Paris Jackson Caught in a Deadly Web

I wrote a piece a while back on parental substance abuse, and the fallout this has on their kids.  Given the great number of celebrities that headline the news about their struggles with addiction, there is rarely a mention of the ensuing damage this has on their children.

While growing up with an alcoholic or addict can be devastating, parentification is almost always going to be part of their dynamic. This phenomenon has two things in common: parenting and addiction. Pretty simple but incredibly complicated.

Like substance abuse, parentification is an equal opportunity destroyer. It matters not if you are famous, rich, middle class or homeless.

I've always had this inexplicable deep caring for young girls, wanting to help them, guide them, mentor them. Perhaps because I myself grew up with an alcoholic mother and somehow survived, and thrived. I emancipated myself at 15. Much of that story I wrote in my first book, A Halfway Decent Girl.

Then I had to wear the mask of "perfection" so people would leave me alone. A perfect GPA, excelling at sports, hanging out with older people to appear sophisticated and killing myself physically to have the perfect body. But, sadly, you still hate yourself.

So I recognize these girls immediately. I read that Paris tried to emancipate herself as well. We can only hope she succeeds, and fast.

From Paris Jackson to Lindsey Lohan to Amanda Bynes to Bobbi Brown to Kelly Osbourne, what I see is pain. They are all in tremendous pain and a lot of confusion.

And unfortunately when someone is in pain, they try to hide behind a disguise of anger, fake perfection, silliness or some kind of masked behavior in an effort to keep people away.

But truthfully they feel very alone.  And in today's world of technology, a secret window to the outside world, many of them are met with cyber bullying. We see it over and over.

The problem is it's very difficult to keep up the pretense. In my own experience, the anxiety and depression was so great by the time I got to college, the school psychiatrist gave me "calming" pills, but then I needed cocaine to perk me back up so I could run a marathon. Which lead to addiction, which lead to recovery, which lead to finally trusting someone enough to talk about my feelings and my past.  My own addiction cycle lasted two years, in many ways I was incredibly lucky. And remain grateful.

I want to help all of these girls, and when I see Paris Jackson, so completely lovely but thinks otherwise, it's clear she too is a victim of parentification. She's adorable, in many ways a typical teenaged girl but one that also believes she is ugly without make-up, calls herself weird and crazy and cuts gashes into her skin.

If that were not enough, she is being dragged through a horrific trial as a Plaintiff! full of mud slinging and further ugly rumors about her father, a man she clearly adores.

This entire Michael Jackson lawsuit to me is a pathetic debacle based on greed and nonsense, and no one is considering the consequences that rests on his children's heads.

I have not been following this trial, nor will I, but I can see it's all about money. Nothing will bring Michael back and he has left an incredible legacy. Leave it alone.

Did the Jackson family actual believe AEG was made up of kindly folks who only had Michael's best interests at heart? Truly beyond my comprehension given they know how this business works very well. The whole thing is preposterous.

Further troubling is their 24-hour lock on Paris and the two boys. Let them go already.

It seemed for the first time in their lives they all attempted some semblance of normalcy through school and friends, as much as that is actually possible. Paris was home schooled her entire life. How could she have been even remotely prepared for a private school swarming with "mean" girls who had their own opinion of the Jackson clan? How could you navigate that? No one gave her tools. Clearly she was trying to reach out in the make-up video. "Act normal." That is what kids of alcoholics try to do.

I suspect now she will be on some kind of lockdown. Any progress she made, possibly lost. This girl can't make a move without bodyguards, cameras, and around the clock surveillance.

My hope for her is she continues to develop more of a relationship with Debbie Rowe, if only because it gets her out of the Jackson compound and around a woman who can possibly help her divine the actual truth.

I can tell Paris is a strong girl. On the plus side of kids with addicted parents, narcissistic parents and celebrity parents, they often develop incredible coping skills, keen perception, great empathy, strong intuition, the ability to arbitrate situations like a pro and are highly creative. She will see the truth. She will get out of this circus one day, hopefully soon, and build her own life.

A few signs of parentification:

Giving others more value than they're worth
Underestimating their own intelligence
Shame, guilt, anxiety, depression
Taking on the role of caretakers
Feelings of disconnection to their real self
Fear they cannot meet their own expectations

Now having young daughters of my own, even despite my best  efforts as a sober, loving parent, society still works against you. Girls, through the media, are told over and over they will never measure up, they should not speak up, their best is not good enough. Not to mention the bullying that is now the norm at schools. It's a daily battle to stop this wave of negativity that is directed toward them.

