Bisquick wants me to enter something called the "Magical Pancake Mornings" contest.

I will not.

For one, Bisquick uses hydrogenated oils.

For another, this might happen:



In other news, we are facing a global food crisis.

Have a nice day!

That is an actual picture of my friend Pants, although ironically it's a picture of her shirt.

She's single but lives in Utah, in case you single fellas find that picture of her rack enticing.

Toss aside for a moment the utter insanity of America's political realities, the teeth-gnashing economic climate, or anything else that requires thought and analysis, and let's turn to some mundane realities.

How fucking insane is it that in 2008 some people think you need an organized wardrobe for running errands? You need to develop a "personal style concept" to go grocery shopping? Really?

I have been thoughtlessly leaving the house in jeans, t-shirts and flip flops. Criteria for being chosen include: clean, found in drawer (or laundry basket on a bad day or week), and ... actually, those are the only criteria.

Now I learn I have been making a crucial error that could cost me my standing in the community. If I had any standing in the community. Maybe this is why I DON'T?

As someone who's brain is prone to over-analyzing everything, suggesting that I need to carefully consider this minutia of daily existence is paramount to trying to cause my head to explode. That means the fashion industry is trying to kill me. I'm afraid killing them is simply self-defense at this point.

Who are these women, and how do I kill them? Do I need something special, like a wooden stake or a silver bullet, or will a simple bludgeoning do?

When Dilf and I were dating, many eons ago, when giant armadillos roamed the earth across one giant land mass known as Pangea, we attended the wedding of one of his high school friends.

With the exception of a few of his closest friends, with whom he had kept in contact after graduation, I was meeting most of these people for the first time. While I sat enjoying a conversation with one group of people, Dilf excused himself to mingle with others he hadn't seen in a while.

In the midst of my talking and laughing at a table, the guy I had been sitting next to at dinner pulled his chair alongside mine and muttered confidentially to me, "Doesn't that bother you?"

"What?" I asked, thinking my champagned-dulled senses had allowed a shard of glass to become embedded in my flesh somewhere, unbeknownst to me. "That," he asked, pointing to my husband, who was talking to the maid of honor.

"Uh, no?" I replied. "Why would it?"



"You mean..." he said, lowering his voice even further and leaning in towards me conspiratorially, "He never mentioned her to you?" He asked, his tone suggesting none-too-subtly that Dilf was hiding something from me.

"He didn't tell you about their... hissssstory?"

At this point, his eyes may have turned red and into reptilian slits, his tongue may have become forked, and horns may have sprouted from his head. I wouldn't know, because I wasn't looking at him. I wanted him to go as far away from me as possible, because he clearly was in league with the powers of evil. Yet, despite the look of disgust that must've been on my face (I never did have a poker face), he kept talking!

I don't recall the exact words at this point, but the message was that Dilf and this lady had some sort of unexplored, unfulfilled mutual longing that they never quite managed to consummate in high school, but that it certainly appeared that Dilf was trying to close the deal at this wedding reception. (Clearly, this man didn't realize that not only does Dilf not "close deals," he doesn't work them up in the first place. He obviously wasn't there when Dilf and I met, and my eyelash-fluttering, purring flirtations caused him to stammer and flee in terror. But I digress...)

Nothing came of this asshole's attempt to sour my evening, or my relationship with Dilf. In fact, I caught the bouquet that night, Dilf was delighted, and for once the superstition rang true -- we were married about a year later.

But this creature's hideous dynamite stack had a long fuse. Fast forward 11 1/2 years, with Dilf and I living a long-distance marriage where we only see each other on weekends, and me with two kids and the body to prove it, and feeling like the world is passing me by as I focus on hearth and home -- well, my vulnerability level is a bit different.

So when Dilf is being sent to L.A., his least favorite city on the planet (No offense, Miss Kendra), and wants to meet up with this accomplished, attractive woman just so he isn't the troubled loner sitting at the bar by himself as he usually is when he travels, what normally wouldn't bother me suddenly does. And I think about all those letters to Dear Abby and Ask Amy that start out, "I didn't mean for this to happen when I looked up my old friend from high school..." And then I also have the stomach flu, and am sitting on the bathroom floor in my hoodie and flannel pajama pants with my hair pulled back in an elastic headband, feeling miserable and sorry for myself...

So, thank you Mr. Evil Guy From the Wedding. Thank you for making life just a little bit more awful for some people who never did a thing to you.

It may not come as a surprise to know that this guy is/was some sort of Republican political figure in the Chicago suburbs. I'm sure he's working his magic in any number of election campaigns as we speak.

Perhaps that is overstating things.

I am disgusted and prone to lashing out today.

I have a bone to pick with "the world." By "the world" I mean "the powers that be" or whatever oppressive force I feel wielding an invisible power over all of us pitiful humans, who either succumb to it in blissfully blind and ultimately unsatisfying servitude, or thrash against it futilely and painfully as it crushes us into horrified submission, unable to fight it yet cursed to witness it with our eyes pried open a la Clockwork Orange.

Yes, I have paranoid delusions.

