Finding Joy in Snarkville

I so rarely look at my stats.  I try to ignore that I really have stats, because I write for me and when I have some thing to say.  But today, I was looking up something and I noticed that there are some people (who frankly, scare me a little) who find me in all sorts of ways.  I thought I’d answer some of their questions so they can move along quickly.

“I wish I could see my grandmother again”

Well, me too.  I know I will see my grandmothers again, but it will be awhile.  However, since I have a 5 year old — I’m pretty sure I’m not your grandmother.

“how I figure out my birthday in months”

First, try asking your mom what month you were born in.  Oh, were you asking how to do the math to figure out how many months you have been alive.  That’s easy.  Figure out the number of years you’ve been alive.  Multiply that number by 12 and add the number of months since you last birthday.  You might want to take your shoes off.

“mohair grandmother”

You have a grandmother made of mohair?  How sad for you.  I find mohair grandmothers are ichy and rather fuzzy.  Don’t get a mohair grandmother wet — she’ll smell like wet goat.

“november 10 is my birthday and nothing going on help”

I need to remind you that you make your own fun.  If you want to do something fun for your birthday, then, um, DO IT.  You bring your own party with you where ever you go.  I try to do this and find I’m never far from the fun.

“feeling weird on rollercoaster”

This is normal and way we go on rollarcoasters.  Enjoy the feeling and try to avoid throwing up on the guy next to you — it might not be appreciated.

“hello this is the kermit the frog sound”

Really?  I didn’t hear it.  Can you try again?

“grass growing between slate kill”

Oh, Yoda, it was nice of you to visit Snarkville.  My chemical of choice is Round-up, but some people seem to think that it isn’t good for you. I think your might want to consider the time honored tradition of weeding.  I think it very Jedi to weed.  The force be with you.

“how to gag without making a sound”

ICK. Why?  Wait, I do not want to know.

Pardon me, I need to retch a little now.

Ok, I want to wax poetic all about how you have to vote because it is the foundation of our nation and all that greatness.  But the reality (and we are nothing if not about reality here in Snarkville) is that failure to vote means you don’t get a right to complain.  Even if you vote for the guy who wins.

You see, I know the lines are insane and this ought to be a holiday for everyone in order to stand in line and be heard.  But I firmly believe that if you complain about government, taxes, health care, Wall Street, war, etc, the first question you should be asked is “Did you vote?” and if you can say yes I did, then you shall be allowed to continue.  If you say no (without the follow-up of “I can’t vote because I’m not a citizen, felon, or under 18.”) you should be forced to sit through a high school civics class until you understand that the right to vote is important, worthy of wars we have fought, and gives you the almighty right to complain.

I don’t love the candidate I voted for.  I don’t think he is the best man for the job.  But I have the right to complain about him or the other guy — because I cast my vote.  I think that’s more important than complaining about standing in line.

But I already have a complaint.  I vote absentee, since I don’t live in the state I’m registered (yes, it is ok/legal/whatever).  So, my vote was cast two weeks ago.  So, today, when everyone else will sport these cool “I Voted” stickers (that I see as translating to “I have the right to complain for the next 4 years” stickers.) I don’t have one.  I will go to the grocery store and the employees (who voted) will look down at me and tsk (I hear it — I know they do it) because appartently I’ve given up my right to complain.

I want to scream that I voted; I’m done; I’m in the club.  I hoped that with the number of early voting places might end my suffering.  But alas, in the state of Snarkville, it appears they gave even their absentee ballot people the sticker (as seen by a guy on the news this morning).  Take that Swing State where I really vote — get it together and put a dang sticker in the mail with the instructions to DRAW a LINE in three languages!!

Not that I’m bitter — I just hate the pity looks from the grocery store people.

As of this typing, I’m serious when I say I have no idea who will receive my highly valuable vote.

