POLE THERAPY

I've been a bit out of sorts this weekend. Actually, for a few weeks now.  I thought it was all the snow we've been having, or even a case of Seasonal Affective Disorder.  I started to research how I could self medicate myself with light therapy bulbs, but then I figured it out the real culprit.   I've been away from the pole too long and I really, really miss it. I took a session off from the studio and I haven't been to class since December. I usually take every December 8-week session off because it's just too hectic during the holidays and I would miss too many classes.   I finally went back to the studio this week and I decided the only way I was going to snap out of my funk was to spend more time there.  So I'm going today and tomorrow for back to back 2 hours sessions.  This is the second pair of stripper shoes that I ever purchased. I think I already told you that Wembley chewed the lucite platform of my first pair beyond recognition but I soon replaced them with the pair pictured above. You probably won't believe me, but they are incredibly comfortable and I love the lucite and silver straps and how they make me 6 inches taller and let's not even talk about how they make me walk with ATT-I-TUDE

So in a few hours, I will be in the pitch black studio that has no mirrors in the room. As a dancer, you get to be really in touch with senses that you normally might take for granted. Touch becomes your number one sense as you feel and touch all taciturn qualities in the room - whether it's the cushy, smooshy rubber of the yoga mat, the cold, hard, smooth pole, the warm, hardwood of the floor or the warm, fleshy bodies of fellow dancers that you might crash into in the dark while doing rocking cats, reverse cat pounces, brain massages and other feline moves.  Let me tell you, it is sumptious and sublime to stop, slow down and feel your breath.  Life is too fast, and we live each day not noticing vital qualities that make up our existence.  The first hour of poleclass is pilates on the mat, in the dark, with your eyes closed.  Its the most delicious form of exercise, because you kind of get to snooze and doze off when you feel like it.  Lazy girl's excercise.  The second hour of class is on the pole and I really wouldn't recommend taking a nap if you're inverted 10 feet in the air by your ankle - it's probably a good idea to pay attention during this part of class.

If you are a guy reading this, you are probably thinking that poledancing is hot and sexy because you are probably focused on the bits and pieces of the dancer - you know, the ass, the boobs, the legs, and dare I say it but, the coochie coo. But if you're a girl and especially if you are a poledancer, its not about any that at all. It is about the movement and how it makes the dancer feel.. How it empowers her. How it makes her feel confident and strong. I studied quite a bit of art history in my day and I know all about the object of the male gaze. There are paintings that explain this concept well.  Here are some of the most popularized images in art where erotic content stirs emotions in the spectator and where the spectator plays the role of the voyeur.  This all brings me back to my belief that pole dancing should be recognized as an art - why does it carry such a stigma?  If you were standing at the Louvre or the Prado or the Uffizzi Gallery looking at a painting by Titian, Bronzino, Manet or Lucas Cranach the Elder or a sculpture by Canova or the Venus de Milo, I doubt very much that you might feel judgement or perversion. 

I'm definitely a better mamagirl, a better wifey and a better citizen when I go regularly to class. For me, poleclass is a combination between exercise, girl's night out, professional psychiatric therapy, music therapy, meditation and chemical medication. It makes me really, really happy. I hope I never stop.

Pleaser, Kiss lucite and silver glitter 6" platform shoe

HOT SNOWGURL

Today in the NYC Metro area and surrounding boroughs, we got clobbered with another mega-snowstorm.  It's been a nightmare dealing with all the problems associated with ANOTHER blizzard this season.  The first snow fall is always romantic, beautiful, and obviously, filled with so much fun for the kids.  But it loses its cache after the sixth or seventh snowfall of the season.  I mean, how much shovelling can you happily do?

The power has been in and out in Westchester.  I have some serious damage to the tall hedge in the front of my house.  I have an enormous tree limb that is dangling from a treetop over my car which we can't unbury from the snow.  If it falls before we can get the car unburied, it will probably smash the roof in.  School is closed and the kids are swinging from chandeliers at home getting into all sorts of trouble.  This morning, I lost Wembley outside - its not easy to find a white dog in 15" of snow.  My office has been calling with expectations that business should carry on today as normal.   Today has basically been a shit-show and I'm sure it's difficult and hard for everyone dealing with the frustrations of being thrown a curve ball. 

So what does the Mamagirl do when she's handed some lemons?  She makes Mamagirl Lemonade and tries to make the best out of a shitshow situation.  I took a break from the shoveling and decided to make a snowman.  But then I got to thinking --why does every snowman have to be a snowMAN?  Why doesn't anyone ever make a SnowGURL?  So I decided, if I was going to have a snowperson on my front lawn, she was going to be hot, sexy, empowering, smart, original, capable and she was going to rock all the qualities that I think every gurl should have.  So here she is - what do you think of her?

The very, very best part of having her on my front lawn is that she is giving so much joy to everyone who passes by - whether it's a fire engine filled with firemen en route to an emergency, a snowplower dude who has been on the roads helping people since 4am  or neighbors who are miserably trying to shovel out from under this snowmegathon.  Every car that passes by has taken to honking and tooting their horn as they pass by my house.  She is brightening everyone's day, particularly mine. 

You go, snowGURL!

Ann Taylor black leather boots (very, very old ones)

SLEEPING BEAUTY

I am a snoring magnet. It seems that everyone around me and everyone in my life is a snorer. I need a snoring chamber in my house. I would love to be able to get up in the middle of an interrupted sleepless night and transfer myself into a girly pink bedroom with a plushy white down bed and fall into a deep heavenly sleep. Instead, my house is so tiny that in all the bedrooms, there is usually a snoring boy. If I stumble downstairs, there is usually a fat snoring dog on a couch. In my household, everyone seems really happy in the middle of the night except for the Mamagirl.

According to the British Snoring and Sleep Apnoea Association, a person can lose up to two years of sleep by lying awake at night and listening to a fellow bedmate snore. TWO YEARS! In my case, if I multiply the snorers in my household, I’m sure I’m going to lose at least 5 years of sleep in my lifetime. That’s a lot of beauty sleep I’m missing out on. I’ve conducted some research to try and find a remedy that would help stop the seismic decibal levels in my house at night. I’ve thought of nose strips that hold the airway open. I’ve considered trying dental devices that reposition the jaw. But a cheap and impulsive fix in my book is a good swing of my arm into the face or chest of the offender. That usually works and makes me feel a lot better.

Burts Bees plushy terrycloth slippers

CRYSTAL KNOCKS MY (BOWER)SOX OFF

Contrary to what you may think, I don’t always wear spindly heels. In fact, I am a huge fan of the wedge. As long as they are high, give ‘em to me and I will rock them. I gravitate towards shoes that tend to be insensible, so it’s normal for me to wear open toed shoes in the middle of the blustery, cold snowy winter or on a raw, wet rainy day. But there are times when I come to my senses and put on a pair of socks or tights. Sometimes, after dragging my toes in the pole studio and my pedicure gets chipped, I will throw on a pair of socks to cover up the imperfections. Besides, it’s kinda hip now to be rocking knees socks with open toed shoes. These black wicker wedged sandals paired with these Pippi Longstocking striped socks definitely have a little piece of my heart.

Last night, I was watching American Idol and I have a clear favorite of who I’d like to see win Season 9. Crystal Bowersox just knocks my socks off. I think this mamagirl is the just about the coolest rocker chick ever. First off, she’s a mamagirl and rocks a tattoo of her son’s name on her back. I love how the camera has captured the juxtaposition of a dreadlocked, chin pierced, tattooed girl strumming on her acoustic guitar simultaneously blowing on that harmonica, while sweetly giving a bottle to her baby. That mamagirl can multi-task like none other.

