Thursday, March 1, 2012


Last week I took the girls to the mall to pick up a new down comforter that our bed was desperately in need of. I had decided it was the last morning I would tolerate waking up to a massive clump of down alternative stuck in my hair, leaking from the torn seams of our lifeless bedspread. Afterwards, we stopped into the food court for lunch and, after carefully examining the nutrition content on every brochure from each corresponding vendor, I made a conscious and completely well-balanced motherly decision: Hot Dog on a Stick and Wetzel's Pretzels.
We sat and eagerly devoured our pickings at a table within the court, surrounded by 97 flat screens mounted at every possible visual angle blasting music videos. The conversation was slim, as Lily and London happily stuffed almond crunch pretzel bites into their mouths and stared...stared...wide-eyed at the screens. I looked up to examine the footage. Awwww, Rihanna: sporting her usual variation on string-wear, gyrating her hips and jiggling her ample breasts, surrounded by multiple men reaching for her torso while licking her lips and insinuating some sort of bodily euphoria that I can only assume is characteristic of a condition known as spontaneous orgasmus. Sweet. Girl. 

My girls are in a special phase right now, I remember it well. I call it the I-watch-The-Little-Mermaid-therefore-I-am-The-Little-Mermaid-I-watch-Cinderella-therefore-I-am-Cinderella-I-watch-My-Little-Pony-therefore-I-am a-Pink-Pony-with-a-rainbow-tail complex. From the kitchen I frequently hear them argue over the latest cartoon/movie on television:

 "I'm her! I'm her! I'm the Puwple Fairy!"
"No! I saw her first. I'm the Purple Fairy, you are Tinkerbell."

I often have to intervene {it gets pretty brutal} just as the fists and hair tugs start flying:

Girls! Enough, you BOTH are the purple fairies. It doesn't matter who saw it first!

I think you can see where I'm headed with this: simply apply said complex to the above Rihanna spectacle and you may understand why I rearranged each of their pretty mesmerized heads to face the fake foliage in the planter behind their seats. Look girls! How lovely! Leaves! And green stuff!...woooowww....notice that neat plastic stem thingy? Isn't it interesting how it is coming up out of the ground with that white flower attached at the top? 
Good job, 
last bite, 
let's go.

I thought for a moment of heading over to the mall's management to leave a comment (Seriously mall people: Rihanna? Lil Wayne? Kesha? In a public mall with children at noon...?), but in a perpetual rush and desire to avoid inconvenience I decided to just head for the car.


Yesterday, Tyler and I called in an order for sandwiches at a local deli while waiting in the doctor's office. An older-ish sounding woman with a raspy voice answered,

"Rubicon Deli, Can I help you?"

"Hello, yes, I would like to place an order for pick-up please."

"Go ahead."

Looking at my online menu for Half versus Whole sandwich options, and attempting to deduce how satiated two starving individuals such as ourselves would be, I asked the question,

"Can you tell me what size your Half sandwiches are?"

And without the slightest hint of humor or smirky wit in her voice, she flatly responded:

"Well, if you can visualize this: it's a whole cut in two. That would be a half."

Silence. Whoa there. 

I responded: "Um, yes, I understand the theoretical definition of what it means to be a 'half'. I was thinking more along the lines of six or twelve?" 

"Um, I dunno...five, maybe six or seven."

"Okay, I guess we'll order half a Rubicon Special and half a Spicy Tuna for pick up. Thank you."

We arrived shortly thereafter at the deli and were greeted by our dear phone operator at the register. And... ahem, I would never dare be so callous or superficial as to describe her appearance (merely to build a descriptive visual of the situation) in anything less than a gracious light, so let's just leave it at: face matched voice. Our sandwiches sat, waiting by her side. Tyler and I glanced at them, and observing that each sandwich easily measured the size of Tyler's entire arm, gave each other a surprised satisfactory glance: Good call, the halves will be more than enough.

She totaled our order and stated the price. Uh oh, I suddenly understood the hefty discrepancy in price and the corresponding monstrous size of our sandwiches.

"Um maam, I'm sorry but I ordered halves."

"No. You didn't. You ordered wholes."

"Um, I am really sorry, but I can assure you with the clearest  recollection of our unique conversation that I ordered HALVES."

She squinted sarcastically and said, "Well, sure then. I'd be so happy to fix this for you."

She stomped aside, removed half of our orders and angrily returned the plates to us. At this point it was feeling like an out of body experience, I was in such shock at this colossal failure in customer service. Has Starbucks taught you nothing lady? 

I thought about getting all confrontational, pulling out my prego big guns and propping my belly on the counter while shouting....You wanna a piece of this??! You wanna a piece -a- thisss?!!! U about to see what it is like gettin yo half stuck up yo whole if you know whad im sayin!"

But, not wanting to embarrass my peace-making husband and desiring to eat in leisure at a table three feet away, I said nothing more.


Today I sat in the parental viewing area of London's gymnastics class. Only not much viewing goes on, as I mostly wrangle Ellie Jane the entire time as she shrieks and struggles to run into the tumbling area.  Lily and I periodically peeked over at our squishy edible London in her tight leotard, performing somersaults and cartwheels. We would exclaim, "Good job London!" at regular intervals to cover for the fact that we weren't exactly catching all the action.

