Obama Visits Raleigh to Barack the Early Vote

One of many long lines. Throngs of hopeful, patient souls waiting to see the next President of the United States of America, live in Memorex. The Melting Pot personified here today. Wow am I glad I did not drag Bird and Deal to this. Five and three year-olds are not known for their ability to stand in a line for long periods of time unless a Star Wars simulator ride or Toy Story 3D shoot 'em up game is at the end.


Me and my Twitter friend @catnc. See Mac Daddy, I am not talking to imaginary friends on Twitter. @catnc is real. This is not a Bartles & James cardboard cut out. We had just come from coffee with Edie Falco, whose vacation home is in the teeny tiny speck of a town @catnc grew up in. They totally bonded.

Barack is totally pointing to me here.


Here Barack is saying something really smart about how we will be worse off four years from now if John McCain is president. I have a visceral reaction to the mere thought of it.


Another emphatic point here. The man rocks. He simply rocks. Damn if he isn't presidential.


Farewell, Raleigh. Please vote early! Polls are open through Saturday, November 1. You can even register and vote on the same day if you vote early. In North Carolina you cannot register to vote on Election Day, November 4!


See you on November 5, Raleigh. Next time, it's Mr. President.

Women Make the World Go Round: GASP!

North Carolina is a state scarred with the wounds of battle. Its fertile fields, cascading mountains, and illustrious shores have seen the anguish of war. The pain and suffering are still palpable. The lore still very much alive. The history retold. North Carolina has seen its share of battle. The folks here know what it is to don their proverbial armor and hoist their bayonettes to fight the good fight. "Battleground state" is more than a metaphor here.

We are a battleground once more. A political battleground, but the tension still runs fierce.

Obama might actually have a shot to turn the fields of red into a shade of glorious, hopeful blue.

It started with 12 girlfriends having dinner. And like the old shampoo commercial (Breck?), they told two friends. And so on. And so on. And so on...

Four weeks later it was 225 women.

G.A.S.P. was born and has hit a rapid growth spurt.

Hope
Change
Leader
Economy
Integrity
Peace

Those were the words we chanted in unison. It was musical, magical, moving. 225 women dedicated to the same cause: to help elect Barack Obama to the White House.

Sure, it started as Girlfriends Appalled About Sarah Palin. It ended in a fire under all our derrieres to donate, volunteer, canvas, knock, call, feed, stuff, walk, talk, breathe, live, give. We are a sorority of Obama evangelists. Super Heroines. We are all stepping outside our comfort zones. Whether we are stepping in our Manolos, Birkenstocks, Rainbows, Tory Burches, Dansko, Nikes, Pumas, Simples, or No Names is irrelevant. We are stepping out together to lay to rest the disastrous last eight years. We are stepping out to give credence to our system and to women who have worn the mantle of leadership before us. We will not be mocked or used or puppeteered.

The power of women cannot be discounted.

G.A.S.P. is Momentum personified. G.A.S.P. is Motivation. Dedication. Realization. Emancipation.

Women are a force to be reckoned with. Nothing, nothing my friends, stands in the way of our Conviction.

In the words of G.A.S.P.'s battle cry, "We believe that as Wake County goes, so goes North Carolina. As North Carolina goes, so goes America. And as America goes, so goes the world."

Seeing Red: A Tale of Hostility

Sit down. Pour yourself a lovely but decidedly unelitist glass of pinot (grigio or noir, your call). Get comfortable. Put your feet up on your coffee table (that is, unless you ever eat off of it). I'd like to tell you a little story. A true story. It's autobiographic and it happened today.

I wrote recently about my struggle to be friends with Republicans during these contentious times. I received many comments that injected the voice of reason into my psyche. I appreciate those people taking the time to help me see the light and not fall into this my-way-is-the-only-way abyss I teeter on the cusp of. I also got some anonymous comments nudging me to try to understand the other side and be a true tolerant liberal. It's curious why some commenters are anonymous and others go out on a limb. But that's neither here not there, simply a sidebar in my head.

