Lazy Days, Crazy Ways

This evening I will attempt something truly... um... mundane? Well, shoot. I'll just chalk up the tally of weekend events, for your viewing. If you can't sleep? This might just do the trick.

Look! I'm human nyquil!

Photos finished: 5

Tears shed: Umm... altogether or per photo? Yeah. Might have lost count.

BUT!: The Baby shoot from last week is almost good to go, and a few of the photos make me very, very warm and mushy inside. This job? It doesn't suck.

Shows watched with T: only 1 total show that I can recall... Friday night's BSG, which we watched last night. The rest was bits and pieces, and lots of running around and snippets of football here and there.

Thanksgiving Turkeys Purchased: 1. But. Oh. My. What a turkey. As my sister-in-law would say, Birdzilla is coming to dinner. All 22.46 pounds of him. Thank heaven I am not expected to actually cook this bird, as it would likely refuse to fit in our comically tiny oven. T will drop it at my brother's tomorrow morning, where it will live until the gorging feasting on Thursday.

Family members we'll be spending Thanksgiving with: 11.5 - the .5 being the fetal bundle currently renting space in the belly of Mrs. Doctor Budworth. Doc Bud being my older, and unforgivably cooler brother. A doctor who sings and plays mean guitar. I know, right? But at least I can knit. I totally have that on him.

Pounds of Potatoes to be turned into mashed, homemade goodness for Thursday: 10
We were raised on instant mashed potatoes in my family, and I still make them frequently. But for Thanksgiving? T nearly had to be shocked back to consciousness when he found out my family eats instant potatoes for Thanksgiving. He has since gone on a one-man crusade to convert us to the home-made variety, at least for holidays. Poor guy... he is in deep deep denial after being told that we actually like the instant kind. Though, at least in my case, not as well as his from scratch variety. I'm guessing it has something to do with the pound of butter and cream cheese that goes into the mix. How can you go wrong with that???

Hours of sleep I have missed by being up, yet again, past bedtime? Where's the dang infinity key on this box....?

All About The Quickie.....

Because tonight? I am all about the quickie. This wifi has reached new heights of horrid when it comes to reliability, and will be replaced at the first opportunity. I will have to hurry and get this in before it crashes on me yet again... So here you are.

I will leave you with my thought for the day, and a Thanksgiving haiku.

First, the thought... Husbands who buy themselves things in November that are ON THEIR CHRISTMAS LIST because they are too impatient to wait for another month to see what Santa will bring them? Are highly likely to find a lump of coal in their stocking on Christmas morning.

Not that the above was targeted at anyone in particular. Obviously not my husband, who would never, ever do something so despicable.

Cough.

Oh! And so? A Thanksgiving Haiku.

The weather turns cold
Air scented sweet with decay
Thank yous and laughter

Friday Night Live

Before I get started? Mom... Please avert your eyes. Seriously. You won't approve.

So women and "adult" toy parties. Tonight my friend and neighbor hosted a party for 'the girls' and I went, in my smokin' new Isaac Mizrahi boots from Target (pronounced "tar-zhay" for the unenlightened) and had a blast. I ended up with some goodies for the hubs and me, which are none of your business, thankyouverymuch.

But it brought to mind a toy party of yore... right before we got married, I went to my very first bona-fide adult toy event. The hilights of the evening included a beautiful African-American woman with a day-glo white reproduction of a certain male body part attached to her head with a suction cup. The lowlight? Well... I didn't find out till weeks later that the low point of the evening was when I paid for my purchases with my credit card. You see, I had just quit my job as an assistant to a Senior Director at an ISP. I was engaged, just a month or so from my wedding, and I was starting a new semester in my Nursing program. (which I didn't finish, because T got laid off and I got pregnant, but that's a whole other post.)

SO... I made a few purchases and paid with my credit card. I wrote the number down from memory. The only problem? The number I wrote down from memory was, thanks to my faulty brain, not my own. It happened to be a credit card number I had used almost daily for the previous 2 years. It was the credit card number of my recently-ex-boss.

So when the representative from the party called me a few weeks later to tell me that, when she finally attempted to run my card, it came up as belonging to Mr. MyExBoss... I had a very small apoplectic fit. You can imagine the phone call that followed, wherein I had to explain to my boss that I had written his number down by mistake when I made a purchase and convince him that I was not attempting to rob him. Especially not to make purchases from a company selling Adult Novelties.

