GIRLFRIEND POWER

Everyone always talks about love at first sight as it pertains to romantic relationships. But what about the relationships that are as important – if not more important – than romantic relationships. I’m talking about girlfriend love here. Your girlfriends are the ones who stick with you through everything – the good, the bad and the ugly. There is nothing a good girlfriend won’t do for you. Along the years, here are some of the things my girlfriends and I have done for each other.


• Girlfriends will hand you tissues and tell you it’s OK to cry when your heart has been broken.
• Girlfriends will tell you that whoever broke your heart in the first place is a loser jerk that didn’t deserve you anyway.
• Girlfriends will snap the under-snap of your bodysuit when you are too drunk and uncoordinated to reach down and do it yourself.
• Girlfriends will go and retrieve your bra from where you may have left it the night before so that it doesn’t become someone’s trophy.
• Girlfriends will put you in touch with their midwife mothers, who will talk you through over the phone how to take out your diaphragm that got stuck and lodged up there.
• Girlfriends will keep your secrets.
• Girlfriends will pick you up when you’ve fallen down. They will hold your hand and walk you home.
• Girlfriends will take care of your kids if you are having a mom-life crisis and need a break.
• Girlfriends will kiss and hug your kids like they are their own.
• Girlfriends will tell you to buy that pair of shooze anyway and not eat for a month to be able to afford it.
• Girlfriends will empower you and give you confidence.
• Girlfriends are selfless.

One of the nicest things that a girlfriend ever did for me was after only knowing her for less than a month. The week before I started a new job, my father was diagnosed with pancreatic cancer. It was a terrible and confusing time. I didn’t know anything about pancreatic cancer and I certainly didn’t know that his battle would last for only four months. As I sat at my new desk in my new office one morning, I tried to grasp any sense of clarity. It would be great if I could remember the names of my new colleagues. Or if I could remember whether or not I had changed Gus out of his dirty diaper that morning before I went to work. Or if I could stop putting my underwear on inside out. Or if I could understand what any of the following words meant; malignant neoplasm, adenocarcinoma or percutaneous needle biopsy. Everything in my head was a foggy blur and I seemed to be operating mindlessly in the dark, flailing helplessly around.

And that’s when an angel appeared. As I sat at my desk one morning, a small bag floated down over my head and was placed in front of me. I looked up and my new co-worker was standing there with a smile on her face. “What is this”, I asked. She smiled gently and answered in her molasses thick Memphis accent “It’s homemade lasagna. I made two – one you can eat tonight and the other you can pop in the freezer and have next week. It’s already wrapped in heavy duty freezer paper. There are also some green beans and homemade chocolate chip cookies in the bag too."  I just stared at her in disbelief that anyone had a heart big enough to do something so selfless, knowing me for such a short period of time. “Your kids need to eat, Mamagirl.” Several weeks later, my Memphis angel showed up at my father’s wake service. I introduced her to my own mamagirl and my mamagirl hugged her tightly and said “Thank you for feeding my grandchildren.”

I will never forget that act of kindness and from that moment onwards, I knew that she would be in my life forever. This is the fabric that girlfriend material is made of. She is a talented singer songwriter http://www.myspace.com/madisonsouth and I know she is destined for greatness. When she becomes a household name, I hope you will remember reading this post and will know that not only is she beautiful and talented, but that her heart is also made of gold.

Cowgurl boots

ARE YOU A GOOD WITCH OR A BAD WITCH?

Last night, I got home from work, changed clothes and headed to the dusty baseball diamond for JV’s playoff game. Now, I’ve bragged before that I’m a proud soccer mamagirl…but the reality is I’m a well rounded sports mamagirl. JV excels and has an interest in so many sports. His entire being revolves around playing sports, watching sports, talking about sports, doing research on sports, understanding every rule and more. From the time he was 4 years old, I knew that I had a little sports addict on my hands. Most toddlers wake up before 6am and flip on some cartoon or kids show. At age 4, JV would quietly wake himself up, go downstairs, snuggle into an easy chair in front of the TV and watch ESPN for hours. He would also sit with Jackis all afternoon long and watch entire golf tournaments. I mean, that’s like watching paint dry, isn’t it? When he was older and as soon as he was reading, I told him there was no excuse that he shouldn’t be an A student because he clearly had the discipline and capacity to learn and memorize every baseball or football players’ stats on the hundreds of cards that he has collected along the years. Surely, he could apply that skill towards academics.

