I'm Not Running For Vice President

I have pretty intelligent friends. Almost everyone I know has a college degree, follows current events, listens to NPR, sees Cohen brothers movies, eats goat cheese, has been to a museum in at least the past year, and does a whole lot of other things that are the hallmark of brainy people in America. I am positive that almost all of my friends are smarter than Sarah Palin. Or, at least I used to be.

Last night I was talking on the phone with Tara and we were discussing an article about the rumors that during Palin's interview with Katie Couric she could not name any Supreme Court decisions other than Roe v. Wade. We were shocked! We were outraged! And then we were silent -- because neither one of us could name another one either. About five seconds later we both blurted out "Brown v. Board of Education," but the damage had already been done. Ryan, who was sitting beside me, smirked. "Brown," he said, "that's all ya got?" He then rattled off at least a dozen cases, including the most obvious one -- Bush v. Gore.

Well, at least my husband is smarter than Sarah Palin.

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Mud Bogging

Hubris. It caused Icarus to fall from the sky on wax wings. It caused President Bush to lead us into a war with Iraq promising it would be "over quickly." It cause Britney Spears to attempt her "comeback" on the Video Music Awards in 2007. And this weekend, it caused me to get stuck in the mud.

It started off as a lovely weekend. Our friends Jen and David invited us up to their new cabin outside of Heber for a weekend of hanging out, wildlife watching, and ATV riding. I was instantly wary of the third part -- after all, I work in an industry where the word "ATV" is usually somehow related to the words "tragic accident." And I am not a good driver in a normal car, where I am protected by seat belts, and tons of metal. I had a bad feeling about this, but I let myself get talked into it anyway.
The first few minutes were rough, and I pretty much thought I was going to die. I stalled out twice, almost threw myself over the handlebars when I accelerated, and then ran into a bunch of bushes when I underestimated the turning radius. After a while though I was feeling pretty comfortable, and stopped having sudden flashes of me lying in a heap of twisted metal. I even took it up a few hills, which made me feel like a redneck rock star. On the biggest hill I just kept repeating "just don't slow down, just don't slow down" recalling a physics lesson from the distant past, and whooped with all my might when I made it to the top. When Ryan got up I was so proud of myself that I yelled "did you see me honey? I did it!" And then Ryan gave me that look that let me know he loves me, even though I'm, at times, special needs.

On the way back to the cabin David decided to take us to a spot called the "obstacle course." It's a spot where kids and other beginning riders can practice their skills. It has flat parts, little hills, and some marshy areas. I was feeling pretty confident, and I felt I had pretty much mastered hills, so I decided to try riding in the marshy areas. Bad idea. I was about a fourth of the way through when I got stuck. Really stuck. Now, I have lived in Utah most of my life, and have gotten stuck in the snow several times, so I thought I knew what to do. I switched the ATV into 4 wheel drive and tried going forward. Nothing. I tried going backwards. Nothing. I tried turning the wheels and rocking it back and forth. Nothing. I swore at it. Nothing. And then I looked down and realized that with every attempt to free myself I had sunken deeper and deeper into the muck.

By this time Ryan, Jen and David had all figured out that I wasn't going to be able to get out by myself, so they came to help, carefully leaving their machines on solid ground. Now, I hadn't gotten off of the ATV yet, so I had no idea how bad the mud was around me. But when I saw Jen and Ryan sink up to their shins, I got a pretty good idea.

Soon, we were all covered in the mud. It was on our shoes, and pant legs. It was on my socks, because I had to take off my shoes, since they were slip-ons and could be easily sucked off. It was on our hands and arms from placing branches underneath the wheels of the ATV, and then moving them when that didn't work. It was on our faces, and in our hair. It was truly disgusting. Don't believe me? Check out the video...

We didn't leave it behind. After about an hour we were able to free the ATV from the mud by making a chain of two other ATV and two winches. The wood we had put under the tires helped the stuck ATV gain traction as it came out. We were victorious. Filthy, but victorious. We rode back to the cabin with smiles on our faces, our now swampy aromas scenting the wind, as the mud dried into a hard cake on our skin and clothes.

The clean-up was almost as disgusting as the getting dirty. We couldn't go into the house, so we each had to take a turn stripping down and spraying off with the hose in the driveway. Streams of dirty water poured down the hill. The mud fell off in clumps from pants and shoes, but seemed to be permanently attached to skin and hair. It took many, many more washes until I finally felt clean.