Lucky for me? He was quite understanding, and mostly relieved that the only purchases made on his card at such an event included foot massage cream and body lotion. Because anything else? Would have been.... akward to a degree usually reserved for Ben Stiller movies.

And there you have it. The official "most embarassing moment" of my lifetime to date. Accidentally using your EX-Boss's credit card number to make purchases at a sex toy party, and having to call and explain to him what happened once you find out what an idiot you actually are. What's your most humiliating experience? C'mon... go ahead and share. I dare you.

Mending The Invisible.

I’m walking into a local department store with my one-year-old son, Toby, on one hip and his three-year-old brother, Jack, at my side. It’s a hazy, gray November day and Jack decides that the drizzle is sufficient for him to require his “invisible” (read: imaginary) umbrella. It’s a new game he plays, and every time there is the slightest hint of a chance for rain – out it comes. So, he carefully opens it up over his head and grips it tightly in his little fists.

We’re in the crosswalk to the entrance when Jack notices an armored truck idling in front of the store. Because he has been warned to the point of stark terror that moving vehicles are a danger, he stops dead and points – screaming – at this perceived immediate threat. Of course, this means he doesn’t notice the actual danger of the ’86 Lincoln Town Car barreling down on us.

I grab his arm and unceremoniously drag him out of the road and up onto the curb. In the process, Jack informs me with a wail, that I have somehow managed to totally destroy his imaginary, er “invisible” umbrella. He is broken hearted and deadly serious, and melts into a heaving puddle on the sidewalk.

I hesitate for a moment. It’s cold, it’s wet, and my adrenaline is still racing from our near miss. In a split second, I weigh my options. I am exasperated, and ready to chastise him for stopping in the middle of a traffic area… but we have had a tough week. Make that a tough year. Life has been on an up-and-down roller coaster for a good long while, including my own battle with postpartum depression after Toby’s birth. Jack has had to cope with more than his fair share of uncertainty, and this vivid imagination of his is something I can relate to. It’s something I treasure in him, and I have always promised myself I would nurture it along and encourage it.

I stand there in the rain, with an ever-heavier baby on my hip, and look into those weepy brown eyes. In that moment I know I have to connect with my son, to let him know that I am here for him and that everything is going to be okay.

Luckily for me, I happen to have packed my Invisible Umbrella Repair Kit (for just such an emergency). I shift Toby to my other hip, reach into my pocket, and pull out the necessary “invisible” tools.

A few flicks of the wrist, a quick turn or two, a flourish…, and the umbrella is as good as, er, new. Jack beams at me, suitably impressed with my prowess. Then he solemnly accepts his mended treasure, and we venture on into the wild jungles of commerce with nary a care in the world.

Some days you just need someone to pause, take a moment, and help you fix your umbrella. Even when it’s “invisible.” Even when they have their own pressing matters to attend to. Even if they don’t understand the significance, the gesture alone may be enough to ward off the loneliness that can creep in when we’re going through difficulties that others cannot completely understand.

As a mom, I want to learn to take more of those opportunities, especially while my kids are young. Their hurts will not always be so easily mended, and the day will come when a few moments of my time and a little creative ingenuity will not be enough to repair the damage inflicted on their tender hearts by an often uncaring world. It’s up to me to show them now, while they are learning to build trusting relationships, that I will always be here to help put the pieces back together—no matter how big or small the hurt, or how “invisible.”

For Your Consideration...

Otherwise known as "Once Again Bucking For Mother Of The Year".

The montage before my acceptance speech must include the following scenes from the recent past:

- Jack drinking Diet Pepsi. Out of a souvenir shot glass. From "Dirty Dick's Crabhouse" on the Outer Banks.

- T, in response to my complaint about the spyware choking my laptop, casually shrugging it off with a "Sure. From all that porn you've been downloading."
***Aside to my mother, in anticipation of her mini-stroke: Don't worry, he was kidding. Obviously. I mean, everyone knows I download all my porn to his computer.

- Toby taking a bite of buttered toast. Then holding it down next to his high chair so Gizmo - the eater of dirty diapers and other unspeakable horrors - could have a bite. Then continuing to eat the same toast.

