Pardon Me, but there’s vomit on your Chanel

by renegademama

A few weeks ago I joined Twitter. I know. I know. But if I’m going to make the effort to write the damn blog, I need people to actually read it. Therefore, I’m like totally into social media (hair flip, valley girl accent). Anyway I have been seriously amused by the Twitter bios. If you’re not familiar, I’ll explain: you have 140 characters or some other nonsense to write a little bio, and it shows up next to your ‘avatar’ (profile picture), all of which is intended to catch people’s interest so they’ll ‘follow’ you. Whatever. I didn’t make it up.

So you scroll down the list of prospects and click on people who seem interesting or like-minded or whatever you’re into and it kills me the stuff people put up there. There are of course the born-agains, the sober people, the shock-factor people (“anarchist mother of two who yearns to piss you off and eat your young”), the granola moms with their damn acronyms ( SAHM, BF, CD-ing, AP, NoVax), and the ones who are ooooo sooooo baddddd (“I drink whiskey, have tattooed arms and say fuck a lot.'”). But lately my favorites are the fancy and [evidently] well-dressed women who write things like “fashion savvy mother of two” or “hip mama in stilettos” or “fashion-conscious San Diego mother of four. You’ll find me drinking cabernet in my Chanel.”

Now I have nothing against these women. I just can’t for the life of me understand how they do it. I mean, the sheer logistics of my life negate any possibility of my wearing $600 sweaters. Or stilettos.

First of all, my day almost always involves some sort of bodily related emission ranging from drool to breast-milk to things I’d rather not discuss. And I think I’d be really disturbed if indeed there was vomit on my Chanel. Or maybe part of wearing Chanel is the ability to afford Chanel, which brings me to another reason I wear Old Navy…finances. No need to expand that topic. Speaking of expanding, let’s be honest, I’m too fat for designer clothes. Yeah. Some of us missed the memo about exercising after childbirth. [I do, however, breastfeed a lot, which I hear burns about 12,000 calories a day, so I should be covered.] But even if I had money and a life without random excretions and they made fat people Gucci, who the hell has time for that kind of effort?

Now don’t get me wrong. I have standards. I shower. I wear clean clothes. Mostly. And if I don’t have any, I very carefully sift through the hamper, thoughtfully contemplating my choices until I locate something without visible stains or an overtly unpleasant aroma. I mean that can take a while. And I absolutely draw the line at wearing maternity clothing past 7 months post-partum. I only wear flip-flops in light rainstorms and I’m perfectly willing to iron a piece of clothing for a special event. Like a wedding. Or a funeral. Of somebody I really care about.

Perhaps they are experiencing some other version of motherhood.

Or maybe they aren’t. In that case, I kind of admire them. Though I think it’s a little obnoxious to walk around flaunting one’s thinness and general health etc. by looking all hot with a 2-month old, I think it’s pretty cool when women take care of themselves for real after having a baby. Most of us generally feel like we’ve been hit by a Mack truck after giving birth and this feeling sort of continues for, oh, I don’t know, forever. And our appearances may reflect this feeling.

Plus, if you’re like me, you look back on your “pre-baby” days as your “hot days” – and, since that ship has sailed (far far FAR away, replaced by, well, not hotness), you figure you might as well stop trying. And since most of us don’t have a nanny, cook, housekeeper (or three), rich-ass husband or even the inclination to drop thousands of dollars on fancy labeled clothing, the statement “Pardon me, but there’s vomit on your Chanel” probably won’t be sent our direction anytime soon. However, most of us are able to put a little thought and time into ourselves, in whatever way we like to put time and thought into ourselves, and I think there is real value in this, in taking care of oneself before being expected to take care of others.

Because if my well is dry, I’ll have nothing to give.  And if I have nothing to give, but am forced to give any way, things go poorly. Understatement.

So here’s to my version of Chanel and stilettos, and yours, whatever that looks like.

Because I’m good enough and smart enough and gosh darn it, people like me.