When you add to that a parent, who despite their best efforts, can't even parent themselves, the child simply has no compass, no inner security and a weak sense of self. Often they are doomed. The troubles further compounded when every single member of the family wanted guardianship.

Are they trying to be the Weird Sisters of Macbeth?  ^^^^^^^^

Is it any wonder the Jackson kids, particularly Paris, just wanted to know what it might feel like to be average?  To find out whom exactly might be genuinely looking out for her?

The only upside to constant news coverage of troubled celebrity kids is the potential awareness this can have on other parents. Sure, these people are not like us, but kids are kids.

Parents have to be diligent in keeping the lines of communication open, have the ability to recognize when their child is in trouble and have a strong foundation that began the day the child was born.

My heart goes out to all of those suffering. As a parent, I believe it is all of our responsibilities to be aware of all kids, and not turn the other way when you see problems. Many times kids can't talk to their parents or guardians. It doesn't mean they can't talk to you.

Both Alateen and Alanon are great places for support and are available everywhere:

Alateen
Alanon

Kim Kardashian Meet Hilaria Baldwin

Because I receive global news in the wee hours every morning across the AP, every single day Kim Kardashian has a story. Every day!  So today, we learn she has psoriasis and her divorce from Kris Humphries is finalized and all baby shower gifts she and the hoodie wearing rapper receive will go to charity. I think his name is Kayne.

But check that, he already has a diaper bag. ^^^^^ Big ups.

I honestly still don't know who he is beyond his loving his mom, disliking Taylor Swift and his never wearing socks. I know this is a Hollywood trend, but unless you are Richard Branson on his Necker Belle, put some damn socks on.

There is no point in bemoaning the state of news affairs since it's all gone to the dogs, but because I am obliged to see Kim's name constantly, not to mention her face, bizarre outfits and blow by blow accounts of her life, like a few celebrities, mainly Madonna, they have a way of seeping into your unconscious.

I can't really put Madonna and Kim on the same level obviously, but I've had more dreams about Madonna than I do my actual dream: that is a lovely white shack on the beach that I can escape to.

But instead Madonna pops up and takes me to a party with, say, heart throbber Zac Efron or Johnny Depp, despite her having no relationship to them. But dreams are never realistic, which could be a good omen regarding my beach house.

So the big story on Kim Kardashian, (we'll get to the placenta fest later) is her weight gain. Thus my doing her a gigantic favor in arranging this meeting with Hilaria Baldwin.

Do you suppose Hilaria was born Hilary? And if so, why add the demeaning Hilaria? Or was this Alec Baldwin's idea?

Alec: Hilary, you're with me now. You have to puff up your name. Whose going to remember Hilary? I mean, do you really want to be associated with Hilary Clinton?
Hilaria: Oh good point. We're Republicans, right?
Alec: That's right.
Hilaria: How about Sarah, like Sarah Palin?
Alec: Uh, she's not relevant. No women are. Let's take the Latina angle. Now that's relevant. Hilarial... Hilarolla.. no, Hilaria. Perfect.
Hilaria: Okay. But I still want to name my baby Pitufina.

No answer on this from Alec.

During my four- month Cardio Barre experiment, one of those places was Physique 57, my experience.  Apparently Hilaria works out 3X a day! Seven days a week. But now that she is pregnant, she's cut back to once a day. And also is now the spokesperson for their pregnancy class. These exercises are exactly the same except for the baby bump part.

It's not too late to start firming Kim. I'm sure Hilaria would be happy to take you on as a special client. You can exercise, share sonogram photos and talk Bon Point outfits. Word is still out on whether Hilaria plans to consume her placenta, but still, you have a lot in common.

I say this with great love. I don't know Kim's exercise regime or even if she has one or if she just likes to walk around in the workout gear, but take it from someone whose had a few kids. Legs and ass are the first to go. Just ask my daughters. And your having a girl, so...

Eve: Mom, I know you go to those workout classes but your bum is kind of soft. Feel my legs. See the difference. They're like rock hard.

My girls are ten. They are thin little things made of muscle, grit and and a desire to to get under my skin. They don't but it's cute.

