Bad Sandy and The Keeper

July 1, 2014

Remember the movie “Grease”?

Remember “Good Sandy”? You know, all blonde, prim, proper and dainty singing “Hopelessly Devoted To You” into a pool in the backyard?

Remember “Bad Sandy”? Black leather pants, red hooker heels and curly hair singing to John Travolta and then disappearing off into the sky in a 57 Chevy?

(Note: the correct answers here MUST be YES because if you just answered “no”, I’m going to be forced to ask you to leave with the knowledge that we can never, ever recover from the huge crack in our friendship. Please feel free to go watch the movie and come back. But only if you know every single word to “We Go Together”. And the Hand Jive movements. And the exact right intonation of “Tell me ’bout it, Stud”…)

Admit it: Good Sandy was fun and all but, let’s face it: Bad Sandy is who we REALLY wanted to hang out with, right? If for no other reason than we’d get to ask John Travolta exactly what is UP with his hair. No disrespect, Rizzo….you will still get to be Pink Lady #1.

If I had a choice, I’d totally pick Bad Sandy every day of the week and twice on Sundays.

And now Bad Sandy is HERE. On my blog.

I’d be lying if I said I wasn’t pee my pants excited that Bad Sandy is here in my cereal bowl for a visit. SQUEEEEEEEEEEEEEE!

My friend Meredith is the genius behind the blog, Bad Sandy, and frankly, any blog with the tag line “terrible things said nicely” is a blog that I will gladly read. She describes herself as “a recovered actress” and says she’s “a glass half annoying girl”.

We like glass half annoying girls, don’t we, Fruit Loop Group?

Because this is my blog and I get to do things the way I want to, I decided to ask Meredith a few investigative, journalistically appropriate questions to help you all really get to know Miss Bad Sandy. And, she was nice enough to answer them without rolling her eyes too much or asking the T Birds to rough me up. Picture us in a beautifully appointed room, both sitting adjacent to each other in overstuffed chairs and perfect makeup. Soft lighting to ease the wrinkles (think Moonlighting) and both wearing Louboutins that have perfect red soles because we only wear them on carpeting. There. Mood set. Now, I give you:

The Keeper’s Interview With Bad Sandy

Me: What’s the most obnoxious thing you’ve seen today so far?
BS: I live in LA where we’ve mastered obnoxious so I’ve seen a lot and it’s only 2 pm. Most obnoxious so far is the either the guy in my yoga class who did 10 minutes of headstands BEFORE class started (we get it: you’re really strong) or the guy walking backwards for half a mile for no apparent reason. Only in LA do people have mobile dyslexia and call it a fitness routine. (This is why I can’t live on the West Coast…I’d be beaten up regularly for laughing my ass off in yoga class).

Me: Do you wear leather pants like Bad Sandy in Grease?
BS: I do! But only on skinny days where I don’t mind having a sweating vagina. Leather pants = steamy lady parts. (My condolences to her dry cleaner).

Me: What blogs do you read religiously? Why? And, have you told them about MY blog?
BS: I always read The Bloggess because I have a talent crush on her. I always read Go Fug Yourself because it’s just too good. I always read Nomad Mom Diary because Lynn Morrison always brings it. And I always, always, always read Bad Parenting Moments because Bethany is a star and is as good a writer as anyone out there.
I haven’t told them about your blog but I will…… (Note: she may have rolled her eyes here.)

Me: What is your biggest blogging pet peeve? You may NOT answer “Blog interview questions from annoying peons”.
BS: I can’t stand bloggers who blog about blogging as if their whole audience is bloggers…. I also kind of hate it when bloggers use their blogs as their own personal therapy session. I think bloggers/writers/whatever owe their audience (even if it’s just mom and the UPS man reading) a good story, not just a personal dump or vent session. And, for my own blog, I hate when family members email me typos. I’m a big fan of them just telling me how funny I am and letting me live in a world where I meant “pencil” and it auto correct to “penis”. (Eyebrow raise to my brother. Love you, bro, but seriously, no more typo texts, m’kay?).

Me: What books are on your nightstand?
BS: Tiny Ladies In Shiny Pants by Jill Solloway. It’s an oldie but goodie and I’ve read it a zillion times and can’t get enough. She really knows how to make a girl giggle. And Where’d You Go, Bernadette by Maria Semple, which I just devoured like chocolate. (I find it strange that she does NOT have a copy of I Just Want To Be Alone on her nightstand. WTF, Bad Sandy?)

