In a comment twice as silly as Marie-Antoinette's plea to "let them eat cake" Kelly Osbourne recently launched a campaign for The Prince's Trust charity by joining with - who else - St. Tropez fake tanning lotion to impart an important message: "Homeless people would feel so much better if they got a spray tan."
Please check out the commercial. It is hilarious.
God bless you Kelly! She says,
"They take young people off the streets and give them a direction. Did I say a direction, I meant they give them a spray tan session absolutely free and once they've applied it they feel a million times better!"
And then we learn about something called a skin finishing expert.
"Hello I'm Fiona Lockwood and I'm a skin finishing expert for St. Tropez." What is that? Who the heck knows, but I am going to use this 'job description' at parties when people ask me what I do. Fiona says, "I've been privileged to work with Kelly on Dancing For the Stars and have loved seeing the most amazing transformation from ugly ducking to swan in her."
Where can I hire someone like this? Is there an agency called Dial a Sycophant? If not I need to start one.
Over to Kelly. "I never appreciated the benefits of a spray tan. And to homeless people I would say, please do yourself a favour and get a spray tan. You might think you know, I'm not like Kelly and I'm not on Dancing on the Stars, I'm just a homeless teenager on the street taking crack but I say hang on, this is about your self esteem here, and being sprayed with brown goo will make you feel like a million bucks. Go book a session with a skin conditioning expert now. You will feel so much better I swear!"
Although Kelly was obviously sincere about her beliefs here (that or just brain dead, the jury is still out) - unsurprisingly parents went ballistic over the campaign saying:
"Telling impressionable young girls that having a spray tan and appearing on a reality TV show is the way to make yourself feel better is about as far off from my understanding of self-esteem as you can get," says Abi Moore of PinkStinks, a group set up by two mothers worried about the impact of marketing on girls.
So now the campaign has been binned. St. Tropez will still donate $15 for every $75 bottle sold, but The Prince's Trust confirmed to the Daily Mail last night that it is no longer supporting the campaign.
Poor Kelly! In a post on her Twitter.com page, she writes, "Heart broken over how the Pinkstinks stops money from going to a charity that really needs it!"
And she also claims the fiasco has knocked her own confidence, adding: "My self esteem has gone down the toilet. Just when you think you are doing something good someone comes along to tell you your (sic) not!
So what next for Kelly? Maybe a series of fake suicides via twitter. We can only watch and wait.
So is it Kelly or Gordo who made the biggest cock up this week? I think Gordo was well within his rights to call that Duffy woman a 'bigot'. She did say "All these Eastern Europeans, where are they flocking from?" did she not? He wasn't even particularly nasty about her. No his problem was apologizing about it afterwards and going round with a bunch of flowers so he came across as wetter than a baby's nappy. Get a backbone Gordo please!
Oh and a big thanks to my fellow Austrian MetropolitanMum for drawing my attention to Kelly's plight.
Friday, April 30, 2010
Monday, April 19, 2010
It is wierd having daughters because they ape your behavior like you know, you actually know what you are doing or have a clue what you are talking about! I have two girls, Scarlett 9, Sausage 6, and while I enjoy the fact that they hero worship me and know that in a few years they'll avoid me like the plague it is still odd, like having a stalker or something. They are like an echo of me and it is freaky. I have (belatedly) realized that they actually believe what comes out of the horse's mouth (me being the horse).
Like I'll be half dead hanging over my cup of coffee and Scarlett will say "Well I just think George Bush is terrible. I mean he killed millions of people."
Me, "Who told you that?"
"Well you did. He killed them in the Iraq War."
"Oh, I didn't mean he throttled them all personally just that there were many casualties of a war he started out of greed, mainly amongst Iraqis."
So the thing is they will repeat what you say but usually get the wrong end of the stick which means I'm trying (and failing) to watch my mouth.
Luckily Sausage has no interest in politics. She is really a small Paris Hilton. She is always trying to put on makeup and she wants "a cellphone next year." And she is never without a handbag containing lipgloss and eyeshadows or one of those toy poodles in a bag.
After the trip to New York where we heard the book on tape about menstruation we have had quite a lot of chats about periods. Now Sausage is 'worried' about starting her period. "Mummy does it hurt?" was asked a few times until finally I said,
"Well yes, the cramps hurt."
"What are cramps?"
"Well do you remember when you ate six Easter Eggs and your tummy hurt? Well they're a bit like that."