E or A:  God mom. That is pathetic. Is that supposed to be yoga? Watch us.

They then do flips, back bends, wheels, headstands and finish off by hand walking down the hall.

So Kim you have to start early. Girls are wicked.

My last tip for Kim is NEVER EVER tell your daughter you ate her placenta. She will leave and disappear forever. Don't blog about it, blab about it, film or tape it.  Your never ending tears will actually get real. Pretty sure this is where "cried until blue in the face" came from.

As a side note, turns out Nevada, of all places, is the hotbed for placenta eating moms, despite their being zero scientific evidence consumption is a good thing. Actually to the contrary. Mothers can get very ill.

According to the Las Vegas Sun, Sin City is "home to the foremost placental encapsulation specialists in the world."

And here I thought that home was Marin County.

Las Vegas also has the leading number of "scholars," websites and other forms of social presence touting the best recipes in which to cook the stuff. All of them new moms.  If you think about it, what else does one have going on in Las Vegas? So this makes a certain kind of sense. This might be the most disgusting and disguised recipe. The good old sloppy Joe. Or whatever the kids name. Sloppy Brittany?

But storing and eating placenta is nothing new. I found this out by accident as a kid when living in Marin County. My mother was engaged to a psychiatrist, his most famous client Charles Manson. Richard was an interesting man. When not chewing the fat with Manson, he was singing show tunes with my sloshed mother from Zorba the Greek on their sailboat.

One day, I found a huge package of red meat in the freezer, but it didn't look like a roast or even corned beef.

Me:  Mom, what is this? I'm hungry.
Mom: Oh. That's Poppy's placenta. Her mom kept all her kids, but ran out of freezer space.
Me: What? Gross. Get it out of here.
Mom: Can't.  Zoo-Zoo will throw a fit. I hate that bitch and don't want to give her reason for more fighting.

Zoo was Richard's 2nd wife. His first wife's name was Meh. All of his kids, five total, were named after Vietnamese flowers.

In any case, my point is, this was many years ago. But of course Hollywood always acts like they just thought of some progressive sounding thing as though it had never existed until they put their imprimatur on it.

My solution for Kim and Kayne is to take the placenta, smear some of it on her face post delivery, which is what she really wants to do, then knit a pair of socks out of the rest. Placenta is remarkably durable and stretchy. It's a win win.

Actual placenta sock ^^^^^^

So, Hilaria, get your Kimmie on. I bet she would also love your handy phone app that alerts you when their is a size change in the baby. It's not perfect since the app got the gender wrong, but what a fun bit for Kim's show. "Look, it grew an ear!"

Halle Berry or Litigious Lawyer?

I was involved in a minor car accident a few weeks ago. LA is an impossible city to drive in. Not only are you constantly negotiating gridlock traffic at all hours (where are these people going on the 5 at ANY given time?) but you also have to deal with rude, obnoxious assholes who become outraged if you obey the law.


I tend to drive safe, slowish, okay, like a grannie. I listen to music and enjoy myself.

When a red light turns green, I wait ONE second because people run lights all the time. Then: HONK! HONK! YOUR SECOND IS UP! For all that moron knew, I saved his life.

Here come the insults. I drive the speed limit. I actually STOP at stop signs. This enrages drivers.  Most of them Vin Diesel types or pick your beefy actor from The Expendables 1 or 2.  Chuck Norris, Arnold Schwarzenegger...

"What the hell is wrong with you, stupid woman!"

Often they will tailgate, keep honking, harassing me, more obscenities, and eventually weave their way around, just to get in front of me with their giant SUV and SLAM on the brakes to teach me a lesson for my good driving.

I asked myself, if this person is in such a  hurry, they sure are spending a lot of time wasting it on me.


On top of ALL that you have the crooks that try to trap you into an accident, forcing your car into another car, thus you are at fault. Then they sue, for their sad, sad pain, fraudulent injuries, and their inability to EVER work again. Like they ever did before. Even if just a fender bender.

I'd get a bike, but I have kids and I simply refuse to get a three wheeler and take it everywhere we go. And I just can't do the Croco bike. Can't do it.

Back to the recent incident. Once again, I come up against, essentially, a malingerer. 

