Wonder Woman...the Stripper?

I have to say something about this image. All I really want to say is--are you kidding me?

DC Comics revealed their revamped version of Wonder Woman by graphic artist Don Kramer and it is...something.

I was never big into Wonder Woman, but my sister was, so every once in a while I would browse through the comics in the 1970s. She seemed like a pretty cool woman, good-looking and ready to kick some bad guys' butts.

But this new image is so disturbing. Is this what we want young girls to think a Super Woman looks like? Are we seriously going to move this much backward in progress? Was there a single woman involved in the production of this image change? And if so, did she agree with the boys, Oh, yes, definately needs bigger boobs, lips, and more sex appeal!

Who is DC marketing this comic to today? Is this comic still for girls? Or is it for pre-teen boys?

Help me out here everyone...why does Wonder Woman look like a porn star?

Mom Who Wants to be a Stripper

This is another story making the rounds about a stripper mom. Well, in this case, she wasn't a stripper yet, but had aspirations.

Her eleven-year-old son called the police because she was packing and had told him she was leaving him and his six-year-old brother to become a stripper in California.

The police arrived and she told the police to get take the boys, to do whatever they needed to do with them. When her 11-year-old went to hug her goodbye, she punched him in the stomach.

Of course, the biggest reactions to the story have been of outrage and disgust. Yes, it is horrible how the children were emotionally and physically abused. Yes, it is enraging and frustrating.

But I wonder if we can also look at how sad this story is, too. To hear of a mother so beaten down by life that her greatest dream is to become a stripper and leave her children behind.

What mother has not had the dream of running away to somewhere beautiful like California to start a new life with none of the responsibilities of raising children. If we are honest with ourselves, can we not find some compassion?

This wanna-be Stripper Mom is only 29-years-old with two children. She became a mom at eighteen-years-old--a child herself.

Who knows where I would be today if I had done things the other way around. If I had had a child at eighteen and not pursued a fantasy life, but been faced with the magnitude of raising kids.

And what is this dream that women see in becoming a stripper? Perhaps she wanted to be seen as beautiful and desirable as a woman again. Perhaps she could not find a way to be both mother and woman. For her, the burden became too much.

Opposing Views: Video: Mom Pretends She's a Stripper, Kids Throw Money

Opposing Views: Video: Mom Pretends She's a Stripper, Kids Throw Money

I'm not sure what to say about this video.

It would be very easy to judge in so many ways, but it just makes me feel sad.

Then again, it's not like the mother takes any of her clothes off in front of the children. She could just be playing and having fun. Yes, it would still be strange that the little boys know about stuffing money into dancing women's clothing.

I guess when I think of currently working stripper moms, I tend to hope they don't actually perform in front of their children, but again...I have seen moms bring their kids to strip clubs when they couldn't find a babysitter.

Mistresses, Mistresses—Everywhere!

David Boreanaz -- The Marriage is Stable


I feel so bored by all the latest gossip about this and that mistress who slept with this married guy and that married guy and now wants money or fame or whatever.

But, of course, what makes me even crazier is that, again, most of the “blame” seems to be landing on the women instead of the men. Like, what? These women are such evil temptresses that no man can resist? Please. It takes two to tango.

And what makes me even crazier is that these women who have done nothing more than sleep with some well-known personalities will now be able to score themselves some nice book contracts. All it takes is a super-shot of “fame” for some silly reason and you are guaranteed a book publisher will come knocking on your door.

Just being a good writer does not qualify one for a book contract. Perhaps I should do something stupid and flashy to get the publishing industry to take an interest in me.

Alas, I believe those days are behind me.

I am now a mother of two children. Or should I say two-and-a-half?

Stripper Mom will be Mom times three come September.

Now if I could only have sextuplets or something, then I’d surely make a name for myself.

Bad Talkin’ Stripper Moms

It’s been a bit since I posted. As usual, life (two young kids, a husband, a house, a job) gets in the way of my writing.