Then later there was a discussion about panty pads. That was prompted by an event where Sausage and Scarlett stuck panty pads on the soles of their feet, soaped up the wooden floor and scrubbed it by skating on it. And while I was very pleased they'd cleaned the floor I also pointed out that "panty pads go in your pants." Sausage wasn't that clear though - she wanted to know "You know when you stick them on your wee wee, how do you get them off. Doesn't it hurt?" I explained that panty pads were not DIY bikini waxing kits and that they go in your knickers and not directly on your 'wee wee.' I'm sure if you have had girls you've had similarly hilarious exchanges.
Sausage seems determined to be my new BFF - and seems to be willing to do anything for me - like in that dreadful program with Paris Hilton where she looks for a new British BFF. Some sycophantic guy called Sam won who cooked Paris some 'Samuel's Home Made Fairy Fag Cakes' and won her heart when he said "Well you know I'd do anything for you, even if it would mean shoplifting and ending up in jail." Bless his cotton socks. I know Sausage should definitely not be watching that program.
How I mocked Paris and yet for the first time in my life I have a tiny mini-me BFF. Sausage insists on coming to the nail salon with me and sitting in one of the massage chairs and while my nails are drying I'm like "Sausage, can you get my cell out of my bag and dial a number for me because I don't want to smudge my nails." What can I say having a personal assistant/BFF is heaven. I hear you Paris!!
Except you know what it's really hard being a role model. Like we found a ten dollar note in the bathroom of the nail salon yesterday and I was like I knew I had to pick it up but then how to explain to her that "stealing is wrong." What did I do? Well I failed. I said, "Stealing objects is wrong but if money happens to be lying about then don't hesitate to pocket it."
Don't worry she is not totally exploited. Sausage is quite demanding too. Like she told me today "I want you to prepare a picnic for today, boiled eggs, sausages and fairy cakes." So excuse me I'm off to boil an egg ...
Do you find that your kids mindlessly parrot you and do everything you do and do you feel like this is great or just .... incredibly wierd?
Friday, April 09, 2010
Even though I know it's all the rage to have a Staycation we decided to buck the trend, just bundle the kids into the car and head off into the great blue yonder! And while it wasn't remotely relaxing and not really fun in the way say that drinking a quart of tequila rolling around in cream and listening to the Tijuana Brass is fun well it was still fun. Just good clean family fun.
We've now come back from our trip to New York State (White Plains, Tarry Town, Sleepy Hollow - alas no sighting of the headless horseman) and can look back and it and smile while at the time it drove me demented. We went mainly to visit some friends who'd had a baby but ended up staying in the Ritz in White Plains although in hindsight I wonder what my husband was thinking.
There were a few issues with the kids at the hotel:
Emma and John wondered whether this really was the family suite or the Swingers Convention Room?
1. The automated light and curtain opening system
The kids fiddled with that so that the curtains flew open and closed like haunted drapes until we almost went mad. Ditto flashing dimmer lights.
2. The mini bar
We told the chocolate addict, the six year old aka Sausage that she was on no account to eat the chocolate in the mini bar or there would be consequences. She got round that by having her fun anyway, stealing the key to the mini bar and hiding it so we all had to search for it for hours. Ho hum.
3. Doors to other rooms
The kids were yanking on the door which was locked but went through to the next room. I was informed by hotel staff that 'someone was trying to break through to the next room and the patrons had complained.' I was just sad the kids hadn't managed to bury their way next door so we could have had five minutes shut eye.
As luck would have it the Easter bunny did leave some easter eggs for the kids but they are now so sophisticated and Paris Hilton like that they said "Oh I thought those were just a complimentary gift from the hotel."
There was another small problem on the drive up:
The Tampon Themed Book on Tape
The kids were mesmerized for the five hour journey by a book called Are You There God It's Me Margaret? For those of you unfamiliar with this Judy Blume tome it is about a group of hysterical twelve year old girls who form a society called the Pre Teen Sensations who meet regularly to talk about the as yet unfulfilled dream of starting their periods while doing mass freak outs about the flatness of their chests. They also spend a lot of time doing bust exercises while screeching "I Must I Must I Must Increase My Bust." After the fifth bout of excitement when a girl screamed from a closed toilet stall "I got it! I got my period! Lucy! Can you get me a pad from the machine?" I felt my husband lose the will to live.
The book also left me with an awkward question. Sausage kept asking "Mummy what's menstruation?"
Me: "Um I'll tell you later. Look I think I see a McDonalds. Do you want to stop for a milk shake?"
