Super Genius, The Dress Arrived

I’ve always been fortunate that the weddings I’ve been in have not required me to wear butt-ugly dresses. Happily, the Super Genius’s is not exception.

Super Genius, here’s the dress.


As you can see, it’s a little long, but it does work well with regular underwear, as promised.

I’m tickled by it.

If I could, I would wear flouncy long dresses every day.

You know, maybe I should. After all, you just use them once and they sit in your closet. Why shouldn’t I wear them to work?

That would be so awesome.

At the least, I’m going to start wearing them to blogger meet-ups.

Well, Here We Go

Hillary is running for president.  Color me unexcited.  I won’t vote for her in the primary, though I’ll vote for her for president, if that’s what it comes down to.

Just as a side note, I saw a commercial for a UFC show taking place on some Marine base, over in Iraq, I think.  Here’s proof that I’m neither a soldier or a man because let me tell you, if a bunch of 18-40 year old men willing to beat the shit out of each other and risk death showed up on my base for any reason other than to join me in the fighting, I would not  be whooping it up watching them go at it, I’d be fucking pissed off.

If anybody 18-40 years old came over there to “support” me by performing and then running back here to the U.S., they’d be lucking if I didn’t punch them in the nose.  “Support.”  Whatever.  You want to support the war?  Join up.  You want to support the troops?  Get them out of harm’s way.  Fuck, let’s not even go that far.  Give them an accomplishable mission.

Because, let me tell you, this troop “surge”?  Would be hilarious if lives weren’t at stake.  What on god’s green earth is a “surge” supposed to accomplish?

Here are some questions I have.

1.  Is there really a government that can rule Iraq in place?

2.  Is Iraq in a civil war?  If not, how will we recognize a civil war?  And, if there is a civil war, will it be one based on religious-sectarianism?  If so, will we take the side of the government or try to remain neutral?

3.  What will victory look like?  How will we know when we’ve won? 

4.  How can you win against an enemy that is willing to kill themselves for their cause?  If they fear death less than they hate you, how can you win a fight against them?

5.  Hillary supports this war.  What is her plan for how to wage it?

6.  What will Hillary do to restore the rule of law and reinstate our Constitutional rights and protections? Or does she believe that indefinite ignoring of the Constitution is necessary in order to wage the larger “war” on terror?

7.  Does Hillary actually think the country is best served by over twenty years of Clinton/Bush rule?  Does she really think the people are best served by two families trading power back and forth for decades?

Well, apparently she does.  

But it leaves a bad taste in my mouth.

Oh, Mrs. Wigglebottom, I Can’t Stay Mad at You

I was watching one of the animal cop shows on Animal Planet and the cop was talking about how the thing that especially disturbed him was how human the faces of pitbulls can look. It’s as if the way people treat pitbulls is saying something about what they think of humanity, especially those segments of humanity most people feel compelled to protect.

This picture of Mrs. Wigglebottom made me think of that. There’s something in her eyes–some kind of look of recognition and shared… I don’t know… something… obviously not humanity, but shared life that takes me aback. I’m looking at her, she’s looking back at me, it’s a moment of us-dom.


It’s hard to get good pictures of her because the camera makes a noise between when you hit the button and the picture is actually taken, so there’s plenty of time for her to move. Here she is caught in mid-lick. If you look closely, you can also see the white tip of her tail wagging.


Karl Rove Cannot Be Trampled by Angry Hippopotami Soon Enough for Me

Andrew Sullivan quotes ‘Heck of a Job’ Brownie as saying:

Unbeknownst to me, certain people in the White House were thinking, ‘We had to federalize Louisiana because she’s a white, female Democratic governor, and we have a chance to rub her nose in it. We can’t do it to Haley (Barbour) because Haley’s a white male Republican governor. And we can’t do a thing to him.’

Well, thank god sexism is dead!

The Dog and I are Having a Fight

This is what I’ve been reduced to: sitting on the couch half-watching the Butcher play video games while I nap and fighting with the dog.

Yes, I feel bad for her that she hasn’t had a meaningful walk in two days, but Christ. I’m still kind of disoriented (though the real dizziness has passed). I’m running a fever. The dog has been cooped up for two days.

She shits and then sees a cat and fuck me if it’s not Mrs. Wigglebottom “off”/mighty hunter of the Serengeti “on” except that you rarely see lionesses with me flailing along behind her while she chases her prey.

The dog, though, takes off after the cat with me shouting “no, no, no. Stop.” first one way and then back past me at full speed the other way. She is so singlemindedly focused on that cat that nothing, not the impending end of the leash, not me screaming, can stop her and then, BAM, she hits the end of the leash. I’m stupidly holding on for dear life. The dog’s rear end keeps going after the cat long after the front end has stopped due to the leash and then, all of a sudden, I’ve got sixty pounds of dog swinging through the air about two feet off the ground, by nothing but her collar. She lands with an audible thud.

“No!” I yell again, just for the sake of having something to yell. Due to her nonsense, I’ve been spun around to head home, and so that’s the way I’m headed. But not her, no. She’s digging all four feet and her ass firmly into the ground so that the collar is pulling all the loose skin from her neck up around her head and I’m effectively dragging her down the street.

I stop. She starts pulling the other way.

“Come on!”

I pull my way.

She digs in again.

I pull.

She digs in.

Finally, I lower my sunglasses and I shoot her the meanest look I can. Now, she’s cowering and cringing and whimpering like I’m taking her home to beat her*, but at least we’re moving back towards the house, small puppy steps of terror, but back towards the house. And I’m crying. Why?

Who the fuck knows? Why am I crying? I didn’t deliberately swing her around by her neck. I’m not actually going to beat her. I’m just a girl running a fever who thought it might feel nice to get out in the cool air and walk my dog, slowly, around the neighborhood.

We finally get home after much tugging and dragging and she flinches when I go to take her collar off. Which set off the waterworks again.

Anyway, we’re going to go back out here in a little bit. I’d really, really like for us to just successfully make it around the neighborhood, for both of our sakes.

Until then, though, I’m not speaking to her and I gather from the snores on the couch, she’s done with me for a little bit, too.

*Total actual number of times Mrs. Wigglebottom’s ever been struck in anger by me? Once. Six years ago. One smack on the bottom, actually after an instance much like this, but where I let go of the leash.