FEELING LIKE SHIT?

After running the hydra half marathon this past weekend, I now find myself with a nasty cold. I have an awful sore throat, itchy ears and my entire body aches. I’m not sure if the body aches are flu-like or just sore from a 13 mile wet and cold run. At any rate, I FEEL LIKE SHIT. It’s hard to pair a shoe to my mood right now because I really do love all my shooze. As I contemplate a shoe that mirrors how I feel, the choice becomes obvious as I recall a pair of shooze that is currently on display at London’s Tate Gallery and was inspired by Chris Ofili’s paintings. This 10 Inch stiletto is made out of dried elephant dung and was made by the British artist INSA and is titled “Anything Comes When it Comes to (S)hoes”.

Chris Ofli is a controversial British artist of Nigerian descent. Perhaps his most controversial work of art, The Holy Virgin Mary, was the root of a lawsuit between then Mayor of New York, Rudy Giuliani and The Brooklyn Museum of Art. Giuliani protested against the multi-media painting of the black African Virgin Mary because he seemingly is a prude and doesn’t believe in artistic freedom and expression. She was depicted in her glory on a gilded ground and surrounded by cherubs and seraphims in the form of cut out porn glossy close ups of the female genitalia. On top of that, the artist splattered the canvas with dried elephant dung. When are people going to learn that art is subjective and it’s just not worth trying to ban and sensor something that may contribute to the history of art? Look at Duchamp’s Fountain. It was banned at the time because it was deemed offensive, but it is now considered one of the 20th century’s major landmark works of art.

If you ask me, feeling like shit doesn’t feel too good. But these shooze made out of shit? I think they are hot. I know I’d feel better if I had the chance to strut in them.

INSA, Anything comes when it comes to (s)hoes

HYDRA HALF MARATHON

Yesterday, I ran a half marathon. I change my running shoes every 200 miles, which equates to a new pair about every 2 months. It’s hard to throw out a perfectly good pair of shoes even if they are not supportive anymore, so I tend to hold on to them. This past Earth Day, I made a resolution to recycle them back to Nike or donate them to the needy. Even though these shooze do not give me height, I love them nonetheless and appreciate how they have carried me through miles and miles.

I was apprehensive about yesterday’s run because of the weather forecast…it was predicted to rain and rain and rain and rain. I was not looking forward to it at all, but because I didn’t have to travel far and because the territory was familiar (Central Park, New York), I decided to suck it up and just go for it. I woke up at dawn, made some scrambled egg whites and coffee for breakfast and made my way to NYC. It was pouring by then, but I had a lightweight anorak on and was resolved that I would probably get wet. I parked the car on the east side and as I scrambled to the west side where the start line was, a cab splashed me completely via a puddle and I was drenched…all this before the start of the race. I started to contemplate going home -- this was utter bullshit --but instead, I soldiered on to the start line. Kristin Davis of Sex and The City announced the start…and we were OFF. I should add that this was the More Magazine Half Marathon and was a women’s only event. It was a difficult race, but I’m proud to say that I finished it. Here are my tips on how to get through a challenging half marathon.

• Leave the kids, hubby, dog and house responsibilities at home. Give yourself a two hour vacation from all domestic responsibilities and do not allow them to penetrate your thoughts. Don’t make mental to-do lists, don’t feel guilt about not making breakfast for the family on a Sunday morning. Just let your mind go, experience your breath and enjoy the solitude.