Being a sports mamagirl, you often see behavior on the field or in the game that makes you cringe. I saw some ugly behavior at the baseball game last night that made me want to click my ruby sling backs together and say “there’s no place like home, there’s no place like home, there’s no place like home, I WANNA GO HOME”. A player from the opposing team, Flying Monkey, was called out on second base. Evidently, he didn’t agree with the call and as he stomped back to the dugout, he proceeded to throw a temper tantrum, throw his helmet and cuss out the umpire. Now, we have a bad-ass umpire that officiates in the 9 year old travel baseball team. His name is Rock. Enough said. You don’t fuck with Rock. Rock immediately made the call to throw Flying Monkey out for the rest of the game – it was, after all, the right thing to do. Flying Monkey began to run away from the field, screaming, crying, cursing and making a total scene. That’s when Flying Monkey’s Wicked MamaWitch of the West flew in on her broomstick. She started to defend Flying Monkey and directed slurs towards Rock “You don’t know what you’re talking about”, “You need to get your eyes checked”, “What kind of ump throws a 9 year old kid out of the game”, and “You’ve got a problem, Buddy”. When you witness a parent engage in this type of behavior, it becomes obvious from where their offspring flying monkeys of the world learn it. She rose up from her seat and started to follow and find where Flying Monkey had run off to. As she passed JV’s team dug out, she started to direct her anger towards the kids, “You’re lucky Flying Monkey got thrown out of the game because if he were still in, he would kick your Lollipop Kid asses”, “We’re going to beat your team anyway, you loser Munchkins”, and “I hope we spank you all the way to Oz”. WHO DOES THAT??? I wanted to throw a bucket of water on Wicked MamaWitch of the West and watch her melt to the ground.

Now, unfortunately…we did lose the game. I knew that JV, my Cowardly Lion, was going to be crushed. He is not a bad sport in that sense where one throws a temper tantrum or has a bad attitude. But he does need to learn how to lose and not take it so personally. He internalizes deep disappointment in himself and I knew that I had to quickly get him off the field as I watched him struggle to hold back tears that were welling up in his eyes. I ran to his side and quickly started to escort him off the field. I did not want his peers – either the other Flying Monkeys or the Munchkins – to see him cry. We almost escaped the field until one of the Flying Monkeys saw the tears start to flow and he turned to another Flying Monkey and said “Hey look, Cowardly Lion is crying..He’s a…” and that’s where I cut him off. I suppose I am no better than the Wicked MamaWitch of the West, and although I heard my mouth say “Congratulations on the win, guys”, my eyes and my smile said “Don’t fuck with Cowardly Lion. If you do, I will fuck you back harder”.
Christian Louboutin sling back peep toes, Cathay 100 Metal Patent Calf, Rouge

RITES BEFORE TAKING THE PLUNGE

Bridal showers. It’s one of the best rites in life about being a girl. When I was a bride myself, Jackis and I were thrown a co-ed entertaining shower. Now don’t get me wrong – Jackis is always up for a good party –hell, he is usually the life and soul of a good party once it’s rocking. He likes his cocktails, he likes his music, he likes to nibble on yummy nibblies and he likes to circulate and work the room. But he couldn’t for the life of him understand the concept and ritual of opening gifts at a shower. “Doesn’t that interrupt the momentum of the party? Won’t it kill my buzz?” I recall him asking “What do you mean, we have to save the ribbons for a bouquet? Why does your sister have to make a list on who gave us what?” There are some things you just can’t explain to a guy…like, the elated feeling girls get when we purchase a new pair of shooze. Or why we love to dance on furniture instead of the floor. Or why we clean up the house BEFORE the cleaning lady comes over. Or why we like to be showered in gifts for the home and ooooh and ahhh over frying pans and extremely high thread count bed linens. All I have to say is thank God for the person at our co-ed shower who gave us the strobe light and disco ball– that was the only gift that Jackis got excited over!


I went to a bridal shower last night and it was the most perfect way to spend a hot summer night. I was surrounded by a score of beautiful girls with tanned legs, sassy sundresses and strappy shooze. We nibbled on asparagus wrapped in prosciutto, cheesy sausage stuffed mushrooms, smoked salmon bruschetta topped with dill crème fraiche & caramelized onions and the most precious miniature red velvet cupcakes. We sipped icy cold Sauvignon Blanc and pomegranate vodka cocktails. We watched the beautiful bride graciously unwrap wine glasses, embroidered dish towels, antique silver tri-form caddies, hand painted stationery, cookbooks and more. Meanwhile, every ribbon was being saved and expertly woven into a gorgeous grosgrain, taffeta, tulle and satin creation. We ooohed and we ahhhhed. There is nothing better than this girliest of girl time. And all the while, I was surrounded by these beautiful girls’ shooze. Gladiator sandals, kitten heels, wedges, platform heels, patent leather, animal prints, metallic woven leather, caramel colored, silver, white, blue. I couldn’t ask for a more perfect evening. And I can’t wait until the wedding next month – it’s certain to be a shoe showcase extravaganza!