- Jack. Sitting at his desk. Playing a Reader Rabbit game on his computer. At 6am. Stark Naked.

- Me at the grocery store. Purchasing condensed chicken noodle soup for my sick husband. In an extra long, comfy black sweater... and pajama pants. With fuzzy pink bedroom slippers. At 11 o'clock in the morning.

And if that doesn't make you think I should totally teach parenting classes at the YMCA, you have not tasted my Sunday morning blueberry crepes. They may even be worthy of redemption from the whole dog-slobber-toast thing.... well, nearly anyway.

Keep On Truckin'

Thanks to all the folks who passed along computer help tips. I finally managed to get things settled down today, and my beloved laptop is running with much greater ease, speed, and efficiency. So all is much better with the world.

Which is fantastic, since after tomorrow I'll need all the processing power I can get to do after-work on 2 shoots I have scheduled for this week.

Don't get excited, these aren't paying gigs yet... however, they will - hopefully- result in images I will be able to put to good use in advertising. Both are with newborns, and both will give me ample opportunity to try out a few new props and some new retouching techniques. Very cool, indeed.

I finally got the basic form for the business website hashed out, and now I'm just filling in the details. I realized, rather quickly, that although I am doing as much on my own as is humanly possible (and beyond, in some cases) I am most decidedly not a gifted copywriter. I have a feeling I come off sounding vaguely creepy while attempting to convey convincing things about why people should let me take pictures of them that will hang on their wall for eternity. (Seriously. Remind me to tell y'all about the "Mental Ward" some day... Senior Pictures preserved in infamy through 19 years of graduations. Adolescence was not kind to most of us.)

And if anyone besides my relatives understands that last paragraph, I will totally send you a gold star.

And now? My brain is fried, my laptop needs rebooting, and I'm getting this post in under the wire. I'll catch y'all on the flip side.

And yes, I do realize I've been using "Y'all" a lot lately. It's growing on me, and rolls of the tongue (or fingers, in this case) so much more easily than "you guys" or the dreaded "you people". So get used to it, because it looks like I will be here in the South for a good while yet.

Y'all come back now, ya hear?

Spy vs. Spy

For the past few weeks my beloved laptop has been running slower and slower. It was as though it was choking on a ham-bone, and I had forgotten my heimlich maneuver. (Which would never happen -- I'd be very handy in a choking emergency, having been certified 3 or 4 times over the years for reasons that are not abundantly clear to me now. But it's not the "why" that matters... it's that I know what your zyphoid process is and how not to send it back into your chest cavity to puncture a lung.)

Ah, but I digress.

So back to the laptop. Which has been slow.

Now, because I am very cheap, I have been attempting to avoid actually paying to get a spyware remover. Which we decided I needed after T took a look at my Task Manager and silently imploded. Because apparently there are several totally unnecessary things running in the background which are more likely to explain the slowness of my computer than my own theory -- which had something to do with buying the computer a helmet and putting it on the short bus.

And so? I sit here. Installing a second program. Because the one I thought was free before was only free for scanning. So it told me I had 64 items to remove, and then sweetly asked for $40 to remove them.

It was like being at the auto mechanic. Or the Dentist. Either way? I felt mildly violated and more than a little regretful at the lack of ability to pummel the creators of said program with a Nerf bat.

So many conflicts in life would be better addressed with a good Nerf Bat fight. Hitting things with one is decidedly satisfying, and yet very unlikely to end with a summons for assault and battery.

But, alas, the only person in Nerf-Bat-Striking-Distance was T. And he was busy studying for his classes... hence, I was disarmed by the cuteness of his intellectualism.

So now I have to eat some chocolate and install this program. And do a ritualistic dance of appeal to the computer gods to please PLEASE make the evil programs go away so I can design the HOA website in peace.

Oh, I'm sorry. Was that boring? Frustrating, perhaps? Was it mind-numbingly banal?

Misery loves company, baby. Find you some chocolate. It helps. Trust me.

Whatcha' Got Cookin'?

Excerpt from a conversation with a friend of T's for over a decade... who breaks out in a violent rash at the mere prospect of marriage.... (Paraphrased, just a bit, here and there...)

Him: [marriage bad]

Me: What about the guaranteed sex?

Him: Variety is the spice of life.

