I'm not going to waste a bunch of time bemoaning the results of the election.  I don't think any of us were surprised by the results, and I think you all know that my candidate didn't make it past the primaries.  Suffice it to say that on Election Day, I cast my vote with a heavy heart. 

Sure, there are some who will wonder "why vote, if you couldn't rally behind a candidate?"  Call it small town southern paranoia, but I firmly believe it is both a privilege and a responsibility for every American to vote, even when we have to hold our noses as we pull the lever (or punch the hole, or touch the screen, or check the box). 

But perhaps, because for the first time I couldn't rally behind a candidate, I began really considering what I think the role of a President should be, and how my views align with the political parties.  Not surprisingly, I realized that I don't really fit either category (how many Americans do?), but I also reached a level of clarity that I feel all of us could benefit from. 

It's so easy to say if you support civil liberties you're a liberal, and if you're wealthy you're a conservative, but those old assumptions are way off base.  The truth of the matter is that we have allowed the parties to divide us based on the slippery slope of values.

My family's minister told us prior to the election that we should vote based on The Bible (aka abortion).  Well, that's all well and good for good southern Baptists, but I'm not a southern Baptist, and I vehemently oppose the government mandating morality.  My own personal views are simply that: mine.  And anyone with a basic understanding of our government should realize that Roe v. Wade can't be overturned without a lot of grief from Congress and The Supreme Court.  The President is not (at least yet) all powerful.  So does it really matter what his personal views are regarding this hot topic?

Just for the record, let me also say my views are similar when it comes to the big proposition 8, which failed in CA.  Marriage is simply a symbolic act reflective of a commitment expressed in the heart.  Orientation is irrelevant in the mix, and the decision to wed a couple, whether they be gay, straight, biracial, bispecies, whatever is up to the church or mosque or synagogue or tent.  Let me point out one more thing: this debate over affording rights like hospital visitation and sharing of taxes, etc. should have nothing to do with sexuality.  If I want to give my redneck neighbor the right to decide whether to keep me on life support, that's my right.  Just as it's my friend's right to name his lover as his heir.

What has become crystal clear to me is that we have allowed government to place all sorts of restrictions on us in their pathetic attempts to dictate "good Christian values."  But consider this: the entire basis of our political bickering may just be that we, as a nation, have forgotten the bipartisan values on which we were founded.  Freedom of religion doesn't just mean freedom for Christians, just as all men being created equal doesn't just refer to those of European descent.  What it does mean is that it is our government's responsibility (and ours when the government gets led astray) to protect those rights, even as the face of our nation changes. 

It is also our responsibility to take some responsibility for our nation.  Paying a reasonable amount of taxes is part of our duty.  You see, where both the presidential candidates failed is in recognizing that in order to treat all men equally, you can't overtax one group and give freebies to another group.  As we've seen, all that does is create class warfare, which may I remind you is what began the Russian Revolution. 

Now, I know, you're thinking "I like my earned income credit, child tax credit, energy efficiency credit, etc.  Hey, I'm stepping on my own toes here too.  I've never actually had to pay in federal taxes at the end of the year, and because I'm what most would call the working poor, I've gotten the earned income credit my entire adult life.  But the question is did I really need it?  Honestly, no.  My basic needs were met, my son always had a Christmas that verged on ridiculous, and I was able to splurge on dinner at a really nice restaurant occasionally, all without the help of EIC.  Look around next spring and see how many people buy new cars with their tax refunds.  Does that mean they were relying on public transportation or their own feet the rest of the year?  In most cases, the answer is no.  

As for those living at the other end of the financial spectrum, is it really wrong for them to not want to be footing the bill for their new car as well as mine?  Not really.  Sure, there are plenty of greedy rich old white Republicans, but is it not also greed that makes us say "I didn't earn this tax incentive, but by God the government better give it to me."  There's a lot to be said for leveling the playing field (which does not mean making everyone poor, as in a Marxist or Communist regime), but by requiring that all capable citizens pay the same percentage of taxes.  A tax code set up like this automatically levels the playing field because even a third grader understands that 10% of $250K is more money than 10% of $20K, and yet is still fair.  Who knows?  Perhaps if everyone was paying the same amount, we all would be more likely to actually help our neighbors who face financial hardship, thus reducing the need (and yes, there is a need) for food stamps, WIC, and other government subsidy programs designed to actually help those who need financial assistance.

We have to get real, people, and take responsibility for our own failings in this government.  Sure there have been a lot of bad politicians, but who do you think elected them?  And how do you think they managed to make so many bad amendments and laws?  Because we sat back on our butts and said "let the government take care of it."  Well here's a news flash: the government, and more specifically the President, is not our Savior.  When we start treating him as such is when we're in big trouble.  And unfortuantely, that's the biggest fear I have had during this election cycle.

Now, don't think I'm blaming Obama for this.  We the people screwed ourselves with this one long before Obama's first primary by allowing George W. authority that a U.S. President should never have.  Wiretapping?  The right to go to war without Congressional consent?  The entire Patriot Act?  We created this king aka monster, and now we are simply replacing one with another in the cyclical transition from Republican to Democrat.  

"This is what the king who will reign over you will do: He will take your sons and make them serve... and others to make weapons of war.. He will take your daughters to be cooks and bakers.. He will take the best of your fields... He will take a tenth of your grain and give it to his officials... the best of your cattle he will take for his own use.. He will take a tenth of your flocks and you yourselves will become his slaves." I Samuel 8:11-17     

Maybe you don't like my Biblical reference, and that's certainly your freedom of religion endowed right!  But consider the parallels between this ancient scripture and the rise of Communism and Nazism.  Quite frankly, there are so many similarities between our nation's current conditions and pre-Hitler Germany that it's almost like deja vu.  A crumbling economy, growing poverty, huge unemployment, fear of terrorism, a divided nation... I could go on and on.  But remember this: before he came to office, Hitler never said anything about not liking Jews. 

I'm not saying all this to bash our President Elect, though I do admit great reservations about his relationship with Isreal, a country I believe we must protect and embrace.  I say all these things because regardless of whose face is in the Oval Office, we need to check ourselves, demand the same accountability of ourselves that we claim to demand of politicians, and quit looking to our elected officials to be our Messiahs.

