Don't Care How, I Want it Now

Hey Jessica Simpson, we know you aren't the smartest woman on the planet, what with all the dumping Nick Lachey for that guy from Jackass and the chicken-or-tuna debate you had with yourself, but this is way beyond your usual level of stupid:

JESSICA SIMPSON plans to adopt a child from a Mexican orphanage she has been visiting since she was a teenager. . . .

The 27-year-old tells Self magazine, "My father was a minister, so growing up we'd go on a missionary trip every summer. The first time I went to that orphanage I was 16. I remember holding this baby who was found in a dumpster. I wanted to adopt him right then and there. I was like, 'Dad can I have him for my birthday, please?'"

Are you kidding with that shit? A human child is not a goddamn pony, Jessica. An orphanage is not a pound where you can just grab a kitten and make your parents take care of it.

Between Jessica Simpson's grab-and-go method of adoption and Madonna's borderline baby thefts, it's a wonder any foreign countries let Americans adopt their children anymore. Which is a shame since there are many parents who give adoption a great deal of thought into adopting kids from abroad.

Playas

Come on.

Michelle Hastings admits she's sometimes cheated to get through a game of Candy Land with her 5-year-old daughter, Campbell. The board game can take just too long, she said. Disney Monopoly is another big offender.
"A game like that, it could literally take you days," said Hastings, of Holliston, Mass. "A lot of times, you don't play games because they take so long."

Candy Land takes days? Maybe I'm not playing Candy Land correctly, but I think the longest game of Candy Land I've ever played took all of fifteen minutes. (This lady may not be totally with it since she named her kids "Campbell" and "Peyton.") Candy Land is designed for really young kids. You're doing something wrong if it takes days to complete a round of Candy Land. Uno? That game could go on for days. Monopoly? I've never played a complete game of Monopoly. But... Candy Land? Don't you have something bigger to worry about than how long a game of Candy Land takes? Like perhaps freeing up some time so your kids don't feel a profound connection to "Cat's in the Cradle?" ("Oh, Mommy? She's the lady who text messages me all the time.")

"A lot of people like playing games, but they want resolution," said Jim Silver, editor-in-chief of Toy Wishes magazine. "And that's why you see some of these quicker games coming out."

Of course people want a quick resolution. That's the American way! Fast food, speed dating, credit cards-- we want it now. Games are a great way to teach kids how to take turns. (I vividly remember needing to be coached by my cousin and mother on how to count spaces on Chutes and Ladders and wanting it to be my turn right away.) Games also teach kids how to be good losers and good winners. The boy I babysit has the propensity to do a victory dance-- complete with finger pointing, fist pumping, and hip swivels-- when he beats Eldest at a game. Since they play a lot of board games, he's learned to be more civil when he wins. Board games teach patience, and a lot of that would be lost if we try to rush them along to just get the fun over with already.

Here's my free board game tip for you, parents. If you're playing a game and you've got somewhere else to be, why don't you just leave the game out on a table so you can resume the game later? That's how we did it back in the olden days. The people I babysit for do it that way-- they start a game of Monopoly and take notes on where everything was when they get bored and put the game away for later.

This Train's Going Express to Traumaville

Sometimes, I like to think I have psychic dreams. Not all the time, and certainly I don't take every dream I have as literal predictions of the truth. (This weekend's dream featured some futuristic spaceship-plane hybrid that was cool and I hope comes into reality someday.) I like when my dreams give me a heads-up on something I may need to be prepared for in the future. When I was in college, I had a dream that the kids I babysit for and I got split up while riding the train. My subconscious may have been helping me deal with feelings of powerlessness-- I had to run ahead to the next stop to catch the kids, but I couldn't run fast enough-- but after that dream I was always very careful loading and unloading the wee ones into the train. The dream served me well too-- only a week or so later an over-eager T driver tried to close the doors while Boy was still disembarking the train. Luckily, I managed to thrust my arms into the closing doors and grab him off the stairs.

More recently, I was on the T in Government Center on a busy weekend, and I watched a mother load her daughter into the train. The mother turned around to see if the rest of her family was behind her, and the doors started to close. The little girl who was loaded onto the train started to scream, and somebody standing in the doorway held the doors so the mother could get on the train. It was a very near miss. The little girl sobbed while her mother tried to comfort her. I gave the girl a smile, but she looked away and continued to sob. When she got off the train a couple of stops later, she clung to her mother for dear life.

