That Age-Old Dilemma: What to Wear?

Next month my hubby and I are attending a rather large and important business/social event in Beverly Hills. Let's just say it is probably the most important event in Tom's career thus far. Naturally, I'm at a loss for what to wear. Obviously I want to go with something that says "classy", and when it comes to social events I've always gone for a "less is more" approach. That being said, I've narrowed it down to a few choices:

This dress debuted at Sonia Rykiel's fall fashion show last month and I've been entranced by it's beauty ever since. Nothing says style more than a giant hairy face on your dress. Of course with my luck I'd spill caviar down the front and it would be a bitch trying to pick out those fish eggs from that nasty weave.

Honestly, any of the above ensembles from "Rock of Love Charm School" would be amazing, but Heather's red dress (held together by some sort of aluminum-foil clip) is pure magic. I can only imagine how proud Tom would be to show me off to his colleagues in that simple smock. Pure arm candy. 

In my opinion, Juliette Lewis has always been one of the more fashion-forward celebrities. I can only imagine the looks of jealously and awe if i were to walk into the soiree wearing these pleather pants, wife-beater (sans bra, of course) and Indian headdress. Add a pair of Jessica Simpson pink patent leather stilettos and I think I've found my look. Tom will be so proud.

-Val

Labor Pains

After watching "Baby Mama" this weekend, I immediately felt a kinship with Amy Poehler's health-food hating, sarcastic, anti-natural childbirth character.  I was sure the writers must have had a hidden camera on me during my first pregnancy. 

I've always wanted to be a mom, and was thrilled to find out I was pregnant a mere 7 months after getting married. However, within 2 weeks after the EPT "positive" reading, the thrill was gone and the "pregnancy glow" that you hear about was replaced with a Shrek-like shade of green which would stay with me for months.  

The morning sickness (which continued through the afternoon and night) had me truly convinced that I was dying. During the first month of my pregnancy, Tom and I flew to Seattle and the return flight was so harrowing that I got off the plane (after filling up two barf bags, much to the dismay of everyone around me) and insisted that he rush me straight to the hospital, because I knew that I had some kind of  Norivirus/birdflu hybrid and wouldn't make it through the day. Dramatics has always been my forte.

In the mornings I used to sneak away from my desk job and lay on the cold, filthy tile of the public bathrooms just to feel the coolness against my face (that is, when my head wasn't buried in the toilet attempting to vomit in silence). The tiny baby inside of me had the power and potency of  a bottle of cheap tequila on an empty stomach. Adding insult to injury, the only cure for the perpetual pregnancy hangover was constant eating. My food addiction reached critical mass by month 7, when my sized 5 1/2 feet ballooned to a size 8 (I wore slippers at my desk), and I had gained a whopping 52 pounds (not good for a normally petite 5'2" girl). A typical day involved a half sleeve of Saltines and a Big Gulp for breakfast;  a lunch of everything in sight at my work's cafeteria and an afternoon snack of a Dr. Pepper and box of Hot Tamales. I'd come home and (like a Meth addict on a binge), whip up a batch of "cook and serve" chocolate pudding, bring to a boil and promptly sit on the couch watching the OJ Simpson trial unfold as I ate the hot pudding straight from the pan. Let's just say "health food" did not fit into my pregnancy plan. As a result of my crack-like addiction to sugar, today my son has a fetish for Dr. Pepper and anything chocolate. Sorry son.

I worked up until the day before my son was born (despite feeling like a bloated Weeble Wobble), but I'd grown so big and uncomfortable with the 113 average temperature during that Phoenix summer, that I literally begged my doctor to induce labor. A day later I was in the hospital and ready to pop. "What to Expect When you Are Expecting" had suggested that one bring cards, a DVD or  something "fun" to do during the first phase of labor. Within 5 minutes of the doctor inducing labor, there was no time for fun - I immediately felt like I was pushing a Nuclear warhead through a tiny pinhole. While my mother was in my face telling me to "Breathe" I was spitting back like Linda Blair in the Exorcist telling her to F- off". 