I would love to say this is the first time I have ever done something this stupid, and that I have learned my lesson, and will never fly too close to the sun again. Yeah, I would love to say that. I mean, I guess I could, but I would be lying. I cannot tell you how many times I have let overconfidence lead me into a sticky situation. It happens so often that Ryan has a term for it -- "going aggro dick." Luckily, if there is something I actually have learned from these experiences it's how important it is to have people around I stumble and fall on my hubris. Otherwise I would be permanently stuck in the mud.

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Really? In September?

This is the display that greeted me at my local supermarket this morning... I think that Jesus and Santa themselves would have been groaning at the sight.

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Facebook is Evil

I’m sure the person who invented Facebook had nothing but pure motives. I don’t think he knew he was creating the modern version of Pandora’s box. But he has, and I know few people who haven’t been tempted to open it.

The other night I had some of the “ladies” over for dinner. As it always does, the talk turned to matters below the belt, concerning both our current partners, and the ones that got (or were pushed) away. And then we came to Facebook. There wasn’t a woman in the group who had been to the site who hadn’t engaged in a little “Facebook stalking.” You know what I’m talking about. The subtle perusing of former crushes/lovers/enemies that everyone does just hoping that they’ve gotten hugely fat, or that their tagline reads “I still miss her,” talking about you.

Only one woman in the entire group had actually contacted her stalking object, the rest of us had just peeked at their profiles and examined their lists of friends trying to figure out which person they could now be dating/married to/sleeping with. This woman hadn’t just impulsively contacted this old beau though – before sending him a “friend invite” she had completely sanitized her page, taking off any pictures of she or her significant other that were less than flattering, and deleting any content that made it appear that her life is currently anything less than unicorns and rainbows. She also asked her friends to do the same, so they removed anything about her that could have made it seem her life was anything but storybook, and that anyone who had broken up with her in the past was surely missing out. We all agreed she had done the right thing.

After all of the ladies left I was alone, and I don’t know if it was the talk about connecting with old flames, or the half bottle of wine I had drunk, but I decided to drop a note to my stalking object. This is why Facebook should have a Breathalyzer attached.

It really doesn’t matter who is he, or how I knew him. All that matters is he is the one I always wondered about. Not even because I thought he was so great, but just because he was. So, when I joined Facebook and saw him staring back at me from the friend list of a person I had no idea even knew him, and was from a completely different part of my life, I was thrown. But I wasn’t thrown enough to contact him -- until Wednesday.

When I woke up the next morning I was already cringing at what I had done. I hoped, above all hopes, that he would not remember me, or would pretend he didn’t and not message me back. But, when I got to work, there it was -- his reply. He remembered me, and his reply let me know he knew exactly how we knew each other (I would recount it here, but then I would have to climb under my dining room table out of embarrassment.)

We exchanged pleasantries, and added each other as friends. He asked what I was doing, and I told him while trying not to sound like I was boasting, but also trying to make my life sound good. He responded in a way that instantly made me feel like his life was better than mine, and which made me remember how his arrogance/self confidence was one of the things I found most attractive about him. At least one of the things I could remember.

For the rest of the day my mind wandered, thinking about this reconnection I had made. I wondered what I could write back that would show him I am witty, and self confident, and in love with a man who knocks my socks off. I read up on him, looking at the work he has been doing, thinking about how I could speak intelligently about it to impress him. Actually sat down to write another message, but then I pulled my head out of my ass. I shut the box, thought about how good my life is, and how Ryan doesn’t even have a Facebook page.

I do wonder who would be looking for him though, if he did…

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Salt Lake Tea Party

There is a battle brewing in America. It is the battle to preserve plain ice tea.

You used to be able to get plain tea pretty much anywhere except below the Mason Dixon line -- where they put enough sugar in it to send you into a diabetic coma. Now though, it is a rare thing to find it at a soda fountain or being served in restaurants. Oh, sure, you can order ice tea, but it isn't just ice tea. It's some weird raspberry/mango/passion fruit/guava shit. And they don't even warn you! If you ordered a steak, they would tell you if they were going to wrap it in mint leaves and bamboo, wouldn't they? But they just assume they can mess with tea and no one will notice. And if you try to send it back? The look of death. Like you're a philistine because you can't enjoy the blend of tea and berry burst Kool Aid.

I love ice tea more than I can say. If I were ever to write a haiku, it would be about ice tea. I almost (I said almost) prefer it to wine. When both are on the menu I have a hard time choosing. Of course, that is made easier when I ask if it's plain tea and the waiter responds that it is a special blend of tea, dragon snot, and tangerines. Then I need a glass of wine just to forget such a combination exists.

The last bastion of good ice tea? Starbucks. It pains me, but that is the one place I can now walk in, order ice tea and know what I am getting. Sure, they offer me passion fruit, or green tea options, but don't scoff when I want it cold and black -- just like my heart.