• Have a great playlist. Depending on your mood and the weather, create a random and varied kickass playlist that is going to transport you through this run. Since the forecast was gloomy, I needed a playlist that was different from most of my “sunny-run, bouncy, happy music playlists”. This was my playlist and I loved every single song:

Crimson and Clover - Joan Jett

Stairway to Heaven - Mary J. Blige

Lost - Coldplay and Jay-Z

Crazy Bitch - Buckcherry

Everybody Hurt - REM

No Woman, No Cry – Bob Marley

Faith - George Michael

Some Time Around Midnight – Airborne Toxic Event

All Summer Long – Kid Rock

Falling Slowly – Glen Hansard & Marketa Irglova

Hey Ladies – Beastie Boys

Desiree – Neil Diamond

Gone - Madison South

Girls L.G.B.N.A.F. – Ice T

Lick - Joi

Ka-Boom-Ka Boom - Marilyn Manson

I Want to Hold Your Hand - T.V. Carpio

Don’t Stop Till You Get Enough – Michael Jackson

Rehab (Hot Chip Remix) - Amy Winehouse

Single Ladies - Beyonce

• Hot Guys. If you let hot guy imagery permeate your run, I guarantee your performance will improve. Here are a few examples of how I’ve used and abused some hot guys in my races. I was on mile 9 of a half marathon last spring when I suddenly developed a painful blister. It sucked because I was in Brooklyn and there was no easy way to stop the run, hop a subway and quit. But it hurt way too much to continue. So what did I do? I scoped the choices that lay ahead of me and saw two guys. I never knew what their faces looked like, but they had some pretty well defined calf muscles, the back of their quads were rippling and their butts were firm and ready to be chased. So that’s what I did. I hear when you go through labor and childbirth (I’m not speaking from experience because if you will remember, I am too posh to push), you are supposed to have a focal point that you concentrate on to avoid the pain. So this is exactly what I did. My focal point became the backsides and lower half of these two running gods and I chased them for 4 miles until I crossed that finish line. Not only did I not feel the pain of that oozing blister, but it was one of my faster finishes. Another example? Last year, I ran the More 2009 Half Marathon in the middle of a heat wave. It was 90+ degrees by 8am and a really miserable run. The best part of the run was in certain areas throughout the park where some firemen opened up the fire hydrants and sprayed cold water up into the air for the women to run through. Let me tell you, it’s pretty hot when a kneeling fireman unleashes a big hose on you. Mmmmm. Ironically, this year’s More Half Marathon was a far cry from the heat of last year. But the fun part about this all women’s race is that all of the onlookers and supporters are men. It’s so great for your ego to have a bunch of random strange men cheering you and whooping out support. But as I thought about what was really going on, I had to laugh. You see, these men set their alarm clocks, awoke early on a rainy Sunday morning and positioned themselves all over Central Park not primarily to cheer us on. No. They were enjoying the Wet T-Shirt Half Marathon. I mean, what is a better formula to showcase 10,000 hard nipples than to hold a race of 5,000 female runners in rainy, cold and wet weather conditions?

• Enjoy a good suck. There are so many varieties out there. So many flavors to choose from. When you feel like you’re getting weak in the knees, pull one out, rip it open and suck it dry. I discovered a new favorite yesterday – GU’s Chocolate Mint. I don’t know what kind of nutrients or ingredients go into that gooey mess, but it’s such a treat in the middle of a run. It tasted like a girl’s scout cookie. Delish.

• Check out other people’s shooze. I always love playing this game. I love to check out bystander’s shooze. Depending on the season or weather condition, there is always great variety. In yesterday’s rain, I saw so many wellingtons boots- Burberry plaid wellies, J. Crew wellies with brightly colored laces and Hunter wellies in every color imaginable. There were plaids, polka dots, paisleys, silver, white, navy, green, froggie boots for children, and more. Just because it rains, doesn’t mean footwear has to be dull.

After finishing the race as wet and wrinkled as a prune, I felt invincible. Was I surprised that I finished? Of course not. You see, I know that I can do anything…I do, after all live in the Delta House with three guys – anything is possible.