(Please note that I happen to vote in a swing state.  My vote can (and has) swung elections.  Now, as much as I feel that the thought that someone’s vote isn’t as valuable makes me sick to my stomach, I know that you blue dots in red states (and red dots in blue states) feel that way.  I’m just saying the state I vote in is neither a red or blue state.)

But (and my dad is going to be highly pleased by this) I have now watched both of parties conventions in a hope of forming some real opinion as to who can have my vote.  I’ve long since realized that I will not (as i feel I have never) be voting *FOR* someone as much as *AGAINST* someone.  So, since I have no love for either of our canidates, I feel I must find something to grasp to that will be the defining issue I will make my decision on.

Until I figure it out, I give you a few things that will not sway me to one side or the other:

1. I just have to get it out there, I will not vote for McCain because he has a woman as the vice-presidental  candidate.  I’m sorry, if I’m failing the cause of women everywhere, I’m not swayed to one side because one of the candidates gets to wear a skirt.
2. To that end, please stop sending me all the e-mails about how Obama isn’t a ‘natural citizen.’  I don’t care and firmly believe that the powers that be have vetted that part too.
3. Having a war record doesn’t make you powerful and not having one doesn’t mean you can’t lead.  But frankly, I’m at a point in my life that I don’t care what you did years ago, as much as I care who you are today.
4. Hardships growing up, rising above the cards you were dealt doesn’t move me to think you can lead me.  Let’s face it, no one gets to run a national campaign who doesn’t have more priviledges in life than I have.  You can talk all day long about being poor, struggling and whatever — you have to admit that you didn’t pull yourself by your own bootstraps.  You got there with help — you can admit it.  (And um, more than your grandmother, k?)
5. Your spouse, children, family, whoever, no matter how cute, will not sway me.  Though, as a mother, I have to wonder and feel sorry for all of those children under 18.  I may just be a wee judgmental (though I support any mom’s right to do what she needs to do) that there is a mama who has a YOUNG child, with Down’s, who is in essence leaving her family.  Try to tell me that the US needs her more than that child.  Try to tell me that Palin’s 17 year old pregnant daughter doesn’t need her mama more.  But, I assure you that I’m not voting against McCain because I think she needs to be home with her family either.
6. Your suit, lapel pin, bracelet, tattoo.  None of these matter to me.  Yes, I am willing to admit I want you to be clean cut, have a nice suit on, and look decent.  I do not think you need to match the flag. And in case you, like me thought that Palin and Cindy McCain were wearing the Israeli flag pin, after MUCH research, I found out that they are wearing the “Red Star Mother’s Flag” — for family members of active duty members during wartime.
7. Pat answers to hard, probably unsolveable problems.  I don’t believe that there are easy answers to the housing situation, taxes, failing schools, or even gas prices.  I firmly disagree that any of those issues (failing schools being the one that moves me today) are going to be easily solved.  I want my canidate to step up and say, these things will be HARD, it will take bending on both sides and here’s what I think can be accomplished in the short, middle, and long term.  But that’s not good politics, good politics seems to state that you promise people the impossible and then blame the other party when you won’t be able to deliver.
8. Pandering to a canidate who I happen to strongly dislike, doesn’t help.  Yes, I make no secret that I strongly dislike Hilary.  I can’t help it — as much as I don’t want 4 more years of a Bush presidency, I don’t want 4 more years of Clinton either.  While I get that there’s a need to unite, extolling her as the be all and end all of women in politics is an insult to politics and women.
9. Don’t promise me that you’ll bring our men and women home without any explaination of how you aren’t going to create a state that hates us more.  Someone with some idea, figure out how to stand up and say we should have never gone to war in Iraq, but now we need to fix a few of the problems we solved.  Someone find Charlie Wilson and give that man the $1 million for schools that could have perhaps prevented the rise of the Taliban in Afganistan.  Just saying.
10. A balloon drop or fireworks.

Ok, so I know there is more, but the reality is that after two conventions and more speeches than I care about, I am still stumped.  I know that I need to figure out what will be my defining issue.  Here’s hoping a debate or four will shed light on my decision.