FILTHY DIRTY MAMAGIRL

Several weeks ago, my oldest and dearest friend, Alexis, told me that she was participating in a mud run with some of her friends in South Carolina. “What’s a mud run?” I found myself asking her. She proceeded to describe what sounded like the most ultimate fun adventure that a grown up could legitimately do. It involved a 5K trail run, peppered with military style obstacle courses and culminating in a crawl through a 90 foot long mud pit. Now, I love getting dirty, so you can imagine how jealous I was. “That sounds like so much fun – I wish I could do that too” I texted her. A minute later, she texted me back with the links to mud races up in New York. I immediately signed myself up.

The weeks passed and as the race drew nearer, I found myself wondering what kind of shooze I should wear. It was pretty much a no-brainer …if you’ve followed my earlier posts, you know that I’m a runner who changes running shooze every 200 miles so I have plenty of running shooze that still have life to them. I was actually pretty happy to realize that I would justifiably discard a pair of mud crusted sneakers after the race to make room in my closet for a new pair of shooze. Bring on the race!

The morning arrived and I drove to the race site – Harriman State Park, Sebago Beach. I found myself not nervous for the course and the mud and the race, but instead, apprehensive about how I was going to run without my iPod and my music. In all of my races, I really count on Bono, Mary J, Sting, Usher, Lady Gaga, Neil, Fergie, Justin, JBJ, Ray and the rest of my gang to keep me company and effortlessly carry me through the miles. I was prepared to throw out my muddy sneakers after the race, but I wasn’t willing to destroy my iPod. So I resigned myself to run an acapella race.

It turns out the music would have been a huge distraction for me. Normally when I run, I let my mind wander and I like to space out. I look at trees, I look at the sky, I look at people’s shooze, I make mental lists in my head, I day dream –I really multitask when I run. But not this race. I had to concentrate so hard on the ground. The terrain was very difficult to navigate. We ran from an open field immediately into the wilderness. Uphill. Downhill. Jumping over fallen trees. Gravel. Boulders. Narrow pathways. Tall grass. It required an immense amount of balance because the ground was not level. Every once in a while there would be a military type obstacle – whether it was jumping over a wooden horse, climbing a rock climbing type wall, hopping through a roped obstacle, crawling underneath roped spider weaves and running ankle deep through viscous mud slops. I began to wonder if I had mistakenly entered the 10K race because I had no watch and there were no water points or clocks – I had no idea how long or how far I was in the race. Finally, I cleared the wilderness trails which circumnavigated a large lake. I entered an open field and came upon a beach…and the path of the race ran right into the water. WTF? I looked ahead of me and saw that the racers had to wade through a lake - chest deep - for about 300 yards. I kind of welcomed cooling down from the 90 degree heat but I couldn’t figure out if I should swim or walk through the water. Most people were walking, pulling and wading through the heavy water. As soon as we exited the water, we had to run and do more obstacles along a sandy beach. Great. Just as I had washed off, now I was gritty, sandy and dirty again. Ick. Finally, I saw the end of the race as I ran up a 10 foot dirt wall…and had to jump into the mud pit. This was the final stretch – a 90 foot long mud pit that you had to navigate under the limbo style ropes. And this was where I excelled in the race. This is where my pole dancing talents helped out. You see, as a pole dancer, you are not just flipping and inverting and spinning around a pole. You do a fair amount of crawling across the floor. Sometimes you crawl languid and slow. Sometimes you crawl fast like a banshee. And that’s what I did. I crawled through that mud pit furiously like a little cucaracha on my belly all the way to the finish line.

It was the most fun, but hardest thing I have ever done. Good, clean – but dirty – fun. I am already signed up for my next mud run in October, ( http://www.downanddirtymudrun.com/ny.cfm ) only this time, I’m going to have JV be my partner and do it with him. You should have seen his face when I rang the doorbell when I got home and showed him my muddy self. All he could say was “Cool, Mamagirl – you look like you’ve just survived Wipeout!”

