hell off my interwebz with your beggin’ strips ass.

Seriously. People are going to give her ass money that should be donating to the Red Cross or the March of Dimes or the autistic kid’s family that lives down the street that Mrs. Jones (or whoever) didn’t say hi to at the store the other day.

That she is going to be the excuse that lets people give her $5 via paypal to sleep better at night for not helping the local fundraiser they skipped out on or did not participate in. That just bugs me.

Where do you think it ends? Do you think she’s going to now spend the rest of her life trying to get money for free?

Even more important: Do you think she reads the messages people send? Or do you think she has someone that screens out the bitter, awful people like me who threaten to turn her in to the IRS?

Jen is an awful person and secretly wishes she could set up a website and sit on her ass and collect money all day. She actually works, albeit from home, so no one thinks she really does anything but blog all day.

Of the 800 television shows I would totally watch if I had a television but I don’t because it would rot my brain and the brains of my beautiful, prodigy-like children – The Mentalist is in the top ten of shows I would totally watch.

But if I did watch television and did love The Mentalist I would tell you that the title of this post is a quote from a recent episode. When I heard the quote I stopped cold and rewound it just a little. Just to, you know, hear it again.

Because if I get my justification (and maybe, just maybe *snort* validation) for my life from a cheesy CBS drama, you know, is that really so wrong?

Not that I’m as messy as other people I know. We have the normal preschool-caused tornado of toys that only get picked up once a day, and the dogs take care of the food messes that other families might have to clean.

But you know, I just like hearing that someone (however fictional) thinks there’s a link between my messy and my awesomeness between the sheets.

I’ll be even more excited about it next time my husband complains about me not picking up around the house. “But it makes me a better lover!” That should work like a charm, right? Right?

For even more entertainment, check out this CBS article titled: Slobs Make Better Lovers

What do you think? Do you agree? Do you think it’s just an excuse?

Most importantly…do you think the dude who plays Patrick Jane in The Mentalist is scary adorable in that vengeful-everything-amuses-me-even-though-i’m-bitter way?

Jen is a stay-at-home mom plaged with a whole bunch of morning sickness and very little patience. She has more work than time, and more love than angst. Barely. She blogs about completely inane crap at Beyond Mom. The picture in this post is from MorgueFile – it wasn’t taken in my house.

We had well over 100 entries in the ‘Vibrators Never Ask For Blowjobs’ giveway, and last night we got to announce the winner live on the first ever Bad Mommy Blogger radio show! We had such a great time, so be sure to take a listen, and subscribe in iTunes to get regular show updates.

Congratulations to Lee from MySentimentsExactLee for being the big winner in our drawing! At least three Bad Mommy Bloggers here are insanely jealous, but we wish you lots of..ummm..happiness with your prize!

Thank you also to Eden Fantasys for sponsoring such an amazing prize package! We hope that even if you didn’t win, you’ll head over and visit them for all your adult toy needs. They have a fantastic selection of erotic gifts, and what better way to treat yourself this Valentine’s Day?

Sara is a blogger in south Alabama who currently spends her time taking care of her trio of Satan’s spawn and plotting world domination through her personal blog, Suburban Oblivion.

I’m pathetic.

Seriously.

I’m a 38 year old married woman, mom of four devil spawn and for the last four days I have been obsessively lusting after Robert Pattinson. If I’m not watching video of him or drooling over his photos then I’m fantasizing about having hot sex with him.

Not that fantasizing about hot men is out of character for me. I’ve always had a voracious sex drive and fantasizing about sex with someone other than my husband is something I’ve been doing for years to keep sex from becoming boring.

I just close my eyes and drift off into my sexual La La Land with beautiful people. Nip/Tuck’s Julian McMahon is my favorite fantasy sex partner but when I’m feeling really naughty I invite Brad Pitt and Angelina Jolie into my fantasy world . Matthew McConaughey, Jude Law, and Catherine Zeta Jones also drop in for a romp every now and then.

Normally I have a healthy balance between my fantasy world and real life but my life has spun out of control ever since I picked up that damn Twilight book.

I didn’t want to read it.

I’m very rebellious about getting sucked into anything that’s popular. I prefer indie films, television shows that are dark and disturbing, I never wear designer labels unless the label is hidden and you will never catch me wearing what everyone else is wearing.

I know, it’s still snobby.

Please don’t judge me.

I’m confessing here.

I continued to brush off the rising hysteria over Twilight even after I found out that it was about a vampire love affair. I’ve had a thing for vampires ever since I read Interview with the Vampire but how could a story for teeny boppers possibly interest me? And all those Twilight moms? I pitied them. Get a life!

Now I owe them an apology.

I need a life.