There were a total of two small classes working out in the gymnasium, both made up entirely of darling 4-6 year old girls. The gym's music playlist blasted in the background as the instructors walked the students through a variety of exercises and stretches. The musical vibe was something more along the lines of what you'd expect at a 21-and-over nightclub scene, and suddenly my ear caught the lyrics of the song rolling through the soundwaves of the arena, a popular song that I've heard played many times before, coming from a young female singer sounding not much older than 17...

I know them other guys
they been talking bout
the way i do what i do
they heard i was good
they wanna see if it's true...

Baby i'll love you all the way down
Get you right where you like it
I promise you'll like it i swear
just relax and let me make a move it's now secret....


And suddenly it dawned on me. Bam. Full force. 
The mall. 
The sandwiches. 
The music.
The build-up......

And Mama woke up.

Awww, hell no.








I grabbed Ellie, instructed Lily to follow and headed for the front desk. The kind middle-aged receptionist asked if she could be of service...

"Um yes! I am sorry and I don't want to come across as the big 'complainer', but I have to suggest that the music being played for these small children isn't appropriate in the slightest. I don't mean to cause trouble but in good conscience I have no choice here."

She responded with the utmost enthusiasm and warmth. Oh yes dear, I agree with you! Please fill out this comment card and I'll be sure to pass it on to the owner. I filled out my comment card hastily with big words like "provocative" and "highly sexualized" and "flagrantly inappropriate".

And no "anonymous" box was marked here. 
In big fat capital letters I signed the bottom,





Okay, maybe that's a slight exaggeration. But I did sign my name. Proudly.
As I scribbled my note the receptionist shared a story in her friendly Minnesotan accent from "her day" as a mother. Her teenage son had gone out shopping with his friend and his friend's mother purchased them both a "cassette" that he later arrived home with. "I think it was...oh gash i don't remember...some guy named Vaneeella Ice. Well, anyhoo I remember I saw a parental warning sticker on the cassette and thought oh my gash! You can't have that!"

Vanilla Ice. 
Vanilla Ice?!!
I hung my head, sigh. If only it could have been stopped at Vanilla Ice.
What has happened since then?

To quote a famous singer....Where have all the cowboys gone?

Or in other words, where have all the MOTHERS GONE?

I am sure 80% of the mothers in the viewing area would have agreed with me that they didn't want their young daughters listening to such music. Or, they would have said they weren't paying attention to the lyrics. Or, they would have felt uncomfortable and just like me in my previous experiences: said nothing.

But what does this say?!!


1. We endorse this type of mind-boggling, innocence robbing garbage...this cultural hijack of everything wholesome and decent in society.


2. We are mindless drones
zombies who consume and process filth but only robotically respond with
sound. only.
text. please."


3. We are the biggest bunch of pansies known to mankind.
We don't like it, but we say nothing.
Just like the Vanilla Ice mommies.
 (minus Minnesotan receptionist, bless her cassette discriminating heart)


I will no longer be apologizing for existing.
For speaking up.
For getting involved.

Lily, London, Ellie Jane: Be warned.

When Mama says she ordered only half a sandwich, she means it.


Sarah Gurries said...

I am very afraid...and others should be too.

Alexis said...

It is in the air...Last week I marched up to the UNR student newspaper offices and proceeded to ask for 70 copies of their Valentines Day Issue after someone had sent Dad & I a copy of this pornographic rag parading around as "journalism". Sexual positions of all kinds depicted (via drawings) on the front cover and a full page of them inside - one position for each of the "colleges" i.e. agriculture (you can just imagine), education, health sciences, etc.
Oh but this wasn't all. A disgusting column by the student "editor" and another columnist that professes to be an "English" major but she works as a stripper and counsels readers to "lay" every zodiac sign to find their best sexual match (there are 12 just in case anyone forgot!)
Unfortunately, the student "editor" wasn't in (I was so prepared to give him my speech: "as a journalism major myself at UNR years ago, I take tremendous offense that the student newspaper has been hijacked by a bunch of morally bereft students using our tax dollars at a public university to produce this crap. This paper is the "face" of the University and you are doing harm to any efforts UNR might have of trying to gain academic credibility and grant money for HIGHER EDUCATION."
The student getting me copies then sheepishly asked: "Do you mind me asking what you plan to do with all these papers?"
I replied: "I don't mind you asking at all...I'm here on behalf of Assemblyman Hansen and we plan to send a copy to the Governor, the University Regents and every Legislator in the state so they can see how the tax dollars they allocate for HIGHER EDUCATION are being spent."
As I walked through the student lounge I text Daniel at the medical school and told him he might want to change his name:)
Remember Winston Churchill....

rae said...

Lol. Oh mother dear, I have NO IDEA where I got my crazy from....haha.

amo said...

You gotta love a good rant. I hope to follow your example and speak my mind the next time I wonder if I should (and you should know I have had more than 1 conversation where I have said "What would Rachel do in this situation?" and the answer is not "be a pansy")
And can I also say that this is the most awesome sentence I've read maybe ever: "so let's just leave it at: FACE MATCHED VOICE."

Natalie in Sparks said...

so so so funny Rachel! I loved this post, and way to step up! I agree there is way too much filth, and I love that you don't put up with it!
Plus - you have your pregnancy irritability to back it up - hilarious!
Good example to your girls and the rest of the mothers!
Dare to do right!