So, I am urging you, join the rebellion! Demand regular ice tea! If you aren't going to do it for you, do it for me. I don't want to end up on the evening news, charged with assault for whipping a "cherry coolada" ice tea at the head of some unsuspecting waiter's head. I doubt you want that either. Then what would you do with your off time at work? Read newspapers? Work more? I don't think so.

I think Denis Leary said it best. Just substitute "ice tea" for coffee...

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Wishes Growing on Trees

I am a big fan of wishes. I throw coins into fountains, and lift my feet at railroad crossings. I am always on the look out for the first star of the night, and I practically pee myself with joy when I see a shooting star.While I really like wishing though, I am a pretty firm believer that none of them will ever come true -- unless by happenstance. It isn't that I think wishing doesn't work, I just think there are too many technicalities.

I mean, so I say "I wish we had a lot of money." Well, that could be any kind of money. It could be Canadian money, which we all know is useless. Also, I didn't specify a date, so when do I want the money? Also, who is "we"? The world? well, that "we" already has a ton of money as witnesses by this week's bank bailout. I am not pessimistic about the idea of a wish coming true just because a person wished it. I just think whomever may be in charge of wishes is a bureaucratic asshole looking for a way to ironically screw the wish makers. Apparently though, Yoko Ono does not believe the same way I do.

Ono's newest project is a series of "wish trees" placed at various locations around the country. People are supposed to write their wishes on tags, and then hang them from branches of trees. All the gathered wishes will eventually go to the Imagine Peace Tower in Iceland. One of the locations for the trees is in Pasadena, where I just happened to be last weekend. Tara and I spent a good half an hour just going around looking at the various wishes people made, and I have to tell you -- money and sex topped the list. A prostitute who moonlights as a loan shark should have set up shop right outside. Here are some of my favorites:


Of course, because Tara and I are Tara and me we had to make our own wishes. She wouldn't tell me what she wished for, and hung it up high so I couldn't reach it if I went looking for it. She also said she disguised her handwriting, but I don't think she's that clever. My wish was very simple, and I think anyone who has spent more than ten minutes with me can figure out what it is. I can't explicitly tell you what it is though, as that will instantly invalidate any written or implied contract I may have with the wish granters. And I don't want to give them a reason. All I know is that if Obama is elected, a lot people start making a lot of money, I see someone flying overhead, and a strong kid with white teeth appears out of nowhere my wish is close to coming true.

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Palin McCain '08

I think all of the publicity is going to her head... Pretty soon she'll just start referring to him as "that old guy that smells like soup."

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Utah Celebrity Justice

Few people know this, but Utah is home to LOTS of celebrities. Not just when they're in rehab either. Robert Redford, of course, lives here, as does Charlie Gibson, James Caan, and the great, but underrated Wilford Brimley. Johnny Carson lived in Park City until he died. Most of them are quiet and keep to themselves. But then there's Gary Coleman -- the wild man of Utah County.

Coleman moved here about four years ago, after "starring" in one of the LDS comedies that seem to come out every other weekend. He says he "liked the area." I think what he really meant was he "liked being able to get a house for 80 grand and have people fawn all over him as a celebrity even though he hasn't done anything worth while sine 1982." After all, Utah is behind the rest of the world by about 20 years. We're still praying the "Donny and Marie Show" comes back on the air. Alas, Mr. Coleman has grown tired with his adoring fans, and that is where the excitement starts.

Earlier this month Coleman was bowling in the town of Payson. If you have never been to Payson, let me describe it for you: picture a place where the most exciting thing to do is bowl. There you have it. While he was bowling some guy got a little too excited he was actually seeing Gary Coleman, and began giving him a hard time. Coleman got tired of it, and hit the guy with his car. Now, Coleman is facing assault charges. Oh, and the guy is suing him. I really don't know what he thinks he is going to get though. Coleman is a celebrity, but a celebrity than lives in Santaquin. That's a town that makes Payson look cosmopolitan because at least it has a bowling alley. For damages Coleman may be able to cough up a couple of "Whachu Talking About Willis" t-shirts. Oh, and maybe some specially tailored pants.

So far, Coleman has been laying low, trying to let this thing blow over. I think that is the completely wrong approach. I think he should go big -- or move to Nebraska. He should take a page from the playbooks of O.J. Simpson, Michael Jackson, and Zsa Zsa Gabor. I see a slow speech chase in a golf cart down I-15. I see showing up for a court appearance 45 minutes late wearing nothing but a boa constrictor. I see granting just one interview (to KSL of course) where he refuses to answer any questions except those about his 7/10 split in the hours before the incident. It will be glorious! And people will eat it up! The story has already been featured on all four news stations here as if it actually matters, imagine what could happen if he went all out. CNN. NBC. FOX News. Telemundo! The parking lot of the Utah County court house would not be able to hold all of the satellite trucks. The case could even spawn (dare I say it) a "Lifetime" movie of the week. Emmanuel Lewis could play Gary.

