'Tis the Season!

I'm a catalog addict.  I love looking through catalogs.  I approach them with the knowledge that I'm not really going to buy anything but it's fun to look at the pics.  By the way, I think I could definitely be a catalog model (barring Victoria's Secret or course).  My favorite catalogs are Nordstroms (glamorous), Title Nine (sporty), and J.Jill (granola).  This is a particularly wonderful time of year for catalogs.  L.L.Bean, Land's End and Eddie Bauer are some great winter catalogs.  I always want to buy all of the cozy, warm jackets except for the ones with faux fur lining the hood--I'm a little old for all that fanfare. 

Then there are the seasonal catalogs, even Honey Baked Ham has one!  Needless to say, I'm not a big fan of that one.  Nor am I a fan of encyclopedic catalogs like JCPenney.  Hey, if I'm going to slip a disk picking up the catalog, that's a bad sign.  No offense to Mr. Penney, who is also a previous employer of mine.  Let me tell you, telemarketing for JCPenney during the holiday season is a zoo!!  People really do order those monogrammed Christmas stockings f.y.i.  In fact, I've been thinking about ordering some this year.  I think I want to start a Najah Christmas tradition of giving everyone their own stocking filled with little gifts and treats, but I digress.

When I want to go catalog slumming it's either Coldwater Creek, Chico's or Pier 1 (shout out to another previous employer).  Sorry, but furniture just doesn't do it for me unless it's IKEA or Pottery Barn.  Looking through a catalog is both eye candy and a way to take a mental time-out.  I know some people that even have catalogs in their bathrooms.  Okay, "some people" is me.  There is also a medical journal in there if that makes you feel any better.  In short, during this season of pure gluttony I will be occasionally retreating into an endless stream of catalogs for some mental debauchery.  Wish me luck.  

Tears of Joy

I couldn't stop crying last night.  From the moment I heard about Pennsylvania through the moment when I saw Barack walk onto that stage in Chicago with his family I could not stop tearing up.  I thought to myself, "You are the freakin' president of the United States of America!!  You are one of the most powerful men in the world!  You did it!  You did it!""  I used about a million tissues and thought I was sure to wake my sleeping nephews in the next room with my nose-blowing antics.  Oprah was crying, Jesse Jackson was crying, I was crying, how in the world did those CNN reporters keep a dry eye?!  Yet another reason I am not in broadcast journalism.  I would be the reporter with the handkerchief.   

Oh the beautiful irony of having a Black man in the White House!  In a needless proprietary argument, we did build it.  All of those who fought for this right, who were beaten, and mobbed, and killed, and brutalized, and turned away from the voting booths--this moment is for them.  Jesse Jackson lived through it.  He was there when Martin Luther King was shot to death for being a champion of civil rights in this country.  That octogenarian that Obama talked about in his acceptance speech has seen black men rise from being 3/5 of a man to becoming president.  The audacity of hope, indeed.  

I have faith in the American people again.  I have faith in democracy.  I have faith in the American dream and in the beauty of this amazing country.  May God continue to bless us in the days to come.  I was watching CNN interview a black soldier in Afghanistan and I think he said it perfectly when he stated, "This election proves that all men really are created equal and I am proud to be a part of a nation whose people believes that is still true." 

Absentee

I'm really nervous.  I filled out the application for an absentee ballot since I am now in North Carolina but I haven't heard or received anything.  Maybe nervous is an understatement, I am seriously freaking out!!  This morning I read about a couple that is flying from India to vote because they did not receive their absentee ballots, either.  We're talking over 9,000 miles and $5,000 to vote in this election.  I do believe this election to be the most important and historical election of my life and I would be completely bereft if my absentee ballot never arrived.  

The whole idea of not voting is appalling to me.  Maybe I should drive back to Utah to vote.  I mean, people really did fly from India--not Indiana, INDIA!  Heaven knows with the gas prices it would probably cost the same to fly to Utah than to drive.  I am faced with a conundrum.  What do I do?!  I'm manic!  I am a freakin' Obama campaign volunteer.  I have to vote. I'll have to get on the horn tomorrow and find out what needs to be done.  I'm on a mission.  Where is James Bond when you need him, or Tom Cruise, or I'd even settle for Maxwell Smart at this point.