Proof #1:

If you happen to be standing in a line (let’s say a grocery line) that has a balloon tied to it and there may be something close to 5 children under 7 in line, the cashier from three lines over has NO right to seize the last balloon and not call for more to be made.  In addition, the lady in the line I was standing in only was able to check out TWO people in the time the guy next to her checked out 7 (yes, I counted) but we were only in that line because it held the promise of a balloon — a balloon that, as Duke sees it, was ripped out of his waiting hands by the cruel inhuman cashier.  Fortunately there was another cashier (not *MY* horribly slow, not very bright, and incapable of doing two things at once — like counting single dollar bills), saw a kid in his line and called for more.  The mom of that kid, who’d seen my child, who was kind enough only to ask LOUDLY, where that guy was taking the balloon, gave the nice cashier the heads up for the need of another balloon.  The fact that we had to wait for it is merely a secondary joy.

Now the balloon, that balloon that we had to have, floats ignored in my kitchen.

Proof #2:

Picture it, I’m walking down the LARGE center aisle of store, say Target — just for example.  I’m walking appropriately on the right, but sort of in the middle, because they are restocking and taking up the right side of things.  Out of nowhere, ok, truly from the aisle I’m about to pass, this woman (who frankly looked like she was overdue for her methadone treatment) comes barrelling out of her aisle and cuts me off.  I stop and give the appropriate “You aren’t authorized to drive that cart” look.  She looked right at me (or through me, who knows) and kept on going.  OK, strike one.  Then she pulled to the absolute center of the big aisle allowing no one to be able to pass her (on coming traffic really liked this move) and then pulls a HARD right directly in front of me again.  I repeated the LOOK.  She then says (as if she’s a ditz, but frankly isn’t pretty enough to pull it off) “Oh, I keep pulling out in front of you.”  I’m speechless, mostly because what I want to say isn’t fit for my Duke to hear.  However, Duke can always be counted on, “Mama, why does that man keep making you stop?”  “Buddy, I don’t think they know where they are going.”  “Oh, there’s a map, right?”

I do love that kid.

Allergies have hit one member of the royal household pretty hard these past few weeks.  (Hot stock tip:  If you were planning to invest based on what we consume, I’d strongly suggest a few shares of Kimberly-Clarke*.) So, since our stockpile of tissues was GONE, Duke and I had an outing yesterday to our local tissue purchasing store. (more…)

Yesterday was a tough day. Seriously, you’d think it would have gone up after the toothbrush incident, but I have to say that yesterday was tough. When Prince got home, we had a moment in the hallway reminding me that this really was the best idea and I can and will have better days.

This morning Duke bounds out of bed declaring that today will be a better day. Ah, yes, it will be, after all this is Waffle Wednesday. (more…)

And I was sad.  I’m sure Karen would have been delightful as Prince’s wife for th evening, but sadly she couldn’t make it and I was then required to sort out my hair AND dress up.  The evening was nice, if not a wee bit long and drawn out.  I’ve had a whole 5 hours of sleep and thus I shall give you my thoughts and suggestions from last night. (more…)

Apparently, I don’t have to go to the fancy thing this evening.  It seems that my husband just called after reviewing the seating chart and says that he is attending with his wife, “Karen.”  (So, NOT my name.)  Yes, it seems that the people who plan formal events to be Wednesday’s (because that makes no sense whatsoever) have also decided that my husband is married to Karen.

I say, GOOD.  What we need around here is another wife — preferably someone who will do laundry, cook dinner, and vacuum. So, what I really want to know is — how long has he been married to Karen (like as in, am I the first wife or not?) and when will she start doing her share of work around here?

(more…)

This began as a random post, but a pattern appeared from nowhere (see also, I’m not a great (or even good) writer, thus planning ahead for these things would be wrong).  So, I give you the Best and Worst on this ‘Waffle Wednesday’… (more…)

Because I’m in a post-Christmas coma right now, I can give you a list of sorts as a puny wrap up of Christmas. (more…)