She is a 24 year old single mom from Chicago. When Jackis goes away on a trip and I am left with the kids as a temporary single mom, I struggle. It’s hard juggling kids all by yourself and my hat goes off to every single parent out there. I can’t imagine how hard it must be to not have the support of a partner sharing the responsibilities of daily life. What I love so much about Crystal is that she seems genuinely interested in promoting herself in a selfless way – to better provide for her son – than she is in searching for fame. Just listen to her http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=ZB2HD7CnUI8 Crystal is an artist. When she plays her music and sings from her soul, you can see that she is introspective and gets lost in her art. She is not performing to the crowd for anyone’s entertainment necessarily. You can tell that she really feels it.

When I come back in my next life, I want pipes like Crystal’s and Janis’. I hope she goes all the way. Go mamagirl Crystal!

ASH black wicker wedge sandals

FLIPPING THE BIRD

I must say, I really do not like birds. I will even go as far as to say that I’m afraid of them. But I doooooo love these shoes!! I’m not sure if it’s the color of a peacock that I love or the regal crowns on their head. There is something so luscious about the teal and the purple and the royal green of a gorgeous peacock and that eye motif in the feathers is really mesmerizing. I saw these shoes recently on sale in a store and there was no question that I had to have them. There is nothing practical about them, they don’t match anything I have (that’s OK because I’m not a fan of matchy-matchy stuff) but they were cawing my name and when the salesgirl told me they were on sale, I knew I just had to have them. Ca-ching.

I am new to this blogging world and I’ve had some really wonderful friends who have been mentoring and encouraging me throughout the process. My greatest supporter told me that I just had to get onto Twitter and get Mamagirl’s name and shtick out there. But, I was a Facebook Gurl and I really knew nothing of the world of Twitter. I mean, what were all those abbreviations, signs and codes supposed to mean? She soon sent me Mashable’s website which included the guide on social networking. Very soon afterwards, I became interested in Pete Cashmore – I mean, have you seen his picture? He’s pretty hot - who wouldn’t want to get to know him better? So I signed up to be one of his almost 2 million followers. I read his bio and one thing stuck out in my mind and affirmed that I had to follow him beyond his good looks - HE IS AFRAID OF GEESE. I’m not making this shit up, go ahead and check him out http://www.mashable.com/ It’s one of the foremost things that he seems to want everyone to know about him. And it made me want to know WHY. Because I, too, am deathly afraid of geese. I want to know his story why, but in the meantime, let me tell you MY story.

I am a runner. I love to run outdoors but not on a treadmill. I happen to live very close to a beautiful wildlife preserve in Westchester county, New York that boasts trails, grass, trees, lakes and incredible wildlife. I can run forever when I run the Bronx River paths. I go there to escape from the responsibilities of being a wife and mother. It is so peaceful. Nobody is asking me “Mamagirl, I’m hungry can I have a snack” or “Mamagirl, can I have a playdate” or “Mamagirl, I’m bored, what can I do” or “Mamagirl, it’s not fair…” or “Where is the remote” or “Where are the car keys” or “Where are my shoes” or “Where is the this or the that” (I really, really dislike the “where” questions that constantly nag my existence)… This is when and where I learned to run distances because there were times that I wasn’t sure that I wanted to go back home – I mean, every mamagirl out there will attest to my statement when I say that it’s really hard when everybody wants a piece of you. Anyway, that’s a whole other posting….let me get back to the birds.

I can run in frigid cold. I can run in the rain. I can run in 90 degree weather. I just really enjoy being outside. Most of my runs take place in the early morning hours, but this past spring, I went on an unusual run in the late afternoon. It was April and the baby animals had been recently born and were out with their mamagirls. Now, you may have seen my spinning post or my Laundrette post, so you will not be surprised when I tell you how much I like music so of course I run with my iPod. On this particular April afternoon, it was slightly misty as I ran along the path circumventing a large lake. Boom Boom Pow was pounding through my eardrums and I was in another world, just revelling in the music and the concentrating on the path (it’s great running on the paths because I can tune out and don’t have to worry about cars or traffic). I like that boom boom pow Them chickens jackin my style They try to copy my swagger I’m on that next…HOLY SHIT, WHAT THE HELL IS COMING OUT OF MY PERIPHERAL VISION?!!!! I didn’t see it full on, I didn’t hear it but I felt the vicious speed and I had a bad, bad feeling that I was about to be wronged. I turned my head and I saw, what I thought was a feathered dinosaur charging me from about 25 feet away. Her wingspan was about 6 feet wide, she was so fast and she was intent on taking me down. OMG, what the fuck had I done to her?? I was about to meet my maker, there was no question in my mind. I looked beyond her and then understood that she was protecting her young and she thought that I was threatening her offspring by running by. I know I wasn’t near her at all and any logical mind would know that I was not going to hurt her. But in retrospect, I understand what happened. Because I have been a new mom too. I have been sleep deprived. I have been sapped of my energy. Hey, I probably took the heads off of many too when I was post-partum, so I really shouldn’t have been surprised that this bird bitch wanted to kill me.

So what did I do? You can bet your ass I ran. Well, first I screamed. But that went horribly wrong. I opened my mouth and as I was running as fast as I could and screaming at the top of my lungs, I started to collect hundreds of nasty lake gnats in my mouths. YUCK, so gross, ewwwwww!! And then I stumbled and fumbled and fell on my stomach. All I could think was that this bird bitch was going to jump on my back and start pecking me to death. I did not want to die this way and although I could see her very close, somehow, I managed to get up. I started to run in the other direction, still screaming at the top of my lungs. I could see her change direction and start to charge me from the other direction. This bird bitch was not giving up; she was definitely going to peck my eyeballs out. And can you believe it…but I fell AGAIN on my face. I was so scared and my mind was racing with thoughts that I was going to die mixed with what my next move should be. I fumbled to my feet and considered jumping in the lake to swim away from her, but I was pretty sure that she was a fucking bird and would be able to out swim me. So I stopped running. I stopped screaming. I stopped. She stopped. We looked each other in the eye and checked each other out. And then slowly, we backed away from each other, one step at a time. I really don’t know why she let me off the hook. Maybe she thought she should get back to tending her bird bitch babies. Maybe she recognized that I was a mamagirl and maybe she gave me the gift to live and to go home to my own babies. Whatever her reason for pardoning me were, I walked away, scared, scraped, dirty, crying and with a mouthful of gnats. There really is something to be said on a maternal instinct to protect ones’ young. I am grateful that she let me live, but as a result, I really, really hate and am afraid of birds. Especially bird bitches guarding their young.

So Pete Cashmore, if you are reading this, I hope you will start to follow ME. And I’d like to know why you are also afraid of geese. Because the only legitimate story scarier than mine, in my mind, is if you were a passenger on US Airways 1549 – taken down by those damn geese.


Martinez Valero, teal satin and peacock feathered sandal

YOU SPIN ME RIGHT ROUND BABY

Yesterday, I finally gave into the long overdue purchase of a pair of spinning shoes.  I questioned a few of my spinning friends and wondered if it was really worth the purchase over wearing an old pair of running shoes.  The answer, unanimously, was to go for it and lay down the buck.  So off I went on a field trip to the cycling store.  Now, I am a big fan of exercising and I feel that a smart purchase is always worthwhile, but to be honest, I would much prefer to skimp on the price of a functional shoe versus a really gorgeous, unsensible shoe.   Which is why I went straight to the salesrack and questioned the cheaper cycling shoes "why are the chocolate and baby blue stitched shoes less expensive than their black and silver counterparts?"  Joey, the salesman explained that they were not the desireable color palate that most cyclists prefered and the last chocolate/blue pair just weren't moving off the rack.  When I discovered that this last pair was magically my size, I concluded that cyclists must be fashionably challenged because duh, don't they know that mahogany is a great, rich hue and often times dubbed the new black?  It was a no-brainer and I walked them over to the cash register for a little ca-ching ca-ching.