Me: Hey, it's not like I'm eating the same food all the time. It's just that every gourmet meal happens to be prepared by the same world-class chef...

Him: Hm. Interesting perspective. I'm making a concerted effort not to conjure the mental image that suggests.

Me: Ooooooh... it's sooo too late now. That image will be burned in your brain for eternity...
T. Totally nude except for one of those big white chef's hats.

Him: NOOOooooooooo!

...

This would be a prime example of one of the reasons my husband adores me so very much.... My ability to simultaneously amuse and nauseate his oldest and dearest friends.

You know, for those days when he just doesn't have the energy to do the honors himself.

Because I Am....

Because I am, first and foremost, a Mommy... This is a total cheat post, like punching in just before you run across the street to grab a coffee and a muffin.

But it's Saturday night, it's been a hellacious week, and in the other room? The hubs and the Jack are watching "Cars" and munching twizzlers with the dog. And since I am, at the moment, entirely without words of any value to impart... I'm going to join them.

So NaBloPoMo THAT, fo' shizzle.

And for the record? I have no idea what I meant by that. I blame it on the Thai Iced Coffee I had with dinner. No accounting for what that stuff can make a person do.

Political Swan Song....

I swear this is the last post (at least for a while) in which I will attempt to pretend that my opinion on things political should matter to anyone who is not dependant on me for hot meals and clean underwear.

But as I watched a few clips on the news networks today talking about the direction the US should take things in Iraq, now that there's the whole massive overhaul of government going on... I couldn't help but compose a brief tirade in my head. The pundits on both sides were talking about things like "how to extricate without worsening the situation" and "not abandoning the country until we have established viable democracy", etc, etc, etc.

My brief and totally unpolished statement for the evening is this:

Democracy is not something that can be handed out like holiday fruitcake, or imposed in a parental fashion. True populist rule, true democracy, true freedom... is something that must be carved out of the flesh of the people by whom it will rule.

A nation cannot be taught democracy, or groomed to govern according to the dictates of a western-guided ethic. The nation must cry out for democracy - not to a powerful global "savior" but to itself. The population must cry out for it, must demand it, must fight and bleed and die for it. No nation can serve as a mentor. The U.S. cannot "spread" democracy like so much apple seed.

There will never be a true democratic government in Iraq with the U.S. camping out to "assist" them. One need only look to our own revolutionary war; it was not won by way of the French supporting the cause to spite the Brits. It was won because farmers and merchants and noblemen, for reasons each their own, raised musket and pitchfork in the name of their own determined cause. It was won because passionate individuals - with a vested stake in the dream of a free nation - opened their vaults and their veins and gave everything in the cause.

We will never secure a stable Iraq. Not long enough even to merit a passage in future elementary textbooks. The seed of "democracy" will not take root unless the people of that nation are left to make a choice - to ride with the current of the tide in the vacuum of a U.S. withdrawal, or to richen the field with their blood and sacrifice - to flesh out the dream of a better future of their own making. To find their own path, fight their own civil wars, and find for themselves an identity- untainted by the architects of a nation such as ours.

After all, Angkor Wat is undeniably a structure of immense beauty and fantastical imagination... but would it be considered a work of beauty if it were reconstructed in, say, downtown Tuscon? For true freedom to find its form in a country such as Iraq, it must be a democracy of their own design - not a hollow clone of our own less-than-flawless system.

Santa Baby...

This week Jack officially "helped" write his first-ever letter to Santa. For a three year old, he certainly has a very specific grasp on what he wants.. no, expects to see under his tree come Christmas morning.

The mustang! The red one! That I drive it!

Translation: Red Powerwheels Mustang from Wal-Mart that costs about $250 and that he would outgrow in about a week. Needless to say, we're hoping he somehow receives a very small but specific blow to the head in one of his many many falls (boy inherited his grace from me, quite obviously) which will magically remove any memory of the red plastic monstrosity.

So now that we're beginning to get this whole holiday shopping ball rolling, T asked me if there was anything specific I wanted for Christmas this year. Which is one of my least favorite questions, up there with "do you have dental insurance?" and "is that a girl or a boy?"* It has been many years since there was a single item that I so lusted after that I could triumphantly state of a certainty that "THIS! This is what I want for Christmas!"