It wouldn't just be good for Gary either! it would be good for the state. Imagine how many Z-list celebrities would come here to get in trouble and re-start their careers. Locals would be happy to take a sock in the face from one of them -- after all, it leads to 15 minutes of fame. Look at the tool involved in the Gary Coleman incident. Do you think he would have gotten on television otherwise? I mean, not because of a pyramid scheme?

So, Gary, I'm begging you, let your celebrity light shine. Brighten up Utah with a little bit of crazy. Or else we might have to slip something into Wilford's Quaker Oats...

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Baby Shower Brawl

I think anyone who has been forced to sit through a baby shower can understand why this would have happened. I bet they were being forced to play that game where they have to taste baby food and guess the flavor...

Two people have been charged in a fight that broke out between neighbors attending a baby shower Sunday, during which a woman knocked another unconscious with a shovel and a man allegedly threatened a crowd with a shotgun.
A 40-year-old woman is charged with aggravated assault, a third-degree felony, for her role in the brawl near 5600 West and Plumbago Avenue (5637 South). She allegedly approached a neighbor and began a fight, later striking the woman with a shovel, who remained unconscious until police arrived.
The woman's 35-year-old husband was also charged with third-degree felony aggravated assault for his role in the brawl.
The man pulled a shotgun from the bed of a truck, racked it and swung it around at people, according to charging documents.
Police say the man also resisted arrest, for which he was also charged with interference with an arresting officer, a class B misdemeanor.

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Luke in Love

My nephew is in love with my sister in law. Now, before you start thinking that this is some serious "Maury Povich" shit, let me tell you that they are not related by blood -- only by marriage through me and Ryan. Oh, and he's only five years old.

I don't know exactly when Luke (nephew) fell in love with Liz (sister in law). Actually, I don't even know when he became aware of her existence. I mean, she has been around since before he was born, meeting Luke for the first time while he was still taking up residence inside my sister. They have both attended numerous family gatherings, and he has never found her particularly alluring. Really, I don't think he noticed she was alive -- until she became a Mom. And then he was smitten.

Around the time that Liz gave birth to Kaedyn, Luke was just becoming aware of the fact that babies were born -- and that before that they grew inside their mothers. However, he would never admit that his feelings have anything to do with that baby. Instead, if you ask him, Luke will only say that he likes Liz because "she likes him." Oh, well, that makes sense. I mean, it isn't like there are any other people in his life who like him, or love him, or tell him how much they adore him every second of every day with every thought word and deed. No, instead he must seek out someone, anyone, who likes him. Even if he's only seen her three times since Kaedyn was born, and even if she has said a total of 10 words to him during those meetings.

I have to admit, I am a little jealous. Today he asked me to print off FIVE pictures of Liz from the computer. Oh, and not different pictures -- all the same one. He wanted that many so that he could always have one with him. Does he carry around any pictures of me? No. Has he ever asked for a picture of me to carry? No. Could I get him to carry around a picture of me if I promised him a rip to Toys R Us? Well, probably, but that's not the point.

I do have to say that Luke's adoration of Liz has some benefits. He is willing to practice his letters, because Z is the hardest for him, and he has to be able to write it in order to write her name. Of course, it is always a little bit of a blow when I see him start to write "Li" and know it won't be followed by a "bby," but I am slowly getting over it.

I can always be Kaedyn's favorite... That'll show Luke.

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So, So Sad

I have (officially) been dealing with depression for 18 years. That's almost two decades. That's three Presidents -- two of whom actually gave people a reason to be depressed. That's long enough for things that were initially in fashion to come back in fashion as "retro." And yet, for all the time that I have been dealing with this "illness" (I prefer to call it a "mind fuck"), taking pills, seeing therapists, and trying to keep an even keel, I am always shocked at how it can still really knock me on my ass.

I don't like talking about my depression because it just feels like I'm bitching about something everyone has to deal with -- or at least everyone with a blog. It's like talking about how difficult it is to breathe or stay hydrated. The only problem with that is when I am depressed it's pretty much all I can think, or write, about. Then I read what I've written about depression and feel even worse, because then I feel depressed and pathetic. Then I have to pound my head into a wall. And that's only one of the things that really sucks... Here are the other five.