This weekend, I was reading Universal Hub and came across this post, which is the story of a child who did actually get separated from their family on the T.

Being in a state of shock that a door was closing on me, and not wanting my 8-month-old to be hurt by the closing door, I backed up. The door then closed with my 7-year-old on the train. I panicked. I banged on the door and screamed that my daughter was on the train -- but to no avail. The train proceeded on.

Yikes. That poor kid. Her poor mother. This problem seems mainly centered on the Green Line. The other lines have more doors and no stairs to navigate into the train, so it's easy to heard kids inside. Also, the doors seem to remain open for longer on the other lines. Some T drivers on the Green Line basically flip the doors open for only a second, then close them up regardless of the fact that the very young or very old may take longer to get on or off the train, especially the older cars with steep stairs. I'm surprised this hasn't been more widely reported as a problem.

I don't know how many parents read this blog (sorry for the swearing, folks) but if you've got young kids, you need to discuss what to do if you get separated on the T. Make sure they know your home and cell numbers. Since cell phones don't work underground on the T, make sure kids know who to approach for help. If they're on the Green Line, make sure they know to talk to the driver of the car, or how to recognize a T official on a platform. (Good luck finding one, I know, but you don't want your kids admitting to any sketchball on the platform that they're without adult supervision.) Have your kid get off the train at the next stop and wait for you. As someone said to my comment on Universal Hub, make sure your kids know what stop you're using. It sounds extreme, but hopefully your kid will know how to handle a situation that never happens.

Not Yet a Woman

I love celebrity hijinks as much as any other red-blooded American woman. I love to hear who a star is fucking, who she'd like to fuck, what makeup she wears, what shows she sees at Fashion Week, who she hates, who she got to design her house. As Cosmo has taught me, sharing celebrity gossip with other women helps forge friendships and doesn't have the risk involved in it that gossiping about your own lowly friends does. My coworkers and I love juicy gossip about who has the herp in Hollywood. I'm up on my politics, so I don't beat myself up for an occasional read of Us Weekly or People when it's available.

Lately, celebrity news has gone from the fun schadenfreude place to the negative, scary, okay-this-is-actual-human-suffering place. Watching Lindsay Lohan unravel isn't fun when you see how Anna Nicole Smith's passing is being treated, and watching Britney Spears have a nervous breakdown that is making some paparazzi very, very rich is gross. I don't like these stories about her. I can't imagine what kind of mental state she must be in to listen to her family, check into rehab, then check back out a day later. My own theory is that Britney has never had any downtime, ever, since she was about six years old. She's been so successful and in the business for so long that not touring, not making music, not working long days has her restless. And when you've got a pile of money and a hoard of people who are more than willing to help you spend it in perhaps not the best possible way, what else can you do? She's got no direction. She wants to have a plan, but she's never done her own thing. Someone has always told this girl what to do, when to do it, how it'll profit her. Now that she's an adult and expected to make those choices herself, she can't deal with it. So she goes out without panties, leaves her kids at home with someone (I hope), and acts a fool because it passes the time and makes her feel good.

And while I know Britney doesn't really read the internet too much (she does have her own website she updates from time to time), I'd like to say this to her, if she's listening. Get your cracker ass into rehab now. And stay there. Seriously. It was funny at first, but now you're a danger to yourself and your kids. When you have kids, you lose the right to be a self-indulgent child. Parents everywhere feel overwhelmed and scared, but they sack up because their kids need them. Something is very, very wrong when Kevin Federline is the best birth parent these kids could have. Don't think that your kids can't be taken away from you because you're famous. It'll take a while longer, but eventually you're going to do something to endanger them so much the state will fuck with you. Just stop now. Sort yourself out. Grow some peach fuzz. Start working again. Think. For the love of God, use your remaining brain cells and just think about what you're doing to yourself and your family.

I like Britney Spears. When you're on the treadmill and need a little push to continue running nothing helps like a dose of "Stronger" or my favorite, "Crazy" from the movie with Clarissa. I like that Britney's unapologetically white trash with money. I love the fantasy I have in my mind of her reuniting with Justin Timberlake for good and producing both hits and hit-making babies. But if she doesn't shape up, I won't have these things to enjoy.