FUTBOL MANIA

Yeah, I’m a soccer mom. So what? There is nothing to be ashamed about by that moniker. My kids participate in both the fall and spring travel soccer leagues. JV’s team plays three times a week: 1) coach’s practice, 2) trainer practice and 3) game day. Gus plays once a week – not on the same day as JV - so we are at some soccer field at least four days out of the week. I wash and fold uniforms. I clap together mud encrusted cleats. I buy protective cups. I buy shin guards. I fill up water bottles. I apply eye black to their faces. During the last FIFA World Cup, we added a gorgeous English bulldog to our family and I allowed my boys to name her after a UK soccer stadium…Wembley. We’ve been affixed to the TV since FIFA World Cup in South Africa started last week. We followed the USA-England match over the weekend that was the most watched FIFA first match of the tournament to be watched since 1994. We’ve been following how the USA team bus got delayed on their way to the stadium, having been caught behind a family of tree eating elephants on the way to Royal Bafokeng Stadium. Why do I do this you might ask? Are you kidding me? Have you seen Annie Leibovitz’s Vanity Fair spread on all the World Cup soccer studs in their knickers? OMG! I cultivate this soccer mania in my family because I want to raise little soccer Casanovas with six pack abs who rip their shirts off every time they score a GOOOOAAAALLLLLL!

Soccer is the ballet of the masses. Go FUTBOL!

GUYS LIKE SHOOZE TOO

In case you thought that my audience appeals to the ladies only, you are wrong. To prove that point, today’s posting is going to be dedicated to all the great guys that I know. Some of you guys have crazy shoe fetishes and secretly stalk The Mamagirl’s page to salivate over 6+ inchers. Some of you dream of what it might be like to run your fingertips across the smooth leather body of the shoe. Maybe you fantasize about cupping some red Louboutin soles in the palms of your hands. Possibly you dream about inserting your thumbs into the toe box. You guys are some sick puppies…and I love you all. But I also love a man who appreciates pure functionality – so this shoe is for the Form Meets Function Man.

I first learned about this shoe last summer when Jackis and I took the boys to visit their cousins in Duxbury, Massachusetts. We experienced a particularly stressful afternoon on the beach WHERE WE LOST GUS. How many of you well intentioned parents out there have lost your child at one time in your life in a public place? Perhaps a mall or a store or even Disneyworld? Well, we managed to lose Gus at the beach – the double whammy of excessive crowds and dangerous waters! It was insanely crowded with people, kids and thousands of SUVs parked on the beach. After a terrifying 20 minutes where the beach had been closed down and every lifeguard and coastal agent had been called into action, I was reunited with my GussyMan who was being driven back to me by the coastal police in a sirened SUV brigade. Lots of tears, heart palpitations, sweat bullets and more.

You are probably asking what kind of mother am I to lose my child at the beach? But sometimes you can get really distracted from your senses when you see a great idea or a great invention – and that’s precisely what happened. At this beach, we saw all the guys wearing flip flops that doubled as a bottle opener. That’s right. By all appearances, this was a regular flip flop. But when you take it off and turn it over, embedded into t he sole of the shoe is a cap opener. Genius. No more “Does anyone have a bottle opener” or “Honey, make sure to bring a bottle opener to the picnic” or “Shit, I forgot the bottle opener, but let me try and de-cap it with my keys or against this ledge” or “Why the fuck didn’t we buy canned beer, shouldn’t we have learned our lesson by now?” This is a fantastic invention and I bet the inventor is a multi-millionaire by now. And so, after we recovered from the anxiety of losing our child at the beach, Jackis went to the flip flop store and bought himself a cool pair. And a six pack. And we opened beer with his shooze and toasted our little Gussy Man, in the safety of a gated backyard where you can’t lose a child.

So attention all mamagirls -- Father’s Day is coming up next weekend. This is a great gift idea for your Form Meets Function Kinda Man.

Reef Men’s Fanning Ultimate Bottle Opener Sandal
http://islandsurf.com/islandsurf/page/product/sku/RF_%7CD%7C_002300/p/Mens-Fanning-Ultimate-Bottle-Opener-Sandals.html?af_id=105&gclid=COqIk8DclaICFQXG3AodjV_HEg&search=bottle-opener-sandals&Apparel=Footwear&Brand=Reef&cm_vc=CROSS_SELL_PRODUCT&l=c&v=alt2

HIGH HEELS AND BEER - DO THEY MIX WELL?

