Send In The First Ladies

My laptop is still not fixed. Oh, my daughter's came back two days later looking and acting like it had just received the latest botox and restalyne injections. She has been happily computing away ever since. No word from mine. You know that old saying, "No news is good news"?. I'm not thinking that applies here.So, I may or may not be writing this standing in a computer store pretending to check out the latest offerings. Has anyone seen that commercial about the people sending the woman away and setting up a pc store in her house to surprise her when she returns? Yes, that is the stuff my dreams are made of.Enough about that. I want to talk politics. Specifically, first lady potentials.

I gotta admit I do love me some Michelle Obama. First of all, she is my age which makes her a great role model for sexy ladies like me. And who doesn't like her style that anyone can copy. Even her arms inspire me. I tell myself as I'm struggling to do a push-up, "If Michelle can have arms like that, you can to, you lazy piece of slime." Obviously, her grace hasn't inspired me as much as I'd like.Laura Bush was fairly likable in a mostly I-forgot-she-was-there sort of way. Hillary Clinton was down-right scary to me as a first lady and I would have been terrified to come face-to-face with her during those years because I'm pretty sure she could have eaten me. Barbara Bush? She was like the loving grandmother we all missed and she was only about 40 when she looked like that, bless her heart.But now we are entering that period where we are auditioning potential new candidates for the job.

Like most of the country, I was holding my breath about the possibility of a Donald Trump run for president. Here is what Trump was offering to bring to the table.
Yes, that is wife number 3, Melania Trump, a former Slovenian model. Obviously, a woman like this married Trump strictly for his hair. But I ask you, did you want to have to compare yourself to Melania for 4 or possibly 8 years? I think not. I didn't even want to post her photo. And let's take this a step further. Did we really think it would be in our country's best interest to have her just a stone's throw from congress - that veritable treasure trove of monogamous men? No, it was definitely a wise decision to not let her have the job.

We still have the possibility of seeing a Mrs. Gingrich in the job. I also believe this would be Mrs. Gingrich number 3. Callista. Age 45. Here's her photo.
I believe that might be enough said.

Oh, the choices are dismal. And why is that? Why don't we look around and just decide who we want as first lady and proceed with the election from there? You can't possibly tell me you think the system we have in place now is any better.

Here's my choice:
Yes, Paula Deen. She's never been in a bad mood. We could save a fortune by firing all the White House chefs and letting her loose in the kitchen. And what foreign or domestic policy squabble wouldn't be smoothed over by a pound or two of butter? She'd either make them play nice with her southern drawl or kill them with a heart attack.

And those are some state dinners I'd love to attend.

Oh, The Woes Of Computers

Yesterday, I found the following note from my laptop:Dear Debbie,

I've gone on a delayed honeymoon with Wills and Kate. The British citizens insisted on paying for it. Don't feel badly for them. Apparently our hideaway is only $6000 a night and what with the economy tanking and all, they knew the three of us needed a break. Oh, and that nasty rumor you heard about my hard drive crashing is completely unfounded. Therefore, you will not find me at the home of your local handy-dandy computer repairman.

Love, Your much-loved laptop

P.S. I don't want to see you making eyes or finger contact with another computer until I'm back.

So there you have it. Believe what you will. I happen to believe that the man I saw taking my laptop out of my kitchen yesterday was my handy-dandy computer repairman. My daughter's laptop left with mine because as my repairman said, "Sounds like you've gotten one of those Russian viruses" which proves that the whole cold war thing is clearly not over. They've just been sitting around for 20 or so years lulling us into this false sense of security.I'll be back when my laptop either has a new hard drive or gets back from relaxing at Seychelles. Either way, I wonder if the Brits would mind paying for my computer repairs.

Just 364 More Days Until Mother's Day

Here we are - basking in the afterglow of Mother's Day. I hope that all my friends that are mothers had a great day and that those of you who aren't mothers also had a great day because really, that's just how caring and loving we mothers are. All the time wishing good things on others.
But really, Mother's Day? I could have sworn I carried those children inside my very body while they insisted on growing and kicking and sticking little pointy elbows into places I'm pretty sure weren't designed for little pointy elbows and the topping it all off with a good hiccuping fit. For 9 months. 9 long months including major holidays and some summer months. And probably one or two days I would have liked to have looked better including a vivid memory of one high school reunion. And let's don't even talk about labor which, since you brought it up, did last far more than 24 hours with that middle child.Yet, we get a day. And not even 24 hours because we hope to sleep through at least the first 6 or 7 hours of it and then by the end of the day, well you just know the new has worn off of that whole "it's your day, Mom" thing and you are right back to loading the dishwasher and trying to find everything that's needed for school the next day.Last year, the six members of my family rose, got ready for church, drove the 15 minutes to church, walked up to the door and the usher holding the door for me said, "Happy Mother's Day". It was the first time anyone had said that to me that day. I told him. Nothing like humiliating your family on their way into church to really get them thinking.This year was better. Everyone did remember to greet me appropriately before we left the house which was a good thing. Especially since the same usher was waiting for us at the door. And that's the other thing about mothers. While we may wish good things upon others all the time, we're not above a little pain and torture at times either. Just to keep it interesting.