So today I thought I'd start implementing my new be-nice-to the-other-side philosophy. I wear my Obama button everyday. It's like my watch; I feel naked without it. I proudly support my guy and never making disparaging comments about McCain outside my home and my blog. I simply let my button do the talking. It's not my place to strike up political conversations in public or try to change any minds. Unless I am asked something specific, I keep my trap shut (hard to believe, but true). And when asked, I answer in a positive light. While I might disagree with McCain supporters, I do not pick fights. At five feet tall, 100 pounds, you wouldn't pick fights either; it's not in my best interest.

Since I mistakenly left my sunroof open last night during an unforecasted torrential downpour, I had to take my car to be steam cleaned and detailed. While hanging out in the waiting room, I saw a man walk in wearing a McCain/Palin button. Tall, fit, lanky even, jeans, khaki button down shirt, loafers, graying in that erudite British Literature professor kind of way. I smiled and waved hello. He smiled back, making eye contact and smiling graciously. There are few things I appreciate more than eye contact. I thought we were off to a great start. It wasn't hard at all to be pleasant to this guy. I felt my blue anger fade a few shades.

And then our conversation went something like this:

Me, pointing to my Obama button: "Hey, look at us each supporting our guy. It's great to be part of this process, isn't it?"

Man, whose eye contact and warm smile instantly turns to disdain: "He's an idiot and so are you!"

Me, astounded, left for speechless: "Um, really? You think I'm an idiot? You don't even know me. I was just trying to be friendly."

Man, about a foot taller than my five foot tall frame, poking his finger in my face, veins pulsing in his neck: "Yeah, you're both idiots. You're gonna be sorry! You're gonna be real sorry!"

Me, eyes bulging, gulping, flabbergasted, somehow maintaining calm demeanor (very much unlike me): "Sir, I meant nothing disrespectful. I was trying to be nice, just pointing out that it's good to be part of this exciting time. I don't care how you vote. I just think it's important that everyone does vote."

Man, grunting, walking away: "Well, you're stupid. He's an idiot. You've got something coming!"

Me, still cool as the proverbial cucumber: "It's a shame you feel that way."

Then I called Mac Daddy who bore the wrath that had been escalating inside of me. He dutifully listened and advised getting the guy's license plate number. That Mac Daddy, he's no dummy.

So the man gets into his car, revs the engine, guns it out of the parking lot. He turns back to glare at me and flips me off. Middle. Finger. Even the car wash worker looked at me and said, "I'm not voting for Obama but I would never treat you like that." I tipped him five bucks.

The man drove off in a double cab white pick up truck peppered with McCain and Elizabeth Dole stickers and a vanity license plate that said PRAYER. Central casting couldn't have found a better stereotype. If you see PRAYER cruising the strip, make sure you wear your Obama bling proudly.

This guy's ranting was not analagous to a Wisconsin fan badgering a dyed-in-the-yellow-and blue Michigan fan about an upcoming football game at Camp Randall. He was plain mean and disrespectful. There was no elbow nudging and bwah ha ha-ing going on in good fun. When we flaunt our political leanings, we owe it those brands to behave in a fashion that is becoming to that brand. It is our duty to represent that which we honor. I'm pretty sure Jesus and John McCain would not condone his actions. To be so brashly and unabashedly rude to someone is abominable under any circumstance. Even I, hothead left leaning opiner and whiner of the century, would never do what he did to me. Don't get me wrong, I'm not playing the role of victim here. I'm simply saying that that man did nothing to help ease me on my journey to understanding the other side. Granted, he is but one example. But his behavior is on target with other experiences I have had during this election season. Let me share a few real examples that have shaped my disdain, frustration, and utter lack of patience for the conservative faction. Take a look and you might start to understand my paradigm, for we are all products of our experiences:

• A man who flipped me off and yelled anti-liberal sentiments to me while Bird and Deal were in the car with me (and obviously visible to the driver who was higher up than us).
• A man who flicked his burning cigarette butt onto the hood of my car at a red light, again with Bird and Deal in the car. He was firing obscenities too.
• A man who dangerously tailgated me and almost ran me off the road for a long stretch of two lane road on my way to see a client in Greensboro, fist raised in air, yelling god knows what at me.

I have nothing on my car other than an Obama 08 sticker. No negative Bush cracks or anti-McCain sentiments. Obama 08 has sparked such scorn for this mom with two innocent young boys in her car. My experiences are not in a vacuum. Others have recounted similar tales. This along with the rash of Obama yard signs being desecrated,, knocked over and stolen from people's yards. What gives? Is my experience really isolated? Am I wearing a target invisible to the donkey's eye?