1. I narrate. I always have some kind of internal dialog going on in my head, but when I am depressed it kicks into overdrive, and into overview. No longer am I am thinking about the situation I am in, but I am thinking about myself in that situation. "Libby walked to the door," or "Libby curled up in a ball in the fetal position," or 'Libby wondered if five bottles of wine would be enough for the evening." If that isn't bad enough I also find myself stage directing. I wonder if I should cry, or run, or scream to make the moment more "authentic." Wait, or is that ridiculous?

2. I spit venom. According to a documentary I saw on the "Discovery Channel" the whip scorpion shoots highly acidic vinegar out of it's butt when it feels threatened. It doesn't even aim -- it just tries to hit anything and everything around it. I can relate. The deeper I get into depression, the meaner I get. I say things I don't even mean, and sometimes I think I say them for dramatic effect (see number one). I'm sure I could try to write it off as "wanting other people to hurt the way I do," but really I think I just become an asshole. Ryan usually gets the worst of it, which is why he always carries with him 40 dollars and the name of a good shelter. I just worry that one day he'll use it.

3. I wallow. It's a strange phenomenon, but when I am depressed, and feeling absolutely horrible, I don't really want to feel better. It's like I'm wearing my favorite pajamas, and they may be ugly, but I know how they fit and I don't want to change out of them. Usually, I am also literally wearing my favorite ugly pajamas, so at least my outsides match my insides.

4. I don't concentrate. All minor details go out the window when I am depressed. I don't spell check, I don't re-read, I don't remember to put on deodorant, and then I freak out when I stink. Just recently I put moisturizer in my hair instead of on my face. At least it was "non-greasy." The only good thing about this facet of depression is when I am finally feeling better I become a hurricane of order, and cleanliness.

5. I never remember. It doesn't matter how many times I go through this, I always forget how I get into it, or how I get out of it. It's like idiotic amnesia. I just go through the same horrible patterns, thinking they are all new, but knowing that they aren't. Over the years (all 18 of them) I have learned numerous coping strategies, but they all go out the window when I am actually in the midst of it. It's really fair.

So, that is my Internet opus on depression. It's almost as facinating as male pattern baldness. Ooooh, maybe I can worry about male pattern baldness the next time I get depressed. That would at least add a new wrinkle to it. I can just see it now: "Libby wiped away tears, searching through her hair for signs of thinning" Now, that would make depression worth writing about. No less pathetic feeling, but more interesting.

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The Sally Diet

Me: Do you think Sally would be a good therapy dog?
Ryan: No.
Me: Why not?
Ryan: She's totally ruined. Maybe if you wanted a food stealing therapy dog, like for dieting people, she would be good. But mental health therapy? No way.

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An Open Letter to Barbara Striesand

Dear Barbara,

Please sit down and shut up.

I loved you in "Funny Girl." I loved you in "Yentl." I even sat through "Nuts" and "The Mirror Has Two Faces." I think you are a fabulous performer and a national treasure, but as a political ally, you are kryptonite.

Let's review your involvement in the last two political campaigns. You appeared at fundraisers for Al Gore and John Kerry. What do both of these men have in common? They lost. They lost in elections where the opponent was no better than a monkey in a conservatively cut dress. And yet, now you think it is a good thing to do the same to Obama? Barack Obama, a real hope for change in Washington? I'm sorry Barbara, but I think your ego has eclipsed reality.

You see, something has happened recently that you would know about if you took a moment to read a newspaper in between getting your hair and nails done -- Sarah Palin has entered the race, and the American people love her. She is their backwoods darling, no matter how uneducated (Bush doctrine, anyone?), unprepared (Yup, yup?), or completely backwards (linking Iraq to September 11th? Um, not even Bush does that). And not only do Americans like her, they feel sorry for her, and are ready to protect against any potential harm. Palin has told them that she is proof "anyone can be President" (yes, I know Tina Fey said that, but really, can't you imagine Palin saying it?) and by god they have her back now. All they need to cement their fervor? A 28-thousand dollar a plate fundraiser held in Hollywood, sponsored by gay movie moguls, and featuring a prima donna who once played a communist in a 70's movie. The only thing that would be worse is if you promised to burn a flag at the end of your show. Shit. I was kidding, please don't take that as an actual suggestion.

If you really want to help, Barbara, donate money. All of the cash that you would have spent on a saucy frock, a make-up artist/miracle worker, a band, and really good lighting, send it to the campaign -- anonymously.

Please, Barbara. If you won't do it for me do it for America. Do it for you. Because I'm pretty sure electing Sarah Palin will do nothing for your record sales. She seems more the LeAnn Womack type.