I won the complete Twilight series back in December and my ten year old daughter was begging to read it but I didn’t want her to read it until I did and deemed it appropriate. Two weeks ago I put the book in my car so I could skim through it while waiting in car pool. Or at least this is my excuse.

I smugly didn’t get it at first but then I reached the part where Edward and Bella are in the meadow which I swear is filled with subliminal words that put a magical spell over the reader.

I was hooked.

I ended up finishing all four books in under a week. I was obsessed. I hardly ate or slept. I paid my cleaning lady to come every other day so my husband wouldn’t know how obsessed I was and I bribed my little monsters with Wii games so they wouldn’t brag to daddy about what a cool mom I am for letting them eat potato chips and ice cream all day. I was such a shitty mom (well, shittier than usual) and I was embarrassed that I got so sucked in.

Not that my husband would have cared. He was thrilled with the increase in my libido. The sexual tension between Edward and Bella had me sexually frustrated. If they weren’t going to do the deed then I would have to do it for them.

I was out of control.

Fortunately my husband was more than a willing partner and found biting my neck as sexually charged as I did. We hadn’t had sex more than once in a day since I don’t know when and sneaking around the kids to find a place to fuck made me feel like a teenager again.

I was so full of adventure that I gave my husband a blowjob in the men’s dressing room at Macy’s and I haven’t done that in a very long time. (I have a doctor’s note. Seriously.) One minute I was giving my opinion on the jeans he was trying on and the next moment I was sucking his dick.

He thought he had died and gone to heaven.

Unfortunately, my need to release sexual tension gave way to depression. Reading about Edward and Bella falling in love was exhilarating and depressing all at the same time.

I just couldn’t stop thinking about how I would never again experience falling in love again unless God forbid I get a divorce. There’s just nothing like that feeling of getting to know someone new in such a passionate way and recreating that with someone you’ve been with for many, many years just doesn’t seem possible.

Sure, my husband and I go on dates and weekend getaways to reconnect and recharge our marriage but that butterflies-in-your-stomach feeling will never return. There’s just too much history and familiarity and resentment.

Leave it to my sister who I adore to bring it home for me by telling me to just get over it. If we were constantly falling in love over and over with our spouse then nothing would ever get done. We wouldn’t be able to work or take care of the kids if our hearts were constantly aflutter.

I know she’s right.

I was a nurse working in a cardiothoracic ICU in one of the nations top ten hospitals when I was falling in love with my husband. It was a job that demanded every ounce of my concentration to not accidentally kill someone but all I could think about was when I would see him again. It was very frustrating and honestly I don’t want that feeling again. Too debilitating.

And so the epiphany.

My depression isn’t so much about never experiencing all encompassing love again but that there are two things I must face that were brought to the surface while reading Twilight and it’s evil successors.

1. I’m not as happy as I thought I was.

2. I’m getting old and I hate it.

Reading the Twilight series had become my beautiful escape from the hum drum life of a SAHM but once it was over I was left to examine my life and it left me wondering,

is this it?

I guess I thought I would do something greater with my life or that it would be more fun or that I would stay hopelessly in love with my husband until death do us part. Why does everything having to be so complicated? Why does marriage, parenting, and life have to be so hard?

Don’t even get me started on getting older. Or should I say, looking older. Not that I would go back to my teens or twenties unless of course I could go back with the wisdom I have now and redo some things.

What a shame that we have our young looking bodies for such a short time and no matter how much I mutilate my body with silicone and botox I’m still growing old.

Edward Cullen and The Old Broad

In Theaters NEVER

It didn’t help that I read an interview with Robert Pattinson where he was asked if his newfound fame was getting him more dates and he commented that there really isn’t anyone to date because his fans are either under 16 or older than 35.

Ouch, that hurt.

Fucker.

I like to think that I’m still more than capable of rocking his 22 year old world.

Bring it on, Rob.

Not that I’m begging.

Okay, I’m begging. This old woman needs some excitement in her life.

Pathetic.

My sister confirms my patheticism every time she can’t get a hold of me and she (accurately) assumes that I’m Googling and oogling Robert Pattinson by sending me a YOU NEED SERIOUS FUCKING HELP! instant message. And when that doesn’t get my attention she sends me:

Just thinking about how much I want to toss your salad.

Love,
Rob

That gets my attention but not in the way she hoped. But this post isn’t about my questionable mental health or being disenchanted with love, marriage, and motherhood.

It’s about my pathetic desire to fuck Robert Pattinson.

Or just kiss him passionately.

Or give him a blowjob in the dressing room at Macy’s.

Or toss HIS salad.

I’m not picky.

I didn’t expect to lust over Rob (I figure we are on a first name basis now that I’ve dedicated an entire post to him).