I found myself pondering the question. I realized that I do, in fact, have a wish list. It just happens to be of the non-commercially-available variety. And so I present, for sake of posterity, my Christmas Wish List Top 5.

1) A hot bath. In a tub big enough for a long-legged amazon such as myself to stretch my legs comfortably and still have enough room to lay back on one of those terry-coated inflatable bath pillows. There must also, of course, be bubbles up to my nose, misty candle-light, and my favorite "mellow mix" playing softly in the background. The lights will be out, the water will be hot and - other than the aforementioned musical sedative - the room will be silent.

2) An evening alone with the man, wherein he is required to watch the black-and-white classic cinema selection of my choosing whilst we share a jumbo-sized box of soft-centered, hand-dipped chocolates. Especially the ones with fruity centers. And big mugs of something hot.

3) An entire day to spend in bed, with a stack of novels and a bottomless cappuccino. The sheets would be freshly washed and pressed, my pajamas would be of the crisp cotton variety, and the interruptions would be nil. Just slip a tray under the door at mealtimes and keep the biscotti coming.

4) A long weekend in Las Vegas with Dr. Allie. Texas Hold'em, horrible concerts, and two old girlfriends marveling at where the time has gone. A BSG marathon would be a must, and the chocolate chip cookie dough would be copius enough to choke a camel. (Thank heaven for pasteurized eggs.) Walks along the strip, long conversations on the "Robert Jordan vs. Terry Goodkind" debate, and laughter to the point of puking.

5) A campout with T in the mountains. The colder the night, the better - we have a sleeping bag for 2. A raging campfire, cooking hotdogs on a spit, and of course making s'mores. Wool socks, thermal underwear, wool caps, and lots of snuggles. The peace of mind of the kids being someplace safe and warm with someone who loves them while we hike around the woods and fish in icy cold water. And more snuggling. And talks about where we've been, where we're going, and what we'll do when we get there. A chance to remember why it is all worthwhile in the first place.

So skip the sable this year, Santa. Forget the platinum mine, and maybe just give me one perfect moment for Christmas this year. I just want a brief snapshot of time in which to forget all the trials of the past few years, the heartbreaks and family breakups, the medical and mental, the space between friends and loves. I just want one moment in which to stop time and enjoy the here and now.

Of course, I still wouldn't say no to the 54 Convertible, too. (Light Blue.)

Happy Hump Day!

It's Wednesday. Wednesdays are always bizarre, aren't they? I mean, it would have to be a Wednesday in order for me to be able to list off the following events with a straight face and total honesty:

*The Gizmo, he is officially castrated. Which is good news, really, because if I have to be outnumbered this badly gender-wise? At least I now have the animals on my side: 2 female cats and a totally neutered boy dog.

*Speaking of totally neutered animals? I'm still reeling from the AP report that Webb has taken Virginia. It's sorta like finding out that what you thought was cancer is really just a raging case of herpes -- not at all fatal, yet still totally inconvenient... but nobody to blame but yourself. But if I'm going to wax political, I can at least back away slowly from this messy semi-victory in order to focus on the real meat of today's political headlines...

*Rumsfeld is history. Just a bit too late on the whole "make nice with what the public demands" front. Had this happened a few weeks ago it might have saved a few red seats from their unceremonius turnover in yesterday's crucible. But hey, I'm not going to complain about that.

Note to the White House: Please feel free to continue to be soooo ten minutes ago when it comes to having a clue about the political climate of mainstream America. In fact, if you can somehow forget about Rick Santorum totally getting the smackdown (in the face of his venemous and vocal hatred of gays) and just figure maybe it was something else about him that gave people nausea? That would be great. Don't listen to Nancy Pelosi calling the President "the emperor with no clothes"... I mean, hey... what does she know? After all, she's only the most arguably powerful woman in the history of American Politics. And I bet she only got there because she has such great hair. So you go ahead on and continue to oppose things like funding new lines of stem cell research and an increase in minimum wage. This whole "Do what's best for the most people" thing is probably just a fad, anyway.

*As evidenced by the fact that I just loopy-looped around my own cynical dialogue so many times even I'm not sure I got the point of that little diatribe, I am getting too little sleep again and attempting to accomplish many more things than can reasonably be executed in a single lifetime.