You know, I'm beginning to understand what that old woman felt like.  As you know, I've said many times that the Lord knew what he was doing only blessing me with one child.  Don't get me wrong - I love mine to pieces, and wouldn't trade him for all the fame and fortune in the world.  But I readily admit that I'm selfish.  I like having me time.  I like for things to be done my way.  And I wouldn't change for a minute the kind of close relationship you develop with a child when it's only two of you, growing up together in a way.  (I'm sure a couple of you remember the sometimes painful growing pains I went through back in the day.)

But now I find myself playing the role of mom to a house full of boys on any given Sunday.  Every Sunday, to be precise.  (I'm so glad I haven't traded in Patty, the mom mobile yet, though I'm wondering now if I need to upgrade to a 15 passenger.) 

For those of you who do have a house full of kids, you understand where I'm coming from when I say that once a group of teenage boys basically moves into your house, your life is no longer your own.  First of all, you spend a large portion of your time cooking.  For those doubters who have never experienced or don't fully believe the amount of food a teenage boy can put away, let me just give you some statistics: 3 boys can devour 4 dozen cookies and a case of cokes in 2 hours.  Likewise, they can then eat a hearty meal with all the food groups represented, along with half a chocolate cake less than 2 hours later.  If this rate of consumption continues, I'll have to request my own economic bailout plan, namely food stamps, in order to prevent a crash in my pantry's inventory.

Fortunately, these boys pretty much are fine left to their own devices.  However, this does not mean that you can actually do your own thing while they're glued to the xbox or ps2.  I assure you even the most avid reader like myself can not concentrate on a book when Run To The Hills is blaring from the bedroom.  It's even challenging watching football because you can't hear the calls.  And the lazy Sunday afternoon nap?  Forget about it!  Nope, you're lucky if you have time to have a cigarette in peace and quiet on the front porch before one of said boys decides to become your shadow while you're trying to do laundry and clean up the dishes they left in the sink. 

Still, I wouldn't trade the friendships my son has made, or the fact that I now officially have 2 adopted sons.  (For some unknown reason neither of them, though they are both of above average intelligence, can remember my name, and therefore just call me Mom.) 

First, there's Mr. Style.  He's this brilliant kid, a computer nerd really, though he has great fashion sense, and is the traditional old school player.  (At last count he had 3 girlfriends.)  He is the most polite young man I have ever met, and unlike my son, who knows that I'm a total softy, when I tell him to do something, he jumps.  He knows how to charm women of all ages, with his puppy dog eyes and outgoing personality.  Mark my words... this one is the next Barack Obama. 

Then there's Mr. Rebel Without A Cause.  Y'all, I just thought my son was big.  This kid is like 6'3" and 240 pounds.  And he's one of those kids who really wants to be good, but doesn't have any good role models at home.  He's one of those quiet kids who just wants someone to notice him, but like many kids who are "blessed" with being big for their age, really doesn't want people to notice his size, which of course is the first thing everyone notices about him.  Of all the boys, he's the one who most needs a hug, but, not surprisingly, he's the least receptive to it.  He's not adopted me yet, but I'm working on him!  He's in a tough spot, and I just hope that he'll get everything worked out.

Finally, there's My Baby.  No, not my son, who is and always will be my 1 Baby.  But this is my officially adopted son, who I would actually allow to move in should the need ever arise.  He's this skinny kid, whose pants barely stay up, not because he's one of those who wears them down around his butt on purpose, but because he's just that little.  Like my own son, he has this big, curly brown hair that looks like it's never seen a hairbrush.  And he is, like me, a total chocoholic.  (Hence the freshly made chocolate cake or brownies or chocolate chip cookies I prepare everytime he comes over.)  He's the kid who just loves the fact that we actually have a big sit down family meal, and who, when the others are engrossed in Halo, (he's a Rock Band and Guitar Hero kind of guy) will literally follow me around the house like a lost puppy.  

The more time this group of mismatched, rag tag boys spends at my house, the more I think of them as a rock band.  Each has a distinct personality, and to outsiders they seem like unlikely partners.  You've got your spastic drummer, who just wants to love and be loved by everybody, (and a piece of chocolate cake); then you've got your troubled bassist, who desperately needs some tough love and an intervention plan; then there's the mellow, kinda quiet guitarist, who hates being the center of attention, but loves being complimented; and then finally you've got your singer, the charismatic, natural ringleader, who has the look that sells records, but who listens to music on his Ipod that his bandmates would totally throw him out over.   

I used to always say spring was my favorite time of year.  You know, the sun reappears, the flowers start blooming, and you can trade your big fuzzy Betty Boop slippers (or is that just me?) for sandals.  I'm seriously reconsidering this notion, though, now that fall is upon us.

I've come to the realization that fall is a wonderful season, even if you don't live in a part of the country where leaves actually turn colors before they're blown away.  The mornings are just cool enough to pull out your comfy flannel pants, the fair comes to town, Halloween is just around the corner, summer re-runs finally come to an end, and the weekends mean football. 

You know, everyone talks about the lazy days of summer, but for me, fall is all about laziness.  My body obviously has this internal clock that knows it's about time to turn the clocks back, and I start finding it harder and harder to get out of bed in the morning, and even harder to get off my duff and do anything.  The nip in the air is the perfect excuse (once I drag myself out of bed) to curl up in my flannel pants, sweatshirt, and ponytail, with a pack of cigs and a good book.  (editor's note: my good book I'm working on right now is Kushiel's Mercy, the latest installment in Jacqueline Carey's series.  If you like to read AT ALL, let me recommend this series.  Fantasy, history, intrigue, and slightly kinky sex all come together in this beautifully written tale.) 

Laziness brings me to my next favorite part of fall.... football.  I love football... all of it.  From high school, to college, to NFL, I'm there.  My father is one of those 10 men in the world who thinks it's a stupid sport, but what could be better than watching big burly guys knock each other out running after a ball?  Although I admit that most players today aren't nearly as big as they used to be.  Shoot, my son's bigger than some of those guys!  Still, watching a game is my version of therapy.  I can jump up and down, yell, curse, and when it's all over, I feel rejuvenated.  In fact, this past weekend, the only things I did were laundry and watch football.  (And the only reason I bothered with landry was because I knew my son would need clean jeans for school.)  I think I bathed once or twice and brushed my teeth, but I make no promises.  My family was fed, but dinners were quick, easy fix meals  planned around kickoff.  Fortunately, my family isn't picky, and they're willing to exist off wings and chips and salsa (and hamburger helper if they're lucky) when I get in the throes of football fever. 