This took me by surprise because at first the girl seemed pleasant, like this wasn't any big deal. At first I thought it was Halle Berry, the resemblance was that striking.  But isn't Halle pregnant?  Then on closer inspection, she had a whole Morticia thing going on, long black dress, creepy night creature nails, too much vampire make up.

Okay, not Halle Berry. Just dressed like the Cat Woman but in a long dress. Nonetheless, quite pretty. After the initial denting, she took off. Just left. Maybe it was Halle. I know celebs do that. Weird. But no. This was a malingerer, posing as a movie star.

Red Flag #1

The driver secretly makes a call and conspires their next moves. She must have been in her Cadillac which was now out of view.

Halle: I swerved to avoid hitting a car, then sped up to beat the light, but SHE HIT ME!
Husband: Good. What kind of car?
Halle: Brand new. No plates yet.
Husband: Awesome. What is she wearing.
Halle: Casual, but James Perse casual.
Husband: Perfect.  Go start blaming her. I'll Google her. We'll get some money out of this. BTW, are you hurt?
Halle: No. But I missed my Pilates class, dammit.

I'm assessing my damage, a small scrape under the hood. Halle storms toward me, now in her battle gear mode, repeating over and over. "I HAD THE RIGHT OF WAY. YOU ARE AT FAULT."

Red Flag #2 ^ ^ ^ Never stop blaming.

She was in my face, towering over me with her stilettos, doing the finger pointing thing.

What it felt like ^ ^ ^ ^   but alas I did not kick her in the nuts.

BTW a great description phrase: "I used to get up and get excited to go to work, but now I'm happy being a malinger."

I go about my business.

Halle: Why are you taking pictures of my car?
Me: So you won't leave and kick in the door and headlamps. Maybe you'll hit a wall and get a brand new car. Who knows? All I know is my instincts are screaming here to NOT TRUST YOU.

I did not say this ^^^  I said nothing. She kept repeating her mantra, "I had the right of way. You are at fault."

She was getting rather worked up, a dither. Even angry, her skin was radiant.

In a coincidence, a police cruiser happened by. Suddenly Halle the wicked witch turns into Halle Berry the Make-A-Wish supporter. She instantly sprouts a halo, all smiles.

Halle: We're fine officers. No one is hurt. Just a small dent. We're all good friends here.

We are? Okay, maybe we are. Maybe we can be friends. I would like that.

They leave, and the witch returns. Well, so much for my fantasy. I get her info and go to Bed Bath and Beyond because the place comforts me. I love squeezing the down comforters  while talking to the sales people. I told everyone the story. They empathized.  I must have spent $400.00 on bath towels but it was worth it.

RED FLAG #3:  Malingerers take their sweet time in reporting accidents. Why? Because they are very busy figuring out medical issues that will make the cut. And in her instance, she claimed horrific neck pain and WORK WAGE LOSS.

"OH god, I'll never be able to function again. She was going 4 miles per hour!" ^ ^ ^

I find this so hilarious. The girl lives within 30 miles of my house. I saw her going to the gym and driving to work. Plus she mostly works at home.  Enough about her. Whatever amount she is paid off, is dirty money. She will have to live with the karmic dues that will be coming her way.

I have to mention I love my insurance company. I know that is not a popular thing to say,   but Progressive has become extended family over the years. Sure, we pay a fortune like everyone else. And mostly because of assholes like Morticia and their BS claims. But Progressive has a way of making me feel better about the entire awful state of affairs. They talk like actual people. They too have insurance, they too know how the system works and they know what they are dealing with regarding Halle Morticia.

After all Halle Morticia is a class action lawyer who specializes in settlements.

I suppose if you are going to dent someones Cadillac, a litigious attorney would be about the worst case scenario. That or a super fussy Cayenne owner.

For me personally it's always a huge disillusionment people like this even exist because I want to believe there is good in everyone. But sadly it's just not the reality.

RED FLAG #3  Malingerers bring attorneys along and have them do the doctor referrals. Even if they are one. How lame is this? We are talking a dent. And frankly, if I did NOT drive so slow and had sped up, she would have slammed into me (she was going over 65mph in gridlock, through a parking lane.) Had she hit me, she would have pushed me into traffic, and possibly killed herself and others.

Halle Morticia, first you should be ASHAMED of yourself, ASHAMED, and second, you should be grateful. It certainly could have been much worse.