This past weekend, I went back to my 20 year college reunion. Ouch. When I say “I went back”, I don’t only mean that I travelled five hours to my collegiate destination, but “I went back” also means that I regressed to my irresponsible days of yore. You all know what I mean; I temporarily abandoned my family, my domestic responsibilities, my mind, and any sliver of credibility as an appropriate person that sometimes I think I have earned. I knew that there was a good possibility that I would blow it out, so I really worried about what kind of shooze I was going to pack that would get me through the weekend. So how does a mamagirl who loves shooze prepare? Easy. She over packs, of course. These are the shooze I packed – 8 pairs of shooze for the weekend:

· I pair of somewhat chic, rocket high espadrilles…these would be the shooze that I would leave civilization in, so I needed to look somewhat like myself when I left – and then reentered – my real life.
· I pair of blue wellies - knee high navy blue rain boots with loden green laces…in case it rained, then I could still party my face off in the tents, knee deep in mud and beer.
· 1 pair of sneakers….since I was probably going to saturate myself in beer, I figured I would need to go for a run the next day to sweat out the toxins.
· 1 pair of flip flops – my silver Jack Rogers…because they are my “go to” shoe in the summer and look good with shorts, sundresses, jeans and more.
· 1 pair of very old espadrilles, that would give me some height, but were still sturdy enough to keep me planted on the ground while I walked with a keg of beer in my belly….because I needed a heel otherwise my jeans would be too long and drag on the ground. They had to be old in case I decided to toss them in the garbage after the possibility of getting trashed.

· 3 pairs of hand painted sandals…because I love me my girlfriends and wanted to come bearing gifts for them (in return, check out the uber formidable tank top that my friend Nina gifted to me!)

· 1 bling bling toe ring…because I’m the Mamagirl.

And do you know what? All of them were worn over the course of the weekend, except the boots. Happily it didn’t rain! My weekend was amazing. It was so good to see my friends and to go back to a place and a time where you grew up. But if I had to do it again, I might have worn only my toe ring out on Friday night…because I learned that 20 beers, 1 pitcher of sangria, 3 tequila shots and whatever else I managed to forget that I poured down my throat don’t really provide for great stability while teetering around on high heeled wedge espadrilles. Translation? I fell into a lot of bushes on Friday night.

What can I say? Inadvisable shooze, inadvisable drinker. Go figure, Mother Fucker.

                           THEN                                                                            NOW

MONKEY CHUG and DAS BOOT

This weekend is my 20th year college reunion. There. I said it. I finally told you what an old hag I am. You’re smart…you can figure out that I’m old enough for Botox, sclerotherapy, boob lifts, cougarhood and more. But am I worried about my wrinkles or excess poundage when I show up to reunion? Hell no! I’ve been losing more sleep over what shooze to pack for this 3 day weekend trip. You see, I went to college in upstate New York. It pretty much snowed from October to April and all we really wore were LLBean boots. Now that it’s June, the weather is really different so I’m not sure what kind of shooze to pack. I need to keep in mind we will be under the tents in what could potentially be a muddy field. Someone might vomit on my feet. I may have to walk down Cardiac Hill for torchlight ceremony, so that pretty much rules out heels. Flip flops? Nah, it might be too cold for that. If we get drunk enough, we may go cow tipping so I need to have puke/mud/manure resistant footware. My friends and I are really at a loss for what to wear. And that’s when it hit me…the perfect shoe for my college reunion is DAS BOOT.

You see, not only are we planning on consuming alotta beer this weekend, but it’s only apropos that we would channel Das Boot. You see, I went to college with the Broken Lizard guys who among other brilliantly funny movies, wrote, produced, directed and starred in BeerFest. You know…the movie where they train for chug-offs against the German beermeisters to protect a guarded family beer recipe secret. Along the years, I have gained immense popularity with my interns at work in the young 20s age group. When I tell them that I actually have drunk beer with these guys, they immediate think I am the coolest senior citizen around. It heightens my coolness factor and they think I’m the shit. The elementary school crowd think I’m pretty hip when they find out I know the bus driver from Sky High. I’m like “huhhhhhhh?” Because how I really know these guys best, is growing up with them in my college years and Monkey Chugging.

I hear you scratch your head and say “Monkey Chug? What is the Mamagirl banging on about now? I came here to read about shooze…what is a Monkey Chug?” Well you see…a Monkey Chug is something we used to do in college. I can’t take credit for it – the concept of it was born in the Beta Theta Pi fraternity house where the Broken Lizard guys and many of my most excellent friends would hang upside down from a pipe in the tap room and chug beers upside down. So if you’ve seen Beerfest, that whole training thing that went on for months and months was a complete farce. You see, these guys have been training since I’ve known them. How many people do you know can hang upside down and chug beer? So boyz….I can’t wait to see you this weekend. And while I haven’t Monkey Chugged in almost 20 years, I gave it a go tonight in preparation to see you. Watch this, here is my attempt. Don’t laugh. But maybe, you can possibly find me a bit part in Beerfest 2. Because I don’t think that Jessica Simpson or Wonder Woman can dangle upside down and open up their gullets for a brewery explosion.