5:00 Fridays

I'm a bit obsessed with this year's election. Hard to tell, I know. I'm a card carrying Obama Mama and I want nothing more than a blue streak covering CNN's map of North Carolina come November 4. We have a Senate seat open and a heated governor's race this year. Women are running on the Democratic ticket for both races. An exciting time? A resounding yes! My worry is that both camps are running rather lame campaigns. They lack consistent and compelling messaging. There seems to be no positioning or personality. In essence, both candidates lack a brand. What they need is good old fashioned brand strategy. But that's just me the marketer talking.

I present today's drink in hope that my state will soon bleed blue. I don't care what shade, as long as it's blue.

Carolina Blue
1 oz gin (I'd use plain ol' Tanqueray here.)
1 oz Blue Curaçao (have lots left over from last week)
1 fresh lime (I repeat, not the cruddy fake stuff in a plastic lime-shaped bottle!)

You know the routine. Fill a shaker with crushed ice. Squeeze the juice from the whole lime into the shaker. Add the gin and Curaçao and shake well. Strain into a chilled cocktail glass garnished with a twist of lime.

Drink to a new definition of Feeling Blue!

His Future's Not Bright, Take Off the Blinders

I do not wish for a future like Levi Johnston's for my sons. The Republicans are saying "Life happens." In my world, Levi's situation feels more like "shit happens."

Take a look at Levi's MySpace page. He sounds like a typical uneducated, smart ass, punk, jock of a guy. Not the kind of gracious souled gentlemen I want my boys to become. I realize boys will be boys. The saying does not proclaim, however, that boys will be heathens. And if I had a daughter, hell if I'd want her to marry a guy like Levi. Take a look for yourself.

Excerpted from his MySpace page, Johnston boasts, "I'm a fuckin' redneck" who likes to snowboard and ride dirt bikes.

"But I live to play hockey. I like to go camping and hang out with the boys, do some fishing, shoot some shit and just fuckiin' chillin' I guess."

"Ya fuck with me I'll kick [your] ass," he added.

He also claims to be "in a relationship," but states, "I don't want kids."

His folks must be whiz bang proud. Yeah, I'm hip like the cool kids saying things like "whiz bang." I'm just happenin' like that, ya know.

I happen to know a few 18-year old boys. They are gracious, ambitious, polite, witty, and charming (not in an Eddie Haskell way). They have bright futures. The boys I knew when I was an 18-year old myself were as randy as the rest, but none would have sounded as egotistical, rude, and plain neanderthal as Levi Johnston. Nope, not son in law material for my girl (Granted, I don't have one.).

I'm simply saying that as a mother, I am appalled. Granted, perhaps naive too. When I read that MySpace page my heart jumped with a tinge of shame, worry, embarrassment, and even empathy for Mrs. Johnston. I am certain that she envisioned a different future for her son, as I do for mine. I am just struck my his seeming lack of empathy, brute ruggedness, and gross display of testosterone. What insecurity lurks behind all that machismo? I do not think those statements necessarily make the boy, but they sure lay one hell of a foundation.

Oh, and so much for not wanting kids. Is this guy really ready for fatherhood? I find it so unfair that we don't choose our parents. This child will come to the world with many strikes against him/her. Love is critical, yes. But what life lessons can a teenage mother and father impart when they have yet to experience life themselves? Cliche, perhaps. True, indeed. I write this without political motivation. I write this as a mother. As a 35-year old first time mother who still found herself floundering, hormonal, overwhelmed, awestruck, confused, excitable, moved, and impressionable.

Teaching abstinence in schools is plain irresponsible. The people who believe that teaching abstinence equates to taking the moral high ground might as well move to the lush savannahs of Africa and put their heads in the ground among a flock of ostriches.

Rockin' it.

I saw my coffee shop guys yesterday. They were yuckin' it up again with their usual backwoods panache. They sat outside since it was finally a spring day here, so the whole posse was shrouded in Joe Camel fumes. Cancer perfume, as I like to call it. A few of the gents were sporting cowboy hats and sweatshirts that had random sayings like "Autism Run 1998" and "University of Smith & Wesson." Hardy har har har. Them guys are funny, I tell ya! I didn't stick around to hear their shards of wisdom since I prefer to keep my kids away from places that leave them smelling like the ashtray in my dad's Chevy Malibu from back in the day.

I know that secretly Mac Daddy would love to be like the coffee shop guys when he gets old. He dreams of being a toothless curmudgeon sitting his ass in a rocking chair all day long, commenting on all the nonsense that passes him by. He'd for sure have a toothpick to pick the strawberry seeds out of the last three teeth in his mouth. He'd have dentures, but they'd sit in an Efferdent bath all day because he won't be bothered to deal with gluing them in. Mac Daddy will see aging as license to say and do what he pleases. Hmmmmm....much like a preschooler.

As for me, I see myself aging gracefully a la Audrey Hepburn. I plan on staying fit (well, at least as fit as I am now, which is certainly far from gold, or bronze, medal shape) and being hip enough to be cool but not too hip as to be precociously annoying. I dream about having a fabulous commercial grade kitchen with a fireplace and Architecture Digest caliber outdoor entertaining space. I guess I'll be whipping up mashed osso bucco for Mac Daddy and all his toothless buddies.

What a pair we'll make. Yin and Yang. Oliver and Lisa. Beauty and the Beast.

Sure, I also dream about a gloriously happy family with no signs of dysfunction, gorgeous grandchildren, and sons who are gainfully employed by Johns Hopkins Hospital as a brotherly surgical team. No one wants to hear me wax about that crap. Of course we all wish for world peace, or at least family harmony. We all want our children to be smart, fulfilled, and rich (Yes, rich. No one dreams of having poor children. Someone's gotta fund our long-term care.).

All of us, regardless of social stature, wealth, education, geography, or upbringing share the same goals and hopes for our families. It goes without saying that the whole world wishes for the same blah blah blah that beauty pageant contestants are made of.

As for me, I just want that iconic Chanel jacket before I'm too hunched over to rock it and too blind to admire myself in it.