Football isn't the only thing that makes me a couch potato in early fall, though.  After a summer of relying on Blockbuster and the library to provide me with anything to watch, re-runs finally end and new shows debut.  Unfortunately, this season doesn't promise much in the way of interesting new series.  I'm intrigued by My Own Worst Enemy, the new Christian Slater (whom I used to totally adore) Dr Jekyll/Mr. Hyde drama, but most of the shows make me want to say "They cancelled Moonlight for this??!"  The new 90210 show is completely different from the original, and really hokey (yes, more so than the old one), so if you're looking for a travel down memory lane, forget it.  Kelly is nothing like the snob she was in high school, and Brenda, who used to be the beautiful conniving heifer everyone wanted, is less conniving and even less beautiful, though she is somewhat of a heifer now. 

My personal pick for this season: Gossip Girl.  I know, I know.  My son tells me it's weird that his mom watches the same shows as the girls in his school, but Gossip Girl is one of those shows that is totally juvenile, and yet totally addictive.  I have never seen a network show that is more erotic (I promise you, if I were 10 years younger and had $500K for a total body makeover, I would be all over Chuck Bass.  Although, even on my best day, I'd look more like Vanessa than Blair, which means Chuck would still be out of my league.)  Still, the show offers a study in all those literature themes you studied in high school, and even if you aren't from the Upper East Side, you probably will see a little bit of yourself in at least one of the characters.

Ok.  Enough about my little Chuck Bass fantasy world.  Let's move on to the fair.  Yep, you all know how much I love it, despite the smell of old grease and even greasier carnies.  This year is going to be tough for me though, because I'm letting my son go without me for the first time.  (Yeah I know, overprotective mother).  I'm actually still debating whether I will attend.  Of course my mouth's already watering thinking about the caramel apples and cotton candy, but after last year's near death experience, I'm not sure I'm ready to jump right back on that twisty tale of terror ride.  (And don't ask me the name of it, because I have no memory for those sorts of things.)  Basically, it was this thing where you sit in this chair with one flimsy little bar clamped around your midsection, and then you get spinned around in every direction and upside down, and then tossed around like you're a strawberry in a blender.  Word of advice: sunglasses are not made to survive the twisty tale of terror ride.  Second word of advice: never take your kids on the twisty tale of terror with you.  They'll hear Mommy use all sorts of language they've only ever heard on cable.  Final piece of advice: if you don't believe in God, you will by the time your ride ends.  I can honestly say I have never in my life prayed so feverishly and so sincerely as I did while trapped in this torture device. (Not even when I was delivering my son and promised to never have unprotected sex again if He would just make this thing come out!  Little did I know that God would ensure this promise was kept by not granting me ANY sex!) 

But I digress.  The final reason I adore fall is Halloween.  As many of you know, Halloween is my absolute favorite holiday.  The scary movies, the candy, the superstitions, the bonfires.. what's not to love?  I guess it's the goth coming out in me, but I love any excuse to wear dramatic makeup and push the envelope of what's appropriate.  However, for a number of reasons, I'm giving up my old standby costumes of Catholic school girl, gypsy, or S&M  chick for something a little less exotic.  This year I'm seriously considering investing in a little face paint and some control top hose and going as Madea.  After all, I already have the glasses, and by Halloween my hair dye will have faded enough that I'll have the gray hair.  And if I keep up this sitting on my butt watching tv and eating chocolate, I may even have the figure.       

Well, it's official.  School's back in, and I don't know about y'all, but I personally believe it's much more stressful for parents than it is for the kids.  Supplies, fees, lunches, clothes, homework, making sure your kid actually talks to people.... I've developed a whole new respect for my parents.  Maybe it's just magnified for me because my son made the switch from private to public school.  And let's face it, public schools totally pamper their students.  For the first time ever, my son doesn't have catered lunches, and is learning about the dreaded caf cuisine.  He's also learning that if you forget your lunch in the fridge at home, sometimes it's better just to skip lunch than to spend that $1 on something like cardboard pizza.  Coming from a kid who can eat an entire Taco Bell Grande Meal, I have to assume that the pizza truly is revolting, and unlike Steven Baldwin's claim in the movie Threesome, not all pizza is like sex.  (If you don't get this movie reference, you've missed a truly great film of the ages.  Visit your local Blockbuster to learn more.)

Then there's the issue of appearance.  My son is far from goth or punk rocker.  However, now that he has the freedom of no school uniforms, his usual attire is faded jeans and t-shirt promoting some random rock band.  Did you know that AC/DC shirts are a violation of dress code because they're suggestive?  Yep.  First day, and my kid gets stopped by the Clothing Police, which means that two of his school shirts get knocked out.  He also has two or three tees with skulls on them... one is a very cool Guitar Hero tee, but after the run-in with the Gestapo, he's not brave enough to wear those either.  So, there's a week's worth of clothes relegated to the "only wear to youth" stack.  Kinda ironic how clothes can be deemed inappropriate for school and yet perfectly fine for a church group, huh?  And of course those of you who know him, are probably already wondering about the issue of his hair.  Granted, I don't know how much "THE CODE" is enforced since a girl in one of his classes has lime green hair (I promise I'm not kidding), but according to THE CODE, boys are not to have hair longer than their collars.  (Sigh)  I guess we have a little bit of a reprieve there since, like me, my son's hair doesn't really grow longer, just bigger, but then in a couple weeks he may be in violation of the "no poufy afros" rule.  I swear, I predicted when I was in high school that the yuppies were taking over the world.  