All this Jesse James and Michelle McGee gossip has irritated me to no end. I guess my biggest gripe is that all the reports talk about McGee as a slut and point out how she is a Stripper Mom. Like that’s the problem.

OK, hello, folks! She’s not the one who was cheating on her spouse. Why does the woman always get blamed as being the whore in situations like this? It’s the same with the whole Tiger Woods scandal. The mistresses are made out to be evil and slutty, much more so than the man who did the cheating.

It’s the old double-standard that just doesn’t want to die.

People act all shocked and disgusted that McGee is trying to make a buck off of her affair with Jesse James. But why? She sees an opportunity to make some money without having to take her clothes off! Why wouldn’t she jump on that chance?

Of course, I will admit the whole Nazi photo shoot is ridiculous, but no one would have even cared about it if it hadn't been for this cheating scandal.

I mean, are famous people that stupid? If you’re going to cheat on your spouse and you are a gossip-worthy persona, guess what? When the “relationship” goes sour, which it more than likely will, someone is going to blab to the press for cash. Please don’t be surprised by that fact.

A recommendation to all famous people who want to cheat on their spouses: Get a nondisclosure agreement before you proceed!

Stripper Mom Thinks

I’ve been away for awhile. Regrouping. Rethinking about what I want this blog to be.

I got off-track for awhile with what I was doing with Stripper Mom. I started writing about what I thought people wanted from me rather than what made sense for me. So, I will begin again. I will use this space for what I had intended.

I want to figure out who I am.

I know I’m a writer. I know I’m a mom. I know I happened to be a stripper once upon a time. And I know that stripping down is a good analogy for what I’m about in life.

Right now what I need to strip down to is what I’m doing with my writing.

I’m getting so tired of working and reworking the same project. I’m getting bored of waiting on agents to get back to me.

I have a possible agent holding on to my manuscript right now. Very lovely. Likes my manuscript. Provided great editing so far. But now I have to wait for her to find another agent to back her up on my project before she can take it to the head honcho.

What I’m worried about is that this will just keep going on like this for years. An agent will like the manuscript, take it on, have me revise it, sit on it for months, and then pass. And then I’m back to square one.

I want to move to square two already.

Peepshow

Here’s an interesting looking stripper tale. I’ll have to check it out.

From Publishers Weekly:

Peepshow by Leigh Redhead. Outfit (www.outfitcrime.com), $16.95 paper (216p) ISBN 978-1-60701-150-7

Australian author Redhead puts her past as a stripper and table dancer to effective use in her debut, the first in a crime series to feature aspiring PI Simone Kirsch. Simone, who performs in peep shows and as a striptease dancer to support herself, gets her first break after Frank Parisi—a thug who ran a strip club called the Red Room in St. Kilda, a Melbourne suburb—is “brutally hacked to death before being dumped in the bay.” Frank's brother suspects Simone's best friend, Chloe, who worked for the dead man, ordered the murder. Simone, who manages to buy some time by offering to identify the real killer, gets a job at the Red Room and starts to pump the other dancers for information. Soon, she's involved with several men, one a police officer whose boss is notorious for being both dirty and violent. Readers should be prepared for some graphic sex scenes, which fit naturally into the action, given the heroine's line of work. Redhead has made an unlikely premise convincing. (Nov.)

Stripper Mom Receives Apology

In the spirit of peace, church apologizes to those it has hurt

Finally, a story about a Stripper Mom with a happy ending.

You remember the story back in 2001about Christina Silvas? Silvas was asked to withdraw her daughter from the church-run school because Silvas was working as a stripper. On Sunday, Silvas sat with her daughters during the worship service as the pastor apologized.

Cole said he decided to apologize while preparing for this week's sermon.

"This has been weighing on my heart," the pastor said in an interview before the sermon. "This should have been done long ago, I don't want to let any more time go by."

After the sermon, Silvas, teary-eyed, called Cole's heartfelt apology amazing. "For so long all I felt was shame - people whispered about me, calling me the stripper mom," said Silvas, 31.