RED FLAG #4  Malingerers refuse the initial offer from the insurance company. Halle is asking for some ridiculous amount; and also lots of time off work. Nice gig if you can get it.


I'm writing this to remind people to stay vigilante. Obviously times are hard financially for everyone and the malingerers are crawling out of the wood work. There has been a dramatic rise in fraudulent car accident claims. Some people actually throw themselves in front of expensive cars hoping for a big pay day. Some parents have their kids do it, because they can tuck and roll!

So, Morticia, by all means don't go into work, take your pain pills, lounge about and enjoy your pathetic life.

Meanwhile, I will continue to obey the traffic laws and drive the speed limit. Maybe one of these days the HONKER will be awesome Jason Stratham, at which point I would just sit at the light until he gets angry enough to approach me. Once he sees me, well, I'm certain he'll mistaken me for Rosie Hunting-Whiteley and invite me out for a coffee. You never know.

Marilyn Monroe, Leonardo DeCaprio, Poltergeist and Yard Sales

We have to vacate our home for a few months for some massive Money Pit kind of construction but without the studio financing. At first it seemed reasonable, then daunting, then simply impossible. But before this would turn into The Amityville Horror show, I saw an opportunity to unload. After all it is spring.

First was the initial dash and trash. My rule of thumb: if I havent used, worn, or remembered said object, out it went. Then, being a bit obsessive, I thought, well, I hate that sofa, and my desk, and that chair too. And those fucking night stands. You get the idea.

After giving most of it away, and one day left before we had to leave, we reverted to our Midwestern roots and had an "estate" sale.  Every table, chair, toy, basketball and book was vintage.

Yard sale is really fancy talk for house vomit. We've all seen them and one often has to avert their eyes. Ours was more like this.

Mark kept telling me to wear a loose top and sit outside to attract customers. I thought this was seriously oddball. But on a rare occasion he's right, so I sat under the shady elm and read The Great Gatsby, a movie I had otherwise planned to see that day. I don't get any props for shout outs, but it would make me happy for this film to do well because I like all involved. Carey Mulligan's face makes me spontaneously bust into tears.


It was Mother's Day, but in my house I pretty much do what I want whenever I want, so it doesn't hold much meaning. Except for the children who put a lot of thought and effort into their plans. Cards, candles, home made muffins, and then this cute thing Eve crafted during the sale. Haven't a clue where she found wildflowers.

People came. Many. There was the creepy door knocker guy from Poltergeist. He's all bones and black capes. I swear it was him. Kids, if you haven't seen this film, it's worth it. And read the history too.

I need to make a shout out to Michael Grais, the writer of Poltergeist,  because, well, he's awesome.

Also this remains one of my all time favorite haunted house movies.

As another aside, I love Leonardo DeCaprio and have seen every movie he's been in including The Beach, which I still have no idea what it was about, like Club Med on steroids or something. But I also love his friendship with Tobey Maguire. Look how cute.

Given their ragtag shitty apartment upbringings, not unlike my own, I have a lot of respect for both of them.  They did not come to my vintage sale.   I wonder if Leo remembers me. We met at Golds gym once years ago. He asked me where the towels were.

Still friends.

Back to Mr. Poltergeist. He keeps pulling out a fat wad of fake Monopoly money. He sits down next to me on my private bench!

Poltergeist:  So, you have any silver, gold? I have a lot of money. (Flashes the Monopoly bills.) But we have to keep this secret. I buy a lot of things.
Me:  Everything for sale is on the lawn. I don't have any gold for sale.
Poltergeist: Jewelry? You must have some in the house there.
Me: Nope. I hate jewelry. I don't even have gold fillings. They're all porcelain.

He got up and left but I was told he came back three more times when I was inside, still inquiring about gold. He was about to approach my ten-year old daughter and her dad chased him off the property.


Halfway through both the book and the sale, a small beat-up car pulled up.  A young woman in a nurses outfit walked over to me.

Nurse: I have Marilyn Monroe in the car. She saw the TV for sale. She's not well, and we need to keep it quiet. No cameras.

What the hay? But after Poltergeist Man, I'm  thinking so this is where the freaks go. Yard sales. They must get day passes. I love Marilyn Monroe. Could be interesting.

Nurse: I rarely bring her out, but she's had a lot of surgery and needed some air. But again, no autographs.
Me: Of course. Of course. No worries. We are very discreet.