Then we turn to the topic of schedules.  Unfortunately, my son is multi-talented, which means that he has a hard time fitting in all his classes he has to take along with the classes he wants to take.  We discovered this at registration, when his counselor looked at us like we were nuts for saying he needed to be in band as well as Talented Art.  (Is there some rule that you can't be a musician and a sketch artist?)  Anyway, we managed to get around the requirements because Guidance Counselor Extraordinaire said band would fulfill his PE requirements.  See, they have this little rule now that says you have to take PE in your freshman year, which means there's not enough hours in the day to take PE, Band and Talented Art.  Still, we think the problem is solved, and my son, who really hates sports anyway, is happy.  Until of course, his band director informs him that he's been placed in the wrong band class, and the one he is in doesn't count as PE.  Great.  Back to the drawing board.  So, today (hopefully) band director, Geometry teacher (the class he's going to have to swap around), guidance counselor, and we are going to get things fixed so that he isn't in violation of freshman schedule policies too.   

There is, however, one area that is time consuming, but not a problem for us, though probably is for lots of families.  Like all schools today, they have a website with teacher web pages so parents of emo kids can know what the heck is going on in their kid's life.  For me, this is a good thing because my son is already pre-alzheimer's, and suffers from CRS.  But, what about those families that don't have home pc's?  Really, I know it's hard for those of us who are addicted to comprehend, but there really are people out there who don't have the web at their fingertips.  And since there are some teachers who specifically say they post assignments online (that they don't tell you about in class), I'm really baffled by this.  Does that mean that poor kids have to go to the library or a friend's house every day to see if they have surprise homework?  Yep.  The yuppies are definitely taking over the world.

I know, it's time to get off my soap box.  And all in all, I'm good with his choice in high school (even though they were my alma mater's arch rival).  Let me leave you though with a little humor.  My father is known as the king of anti-technology.  When he finally started using a computer (after my son learned how to use one), he literally had arrows drawn on the CPU with a black sharpie so he knew what button to push to turn on the pc. 

But I digress.  Yesterday I played chauffeur, and as I was driving down the highway, my father, Mr. Backseat Driver, asks "What is 'wiffy'"?  Raising my eyebrows in one of those questioning arches, thinking maybe I misunderstood, I say "what?"  So he asks again, and adds that the hotel we just passed has a sign saying they offer "free wiffy."  When it dawns on me that what my dad is referring to is WiFi, I nearly have a wreck, because I'm laughing and crying so hard that I can't see where I'm going.  So folks, your lesson for the day is this: driving with senior citizen passengers can be a road hazard.  To ensure proper safety, make sure all seniors are securely fastened in their straight jackets... er um... seatbelts and that their mouths are duct taped to prevent the emission of stupid questions.      

Ok, so I admit I'm usually pretty slow to adapt to new technology.  I refused to buy CDs until cassettes were totally obsolete, and I didn't break down and buy a DVD player until you could no longer buy new movies in VHS format.  I just have a certain respect for things of the past, and I certainly don't like change. 

Since I am also relatively antisocial, and absolutely despise talking on the phone, I am also typically unimpressed by cell phones that allow me to play music, text, make a movie, and floss my teeth all with the push of a single button.  I totally don't understand people who pay hundreds of dollars and stand in line for hours to buy something like the new iphone.  And since I have a hate-hate relationship with phones in general, I don't pay money for a new cell phone, period.  If I get a new phone, it's because it was free and Cingular (I refuse to adapt and call them AT&T) sent me a notice that it was time to upgrade my phone. 

I got one of these notices about a week ago, and so I went online to see what I could get.  Since cell phone companies have now created this conspiracy where they offer no decent ringtones in their standard list of tones, and since I refuse to use a cell phone for internet service (I have a pc, thank you very much, with a screen big enough that I can actually see what I'm browsing for), I decided to select a phone with bluetooth (something new for me) so that I could get some decent ringtones from my son.  One added feature was that the phone I selected also happens to be USB compatible, meaning I could even hook up to my media library and use some of those songs.  YAY!  This was a big deal for me, because it meant that I could actually use my new favorite song, SOLA, as my ringtone.  YAY!

Enters my tech savvy teenage son.  Wouldn't you know he has this nifty little program he loaded on my pc called Wavepad.  Yes, probably most of you are familiar with and have even used the program, since we've already established that I'm not exactly a technology guru.  But, in case there are a few others of you like me, who are just old enough to still be impressed by these sorts of things, let me tell you how really freakin cool this software is. 

I knew I wanted specific parts of songs for my ringtones, such as the chorus for SOLA, as well as the intro guitar riff of Play With Me.  Well, my kid just popped copies of said songs into Wavepad, did a little cut and paste, and voila!  A new ringtone, custom made for me.  Then I said ok, what if I want the opening riff of say Sweet Child of Mine, but then I want to cut it and just have the "Oh, oh oh oh sweet child of mine" at the end?  No problem!  (Except that I wanted it a tad too long, so we have to cut it down a little more.)  And that opening on Play With Me?  Cut it, copy it, and you can have it repeated like 4 times to make a very cool tone.  Needless to say I am way impressed and have spent the last couple days obsessing over music selections. 

And since it is so easy to add cool ringtones, now I'm becoming one of those people who has certain tones assigned to certain people.  My son, once we get it cut down, will have Sweet Child of Mine, of course.  My ADHD bipolar newphew?  Headstrong.  My sister?  Material Girl.  (Her ringtone for me is Black Betty... what do our choices tell you about our relationship???)  But here's my dilemma... what tone do I use for my mom?  Cause you know, if you use music as a symbol of your relationship with a person, you can't exactly choose something dark for your mom.  Unless, of course, you're Charles Manson or something.  Plus, if your mom is like mine, she's probably the most frequent caller, so you definitely want it to be a song you like.  (For now, she's assigned SOLA, simply because that way I can hear it frequently.)  But let's face it, my mom's not exactly a Motley kinda chick.  So, suggestions anyone? 

Here's my question though.  Is doing this legal?  Not that I'm anti-illegal downloading.  (We've already established that back when I got a virus.)  But you know, if the FBI is going to come after me, I'd at least like to know why.  And of course, I try not to do illegal stuff with things from artists I respect.  That's why I paid for Motley's new album, and why I don't buy bootleg copies of Johnny Depp movies.  So, if I paid for the cd, loaded it into my pc, then edited a song in Wavepad and sent it to my phone, are men in black suits going to come after me?  Somebody in the know please tell me, so I can delete this post if need be. 