She said she had been urged by friends and attorneys to sue Capital Christian but had declined.

Now working for the state, Silvas quietly returned to the church about a year ago. Last year, she said, Cole and other church leaders offered a full scholarship to Silvas' two daughters.

"Coming back to church and my girls going to school here is more valuable than what any settlement would have bought," she said.

Perhaps this is a sign of something greater for the Stripper Moms of the world.

We have nothing to be ashamed of. None of us do.

Sleep, Please

Cole is nine-months-old. He ate Stage 3 chunky baby food today.

We went out to dinner to celebrate Nick’s birthday and Cole just kept wolfing food down.

We’re hoping that his belly is finally full and he is going to sleep longer than usual, which shouldn’t be hard to do.

I’m so exhausted. I was going non-stop today. I really, really want some sleep.

A poop story

Cole’s introduction to more solid-type foods kind of backfired today, or rather, didn’t backfire with enough explosive power.

All day he was straining, red-faced, and obviously constipated. Two times when I changed his diaper, his tushie-hole was even open as if gasping for relief.

When his face turned beet-red in the tub, I thought I was going to see a brown island floating by, but still, no.

I put him to bed, knowing I’d be seeing something in the middle of the night.

Sure enough, a half hour after he was asleep, he started bawling.

I picked Cole up from his crib, turned on the John Lennon lamp, and lay Cole on the changing table.

His eyes were closed as I opened his diaper.

There they were. Two lumpy hard sausages with another stuck halfway out.

This half-in/half-out baby turd was as wide as a silver dollar and it was not budging. Cole was half-asleep but crying in pain.

I did what only a mother would; I grabbed a wipe and grabbed a hold of that poo and gently pulled it out.

Cole immediately stopped crying and fell asleep on the changing table.

I gently wrapped up the three hard, corn kernel-filled poos to share with Nick when he came home.

I placed Cole back in his crib and he remained asleep.

My work here is done.

Labor Day

Nothing like a day to bring back memories of labor. Those two days already grow fuzzy in my mind—life’s little gift to keep itself recreating.

Cole is all about the standing. He stiffens his legs and lifts up strongly.

He’s also all about eating big people food. Anything he can pick up and shove in his mouth himself, he is glad to do.

I should be sleeping now, but that’s what chocolate brownies with rainbow sprinkles can do to you.

Stripper Fail

The teething continues. The screaming. The crying. The horror.

So in my state of exhaustion, I give you something funny to watch.

It is, indeed, a stripper fail.

Go to my happy place…

Oh, for the days when the most crucial part of my day was getting my hair right.

Cole is teething (or being taken over by alien beings who just like to scream and cry nonstop).

He has his two front bottom teeth, one upper front one (yes, I know there are more technical names for these, but they escape me at the moment), and—hello! The second front tooth has poked his little toothie self through.

Miss Genny is still in a phase. You know, the kind where she tells me to shut up.

My nerves? Fried. My hair? Horrible.

If I don’t get some peace, quiet, and sleep soon, this Saturday I will look like I’m going to my fiftieth high school reunion instead of my twentieth.

Pole Dance Doll Hits the Big Time on Perez Hilton

The pole dance doll finally made her way onto Perez Hilton’s website.

If she wasn’t real yet, I’m sure someone will manufacture her now.

The Big Why

What a way to top off a long day.

I’m at the Big Y grocery shopping when Cole dumps over Genny’s milk jug onto himself, our groceries and the floor. While I’m trying to clean up all the mess, Cole dumps over my ice-tea.

The fun wasn’t over yet either.

As I’m bent over mopping up milky ice-tea, I notice a man with a handlebar mustache saying, “Excuse me, ma’am.”

“Yes?” I ask, thinking he’s come to my assistance.

“You’re falling out of your…bra there.” He averted his eyes.

“Argh, I’m having a rough day.”

He politely excused himself as I tucked my errant nipple back in. I really shouldn’t wear this tank top in public anymore.