To which I say to you... I'm going to go to sleep now.

In a world much more able to give me hope than the one I woke up in yesterday.

Citizen Canine & Words Not So Divine...

Yesterday I used the word "orgasm" on the internet, gave a repeat shout-out to my mammaries, and today I'm talking about my dog's testicles. You see, Gizmo went to the vet's this morning for neuter surgery.

So in the midst of all of this socially appropriate and very cerebral discourse, it makes sense that I would break my own rule and check webstats one more time this morning. (Honestly, I left the window open last night, so I just hit the refresh. It was barely even intentional.)

I have received a lot of hits from Utah in recent weeks. Not that that was surprising -- my family is pretty familiar with the series of tubes that is the internet, and quite well versed in The Google. And anyone googling my actual name would find this place at the top of the list.

But I have so much family in Utah, it was impossible to be certain who was actually frequenting the site - especially since I had only mentioned it to a very few relatives.

That is, until this morning. Because? I'm quite certain that I only know two people who could be surfing the net from "Ghana Telecom's Customer - Latter Day Saints Accra". And somehow I don't think Dad is a big surfer of the blogosphere.

So... HI MOM!! You've been outed. And please stop foaming at the mouth over the whole Nancy Pelosi thing. I promise the country is not going to fall apart without you here to shape the political landscape by the sheer force of your will. Glad we cleared that up. LOVE YOU!! :)

Statistical Improbabilities...

Oh dear oh dear. It's the NaBloPoMo Randomizer, and it's bringing on a raging case of paranoia.

So I have decided I must not look at stats again for at least a week, because those numbers? They're growing exponentially. I can totally attribute a few of them to some very funny search randomness - Hello to you folks who keep finding me in by googling spanking euphemisms! (If I ever go broke, I'll just open an online store catering to Spanking Fetishes. Undertapped market there, apparently)

But the rest of you? You who came here because you thought that people participating in this event were perhaps dedicated writers with articulate voices and unique perspectives? To you I must apologize. I can only offer you my condolences and a link to the illustrious Lisa Stone over at Surfette. Because she is those things and more.

Me? I pretty much talk about my neurotic personality tics, my inability to mature into a functional adult, my departure from mormonism, and my spectacular breasts.

Hey, my target demographic totally gets that. And the rest? Well, most people appreciate hearing about someone crazier than they are. Also? Very few people don't appreciate a shapely bosom - and they're busy buggering congressional pages, and decidedly not clued in to the power of the Mommy demographic.

Then again? Regardless of your love or hate for Nancy Pelosi... some of that disinterest in the Mom Clout may finally be resolved now that the US will be having our very fist Woman Speaker of the House.

I think I may have just had a tiny little orgasm at the joyous shock of that notion. Either that? Or the frozen pizza at dinner is backing up on me.

Either way? A woman is about to be but a few heartbeats from the presidency... So yeah. Probably not the pizza after all...

Short, Sweet, & To Da MuddaFuddin' Point.

I just spent an totally indefensible amount of time watching political news coverage, and capped it off with by tappping the vein with a little Jon Stewart.

I have to admit that I voted for the very first time in my life in 2004. Totally pathetic, I admit, but it was also the first time that I had paid any attention to politics, let alone educated myself enough to make a few informed decisions while punching my ballot card.

So all I really have to say at this point is this...

*Clears throat. Pulls out suspiciously new-looking soapbox. Climbs aboard. Ignores people giving weird "what the hell is that already unseemly tall woman doing standing an additional 18 inches above street level?" looks*

You, the teeming word-spinners of that fickle mistress "The Blogosphere". You are plugged in to the Nth degree, you check your email 30 times a day, and your blogroll has reached the point of total unfathomability. Hopefully? You also read at least a few news sites, because if you're technologically savvy enough to be on the razor's edge of the whole "Web 2.0" thing ... well, my friend, then you have absolutely no excuse not to be "up" on that whole 1776 "we the people" thing, either. You know, that whole idea that you have the right to a voice in your own destiny? Yeah, that thing.

Okay, I know you're thinking "but this whole process is screwed anyway, and the politicos make a mockery of the whole concept of the electoral process, and chances are those electronic voting machines are even less reliable than the local weather report...". And I totally agree with all of that.