This man's behavior was nothing more than childish. And rude. And unproductive. He represents the lowest of his kind. The kind whom I am certain John McCain would condemn.

So tell me, have you had similar experiences? I also want to know about the Left harassing the Right. Everything can go two ways, and I want to hear it all. Do tell.

Friends in Low Places

As you know, this presidential election is near killing me. I have been helping in my little way for months now. This is my second presidential election as a citizen of a red state. My wounds have barely healed from 2004. Some are are reopening and oozing. I am used to living in bastions of liberalism. Madison. Chicago. Minneapolis. Washington, D.C. I never knew people who voted for George Bush (or at least people who fessed up to it). My parents have been staunch Democrats since they earned their American citizenship and the right to vote in 1988. I learned through osmosis, I suppose. Isn't that how we learn all of our values? And how we vote is primarily based on values, right? Well they are for me. My values are everything. They drive me socially, politically, economically. They define me.

I value my civil rights. And others' too. I value my body. I value the air I breath, the water I drink, the mountains I hike. I value the safety of the food I feed my family. I value the common good over the common greed. I value the education my sons get. I value literacy. I value curiosity. I value raising minimum wage. I value change. I value responsibility. I value global friendships. I value equal pay for women. I value parental leave and family medical leave. I value caring for the young, the elderly, the infirmed, the innocent, the voiceless. I value access to competent, caring physicians. I value the ground I walk on. I value the security of the roads I drive, the airspace I fly, the shores I wade. I value my country's global position. I value the lives of our soldiers and their kin. I value other creatures and their place in the ecosystem that sustains us. I value economic prosperity. I value the ability to put out a hand to help others lift their bootstraps. I value integrity, honesty, and advocacy of my elected officials. I value actions. I value freedom of choice. I value unhindered fun. I value guns being kept off my streets. I value the right to say what I please. I value universal access to healthcare, economic stability, education, and freedom. I value diversity. I value alternatives to oil. I value a solid, secure, sustainable planet. I value a future for my sons that is free of hate and vitriol and a draft. I value justice, peace, the American dream.

This is how my mom and dad raised me. These are their values I pass on to Bird and Deal. This is our legacy to my sons, first generation Americans.

How can I be friends with people whose values are not mine? People whose values stray so far from mine that a chasm the size of a galaxy separates us? What will be our common denominators? Our threads? How can we reconcile our differences in a meaningful way? How will we toast in shared joy instead of clash with animosity? How am I to stop all the judging, gagging, eye rolling, knuckle cracking, nail biting, heart racing, stammering, and gasping that I am not poker player enough to hide? How can I stop myself from asking, "What the fuck are you thinking? McPain is a disaster of EPIC proportions? You are irresponsible and downright un-American to vote for this vile ticket that will set women and our country and polar bears back at least 100 years. You are thinking with your short-term wallet instead of with your long-term portfolio. You disgust me with your selfish, racist, bullying ways. I have no respect for your pompous ilk. You care about yourself only with no respect for your fellow men, women, and children. Or animals for that matter. You think you have a right to define and play god. Your way is not the only way. You are a closed minded wretch who is a parasite on this planet. Your disillusionment is calamitous. I cannot break bread with you. I cannot trust you. I cannot stomach you!" With this I struggle.

Perhaps there would be some kicking, hair pulling, profuse cussing, elbowing, and pinching. Whom am I kidding? Fisticuffs would ensue, and I'd likely be on the bottom of the pile. I'm only five feet tall after all.

Do you detect some anger in my voice? Don't be fooled. It's fear.

I thought we hit rock bottom four years ago. I had no freaking clue that things could go ever deeper into the guts of hell. I still feel that our reality is surreal. McPain cannot possibly be happening. Those signs don't really read "Women for McCain." "Really?" I want to ask. "Because nothing about his policy is for you." I am filled with caustic anger that singes the soul. I admit to this. I just don't know how to escape it.

And so I plunder on. Canvassing. Writing. Calling. Blogging. Donating. I empty myself of this enmity through my written words and positive actions. So far I have not uttered words of ugliness, though you better believe I am thinking them behind my veil of "Hey, how are you? So nice to see you. Coffee? Nah, 9:00 doesn't work for me. Catch you later."