I've mentioned to you before that I attend a Saturday morning spin class, but I don't think I've exhaulted how great it is and how I wake up 26 hours in advance (ie Friday at 6am) to reserve a bike for the class.  Typically, by 6:03am on Friday, this 8am Saturday class fills up.  It's a high demand, very popular class and I will tell you that it is well worth losing beauty sleep over (not that sleep helps a hag of my age anymore).  Yes, I get a great workout.  Yes, I sweat.  Yes, I can eat carbs - guilt free - all day long on Saturday after I've taken this class.  But the real reason why I love this class so much is that at 8am on a Saturday morning, I feel like it is 3am in a taproom with about 20 beers in me and having the time of my life.  Saturday morning spin class is one big par-tay!

First off, the music is amazing.  The playlists always include the kind of songs where you sing along at the top of your lungs in spontaneous karyoke performances.   The music just makes you feel giddy and so good.  Secondly, the instructor Tripp is so inspiring.  He is always happy, energetic and incredibly honored to be transporting the members of the class into another zone.  He definitely knows the techniques of the bike and how to safely guide the students through an efficient workout.  But more than that, he's insanely fun.  He spontaneously jumps off his bike and dances and grooves without any inhibitions through the aisles of the bikes.  Next, he races around the perimeter of the room beating the walls like a Blue Man Group dude smacking the bongos.  He is like a gospel preacher and sings back the lyrics of the song in affirmation. 

Every once in a while, the class gets treated to some extra performances other than Tripp's.  Last week, a fiery redheaded biker chick dismounted and gave us a full on rendition of how to do Grease's Hand Jive dance when the song came on.  I mean, this girl gave Cha Cha and Danny Zuko a run for their money.  Immediately afterwards, John Cougar Mellencamp's Jack and Diane came on.  Great song.  Even greater when the biker dude in the front row with the Aunt Jemima doo-rag on his head broke out into playing the air drums during the drum sequence.  He was rolling on the snare, accenting on the high hats and crashing down on the cymbals - all the while cycling in the saddle with his fellow biker classmates whooping him on.  Sometimes, the lady who runs the healthfood cafe downstairs comes up to say hi to the crowd and goes into a surfer girl dance to RunAround Sue.  But today, one of the girls who works at the front desk came upstairs to tell the class that a cop was outside patrolling the meters and if anyone needed her to fill the meters with more money, she'd be happy to do so.  But first, she gave us a dance.  This sista must have been from da Bronx - she had rhythm and she had moooooves.  As Lady Gaga's Bad Romance was beating and pounding in the room, she shimmied her booty in towards the middle of the room and started to shake and gyrate it.  Next came the shoulders- they were making little circles around and around and side to side.  Her lips plumped up into a perfect pout and her head started bobbing all over da place.  This girlfriend was outta site, I loved her and the class went wild for her and screaming for more. 

Every week, I bring my iPhone in to class with me.  I mean, I got kids - I need to be reachable at all times when I'm away from them in case there is an emergency and I need to rush to the hospital to meet someone for stitches or staples - right?   But I also bring it in because I spin in the backrow of class and Shazam every song so that I can go home and download the playlists to my iPod and try and recreate that crazy magic that I feel when I'm in Tripp's class.  So here is a gift to all my weekend readers.  Here's a kickass playlist from one of Tripp's classes for you.  I dare you not to shake and shimmy and sing aloud!

Drift Away, Dobie Gray
The Ballad of John and Yoko, The Beatles
Gimme Some Lovin', Spencer Davis Group
Sweet Dreams, Beyonce
Get Down On It, Kool & The Gang
Boogie On Reggae Woman, Stevie Wonder
Killer/Papa Was a Rollin' Stone, George Michael
Bad Romance, Lady Gaga
Blinded by the Light, Bruce Springstein
Empty Pages, Traffic
Say Hey, Michael Franti and Spearhead Featuring Cherine Anderson
I'm Shipping Up to Boston, Dropkick Murphys
I'm Too Sexy, Right Said Fred
Uptown Festival, Shalamar
Bridge Over Troubled Water, Andre Bocceli and Mary J Blige
Miami 2017, Billy Joel

Body Geometry, mahogany and baby blue stitched suede cycling shoe

YOU GO, CURLY GURLY!

These were my favorite shoes to wear during my last pregnancy, six years ago.  They weren't too aerial, the heels weren't too spindley where I could still balance an extra 35lbs on them and they made me feel like an ethereal ballerina with the delicate lacey criss cross straps.  Basically, whenever I felt like a fat cow, I put them on and they made me feel sylphlike. 

But don't get me wrong.  They didn't come without criticism from others.  I often heard snickers and muttered unsolicited comments, much like you'd expect to hear if I was lighting up a butt while swigging out of a bottle that was balanced on my pregnant belly.  "You're going to break your neck".  "Those are some pretty irresponsible shoes for an expectant mother".  "Dearie, you really should be wearing some flats...there is nothing cuter than a pregnant woman in ballet flats".  Well, I was brought up with impecable manners - my parents taught me well - so I bit my lip and refrained from commenting.  Instead, I'd tilt my head to the side, smile sweetly, give my baby bump a loving, maternal rub and give my offender the shut the fuck up face. 

This is why I am really excited to see Kristie Morse out there proudly sporting her baby belly.  Kristie is 5 1/2 months pregnant and representing Canada in the curling event at the Olympics winter games right now.  Canada is expected to bring home the gold, and I really hope they do.  It would be a great example of how women's lives can be normal during pregnancy and doesn't have to drastically change.  I'm sure there is a school of thought out there that thinks she shouldn't be balancing on ice with a new and unfamiliar body frame and extra weight to carry.  I figure skated 7 1/2 months pregnant and was asked to get off the ice by a rink guard who was uncomfortable seeing me skate.  I realize people might be concerned but at the end of the day, I really do believe that mamagirls understand and trust their bodies better than any Helpy-Helpington. So I say, GO CURLY GURLY - BRING HOME THE GOLD AND BE THE POSTERGURL FOR NO BACKSEAT MOTHERING!     

Jimmy Choo charcoal canvas shoes

OPEN WIDE!

Today, I need an empowering pair of shoes.  A pair that is going to make me feel like I can conquer anything.  They have to have to give me strength.  They have to give me confidence and damn it, they better be sky-high because man, do I have some challenges ahead of me today.  These Moschino babies are going to do the trick.  They are high but with a sufficient platform that I'm not going to teeter over when I deal with my day.  That's right peeps, I've got double header doctors' appointments for the kids.  So I had better be prepared.

The first stop is the pediatrician to look at Gus' belly.  While internally, he's had some belly issues this month with that  nasty bug that has been going around (I'll spare you the grody details of that malady), what I'm really concerned about today is his skin blight.  He has been scratching and clawing at his dry, winter skin over the past several days and the poor little bugger just looks like he's been in a battle with a rhinoceros.  Every mother will tell you that Aquaphor is their product of choice, and to be honest, I've loved it and have been using it ever since diaperhood when I'd smear scoopfuls of it onto babies' butts to prevent or heal raw diaper rashes.   But I'm out of the diaper stage and cuts, scrapes and bruises are more my scene these days.  I hadn't packed Aquaphor on my recent trip and the only thing I had in my bag of tricks was Elizabeth Arden's Eight Hour Cream Skin Protectant http://www.amazon.com/Elizabeth-Arden-Eight-Cream-Protectant/dp/B000B1V9G2   As I applied it thickly and liberally, Gus got really excited because he thought I was smearing peanut butter all over his body - the color and texture are quite similar.  Within a day I saw a noticeable difference, I really do attest to the balm's iconic healing powers. 