Nike Zoom Structure, Triax +12 running shooze

MY NAME IS...GLADIATOR

Since I rarely wear flat heeled shooze, these are the closest thing that I have to gladiator sandals. I’m gonna need them tonight. You see, tonight, I am hosting a pizza and movie night for a handful of Gus’ friends to celebrate his recent birthday. Since we celebrated his birthday as a family in Disney last weekend, we agreed to not have a big birthday party, but rather, a few boys over to run wild in the house. Now, Gus runs with a pack of boys who are equally as barbaric as he is. I am expecting a bunch of bestiari – capable of killing 100 lions and decapitating running ostriches in the arena – running wild around my house tonight. I know there will be running. There will likely be bellowing. I’m sure there will be wrestling on the ground. I’m actually a little bit frightened and I wish that I had a shield and some armor to protect myself.

But I already know how I’m going to survive the night…you see, as I serve pizza and ice cream cake, put DVDs into the player and try not to get hurt in the line of fire, I’m going to pretend that they are real Roman gladiators of the Senate and People of Rome – complete with heaving, sweaty, Adonis-molded pectorals. How’s THAT for some ambrosial imagery??

Boutique 9, brown leather caged "Driven" sandals

SUNDAY NIGHT STRESS

To celebrate Gus’ recent and JV’s upcoming birthday, we just got back from a long weekend family trip to Disney World. To be honest, I had been dreading it for years and put it off for as long as I could. I had no interest in long lines, crowded masses, fast food and large cartoon like characters walking around being goofy. But to my great surprise, I really, really loved the experience and was surprised by the precision on how well run everything was. Granted, we took the kids out of school and didn’t go when the rest of America has their school breaks, so the lines weren’t long. It was really clean, we had perfect weather and it was so liberating to be to be running around carefree like a kid just playing and having fun. No jackets, nothing to carry, no schedules to adhere to. Just pure, carefree fun.


But as soon as we got to the airport, I started to stress and tense up. First of all, there were so many stranded Europeans who couldn’t get back home because of the volcano. Disney is not a bad place to be stranded, but it’s expensive and I felt badly for all those travelers to incur unexpected and additional expenses. I had to hand it to my boys – they were uncharacteristically well- behaved on the plane and we actually landed 45 minutes ahead of schedule. But as soon as we landed, my head started to dance with visions of all the things I had to do. As a working mamagirl, I have only two days of the weekends to cram in all my errands and to prepare for the week ahead. I didn’t have those two days this week, so I knew that I was going to be in the weeds. This was my mental to-do list:

• Fuck, I have no groceries or food in the wanking house – when am I going to get a chance to get food for the week?
• Crap, when am I going to get all the goddamn laundry done?
• Shit, I have to go through the kids’ backpacks and write checks for fieldtrips, sign homework sheets, take all the dates and transcribe them into my momAgenda and blackberry. Bollocks.
• Mothafucka, I see that Gus has a birthday party this week, I have to go and get a birthday present. And wrap it too.
• Bugger-me, I have to haul my bitch-ass out of bed one hour earlier each day this week to train for my upcoming half marathon.
• I am such a fuckwitt, I have no idea if it’s paper or plastic to the curb for recycling tonight.
• Who is the dipshit that scheduled JV for soccer and baseball practice this week on the same nights and how the hell am I going to get him to two places at the same time. What a clusterfuck.
• I wonder what kind of shitshow my desk is going to look like when I get back to work on Monday morning.
• Jeeeezzzz, I still have to pick up that fucking dog from the dogsitter’s house tonight. And duh, who is the shitferbrains who forgot to pick up dogfood?

The list in my head went on and on, but there really aren’t enough profane expletives to accompany each task, so I’ll stop right there. The only way I was going to get through this list and start checking things off was going to be by enlisting the help of my family. And so, I started to delegate. I gave JV a garbage bag and made him empty all bins and haul the bin to the curb. I gave Jackis the laundry bins and asked him to start filling up hampers and running some loads. And as for Gus? I debated whether or not he was too young to adequately complete a chore without mucking it up. I needed to keep him occupied and out of my hair while the rest of us tried to create some order in the household. So I sat him down with a pen and some stationery and asked him to make a birthday card for Megan’s upcoming 6th birthday. As he wrote and worked diligently and proudly on his newly learned kindergarten phonics, the rest of us worked on our chores. At the end, I wrapped the gift and asked Gus to hand me the card that he made.