Yes We Can! Yes We Should!

We have 42 days to get Barack Obama elected into office. 42 days, the home stretch akin to the last weeks of pregnancy. The anticipation too explosive to control. The eagerness too much to articulate without wild Italian grandma-like gesticulation. The stakes too high to sit back on our seats of cynicism and complacency.

We must keep our sleeves rolled up, our feet moving, our knuckles knocking, our fingers dialing, our words debating. We must all be the Little Engine That Could, 10-fold in purpose.

Think you don't have time to help the Obama campaign? Think your vote is enough (while it is fantastic, it is not enough given the political, social, environmental, and financial climate in our country today!). Here are some easy things you can do to make a difference. Trust me here. Easy, fast, fulfilling. Consider it the Big Mac of Obama tasks.

1. Make a donation to the campaign: www.barackobama.com. You can even go to MoveOn and get even get a free sticker, button, or T-shirt. I did. I wear my Obama gear proudly.
2. Host a fundraising event at your house. Throw some brats (as in the German sausage, not the neighborhood bully) on the grill, buy some German beer, and invite friends over for Baracktoberfest. It's a cheap, fun way to raise money. And don't ya just LOVE the idea? Beer makes everything better. No lederhosen required.
3. Make calls on behalf of the campaign from the comfort of your home. All the information you need is right on the website: www.barackobama.com. Practice different voices and accents if you want to. Just make the calls!
4. Buy an Obama button, T-shirt, bumper sticker, or yard sign and use it as an opportunity to talk to people about why Obama should be our next president. These items are readily available online in a variety of places: Cafe Press, Obama Zen, Etsy. A friend's beagle even has an Obama button on her collar, and they make lots of friends at the dog park.
5. You don't have to know about every single issue, just talk about the issues that matter to you. Your passion will come through. I've heard some harsh words about my passion, but it's worth it knowing I am doing all that I can to give my country the giant Etch-A-Sketch shake it needs. There's not enough Tylenol in the world to cure the McPain that lurks.
   
6. Contact people you know in swing states and talk to them about why they should vote for Obama. Point them towards resources to read and investigate on their own.
7. Travel to a swing state (NM, NV, CO, MI, OH, VA, NC, NH) to canvas. The campaign can arrange a free plane ticket and place to stay. Go to this site to find out more: Travel for Change. If you live in California, you can travel to NV for a weekend to canvas. The CA Obama headquarters has arranged buses to transport people.
8. Remind everyone you know to make sure they are registered to vote! The deadline in North Carolina is October 10. Cliche as it sounds, Every. Vote. Counts. Go here to find out if you are registered.
9. Send this post to everyone you know!

It is the action of one person, in aggregate, that makes the mountain move. Do it for our purple mountains' majesty.

And the next time you're feeling angry and frustrated about the election, take a deep breath and watch this for a little inspiration. We Are the Ones.

I Heart Matt Damon Even More Now

One more reason to love Matt Damon. Sigh.

Can't you totally hear the passion in his voice? It's as close to Matt + Passion that I'm ever gonna get. Hubba. Hubba.

Palin in Comparison to Biden

Is this Candid Camera's PR stunt to relaunch the show? Has Ashton Kutcher gone politico on us?

It's all aflutter in the media today. Carville uses the word "vexed" to sum up McCain's odd choice of VP running mate. Begala says the choice is irresponsible. I'm on their team.

Sarah Palin. Heard of her? Nope. Me either. Joe Biden. Heard of him? Thought so. For the record, I'm so voting for his son Beau one day. He's not running for anything right now, but I'm keeping my sights on his political future.

It's no secret that I'm an Obamaholic. Of course I'm biased. But guess what, I'm a blogger, not a journalist. I simply opine, not report.

But seriously folks, let's look at a couple points regarding Ms. Palin.

1) She's a first-term governor of Alaska, the state of 670,704 citizens. And three electoral votes. And before she became governor? She was mayor of a town of 9700 people. Dudes, that's waaaayyy smaller than even Mac Daddy's hometown in west-of-nowhere Wisconsin! I bet most people in the lower 48 consider Alaska a foreign country.