Now, you may say I'm a bit of a sissy - why do I need empowering shoes for scrapes and bruises?  Well, the pediatrician is just a bouche amuse to the big whammy.....I'm taking JV to the dentist for a well overdue tooth extraction.  I mean, check out the mouth on this boy and tell me it doesn't scare you. 

 

JV has this strange condition where his permanent teeth grow behind his baby teeth instead of underneath.  It would be too easy in my life if my kids did things the normal way.  No, it has to be different and it has to be difficult.  JV's first tooth loss wasn't normal.  It wasn't wiggly for a few weeks and there was no momentous occasion where one of his parents proudly and painlessly extracted it.  Instead, JV was at an ice skating birthday party a few years ago.  Instead of executing a perfect snowplow stop or even a simple T-stop on skates or even using his feet to stop the speed and momentum that he had built, my son decides that the best way to stop is by using his face against the rink boards.  Now, in case you didnt' know, rink boards are constructed from either steel or aluminium.  I'm not sure which alloy was used in this particular rink, but whatever it was, it knocked out one tooth and loosened four more.  An immediate visit to the dentist called for the extraction of two more and six weeks later the other two wiggly ones fell out on their own.  JV looked pretty ridiculous with a mouthful of nothing.  At any rate, his dentist is likely to extract the baby tooth today so that the permanent one can hopefully move on over to the front.  That makes me nervous because I've been through it before and it's no walk in the park, believe me.  But I'm also preparing myself for the conversation with the dentist that I've long been avoiding - othrodontics.  I'm not really ready for the expense of that and I'm certainly not ready for my oldest to have a mouthful of purple or blue rubber bands.  

So, I'm going to be prepared and trust that my gorgeous tri-color suede strappy platforms will lift my spirits on my drive home from the dentist's office.   

Moschino chocolate, burgundy and hunter strappy platforms

IT'S A LONG WINTER, JUST GIMME SOME SHOOTIES

If you've been following my daily gig, you'll know that I'm on a cultural field trip with the kids in Washington, DC for a few days. I must say, we've been diligent tourists and have been hitting all the noteworthy stops. But every once in a while, tourists hit a wall and just really don't feel like looking and learning and oohing and ahhhing. I hit it yesterday when I saw this pair of shoes calling my name in a store window. I immediately imagined how well they'd look equally with a pair of skinny jeans as well as a perfect, little black dress. Dare I try to finagle a purchase with the kids in tow? Hell yeah, I've never been one not for trying so I gave it a good go.

"Mamagirl, what monument is this? I don't think this place is on the tourist map!" So far, this was not going well for me.
"C'mon JV, let's just go in for a minute. You can sit down on the chair and rest for a minute"
"I'm eight years old, I don't need to rest. I could train a professional sports team, I have so much energy". (He was right)
At that moment, my phone broke out into the recognizable ringtone assigned to Jackis, Beast of Burden. Happy for a distraction, I forked the phone over to JV and said "Talk to Daddy" while I simultaneously handed the salesman the shoe and requested a size 9. I'm a great multi-tasker, but when it comes to shoes, I can juggle better than any circus clown. I tried to tune out the background babel of my first-born tattling on me. I could hear him rolling his eyes and exagerating his hubbub with "Yeah Dad, she's got us in a shoe store! This is sooo booo-rrr-ring!"

After what seemed like forever, the salesman came out with a shake of his head. "WHAT" I said "can you check again? Maybe in another colorway?" He turned to go back into the stockroom and I recognized him do the same eyeroll that I saw my son do minutes earlier. I was still holding the display shoe and checked the interior for its size. Maybe if I was lucky it would be a 9 and I could cut the salesman's work in half by sending him on a hunt for only half a pair of shoes. Well today was my lucky day because it was indeed a 9. I ripped off my winter snow boot. I ripped off my argyle knee sock. I paused for a moment to happily notice and admire that my Minx pedicure was still perfectly intact. And then I unzipped the back heel zipper of the beige caged shootie and slid my foot inside. But wait. Why wouldn't my foot fit in all the way? It stopped about half way where it was supposed to go. What was wrong? How can this be? I felt like Cinderella's step sisters forcefully trying to cram my foot into the delicate and precious glass slipper. Did I need to do the 13 Day Diet again? WTF, WHAT WAS GOING ON? At this point, my foot was wedged into the shoe so I pryed it off and looked to see if there was some tissue lodged into the shootie to keep its shape on display. Not the case. And as I brought the shoe closer to my vision to see if my eyes were playing tricks on me, I saw what the problem was. It wasn't a fricking 9. It was a fricking 6! And at the exact moment of this sad realization, the salesman came out of the stock room shaking his head and saying "I'm sorry madame, we don't have your size".

Disgusted, I put my socks and boots back on, collected my children and said "C'mon guys, let's go to the Air and Space Museum. This place blows".


Boutique 9, beige leather caged shooties

MUSHY GUSHY VACATION

To me, this is the most beautiful sight. What is more adorable than a beautiful pair of relaxed, Tory Burch metallic woven silver Reva flats juxtaposed against the sweetness of your babies' Barney Rubble fat, flat feet? I don't have a foot fetish (OK, I have a shoe fetish, but it's not the same!) but I just want to inhale these cute little feet and smooch them all day long!

It's Winter Break from school right now and what better way to celebrate President's Day with my kinders than making the trek down to Washington D.C. and to be patriotic. That's right. JV, Gussy Man and I boarded the 9am Amtrak train from Penn Station down to Washington DC Union Square this morning because they wanted to see as many presidents as possible. We have had the best time. We saw Washington, Lincoln, Roosevelt, Obama, Jefferson and more. We've been the ultimate tourist today, although it's been interesting seeing many Washingtonians on cross country skiis treking through all the snow down here. The Reflecting Pool between the Washington Monument and Lincoln Monument is currently frozen over and tourists are all skating from one monument to the other. It's been crazy fun down here and I highly recommend a cultural, educational vacation with your kids.

The best, most relaxing part is hotel time when you come through the door, kick your shoes off, stick your smelly Barney Rubble feet into your family's noses to smell the pong, giggle, tickle, pillow wallop each other and just relish in the mushy, gushy love of kids on vacation.

Tory Burch, silver woven Reva flats

Happy Valentine's Day

Valentine’s Day. February 14th. Many call it a Hallmark Holiday. Many celebrate it with cliché gifts such as chocolates, long stem red roses and sexy lingerie. Many don’t. But what does it mean, and from where did this mysterious holiday derive?

There are many legends of St. Valentine, the earliest with Christian myths having roots in ancient Rome. According to ancient recounts, Valentinius was a priest in the third century in Rome under Emperor Claudius II’s reign. The Emperor declared that single, unmarried men without families were less distracted and made for better soldiers. As a result, he outlawed marriage. Valentine, a romantic at heart, empathized with these heartbroken soldiers and performed secret, illegal marriages for these soldiers. Well, someone ratted out this little cupid and before you knew it, the Emperor called for and ordered the death of Valentine. (This seems so bogus to me….I’ve been watching Spartacus on cable for the past few weeks – there is so much carnal and pornographic activity going on in Ancient Rome that I’m finding it hard to believe there was a ban on sex and love and all that good stuff).