Men

How was I supposed to know that Batman's cape has a jagged edge but the bottom of superman's cape is straight? I drew the wrong cape on the right superhero. It was an entire disaster. I think I'll go back to drawing UFC fighters. In my immediate family there are four girls and three boys and I have never been outnumbered by men, until now. The subtle nuances of living in a male dominated household are as follows: accidentally sitting on the rim of the toilet instead of the actual toilet seat OR just as unexpectedly sitting in the vestiges of urine that happened to have fallen where you are sitting when you use the ladies' room.

Then there's the violence. They don't hit me, usually, but that does not mean I escape nearly being punched in the gut or nearly being round-house kicked anywhere they can reach or nearly being elbowed in any other accessible part of my body. Needless to say, my six and four-year-old nephews are enrolled in "Little Ninjas". A week ago I went to their gym to see them earn their yellow belts. I have to admit I was impressed. I actually got teary eyed (you may want to note that I was PMSing at the time) and I couldn't help but laugh at seeing about twenty kids, girls and boys and all still in the single digits age-wise, participate in a miniature obstacle course. Eat your heart out Rambo, they're coming for you. The funny part is I have more teeth in my mouth than all of them combined including Sylvester Stallone.

Lastly, a couple of days ago I was actually tossing a football around with the six-year-old, Moon-Pie. Of course he was throwing spirals and my footballs were lucky to make it to any destination, but I do what I can. I also have been known to play a game of soccer now and then. Given, I'm no Mia Hamm but I can kick a ball one time out of two. There was a time when I averted all speeding balls whether hit, kicked, or thrown out of respect to my face but it seems those days are coming to a close thanks to my testosterone-filled abode.

The truth is I don't mourn ballerinas or Barbies but instead have considered moving the toilet seat to its upright position after I'm done in the ladies' room. I hate to say it, but there is a real possibility here that I, as part of a potentially viable minority, will go silently into the night to cry no more in protest to household crimes against gender.

Honestly

Why is it that kids are brutally honest?  I really resent the fact that my six year old nephew feels the need to keep addressing the presence of my mustache.  Then, my four year old nephew has a nerve to point out my bra bulge!  How much can a girl take?  I realize that they are not intentionally mean (most of the time) but it really does make me want to get a machete and send some heads rolling.  

Instead of killing kids, I've decided to take their comments as indicators of areas where I can make improvements.  As a result of living with two toddlers, I have enrolled myself in a self-improvement project.  I started a new exercise program that will hopefully eradicate the unsightly bra bulge.  Hey, my only other option was back lipo and as that is in its experimental stages I decided to go the more lengthy route.  In addition, I've invested in cream for my ZZ Top beard.  All in all, I think I should be grateful for the intervention.

On the bright side of living with toddlers, I sometimes get my hair brushed for free and when I put on make-up I'm treated like a super model although sometimes they scream and say that I must be a new aunt that killed the old one and took her place.  Needless to say, I don't wear make-up very often.  

I am looking forward to whatever delightful comments I'll hear after the bra bulge and beard are gone.  If I don't kill anyone, that is. 

YeeHaw!

It is done. By "it" I mean last Wednesday I signed up to be a volunteer for Barack Obama's campaign. A little about me, the last time I campaigned it was in 1993 to be a Student Body Officer of my high school. I did win, though. So I think Barack and me have this thing in the bag. Don't you worry your pretty little head about national affairs, it's all going to be okay.

I have never volunteered to assist with a presidential campaign before in my life even though I have felt passionately about certain candidates in the past. I think I felt that this year was no time to sit on my duff and watch politics unfold as usual. I also wanted to veer away from negative campaigning and maligning the opposition (but oh so easy to do!). I needed an outlet for all my pent up frustrations about government and politics. I feel good about focusing positive energy in support of Barack Obama and I feel great about letting myself actually hope that people can really make a difference. People like Barack. People like me.

