MONDO EXTRAS

It's Thursday the 12th. Looks like I've got about ... four minutes or so, so I just want to explain where I'm at right now while I'm still lucid." Cue a bunch of expository chatter in which she reveals that she's an interior decorator by way of saying she's been stressed lately because she was hired by the mayor's wife to do a 17th century Rococo-style nursery for her unborn son. Cutesy Cody Alert #1: Flash to a smiling pregnant blonde woman and then to Tara in a surgical mask in front of a mural depicting the pregnant lady as a saint. Then comes the real reason for Tara's stress: her admission that despite being able to keep track of a million things that her career requires, she "can't seem to micromanage [her] daughter's vagina." Echoes of Juno, no?

She digs into her pocket and fishes out a slip of paper, which she flashes at the camera and explains is a prescription for the morning-after pill. "As in 'the morning after sweaty, skanky teen sex.'" She goes on to say that she found said script in her daughter Kate's fuzzy chimpanzee backpack last night. Pan to Tara absconding with the slip of paper as her lanky, blonde and oblivious daughter comes out of the bathroom in a tank top and panties. Camera Tara divulges that she's torn between wanting to be cool with it and wanting to perform female genital mutilation on her kid. She breaks down and apologizes to the camera, saying she just can't deal with this right now, and pops up to stop recording. She takes out the tape, puts it in its case and tosses it on to a shelf that's littered with other mini-tapes labeled alternately and in varying scripts "Tara," "Buck," "T," and "Alice."

She storms out of the room, rips off her button down, and continues peeling off her clothes, while downstairs the aforementioned teenaged skank arrives home from school, decked out in the of-the-moment teen costume of leggings, boots, tutu, layers of t-shirts and a mess of stringy, badly dyed hair and shouts a tentative "yo" to see if anyone ("Marshall" or "Estonian cleaning lady" or "Mommy") is home. Her Sidekick or whatever jingles and she answers with a perky "Hi sex robot. I miss you too," but is interrupted by the strains of pounding bass coming from upstairs and excuses herself quickly to check out the sitch. She creeps upstairs tentatively as the music gets louder and feigns disgust when she sees the hallway littered with her mom's clothes.