But here's the thing. This is the only option we have. Whether or not the system is broken, whether or not you think mid-term elections are a waste of time, and even if (like me) you think your options seem somewhat akin to choosing between an electrode up the pooper vs. a sharp blow to the head with a bread board.... You. Must. Vote.

Because whether you know it or not, there are issues out there that you care about. And there are more issues to come in the next 4 years that you WILL care about. And what happens tomorrow will determine, in a very real way, what your life is going to be like over the next 3 years.

So when you wake up tomorrow morning, linger over your coffee. Take a few deep breaths, maybe surf the web a bit and find out what candidates are running in your district. Then go to your local polling place, and exercise your right as an American. Take ownership of your citizenship and cast your ballot.

Vote.

*steps carefully down from soapbox, catching clumsy foot on the corner and landing in a fleshy heap in the dirt*

"I mean to do that."

Youthful Angst Of A Different Sort...

The elusive adolescent journal continues to elude me ... however, I have discovered a metric butt-load of stuff packed into some boxes my parents have offloaded to here the past few years. In fact, I found my fourth grade journal. We were required to write in it as a "learning exercise".

And let me tell you... I was a very weird kid. Let's just put that out there from the start.

And so, in the spirit of fairness, since I am as yet unable to provide the much-hyped tragic teen drama that was my high school experience, I give you selected excerpts from 1988-89. Misspelled words and all.

September 6, 1988

There isn't much I want to write about because I don't feel very good today, but I just want to say that so far this year has been o.k. and that I hope it will keep that up.
You will certinly see a change in me after Christmas because I will have been with [siblings who were away at college].

And of course, what childhood anecdote would be complete without recounting the time I had plantar warts burned off the bottoms of my feet...

October 26, 1988

Yesterday I got my warts burned off. First the doctor put in the needle. That was the most painful part (It was also the most painful thing I have aver gone thrue.) Then I couldn't feel my toe any more. Just to make sure he put the needle in one more time. It hurt so much I cried. Then he took a pen like thing and touched it to a wart. I coulnd't see anything but sparks. It was scary. I have medicine to take for my infection.

Ooooh Honey. You thought those shots were painful? Just wait another 15 years, when you'll get to push out a 10 pound baby.

And yes. I did warn you. I was a very weird kid. And if you are at all surprised by that? We should really chat because I totally need to talk to you about "Amway"....

In Which I Continue To Toy With Your Emotions...

So get this.

I know that nobody will believe me, but girlscout's honor... I have misplaced the diary.

I know that it is in one of the book boxes that we packed up from the old apartment. I know it is. I just don't know... um... which box.

If you have seen my basement, you understand how it is that I could be confused by the mountainous pile of unmarked boxes all containing various kinds of crap for which I will surely someday have a use.... (Hey, I've already scavanged an old windshield sun-reflector to use in the studio. See? My crap is highly useful crap!)

Any-who.. the diary is, in fact, MIA. I will valiantly continue the search efforts, but in the mean time allow me offer this as an opiate to the masses....



For the moment? Looking at what I have in the here and now actually wins out over meandering down memory lane. So it's a good day.

That Allegory Every Yosemite Even

The subject above means, in case you were wondering, absolutely nothing. It just happened to be the best of the subject lines in the spam I got in my inbox today. And I just happen to be mentally occupied with email.

I know I promised to get to the totally humiliating and juicy details of my high school diary, but I just don't have it in me tonight. I know, I know.... I totally deserve smack-down that is undoubtedly being mentally focused in my direction.

But it was a very long day. After I pick up the long rod (*snort*) at Home Depot tomorrow from which to hang my backdrop, I will officially be ready to adjust my lighting and take my first test shots in my new studio. That is, as soon as I figure out where to move this inordinately inconvenient queen size bed. Apparently? The bed is still under the impression this is a guest room. Which it is, decidedly, not. As evidenced by the ecclectic mix of jerry-rigged photography fixtures throughout the room.

But I digress.

You see, tonight brought two very different events to the forefront of my brain.

The first is that the former HOA board has decided to surrender, in a manner of speaking, and let the new board take over and begin to see if we can't do a job of uniting this divided and confused community. A bittersweet victory, since it will be far from easy to pull together our neighborhood and begin to foster some sense of community fellowship and pride... but I am still willing to try.