 As you can see, I don’t know why I thought he was too young to do a chore. Clearly, by the adult verbiage he chose, he is more than ready for hard, manual labor.

Target flip flops

WHY THE MAMAGIRL LOVES TAX DAY

April 15. Tax Day. So many of you out there hate this day. I celebrate this day every year by wearing two different colored shooze. You see, for me, I celebrate the day that my Gussy Man came into my life and I honor him by wearing different colored shoes because Gus is heterochromic – he has two different colored eyes. It’s a fairly rare condition in humans, but David Bowie has it. Dan Akroyd has it. And so does Kate Bosworth, Christopher Walken and Jane Seymour. Heterochromia is a genetic mosaicism where there is either and excess or a lack of melanin in the iris of the eye. There are two kinds of heterochromia – complete heterochormia (two different colored eyes) or sectoral heterochromia (part of one iris is different from its remainder). Gus falls into the later category. Heterochromia is an SAT word, so in our house, we just call it “Gus’ freaky eyes”.

So, Happy Birthday Gussy Man - you are one special boy. I hope that one day, everyone wears two different shoes in your honor. Because you deserve to be a national holiday, you lil bugger. I LOVE YOU, GUSSY MAN, Happy Birthday....cha, cha, cha!

Cole Haan Verona sandal, metallic gold and metallic silver

THE MAMAGIRL GETS BULLIED

As you may have guessed, I happen to think that my English bulldog, Wembley, is far more adorable than Angelina’s, Pink’s, Adam’s or Ozzy’s. The only Bully – in my eyes - equally as magnificent as The Mamagirl’s is Beth O’s. That’s right, Beth and I must think alike because had Wembley been in my life 12 years ago, I too would have had her stand up for me as a bridesmaid at my wedding. What, I ask you, is daintier – more feminine – than a big, gorgeous, alabaster bully in a pink tutu? Beth, you are brilliant, your taste is exceptional, I want to meet you, befriend you, and stroll on the avenue with you and our graceful, snowy white bullygurls.

The story of how I became a proud mamagirl to my bully is quite simple. Both of my sisters were knocked up with their third children at the time and my biological clock was a-tickin’. TICK TOCK, TICK TOCK. It was time to sit Jackis down for a chat:

“I want a gurl. Let’s go for it. Now. I’m ready. C’mon. Now. I need some pink in this crazy testosterone filled house.” (TICK TOCK, TICK TOCK.) Well, if you have been following The Mamagirl’s blog, you will have guessed by now that Gus is the equivalent of about five Energizer Bunnies. “No way”, said Jackis, “what if we get another boy? That would be like having a dozen kids”. He had a very valid point...and after much consideration, I acquiesced – but only with the caveat that Jackis would get The Mamagirl a feminine, gurly daughter dog.

My next task was choosing a breed. I had to make sure that she would be child friendly, a good watch dog, somewhat hypoallergenic, shorthaired (I am NOT spending my weekends taking the dog to the groomer...sorry, but I myself, only have time for a twice-a-year haircut), low-maintenance, but really, really loveable. And so, after much research, I found that an English Bulldog would fit in brilliantly with my family. You see, I discovered a characteristic that was intrinsic in the breed that made our commonality a no-brainer. I had something uniquely in common with Bulldog Mamagirls…we both birth our offspring via Caesarean section. That’s right. When I talked to breeders, I found out that most compassionate and responsible breeders do not allow their bitches to have more than two litters in their lifespan and that each litter usually produces no more than two pups. Pups are born via Caesarean section because their heads are so large and it is deemed unkind and cruel to allow a mamagirl bully to vaginally give birth to her offspring. When I learned of this, I knew the breed was the right fit for me. You see, JV and Gus were also born via c-section...but perhaps for a different reason. Their heads were not big – they were normalish 7ish pound babies. The reason is…I belong to the I AM TOO POSH TO PUSH CLUB. Don’t get me wrong... I am super impressed with every mamagirl who has ever pushed for hours and hours and worked her butt off for the most gratifying of all rewards – a beautiful and healthy baby. All I’m saying is that after my firstborn child, where I underwent an emergency vertically cut C-section, I became ineligible for any future VBAC births. I do not feel cheated of an experience of a normal birth. I don’t care how you get to the goal, Dr. Deliveryman, just get in there and put a live, healthy, breathing baby on my belly, please. Gut me like fish if you have to, I can deal with a scar…I don’t give a shit. Just do what you have to do. Oh, and by the way, while you’re sewing and stapling me back up, please remember first to count your instruments and then give me a tummy tuck while you’re down there.

