No, I’m not going to analyze last week’s Season 5 premiere of Mad Men, so stay with me, I’m going to talk about boobs and show you some that will blow your mind. Anyway, I fell asleep by accident and woke up during the dirty white carpet scene that I am assuming is a metaphor for Don Draper’s madonna-whore complex, which is why you should always have 4 or 5 backups because they get dirty fast. The carpets and the whores. That just might be me and my Freudian thought process. It was on again on Monday, thank the tv gods, and I stayed awake but I did go into a self-preservation coma during the party scene. I’m frightened by Megan’s teeth (get a Twitter account!) and her zou-bisouing miniskirt-wearing ways. Everyone else was dressed appropriately, what is happening? You have the power, Matthew Weiner, make time stop! Hippies: Do Not Want!
I’m worried about what will happen to Joan and her girdle/torpedo bra combo when the hippies do inevitably take over. You would not believe how much I fretted over what would happen to her body when the writers impregnated her at the end of season 4. It’s just a tv show, Peterson, they’ll handle it tastefully. Thank the tv gods again that they didn’t show any of it. Yes, pregnancy is a beautiful thing but I don’t even want to see Joan have a run her pantyhose, much less baby drool on her chest shelf. So far, so good, as you can see from the above photo, she can vacu-pack all her post-pregnancy baby weight in a girdle…almost. This woman is always milkshake away from archaic overbrim. Which is a fine art if you ask me.
Even though she’s built like the La Leche Dairy Queen, Joan is not breastfeeding. Carnation baby formula was all the rage in the 60s so that choice makes sense although extremely disappointing. I could get behind the times a-changin’ if Joan became a unapologetic public lactation advocate. She would breastfeed at home with a shocking glass of wine (I did that in the 1990s, shut up! Both my kids can tie their shoes with the imperial standard knot). Maybe she’d go back to work and pump in Roger’s office while she smoked a scandalous cigarette and the men peered over the transom to catch a glimpse of her pimentos (I made that up, it sounds 1960s doesn’t it?). It just seems like such a waste. And for you google interlopers, I am aware of your search terms and I still love you, here are Christina Hendricks’ NSFW leaked nude photos from her cellphone. They may or may not be hers, apparently “they” did some vein configuration analysis that came up positive. I know they are not mine because they are free from dust mite bites. Otherwise it’s like looking in a mirror.
And speaking of lactation celebration, last weekend Toronto had a visit from the The Milk Truck. I wanted to check out but I was without my own wheels so I followed it on Twitter instead. This is the Milk Truck:
Yes, on the roof is a giant fibreglass breast with a flashing pimento on top. The Milk Truck is the brainchild of Jill Miller, a Pittsburgh based performance artist whose idea is to bring breastfeeding awareness to the uptight masses using humour and folly. Have you ever been to a mall and your baby needed a snack pronto, your nits are zinging and you go to the salesclerk at the Burlington Coat Factory and ask: “Excuse me, is there a room I can go to breastfeed my baby?” And the salesclerk looks you up and down and at your booger covered hoodie and says; “No. We don’t allow that here.” The Burlington Coat Factory doesn’t allow that. True story, it happened to my friend in Buffalo before the days of Twitter. Nowadays you get on your phone and tweet to the Milk Truck and they will come to your rescue and do some social media shaming. How awesome is that!
That would never have happened to me. First of all, I would never ask if I could breastfeed in public, I would just do it. Nobody ever busted my ass because I was a badass, smooth operator who used Patricia Field purse as a diaper bag. Ironicially, I think it’s those meek mothers who cover everything up with a blankie that garner all the negative attention from the mall police. They can’t see any pimento so they ask you to move along so they can watch you pack it up. Bitch please, I see what did there.
And as promised, here are some awesome boobs I found of a British journalist in Africa bonding with her sisters. It’s such a cool photo series but prudes will find it NSFW. Don’t ask me.
And I leave you with this to contend with on your own… here’s that Zou Bisou Bisou video, it’s all rage on iTunes, LOLCats: