John McCain speaks to America again

Hello America,

I’m back to do some ‘splaining about an ad you may or may not have seen comparing Barack Obama to Britney Spears and Paris Hilton. My campaign came up with this honorable spot to let you know my opponent is one who simply cannot be trusted. This was a fair and unbiased representation of a man who has only been in the Senate for 3 years. I, on the other hand, have been proudly serving this country since long before most of you youngsters were even born. And I’m proud.

I’m proud of this ad because it was hilarious. After viewing the ad for the first time, my campaign team and I laughed and laughed. I soaked my Depends within seconds. I am proud to work with comrades who are in tune with my sense of humor and know just how to tickle my funny bone. And when it comes right down to winning over young voters, humor works. Comedians themselves are insanely jealous. Come on now. Admit it. The ad is funny.

I’m proud of this ad because it finally got me some desperately needed attention. Let’s face it, my campaign is in crisis mode here. Senator Obama has been globe trotting and now he’s back on American soil and everyone knows about it. Thanks to the media, you all know when he’s taking a shit and you know its color and consistency. I've had to deal with the media sucking his ass and face for far too long now. The only way I can get any coverage is if I attack their lover in every way possible. And I might add it’s amazing just how far a rape threat can get you. I was on Wolf Blitzer’s show last week.

I am the only one you can trust, America. How can I can get through to you people? There’s just no other way to show you I am indeed the better man. So be prepared for many more ads like this one, and the one about the media boning my opponent. I’m only pointing out the Senator's weaknesses in a way that shows I am an elect-able candidate. We’ve only just begun, and I’m proud. I’m a winner.

And while we're on the subject of winning, let’s talk about my years and years of experience. For example, I have an excellent track record of thinking about the oil and energy crisis. It’s been on my mind for the last 20+ years - well - since the late 70’s. That’s got to count for something.

When push came to shove on the campaign trail, I exposed my genius by hopping on board with Senator Clinton’s proposal for a gas tax holiday that could’ve helped America immensely for a few awesome days.

Recently I’ve decided to support the off-shore drilling of oil when for years I was against it. I’ve flipped not because Bush did a 180 and is now supporting it, and not to align myself with most Americans on this issue. I've changed my position because I control the wind. And the idea of “too little, too late” is the way losers operate. Barack Obama is one of those big fat losers. Winners know you can never give up. If your head and torso are in the mouth of a shark, do you let him make a meal out of you? No, you put up a fight. You punch and kick. You scream. When you feel your body being sawed in two, you don’t give up. Blood pours out from you and attracts more sharks, but that’s okay because you’re still fighting for your life. Even when it’s obvious you only have but seconds left to live, you tell yourself it will be alright and continue your fight. That’s how to be a winner. Losers are always nitpicking and losing themselves in such trivial things as details. I’m above that, America. And I’m ready to lead you as your next President.




Vote for me, or you could be eaten by sharks.

I’m Senator McCain, and I don’t not approve this message.

What is a vacation without a theme park?

As planned, on our vacation back in June a day was dedicated to Valley Fair. It’s a magical place I visited a few times during childhood. And nothing says love like putting your kids on large metal objects that defy gravity, whip them around like dolls and make them scream bloody hell (and possibly vomit into or around the nearest trash can). I just wanted them to have the same memories as I - the kind that last a lifetime.

Valley Fair isn’t a huge theme park. I’m sure it’s much smaller than Six Flags but I’ve never been there so I’m totally guessing. But the place is big enough that kids could easily get lost or disappear entirely, so I was pretty much stuck like glue to my two daughters while the teens were free to venture on their own. Not that I wouldn’t miss them after a few days, or a week, tops. Thanks to the age of cell phones we were reunited periodically and when the park closed. Oh well. I guess my kids didn't get the full experience after all.

The day started out slow for me due to the blinding sun and heat. It was hard to believe that just the previous week/month it had been raining pretty much daily. I forgot to tack that onto my good luck charm list. The weather was great the entire week we were there. Coincidence? Perhaps, but not if you believe in the power of the frizz. Actually, I got burned pretty badly as a result so it's all just a farce. Damn.

Back to the little to zero cloud cover - I was wearing a tank and shorts thinking sunscreen on my arms, shoulders, chest and legs was quite enough. I hate that crap and avoid the sun as much as possible so I don’t have to use it. And I’m not sitting out in the sun as I write this either. I’m not that big of a hypocrite. But Valley Fair was an entire day outside so I had no choice. It didn't do me much good, but that's a post for another day.

I soon found out I’m not as brave as I used to be, so it was good for me to tag along with my 6-yr-old. She was too short to go on most of the rides, so you could say she was my crutch and/or excuse for being a total chicken shit. She did eventually con me into The Floom, which is a log ride in water that ends with one big scream and a good soaking, but I made her sit in front. Well, it was just part of the deal-making process.

As the day wore on I braved as many rides with my daughters as my weak stomach, heart and fragile back could handle. I'm perfectly happy not having any balls. And warning signs are posted for a reason, so I do read them. I went on the smallest roller coaster in the park (called High Roller) with my 8-yr-old after determining it was safe (no warning signs). Oddly enough, it was nothing like I remembered. Whenever they ask you to remove your hat, it is definitely a red flag. Forget the posted signage - it all boils down to the request for hat removal.

Near the end of the night the same daughter tried to get me on Wild Thing, which is THE biggest roller coaster that has ever towered over me. I took a good look at it and froze in fear. My bff stepped in and subbed for me. I really don’t know why it gave me comfort to know she was right there with my daughter when they were going through heart-stopping height/speed combos and swallowing bugs. As soon as they were done they got right back in line again. I try but I just don’t understand.

So at that time my crutch and I sauntered over to the Tilt-A-Whirl. It kicked ass.

These are the scariest times

I’m focusing on the first frightening day of these scary times I’ve found myself thrown into recently. At this very moment you are reading the blog of a mom who now has her first teen driver. If that doesn’t send shivers up and down your spine, well, maybe you are laughing. Or maybe you’re one of the apathetic ones. I try but I just don’t understand.

So this is how it all began. Well, after my son decided he wanted to get a learner's permit. I gathered up the required documents and drove 75 miles to pick up my son (who was at his dad’s house) and take him to the nearest DMV. When I got there his dad insisted on driving us. Like me he had taken the day off from work, but his attitude toward the whole thing was quite the opposite. Apparently he is one of those parents the DMV pamphlet was speaking to who is eager about this “exciting time” and happy to assist in the 1½ year journey our son has embarked upon in acquiring a real driver’s license. I would describe my feelings as anxious, nervous, and downright fearful. As for the length of time it will take altogether - they made the rules stricter a few years ago. Anyway, I was only asked to show up for this event because I had the kid’s birth certificate and Social Security card. I hate it when I’m so desperately needed - and it only gets worse. In order for our son to move to the next level (a restricted license) I have to sit beside him while he drives a total of 50 hours in the next six months.

50 hours. 50 hours, which must be logged in a little booklet. I can think of much better ways to die than as a passenger in my own vehicle. Losing a “Wild West” style shoot-out would be less humiliating. And I could probably find some one crazy enough to do it.

I have good reason to be very afraid. Our son, who doesn’t yet have his own car but has driven a few times with dad (dad is a thrill seeker with no fear whatsoever), well our son let me know in advance he doesn’t plan on ever attempting to parallel park my Suburban. The big old beast scares the kid. So the thought of him driving it scares me.

When we got to the DMV we took a number, which was 26. They were serving number 16, which wouldn’t have been too bad, but the waiting area only had room to accommodate 8 and there were about 20 sweaty individuals crowded in there and out in the hallway. So we hung tightly to our number and drove to a fast food place. It was now afternoon but still technically the lunch rush. When we got back they were helping number 22. So we found a little shade outside under a tree, and by the time everyone was done eating they were on number 25. Great timing. Soon it was my son’s turn and we followed him to the counter. I handed over the docs and his dad insisted on paying, so he now has something to hold over our heads. Damn him.

We were anxious to see how our son would do on the test. Would he pass on his first try as expected? Perhaps he would fail, forcing us to leave with our heads hung in shame. Then it dawned on us that our son wears glasses. Well, he is supposed to wear them but never does because it isn’t cool, so we forgot he even had them. I just chalk it up as another downside to having kids because I really have no shame. Well, he attempted the eye test without them but couldn’t pass so his dad quickly devised a plan. Our son would take the written test and if he passed we’d head straight to my house from there, hopefully find his glasses he never wears, and maybe get back to the DMV in time so we wouldn’t have to take another unpaid day off from our jobs. Round trip it would be 130 miles. The way the kid’s dad drives I figured he could do it in record time. It’s amazing he doesn’t get more than one speeding ticket per year. The problem? I also had a plan. I had some shopping to do. I wanted him to drop me off at my vehicle so I could get that shit done while he and the kid were off taking care of business. That’s when we butted heads. No, we had to do it his way. There wasn’t any time to spare, according to him, so he refused to drive me the mere ten miles in the opposite direction to my truck. So it looked like I was doomed - stuck when I obviously wasn’t needed and could be getting other stuff done. Not only that, but the guy drives like a maniac when he isn’t in a hurry. Well, there was still a chance our son wouldn’t pass the test. We could always return another day some time within the next year, after all.

He had to miss six questions to fail. He got five wrong. Oh joy.

So off we went. Everyone was in high spirits but me. I sat in the back trying to be patient. I thought about making the trip miserable for the jerk. There were so many things I could be angry about. I could even go back fifteen years, but it wasn’t worth it. This was exactly what he was hoping for. But I did tense up when I felt us surpass 80 mph on the two lane highway. I miss the days when Montana had no speed limit. Back then, 80 was my limit. Soon I heard my son say, “Wow, Dad! 95!”

I peeked over the seat to see the car could easily do 110. Great. So what could I do? I went to my happy place.





Some day it could happen. He could get arrested, I tell myself. But until then I have to live life knowing my kids can’t tell the difference between Montana beef and the imported stuff. I hate you Ronald, and your easy beef.

So we made it back to the DMV in time, no one was hurt (yet), and our kid got his permit. Hopefully my fear of letting him drive within 75 miles of me will pass soon enough, but I have my doubts. The way I see it, if he’s nervous about driving a Suburban that his own mother can handle without any difficulty, then he really shouldn’t be driving at all. I try but I just don’t understand.

John McCain speaks to America

Dear America,

I’m John McCain. I’d like to be your next Commander-in-Chief because I’m really sick of life as a Senator.

I’m not trying to run away from Arizona’s problems. I’m just tired of getting bombarded on all sides over the whole “immigrant” issue. I’ve had both parties on my tail for years. I’ve had to deal with a grass roots group of wannabe Border Patrol agents, as well as complete idiots who think they can build some kind of fence to keep the America-hungry Mexicans out. Well, I’ve done enough. It’s over. Now I want to lead this great nation. I’m fully prepared to deal with the worst of the worst, America’s conscience - Lou Dobbs. He is one tough bastard to ignore. But I can do it.

Also, I feel like I was jipped when in the year 2000 I ran against George W. Bush and lost the party nomination. As much as I love the President, I should’ve won that bitch. So here I am. And as long as I’m still alive, I’m not going anywhere.





I have Life Alert.

While Senator Obama is away, I see this as a window of opportunity to tell you all exactly what is wrong with him. So listen up. Obama is a loser. He’s not a war hero like me. When I was busy winning a war, he was wasting his time somewhere in Montana. How dare he enjoy a holiday with his family in a state no one cares about while I’m slaving away and winning wars. I’m just stating the facts here. And the facts are, he has no judgment. He changes his position with the wind. I know the wind. For example, I know when the wind starts blowing one way, it should continue to keep blowing in that direction. If the wind changes it is wrong, and I’m always right. I’ve never changed my position. He knows nothing about the wind.

I know how to win wars. I’ve won many. You don’t win wars with peace. You win them in a bloody fight to the death after arresting and eventually hanging that nation's dictator. That makes me a winner, and not a waster of billions of dollars.

I supported the surge and Obama opposed it. I don’t want to hear any more about him being opposed to the war in the first place. But if you want to throw that in my face, I’ll respond by telling you what a loser he is. He’s a big fat loser. I control the wind. That makes me mighty and strong, and not weak like my opponent. He doesn’t know jack about the wind.

Senator Obama also doesn’t know squat diddly about Iraq. I’ve been to Iraq eight times. That makes me a winner, and fully supports my claim that he is a loser. I know Iraq’s Prime Minister better than I know my own wife. Senator Obama knows nothing about foreign relations, or that most problems can be resolved in a hotel room. I know how to solve problems. There aren't any that can’t be solved over a bottle of wine with Barry White playing softly in the background.

I’m Senator McCain, and I don’t not approve this message.

I'm just a sucker

I’m usually pretty good at running a tight ship around here. That’s what I tell myself. I’m thinking if I hear it enough times, eventually it will come true.

Rewind to April. One of my brother-in-laws wanted me to take a dog off of his household’s hands. I agreed without knowing anything about Monty (the dog). I visited the family in June and learned my sister had a change of heart and they were keeping him. That was good since the vehicle I had to borrow for the 1,000 mile trip didn’t have room to accommodate him. So I got out of the “adopting Monty” situation unscathed. I didn’t come home with an unruly dog even though I really wanted to (my optimistic outlook has got me into trouble many times over). After I’d originally agreed, I began to hear negative things about the dog from people who were “in the know” so I’m thinking I would’ve regretted it in the end.

Well, now I have an entirely new slightly relative situation on my hands.

The friend who loaned me her SUV (I’ll call her Marci) has a daughter the same age as my youngest and they play together. That’s great, and I truly mean that. In fact, they took my daughter camping recently and she had a blast. Well, a few months ago Marci told me her Golden Retriever was pregnant. I was happy for her as she was pretty excited about it. The male dog I think is a Blue Australian Shepherd and has blue eyes. Both dogs are gorgeous. So the pups were bound to be good looking. Well, my daughter has spent a lot of time at their place in the past month since it’s summer and Marci’s daughter doesn’t have any siblings close to her own age. So the two girls have been just like sisters. And throughout all of this my daughter has been watching a very pregnant dog, and having this crazy recurring dream about bringing home a puppy.

Well, I also had childhood dreams…




Tekno the Robotic Puppy doesn’t chew up shoes or pee on them. And if he dies unexpectedly you know a tear-filled backyard burial won’t be in order. This kind of awesomeness wasn’t even in the price range of “maybe” when I was a kid, so what am I waiting for??

And another thing… my childhood dreams always got squashed. What’s with kids nowadays? How do they manipulate some of us into thinking their dreams are more important than ours were?

Anywho, the drama over the puppies “coming soon” had been building for quite some time. Then one morning not too long ago, we got the call. Goldie was in labor. Oh my god, my daughter was so excited. Her friend was so excited. Marci was so excited. I was feeling like I was pretty happy with the dog we already have. She is a Red Heeler/German Shepherd mix and a great family pet. But of course I was happy for everyone and their “feelings” so I joined in on the excitement.

That evening I got another call. Goldie was in labor too long and needed a C-section. Marci’s daughter spent the night at our house and Marci took the dog to the Vet. The next day I called and found out Goldie and her lover were much more than fertile. She had been carrying a whopping 13 pups; they all made it and were healthy. Thirteen puppies! Holy crap! She was baffled. How did that happen? No one knows for sure, but since half of them are black I don’t think one can rule out the possibility that Goldie was sneaking around, and maybe had a little jungle love on the side. I don’t think a dog can be called a whore for sleeping around, but, what an animal.

Somehow I was talked into seeing the puppies. More like “ganged up on” in a way. I don’t like it when a group of females get together. I wouldn’t recommend it. I was basically mobbed - emotionally - which is the worst kind of attack. Totally unfair. Then my one son who really loves dogs found out about the puppies. That was the straw that kicked the camel in the crotch (and he’s going down in our family history for that one, like it or not). He pulled me over to Marci’s and begged me. He picked out his favorite. I kind of melted when I met the little thing. His eyes weren’t open yet and he just laid in Marci’s hand like a… well, almost like a very realistic robotic toy.

So I guess you know what happens next. I still have a little time before the pup is off his mom’s teats, nips, or whatever you call them. But he doesn’t have a name yet. I’m open to suggestions. “Trucker” rhymes with sucker, so I might just go with that…

Yes, I am kidding (about the name Trucker).

King Interviews Mrs. McCain

Welcome back, non-Kotters and hopeful Democrats. It’s been a while! When I interviewed Mrs. Obama we ran out of time and I promised to return soon. Well, I got kind of sidetracked. Before I reveal this next interview I should briefly explain my absence.

You may or may not know this, but I have a kid. King Junior is going through a rough patch in his life right now. You see, he thought it would be cool to smoke some weed. And smoke some more weed. And before long that wasn’t enough to get his buzz on, so he stole six of my beers and had a little party with himself. I knew this day was coming, but I thought for sure he’d puke up his guts and learn the hard way to just stick with the porn. Boy, was I wrong or what?! Anyway, he’s out of rehab now. I sure hope he can stay clean, but I have my doubts. After all, he’s five. You know what little monsters those kindergarteners can be! Whew. It’s gonna take some tough love in the form of shock therapy for this one.

But enough about the King’s problems and suches. It’s time to let you in on a little secret. I may seem pretty gay. In fact, I’m often misjudged by my extensive Barbra Streisand collection. Unfair! Barbra deserves to be loved! Truth is, I also have a huge crush on John McCain’s wife. Don’t believe me? I think a restraining order is proof enough. I know she often looks much older than her birth certificate states, but I still get goose bumps whenever I see her. Well, here’s the interview, for what it’s worth. And it's so short we didn't have time for any commercials...




Hiiiiiiiii, Mrs. McCain. Hiiiiiiiiiiii. Um, Mrs. Obama had to leave. She has kids, you know, and has apologized for not staying here to attack both you and your husband to your face. The network is disappointed, but I’m sure you’re relieved to hear it, and don’t really care about ratings either.




Um, hello?

Yeeeeeesssssss, welcome to the… the… showww.




You’re drooling all over your robe.




Ahhhhhhh, I see. Do you like robes?




I don’t see what that has to do with my husband’s candidacy.




Do you like my robe? I can remove it, if you’d like to try it on. Or, you know, if you want to have a peek at some prime beef.




What the- this is not what I expected!!!!




I’m out of here! Vote for McCain - because I’m filthy rich - not because you want to sex me up.




Can we continue this in private? Where are you going? I have a room. It has a star on the door! That means something, dammit! Oh goshes, I’m sorry! Come back! I’d like to make out - er, make it up to you!!!




Oh shit.

So, stay tuned and maybe next week we’ll reveal the final and extremely pointless interview with Mrs. Clinton and a surprise guest, which was recorded shortly after Barack Obama’s huge victory, when he won the nomination of his party and made history for being black. I mean, made history for- you know what I’m trying to say. Geez, why am I still here, anyway? It’s about time to go rescue the nanny from my five-year-old. Laters!

Eddie Murphy, I hope you're not toying with us

It takes a special kind of person to get up on stage, and while warming up the crowd say, “Hey baby, what’s shaking tonight?” to a complete stranger in the front row. But if the comic is good someone’s face will turn red. And they might even laugh hysterically for no reason. Well, no reason other than they were singled out and are so excited to be able to share that moment (and also very nervous and not PMSing).

Somehow I can imagine Eddie Murphy doing just that. No, not giggling in the crowd. There’s no punch line here.

He says he’ll return to stand-up comedy in a few years. After he’s finished with his current Hollywood commitments, he’s planning to retire from movies altogether and do what he obviously loves and misses. If you have googled the man within the last 24 hours, or watch the Today Show then you already know this. But I’m betting there are people out there who have better things to do in the morning than suffer through an Al Roker interview. Things like flossing, or sleeping off a hangover and waking at noon to tell themselves, “It’s always okay to black out among friends.”

All I can really say about this news is, I hope the man is serious. He better not be spouting this off in a desperate attempt to save face after the embarrassment of starring in more lame films than… than… well, you get the picture. If you have no idea what he’s been doing since Beverly Hills Cop you might want to consider getting out of whatever cult you are in right now, or leaving the convent, or running away from the Amish community. Hmm, I bet they’re having the last laugh, with their horses and buggies.

So, if he indeed is telling the truth and not just spitting out sentences in an effort to regain some dignity, can you imagine what a serious case of comedic back-up this man must have? It’s been like, gosh, at least half a century or something since he last did a routine. He’s probably got material dating back to the Ice Age, or whenever Madonna first became famous. So, the more I think about it the more the anticipation begins to build. I’d punch Madonna in the face to see him doing stand up again. I’d hit her so hard, I’d send her back to Sean Penn.

Raw was the first show I ever saw. When you’re a kid and Eddie Murphy is the first comedian you ever see perform, well, even though it was on video it’s still pretty tough to forget that moment in my life. And if my mom knew I had seen it at the time, she probably would’ve locked me up with the nuns for at least a year, or would've made me swallow rosary beads. Just rubbing them and “hailing Mary” wouldn’t have been enough. And I ate soap so many times, I figure, she’d have to come up with something unique under the circumstances. I’m just glad she never found out.

So, you go boy. Bring it back, and please be relevant after all these years. If worse comes to worse, you can always, just… use a lot of curse words.

Minnesota on my mind

Recently I’ve been facing a tough decision that has been eating away at my innards like a mini Hannibal Lecter. Hmm, that would make for a good movie. Let’s see what Meet Dave does at the box office.

Seriously though, for the last six years I’ve been enduring a horrible series of attacks from loved ones. Family can torture you like no one else on the planet. I have been pushed, pulled and prodded more than any one I know. I have endured much guilt. I mean, how selfish of me to raise my kids in an environment free of gangs, prostitution, hard core drugs, Norm Coleman…

They all want me to move back to the Twin Cities so I can become enveloped with family drama and feel my love slowly turn to hate, see the sun a few days every month, enjoy a -75 wind chill for three months every year, work 40 hour weeks and eat Ramen noodles every night, experiment daily with road rage, explain to my kids the guy smoking marijuana in public is the normal one and we are the freaks, participate in weekly gas drive-offs and blame it on the teenagers, see my teens on weekends (visitation hours only), watch in horror as my youngest child is carried away by mosquitoes, and basically turn from a mildly sarcastic individual into a raving lunatic.

Sounds good to me.

This will eventually end up with me living in a cardboard box somewhere near the Mississippi River. Unless, of course, I’m found in the river and then placed into a box. Either way, I just can‘t wait.

So until then, I’ll enjoy life in Montana more than usual. Maybe I’ll get a pet bear while I’m at it…


On second thought, way too much poop to clean up.

Tormented

Oh how I love you and hate you the same
I ran away, yet you called my name
I came back for another taste, so delicious
Eyebrows were raised, and my kids were suspicious
They said you were so bad for me, but
I returned to find myself in a rut
So I covered you up and left you again
Then you beckoned to me as a dear old friend
I couldn’t resist you, and how I tried
You’re so sweet and brown. Who cares if you lied?
Oh my god, you make me feel so good
You fill me up like nothing ever could
A little of you leaves me wanting more
I just can’t wait till the next time I’ll score
I try but I can’t keep my hands off you
I’m only human. What can I do?
Now I am forced to live with this pain
I run and sweat. It’s all so insane.

I have to say goodbye. I just have to say...




I just have to say…





















I love you coffee cake, but it ends today.

I might have a good luck charm after all

I was looking at vacation photos a few days ago, and I noticed something in this one picture (in addition to the fact that St. Paul’s East Side is so scary now you never walk alone)...



I’m on the far left (in the photo and not politically speaking). You might think I’m going to point out the fact that I have no ass, or that my relatives are practically midgets. But the truth is when I first saw this I was thinking how much my aunt (middle) resembles a troll doll. Remember those toys from the 80’s? They were all the rage for a few seconds. And my aunt can handle being teased so I’m going to run with this. I’m not one to like to stop once I get started anyway. So I was thinking how cool it is to be related to a troll doll, because they are rumored to bring you good luck. I think you’re supposed to rub their hair, but in the case of real live troll dolls I think just being related counts. Here are the facts:

· My engine fire was eventually going to happen due to the gas leak, and it could’ve happened out in the middle of nowhere on I-94 on our way to Minnesota. Instead it happened in town at a shop with a fire extinguisher nearby. That’s good luck.

· I could’ve been out hundreds of dollars going through Enterprise or some other rental place that feigns customer service (that’s another story I prefer to forget) but one of my friends loaned us her SUV for cheap. That’s not friendship per say. It was luck she was in a bind at the right moment in time.

· My sister and her husband decided to keep their dog I had planned on adopting, which made our previous agreement null and void. This saved me from having to be the one to tear up the invisible contract (we didn’t have room in the SUV for him). Since I like to keep my word (I try) this saved me from having to break my promise. No one wants to be the most hated person in any one family, and I could’ve been. Whew, that was close. Thank goodness one of my uncles still holds the title.