This is the story of how I chose and knew the English Bulldog breed was right for my family. Bullies. They seem to be omnipresent at the moment. They are currently in the NYC windows of gentlemen’s clothing stores, Pink and J. Press. The nation recently watched the Butler Bulldogs give a valiant attempt at the NCAA championships. If you are considering adding a dog to your family, I highly recommend English Bulldogs. They are the smooshiest kind of unconditional love that I know.

Custom painted pet portraiture clogs, The Swanx, www.theswanx.com (with special thanx to Shauna)

COPYING IS THE SINCEREST FORM OF FLATTERY

I received so many comments on my last Jennifer/Lance/Jimmy Choo post from both men and women sermonizing on Jen’s magnificent body. And while I respect that everyone has their specific tastes and preferences for their top 5 same sex hookup, I thought I’d share with you that Jen is not on my list….but Angelina would be. I love Angelina. I am like a puppy dog when I see her – mesmerized by those lips and by the fact that she is the Pied Piper with an avalanche of well behaved children who follow her around effortlessly. And while I admit that Jen may be ahead of me on shoe purchases, I must brag that Angelina usually copies me. I think Angelina’s brain ticks much like The Mamagirl’s.

For starters, when JV was 15 months old, Jackis and I trekked on over to Cambodia and climbed the Angkor Wat temples like a jungle gym. That trip remains the most exciting - but most dangerous - vacation that I’ve ever taken. I love this country for its pure beauty, its anguished history, its astonishing art, and for its humanity and mankind. I have visited many third world countries before Cambodia, but this trip really opened my eyes to everything we take for granted. The poverty and living conditions are extreme. I left the country with only the clothes on my back – I gave everything else away. Things that were so normal for me but mean so much to those that have none – like soap, shampoo, t-shirts, shoes, shorts, canvas tote bags – I gave it all to the various people who I had met. The timing of my trip was just after Angelina had filmed Lara Croft’s Tomb Raider in the Angkor Thom temples. The movie hadn’t come out yet so I got to see the temples overgrown by the jungle before seeing it on the big screen where Angelina was swinging from vines. As a souvenir, I brought back tiny sterling silver Cambodian baby bangles with bells for JV. When I returned to New York, he wore them jangling around his little baby ankles. Since he was a new walker (who am I kidding, the kid has never walked…he only runs!), I could always hear where he was by listening for the anklet bells. The next thing I saw was that Angelina had adopted an adorable baby boy, Maddox …and they were photographed on the swings and parks wearing his silver anklets too.

Secondly….Gussy Man had a mohawk well before Maddox. I love this little boy haircut, particularly in the summer. Sure, he looks bad-ass…but it kinda goes with his bad-ass personality. Gus is getting a little older now, so I don’t give him this haircut year round because I don’t want him scaring the high school kids. But as soon as school lets out, we head for Ms. Diane at Zippity Doo Cuts who sets the buzzer to #1 and buzzes the sides right off.

I wasn’t entirely surprised to learn that Angelina was eating at my favorite high school pizza joint, Da Raimo’s in Huntington, Long Island. Evidently, she was renting a massive compound in Lloyd Neck last year while filming an upcoming movie. She moved her entire brood there, nearby where I grew up. And when they craved pizza, they went to Da Raimos. She is a copy-cat, but I can’t fault her on bad taste.

