Monday, April 9, 2012

If we don't name call and categorize, how are we supposed to describe people?

I try not to get too wrapped up in anything that I read here on the Internets, specifically things that I read in the comment sections of published articles. But I read something today and it made my eyes roll so far back in my head that I now have a migraine. Or maybe I just need to drink more water and stop eating those coconut milk chocolate nests that Brock's mom sent... (damn that Easter Bunny!) Anyway, I read an article today about.... something something something... name calling Mommies. It highlighted all the "horrible" names that we mothers call our fellow mothers and went into a detailed explanation as to why the names are so wretched and how we should cease fire and live in ultra P.C. harmony. I was immediately disenchanted by the serious tone of the article, and when the writer said that it wasn't nice to call others "Stay-at-home-moms" I nearly barfed up my under baked orange cranberry bread. I knew two things right then and there: 1. This woman takes herself WAY TOO SERIOUSLY, and 2. Since I can't get those five minutes that I spent reading the article back, I would use it as my personal blog fodder. Her article was so groan worthy that it actually made me unwittingly relive a real-life encounter with the same type of person; an account that I had suppressed.... on purpose.

Whatever you do, don't call her a Soccer Mom.
Even though she is wearing that title on her shirt....
and cheering....
It's wrong and demeaning.
A hyper sensitive woman said it was so....


A few weeks ago, some of my friends who happen to be (AWESOMESAUCE) mothers of Thing 1's preschool friends, and I were having a little girl bonding time. In a bar. With martinis.
We were having such a splendid time that I'm quite certain our laughter and volume 11 talking was hard to ignore. Soon this cute 20-something chick wobbled over to us with a rum and coke in her hand and slurred something about setting us up with a group of New York Firefighters. She then made a sweeping gesture towards a herd of trolls that were standing in a cluster in the center of the bar. Honestly, even without any hot man bait, we would have waved away the hook-up intention, as we are all married. Also, we were on a girls' night out, which meant we were basically so tired of our own men that we needed a night away (but we love and respect you all so so much- xoxo). We then invited the girl to sit with us, as we felt sorry for her that she was the only chick in the testosterone laden group of misplaced garden gnomes.

This gracious invitation we soon regretted.

Let me start by saying that my friends are all funny and witty and snarky (and pretty, because I only like pretty people). We really do love our spawn and we try to do what is best for them, but we freely admit to our parenting faux pas as well. In doing this we receive much needed support and reassurance from our parental peers- because parenting is HARD. If I labeled us, it would be the "Keeping it Real Moms".

Our new booth-mate, however, was the most beautiful and special new mom to the most beautiful and special nine-month old baby girl. Miss Perfect Mom was also fairly wasted (KLASSY), so she was taking over our formerly fun conversation and filling the space with the shameless self promotion of her own pristine parenting abilities. Apparently SuperMom was trying for some kind of parenting perfection status, and then replaying it for/selling it to all of us- her captive new audience. I heard something like this..... "blah blah blah.... my stellar parenting techniques....blah" Finally, she broke out the lofty, "I really just want my daughter to know that I will support her in ANY decision that she makes. She can be WHATEVER she want to be."

Naturally, I took my cue, raised an eyebrow and asked, "So what if she wants to be a stripper? Are you going to wholeheartedly support that decision?" And then I smiled sweetly and was confident in my decision that she and I would never be friends.

In conclusion, I'm a Bitchy Mom and she was an Overachiever Braggart Mom who needed to be stopped before someone shanked her with their olive pick. How is that for stereotyping and name calling?

image from www.theonion.com


The end.

Peace, Love and Stripper Poles,
Johi

P.S. Later, when I told Brock about the firefighters, he asked, "How did you know they were firefighters? Were they wearing fire hats and carrying axes?" This should answer any questions that you may have about our relationship.

Check back soon, where Brock and I lead a herd of sheep-like followers in a class that we title, "Stereotyping 101". He'll be the flannel clad dude in a tool belt and I will be the tired-looking woman holding a laundry basket in one hand and a spatula in the other.

23 comments:

  1. the process of identifying common characteristics and labeling them into groups and sub types has a name. Biology.

    Science FTW

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  2. Hell yeah, she would support her daughter if she wanted to be a stripper. If by support you mean be drunk and over-medicated and a vacant excuse for a parent (because did you know how HARD it is to be a parent?) and completely ignore her daughter while allowing her new boyfriend to talk down to her and abuse her. How do you think strippers get there? Having people like that for moms is a good start!

    And don't you DARE call me a soccer mom . . . I am a lacrosse mom, damnit! What's the difference you ask? We hit harder.

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  3. How much does it *not* surprise you that I own that shirt? Once I wore it to the doctor's and he was like hey! your shirt is funny! Which simultaneously impressed me and scared me at the same time. Simultaneously. Redundant? Redundant.

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    Replies
    1. I am often simultaneaous and redundant at the same time. I love it that you own that shirt.

      Delete
  4. I hate the overly righteous. It's the only thing I get righteous about. We moms are so screwing up most of our kids that it's just better to own it, laugh about it, and enjoy life. Self righteous moms can suck it. Oh, my husband is a Chicago fireman and wears his axe and hose everywhere he goes. SEXXXXY. I of course wear MY uniform all the time as well (pajamas and fuzzy slippers). Guess who got the raw end of the deal on THAT one?

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    Replies
    1. Damn straight. Oh! Brock forgot to mention the HOSE. I'll be sure and tell him. :)
      My uniform is a bathrobe and flip flops.... sa-weet!

      Delete
  5. overly righteous people can suck it.

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  6. Another blogger got attacked recently for calling her neighbor a skank on her blog. Based on the woman's behavior and the way she dressed, that's exactly what she was. How else are we to identify people?

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  7. If I'm stereotyping someone unnecessarily, I'll usually say so. "People in Southern Delaware are more fun than those in Northern Delaware" is not a stereotype. It's just true. But I might add a qualifier and say "People in Southern Delaware *generally* party more than people in Northern Delaware" because I know some pretty hard partiers from up north, too.

    It's just best to be accurate.

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    Replies
    1. I love it! And I love qualifiers. Sadly, I can agree nor disagree as I have not been to Delaware, but I will take your word as the gospel.

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  8. You know, people who believe stereotypes are so wrong fundamentally are just hyper-sensitive, bleeding-heart, unreasonable festering lumps. I hope that doesn't stereotype them, or me.

    Actually, I'm good with stereotypes. If those firefighters were rescuing all of us from a burning building, and one asks another, "who should we rescue next?" I'm totally fine if the second answers, "hey, get that slightly-graying, American Latino who doesn't even speak good English and is a soccer dad and unexplainably votes Republican" if it means I get out of the buidling alive.

    In that way, me being labeled or stereotyped actually becomes quite convenient. I'd own that.

    ReplyDelete
    Replies
    1. Wait. . .I'm NOT the only Republican here? Huzzah!

      Delete
    2. So, apparently I can't fix my poor spelling without deleting comments. Now I don't even remember what I said.
      Let's just go with: Three cheers for stereotyping. Especially if it gets a blogging Republican out of a burning building.

      Delete
  9. This is why I love you Johi. I can call you a SAHM, you can call me a "single mom" (yess with finger air quotes) and we can both call a skank a skank. <3 <3 <3

    ReplyDelete
    Replies
    1. ...and a shoe slut a shoe slut. Hello shoe slut. It takes one to know one, right?

      Delete