· When I was kayaking for the first time in something that was basically an oversized bath toy, I didn’t flip over and drown. That is some luck. Yes I can swim. Just hear me out. I happen to believe if you fall into deep water with a life vest on, you won’t be able to swim to save your life. The life vest gets in the way and keeps you from being able to move in the water like a normal person, or an otter. You’re just a buoy. Eventually you’ll wear yourself out trying to stay afloat by constantly kicking your legs and feet. Then you’ll get a leg cramp. Meanwhile, the vest has been slowly filling with water as it’s been used so many times by other lake goers it has holes in it that aren’t visible to the naked eye, so you sink and drown. I know it’s irrational, but I dare you to try it sometime. *Disclaimer: I never said that.* Not to mention the lake was so full of weeds they were practically poking up past the surface. They’d probably speed up the drowning process by a good 95%. And I could just imagine trying to climb back into the kayak and then flipping my buddy right into the water with me. At least I wouldn’t drown alone. That’s a plus. By the way, none of this has anything to do with me flipping over in a canoe on a field trip when I was a kid.

So now that I’ve thanked my aunt for giving me all of this good luck, I want to kick it up a notch.

When I was four and learned how to write words that were kind of spelled correctly (not really), my aunt lived right next door to us. She came over quite often and inspired me to write a song one day. It went just like this:

“What’s the matter with you
What’s the matter with you
What’s the matter with you
Because, I just want to know”

It’s far from creative, but at least I learned at an early age I wasn’t going to make it as a songstress (new word - it’s like seamstress only it’s not). I can’t sew either, and that’s why it just… makes sense.

My favorite holiday

Yes! It’s finally here. The day we got serious about getting the King’s redcoats off “our” property.

“Taxes?! We don’t need no stinking taxes!”

We sure told him…

I’ve pretty much covered the reasons why I love the 4th of July and other stuff I like about summer, so what else can I do? Well I should clarify that although our line-up of performers leaves much to be desired, there is one who I hear is worth seeing. Amy is a friend and the neighbors say she’s a good singer. I got to know her and her kids when she lived on my block for a couple of years. But I had no idea she was singing last 4th of July or I would’ve made a point to see her (we went on the 3rd instead). She moved back home to another town in Montana this spring, so I’m glad she’s come back for at least a couple of days. To sum her up I’ll share a short story. My oldest daughter (who just turned 9 yesterday) has been to Amy’s house many times to play with her children, so she has heard her sing. She picked up a People magazine sometime this past winter (I buy it for the crosswords) and pointed at the totally fake photo on the cover (they really overdo those touch ups). “Mom, who is that?” she asked.

“It’s Britney Spears. She sings that song, ‘Hit me baby’… blah, blah, blah…”

“Oh! I know that song. She’s not a very good singer. Amy sings way better than her.”

“What about Sheryl Crow? She sings that song ‘I wanna soak up the’… blah, blah, blah…”

“Amy’s way better than her too.”

“That’s good to know…”

I like her already. So today I’m going to stop by and enjoy her performance. Then I’ll get really drunk and light fireworks. I hope I don’t hurt anyone…

So you think you're an adult now

What the hell happened? My dog has turned into a total retard. And it only took about a week under the care of a lazy teenager.

When we went on vacation we were packed like sardines into my friend’s SUV. Basically we gave up a whole row of seating, so when I was loading our baggage it got kind of interesting. Like Regina’s son in Minnesota pointed out, it was just like a real life game of Tetris. God, I miss that game. No wonder I had so much fun loading up the luggage. Anyway, back before we left Montana it took me a couple of hours to pack it all in there just right, but in all fairness one of my neighbors stopped to converse during the game. This was the first time we actually said more than just “Hello” to each other, so I think we ended up talking a good hour until it started getting creepy and I learned he was a Kentucky-bred racist and not the innocent peace-loving Veteran I had once thought. The kids came along then and started pestering me. I’ve never been so happy to see them. They probably thought it was really weird to get smiles from me when they so rudely interrupted. What I’m doing here is dragging out the fact that since we barely had room for ourselves, we definitely didn’t have any room for a canine on board. This didn’t become an issue with adopting my sister’s dog though, because she and her husband did a 180 and decided to keep their beloved pet… some time between April and Jessica‘s birthday party.