BuahHAHAHAHAHAHA! (sorry. the Stuart Smalley thing was funny.)

plotting ways to stain my clothes

14 Comments | Posted in Sometimes, I'm all deep and shit..... | March 10, 2011
  • Kimberly

    I’m on The Twitter, too. @yepallmine Look me up!

  • Mad Woman behind the Blog

    I love that Twitter bios inspired this, um, well, rant! (I LOVE RANTS so RANT ON, new friend!).

    • renegademama

      Yay rants!

      Now excuse me, but I must go check out your blog. Thanks for stopping by, “see” you soon!

  • Jess

    I have shit on my Chanel.

    Oh, wait. That’s my, uh, pants of totally indiscernable origin. My Twitter bio is awesome. I talk about my many pairs of prada stilettos.*snort*

    How about “hi, I’m a mom, I wipe ass.” Cause for me that about sums it up.

    • renegademama

      Exactly. I’m mom. I’m a pissed off butler. And servant. Cheers. (P.S. SO glad to have you around… 🙂

  • Christina

    Chanel and stilettos or fuck and tattoo’s, I only wish it was that easy to sum up my life.
    Hahaha. IDK why I find this so funny.

    • renegademama

      It is funny. The whole thing is funny — trying to sum up a personality or life or whatever in 140 characters. I say something lame too in my bio. While I’m quick to tease others I also realize that I am QUEEN JACKASS and I totally play the game when necessary. Some of the bios mess with me though, hitting me in that “fuck you” spot — “mother and doctor, helping women raise better children.” I hate advice. But even more than hating advice, I hate people who think they know. And they can help me. Because they know.

      Did I mention they know?

      Sorry. I get no sleep. I repeat myself sometimes. Cheers.

  • Pauline

    Love this! I joined Twitter two weeks ago and still am not sure I’m cool enough.

    • renegademama

      Indeed! I KNOW I’m not cool enough, but hey, I pretend. I figure it’ll take ’em awhile to figure out I’m WAY uncool, since I only give 140-character glimpses into myself. 🙂

  • Teresa

    I’m just looking forward to the days when I’m not wearing nursing bras any more. I’m sure my husband is too! Proper bras again. That will count for stylish for me!

    • renegademama

      Isn’t it amazing how our standards change? There was a time when I’d only wear clothes from Nordstrom. Now I think Nordstrom Rack is fancy. Huh.

  • ZenaliciousMom

    Hysterical!!! Right there with ya…and I’ve thought the same thing. Like really!?!? I feel so Seinfeldian thinking about all this stuff too…hahahah

  • Shan

    Dude, have you been in my closet watching me? There’s room. I’m in here now. (Oddly, this should be a joke, but it’s not. I should have gone to bed, but instead I stealth grabbed the laptop off the chair near Fynn’s crib, came in here and… mm-hmm. Now I’ve been up so long I should really go ahead and pump before going to bed. Dork. In full digression.) Okay, I don’t actually dig through my dirty clothes because sometimes *my* dirty clothes pile gets mixed in with, say *Tom’s* pile. That’s not gonna help. So, again with the stealth moves, I toss whatever I think I might wear again on top of the dresser. If it gets warn again, great. If not and it’s laundry day, in it goes.

    By “ironing” do you mean “throwing in the dryer to get the wrinkles that can’t pass for seatbelt marks” out?

    Your understatement is my own. Ask my husband. Maybe not today. Maybe let some time pass first, ‘kay? ‘Kay.

    My version includes a pair of black jeans and a button-down shirt. With heels, because I’m fancy-like. But no stillettos, because I want to freaking live! In case you were wondering.

  • Elle

    Since having my daughter nearly 2 years ago, I consider putting on a bra and wearing my least stained and least faded yoga pants dressing up. I should make that my Twitter bio. I find that when I wear jeans they slow me down (since I can’t breathe in the ones I have) when trying to run after my little girl since she refuses to hold my hand. I think that yoga pants get more air flow thus helping my ass to run faster. When I wear my flip flops, which is most of the time, it’s like pushing a boost button when I’m chasing my girl through the grocery store. I can’t have “real” shoes slowing me down. 😉