Adventures in Television

I grew up in a television family. We did other things too, like gardening when my Mom felt good or going shopping or just playing around, but we always loved TV. As a kid, I'd watch Sesame Street and Mr. Roger's Neighborhood on PBS in the mornings and afternoons. When I got older and was left to my own devices on hot summer days, I'd watch Mr. Ed and MASH reruns when it was too hot to move. I knew all about the cool toys from TV, what kind of clothes I should be wearing, and that I always wanted to crimp my hair but my Mom wouldn't let me bake my hair at the age of ten.

I've always admired the people I babysit for and how they've kept their kids away from the commercial aspects of the world. When the kids watch TV, they watch videos of Scooby-Doo. Personally, I hate Scooby-Doo and just admitted this to the kids this past weekend and I don't think they've quite recovered from the shock that someone they love can hate something they love so much. I think they have a video of Sesame Street songs and that's it. It's amazing to me that the kids, especially Eldest, hasn't revolted and demanded to watch something on network TV, but it hasn't happened yet.

Last night, I got home from post-work drinks with my coworkers and decided to watch My Name is Earl and The Office. Eldest stays up until 9pm, so she was jumping around on a trampoline when I flicked on the tiny set. The kids' dad seemed excited to watch some TV while their mother seemed vaguely annoyed. My Name is Earl came on, and before the first commercial break there were about three "dammits" and two "hells" and one "bitch" let loose. I blushed, and looked over at Eldest and her mother.

Eldest had buried her head in a pillow while Mother looked at the TV blankly. I always forget how swearing has become much more mainstream since I was a kid watching TV. When I'm with the kids, I keep my language to a minimum because they're not my kids and I don't want them learning how to insult each other with "stupid bitch" on my watch. If I should have kids someday, they're just going to learn swearing because I can't keep the language to myself for eighteen years. It's just not fucking possible.

We made it to the first commercial break and Eldest watched the commercials with rapt attention. She watched the Ford commercial where the car drives along a building ledge and remarked "that's not possible." Within two minutes of the show starting again, Eldest handed her mother a book and hid behind a pillow as talk of sex started.

"She's at the age where she knows it's not something she should watch, but she doesn't understand why," Mother explained.

"I can turn it off," I offered. "It's not a big deal."

"Also, I think she's a little bored. Don't worry about it."

We got through My Name is Earl and started in on The Office. Which had much discussion of strippers. Awesome. Eldest would pop in for the commercials, diving for her pillow when an ER preview came on with someone trapped inside a burning building, someone struggling for breath on a hospital gurney, and someone getting shot. I tried to explain the Jim/Pam/Karen love triangle to Mother. Then came this exchange.

"Didn't Ben Franklin have syphilis?" Pam asks the Ben Franklin actor Michael hired as a "stripper."

"What's syphilis?" Eldest asked the room. I kept my eyes glued to the TV so her parents could take that doozy.

"It's a disease," Father offered after an awkward silence.

"How do you get it? What does it do?"

Nobody fielded that one.

"I want the ads to come back on," Eldest said, rolling on the floor. "I like the toothpaste ads."

"That was a toothpaste ad," Mother said after a Rembrandt ad featuring two people making out heavily in a tight shot. After that, the commercial where the woman goes for a jog while her boyfriend follows her in a car blaring the Spice Girls came on, and I had to explain that he was doing that because the woman needed her iPod reward from the credit card company.

"Ohhhh," both Mother and Eldest said.

I am going to ruin this family.

The Parent Trap

I am not a parent. Let me state that up front. Never has any spawn issued forth from my womb. I do, however, know quite a few parents. In my twenty-five years on this planet, I have cared for children as young as infants to as old as fifteen in various capacities. Also, I have a mother who didn't let me get away with much. So these are my qualifications to judge the people in this story. Judge me judging these people accordingly.

The Kulesza family was flying from Fort Meyers to Boston last week when their three-year-old daughter got upset and threw a fit. Fifteen minutes after the plane was supposed to take off, the girl still wasn't in her seat and the airline employees booted the family from the plane. While the parents were upset, I'm pretty sure the rest of the passengers stood up and applauded.