There are other pagan myths surrounding Valentine’s Day where the festival of Lupercalia celebrated fertility rituals. On February 14th, the boys in the village would sacrifice a goat, hack it up and then dip the strips of goat skin into their blood and run through the streets slapping girls with the hides. If you were a girl and happened to be slapped by a bloody goat hide, you were supposed to be bestowed powers of fertility for the coming year. Sorry, but to me, that just sounds like a kinky reason to slap and whip a girl. Why not just admit that you’re into S&M, boys?

Today, Jackis came home and proudly announced that he had a Valentine’s gift for me. I was really curious, because he knows that I’m not a traditional flower and candy kinda girl. He extended his arm and gave me a small box. Curiously, I opened it to find a mini- Kama Sutra magnetic desk toy, complete with a tiny booklet, Your Naughty Little Guide. I am really enjoying playing with this new toy. But it is certainly going to distract me from my work because I’ve spent hours today using my imagination and having fun positioning these 50 little metallic creatures into sick, orgiastic group sex positions.

I began to wonder why the Kama Sutra is considered so risqué, so naughty, so titillating. Vatsyayana wrote of the sacramental ideas on sex from the Hindu perspective and teachings. I think what it really boils down to is that people are shocked by the very literal and graphic illustrations that accompany the writings of the book. But really, why should we be so shocked? Art throughout the ages has always been visually sexual – it didn’t start or stop in India in the first century A.D. Paleolithic cave carvings show it, the amphoras and other ceramics from Greek antiquity show it, it is represented in papyrus scrolls of ancient Mesopotamia and Egyptian – all several hundred years in the B.C. era, It shows up in all art forms and in all cultures – from paintings to sculptures to ivory carvings to furniture. It’s good subject matter, people like it and they continue to love being shocked by the visual acts of sex. We should just get over it.

Whatever you chose to believe, if you want to know the key to my heart and what I really, really want for Valentine’s Day, just buy me a great pair of shoes and you will have had me at Hello.

Black suede Nine West shooties

Look from London Hosiery

Earth Goddess Mamagirls

Every Saturday morning, I get up pretty early to attend an amazing spin class. It energizes me, transports me mentally to a capable place and starts my weekend off on the right foot. I love the playlists that my instructor plays and this morning, when I heard the Pussycat Dolls rendition of Jai Ho! You Are My Destiny, it made me think of my amazing earth goddess mamagirl sister, Genny. She is multi-talented -- an accomplished professionally trained Cordon Bleu chef, a yoga instructor, a journalist and perhaps most importantly, mamagirl to four boys. She has lived in various destinations around the world, and while living in Singapore, she picked up this amazing Indonesian beaded toe anklet for me and introduced me to my addiction to foot bling (I promise to show you more when the weather gets warmer, so stay with me).

So, you've already met my wild animals - JV, Gus and Jackis. I really pull my hair out sometimes living in the midst of a sausage-fest party, so you can imagine how I wonder how does she do it? How does she live with five boys when I can barely make it through a day living with three? But when I analyze it, it all makes perfect sense. I'm a Sagitarrius - a fire sign, impatient and restless. She's a Virgo - an earth sign, calm and grounded. She is ridiculously zen and can easily tune out any chaos that you'd expect would exist in a household of five boys. It is not at all surprising that she would be a yoga instructor and can contort her lithe

limbs into pretzels around her head. I'm pretty sure her ability to bend her legs behind her shoulders is how she has ended up with four children in the first place so I guess things really do come full circle in life, don't they?

If you open only one link ever from a MAMAGIRL MELLY posting, this should be the one you open. Trust me. Never has anyone blended yoga, pregnant bellies and the capabilities of a mamagirl better than this http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=IZQ8yepWkX4 And please don't ignore my exhibitionistic godson, Casper, in the background.

My hat really does go off to every mamagirl, especially mamagirls who live in incredible shoes and have so many children, they just don't know what to do.

Beaded toe anklet, from some random Indonesian souveneer shop

Film editing credit to Maddy Dog aka Uncle David

Alexander McQueen R.I.P.

It really wouldn’t be appropriate for the Mamagirl to be giddy and vacuous in a time of great sorrow so I just want to extend deepest condolences to the family and friends of Alexander McQueen and to the fashion community at large. What a great loss. Your 12” armadillo shoe was sheer genius and nobody rocked it better than Lady Gaga. http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=qrO4YZeyl0I

Rest In Peace, Alexander. You will be missed.

Ice Ice Baby

As we near the eve of the opening ceremonies of the Winter Olympics, it is appropriate that I talk about my First Love. At the age of three, I fell in love. We had a long, kindred soul love affair with each other that lasted well into my late teens. It was an intense, passionate and highly charged relationship where I loved, hated, smiled, cried, lived and breathed the object of my affections. I was a figure skater and my love bug was the ice. Here I am in my beloved custom made Reidels http://www.ice.riedellskates.com/CategoryDetail.aspx?CategoryName=Competitive-Series&Page=1.
They have seen me through childhood, puberty, adulthood and I hope I will still be skating in them as I approach the era of menopause and senility.

For about 15 years, I would awake at 4am and go to the rink where I would cram my feet into these custom fitted white leather boots and skate 4 hours a day, 6 days a week. If you looked at my Minx pictures and wondered why my long toes are crooked, and why the 4th toe of my right foot looks like a crooked peanut, it is because they became deformed in my skates, much like a Geisha girl's feet are bound and not allowed to freely grow on their own volition. But luckily, I still have all my toes. Poor Elaine Zayak http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Elaine_Zayak
lost a few of hers in a freak lawn mower accident growing up, but hey - who needs toes? She went on to become the US Champion, World Champion and competed in the 1984 Olympics so I'm pretty sure feet parts have no correlation to one’s ability to skate well.

Skating taught me a hellovalot. First of all, it taught me a great deal of self discipline. I had to wake at ungodly hours of the morning and I wasn't allowed to stay out late at night as a teenager. I was waking up when many of my high school friends were sneaking home into their houses through their windows to creep back into bed. It also taught me to be competitive and goal oriented. As a result, I'm not a good team sport player - competitive skating is all about oneself and it can be pretty selfish and divaesque. Everyone is the enemy and it's every man or woman for themselves in a skater eat skater world (maybe this is where I learned to be wicked and fierce?). Sure, I love all the grace, the agility, the athleticism and the artistry involved with the sport. But who am I kidding? Because the truth is....that mostly I love the drama, the divas and the costumes!

OK, the obvious biggie here is Tonya, Nancy and Jeff. I don't need to tell you the story of what happened, but the teachable lesson here is that if you don't like your enemy, it's perfectly acceptable to put a hit out on her and get your boyfriend/luvah/husband to take a pipe to her knee. Let's not forget another commendable artist...Nicole Bobek. She's a great quintessential model - she's known for her incredible spinning combinations. I guess her brains must have gotten jumbled with all those rotations because she now thinks it's OK to make a $10K a week living by trafficking methamphetamines in random drug rings across the state of Florida. And what about Oksana Baul who likes to get all liquored up and drive her expensive German cars into trees?