But I just want to go on record: nobody wanted to or currently wants to listen to what Jesus really, really said, but it was this:

Everybody you think is a loser, is a winner. Everyone you think is a winner, is a loser. What you think is success, isn't. What you don't value, is what you should.



I am officially losing my mind.

Of course I'm sure. Why wouldn't I be?

One of my favoritest movies is The Princess Bride. I watched it again last weekend. This line is sticking in my head today:

Life is Pain



Hey America -- get your head out of your ass.

I have to expound upon this later. I'm busy right now.

I am busy making ÜberYounger's lunch upstairs in the kitchen, when I hear that going on in the family room. It's Big Banana Day.

I think Oswald should keep his banana to himself, no matter how big it is.

To top it all off, after Oswald's banana is laying limp and depleted from him "giving it to everyone in town," Daisy asks for the empty shell.

She makes a banana hammock out of it.

I wish I was making that up.

Still not ready to face reality.

Little mold-eating gnomes are going to burrow into my carpet with their little spades, their tiny, jaunty red caps barely visible through the knap of the rug.

They're going to fill their little sacks and buckets and haul all that nasty mold away, and take it back to their cheery little gnome homes in the forest. And that will be the end of that problem.

Also, the banking gnomes will hear of our sad plight, fill their little sacks with gold, and shore up our economy.

I think I'll go here instead:

I wanted to stay away from politics this week, but recent major news stories are making it very difficult.

For instance, our deepening financial crisis.

What Obama says

Really, Barack? That's the best you can do? We already know it's bad; what are you going to do about it?

Okay McCain. Your turn.

McCain says

Well done, McCain. The only thing worse you could've said is nothing, and you totally nailed it, man.

I'm feeling really comfortable about this now.

In general, folk music is probably my least favorite genre, with one notable exception:


(lyrics can be found here)

My dad has an endless supply of Pete Seeger albums. Could that possibly have affected my political outlook? (We also had this board game).

With the exception of mentioning the Farmer Labor party, the song holds up remarkably (or distressingly) well.

Maybe that's why it's still being taught to the children of today. (Go, Dan Zanes, go!)

Anyways, to me it addresses a common fallacy among many wealthy and powerful people, as summed up in "The Devil Wears Prada":

Andy Sachs: But what if this isn't what I want? I mean what if I don't wanna live the way you live?

Miranda Priestly: Oh, don't be ridiculous. Andrea. Everybody wants this. Everybody wants to be us.

No, actually. Some people choose to live simply, choose to nurture rather than achieve, choose to be rather than to have. They don't want the limelight, shiny baubles or private jets.

They want home, family, and dignity. Feel free to have "more" if that's what you need to feel good about yourself. Just let the rest of us have "some."

My newspaper was unusually informative today. The print version, anyway. The online version seemed to feel this was the most pressing issue of the day.

But breaking with its tradition of burying the real news deep within its front section, The Trib put this story on the front page. Where everyone could see it, and everything!

"Government brokers responsible for collecting billions of dollars in federal oil royalties operated in a 'culture of substance abuse and promiscuity' that included having sex with energy company employees, accepting lavish gifts and rigging contracts to favored firms, investigators said Wednesday."

The best part about that job was you could screw the entire country while screwing the oil company reps! Your tax dollars at work, people.

Also interesting to me was this story, because the family in question goes to the Übergirls' school. The wife had always been a constant at the PTA events and such, but at the end of last year became strangely absent. Does this mean I'll finally be invited to Bunco? Or to down margaritas at La Mex while making derisive comments about husbands and school policies and complaining about how tired we all are?

Don't bet on it. But a girl can dream...

I've heard plenty about Palin being a heartbeat away from the presidency, as if that were the only danger she presents. What about her Senate presence? The last time I checked, the Legislative Branch is still one of the three in our federal government, and it's pretty important. While she may never be president, she will be the President of the Senate if McCain is elected.

Right now, our Senate is split down the middle, making the vice president's tie-breaking vote all the more crucial. Do we want someone who has no clue how the rest of the country operates?

Why do I say she has no clue? Because "Economists say managing Alaska's economy and budget is different than in other states."

Alaska hasn't faced job losses. Alaska hasn't faced budgeting concerns. They rake in federal money. And benefited from high prices at the gas pump. What the fuck does she know about what the rest of the country deals with, when her state operates like this?

She hasn't even seen "other parts of the country." Her own country! Not someone elses -- OURS. I'm sure she'll know how what's best for the ENTIRE COUNTRY.

Speaking of the entire country, is anyone besides me pissed off about this?



Anyway, if I hear one more person say how "tough" or "feisty" or "scrappy" she is, I'm going to go berserk(er). I want to see her in a gang-infested area of a major city. I'll even let her take her gun. But she'll have to take her big racist mouth in there with her, too.

I'm not even going to investigate whether or not the happy era of "family values" the Republicans want to "preserve" ever existed in the first place. Let's say it did. For the sake of argument, let's even say it's the pinnacle of human society. So, using life as presented in 1950's and 1960's sitcoms as a model, do the Republicans have the winning recipe for creating the ideal society?

No.

Ending abortion? No, and no. In European countries, where legal abortion is a given and not even up for debate, abortion rates are lower:



If you really want to end abortion, it seems making it illegal is an empty gesture. Enacting more "family friendly" policies? May be a better idea. I mean, I can't say for sure why rates in some countries are lower than in others, but they are lower in countries with "family friendly" policies. Maybe it's a coincidence.

What about our crazy teens? Are they sipping malteds at the soda shop, or sucking on something else? Let's look at the sex lives of adolescents. According to this article:

"In the U.S., rates of teen sex, pregnancy, abortion and birth have all declined since 1991, as a result, most experts agree, of a combination of teens' postponing sex and increased contraception. But the rates are still higher than those in virtually all Western European countries."

Huh.

What about those pesky gays, looking to undermine God's plan for life? They're going to destroy marriage, our basic unit of human society, right? Well... if that's happening, don't blame the gays.

I have to admit, the human race does seem to be experimenting a bit with social institutions. Some of it is probably is a mistake, some of it is probably a move forward, and time will tell which is which. As a species, we're not perfect, and we do dumbheaded things all the time that require corrective action.

At the very least, you should try to find the correct course of action to achieve your stated objectives, instead of creating some fairy tale and trying to dupe people into believing you have the answers.

I was avoiding politics for a while because we've all been doused and immersed in politics due to the presidential election, so why add my voice to the fray?

But after I read the letters to the editor in the Chicago Tribune, it appeared to me that a large number of people are either NOT PAYING ATTENTION or REALLY EASY TO TRICK.

So I have to write about this stuff, because reality is just not setting in.

I don't know that I'll have much impact, but I can't keep it in anymore.

I'll let Joe Biden start me out:



If someone want to point out all of Biden's faults to me, fine. Go ahead.

That doesn't make what he says wrong.

As Jeanne's sister-in-law once remarked, upon receiving heaps of personal insults from her brother-in-law because he was mad she got him an XL sweater for Christmas, "That may very well be, but that does not change the fact that YOU are an EXTRA LARGE."

We had no bread
But we were brave
We had an important
Lunch to save

Do not fear
I said to daughter
As I led the banana
Off to slaughter
Who needs bread
When crackers work
I'll show you how!
I went berserk



And made that lunch
Into some art
Complete with desert-
The middle part!




So have no fear if you should find
Yourself quite breadless
In a bind
You will find another way
Just stuff your face
The Übermilf way!

No more
I beg of you
Make it stop

I have to stop thinking
about stuff I don't care about

Please Stop ANNOYING Me
Go away dog
The cat was right about you
You can be a nuisance

Go away dog
I can't walk down the stairs
With you under my feet

Go away dog
People don't want your nose
In their crotches

Go away dog
I can't take you for a walk
Until Younger goes to school

Go away dog
I want my fucking space!

And you know who else is annoying?
That John guy who comments
on Nick and Todd's blogs



It's SOOO NOT 79 Degrees Outside
It was so freakin' hot, and so I was glad
To hear that the rain should bring coolness
But after it rained, I only was mad
Instead it was steamy. They fooled us!

When I awoke, I was sure they would change
The forecast to include the heat
But they still say highs in the 70's range
And so Tommy Skillet should be beat

Also I was shocked to see that John McCain not only lives in my neighborhood, but molests people with special needs. I'm pretty sure it's not the same person, though. As the guy running for president. Although, he DOES own all those houses, so ONE of them could be... nah. He doesn't play the guitar.

Does anyone ever wonder what happened to the first Mr. J.K. Rowling?
The one who hit her?
Did he think she wasn't worth much at the time?
What about now?
What about the doctor who dismissed her
When she was thinking of killing herself?
What does he think?
Or the twelve publishers who rejected her?
What do they think?
Because JK Rowling didn't become an author, or a worthwhile person, when someone published her book
Or when that book and those that followed it made tons of money
Or when they got made into movies
She always was who she is
Only they didn't see it.
What do they see now?
What do you see, when you look at your spouse?
Someone not quite perfect enough for you?

What do you see, when you look at someone who is struggling?
Or not "glamorous?"
Or not "accomplished?"
What do you see when you look at yourself?

Kiss My Heinie Leinie

I do not care if Leinie Girls
are in my town or not
I don't care what beer they promote
or if they're looking hot
Why send me an email
to tell me such a thing?
To see a trollop in short shorts
Who can't even dance or sing?

So, my dearest local pub
don't tell me they'll appear
Unless they're coming to my house
decked out in cleaning gear



Dear Parenting Magazine

Chick peas are not popcorn
No matter what you say
Chick peas are not popcorn
You say they get crisp when toasted
Chick peas are not popcorn
You dirty lying bastards
Chick peas are not popcorn
The children know the truth
Chick peas are not popcorn

I would rather have my kids
Up to their elbows in buttery goo
Than have them forever emotionally scarred
By what you'd have me do

Because chick peas are not popcorn
To pretend so is a lie
Chick peas are not popcorn
With their mealy insides
Chick peas are not popcorn
They do not taste the same
Chick peas are not popcorn
What are you, insane?
Chick peas are not popcorn

One More, a Haiku this time
Summer is over
Once more, potato salad
That's all for the year