A very old, yet elegant woman was helped out of the Rambler? by her nurse.  She hobbled over to me and asked if she could sit down and would I get her some water. Okay. I got her some aspirin too. She reminded me of Gloria Stuart in her Titanic role. May she rest in peace.

We were sitting on the bench, under the elm, while her nurse caressed the TV.

Me: Nice to meet you.
Marilyn: It's just so hot. I recently had surgery. I live in constant pain.
Me: Oh, I'm sorry. What  happened?
Marilyn: Everything. I had throat cancer twice, hernias, lost a kidney.. the list goes on and on. It's truly a miracle I'm alive.
Me: That's true.
Marilyn: You know, I really am Marilyn Monroe.  Oh, it was awful. People can be so cruel. They stole everything I had. So I got out.
Me: Where did you go?
Marilyn: I live right over here. Near Korea Town. I don't need much. I'll give you ten bucks for your TV. I can't fall asleep without one and mine was stolen.

Theoretically she could've been Marilyn Monroe. Marilyn was around 87, she had good skin. She looked much better than this pathetic meme on the internet, a very sad rendition... "If Marilyn Monroe were alive today."

Marilyn noticed my book.

Marilyn: Oh! I love Fitzgerald. An era better suited for me. I'm a huge reader. I'm mad for Dickens. Do you have any iced tea? I had the throat cancer and get so parched. I'd kill for a parasol.

This woman spoke in a strange British/Bostonion accent. I wondered if she was schizophrenic. Then decided she was just lonely. My daughter brought her a glass of iced tea with a lemon wedge.

Marilyn: You have lovely daughters. I always wanted children.

This was now getting weird and I wanted her to go.

Me: You can just take the TV. Take anything you need.
Marilyn:  You're a dear. Bye-bye now.

With that, she jumped up, as though she was no longer in pain, and got in the car. Her nurse loaded in the TV and few other things including a couple Iphones. They waved.

By 1:00 pm everything was gone except for the sofa I loath. I had it reupholstered twice, yet, I've never been a fan. My style is now changing to minimalistic. Clean lines, no clutter, and the kids can sleep outside.

While I was inside the kitchen eating muffins and imagining myself lounging in Philip Johnson's Glass House,  I heard a motorcycle roar up. I looked out the window and saw Mark, who has a knack for connecting to any human, talking smack with a Hells Angel, or maybe it was an actor from Sons of Anarchy.  Soon they were besties, back slapping, laughing.

I heard Angel say:

"This couch is perfect for my son. He just got out!"

Mark:  So happy to hear that. You can have it for 100 bucks.
Angel: Deal. I'll send a truck. It's all coming together for Junior.

I'm thinking of course, coming out of what? Prison? Rehab? The closet?

But who cares. Mark sold it. The difference between us is he actually sells the stuff while I just give it away.  I actually get angry when he puts prices on things.

Me: Are you joking. Who the hell is going to give you 50 bucks for the shit table?
Mark: What? It's vintage.

He got the 50. Then I made a deal, one I am most proud of. We had a rabbit hutch, very high quality, clean, fresh oak, and nearly new since the rabbit we bought it for died within a week of it's purchase.

We have so many animals in the back yard, particularly lizards,  it's possible the poor thing died of shock.

But the woman who wanted the hutch, also a neighbor, needed it for her chickens.

Neighbor: I can have this? It's perfect.
Me: Sure. Just bring me a fresh egg one day.

All said and done, we were done, and Mark gave me all the loot. The next morning, the chicken owning neighbor came by and gave me a basket of fresh eggs. People are so kind.

All in all, the estate sale was a success. Our house lost a lot of weight. Now I'm off to Cannes. I'll try to surreptitiously take pictures while on the many yachts I hang around in, then will give a full report on the shenanigans that are la Croisette. I know I won't have another Keith Richards encounter since they are touring and PS they were awesome,

but maybe I'll trip in my stilettos in front of Ryan Gosling. Until then...

For Kim Kardashian, Fergie, Kate Middleton and Alec Baldwin's Person.

I've been undergoing drastic dental work that includes things like nails, hammers, cadaver bone. Sitting in the chair for hours on end, head back, staring up at an HD TV that loops celebrity gossip, one gets bored. The loud TV is to muffle the insufferable dental soundtrack that could have been lifted from the railroad building sequence of Once Upon A Time In The West.