Sure, he’s beautiful but prior to seeing the Twilight film I just couldn’t see him as the Edward Cullen I pictured in my mind and my obsessive personality just couldn’t wait until March for the DVD release.

Luckily I know people in high places and was able to get a copy of the film from a friend. I didn’t ask if it was legal or not because I just HAD to see the film and I’m sure you can tell by this post that my moral code is a bit tainted.

Rob proved me wrong although I don’t know how he refrained from his nervous habit of running his hands through his beautiful hair. He captured Edward just as I imagined him and of course I fell in love with the pretty boy playing him. What’s not to love about a gorgeous man who wants to know what your thinking?

I also have an awe and appreciation for how actors make a character believable. My oldest daughter does theater and I know how much goes into getting into character and doing it well.

And Rob did it well.

I’m proud of him in a motherly sort of way which just makes this all seem a bit creepy.

So that’s my semi-grownup explanation for lusting after a 22 year old boy who will never give me the time of day.

Don’t judge me.

You know I’m not the only married woman putting photos of Rob Pattinson on her desktop and blaming it on her tween daughter.

Now ‘fess up!

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Video post! Yay!

Art by Yukiko Adachi

Have you seen the photos of Miley Cyrus making faces and Michael Phelps smoking pot?

Here’s what I think about the whole thing:

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I have been trying to figure out for eight years now why the people that can’t sing keep auditioning for American Idol.

I mean, seriously, who is telling these people they sing well enough to compete with a STADIUM full of other people?

They watch the show, they know what kind of voices they’re looking for, they still go and wait hours and hours and hours to be shitcanned with a public verbal thrashing. On national television.

Sure there is the amazing marketing campaign including posters like the one over there that show a waitress becoming a superstar singer in shadow. It’s great marketing.

But does that mean me, with my “good for lullabies” voice (that’s what I call it) should really go up against thousands of sixteen year olds for my shot at a recording contract?

No. I shouldn’t. Because I’m. Not. Good. Enough.

Now, if I were deluded enough to think I was good enough I could see how I could be screwed.

I just asked my husband and he said, “Based on how dynamic and demanding they are I don’t think your voice is strong enough or well-trained enough.”

So maybe I wouldn’t be one of the losers telling the camera that all my friends and family think my voice is awesome when it’s really great for singing to my kids.

But yeah, do THAT many people in America have shitty friends that will back them up even when they are warbling and moaning their way straight to the shame reel? It seems so.

The one surprise was last night’s contestant Rose Flack

She’s the crazy-awkward totally awesome “contestant I’d most like to be” for this season. She has the weirdest voice I’ve ever heard, but is strangely familiar. I could picture someone listening to it.

Did I mention I want to, you know, just be her? If not, I’d settle for weighing 85lbs and having awesomely bleached and dreadlocked hair.

That’s not too much to ask for, right?

Image by minifig via Flickr

Yes, Britney Spears has launched another auditory assault on the world, inflicting her synthesized heavy breathing upon our poor defenseless ears.

Before I go any further, I have to apologize in advance to my friend Amber who is absolutely obsessed with Britney. Sorry, sweets, I know ya love her and I know us crazy people are supposed to stick together but I can only take so much. I got my own crazy to deal with.

How long is it going to take before people realize the girl can’t sing? She whines. She moans. I think one of her CDs is actually the soundtrack for a Vivid Video production. (I’ll save you the trouble of  Googling it…they make p0rn.)

I don’t think its her talent the record companies and radio stations are banking on. I think its her notoriety. She’s like that bad car accident on the highway that you just can’t NOT look at to see just how bad it is.

Now, as Amber pointed out, the rest of us don’t have our breakdowns broadcast to the entire world. So I can spare some sympathy for Brit there. But when you’ve got the money to afford the best treatment available and you can take time off from “work” and you have someone to watch the kids for you while you spend 90 days at a spa treatment facility, my sympathy is only going to go so far.

And those poor kids. Seriously, who knew K-Fed would end up looking like Father of the Year? Most moms I know would quickly pull their head out of their ass the minute the Judge told them they couldn’t see their kids. But oh no, she acted like it was a relief. After all, not having the kids around meant she had more time to hit the clubs with Paris and Lindsay and show the world her hoo-hoo.

Britney, I’ve got some advice for you. First, buy some new clothes. You’re a mother, not a Bratz doll. Second, quit acting like a victim and whining about how unfair it is that Daddy runs the show now. There are consequences to repeated breakdowns. Face them. And finally, most of all, please for fuck’s sake stop trying to sing. It hurts my psyche.

*Yes, I see the irony in talking about how sick I am of hearing about her. But where would this world be without irony?