On the upside, no one got car sick and if the holiday taught me anything it is that I need to patent the 'Silent Family Roadster' a car that is like a taxi - with a soundproof pane between parents and kids. Some of you might quibble about whether the kids would suffocate to which I would answer no, because their windows would be cranked open an inch.
A brilliant invention I'm sure you'll agree. Any other tales of toe curling holiday hell you'd like to share? Or did you opt for the Staycation over Easter?
Tuesday, April 06, 2010
2. The now defunct Spinning Spinsters was started in 1998 (believe it or not I had quite a cult following amongst sheep fanciers) and once I started hanging around the interweb I realized that not everyone wore long skirts and bonnets. I also realized that there were people out there whose lives didn't revolve around sheep shearing and spinning wheels. To cut a long story short I discovered man made fibres and that sweaters could be manufactured in under four months via factories. Throwing my spinning wheel in the nearest millpond I embraced this new world fully realizing I had much to learn. Now bonnetless and wearing my new pink nylon shell suit I was half way there. After a lot of studying the interweb I realized the famous had one thing in common: they were wrinkle free. It wasn't long before my guru Paris Hilton made me realize that I needed urgent plastic surgery. Before long I had full blown Narcissistic Personality Disorder.
3. There was no other option, I had extensive plastic surgery including a Heidi Montag style waist cinch and back scoop until I was whittled away to resemble a twig or at least a tree root. At that point - 2006 - I launched my blog Mommy Has a Headache. The rest is history. Here's more dirt if you want it:
4. I am a bit of a fag hag (okay no surprise there)
5. I am obsessed with babies
6. I am a pretty good illustrator/cartoonist.
7. Like Wallace I am crackers about cheese and can be very territorial about my aged cheddar.
So now it is up to me to pass this on to seven of my blogging chums. Ladies if you accept the challenge, you should:
Copy the award to your blog
Insert a link to the person who nominated you (i.e. me!)
Tell us seven things about yourself that you haven’t told us before
Nominate seven other bloggers for the award
Link to their blogs
Tell the nominees about their award
So my seven super nominees are Dulwich Divorcee, A Modern Mother, Notes From Lapland, Hot Cross Mum, Crunchie Mummy, Dulwich Mum and Vegemitevix.
Thursday, April 01, 2010
I read recently in Oprah Magazine (I swear on my honor I don't buy it, it was in the doctor's waiting room) that if you want something hard enough and visualize it somehow it will happen. I initially thought this was bollocks, but then I remembered a time when this really did happen for me. It was back when I was 28 and I had entered a strange broody stage where I was crying every time I saw a baby. I said to my mum, "I want to have a baby sooo baaaad," and she said, "Yes dear, but first you need to find a boyfriend." I thought, Oh yeah, she has a good point. Well, I did not exactly look for a boyfriend but just asked everyone I met if they wanted to have a baby with me (by that I mean only the males). Most of them were keen on the sex but not necessarily the baby part until on 29th December, while I was still in the grip of my white hot baby fever I met my (now) husband. I was not really sure if he wanted to have a baby since he was twenty at the time. But then it became clear, very clear that he was to be a baby daddy on New Year's Eve.
Don't ask me why my mother was at a New Year's Eve party with me (it's a long story), suffice to say she brought some little lead pellets with her in case she had to load her gun. No, really, she brought the pellets which are probably banned in the US because they are poisonous because we were to play a German New Years Eve game at the party called Bleigiessen. You put a lead pellet into a spoon and hold it over the flame of a candle. Once the lead has melted you pour it into the water and the lead forms a shape. After you pull out the lead you interpret its meaning. There are dozens of interpretations including:
heart - falling in love
hat - good news is coming your way
cross - death
cake - you will soon have an opportunity for celebration
cow - healing
But in my case when I dropped the lead, I did not have to look into any interpretation book. I kid you not, the lead had formed into a very anatomically correct penis with lots of sperm droplets coming out. Well what else could it mean? Fertility. Babies. Babies. Babies. It was spooky.
Was this a case of mind control causing molten lead to form itself into penis patterns? Of course it was. And three months later I was - what else - up the duff!
No this is not the lead pouring of a penis I made, but it gives you an idea of what the lead looks like after it has been poured into the water
And what about you? Have you ever wanted something badly which suddenly appeared?
Also if you are mad for my blog and I know you are then please don't forget to nominate and vote for it in the MAD Awards (click button above)! They are the Mummy and Daddy Blog Awards. And do drop me a line if you want me to vote for your blog too.
This post was inspired by a prompt at Sleep Is For the Weak.