Thanks,

Libby

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Ugh

I am writing this from a cubicle in the airport. I am right across from a "Cinnabon" and an "American Bandstand Cafe." The smells from the two are mingling in a sickening way, so I'll write fast. I am on my way to L.A. after 48 of the roughest hours of my life.

On Tuesday night Ryan and I became aware of a baby up for adoption. We called a lawyer, met the mother, and got things going. And then it all fell apart. I never even saw the baby and yet I am grieving for her like she was my own. I know that's irrational, and I know that she wasn't, but I can't stop from feeling that way. I went from feeling elation and excitement to feeling fear and anxiety to feeling despair and rage. And now that it's over I just feel empty.

So, I am going to L.A. to see Tara and have her fill me with sarcasm and wine. I won't be posting until at least Monday, but check out the link below and FIGHT THE PALIN POWER! Yeah, even when I'm depressed I still have time to rail against that woman.

womenagainstsarahpalin.blogspot.com

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Pennywise Panic

Yesterday I went to the state fair with my family, where I proceeded to have a massive panic attack behind a stand that sold fried peanut butter and jelly sandwiches. There was a lot of information in that sentence, so take a minute to process. I'll wait. Ready? Okay, moving on.

Why, you may ask, was I having this panic attack? Was it the large number of people at the fair, each one more bizarre and Coen brothers-esque than the last? Was it the smell of every manure known to man wafting from the overly hot animal barns? Was it the huge lines of overweight people snaking from the fried food booths? Or the fact that the prices for those foods were closer to fillet Mignon than hot dog on a stick? Well, I think it was a little of all of those things, but really I blame my husband and Steven King.

You see, Saturday night Ryan and I were enjoying one of our favorite pastimes, which involves me watching late night television and him sleeping while insisting he's awake. I was flipping through the channels, and Ryan's eyes just happened to flutter open as I passed the "Chiller" network, which was just beginning a showing of "Stephen King's It." "Stop it here," he said, "this is a really good movie." "It has John Ritter and the guy from 'Night Court'," I replied.
"Yeah, but wait until you see Tim Curry as Pennywise."

For those of you who don't know, Pennywise is the name of a very scary clown that embodies evil in this movie. And Ryan was right, Tim Curry played him perfectly. About 15 minutes into the movie (which I think was actually an '80's mini series) I was totally freaked, but I couldn't stop watching. Occasionally I would stutter "I don't want to watch this any more," and Ryan would change the channel, but then I would change it back once he drifted off to sleep.

Needless to say, I did not sleep well Saturday night. It wasn't so much that I dreamt about a murderous clown, just being aware of a murderous clown. Twice in my dreams I picked up a copy of "It" and remarked that Ryan and I had watched the movie. I think at one point I was talking to Sarah Palin about it, which just makes the dream that much scarier.

By Sunday morning I was totally freaked, and I should have realized that a panic attack was coming on. I had that weird feeling that usually precedes one, which feels like my head has been stuffed with fiberglass, and then wrapped in plastic. Of course, I ignored it, and went to the fair. And what do they have at the fair? Clowns.

And that is how I wound up behind a stand that sold fried peanut butter and jelly sandwiches having a panic attack. But I still think Sarah Palin had something to do with it.

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They Come in a Three Pack

Yesterday morning I was getting dressed, and pulled on a pair of my favorite "Lady Jockey" underwear. Ryan was puttering around while I did this, and very helpfully pointed out that the panties in question had seen better days. Much better days. Like days when holes didn't take up more space than fabric. Days when the waistband wasn't almost completely uncovered elastic held on by threads. Days when they didn't look like something a hillbilly stripper should be wearing.

I took his observation into account, and decided maybe it was time to get rid of them. They ripped a little more as I was taking them off, but I was still sad when I put them in the trash can. I mean, I know those underwear had cost me at least 3 dollars, and I had only gotten ten years of wear out of them. But marriage is about compromise, and I like to look good for my husband. I would prefer he thinks "damn, that cotton makes her ass look sexy" than just "damn." However, I didn't realize that this would turn him into the underwear police.

Today we were putting way laundry when he picked up my pile of jockeys and began going through them. At first I thought he was just sorting them into "everyday" and "special occasion" panties, and I was touched by his thoughtfulness. However, then he turned and uttered the words that chilled my soul: "do you want to throw out the pairs with holes?" I rushed over and pulled the endangered panties from his hands, whispering soothing reassurances to them.

