A Hat with Ears & The Towel Dance

I’m finally getting around to making Plimco the hat with ears that she requested about one million years ago.  I’m concerned that this may be a little small, but it’s just a prototype so that I can get a feel for how making such a hat works, so I guess it doesn’t matter if it’s too small.  She can just give it to someone who’s got a tiny head.

This morning I was thinking of her sister, Dr. J and how on weekend mornings, I would come out of the shower and perform the infamous towel dance for her.  I wonder if I could put that up on YouTube.  In a former life, I bet I was a burlesque dancer.

I’ve got a lot on my mind, but I don’t know how to articulate it.

How Much Makes a Garden?

NM advised me to plant herbs.  She thought that would improve my situation and I thought, well, why not?  I’m trying to learn to take people’s good advice.

On the other hand, I’m not the world’s greatest tender-to-er of anything and so I thought I’d just start small.  I planted some basil (mmmm), some rosemary (I think I’ve had a good rosemary chicken before), some sage (ooo, spooky), and some lavender (also ooo spooky).

They came in these cool biodegradable cups, so all I had to do was tear open the bottom and nestle them down in the dirt and give them some water and put them in full sun, which they all claim to like.

I have no idea how to know when to harvest any of it, but I figure I’ll just keep my eye on everything and at some point, I will just know.

I guess.

I’m kind of excited.

Sitting Around the Kitchen Table

All right. So, as previously reported, Mack’s got this amazing kitchen table in his cabin and I have an overwhelming desire to stick some women around it and eat and talk and just see what happens.

So, happily, he’s willing to make the table available on the 21st.

I’m not sure what kind of gathering this will be. It’s not really a blogger get-together, though I hope to see some bloggers there. I’m going to try to sweet talk the Professor into coming, and I hope that, if there are some folks who are commenters here who don’t have blogs, this will be a chance for y’all to come on out. And if there are lurkers who’d like to come, just drop me an email and I’ll send you the skinny.

Edited to add: I will send y’all an email invite sometime this weekend.  If you don’t get one and want one, just holler.  Or holler just for fun.  In the meantime NM said I should plant an herb garden and so I’m going to.

Is there anything better?

Is there anything better than coming home from a long evening of drinking to discover a dog happy to see you and a couple of Reese’s Peanut Butter Eggs?

I’m not sure there is.

Why Mrs. Wigglebottom Got Divorced

Bridgett sent me a story so lovely that, upon hearing it, I realized that this is probably the story of why Mrs. Wigglebottom got divorced.

See, a while ago, there were two dogs who were great friends, Jake Wigglebottom, a regular yellow dog, and Tiny Pastures, a German Shepherd.  They liked many of the same things–lying, cheating, stealing, chasing women, and talking bad about charming feminist bloggers–and they got along swimmingly, except for when they were trying to cheat each other.

One day, Jake Wigglebottom came to Mrs. Wigglebottom and said, “I’m going to have my friend, Tiny, over for dinner.  Woman, you make us up these two livers and some carrots and some dog treats.”

“Two livers?” asked Mrs. Wigglebottom.  “Then what will I eat?”

“Eh, I don’t know,” said Mr. Wigglebottom.  “I guess you can eat whatever Tiny and I don’t.  Hey, you know, two livers may not be enough.  Tiny sure loves to eat.  I’m going to go out and hunt some ducks and see if I can’t bring home some more for us to feast on.  You keep cooking and, when Tiny gets here, you make him feel welcome.  But keep an eye on him or he’ll try to climb on top of you.  That’s his favorite thing.”

As Mrs. Wigglebottom watched her husband trot off, she thought, “I know who else likes to mount every bitch he comes across–my good-for-nothing husband.”

Anyway, Mrs. Wigglebottom settled in to cook the livers and they smelled so delicious that she thought, “I could try a teensy bite.  If I don’t eat it now, I’ll never get some, because they’ll eat the whole thing.”  And so, she set out to eat a tiny bit and accidentally scarfed down both of them.

Yes, she ate both livers.  And they were delicious!

“Shit,” she thought.  “What will I do now?”

And just then, Tiny arrived.

“Where’s my good friend, Jake?” Tiny asked.

“Out,” said Mrs. Wigglebottom.  “But he’ll be back soon.  Sit here and rest a while.”

“Out, you say,” said Tiny, as he slipped his hand between her legs.

“He told me you’d try that,” said Mrs. Wigglebottom.  “He told me not to let you.”