Angelina copied me and went out and got herself an English bulldog. Here is a picture of her bully getting groomed in the south of France, a photo that sent the paparazzi crazy. You may recall the W Magazine issue in November 2008 where Brad photographed and published intimate photos of life behind their closed doors. I’ve been looking for it to post for you, but can unfortunately find it nowhere. So I recreated it for you, above. A beautiful black and white photo inspired by Brad’s photography – Angelina in a pair of good looking stilettos with her adoring bully gazing lovingly at her. Hmmmm, life is really good when a bully has got your back.

When in NYC, Brangelina is frequently spotted shopping in MY favorite store – Lee’s Art Store. I love this place on 57th Street - and now apparently, she does too. Here is how I mix Mohawk + art supplies (aka purple marker) + bulldog together. I’d like to go to her house and see if this happens behind her closed doors as well. Bottom line, Jen might have a nice bod, but so does Angelina. And she’s a mamagirl, so is it any wonder that I favor her in the ongoing Jen vs. Angelina debate? Who would you pick?

Christian Louboutin, black and pewter platform open toed pumps (The Mamagirl's legs, not Angelina's)

SERPENTS AND BEASTS

Jennifer Aniston is stealing my mo-jo. It is so not fair that she is rocking the Jimmy Choo Lance sandals that I have had my eye on for the past two weeks. I wanted to strut them and show them to you first but she had to go ahead and defeat me by splashing them all over page three of today’s New York Post. The only difference is that when I get me my own pair, I’m gonna get them in the leopard patent leather colorway. While it’s possibly true that gentlemen might prefer blondes, I think brunettes (yes, I showed you this week that my mane is pretty sooty colored) may have the advantage of being able to pull off more dramatic colorations in what they wear. So while I do love the neutral staple of the camel colored sandal that Jen is wearing, it's going to be so much more multi-dimensional when The Mamagirl sports them in the leopard version. As you can see, the form of the shoe is Medusa-like. The straps slither and slink around the ankles like a venomous and dangerous viper. But the leopard print adds a raw, bestial and savage quality too. And The Mamagirl is all about wild and poisonous animals. So I’m gonna save up and get me some of those Lance sandals and wear them in my private zoo.

Oh, and by the way --one thing I really do have to compliment Jen on...I'm not so hot for her "is he or isn't he her boyfriend, Gerald Butler".  HOWEVER I am seriously lusting after his loft apartment.  Pick up May's issue of Architectural Digest to see his showstopping ancestoral manor-house loft in the heart of Chelsea, NYC.  I really don't personally know any bachelors who live in such a chicly decorated, castle like digs such as his.  But if I did, I would certainly like to spend some time getting to know him.  This is my ultimate dream loft, I love it. 

Jimmy Choo, Lance sandals, camel patent leather and leopard patent leather

BRAZILIAN, BRAZILIAN, BABY

Whoa, we’re having a bit of a heat wave in NYC. I actually donned some sandals today! They were seasonal though…they were definitely strappy, but I kept it somewhat appropriate by their material- they were caramel brown suede. So even though it was 80+ degrees out today, I wasn’t totally basking in the newfound season because it was accompanied by some ugly humidity. Ick.  Ordinarily, humidity would make me shutter…but I discovered something that makes this problem much easier to handle….I GOT BRAZILIANED! And…I…love…it!!