Name That Baby

It's important to me, in these lean times for almost all families, to know that our government agencies are acting responsibly with our money.Which is why it just warmed my body parts to learn the the Social Security Administration (motto: Don't Come in Our Office Unless You Have a Few Months To Spare Waiting) released the top baby names of 2010 yesterday. Don't even think about the fact that we taxpayers have paid someone to analyze the data to come up with this, even to the point of being able to tell us which names are "trending". No, the important fact to focus on is that thanks to the SSA, we now can put that little Team Edward vs. Team Jacob debate to bed since Jacob is our #1 boy name and Edward is not in the top 10. Isabella was the top baby girl name. And if you really want to worry about the future generation, check out the list of names that have gained the most in popularity. Let's just say that quite a few of them look like words I've tried without success to sneak into Scrabble games over the years.Baby names are always a source of fascination to me. Here you have this sweet little innocent life placed in your hands and you are allowed to place upon that 7 or so pound lump a name that will stick with him or her for hopefully 90+ years.Which is why I was waiting with baited breath to learn what Mariah Carey had named her twins. Celebrities rarely disappoint me with their baby monikers. Back in my youth, we had the Zappa family to keep us entertained with their lively choices of Moon Unit and Dweezil. I'm still shocked one of them has not gone on to win the Nobel Prize. Lately we've had Gwyneth Paltrow reminding us of the benefits of healthy eating by naming her daughter Apple. But Mariah. Oh, sweet Mariah.She named her son Moroccan in honor of the Moroccan-inspired decor of Carey's New York apartment's top floor. Bless his heart. He didn't even manage to rate whatever style the main floor is furnished in. But I'm sure he'll be thrilled to know that with only 9 months to deliberate, this is what the happy couple decided upon for his name.

I'm just sorry I'm past the child-bearing age myself. I kinda like this whole "decoration" inspired naming process. I'd have a sweet baby named Sanford - since my whole house is decorated in the Sanford and Sons motif.

Things That Growl In The Middle Of The Night

Don't you just hate a weird bedtime?

I do love my life. Most of the time. But, it's exhausting. Mentally and physically. And bedtime - well, that's just the little bit of heaven that makes the whole thing worthwhile. But when something messes with my bedtime...now that's a bad night.First, we had watched Black Swan with our oldest son right before bed. Yes, I know I'm always late to the party but we haven't seen a movie in a theater since they added the talking to them. So, last night was the Black Swan debut in our house. Not exactly your feel good, sweet dreams kind of movie. Although I do suppose you could finish it and be thankful that your life wasn't that crazy and especially that your mother wasn't the poster child for why our children should eat their parents. I kept wanting to stop the DVD and tell my son, "See. I'm not that bad of a mother. I rarely wind your music box up before bed now that you're out of your teens."We stayed up far too late for us on a weekday watching that thing and then toddled off to bed. Without benefit of a music box or a mother to undress us. It was going to be a tough evening.

As I was brushing my teeth, I could hear a noise. A weird noise. Some sort of continuous weird noise that definitely wasn't part of my normal household noise arsenal.

So, being the brave woman I am, I of course said, "Honey, do you hear that noise?" I opened the window of our bedroom and could hear it a little more but I could tell it wasn't coming from behind the house.

"Go downstairs, open the front door, and see if you can hear it better there", commands my husband. To me.

Let me stop here and interject that one of the primary reasons I have always been thankful not to be a guy is that whole, "Dear, I hear a sound. Go downstairs with a shoe and defend us from whatever might be in our home" thing that women, I'm fairly sure of this part, are allowed by law to expect from their husbands. Never mind that I married my man for a myriad of reasons but none of them was his willingness to attack unknown foes with whatever makeshift weapon he might find lying around in our bedroom. However, I still expect him to be the one to assume this duty. Not the one to send me forth in my pajamas to identify unknown sounds.(I'd also like to stick in here that the other reason I'm glad to not be a guy is urinals. Seriously? Why did you all ever think it was a good idea to pee in front of each other in a line? I'm pretty sure even cave men utilized the whole tree trunk barrier idea.)So, now you know why I found myself at midnight standing with my front door open, wearing my summer pajamas even though it was unexpectedly bitterly cold outside, and hearing a really bizarre, low, loud rumble in front of my house. So low and loud that I could feel the floor vibrating.

