granulated or powder don't matter to me

I need a sugar daddy, or a sugar mama, hell anyone that wants to pour some sugar on me. Someone to take me here...














Someone to take me to see its over 260 waterfalls pouring down in a thunderous mist that creates constant rainbows. Iguazu is waiting for me and you, sugar person.

While we are at it could we go to Tikal and Petra? I promise to be charming and keep the witty banter coming.

get that black hole a burger

Last week I wrote a post about waiting for a friend to die. Stage 4 cancer. 14 months of hanging on. She ended up dying two days ago. It was a relief. I went to her memorial yesterday after work and smallers, and before dialect coaching and seeing friends. I did not post what I had written. It was sentimental and the self editor in me took over. So like many posts, it sits in draft form in blogger as a kind of marker for me about what was going on with my life that was not fodder for web consumption.

What is it about sending our electronic words out into the cavernous digital void that leaves us feeling protected? It is so open and scary. I worry all the time about sharing too much. Do you? Cavernous digital void, do you worry about sharing too much? No you don't. You greedy, insatiable bastard. The bigger question is, why do so many feel the need to feed the void?

Anyone?

Anyone?

tin foil stars

I need Karen Carpenter today and its not even noon.

well articulated

Smalls say what we say. They just do. That whole 'don't say what mommy said' thing does not work.

This can be adorable...

Me: (As I am walking out the door) Love you guys, see you in the morning.

Smallest: (At the top of the stairs in her pinky princess nightgown) Bye Mommy, break a leg. (Pause) But not literally.

Or funny...

Me: (Under my breath) I am so tired of this frickin' school paperwork.

Smaller: (To the tune of la cucharacha as he dances around the kitchen) Frickin' frickin', frickin' frickin', frickin' frickin' frickin'.

Or just plain evil...

Me: For the love of all that is holy, will you please, sometime before the next continental shift, do your homework.

Small: (Completely calm as he gives me the verbal finger) Whatever. You are so over dramatic.


Literally frickin' whatever.

no, i don't want a pony

Amazingly Bhutto's assassination is what has given me the wake up slap across the face about our own political future. Maybe it was her whole live free or die attitude. I have not written about the primary, my most recent local election, or our current political happenings as of late, not from lack of material obviously. I have been in the most jaded funk of my life when it comes to politics. Whether it be the complete exhaustion in thinking about what Bush has done to this country, or the political rhetoric from the primary campaigns, or the commercialization of this country's government, I have been unable to find the wake up call until now. One of my friends says it's because I am a true idealist as well as a true cynic. That may be, but there is no political party for idealists. Especially one that would ever get elected. But there are moments of idealism, and leaders that can still inspire me. Listening to Obama speak after his Iowa win reestablished my big time crush on him. No, I do not want to do him, I have a crush on his intellect, his slight evocation of MLK, his relaxed composure. I went back and read Obama's June 2006 speech about faith and politics. His reasoning, his eloquence in that speech inspired me when I first read it and it still does. I need to keep looking for reasons to believe in our leaders. I know this sounds exceptionally starry eyed. Like our next president will come floating in on a wave of rainbows and sunshine. Well screw that. I will gladly take an insightful, thoughtful vision of our future. I am up for hearing about working together to make our world better and I will try to check my cynicism long enough to help out.