But I also stay informed on celebrity culture. There has been an enormous outbreak in celeb pregnancies. The faces paraded by so fast I only caught a few, and it was in this order: Kim Kardashian, Fergie, Kate Middleton, Heather Morris (I have no idea who this is) Penelope Cruz,  Alec Baldwin (clearly not the carrier but they didn't name the pregnant girl with him) Halle Berry, Maya Rudolph (she is always pregnant so that's kind of non news,) and Even Rachel Wood with Jamie Bell?  Is that the kid from Billy Elliot?

So this blogsay is about helping the new moms. Put down those baby books your are reading right now because you won't remember a thing anyway.  Instead, here are some tactical exercises you can do to pre-train to see if you are ready for the baby. You won't be, so you may have to do these a few times.

And you can't make your nannies do it!

Because most celebs are weight conscious, we'll start here.

The Bean Test: Strap a 40- pound burlap bag filled with pinto beans to your stomach. This is you at nine months. Walk a few feet. Then take out 3 beans. This is you after baby is born.

Are you fucking kidding me? I had the dang thing. ^ ^ ^ ^ ^

On the Road Test: You and partner get into your Porsche Cayenne with one large jar of honey, some Brie cheese and a turkey sandwich.  Pour all that into the glove compartment and leave it there. At the same time, take a steak knife to the back seat and pull a Psycho. Then press some fresh fertilizer into the grooves. Check back in a few months.

"I feel sick."   ^ ^ ^ ^


Furniture Courage Test:  This test takes incredible bravery but you must. Find some fresh random dog feces, scoop up, then smear across the new $12,000 crib. Not just the mattress. But everywhere, the sides, the hidden bits, the lace. Paint It Black. Leave the room.

Now go do the same thing to your Sam Maloof rocking chair. Really fill in those slats.

Leave the feces for a few days because ultimately this is what your home will smell like one week after baby arrives.


Feed Me Test:  Take a gallon of milk and dump half. Suspend carton from the ceiling with an electrical cord. Hit it with a bat to get a good swing going. Now, try to insert teensy spoonfuls of rice cereal into the mouth of jug while pretending to be an airplane. Then cut the cord and let it splatter. For the truly adventurous, wear your Manolo Blahniks so you can twist an ankle. Forget the doctor. Just keep hobbling. Not everyone is balanced as Victoria Beckham. I'm certain she can trampoline in these.

Nighty Night Test:  Take your most expensive pillow case and fill it with sand. Drench in water. Carry the wet sack around for eight hours singing Kumbaya, Twinkle Twinkle Little Star and finally Jesus Loves Me because it has six verses.  Put down the pillow case. Take a 15 minute rest.  Come back and pick it up. Start making up songs, or just hum. Do this over and over and over and over smiling the entire time.

This baby is not real. It's an image to sell pacifiers. ^ ^ ^ ^

Couture Test:  To be adequately trained to get your baby in the new Bonpoint outfit, find yourself a wild rodeo calf. Come up from behind the animal with a freshly pressed tuxedo.

Attempt to fit the entire animal inside the tuxedo without any complaints from the calf.

Night Blindness Test:    Buy 1000 thumb tacks. Go to bed, naked, barefoot and blindfolded.  Have a friend plant tacks all over the house when you are sleeping. Get up at 3:00am and walk to the nursery as "baby" is crying.  You will also have to walk to the kitchen and bathroom. Do not scream as this will agitate the baby.

Real Mother Test:  Genuine fun as opposed to store bought fun. Get a box of Honey Nut Cheerios, Elmer's glue and Silly String, then build an exact replica of the Taj Mahal. You are allowed to use finger paints, paper towel tubes, tin foil and an Hermes scarf. Then step on it and start all over.

Amongst Friends Test:  Visit some close friends that have a small child. Lecture them on everything they are doing wrong, point out ways they can improve their parenting through patience, and tolerance. Give tips on feeding, toilet training, manners, vaccinations schedules. Notice an interpersonal tonal shift. You will never be invited over again. Try to ignore their babies tantrums and carrot tossing.  Look at each other and surreptitiously giggle knowing that will never be you.  Then realize it already is.

Most of all congratulations ladies and good luck!