First of all, happy early 4th to everyone!  It sort of sneaked up on me, and I'm totally unprepared.  Fortunately we don't have any big plans, beyond the typical cooking like crazy (as if any of us really need 5 meats plus potato salad, dessert, etc.), and going to see the fireworks on the river.  The economy being what it is, we're not providing our own show this year.  But still, what's more American than grilling up some chicken, burgers, ribs and whatnot, putting back some beers (or other alcohol of choice), and blowing up stuff?  We're a fat, rebellious, aggressive people, we Americans, so what better way to celebrate the day that symbolizes our birth?  (But don't get me started on the whole Native American debate of who actually owned the land, because I could go on for hours and end up being depressed and thinking we're all just a bunch of warmongers.)

Ok, now that we've covered politics, (well, not really, but I refuse to discuss Dumb and Dumber aka our presidential candidates), let's move on to the equally taboo topic of religion.  Earlier this week I was watching the DaVinci Code for about the 900th time, and it once again got me wondering what this big deal is about the possibility that Mary Magdalene was married, shacked up or whatever, and had children with Christ?  Seriously, though.  Does the fact that Christ may possibly have had offspring somehow diminish his miracles and teachings?  Personally, I think it's a conspiracy covered up by those disturbed religious extremists who try to brainwash us all into thinking that sex is a sin.  Come on!!  It's necessary to perpetuate the wonder of God's creation, and for many people, it is the most spiritual act they will ever experience.  What the heck is sinful in that? 

As a side note on the whole Magdalene conspiracy theory, let me ask this: has anyone else wondered why none of the Magdalene scholars ever mention New Orleans in their history of the societies that supposedly guarded the secret of a royal bloodline?  Maybe I'm the only nerd who has actually read more than one book about the topic, but there's all these references to the fleur de lis (the symbol of New Orleans), as well as the belief that Magdalene excaped to a region of France that included provinces such as Toulouse, Pyrenees, Chatres, and others.  Does anyone else find it strange then that the "old" New Orleans, the Vieux Carre or better known as the French Quarter, is filled with streets by these names?  Granted, it was a French city, but with all the documented proof of Masons and other groups being an integral part of our founding fathers, I just gotta believe that these streetnames and the ever present Saints logo were adopted for better reasons than just because they sounded and looked cool.  It also probably explains why so many people say they just feel something different when they go to New Orleans. 

Ok, ok, I know... you're thinking shut up already with the history lesson!  (I truly can't help it though; I'm a History Channel nerd), but I'll spare you from anymore rantings (I think).

Another thing that has caught my eye is one of the ads here on Myspace.  You know, those annoying banners across the top of your page that you try to ignore, but occasionally one catches your eye?  Anybody else seen the one for plentyoffish.com?  Sure you have... it's the one for some online dating site or something that claims they delete people unworthy of dating.  Ok, so here's my question: who determines whether their members are worthy of dating?  What criteria is used?  Cause I gotta tell you, there are plenty of Brad Pitt look-alikes running around out there who would probably be a lot of women's dream men.  But for me?  They need not apply.  And hey, I feel quite sure there are plenty of men out there who would consider me undateable.  Let's face it, I'm far from being any Pamela Anderson, or Sandra Bullock (depending on whether you're a T&A man or an American Pie kinda man), and I'm just plain not that nice.  But surely there's somebody out there who would find me dateable (not that I would really know of course because I'm a hermit, and therefore am never out in public to determine whether I'm dateable.)  However, over the years I've dated plenty of guys who would never make the top 10 list of a lot of women.  (I think we've already established that I have a weakness for nerds and long-haired hippies.)  So, the whole concept seems kinda whacked to me.  You want my opinion?  Anybody using an online dating site is undateable. 

And now, for those of you who look forward to seeing what video game I'm going to talk about this time: it's Singstar.  (80's editon, of course, because we all know that there have only been about 5 decent bands since 1989.)  I know, I know, how nerdy is it to play a karaoke game at home?  Still though, I'd been looking at this game for a while, and finally my kid decided yesterday that he just had to have it... and I persuaded him to choose 80's edition over Amped, because, seriously, what allegedly "amped" game doesn't have music by Crue, GNR or Van Halen?  (They're brainwashing your kids, people, into believing that Warrant is hardcore!)  Anyway, Singstar is pretty fun (Josh, this game is right up your alley, hon), but with only 30 songs, I can already see that it'll get old really fast.  One plus side to it is that the original videos for most of the songs are playing in the background as you're singing.  Anybody remember the last time they saw a Twisted Sister video?  Now there's a trip down memory lane.  And it's kinda cool to show your kids how you used to dress and have them give you that look of combined shock and horror, debating if that means you actually might have been a little bit cool at one time, or that you were even weirder than they thought. 

Speaking of great music from the 80's, I'm like little girl giddy with the release of Motley Crue's new album.  I don't have it in hands yet, cause it's being shipped, but I've listened to the songs on those huge like 1975 headphones they have at the record store, and let me tell you, it's awesome.  LAMF is a strange detour from their usual style, but the rest is traditional, wonderfully wild Crue.  But let me tell you, having one of your all time favorite bands from your childhood release a new album really makes you realize your age.  I read an interview with Nikki Sixx (my personal dreamworld fantasy man) and Mick Mars, and they were talking about whether Crue would still be together in another 20 years, to which Mars responded "God I hope not, I'll be 77."  Sheesh!!  Talk about putting things in perspective.  And with his degenerative bone disease (something I know a little about thanks to my dad), he'll probably be in a wheelchair by then.  I mean seriously, think about all the crazy contraptions they created for Tommy's drums over the years -- but I don't know if even those masterminds could come up with a way for Mick to move around on stage in another 20 years.  (not that he moves around a lot now, but still.)  So while it's heartwarming and exciting to see a group of "mature" guys still defining good rock music, it's also a little bit sad to realize that the end is in sight.  Especially for those of us who can't cough up the gas money (cause you know, it's not like they ever come here!) or ticket money (do you know there are tickets for the Dallas show that cost over $400??? -- geez, that's like Sugar Bowl tickets) to see Cruefest this summer.  Where's Daddy Warbucks when a girl needs him???  