It wasn't long before the anesthesiologist showed up with his magic 4 foot epidural needle. At that point, he could have shoved that needle straight in my eye and I wouldn't have put up a fight. I'd gone 9 months self medicating on nothing more than chocolate pudding and hot tamales, and wasn't about to turn down a shot of instant heaven. My anesthesiologist quickly became known as "Dr. Feelgood" (I'm sure he wasn't amused) and during the next 14 hours of labor, I required a visit from Dr Feelgood no less than four times as the drug would continually wear off causing me to curse like a sailor while tearfully begging for more drugs. 

By the time the doctors warned me that my baby was "stuck in my birth canal" and my heart rate and blood pressure were dropping to dangerous levels, I was too high to care. When they told me I needed an Emergency C-Section, I said in my best Sean Penn-in-Fast-Times-at-Ridgemont-voice, "Let's Go for it". Tom watched the operation while I tried to convince the surgeon to drop the sheet so that I too could see my abdomen cut open and the birth of my son. For some reason, the Doctors didn't  go for that. At this point, I'd had so many injections from Dr. Feelgood, that  Jack the Ripper could have cut me into a thousand pieces and fed me to a hungry lion and I would have had a smile on my face. Shortly after my beautiful son Daniel was born, they showed him to me (a perfect baby weighing in at 8lbs 15 ounces). I made eye contact with my baby, smiled and the doctor put a mask over my face telling me it was time to go "night night" (apparently he didn't want my son's first bonding moment to be with a mom who slurred more than Dean Martin at a Vegas show).

Ironically, a few years later, my second pregnancy had me craving green apples and bean tostadas from a healthy Mexican Restaurant down the street. As a result (?) today my daughter is a vegetarian who drinks water constantly and can't stand the taste of soda. I still gained a whopping 45 lbs. with her, but avoided labor altogether with a scheduled C-section and only ONE  visit from Dr. Feelgood. I even managed to stay conscious after her birth and bond with her without sounding like Dean Martin or Courtney Love. Ah, the miracle of birth!

-val

The End of An Era

Forget AIG, Lehman Brothers and Wachovia. I just read that Mother's Cookies has filed for bankruptcy and will cease operations immediately. What is this world coming to? Anyone who grew up in the 70's should be familiar with Mothers Cookies. I think she only had two types: the mini chocolate chips which tasted like crispy lard nuggets with a couple slivers of chocolate and the infamous pink and white "Circus Animal" cookies. God, I hated those Circus Cookies. They must have been perpetually on sale at Luckys Supermarket, because our cupboard o' mold was always stocked with these crappy cookies. Personally, I always thought they tasted like dog biscuits dipped in wax and covered with sprinkles, but I will miss "Mothers" anyway.  

-Val

So Many Kinds of Wrong

Call me old fashioned, but this baby doll is really pushing the boundaries of decency. Since when is it cool to give your kids a Dirk Diggler Boogie Nights peeing baby doll that has an erection when a grown man tickles it's tummy? 

In my day, dolls didn't have any orifices below the neck. Their "junk" was nothing more than a smooth plastic no-fly zone. From the hips down, Barbie and Ken were indistinguishable (as it should be).  Of course there was "Baby Alive" which  you could feed fake applesauce and within minutes the doll would promptly crap it out, and yes it was disgusting but in a cool kind of way. Baby Penis Doll however, is just wrong in so many ways. 

-Val

Christmas Comes Early This Year!

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Christmas comes early with the arrival of "Celebrity Rehab 2" later this month. Personally, I've been needing regular doses of Xanax over the past few weeks due to the "sky is falling" economy and the media's threat that we will all be homeless and in line at a Soup Kitchen by early next year. However, after watching the above clip, life is looking up. As a matter of fact, next to Tawney Kittean, I am practically Carol Frickin Brady. Don't get me started on Gary Busey and his crazy blank stare (I smell a knife fight) and while it might be arguable that Rodney King is a "Celebrity", nothing beats watching him barf out the window of a Mack truck.

I also just found out that there will be a Season 4 of "The Real Housewives of the OC". Since it is filmed literally in my own back yard (with many of my favorite restaurants, my salon and my skin care {i.e botox} place regularly featured on the show) I will be waiting with baited breath to see what those beatches have in store this time. They really are horrible shallow people and I am mesmerized by every minute of it. Christmas really did come early this year.

-Val