Back to my pet - I had to hire the most responsible person I knew who was willing to dog sit (and house sit) for cheap. Enter a kid who is always desperate to get away from his place. He has been a friend of the family since he was 10. Now he’s 18 and thinks he’s an adult. I felt he was the best choice under the circumstances. I honestly don’t know anyone else I could trust 100% not to throw parties or drink my beer while we were away. But I knew there was a downside to hiring him. He thinks he can get by in life doing as little as possible. He is nearly always sitting around with his laptop, and gets less sun than a mushroom. He has no desire to go to college. In fact, I think his only plan is to do nothing and mooch off his parents the rest of his life. So… he has until the fall to get a job and pay his parents rent or he’ll be kicked out of the house. When he does ever decide to get a job he wants to live with us and pay me rent in order to escape his family drama. Well, he says his mom wants to take so much of his money he’ll be trapped at home forever. But when we came back from our vacation I soon could see where his parents were coming from...

When we walked into the house the first thing we noticed was an awful smell. Very pungent. I wanted to puke. It turned out it wasn’t him, but dog urine. Apparently there was a day when he was gone too long and didn’t get back in time. So what did he do?! Well, he obviously didn’t clean it up.

Strike one.

In the kitchen I found dirty dishes piled up in and around the sink. Every cup and bowl, all of my pots, and a pile of silverware. You’d think he would have the decency to wash his own dirty dishes?! But again, he chose to leave the work for me.

Strike two.

My dog was so happy to see us. But after the first 24 hours I realized something about her wasn’t right. She looked… so… dumb. She looks incredibly stupid all of the time now. I don’t know what I can do, but just hope that it wears off. And not only does she look like a few pancakes short of a stack, but she is acting like it too. Nearly every time I call her to go outside she just sits there and stares at me, grinning and refusing to move. She’ll slowly come over when it’s potty time but I have to practically push her out the door. All she wants to do is lay around. She used to love being outside, and went out every chance she got. Now she is just like the dog sitter she had looking after her for a week.

Strike three.

Good luck, kid. You’re going to need it. If I were you I’d start by doing everything your parents say. Maybe then, they won’t charge you so much rent.

Why do people care so much about celebrities?

Why do people even give a shit about who is marrying who, who is canoodling who, and who is selling themselves to reality shows because they’ve spent their fortunes on whores, drugs and Gucci? The way celebrities are exalted is sickening enough as it is, but there are people out there who actually care that Madonna and that Guy may be headed for divorce? People care that Hulk Hogan’s son is in jail and his wife left him to bang a toddler? Why do they care? Are they all close personal friends, relatives or on the payroll? If not, I guess there has to be a better explanation…


People like to mock celebrities. I don’t see this occurring nearly enough and quite frankly, it scares me. The average Jane and Joe seem to be getting the subliminal message that they are less of a person because they aren’t rich or appearing on Jay Leno and addicted to better drugs than marijuana. Some are just too busy to take a moment to joke around or at least have a laugh at the expense of a celebrity head currently touring the country.



I'm sorry, who is the star of the movie? I didn't catch his name. And I can totally understand the need for the giant head-on-wheels in order to promote a movie that probably sucks worse than Dr. Dolittle. I guess he really likes his head.

The way our culture reveres these people is ridiculous. Most celebrities are just asking for it. Especially Billy Ray Cyrus and his Frankenstein creation the kids know as Hannah Montana. So please, try taking a few minutes once in a while to point out the funny and the world will be a better place. It doesn’t matter where you are, but some good places are wherever you find magazines with celebrities plastered all over them. In line at the check-out, in a waiting room at a doctor’s office, in your grandma’s bathroom… the list goes on.


People are as stupid as the celebrities they adore. They are in love with the lifestyle and wish they were one of them. They don’t even know Tom Cruise is a robot and Oprah wants us all down on our knees in fervent prayer so she can bless us. Donald Trump is so rich now all he does is fire people. Barbara Walters wants to be remembered as a slut. Rosie O’Donnell wants us all dead so she can finally have room to move freely upon the earth, just like the dinosaurs once did. *Seriously, I need to eventually dive into that Photoshop. Hulk Hogan is the better parent, and that’s when you know a family is doomed.

They are innocent media victims. Celebrities are everywhere now. *Cough* MTV. It used to be when they weren’t performing whatever, you could only see them on early morning or late night shows for a few minutes, and of course in magazines. But times have really evolved. All of the celebrity-driven shows out there can potentially hypnotize the naïve into thinking these people are important. Talent used to be a requirement, but now anybody can be famous if they have the right connections. And eventually they started getting their own shows because they’re so sick of people chasing them with cameras. By the way, does anyone give a shit about Jessica Simpson these days?

My advice would be to run away. That goes double for the celebrities.