Another thing I've been thinking about lately is swimming pools.  I've decided I understand why so many people don't have them.  Cause let me tell you, unless you have a pool boy, they're a lot of freakin' work!  If I had a full-time job, I'd never be able to keep the pool clean.  Especially in this oh so wonderful climate of ours that causes algae to grow in anything that sits still for more than 2 hours.  And why is it that they never make the filtration pump big enough to keep the whole pool debris free?  There's always one corner that the pump isn't strong enough to reach, and so you're always having to use a skimmer like your pool is a big pot of stew, and stir up the water really good to bring all the nasty bugs and stuff up to the top and get them out.  Which, let me tell you, is not an easy job.  And because I'm not ambidextrous, I'm afraid that by the end of the summer my left arm will be significantly larger than my right one, giving me the appearance of one of those mutant third world babies with one shrunken arm.     (Do you suppose plentyoffish would reject me then?)

One final thought before I start my weekend festivities: have you seen the piece about Regis Philbin getting embarrassed over his co-host telling him how watermelon is like Viagra?  (And don't worry, Regis, I was uneducated about this too.)  But, a lightbulb sort of went off when I read the headline (and please don't take this to think that I'm some racist redneck, because I promise I am far, far from it), but here was my thought: that's why they say once you go black, you never go back.  Obviously though, the black man I dated (well, we'll call it dating) in college didn't get his recommended daily serving of watermelon.  So, this fourth, eat up your watermelon, boys!  You may just experience some explosions of your own. 

There's a new show being advertised that will pair teens who think they want to have a baby up with real live babies for a certain period of time in the hopes of scaring them out of getting pregnant.  Well, I'm a long way from being a teen anymore, though I was one of those who got pregnant too early (not intentionally), but I can assure you that the last two weeks have reaffirmed my affirmation that God knew what he was doing when he bestowed me with only one child, and that any other babies probably would have drowned in a swimming accident.

As some of you know, my bro-in-law worked for GM, and when the plant closed, he was able to sit on his duff and earn most of his regular annual income.  However, he had to respond immediately should he get called to another plant.  Well, that time came around my birthday, and now he is working in St. Louis.  (Actually the plant is in some little bitty town outside St. Louis, but it's all the same.)  In the meantime, my sis and nephew are still here, until he gets settled in, and she hopefully gets a job at the State Farm HQ, also in St. Louis.  (She worked for SF for like 100 years before they too got out of Dodge.)  Anyway, the point of the story is that now they have nothing to do with their wonderful little ADHD bipolar 10 year old darling who only eats mac and cheese and chicken nuggets.

Enter the coolest aunt in the world.  (Moi)  Not that I mind helping out.  I actually do love kids that I can send home, but as my own son has matured, I've gotten away from the bustle of figuring out ways of keeping hands constantly busy.  You see, not only am I the coolest mom and aunt in the world, but I am the proud parent of the coolest teen in the world.  We spend lots of time together, watching movies, playing Guitar Hero, swimming, etc., but he understands that even the best mom in the world needs some downtime.  He knows that when I pick up my book and glasses (have I mentioned I finally had to get reading glasses?) that it's time to go entertain yourself.  He also knows that, while I am an early riser, don't talk to me until I've had a minimum of two cups of coffee and an equal number of cigs.  He's not a picky eater, and other than needing the occasional reminder that if he eats popcorn every day he will end up in the ER needing his appendix removed, he's extremely low maintenance.

Enters the adorable ADHD bipolar 10 year old linebacker.  He wakes up earlier than I do.  And as soon as his feet hit the floor, and he's taken his Geodon, he's ready to be entertained.  You see, he's basically incapable of entertaining himself.  His parents ensure he carries his Nintendo DS everywhere he goes, but with him there is no such thing as a one player game.  His mouth never quits running, telling you about the Pokemon he's captured, or better yet the Germans he's killed (he has a propensity for war games), until after 10-15 minutes, when he's decided it's time to move on to something else.  And the best part?  He despises the video games that I like and am capable of playing.  It took me three days to convince him to try GH, and then he developed a tic because he was concentrating so hard on trying to get through "I Wanna Be Sedated" on EASY!  Believe me, Slash has no competition there.

Of course, any time you have two kids with three or more years between them, there are bound to be personality clashes.  And of course it doesn't help matters that my child is used to being mainly around adults and therefore is mature for his age, compared to my wonderful ADHD bipolar nephew, who for obvious reasons, is immature for his age.  So, what do you do to keep two opposite young boys happy?  You go to the movies.  Yup, Ninja Panda... or whatever that Jack Black movie is called, was the only peace I got last week.  Swimming?  My son can spend 3-4 hours in the pool, lounging, swimming laps, playing with water guns.  But my wonderful ADHD bipolar nephew?  Maybe 30 minutes.  Video games?  They keep my son entertained for hours.  Except that as mentioned earlier, my wonderful ADHD bipolar nephew likes war games, while my son likes GH, The Sims, DK, The Godfather... basically any game other than war games.  The only game they agreed on was Halo, but of course then my wonderful ADHD bipolar nephew got mad because my son kept shooting him down with a sniper rifle.  (Of course with that I could sympathize, since I'm lucky if I kill him once during a 20 minute split screen.)  Oh, and as an aside... I've reaffirmed that while I may no longer be able to say I don't like shooting games, playing Halo has taught me that I shouldn't play shooting games!  I really believe all the psychologists now who say those things will make kids violent.  I've cussed, hit, growled, name-called, whined and pouted since I've taken up the battle rifle.  Now, back to the kids.

Food is always a big enticement for kids, and meal time is often the one time that is calm.  Well, that would be just fine, except that, as mentioned earlier, my wonderful ADHD bipolar nephew doesn't eat anything!  I mean, sure he eats, otherwise he wouldn't look like a future linebacker, but he doesn't eat any real food.  I mean, who ever heard of not liking Taco Bell?!  The one night I cooked at home we had breakfast for supper because pancakes and sausage are some of the few items both on his diet list and in my house.  Well, except for ice cream.  And while typically I would never allow a child to eat ice cream more than once a day, I've reached the point now where I don't care if the kid ends up looking like Porky Pig, so long as he'll eat it.