Figure skating just wouldn't be as exhilarating for me without the costumes - in particular the recent men's costumes. As I rode Metro North train into NYC today, I was reading the New York Post Fashion Magazine and was excited to come across as page where Vera Wang critiques the costumes of some of the great skaters throughout the years. Sure, I knew Vera was a former figure skater too, and yes, I knew that she designed Nancy Kerrigan's costumes (her trademark sheer illusion sleeves were a dead giveaway) but I didn't know that she has transitioned into designing men's costumes until I read how she is outfitting Johnny Weir for the Olympics. I'm not sure what it is about Weir - he's been called the Lady Gaga of the ice, but I have a funny feeling he would make a ferocious pole dancer. He should call me when he retires and I will help guide him through the transitions of figure skater to pole dancer. I mean, check out his skates and minxed out costume here - you can't tell me he isn’t' dying to be swinging upside down from a pole. C'mon! http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=NnUMOrd_ANI


Reidel figure skates, vintage

Brutes in the Snowpocalypse

I own far more pairs of strappy, open toed and skin revealing shooze than any other type, so you would think that I'm a hot weather lover. Ironically however, I much prefer winter over summer (I just happen to wear the shooze I love inappropriately out of season sometimes). I love snuggling into the cozy shearling and bunny fur interiors of these winter boots. The footbed is plushy and cushy and made from good quality sheepskin. The laces up the front remind me of a cross between my stripper boots and my figure skates - I'm a pro at lacing them up in the dark. I wear them with skirts. I wear them with jeans. They are so warm, I even wear them barelegged while shoveling snow (or with my polka dotty-spotty wooly tights).

As I write this, I'm looking out my bedroom window at the big, bad snowpocalyse that has clobbered the east coast of the country. It quite beautiful and serene looking outside - so I'm not really comprehending why my county has been declared in a State of Emergency. I don't want to jinx myself when I say it doesn't seem that bad, but I understand it is going to get worse.

I knew today was going to be just plain odious by 6am when I had already goosed one of my sons with two Fleet Jr.enemas in an attempt to help relieve a wicked belly ache (the administration process was unpleasant for me, but the result was successful and his wincing pain stopped almost immediately). Then, I got the news that IT WAS GOING TO BE A SNOWDAY FROM SCHOOL. And then my babysitter decided that she was deserving of the snow day too. This created a domino effect because in turn, it meant that I couldn't go to the office either. As a result, it was quite a challenge at home with the boys today. As I've told you before, living with all boys is pretty disgusting and I sometimes equate my domesticity with living in a fraternity house. They run around naked, they puke, they smack talk the only girl in the house (yours truly), they burp, they fart and I've even literally been crapped on by one of them. They are a bundle of energy and it never ends. After about an hour of playing in the snow this morning, they soon got bored and decided to move the party inside and proceeded to wreck and destroy everything they touched with their wild energy. So, what was I going to do in a house all day with a bunch of barbaric beasts? It really didn't take my sadistic imagination long to know what I wanted to do with them.


That's right. If they are going to act like savages, damnit, I'm going to make them look like wild animals too.

Bearpaw Kaska Boot, black rabbit fur and suede boot
Tintoretta grey and pale pink polka dot tights http://www.anthropologie.com/anthro/catalog/productdetail.jsp?id=853342&navAction=jump&navCount=

Rack Displays

In the spirit of yesterday's streak-fest, I thought I'd keep the body awareness going and get next-to-naked for you with these nude satin stilettos. I can't remember where or when I got them, but they are my go-to shoe when I want to my lengthen my short gams and create the illusion of being long-limbed and barefoot. At certain times of the year, they match whatever skin color I happen to have and they look particularly good when I want to sassy up a boho-chic dress. But what I really love about them is the titillating toe cleavage they lend...and let's face it, who doesn't love a good rack?

After the holidays, I tried these puppies on for a night out on the town, only to be thrown into complete dismay. I had gained a few pounds here and there over the holidays (as we girlies tend to do) and to my horror, MY FEET HAD GOTTEN FAT. Now, as I've just stated, these are my cleavage shoes and you may say "So what's wrong with a heavier, fuller bust line? Everyone can appreciate a more abundant udder, can't they? Aint nothing wrong with bigger boneirizers! " Well, in case you don't already know, let me tell you the difference between a pair of knockers and a pair of hooves....To be bovine on top is not so bad - full, pink and gropable. But take that down below and trust me, nobody wants to see ham hocks bread panning and cankling themselves out of the tops of shoes. I mean, that's the equivalent of muffin topping out of a pair of hot jeans, isnt' it?

I raced downstairs and started to scour my bookcase - specifically, the shelf that is dedicated to all the fad diets I've tried. These were my choices: The South Beach Diet, The Martha's Vineyard Diet, The Zone, Fit for Life, Master Your Metabolism and Skinny Bitch. All of these have worked for me at some point over the course of my girl neurosis career, but none of them were speaking to me. I wanted to try something new - something that would engage me and make me follow a strict plan. I drank myself into a depression that night (adding about 3,000 extra unwanted calories to that day) until I fell asleep.

The next morning, I crammed my fugly hotdogs into a pair of sensible winter boots and trudged into the office. And that's where I opened up the most beautiful email ever, sent out in a group distribution to my entire office. It read: Good morning. Please let me know by 10:00am this morning if you will be participating in the 13 Day Diet. Day 1 is today. HELL YEAH, I was in! Over the course of the next 13 days, I followed the 13 Day Diet with the support of my co-workers. It was easy because the office catered in and provided breakfast and lunch. For me, half the battle of sticking to a diet is the dreaded chore of thinking about and preparing what to eat. The only thing I had to think about was dinner so 2/3 of my work was being done for me already. I'm happy to report that I stuck to it (OK, I cheated a little sometimes by adding whole milk to my coffee; I just can't swallow it black. Sorry!) and at the end of the 13 days, I had lost 7 lbs. Trust me; this is going to be my go-to diet when my dogs start porking!

1st & 8th Day
Breakfast: 1 cup of black coffee with sugar
Lunch: 2 hard-boiled (HB) eggs, raw/cooked spinach, 1 tomato
Dinner: Large lean steak, lettuce w/oil and lemon

2nd & 9th Day
Breakfast: 1 cup of black coffee with sugar
Lunch: large lean steak, lettuce w/oil & lemon, some fresh fruit
Dinner: 1/2 pound lean ham, 1-2 cups plain yogurt

3rd and 10th Day
Breakfast: 1 cup of black coffee with sugar; toasted bread
Lunch: 2 HB eggs, 1 tomato, steamed celery, some fresh fruit
Dinner: 1/2 pound lean ham, lettuce w/oil and lemon

4th and 11th Day
Breakfast: 1 cup of black coffee with sugar; toasted bread
Lunch: 1 HB egg, 1-2 large carrots, piece of Gruyere/Emmenthal cheese
Dinner: mixed fruit, 1-2 cups plain yogurt

5th and 12th Day
Breakfast: 1-2 grated carrots with juice of 1-2 lemons
Lunch: large piece of lean fish (sautéed in butter) with lemon
Dinner: large lean steak, lettuce w/oil and lemon, steamed celery

6th and 13th Day
Breakfast: 1 cup of black coffee (no sugar), toasted bread
Lunch: 1/2-1 pound white lean chicken, lettuce w/oil and lemon
Dinner: 2 HB eggs, 1-2 carrots

7th Day
Breakfast: tea, no sugar
Lunch: 1 piece of grilled meat (e.g. lamb, beef) some fresh fruit
Dinner: NOTHING

Recommended: 8 glasses of water a day. Allowable: unsweetened tea and coffee; diet soda in moderation. Allowable: same category substitution (spinach - kale, broccoli, parsley,etc). NO SNACKS, SWEETS or ALCOHOL. Exercise/sports sure help. Do not "makeup" for missed items; ingredients supposedly "body-clock sensitive". If followed strictly, count on losing 10-15 lbs; gaining back 1/2-1/2 near term. Diet formed to change metabolism; will take a while (1/2-1 year) to gain it all back.

Kenneth Cole nude satin pump
(Please excuse if they are dirty; the last time I wore them, I was at a wedding where my dinner partner caught a fish bone in the back of his throat and subsequently hurled. All over my feet.)

Losing my Minx virginity and LOVIN IT!!!