Great interview, right? We like BS, right? Say yes. Nod your heads. Good.

You totally want to read more, don’t you?

Well, you are in luck since Miss Bad Sandy has decided to share one of her most popular pieces with us. About Hello Kitty. Not having a mouth. Uh huh. She goes there. And she uses potty language. But she’s Bad Sandy. She’s probably cursing because her pee pee is sweaty in those leather pants. Allow her some latitude, m’kay?

Oh For Fuck’s Sake, Hello Kitty Doesn’t Have A Mouth

By Meredith Gordon

I’m not supposed to give my daughter girlie toys. According to the unwritten, but you’re supposed to know them, modern-day rules of parenting, parents of little girls are not supposed to encourage them to do typical “girlie” things like wear pink, pretend to be Princesses, and play with dolls with a stripper-worthy tit-to-waist ratio like Barbie or those whore’ish looking Bratz dolls I saw today at Toys R Us.

Instead, our daughters should play with gender-neutral toys in hopes they’ll grow up with a positive self image, see themselves as something beyond pretty and aspire to something more in life than having a stripper-worthy tit-to-waist ratio.

The problem, as most parents of girls quickly realize, is that little girls really like gender-specific toys. Self-image isn’t nearly as fun as styling your own Barbie’s hair.

Which leads us to Hello Kitty.

My two-year-old pink lover has shown an early obsession and passion for Ms. Kitty herself. In fact, when faced with a Hello Kitty image, my daughter nearly hyperventilates. This invariably leads to her running around the store, house or friend’s house for ten to thirty hours screaming, “Kitttttttteeeeeeee!” If there is such a thing as a toddler orgasm, she’s having one. I half expect my kid to say, “I’ll have what she’s having,” as if she’s in “When Harry Met Sally.”

So, we’ve gone full Kitty. We have Kitty cups, Kitty shirts, a Hello Kitty swim towel (with Kitty hood, natch), a Hello Kitty sweatsuit and will be receiving (it’s on backorder) a very special sequined Hello Kitty swimsuit.

But it wasn’t until today, in my house full of Kitty, that I realized that Hello Kitty doesn’t have a mouth. One of the most iconic little girl toys is a fucking mute, by design. Some toy manufacturer (is there a Mr. Sanrio?) sat in his office and looked at one Kitty mock-up after another and thought, “Something’s just not right.” And after months of contemplation, Mr. Toy Manufacturer realized that what was wrong with Hello Kitty was that she could talk. And so, Ms. Kitty lost her mouth. And in turn, her voice.

And I just can’t quite move past it.

Honestly, I think most modern day parenting rules are bullshit. Parents are supposed to be obsessed with what our kids eat while encouraging them to be open-minded about food. Little girls shouldn’t like fairy costumes but should feel the burden of letting an entire gender down because they actually do. It’s okay if little boys want to crash into things and play “action,” but should fully expect teachers and parents to say, “Oh he’s just a boy” every time said boy asks to play Ninja. And parents of little girls should think twice before admitting they’ve 1) bought their daughter a Barbie and 2) played it with her.

But, at least Barbie gets to talk. Sure, Barbie’s probably talking about how she hasn’t eaten in days and how she’s worried one of her implants just burst, but at least she can talk. Hello Kitty is just a submissive little cat who, according to her bio (and yes she has a bio), likes “shiny things.”

To my daughter, it’s just a cute little cat with a bow in her hair. But to me, she’s everything I worked hard not to be. If there’s one quality I could give my own daughter, it would be the ability to speak up. I’ll take mouthy over mute anytime.

So if my daughter becomes a weight-obsessed teenager, you can blame me for buying her that Barbie. But if my daughter becomes a strong, opinionated grown-up, you can credit her. Hopefully, she’ll play with Hello Kitty without becoming Hello Kitty.

At least that’s what I’ll keep telling her.

I think Bad Sandy pretty much speaks for herself. Clearly. Because Hello Kitty sure as hell doesn’t get to say what she thinks….if you love Bad Sandy as much as I do, follow her on Facebook and Twitter. She’ll send the T Birds after you if you don’t so it’s in your best interest to click “Like” faster than Greased Lightning….see what I did there?