The Other McCain: CULTURAL APOCALYPSE WATCH:The Pole-Dancer Doll for Girls

The Other McCain: CULTURAL APOCALYPSE WATCH:The Pole-Dancer Doll for Girls

I don't understand the fury over this doll.

She has on her clothes and she's dancing around a pole with a disco ball.

What child is going to think anything else than, "Oh, cool. A cute doll that swirls around a pole!"

Last time I checked, roller rinks had disco balls, should we be offended about that?

And what about subway trains? Shall we declare war on people holding on to poles because of the wrong impression it might give to children?

Dancer Doll

I do understand the concern that parents have over this doll, knowing what they know about adult “pole dancers.”

I don’t know though. If I were a child and I saw this doll, I would just think that it’s a cute doll who dances around a pole.

Aren’t we just imposing our adult knowledge on our children when we have a problem with a doll like this? They don’t know about our adult references.

This appears to simply be a doll that dances around a pole. So what? Unless she strips off her clothing or dances provocatively, I don’t see what the big deal is.

Striptease or Burlesque?

The big tease: Burlesque grows in popularity
Shows sparks debate: performance art or downright smut?

Is there a difference between striptease and burlesque besides personal opinion? I don’t think so. One woman’s burlesque performance is another woman’s striptease.

It’s the old “I know it when I see it,” defense, only for striptease instead of porn.

The last club I performed at was called by two different names: Fallen Angels and Blue Angels. It was considered a burlesque club, which meant you could do performance art while you stripped, as long as you ended up naked.

I always wanted to push the envelope and do some funny stuff, but my need for cash kept me pretty much just straight-stripping. Although, by most peoples’ standards, a lot of what I did over the years was more burlesque than just peeling and posing.

I did feel better about myself when I worked at Blue Angel. I was not so afraid to tell others where I worked because now I could say I was a “burlesque performer” instead of an exotic dancer.

My favorite routine to do there was my own version of Strawberry Shortcake. I had a pair of yellow cut-off shorts and a halter top with strawberries all over and I put my hair in pigtails. I would bring strawberries on stage with me and eat them suggestively.

I found most men really didn’t care what you did though; they were waiting for the naked part.

Wiggle It

I’m feeling better today.

I’m actually thinking my major depression feelings of the past few days have come from my hormones realigning themselves. I just started my period back after baby two months ago. The depression matches my ovulation timing perfectly.

I find it very peculiar to write about things like my children, my period, and stripper news all in the same blog post, but hey, here goes.

Have you all noticed how accepted strippers and strip clubs are lately? Well, I don’t mean “accepted” accepted, but there are often stripper news items to report. When I was a stripper in the early nineties, stripping was still very uncool and untalked about.

This afternoon Genny stood up on the kitchen chair and started shaking her tushie. It was a tushie dance.

She had watched The Wiggles beforehand and I was out of the room for some of it. Should I be worried? Are those Wiggles actually wiggling around in stripper stilettos?

Or was it those darn Care Bears?

Love Lost

I don’t know if you’ve noticed my blog posts have been a little depressed lately. I’m sorry for that. I’ve just been falling into one of my dumps lately. I’m feeling overwhelmed by life’s responsibilities. I’ve got three major projects I’m working on, too. Or I should say, trying to work on.

I guess I thought my daughter would love me.

I know she will one day. I mean, I know she loves me now, but she likes to make me think she doesn’t.

She lies. She constantly tells me she likes Daddy better.

When she was rude for the umpteenth time to me today I asked if she would speak to a friend like that.

“No, but I like my friends better than you.”

“OK, but that’s kind of rude to say. You should have some respect for your mother.”

“Well, I don’t. I respect my friends.”

“Do they take care of you? Will they buy you things and make you dinner?”

“No, but I like them better.”

I remember reading somewhere that it’s our jobs as parents to love our children, but not the child’s job to love us.

I believe this intellectually, but it hurts when I don’t feel love, or even like, from my five-year-old.