No shooze today. Sooner or later, I'm going to have to bear all and get bare for you. That’s right - today I'm a nude dude for you! Well, not really...I'm wearing a thin, flimsy, sexybitch layer for you and I’m gonna take off my shooze and show you how liberating being naked can be. That’s right, I got minxed!

The other night at Girls Night Out, Anne, one of my girlies was sipping and talking with her hands- as we girls all like to do. Hand gesticulations are a language that most of us like to speak. I have no idea what she was talking about because I was hypnotized by her hands, in particular by her digits. I snatched her hands out of her arm sockets for a close-up look. "OMG" I screeched, "you have GOT to tell me what this is!" She grinned from ear to ear like the original Cheshire Cat and purred "I got minxed".

Minx http://www.minxnails.com/dnn/ is a fairly new nail art-form where patterned flexible polymers of film are heated, adhered to and melted onto the nail bed. Many of the patterns available to choose from resemble liquid metal and have been described as bling-bling for the nails, heavy metal nail art or tattoo art for nails. You have to find a licensed salon who carries and applies the Minx Nails, but that's pretty easy to do in New York City where the even the impossible is possible. There are many colors and patterns to choose from- metallic cheetah print, zebra print, skull and crossbows, camouflage, spider web, lightning studs, houndstooth prints and more! The end result is futuristic, bedazzling and just plain fresh. I opted with Golden Lightning with Black Fishnet and just about peed in my pants with the end result….I thought I had died and gone to toe heaven!

And the best part? The veneers are supposed to last a really long time and be more resistant to chipping than regular nail polish. This is particularly good news for all poledancers who, when we are not wearing stripper boots or lucite heels, dance barefoot and drag our feet and toes thereby destroying the chances of any perfect pedicure. Go get yourself minxed - Beyonce does it. Lady Gaga does it. Posh does it too. And now, so does the Mamagirl. Meow, hear me roar!

Leg Avenue, Fence Net Thigh Highs, black

The Priorities of Superbowl Sunday

Superbowl Sunday. If you came here to read today about stats and prognostications on today's game, I suggest you go elsewhere. It would be fun if you came here to gawk and oogle with me over the physiques of Peyton, Drew, Jeremy and Reggie. But bahhh, I'm not even interested in those foxies today. We could spend time wondering what kind of shooooze Kendra and Kim are rocking at the game. But what really turns me on is the halftime entertainment, more specifically, The Who. If you want to put them under a microscope, let's just focus right on down to the important guy, Pete Townshend. And now, let's reverse the clock by about 25 years.

What is hipper, I ask, than an all-girl rock band? That's right if you said "squat". Nothing is hotter than a chic female rocker, but when you put nine rocker chicks together? Holy crap - the place is smoking on fire. I'm taking you back to my teen years, while living in London with my family and when I was a member of the all-girl band, The Laundrettes. That's right. Nine of us. And this is how the story goes.....

I was a student at a prestigious all girls school in London in the early 80s. This school was the crème de la crème of its kind based on its academics and facilities. Most boys’ schools had gyms, labs, theatres and music rooms, but it was rare at the time for girls' schools to enjoy the same. My school decided they were in need of a new addition - I think it might have been a new building for their science labs, equipped with bunson burners and test-tubes for all the aspiring pre-medical students (whatever. My memory is not so sharp, does it really matter? It was just a cry out for a fancy fundraiser!) At any rate, every famous parent of the student were called and requested to help out in this effort by performing a benefit gala in front of the Queen Mother on the Strand. Sir Anthony Edwards, Sir Ralph Richardson, Jeremy Irons...the list of those who committed to the effort was growing. And then, Pete Townshend was called.

Musical Director: "Hello Mr. Townshend, requesting your performance at the Gala.....are you able to attend?"

PT: "Sorry mate, I'm on tour during those dates...but why don't you ask my daughter's band to perform the gig in my place."

Musical Director: "Your daughter has a band? Splendid. We'll add them to the program; we go to press next week".

PT: "Ta, oy, see 'ya later, rock on, gotta go smash a guitar."

I vividly recall coming back from the summer holidays and the Musical Director asking me and my eight best friends to stay behind after class. "Well done girls, you will be sharing the stage with some of Great Britain's finest and performing in front of HRH The Queen Mother". Huh??? Perplexed, we looked at him and searched for the meaning of his jibber. "Well, Mr. Townshend told me that you had a band, I assumed this was accurate information." Ummmmmm....as it turns out, we did have a band. We had fabricated a fabulous (albeit MAKE BELIEVE) all girl, girl-power 9 piece rockband for an art project where we designed album covers. Finito, end of story, it went no further than that. But it was too late0....we had already been written into the gala's program and were due to perform in 2 months time. In essence, we were up shit's creek.

As it turns out, Pete felt very badly that his little joke had been taken seriously and felt very responsible for the futures of nine girls being dispelled from school based on his sarcasm, wit and humor. But he couldn't change his tour dates and he would really, in fact, be out of the country on the night of the Gala. There was no way he could perform, so instead, he corralled his daughter and her 8 friends together and promised to make a rockband out of us, after all. To our fortune and coincidence, we all did play an instrument - we just had never done so together. And so, for the next two months, we spent every weekend and several nights a week in his recording studio at his home in Twickenham or his recording studio in Soho. And damnit, he made a band out of us after all.

The story of how I became a female drummer was accidental. I started out playing the saxophone as a kid but soon lost both my front teeth. I loved jazz and brass pieces (I still do!) and the only instrument I thought was cool enough to transition to was percussion. I played the snare drums in the school orchestra and had weekly lessons in front of a drum kit. But Pete really taught me a lot about rhythm, drum kits, drum machines - I loved learning from him on how to put a band together. The Laundrettes covered some 60s all girl band songs - like One Fine Day and other Chiffons songs. But we also performed some originals that Pete's daughter had written for the band.

We performed at the gala and it was a huge success. We continued on after the gala and played a few gigs around London, mostly at schools. Rockstardom went to our heads a bit and we got carried away with the fame that 14 year old London schoolgirls might do. Pretty soon, we were acting like the equivalent of bad band boys. Boys threw themselves at us and we loved it and celebrated our cockiness with each other. I look back at it now with the humility that I've gained as an adult and think who the fuck did we think we were??? But hey, you're only 14 years old once, right?

Nowadays, the closest I get to performing in a band is on the Wii with Rockband or Guitar Hero with my kids. I secretly love it and wish I was back on that stage crashing on the snare, cymbals, high and low toms and the hi-hat. And how I wish I could stomp and pedal that floor drum again.

So good luck tonight, my friend Pete - I can't wait to see you. And here's hoping you have no wardrobe malfunction tonight.

Christian Louboutin black and pewter leather open toed shoe
Look From London Hosiery, grey/black skulls

Just Take Your Pants Off

There is simply no reason to wear pants at all when you’ve got shooze with attitude like these. There is something so bad-ass about these gladiators - from their inky straps to their punk buckles to their soaring heels. As you can see, I like to temper their rough and tough character by pairing them with my Deadhead jeans. But I really just feel like taking my pants off today….

We all recall the horrific events of September 11, 2001 and how they forever changed the world. Having been in NYC myself that morning, I will never forget that day, especially since I had a 4 month old JV at home and had newly inherited the trait of a mamagirl’s worry and loss of innocence. But now, I can’t quite help from wondering if the events of this day overshadowed what happened in Atlanta exactly one week before and I wonder how many of you know the story of what happened on September 4th 2001.

