I’m disgusted, pass me the tissues

I can’t even recuperate in peace.  Lordy lordy.

Here I was, suffering for the cause of germ-prevention and hand-washing, and I get stricken with some foreign-born disease that left me in bed for a few days, snarking, coughing, gagging, and feverish. But, by golly, I’m back… and with a HUGE bone to pick.  (But, still snarking, coughing, and moderately woozy.)

First of all, I suffered through a marathon of The Bad Girls Club on Lifetime, SEVEN HOURS OF EXCESSIVE ANGER AND DISGUSTING RETALIATION METHODS… which left me wondering WHY OH GOD didn’t I rent something on Pay-Per-View.  (or, as my husband suggested, TURNING OFF THE TELEVISION)

With that said…

I saw a show today (yes, still sick, and a bit woozy from being sick) about little girls in beauty pageants.

OH
MY
GAWD!

In the immortal words of Scarlett O’Hara… “As I live and breathe…”  I don’t think I’ve seen ANYTHING more frightening than mommies of little girls who have preened these mini-life-sized Barbie dolls into the purest (or impurest) level of visual perfection.  See for yourself:

I mean, I’m frightened at the prospect that these little Stepford children may be running around trying to secure their place in the world so that one day they can suck out our minds and replace them with obedient robots that just look so goddamn gorgeous. 

I mean, LOOK AT THAT!  These are NOT anorexic teenage super models hooked on nicotine and diet soda making millions a photograph, people… these are LEEEEETLE CHILDREN.

OK, so aside from the fact that these little girls look better than me on any given day (good hair day or not), I was more shocked at the behavior of their mothers.  If you are a pageant mother, SHAME ON YOU for whoring out your child.  If I could slap your hands and take away your Aqua-net, I would. 

Should I mentioned how repulsed I can’t decide which I’m more taken aback by… the fact that these little girls are just overdone/overwhelmed with these ridiculous standards and expectations placed on them… or that one day they will be ridiculously rich, married to some ridiculously gorgeous rich guy whom they met in college OR that their expectations will be set on a standard WAY UP THERE ^ far from the grasp of, let’s say… NORMAL people… and by the time they turn 10, either they crash-and-burn or they resort to hating their mothers…

 

I mean, it is JUST me who’s scared here?  For a quick moment, I swore that her head was somehow Photoshopped onto a body of a six-year-old-girl.  *shudders*

So, during this ONE AND ONLY episode that I saw (which will NEVER be seen in my house again), the pageant people had a CANDY table to “get the girls going” for their show.  Candy?  Beauty?  Pageants?  Uh… I’m confused.  Are they using candy to get the girls HYPER so that they can PERFORM better or are they preparing them for a life of starvation, drugs, and quick fixes?

What message are we sending, or giving out, again?  Aren’t we all supposed to be on the same side arguing against anorexic celebrities and bulimic models who date drug-addicted rock stars?  Aren’t we supposed to reinforce in OUR children that beauty isn’t EVERYTHING?  Shouldn’t we create for our children a life of innocence and beauty, unmarred by potential hazards such as overbearing stage moms and celebrities who sell their baby’s pictures for millions…?

NO WONDER our teenage girls are starving themselves because they just aren’t pretty enough… or suffering from depression… or taking a couple of those little red diet pills that Janice’s mother takes from time to time because that bikini just won’t wear itself… or how fifteen year old girls are wearing hooker gowns to proms when they should just be satisfied with being fifteen (because we all know how fast thirty bites you in the ass).

So, there I was… lying on the couch… occasionally hacking my left lung to pieces (the right was on-duty yesterday), wanting to be lulled by boring television shows into a nappy sleep that would afford me 15 minutes (maybe 30 max) of peace and quiet… to quell this woozy thing I still have going on (I mentioned that before, I know)… in order to get over this ridiculous paranormal bubonic plague-like crap I’m suffering through at the moment… yet, I get trapped into this sequence of screaming-angry-girls-who-stick-condiments-in-their-orifices-just-to-be-mean that transcended into my watching (half in disdain, half in a much-needed sleep-deprived-and-still-sick-semi-pseudo-trance) the transforming of little girls into screaming-angry-girls-whose-mothers-need-to-chill-out.

OK, enough of that… I was just mortified, terrified, and many other -ieds when I saw these little 5 and 6-year olds glam-ified with more makeup and sequins than a senile tranny at a karaoke sing-off.

 

God help us, ALL.

———-

By the way, I’m not an advocate for ANY pageants.  I think they are degrading to women, who at whatever age have to hawk their wares on a stage to see who is the most intelligent-bikini-clad-hot-chick-with-talent.  Oh puleez.  If you believe in pageants, I have this bridge for sale… slightly used… still functional… in BROOKLYN.

———-

Now for the MOVIE REVIEW.

Wow.  I loved HORTON HEARS A WHO.  I loved it a lot.  I don’t really have to worry about ruining anything because, for the most part, it followed the book.  It was fun, action-packed, cute, and had a little humor for adults (re: ending sequence song).  My kid liked it and, for the SECOND movie in his little life, was able to sit through it without a) begging to go pee every 5 minutes, b) want to run up and down the aisle, or c) throw popcorn in the hair of the little girls in front of him.

As for the OTHER 30-something children… I can’t say the same for them.  But, he did have fun… especially considering it was the first time out for BOTH of us since mommy contracted some rare jungle fungal meningitis of the lung the end of last week.

Anywho… if you have little kids or ARE a little kid (at heart) go see Horton… you won’t be sorry.

And, for the love of Pete… ENJOY BEING A KID… if not for now, at least for a little longer.  Being an adult is nothing more than piles of responsibilities, expectations that sometimes cannot be met, stresses and anxieties, heartbreak, sorrow, immense happiness, and lots of caffeine.

Trust me… you definitely DON’T need the caffeine.

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