2) Her lack of experience is laughable. Imagine the crib sheets she's gonna need when asked who our top foreign enemies are and how would she deal with them. Could she name all those dictators we're dodging? I can't but I'm not on a presidential ticket. Some doofus on Fox News actually said he thinks Palin has great foreign policy experience because Alaska is close to Russia. Hardy har har! Those conservatives are funny. Or are they just stupid? I somehow think the guy was not joking.

3) Palin could be McCain's granddaughter. Ageism is alive and well as much as sexism is. But guess what? I don't want a geezer drilling holes in my teeth, cutting out my tumors, flying my 747, driving my son's school bus, or controlling the red button. I don't even want the shaky handed white haired lady with too much red lipstick in the creases of her mouth at the Chanel counter apply my eyeliner. Yes, I am an ageist. But look, the reality is I'm petrified (see point #4).

4) McCain is 72 years old. He has battled cancer 4 times. He's not a spunky guy by any stretch. Should he not fulfill his bucket list, America is left with an inexperienced vice president to take the helm. Not to be morbid, but this is a real concern. McCain has defied the odds over his lifetime. He's no cat with nine lives. Not a hep cat, fo sho. We're at war with two countries and face potential nuclear threats from two more. Do you really want a newbie to make the call?

5) Did I mention that McCain met Sarah Palin one time before choosing her as his running mate? One time six months ago. Geesh, arranged marriages in India start off with more intimacy than that! I bet Pawlenty feels pretty snubbed. Romney too. I have more years of experience in student government than Palin has in public service. And look, we're only 4 years apart in age. I bet some of my schools were bigger than the population of Wasilla, Alaska.

Now let me tell you what's on my mind from a mom's perspective. Sure, Sarah Palin is a mom. A working mom, a term that makes me shudder. WE ARE ALL WORKING MOMS FOR CRYING OUT LOUD!!! Now she's a hero for giving birth to a Down's Syndrome baby. Rather, a hero for keeping him. Devastating, no doubt. I'm not discounting the courage, faith, and unconditional love she and her family demonstrated. But listen, plenty of people have challenges and heartaches. I am so turned off that the media is using baby Trig as a pawn. What really eats me is that the McCain camp puts Palin on a pedestal because she is a working mom. If I hear one more thing about "from breast pump to Blackberry" I'm gonna poke someone's eyes out. This is a farce. Am I the only one to see the transparency of this decision?

In this case, the woman is spotlighted for balancing motherhood with her career, yet so many of McCain's policies and perspectives squash women. Fair wage? Nope. Education for women? Nope, they don't need it, remember? Maternity leave? Sure, unpaid and your job's not guaranteed. And healthcare for kids? Nah. Pull yourself up by those bootstraps and get yourself some of that tasty orange St. Joseph's aspirin. Palin is nothing more than an exploited pawn to make the McCain ticket look like it truly embraces the plight of the working mom and women in general. Seriously hanging-on Hillary supporters, are you going to fall for that? You are a smarter bunch than that. I could stomach Meg Whitman over Palin.

Does it really help women everywhere when Alaska magazine puts Palin on the cover with the headline "America's Hottest Governor?" Yeah, I get the double entrendre. The problematic piece is the subhead "she's more than just a pretty face." Excuse me while I upchuck in the corner. Would we ever, ever make such statements about a male?

Here are some talking points that Republicans committed to memory today (I know this because I hear them all saying the same thing over and over again. Cliches, all of them.):

She governs the biggest land mass state. I guess size does matter if you're Republican.

When Sarah puts her mind to something, she does it. Well, ain't such gumption sweet? Just what I want in my PTA president.

She's got grit. Whoa, cowboy! I live in a house of dirt, I don't need more grit.

She's a mother. Um, yeah (insert Office Space inflection here). Last I heard the same people who tout family values don't actually value motherhood. Ironic, no? Picture this, a Democratic woman has a baby and goes back to the rank and file of work in six days. Heroine or heretic? You bet your ass that the Republican pundits would declare her a disgrace who was unfit for motherhood as well as a hormonal twit unproductive in the workforce.

She's a hunter. Am I to be impressed that she shoots the caribou and fries it up in a pan? Someone alert Charley to make a new ad campaign. Oh, and someone actually said that moose is Palin's "favorite meat product." I don't have a favorite meat product. Isn't Spam a meat product? Is that really the best they could pull out for her bio?