September 4, 2001 was officially proclaimed LARRY PLATT DAY in Atlanta. That’s right...as in General Larry Get Your Pants Off the Ground Platt. It turns out that this outrageous, ballsey 62 year old songwriter/breakdancer is no fool. In fact, he’s a genius hero in my eyes. Did you know he was a student of the late Dr. Martin Luther King and has given his servitude, jive and conviction to the people in the city of Atlanta for the past 40 years, fighting for civil rights? The dude is a hero. Bono needs to move right on over as the performing artist who is most famously associated with Sunday Bloody Sunday. Because musician/entertainer Larry Platt was one of the peace marchers who was mercilessly clubbed and gassed in the Selma-Montgomery Sunday Bloody Sunday march in March 1965. Yeah, so who’s the fool-dum-dum now? I’ll tell you who…everyone in America who thinks this dude just got up in front of America with a fantastically wacky song for 15 minutes of fame. Aint nothing foolish about this guy; Larry is the bomb, a man of immeasurable substance and someone who has contributed more to society than most American Idol contestants ever will.

February is African American History month and my kids have been assigned certain individuals where they have to create a project in school. At first, I really wanted JV to get Michael Jackson and I even offered up the promise that I would brainwash Jackis, Gussy Man and myself to learn, ape and perform the Thriller choreography for his class. I even told him that I would personally bling out one glove for each of us to wear (I promise…blinging is going to be one of my future postings – I love bling, bling, bling!) But he’s almost 9 years old and he’s at that age where everything his parents do (especially his mamagirl) is just plain mortifying. He’s thrilled with who he ended up getting – Jackie Robinson, and as you grow to understand JV, you will know that sports mean everything to him. Gussy Man was assigned Ella Fitzgerald and he’s been scatting almost every day since. Ella and Jackie are great and extraordinary figures for them to study and learn about, but knowing what I know now about the General, I can’t help but wish he was in that pool of candidates to be assigned to the students….Maybe next year.

Nine West Boutique 9 black leather gladiator shoes

Girls Nights Out

Girls Night Out. Seriously, it's a win-win situation in my household. For me, hanging out with the girls is crucial to my sanity. Living with three boys can be pretty disgusting in the house and none of them share my girly interests, so it's necessary to meet up with the chicks to talk about shoes, clothes, make-up, shoes, hot guys, shoes, hair and other sorts of gossip. Meanwhile, Jackis gets to sit at home and crack open beer after beer, put his feet on the upholstered furniture without getting nagged, absently and consistently switching the TV remote around and not notice as the kids hurl their bodies at each other in attempt to kill each other. In short, he is happy as a dog with two dicks.

Last night, I got dressed to go out. Dark wash skinny jeans, flowy navy print blouse, enormous navy cocktail ring/weapon, and of course, rocket high 5" sandals. I put my coat on, walked out the door and instructed Jackis NOT to send me harrassing texts to come home, as he is so irritatingly known to do. As fortune would have it, I scored pole position in front of the bar (had I known I'd be so lucky, I could have foregone the coat). I walked into the bar and all the best girls in the county were out. At any one time, there were at least 15 girlies present with a good revolving mix in and out throughout the night. The best part of girls night out is that we're efficient. We don't like to sit at a table and waste time waiting for food orders to come out by course in unison. Screw that. Girls are all about working the bar. We like to get up and move around because it can be so dull being stuck on your ass in the same chair having a drawn out meal. Girls don't like to eat full meals either. We graze. It's all about ordering the bar snacks and appetizers. Sure, we inhale the food and eat heartily, but there is a certain beastility that comes out in us when we're with just the girls and we really regress back to a cavemen era where we don't see the need for utensils. My friends don't pull out their brag books to show each other pictures of Junior's new lost tooth. No way, they whip out their iPhones and proudy show pics of their new shoe purchases.

OK, lets get to the obvious part, you say. Booze. Yup. Plenty of it, please. Hey, we're not even picky and what I love about my friends is that nobody conforms to each other's likes or dislikes. I don't run with a pack of girls where everyone drinks the same drink - like a white wine spritzer. No way. As I looked at the collection of glasses on the bar last night, there was representation of the following: beer, red wine, white wine, Mojitos, rum and cokes, gin and tonics, Ruby Absolut and soda, Dark and Stormies, Cosmos and Southsides with an extra Meyers floater on the top. Mamagirl's friends do not shilly-shally at the bar. We are there for a reason...to imbibe as well as we know how.

I love my girlies and I dont' know what I would do without them, so here is a little gift to all you girls out there (hey, it's a gift for any of you boys out there reading this too). Here is a little nugget of wisdom and a beauty secret that was taught to me by a talented Chanel makeup artist I know. This is especially valueable to have on hand after a night out with the girls. Innoxa Goutte Bleues Lotion Pour Les Yeux. I can hear you saying, Huh? What? Did you say Voulez Vous Couchez-Avec Moi, Ce Soir? No, these are amazing eyedrops from France. They are cobalt blue. They are amazing to soothe tired eyes and they miraculously get the red out and restore the whiteness. So, go get some now and let's get wrecked again soon so you can test out how well they work. http://www.amazon.com/Innoxa-French-Drops-Gouttes-Bleues/dp/B001GXF35M/ref=sr_1_1?ie=UTF8&s=hpc&qid=1265403664&sr=1-1

Never Too Late To Apologize

I already disclosed to you all that I am a girly girl so when I decided to create MAMAGIRL MELLY, one of my priorities was having a page that was visual candy. I have an affinity for aesthetics – I did, after all, double major in English and Fine Art in college, so it's very logical that I would appreciate the written word as well as beautiful presentation. Pink and yellow is one of the frillier color combinations out there, so it started as my springboard. My next step was to choose some words that would succinctly describe what my future jibberish would be about. Soon, I had a rough working template and proudly showed Jackis and asked his opinion.

“Don’t you mean unapologetic?” Jackis asked me after he saw my first stab. WTF, why don't guys notice the important stuff first? Why didn’t he tell me that he liked the pink and yellow or the font that I had so carefully chosen? And more importantly, why didn’t he pick up on how much money I was going to save him in professional therapy bills by self-medicating myself daily by toying with shoes, shoes, shoes? Instead, he chose to gut my grammar open like a fish.

But as is sometimes the case, he was so wrong to challenge my word choice. Because I meant apologetic. I silently apologize everyday to my children when I leave the house to go to work. I hate that they get dropped off and picked up from school everyday by a babysitter. I hate that I get home from work too late to help them with their homework. I hate that my babysitter has to read to them and practise phonics at night when it should be their mamagirl. I hate that I sometimes miss a school ceremony when they are recognized as Worker of the Week. I hate that I sometimes miss their soccer games, their basketball games, their baseball games. I hate that I can’t volunteer to chaperone their fieldtrips. I hate that they have to eat soggy sandwiches for lunch because I have to make packed lunches the night before because I leave the house too early in the morning. I hate that I can never be their Class Mamagirl. I hate that I have career responsibilities that sometimes unable me from being there when my children need me.

But whenever I beat myself up about this, I think that even though I can not be their Class Mamagirl, I CAN be their CLASSACT Mamagirl. I don't know what it is, but I must be doing something right because I have really good kids. I have gone to cooking school, I’ve collaboratively published a cookbook http://www.jlbronxville.org/bronxville/npo.jsp?pg=support10 and I have the ability and knowledge to deliciously feed my kids (hey, we'll talk about grub one of these days - that's a whole posting in itself, you can be sure of that). But the truth is, there just aren’t enough hours in the day to have a career and put a gastronomique meal on the table everynight. So JV and Gus, I’m sorry and I apologize that I feed you soggy processed bologna shit sandwiches sometimes for lunch. I hope you will forgive me one day.

Ellie, silver sequinned boots http://www.ellieshoes.com/showcase/default.asp