Since I had gone first and made sure no zombies were in the front yard getting ready to attack us, my brave husband joined me downstairs to apprise the situation.

Then we entered into that gray area. The one where you try to decide if the sound you are hearing is menacing and if so, is it too menacing to go to bed. At one point my husband even said to me, "If it's the end of the world, I don't know whether to go to bed or not."Which does bring up another quandary. Personally, I'd rather be awake when good things are happening and sleep through the bad. So, I've made a new personal resolution to not go open my front door at midnight anymore to see what might be shaking the foundation of my house. (And no, I still don't know what it was. Lasted about 20 minutes.) I'm not sure I'm even going to stay up late anymore watching deranged people who may or may not be doing their own dancing in a movie.But, I might stay up late watching a mindless chick flick on a good night with no scary sounds. And if it's the end of the world, I'm definitely going to bed. I'd really like to have fewer dark circles under my eyes when I start my hereafter.

Get Your Straight Folks And Your Veggies Here!

I assume you all know I live in the great state of Tennessee. I've lived here for all but four years of my life and I have always loved it. The people are very friendly. I can see the gorgeous Smoky Mountains from my home. And every restaurant I go to has iced tea on the menu. Perfection.Except that something odd has happened. You know that perception of Tennessee that some folks have that is eerily reminiscent of the backwoods, uneducated, narrow-mindedness of the Beverly Hillbillies. Somehow when I wasn't looking, that became my new reality.I know you have heard that my state's lawmakers have been up to mischief. Mischief in the form of passing new laws to protect the fine folks of Tennessee. I don't know about you but I usually get a bad feeling whenever lawmakers start passing laws to protect me. I start thinking about running into those hills I can see.Lately, we've made national news by our esteemed leaders trying to pass into law the "Don't say Gay" bill which would make it a crime for any mention in K-8 education of anything other than heterosexual relationships. Thank goodness. I was really fearing for my children's future. I certainly know from experience that anything mentioned in school is destined to make my kids want to try it. Must be why they are all dying to grow up and be mathematicians. Oh wait. That's right. They have minds of their own. I almost forgot there for a moment. I'm still glad for that bill. It's not every state that can make sticking your head in the sand protected by law.But the ludicrousness doesn't stop there. Last week they passed a bill to declare macaroni and cheese a vegetable. I am very serious about this because as much as I love to stretch the truth for a chuckle, even I couldn't have imagined this one. With a straight face, they stated that by doing this they would be helping Tennesseans to reach the recommended USDA allowance of fruits and vegetables in their diet.I believe the corn in our moonshine already counts for one additional serving.
So, come visit us. We are a state full of happy, heterosexual people who sit around wolfing down our plates of macaroni and cheese, content with the fact that now that it is said to be a vegetable, we are getting healthier by the minute.

Or, go to Disneyland. At least there, most people know the difference between reality and fantasy.

For Enough Money, You Can Rename My Cat

I know that most folks will be discussing the royal wedding today. A lot of people will have gotten up at 4 am or stayed up all night to watch the nuptials. Not me. There are really very few things that come between me and my attempt at a good night's sleep. And while I wish the happy couple all the best, they are just going to have to to start this life of wedded bliss without me.Since I can't discuss the wedding of the century and how much it is costing, let's discuss the pitiful economy and things that people do to get money. Or, not really people so much as towns. Municipalities. It appears that selling yourself and your pride for money is not as illegal for towns as it is for people.Case in point - on Wednesday of this week, Altoona, PA changed its name for the next 60 days to "POM Wonderful Presents: The Greatest Movie Ever Sold". I love that name. Wish I'd thought of it when I was pregnant. Why is it that baby name books are just crowded with Justin and Brittney and never seem to have the unique name like this?
Apparently, there is some new documentary by Morgan Spurlock by this name. Spurlock, I learned, is the same guy that wrecked his circulatory system by eating nothing but McDonald's food for a month and then made the film, "Super Size Me", about the experience. (Small side note - he considered naming it "Take a Year Off My Life" but it just didn't have that same cutesy play on words going for it.)For this movie, concerned with the extent and evil of advertising in America, he paid the city formerly known as Altoona $25,000 to change its name. And even though the movie is against the commercialization of our society, lots of companies paid good money for tie ins. Including Pom Wonderful which laid out a cool $1 million to get on that title. Which now is also part of a town's name.I hope my suburb doesn't sell out to Hollywood. But if they do, I hope we at least go with something classy. Something that has held up to the test of time. Possibly a great James Bond flick. How about Octopussy?