She has a son with Down Syndrome and a son off to Afghanistan. As my friend Julie said, it's like they pulled Sarah Palin from central casting. Is she really a mob member in the witness protection program who's been given a new identity? Is Sarah Palin real or is she an avatar? Are we in Second Life?

Sarah Palin is the most loved governor in all of America. I bet I could find 670,000 to give me an approval rating of 80% too. Just give me time to find more friends on Facebook. Let's not forget that GW Bush had approval ratings in the 70s at one time, and look at what a complete ninny he has proven himself to be.

Now it's clear that I too am vexed by McCain's choice in running mate. More than vexed, I am sore. Sore that he's choosing a woman as a political pawn to win the election rather than really, really think about the long-term ramifications on our country. But I guess being self-centered is the Republican way.

Vote like your life depends on it. It does.

I love to vote. I never miss an election, no matter how much or how little attention it garners. I have registered to vote, and voted, in all four states I have lived in since the age of 18. Now I make it a point to take Bird and Deal with me to vote. They get to mark their own kid ballots through Kids Voting and don a little "I voted" sticker proudly. And don't think I don't take the chance to use my kids as billboards. We all go to vote sporting some form of Democratic party attire.

And here's the deal: I don't care how you vote. Just get off your ass and vote. Any TV you miss will be recapped online anyway. Register now before basketball frenzy erupts and your brain cells become a whirlygig of little orange bouncy balls. Read this post and register. Now. Go on. What are you waiting for? Dirt & Noise will be here when you get back.

In North Carolina, you must be registered as a Democrat or Unaffiliated in order to vote in the Democratic primary on May 6. The deadline is April 11th.

If you aren't a registered Democrat or Unaffiliated, register now:

http://my.barackobama.com/NCvote

If you are registered, learn more about what you can do to bring as many voters as possible into the political process:

http://my.barackobama.com/morevoicesNC

Register. Bring a friend.

Vote. Bring a friend.

Give a lift to someone who doesn't have one.

You don't have a right to bitch if you didn't cast a vote. Don't take voting for granted. Do you realize how many people before us and how many people in other countries don't benefit from the democratic process? We owe them. Parents who vote raise kids who vote when they come of age. Turn off your mute button and turn up the volume.

Rules to Live By

As a Rule...

I don't get my haircut at places where all the stylists are wearing Crocs.

I don't let anyone who looks like she's wearing make up give me a makeover at the Bobbi Brown counter.

I never dated a guy whose butt was smaller than mine.

I eat dessert every night (after the boys go to bed!).

I don't wear holiday themed sweaters, jewelry, or shoes.

I refuse to carry a diaper bag that looks like one.

I stick to stylish ensembles that work on playdates with the boys' friends or mine.

I make my kids eat food at the table. Water or milk in a lidded cup is the exception.

I consider myself a MILF...if I don't, no one else will.

I drink red or white depending on my mood or what's available, not based on what the wine snoots say.

I stay far, far away from the Hudson jean wearing, blinged out cell phone chatting, Burberry diaper bag toting, Prada loafer clad moms at the park. Ditto for their uber-smocked children who are still wearing Keds bumpers at age 5.

I read books. Real books. Like the kind without pictures, cardboard pages, or cellophane protective covers.

I serve two servings from the fruit and vegetable food group at dinner every night.

I make sure our family eats dinner together every single day. At the table. With no TV. No toys. No phone. No Crackberry.

I never vote Republican. EVER.

I embrace progressives, but really wish the earthy types would shave their legs and pits and bathe once in a while.

I take unposed photos of my children to document their myriad expressions of pure joy, utter defeat, and brotherly love.

I don't drive a minivan. No MILF does.

I buy myself fresh flowers for no reason. If I don't, only my dad will...twice a year anyway.

I surround myself with people who are smarter, funnier, handier, and kinder than I am.

I don't camp.

I don't like to touch nature. I just like to admire it from a porch with a Mojito in hand.

I don't stay in hotels that don't have internal hallways.

I don't let my boys go to school, or anywhere for that matter, in dirty clothes.

I carry Purell with me everywhere and use it incessantly.

I stash Chapstick in every purse, tote bag, glove compartment, drawer, and pocket I have.