You are probably thinking…Shut up, not another stooooopid waxing post, I don’t want to hear it. I don’t want to hear another blogger let their guard down and talk about some gurly, private, grooming matter. But you’ve got me all wrong, baby, if that’s what you are thinking. Yes, I’m talking about hair. But I’m talking about lots of it. And loving it. And on my HEAD. I’m gloating about the Brazilian Blowoutl

It’s a 2 hour treatment on your hair where a stylist adds the natural keritin back to your hair that you loose as you age (f+*Ck, do I really want to be reminded that I’m middle aged?) . It adds shine, it reduces frizz and it restores your hair back to an era when you were a kid. Do you remember when you ran around all summer long with wet hair, out of the pool – or the ocean –and your hair would still look good? That’s because when you are young, you have a natural amount of keritin in your hair that give you sheen, shine and no split ends. It defies humidity. I love it. It lasts about 3-6 months, depending on how often you shampoo your hair.

So get to your local salon and ask them to add the keratin back into your hair. You will love how luscious it feels and looks. Treat yourselves….. because it really blows having to spend time blowing your hair out with that damn round brush to get rid of the frizz.

J. Crew, caramel brown suede strappy sandals
Tom Ford, Jennifer sunglasses

THIS WOMAN'S WORK

Today is Monday, the Monday after Spring Break. Kids are back at school, colleagues are back from vacation and it seems that people are ready to work again after 1-2 weeks of a sleepy work environment. I got to the office early, pushed a lot of paper around and seem to be in good shape. I always look forward to Mondays because Monday nights, I hit the pole studio after work. I go there to play but also, the moving meditation is good for my soul. 2 hours in a dark pole studio is heavenly. It is the only way that I can instantly, albeit temporarily, clear my head of cobwebs and my never ending mental to-do list. I picked up the phone and called the studio to see if there was any assignment for this week. Occasionally, instructors will give assignments where, as dancers, we are asked to interpret through music, costume or simple movement. The assignments have ranged from anywhere between “Rock star” to “Beatles Week” to “Year You Were Born” to “The Four Elements” to “Witchy Week” to “Desperate Housewife”. Sometimes they are fun – sometimes they are emotional. It’s always interesting to see how the other pole kitten students will interpret the lesson. This week, the assignment is “Work Clothes”.


I hung up the phone and wondered what I would do. Would I borrow one of my male colleague’s ties and bind my hands and attempt tied up pole tricks? Would I wear a men’s suit jacket and hat and emulate a Kim Bassinger You Can Leave Your Hat On strip? Would I wear closed toed shoes and fleshy colored hosiery that is often the dress code enforced by corporate America? HELL NO. I will do none of that. I began to wonder, why did my mind take me to a corporate place and corporate dress code – a man’s world – when I thought of this assignment? That might be the obvious direction, but I was not going there. No thank you. Instead, my mind instantly took me to Kate Bush’s song, This Woman’s Work. I do work in corporate America. I do have a desk job. But my primary job, as a woman is a mamagirl. Let me be crystal clear on that. That is the most important, most rewarding job I have ever had. And as you all know, it is not easy. It comes with challenges. And it comes with heartbreak too. If you recall this song, highlighted in John Hughes’ film She’s Having a Baby, the song is played when Kevin Bacon and Elizabeth McGovern are in crisis where she is delivering their first baby and both mother and child are in danger. The song blares in the background while the audience sees snippets of happier times. Walking down the aisle in a white wedding dress. Painting a baby’s nursery with a fully pregnant belly. Playing with their dog in the sprinkler on a spring day. Carefree times. Then, you see Kevin, anxiously waiting for news in the waiting room with tears streaming down his face. It’s a sad, poignant climax to the movie, but in the end, everyone is fine – mamagirl, child and happy daddy.

Tonight in the pole studio, I will dance to this song http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=7TupvVpxY_U
I will dance for all the Elizabeth McGoverns and all the Kevin Bacons who did not have the same outcome. I will dance for all their angel babies who never had the chance. And I will dance for myself. You see, seven years ago this week, I was Elizabeth McGovern. I worked hard for six months growing a beautiful baby boy in my belly. And then he was gone. Tonight, I will fly around the pole for him. And I’m going to wear some hot shooze doing it because that’s what makes me happy.

HEY MOUSE, GET OUT OF MY HOUSE!