As many of you know, I'm really a laid back sort of parent.  Not much freaks me out, and as long as I know where and with whom my child is, I pretty much believe in letting him have freewill.  (The product of having so many friends with overprotective parents who ended up flunking out of school, addicted to drugs, or just plain being useless individuals.)  Other than the occasional time when my son gets overzealous in a tickle fight, I rarely raise my voice, and I honestly couldn't tell you the last time he was grounded.  All that spare the rod crap just isn't how I believe a child should be raised.  However, my wonderful ADHD bipolar nephew seems to bring out the worst in me, and after two days with him, I start threatening to turn into Madea.  Of course my son knows that I never really would be a Madea, because I'm anti-belts, but he also recognizes that look in my eye that says "You better shut the hell up and act right before I lay you out in the middle of this floor."  As if I would ever actually lay him out, but hey, you gotta always make them wonder.  Well, let's just say I made that Madea threat, (more than once) and I got that look in my eye, (more than once) and my wise son warned my nephew that he better start behaving.  After the first time of pulling off on the side of the road and playing drill sergeant, he sort of got the hint, thankfully.  Because, you know, I didn't want to have to explain to his mom where all the bruises came from.

And the best part of my adventure?  I get to have it all over again this week!  Although fortunately my wonderful ADHD bipolar nephew is spending a few days with his other grandma early this week, which is why I am on the computer now.  What I really should be doing is cleaning the house, but after cleaning for the past three days and still feeling overwhelmed, thanks to the sticky fingerprints and grass in the pool caused by my wonderful ADHD bipolar nephew, I sorta feel like Jack Nicholson in The Witches of Eastwick.  What's the point of cleaning when it's just going to get messed up again? 

So, here are the morals of my story:

1.  Always use protection.

2. The makers of Geodon should be sued because their product doesn't do crap to help wonderful ADHD bipolar kids.

3.  There is a Madea in all of us.

4.  Sometimes it's ok to throw up your hands and say I don't care if my kid turns into a fat little ice cream eating linebacker.  As long as you make sure he wears pants that actually fit him and a belt so you don't have to see his fat little butt crack when he does a cannonball in the pool.  (Would somebody please tell my sister this!) 

Schoooool's out for summer!  (rest)  (Private) Schoooool's out forever!  YES!!  I truly think I'm more excited about this than my son.  But hey, no more uniforms, no more chapel, no more evil headmistress, and no more AR... at least for 3 months.  So, now that we're moving to the public school program, I have to look back and ask.. was it worth it?

Hmm, let's see... $35K and years of seeing my son in the same white shirt and khaki pants every single day, except for Wednesdays.  Can't say that I'll miss either one of those.  And how many times have I lamented over the fact that I could have my new Honda Element with that $35K?  Still, for the last 8 years I've never once worried that someone would offer my kid drugs (at school anyway).  And, thanks in part to the good genes he inherited from moi, and in part to the private school education he received, he's in perfect position for a virtually free college education. 

And, since I discovered that his grading scale, since he will be in all GT and Honors classes, is like 90 and above for A's.... high school's gonna be a breeze.  All I can say is, despite his laziness and propensity for video games, if I managed to pull of a 3.8 with a tougher grading scale and graduating two years early, he should have a 4.0 no problem!  (And yes, I plan on reminding him of this all the time!)

But for now, summer is a nice lull.  The pool is up, the grill's been fired up, and the only down side is that once again we're in reruns.  Speaking of tv... is anyone else as ticked off as me about the shows being cancelled?  No more Beauty and the Geek!  (Ok, so this past season kinda sucked, and would someone please tell Joe he isn't all that).  But still!  It was always fun laughing at the dumb blondes and seeing which geek actually ended up learning social skills and uncovering his inner Adonis with the annual geek makeover.  Grrrr. 

Then of course there's the biggie.  Moonlight.  I'm so mad I could just spit over that one.  Hot guy, cute girl, vampire lore, and tortured soul meets redemption in the face of mortal female... what's not to love?!  And come on, you can't expect any show, especially a new show, to survive the ratings game when its time slot is Friday night primetime.  (After all, most people, unlike me, actually have a life and are out and about doing grownup things on a Friday night.) 

Of course there's also the shows that didn't even make it all season.  Cane, K-Ville... both of these were good shows with potential, and will be missed.  It seems every year though, the shows I like don't make the cut.  Personally, I think it's because we've dumbed down everything so much for our pathetic consumers who really aren't smarter than 5th graders, so tv shows that actually have some meat to them can't compete with mindless sitcoms like 2 1/2 Men (sorry Charlie, I loved ya years ago, but your show is just plain dumb).

So, I've compiled a list of the tv shows that over the years have fallen under the ax that I would like to see resurrected (if they can bring back 90210 after 20 years, why not?).  See if you agree:

K-Ville

Related

Gilmore Girls

Identity

Cane

Moonlight

Beauty and the Geek

My So-Called Life

The Wonder Years

Northern Exposure

Young Indiana Jones

Designing Women

Animaniacs

Head of the Class

Xena: Warrior Princess

Poirot

Sisters

And of course there are plenty of cartoons that warrant mentioning too, particularly:

Powerpuff Girls

Sailor Moon

Beavis and Butthead

And yes, I know I listed Animaniacs under the real shows, but they have such wide appeal to kids and adults that they should qualify for their own genre. 

Well, now that you've traveled down memory lane with me, how many of you are ready to pull out Grease, or better yet The Pirate Movie and relive your childhood?

Go ahead, indulge.  It's a long weekend and I won't tell anyone if you have a secret love for Greg Brady.  Or even Marsha.

So, I've started this routine where a couple days a week, after I drop my son off at school, I go walking.  It's part of my whole re-creating myself journey, and it breaks up the monotony of doing the same thing every day.  I go different places, like different parks, routes, etc., also to keep it from becoming the same ol' same ol.'  And, despite the fact that my calorie burn chart says my walking burns much fewer calories than bike riding and other activities I've been doing, I think this morning my heart got enough of a workout to last me the rest of the week!

