Mom-group crashing has become a kind of hobby for me as of late. I have several awesome mom-friends but no real posse and so I, um, sort of crash them. I show up. Listen. Smile and nod. Say hello to True-Religion clad offspring. Ponder. Go home. Maybe it's just here in L.A. but on the rare occurrence one stumbles upon an actual mom-group (as opposed to the usual, Nanny Group) one is in for some serious church-giggles.
Yesterday while at a local park with Archer and our friends, (cue Carrie Bradshaw) I couldn't help but wonder if there was even a difference between teen-girl cliques and mom-groups.
Are most moms simply highschool girls with mileage?
The average age for new moms in Los Angeles I believe is 72. I'm not kidding, either. 72 seems about right. Around here, women have children after they retire. From acting. From producing. From gold-digging, so if I can find a new mother under 45, I usually cling to her and hold on for dear-life. Not that there is anything wrong with the 72-year-old Mom-group. They're doing their thing, pushing strollers in motorized carts, etc. I'm the freak after all. I get the funny looks.
One would never know that these moms are 72, though. Plastic surgery has made them ageless, and a little alien-like and they speak as if scripted by the cast of Laguna Beach:
"My son Dax is like soooooo cute in his brand new rugby polo. OMG!"
"Totally hot. Did you get it at Babystyle? I have the SAME one for Max!"
"OMG, Don't look now. Carrie's little boy is driving a kid-size Hummer H2. What is she thinking?"*
"Total bitch. Doesn't she know about the Hybrid tricycle? My children, Ryder and Storm, each have one."
"So, like, my pediatrician said that his pediatrician said that his pediatrician totally said..."
"No way. My pediatrician's dog's veterinarian's friend's pediatrician's mom said that was totally not true."
"Well I read that if you breastfeed your child until kindergarten that they will be better listeners."
"Well I read that if you breastfeed your husband, HE will be a better listener."
"OMG did you read that in Spock or Spears?"
"Niether. I read it in Spearock, the "new-greatest-coolest-everyone-is-reading-it-book" on shelves!"
"OMG. Don't look now. DILF alert!"
"He is NOT pushing the rockstar stroller. Such a bugaboo knock-off. Gay men should know better."
"I can't believe his daughter, Waterfall, didn't get into the Webster Private School for infants."
"It's SUCH a great school."
"So, ladies, GATHER around. I just got my photos back from Annie Leibovitz! She took photos of Neruda, did I not tell you?"
"So not fair."
"Well, I have booked Wolfgang Puck to cater Siren's 6-month birthday bash."
"Well I'm pregnant again. With triplets."
"Yeah, bitch." (Drops dead from natural causes.)
This may seem like a dramatization, but I'm telling you-- crash a mom-group in West Hollywood and take notes. Then fold the note into a neat origami triangle and slip it into my locker.
And then I'll be like, OMG TOTALLY! I told you! And then you'll be all, bitch, whatevs.
And then I'll like, totally blog about it.
*I had to agree with her. What was she thinking? The child almost ran Archer over in that thing!!! Bitch.