What's next? Throwing out my bathrobe just because the shoulders are a little frayed? Or my work out t-shirts just because they are a little stained? I am perfectly willing to keep my "going out" clothes nice, but if no one but me or Ryan sees them, I go for comfort first. And second. And, actually, third. If he wants to throw something out I'll let him toss my bras. Or pantyhose. Or high heels. Hell, I'll even cut holes in some of my heels if it makes him feel better. He just has to keep his hands off my panties. Well, not all the time...

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This afternoon Ryan and I took some of our nieces and nephews up to Park City to ride the Alpine slide. We stopped on the way down to the valley at a mediocre Mexican restaurant, and ended up taking home an entire quesadilla when we couldn't convince our nephew Clint that carne asada is actually steak. Those leftovers were in the car when we picked up Sally at my Mom's, and were still in the car when we stopped to drop the kids off with their Mom. Somehow though, in the 30 seconds when we walked the kids into the house and walked back to the car, the leftovers disappeared.

Sally is sleeping outside tonight. Actually, she's sleeping outside in Magna.

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Screaming In My Head

I just died a little inside...

ST. PAUL, Minn. (AP) -- A new poll suggests John McCain's
selection of Sarah Palin as his running mate is drawing a positive
if partisan response from the public.
The ABC News poll released today finds half of all respondents
had a positive impression of her, while 37 percent saw her less
favorably. Of the Republicans who were surveyed, 85 percent felt
positively, while 53 percent of independents and just 24 percent of
Democrats felt similarly.
By comparison, 54 percent of respondents expressed a favorable
view of Democratic vice presidential nominee Joe Biden.
The survey also suggests there are plenty of doubts about the
Alaska governor's experience. Just 42 percent of respondents say
she has enough experience to serve as president.
Further, only 25 percent say Palin's selection makes them
likelier to vote for the Republican ticket.

Someone make it stop. Obama, can you make it stop?

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It's Happening...

The Sarah Palinization of America is now going on. Last night she delivered a quirky, sarcastic speech on national television outlining why she should be Vice President, and why Democrats will eat America's children if they get the chance. She trotted out her "hockey Mom" credentials, and talked all about how she's a reformer, and Obama is an inexperienced jackass who will raise taxes on everything. It was a speech full of cliches, half truths, and outright lies, and as far as I can tell, America ate it up.

Today I couldn't even talk about the speech without getting emotional. I would have to put on my headphones whenever anyone played a sound bite of Palin talking about how she doesn't care about what the press has to say about her, or how she has fought against the "good old boys," or how she looks like a pit bull. They were all great sound bites, and most likely written by a minion of the dark lord himself, but that's all they are -- sound bites. No substance, no facts, no fair. And yet, that's what people are grabbing on to.

Today the Associated Press, the news organization most of the world thinks of as the Switzerland of journalism, released a piece where they went through Palin's speech point by point, looking at what she said, and then looking at reality. They used information not only from the Obama campaign but also from independent think tanks, and the Republian party. They found that almost everything she said was slanted, or totally wrong. But to find that article people are going to have to go deeper than just turning on their television. That means very few will find it. Oh, and if they do, many will question it, because Sarah Palin has told them not to believe the press.

Kiss it all good-bye...

I really expected Palin to turn on the waterworks last night when she talked about how unfairly she has been treated by the "liberal media." This comes two days after McCain's spokesman said that the press should "stop asking questions about her background." Well, what should we ask questions about? Her favorite color? She could possibly be one of the most powerful people in the world, I think we should get a chance to know her, even if McCain didn't.

All day I have been trying to tell myself that this is just a "campaign bump" and that soon America will focus on the issues again. However, I don't think that is going to happen. You know numerous news agencies did today? Focused on Sarah Palin look alikes, and how her look is kind of "trendy." Palin will be splashed on every supermarket glossy this weekend. She is going to be everywhere, and she is just going to be giving us more of the same stuff that she did last night. And little by little this race will become about "personality," just like it did in 2000. And then I will move to New Zealand.

I will say this about Sarah Palin, she has made me a better journalist. I am so damn determined not to let my "liberal bias" show that I weigh every word I write. I want the sound and the facts to tell the story, because I don't want to give her arguments any validity, or her complaints any more attention.

Now, if you'll excuse me I have to go wipe the lipstick off Sally. It makes her look too much like Sarah Palin. And I said she couldn't wear make-up on school days...

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Say Something Nice

Today is Tara's birthday. She is 107 years old. Just kidding. It doesn't really matter how old she is, only that she is older than me. For her birthday I sent Tara her lovely gift inside the following card:

I thought it was perfect. I mean, how often do you find a card that says exactly what you want to say? However, Kent (Tara's man) saw the card, and thought it was "insulting" He asked why we are so "mean to each other." Um, what? Why, if women are smart and sarcastic are thy "mean to each other," but if men do it they are "driven?" Yeah, or something like that, the Palin thing really has me thrown. Well, instead of fighting the semantics of it, I am going to try and placate Kent and say five nice things about Tara.