Listen, I understand that having a kid isn't easy. They're messy, they don't have much self-control at three, they don't understand terrorism or airplane safety. Just like an adult, they find flying to be a largely uncomfortable and annoying experience but have slightly less capacity to deal with the stress. I get that. However, as a parent, you've got to lay down the law with an unruly kid. I don't mean deploying spanking by any means. Let's imagine this as me at age three being unruly on an airplane with my mother.

Me: WAAAAAH! NOOOO! WAAAAH! I'M NOT GONNA SIT DOWN!

Mom: You sit down right this minute.

Me: NO!

Mom: You sit down and buckle your belt before I do it for you and you never again know birthday parties or Christmas gifts.

Me: ::click::

Mom: Thank you.

And, perhaps the most telling bit of evidence that these people weren't victims of a cruel airline policy is at the end of the article.

Julie Kulesza says she was angry when she found out they'd have to wait 24 hours for another flight. AirTran says connections were available, but the family wanted non-stop only.

That's why the kid is an entitled brat; her mother is a brat too. The airline genuinely tried to make the Kulesza family's trouble worth it (they were refunded their money AND offered free tickets for another flight AND another connection the same day) but it wasn't exactly what they wanted to they passed up a very diplomatic solution. Be an adult and realize that you made the choice not to leave the same day. The airline tried to help you out after you created an unsafe situation and a delay for everybody else and you kept on being miserable spoiled brats about it. I'd wager money that Mrs. Kulesza called the media to complain, expecting an outpouring of support for her horrific experience and instead showed herself to be an entitled brat.

I know having a three year old isn't easy. But it is also not easy to be on a plane with a screaming three year old who is delaying your trip and creating a safety hazard, which is clearly lost on the Kuleszas. Just because you've got the future of America having a tantrum doesn't put you above the rules. I think the next time I fly, I'll be looking to fly AirTran.

Paris Hilton Will Kill Us All

Not with her especially virulent cooter diseases, but with her endorsement of exotic pets.

Exotic animals captured in the wild are streaming into the U.S. by the millions with little or no screening for disease, leaving Americans vulnerable to a virulent outbreak that could rival a terrorist act....

Most wildlife arrive in the United States with no quarantine and minimal screening for disease. The government employs just 120 full-time inspectors to record and inspect arriving wildlife. There is no requirement they be trained to detect diseases....

Another newly discovered threat involves a current rage among exotic pet owners: a small carnivorous mammal with sharp teeth called a kinkajou. The nocturnal, tree-dwelling animals originally from Central and South America's rain forests have a dangerous bite -- as Paris Hilton recently learned.

The actress used to carry her pet kinkajou named "Baby Luv" on her shoulder as she partied. This summer, Hilton landed in an emergency room when Baby Luv bit her on the arm.

I cannot even begin to fathom why parents allow their children to do what Paris Hilton does. She has no redeemable traits that I have seen in the media. While Angelina Jolie is annoying, at least she donates her time and money to causes that are worthwhile. Paris Hilton is just a waste of space on this planet. If I have a kid and she says she wants something because Paris Hilton had it when she was her age, the kid's going to reform school.

As a kid, an exotic pet is always appealing. In stories, kids have weird pets like monkeys or gigantic red dogs and it's all fun and good times. If you're a parent and your kid wants an exotic pet, just remind them of poop. Yes, those exotic animals or giant red dogs also poop. If you've dealt with kids, you know they want nothing to do with the removal of animal waste of any kind. Imagine if junior has a monkey who starts chucking his poo all over the house. Then he'll be sorry. (Once he stops laughing at the poo-chucking monkey.)

I also can't wrap my head around the fact that the government only employs 120 people to inspect animals for potentially serious contagious diseases, and those people aren't even trained in how to recognize sickness in animals. 120 people for the entire country? I feel like we should have that many people watching out for rabid tree monkeys in New York City alone. If a giant Paris Hilton exotic animal finds its way into my apartment ceilings to hang with their American friends and keeps me awake, I am going to write a strongly-worded letter to my Congressman.

Paris fucking Hilton. Harbinger of the apocalypse.