I take Bird and Deal on an adventure of some kind or another every day.

I don't tolerate stupidity. Dumb people ruin everything.

I don't download music unless my friend Tony has endorsed it. Here's where you'll find him: http://www.croutonboy.typepad.com/

I play regular music in the car. I would crash if I had to endure some singalong children's chorus singing Barney faves. I am getting ill just thinking about it. There's no reason the kids can't enjoy Jimmy Buffett (minus "Why Don't We Get Drunk and Screw" of course), the B-52s, and the Beatles.

I don't kiss Mac Daddy if he isn't clean shaven. If I do, I break into massive hives. Trust me on this. Odd but true.

I don't buy shoes or jeans that hurt. Looks above comfort is a crappy way to live.

I slather on sunscreen. On myself. On my kids. Mac Daddy is more resistant to it than a 2-year old, and he's the one who's so white he's clear.

I leave painfully long, blabbering voicemail messages because the machine is a captive audience.

I don't take sleeping aids, though I haven't slept a straight seven hours in about 18 months now.

I have hardwood floors in my house.

I'm going to see my friends Shan and Chris at least once a year. Our boys became fast friends on our last visit to Minneapolis so I can't deny them that. Plus, Chris and Deal share a birthday, and Mac Daddy and Shan share a birthday. Our fates and friendship are inextricably intertwined.

I am verbose.

Can you make change?

For the first time in something like 20 years, North Carolina will perhaps have a voice in this Democratic primary. I am a voice of one, but I AM LOUD.

Barack My World

Looking for 17 minutes of inspiration? Check out this clip of Obama's victory speech in South Carolina. Now if only my state's primary counted for anything; it's after Super Tuesday. Way after.

The last few minutes are particularly inspiring. Fast forward if you have fewer than 17 minutes to spare.

Feeling Blue

A friend just gave me a bumper sticker that says 1.20.09. My 4-year old, who can recognize letters and numbers now, asked me the meaning of the sticker. Now I make up enough stuff, like what it's like in heaven and where all the suddenly misplaced toys from the bottom of the toy basket really went. I felt like this was a moment to really explain our values and tell the truth. So I said that the numbers mean the date that George Bush won't be our president anymore. I should have known from the cartoonish ticker-tape-in-the-brain look on Bird's face that he wasn't satisfied with the answer.

He went on to ask why that is so important that I have a sticker with the date on it. Now, I haven't been shy about bashing Bush and his cronies in front of my children. I at least do it with a happy lilt in my voice. Both boys know that Mommy and Daddy don't agree with Bush, and we generally leave it at that. Nevermind why the boys stomp on the Texas puzzle piece and handle it like it's been coated in elephant dung when they work on their US map puzzle. Nevermind that Bird sees Hummers on the road and says, "Mommy, that guy doesn't love the earth and he thinks he's so cool." Nevermind that both boys now point to any house over 2000 square feet and say it's obnoxious. I can't imagine where they learned all that crazy liberal chatter.

Anyway, Bird was really on the verge of pestering me for details about Bush so I had to come up with something. I started it after all. It went something like this:

"Mommy and Daddy don't agree with George Bush."

"Why not, Mommy?"

"Well, we care more about the earth and other people than George Bush does."

"What does he like if he doesn't like the earth and people?"

"He likes to make money. Plus, he made us go to war."

"What's a war, Mommy?"

Oh shit. Now Pandora's box is wide open and consuming me in total Lewis Carroll fashion.

"Well, a war is when soldiers fight each other for what they believe. The president makes the decision to start a war."

"Why did George Bush make the soldiers fight? Do they use guns? Can we visit a war? Have you ever seen a war? Why are we warring?"

"Nevermind about the war. Bush just doesn't make decisions to help the people in our country. That's why Mommy and Daddy are going to vote for a new president. Now how about watching some Cyberchase on TV now?"

Yes, I resorted to TV to end the conversation. I started something I couldn't finish. Clearly I'm not equipped to espouse the virtues of the blue view to a 4-year old. Am I creating political rebels...will my kids become Alex P. Keaton despite my liberal rants?

And lastly, when our nanny came over today, the very first thing my 2-year old said was "We don't like George Bush."

At least she said, "I don't either. That man's gotta go."