Is it wrong to kill one of God's creatures on Easter Sunday?  I have a nagging feeling that there is something very wrong with this picture.   So please forgive me but allow me a few words here....the next time you crawl all over my kitchen counter, leave your filthy little shitty droppings in some decorative connect the dots pattern on the countertop, nibble little holes into my bread bags or even breed some baby mice, I will anihilate you and smash you as flat as a pancake with one of my hefty wedge sandals.  Then I'll take one of my rocket high stilletoes and finish you off with the spikey heel.  I'm sorry if you're a mamamouse and I leave your babies mamaless - let's just cut a deal now.  Stay out of my house and I will leave you alone.

SET YOUR MONKEY FREE

Spring. It can mean so many things. Spring cleaning, new beginnings, bare legs and no tights, pedicures, and if you’re a mamagirl, it inevitably means the beginning of the playground season. I used to loathe the playground when the kids were younger…it was so hard to watch and manage the two boys when they tore off in different directions. JV has had staples in his head from the playground. He has also had stitches to the chin. And Gus jumped off the monkey bars and broke his foot once. It’s a crazy place where the kids unleash their inner beasts and go wild. It used to be so stressful for me. That is until I realized, if you can’t beat them, join them. One day, as I sat on the bench looking at how the playground equipment has evolved since I was a kid, it dawned on me. There are poles everywhere! Why should the kids be the only ones having the fun flipping, climbing and spinning? Move over kids, The Mamagirl wants in on the playground action. And that’s when I started to play on the monkey bars again.

When I thought about it further, maybe one of the reasons why I love to climb, swing, flip and behave like a primate is because it is inherit in me. I was, after all, born in the Chinese New Year of the Monkey. When I realized that, all of my life seemed to clearly explain itself. That is why I am impish. It is why I am cheeky. And it is why I like to tease and play. It is simply in my nature to be a mischievous puck.

And so, when I discovered my true love for monkeys, I decided to surround myself in them and start collecting them by putting them all over my house. Here are some vignettes into my monkey-mania decorated house. One of my very first acquired decorative objects was the Aubusson Monkey Carpet that now lies in my dining room. I saw this in an auction and fell in love. But wouldn’t you know – the date of the sale was inconveniently scheduled on the same day that I delivered my first child, JV. Well shit, that wasn’t going to stop me from being outbid on that rug. I HAD to have it. I recall being in the OR recovery room after my c-section and fervently tracking the progress of the sale. That was one of the best days of my life – I became a first time mother AND I acquired my first Aubusson. I finally felt like a grown up that day. If we stay in the dining room, please check out the mural below the chair rail that I hand painted. After a very late pregnancy loss of my second child, I was incredibly depressed and threw myself into wine and painting. It was an incredibly therapeutic and creative experience for me. Pictured above my mural is a very large painting that my dad found in a garage in Florida. It was on its way to the dumpster and my dad, knowing how much I loved anything simian, took it off the stretchers, rolled it, put it in a tube and mailed it on up to me. Soon after, I found this chandelier with monkeys climbing up and down the palm tree fixtures. I now have monkey lamps on my bar. I have monkey needlepoint prayers that bless my house in the entryway. I have monkey cachepots on the mantel. I have toleware monkey caddies where I keep pencils. And one of my newest auction finds is a brass monkey door knocker. Because I NEED to have good looking knockers, you know. It’s very, very important.

Since it’s the onset of spring, I encourage you to all set your monkey free. Interpret this how you will. Maybe  you’ll go do a pole class and unleash your pole monkey. Maybe you will channel your inner martial arts techniques and Monkey Steal someone’s Peach. Maybe you’ll challenge your kids to a chicken fight on the monkey bars at the playground. Maybe you drank too many martinis last night, can’t get out of bed and want to just spank your monkey all afternoon.  Knock yourselves out.

How do YOU set your monkey free?

Tory Burch, black leather Donna boot
H&M black and gold speckled knee-highs