One of the fringe benefits to being a volunteer for Barack is that I get e-mails telling me when he will be nearby campaiging. It just so happens that Obama and Biden were going to be in town on Saturday hosting a rally. Do you know what I did? I went!! I have never attended a political rally in my life! But what were the chances I would see the (future) president of the United States of America ever again? Let's be honest, I've never seen any of the others--but I have seen John Travolta in real life, for your information. Believe it or not, I enjoyed going. I was shocked at the turnout. At least six city blocks of people were in line in front of me waiting for the doors to open and I don't know how many city blocks came after I did. I guess people were waiting since before sunrise. Yeah, I got there 15 minutes after the doors were supposed to open. Don't hate, being on Mormon Standard Time and Colored People Time puts me at a great disadvantage.

The couple before me in line, who were nice enough to keep me company for two hours, were the most unlikely Obama supporters. Randy and Tammy were quite "Southern". Randy had just bought a Dodge truck he was excited about (I know, I thought people didn't buy those anymore either) and Tammy kept losing her phone, which she once found in her hand. Randy's mom called and Tammy kept shouting "Did Momma see you on TV?!" And don't ask me why Tammy had a black eye. Hey, I'm no Katie Couric. They were really nice to me and turned out to be some of the loudest people in the crowd with comments like "You tell 'em, Joe!" when Biden was speaking and "Thas awright!" when Obama was speaking. Frankly, I struggled to keep up with them.

All in all, I really enjoyed my very first political rally. There were Obama T-Shirts everywhere, bumper stickers, pins, hats--it was heaven. I just enjoy feeling like I am not so alone, like we are really going to win this election and that there is hope for America. Both Biden and Obama did a wonderful job as expected. I do still have nagging questions as to whether this ticket will deliver once elected. At one point when Obama was saying all the things he wanted to do in office I wanted to add, "And wonderful husbands for all single American women who want one!" to which the crowd would hopefully respond "Thas awright!"

Ewwwww!

My sister has these beautiful wine goblets. No, she doesn't drink alcohol nor does anyone in her household but these glasses were insisted upon and purchased by my mother who, by the way, also is not an imbiber. I agree with my mom--it's nice to pour some Ocean Spray Cran Apple Juice in a wine goblet now and then and feel a little fancy pants. I don't often have the opportunity because Cran Apple juice is also the beverage of choice for my 4 year old nephew. If my mom is visiting, and sometimes when she is not, a whole bottle of "the red juice" will disappear without my grabbing a bourgeouis moment with the faux merlot and my wine goblet.

Tonight after my dinner I felt particularly privileged when I emptied the bottle of Cran Apple juice into my glass. It was just the perfect amount, my glass was almost full to the brim. I was by the sink so I took the opportunity to rinse out the plastic bottle and put it in the recycling box in the garage before enjoying my nice, cool, sweet-like-candy drink. Upon returning to my waiting wine glass I find a huge ugly fly swimming in my juice! Ewwwww! The nerve of some insects! Now comes the dilemma. Do I a) leave it and let the fly drown, b) fish out the fly with a spoon and drink it anyway, or c) dump the entire drink and miss out on my decadent treat.

While I let you ponder on my course of action, let me tell you that I have been watching quite a bit of Man vs Wild lately and in the last 24 hours I've seen this man eat two different types of snakes, an alligator, an actual honeycomb with bees still in it, and his own urine. Which brings me to my next point: white people are crazy! Nevertheless, having seen this man (whose name is Bear) eat the extremes of the human diet, I deliberated much longer than I usually would have about the fly in my juice. I fished it out with a spoon and dumped the drink. I just couldn't drink it, guys! Have you seen the movie The Fly with Jeff Goldbloom? Let me just say that I have been grossed out by the digestive process of flies ever since.

If you find this blog disappointing, I'm sorry. I'm even more sorry about my lost merlot moment. Cue 80's Debbie Gibson song here ("It could have been so beautiful, could have been so right . . .). Well, until the next bottle of Ocean Spray let me leave you with a drinkless toast. May you never have to kill a rattlesnake with your bare hands and may all your drinks be flyless.