1. She is very fashionable. Yeah, ironic considering the card. Really though, Tara dresses better than pretty much anyone I know, and if she and I were even close to the same size and shape I would borrow her clothes all the time. Of course, she could take my black t-shirts and baggy jeans any time she wanted as well.

2. She is smart. Tara reads non-fiction books FOR FUN. The only other person I know who does that is Ryan. Sometimes they get talking about the books they have both read, and I just have to comfort myself in the fact that more people read "People" every day than the "New York Times."

3. Ryan says he has never seen her in a bad mood. Yeah, I guess Ryan has only met her once. Even though she lived with us for a month.

4. Her dog is awesome. Molly is the reason that Ryan and I got Sally. We missed her so much when Tara moved to California that we needed to fill the void. She is a wonderful dog, which I think has to be somewhat accredited to a wonderful owner.

5. She has wonderful taste in friends. I rock.

So, happy birthday Tara! I hope you enjoyed the five nice things I had to say about you, because it won't happen again until next year... And then you'll be reading them with bifocals.

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I'm Scared of Sarah Palin

If the Democrats lose this Presidential race they should just go ahead and disband the party. Give up the ghost. Hold a fire sale, and the last person out turn off the lights. The party should become a footnote in history, like the Whigs. The epitaph will read "Democrats: loved to lose." And once all that is done? We should crown Karl Rove, in all his evil genius glory, king of America. Because if he can get the American people to vote for Sarah Palin for Vice President, he is truly deserves it.

On the surface the pick of Palin appears to be a softball for the Democrats. She is inexperienced, speaks more like a cheerleader than a lawmaker, and has previously said that she isn't quite sure what the Vice President does. Her greatest foreign policy credential (cited by pundits and Cindy McCain alike) is that "Alaska is close to Russia." Oh, and the idea that she could appeal to women who were going to vote for Hillary Clinton is laughable, and, in fact, kind of insulting. The only thing she and Hillary have in common is plumbing. They are polar opposites on every other issue, and Palin has previously said she wouldn't have voted for Clinton because she "whines" too much. And if you don't want to dislike Palin because of substantive issues, there are a lot of petty things you can pick on. She's a tyrant who may have fired a state employee who wouldn't help her take revenge on her brother in law. Her 17 year old daughter is pregnant. Her hair and nails are absolutely awful. But, none of that matters, because Karl Rove is on her side, and he can make people want to vote for her.

Think about it. Any attacks on Palin, valid or not, will be seen like beating up on a puppy. Pundits, and mall moms, will come to her defense. "How dare you," they'll say, "doesn't this poor woman have enough to deal with?" Rove will have McCain's campaign push the "she's just like you" argument over and over again until every American feels that any criticism of Sarah Palin is a personal affront. People will vote for her just not to hurt her feelings. And those who don't fall for that ploy? Rove will get them with a call for "family values."

Rove's Mona Lisa

McCain can't run on the war. He can't run on the economy. Both of those are a mess, and polls show that people (rightly so) blame the White House. So, talking about either issue will just open him up to attacks from Democrats. But, what if he didn't have to talk about either issue? With Sarah Palin by his side he doesn't have to. He can talk about Sarah Palin's daughter keeping her baby because of the sanctity of life. He can talk allowing same sex partners to have benefits without giving them the right to marry (Palin vetoed a bill barring same sex benefits for state workers, but is against gay marriage). He can talk about Palin's husband, and his job on an oil pipeline. The McCain campaign will be based on social issues, and pulling heartstrings, and if Karl Rove has his way it will work.

Already some Democrats are starting to hedge their bets. Today, I heard one staunch supporter say "well, Obama really hasn't gotten a bounce from the convention." Others haven't had time to focus on what Obama is doing, because they are so worked up over Palin. No one is touting what a great President he could be, because they are all too busy watching this train wreck that will soon be our Vice President. Today I was shocked when I saw Obama quoted in a story about Palin. I kind of forgot he was out there, as will everyone else, which will make the segue into the family values campaign even easier for Rove.

Now, I know that I sound like a conspiracy theorist who lives in a basement somewhere in Nebraska. But really, Rove has done it before, why shouldn't he do it again? I mean, who would have thought a C- Yale student with a history of drug use and failed business dealings would one day be the most powerful man in the world? Karl Rove, that's who.

So, laugh now, Democrats. You could be crying later unless you pay attention.

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