The second, and more poignant, event of the evening is that I received the first communication from my parents since their arrival in Ghana on Tuesday. More specifically, my Mom sent out an email to the family and extended relatives describing their trip, arrival, and first impressions.

It's funny that I see things so differently now than I did a few years ago, and even a few months ago. I went from anger to bitterness to peace... and back through the cycle again. Possibly more than once.

But to hear my mother who, though she has been to Western Europe and Australia, has still always come across as a small-town Utah girl... Well, to read as she attempts to express what she is seeing and feeling as she observes an African country for the first time? It made me think... "She will learn so much. She will see so much I have not seen. And maybe, when she comes back, she will understand better what it is like to be me."

Not that I have been to Africa, or will ever experience what she has experienced... maybe precisely BECAUSE of that.. .Because she will understand better what it has been like for me to be a stranger in a strange land, an alien in this world outside of mormonism, and to walk back into old territory unable to sufficiently explain what it is I have seen and learned. She is changing, already, in a way and to a degree that I never would have believed possible for a woman who has stayed so much the same for so long. And yet, she has changed in recent years. She has evolved. And now she is taking the next great evolutionary leap in her life.

And as much as I still feel the sting at the loss of her constant availability as a presence in my life... my throat is a little tight when I think that she may finally have found a way to fill the empty space she has always carried in her heart. I finally have a spark of hope.. that the sadness that has been ever with her may be drowned in the ocean of exploration and adventure that awaits her.

I'm sorry if I'm waxing just a bit melancholy this evening. I'm sure I'm just exhausted. I promise to be back to my regular self by morning (with the help of a hot toddy and a good night's sleep.)

Besides, you can always console yourself with the fact that there's still my self-humiliation to anticipate for tomorrow. AND it's Friday night, which means minty fresh new Battlestar Galactica. If that doesn't make your night, baby, you have absolutely no soul.

Which Witch is Which....

So I log into my stats this evening and immediately notice a huge jump in hits to my other blog. Which would be totally cool except for 2 things...

1) Somehow or other, through some horrid twist of circumstance, Alternamom ended up on the blogroll for NaBloPoMo.... even though I didn't actually sign that one up for this experiment in self-hatred. This explains the increased traffic (which I am attributing entirely to the fact that it is under the "A" section) and would also be totally cool except for...

2) I have been so busy with all the HOA, Studio, Kid, Halloween, Medical and Dental stuff of late that I have not updated since... oh.... October 11...

Which means the people pleaser in me... the tormented perfectionist (who will never forgive me for refusing to study for 3rd Period Physiology in the 10th grade and getting that D) totally crapped her pants when I realized that today is NOVEMBER 2.

I mean, I didn't sign it up for this thing. I had no intention of updating a time-suck-shopping-blog daily for a whole month... but... but... but... THE PEOPLE. They come! And I just know they're all thinking "What the hell?? Not updated since October 11th?" And their imagined criticism is making me all dark and twisty inside, so now I have to go back and cheat-post for yesterday. Because the gauntlet? It has been thrown down. (Albeit by the probably inadvertant mouse-click of one of Mrs. Kennedy's helper elves) And I am sooo up for the challenge of updating TWO blogs every day for a month. Even though the other one won't qualify for any fabulous NaBloPoMo Prizes. Because I am absolutely that sick and demented.

Masochism, people. It's the new black.

Speaking of black... That inner "me-demon" I keep referring to? I let her out for a few hours on Tuesday night. This is what she looked like.



That "deer in the headlights" look? That's pretty much what I looked like through most of adolescence.

Which reminds me... stay tuned tomorrow for 1994's Greatest Hits. Oh yes, my friends. The diary is coming out. Be afraid... Be very, very afraid.

Fire The Starting Pistol....

Ladies and gents, welcome to National Blog Posting Month. You thought I forgot, didn't you? You thought I was going to completely drop the ball on the very first day. Well, I gots news for you, doubting internet, it is 40 minutes to midnight and BAM, here it is.

In lieu of starting with the self-humiliation (because, really, not a good idea to reveal all my secrets in the first act)... allow me to share instead that - the man? He is officially working on his degree. Yes, T is an officially enrolled college student and starts his first classes November 13.

Which totally means I can say I'm sleeping with a college freshman....