This morning I decided to hit one of the trails at Kiroli Park.  They're usually empty between 7:30 and 8 in the morning, so it's nice and peaceful, and the scenery is well, serene.  So, here I am, puffing... ahem trekking along, and at about the half mile point on my pedometer, I see something huge and white loping through the woods.  My first thought is 'surely there aren't any deer running loose through Kiroli Park', (why I thought a white animal would be a deer I can't explain, other than to say I'd only had 1 cup of coffee at that point), but immediately after this thought left my mind, I came face to face with a pitbull. 

I stopped dead in my tracks, and my heart literally stopped.  You know how car commercials rave that their engines can go from 0 to 60 in 3.9 seconds?  Yep, my heart went from 160 to 0 beats in 1 second.  I said a little prayer when my brain processed the fact that the demon dog was behind a fence, but my heart still barely pumped as I stood motionless for a second, seeing the spawn of Satan trying vehemently to jump the fence and attack me. 

What to do?   Suddenly I realize that I'm alone on this isolated trail, and if this dog successfully jumps the fence, he could have me for breakfast.  Obviously, I'm not going to continue along this path past his fence and taunt the beast, so I turn around and start heading back the direction from which I came.  Of course, I've always been told never to turn my back on a dog, so now I'm thinking, 'what if the pit gets mad and comes after me... I won't even see him with my back turned.'  So every couple steps, I'd have to check behind me to make sure the demon wasn't following me. 

The upside to my adventure was that I walked a mile in nearly half the time I normally do, and with my heart palpitating nearly out of my chest, I feel quite sure I got a thorough workout this morning!  However, my tell tale heart adventure doesn't stop here!

No, after my workout, I did the normal stretching, drinking water, smoking a cigarette thing, and then got in my van and headed home.  By now rush hour has passed, but there are still plenty of vehicles coming across I-20.  So I'm chugging along, another minivan driving along beside me, when we are coming up the bridge near the civic center, and what do we see in the middle of the road?  A box.  Not a big surprise there.  There's always boxes, parts of tires, and other random refuse on our roadways, but this was a BIG box... like one that holds a major appliance. 

So, here this other minivan and I are, suddenly trying to slow down to avoid the box.  I try to give him space to get in my lane, since the Big Ass Box is in his lane, but he doesn't make it in time.  Of course I know we're both thinking, 'well, it's just an empty box.'  WRONG!  See I know this, because Mr. Minivan beside me didn't completely miss the BAB, and to our surprise, fear and bewilderment, it still contained a washing machine!  So, here we are, trying to slam on breaks, while a washer is banging into our vehicles, ripping apart, sending flying parts all over the highway.  And of course, we can't just stop in the middle of the interstate, because there's a BA 18 wheeler coming up behind me. 

So, I check my mirrors, see that I'm not dragging any washer parts down the road, and there aren't any dents, broken windows, etc. on the side of my van, and I say another little prayer as I continue on my not so happy little way home. The rest of the way home I'm saying little thank you's to God for my near misses, and deciding that perhaps I need to stick to a different walking and driving route from now on.

Finally I pull into my driveway, and decide to double check my vehicle, just to be sure there aren't any minor dents or scratches. fully expecting everything to be A-Ok.  WRONG!  But hey, it could definitely be worse.  My front headlight cover is gone, as is my headlight.  Actually, the cover is mangled, with parts of it gone, and parts still dangling precariously from my front bumper.  So, now I'm wondering if my insurance will cover the damage, or if I should have stopped and called the cops, or if the cost is high enough for the insurance to kick in.  I have no idea of the answers to these questions, and quite frankly don't really care at this point.  I called Dad, and he said he'd take care of it, so my worries are over (as long as it doesn't rain before he gets it fixed). 

My heart rate has returned to normal now, and I'm even thinking about going back out on the highway later today, (I have to face the hell of Wal Mart for this stupid spanish project my son has to do), but I learned a valuable lesson this morning: pitbulls and washers are not the best way to start your day!

Yeah, yeah I know.  Usually I spare you from my political commentary on this blog, but this time, I think this audience is the best one to hear my message. 

Recently, it’s been reported that 1 out of every 4 teenage girls in the U.S. has some type of STD.  1 in 4!  That means there are approximately 3.2 million young things running around this country, in their thongs and low-rise jeans, sporting a nasty coochie.

And I’m willing to bet money on which girls in my son’s class are the 1s who either already or soon will be part of the nasty coochie coalition.

All jokes aside though, this statistic should really bother people of all ages.  I’m thinking about a couple of you who have teen or will-be teen daughters, and my heart goes out to you.  Course, I’m also thinking about my teen son who may one day find himself in the doctor’s office because he chose the wrong partner.

I am reminded of an old friend who was a late bloomer, and refrained from sex until his senior year of high school.  He tried to play it safe, do everything right, and wouldn’t you know it?  His very first time he ended up with crabs.  I know your first time is never supposed to be good, but come on.  Poor guy definitely takes the cake for worst first-time experiences.

Interestingly, of the girls found to be infected, half of them reported they had not had sex.  Course, there’s always some who lie, but the truth is there’s a good chance that many of them really haven’t technically had sex.  Because even though all of us who are older and wiser realize that anything past second base constitutes as sex, most teenagers don’t. 

So here’s my advice to any teens who might actually be reading this: be careful not only where you stick your equipment, but also where you stick your tongue, hands, or any other appendage. 

I’m not going to sit here and hypocritically tell teens to give up sex or any other sexual activity, but at least think before you spread them (lips or legs).  Ask your partner how many others he’s had.  And girls: if he’s 17 and his number of partners is in the double digits, run.  Far, far away. 

That many partners is never a good sign, and it certainly isn’t an indication of his prowess between the sheets.  After all, if he was that good of a lay, one of those girls (or guys) would have held onto him for a while.

If you are sexually active, use every kind of protection you can get your hands on.  Condoms, birth control, a face shield, whatever.  Trust me, your parents may not be crazy about your having sex, but they’ll be a lot happier knowing you’re protected than finding out that you’re pregnant or infected and they thought you were still their sweet little innocent girl. 

One more piece of advice to young ladies trying to play it safe: keep the lights on!  Part of being mature about sex is not being too embarrassed to do it with the lights on.  You get to see the wonders of your partner, but more importantly, you can check for any crawly critters before you get down to business.  Always keep in mind what your mama’s been telling you since you were three: don’t let the bed bugs bite!