“But we’re such good friends,” Tiny said, as he scratched behind her ears and rubbed under her chin, “Surely he wouldn’t mind,” and soon he was way up, up inside her.

“Damn,” said Mrs. Wigglebottom.  “That feels good, but hurry.  He’s soon to be back for dinner.”

“Yum.  What are we having?”

“Meat,” said Mrs. Wigglebottom thoughtfully.

“What kind?” Tiny asked.

“The same kind we serve all our guests–balls.”

“Balls?”

“You know, testicles, balls.  We serve our guests their balls.”  And with that, Mrs. Wigglebottom picked up a sharp knife and began to chase Tiny around the kitchen.

“Are you mad?” he yelled.

“Hold still!” she cried.  “It will only hurt for a second and you’ll like it, I promise.”

“Wait!” He hollered.  “I meant to bring some beer.  How rude of me to forget it!  I’ll just run to the store!”  And, like that, he ran out of the Wigglebottom house.

Just then, Jake returned from his hunting trip, empty handed.  “Mrs. Wigglebottom,” he said, watching Tiny run off.  “What’s gotten into that crazy friend of mine?”

“I don’t know,” said Mrs. Wigglebottom.  “He just barged in, grabbed the livers, and ran off with them.  It happened so suddenly I didn’t know what to do.”

“He’s got both livers?”

“Yes.”

And, with that, a hungry Mr. Wigglebottom took off in pursuit.

“Tiny, Tiny! Wait!” he called.  “Leave me one, just one.  I’m begging you!”

“Jake, my man,” Tiny hollered back, “If you catch me, you can have them both!”

Ha, that tickles me.  Needless to say, as the boys were running around the hillside, Mrs. Wigglebottom chose that moment to leave her marriage bed and the house of her husband and strike out on her own in the world.  And hurray for that!

[See here for the original.]

The Narcissistic Princess Has Her Say

Here.

Who Has it in for the Concordia Lutherans?

Someone did a number on the Concordia Lutheran street sign last night.  Yesterday, it stood on its metal pole pointing you to the Concordia Lutheran Church just two blocks off Murphy Road.

Today, the pole is a twisted mess and the whole thing is sitting in a heap next to the hole it used to stand in.

Mrs. Wigglebottom was very curious.  We had to sniff everything and she spent the longest time studying a clump of dirt.

I know dogs like routine and order.  But I have to say, when it was standing, she never seemed to pay that much attention to it.  So, it’s curious to me how curious she was about the sign now that it’s not.

I would love to know what she was thinking.  It almost seemed like she wanted me to put the sign back in its hole, but I explained to her that I could not bend metal. 

Perhaps she’s worried that, without the sign, no one will be able to find their way to their semi-annual pancake breakfasts.

If I know the Lutherans, though, they will find some way around this.  Perhaps some kind of sing-in.  People will drive around with their windows open following the scent of maple syrup and the sound of “O For a Thousand Tongues to Sing” in order to find their churchy breakfast.

But my point, which I did have, is that there appeared to be no marks on the sidewalk and no damage to surrounding trees and posts, which means that whoever hit the Concordia Lutheran sign made no effort to slow down once he or she left Murphy Road and went careening up on the sidewalk and, once finding the intended victim, made no effort to slow down after hitting it.

That, my friends, is very curious and I hope that person is not driving around when I’m out walking the dog.

My Constant Companion

I just got off the phone with the Professor, which I highly recommend to everyone who’s feeling out of sorts. I, of course, was feeling quite out of sorts after being called a narcissistic princess by a man whose praises I spent all Tuesday singing, but I chose not to burden the Professor with that.

Instead, I was telling her about my exciting trip to the counsellor. I won’t bore you with the details except to say that I’ve been told I need to get a reign on my inner child and possibly some medication for my mildly moderate depression.

It is this mildly moderate depression I’d like to mull over.  It’s not that I doubt that I’m fucked up.  Clearly, I’m fucked up.  I’m not an idiot.  But I don’t feel depressed.  Except for the thing that shall not be named, I feel pretty good about my life.  Exciting things are happening; we’re more financially secure than we’ve ever been (knock on wood); I’ve got good friends who love me; and I’ve got the cutest dog who delights me.

I don’t feel depressed.

I feel anxious.

And that’s kind of two-pronged what the Professor and I were talking about, how I have a ton of anxiety and that, even though it seems to have manifest itself more acutely recently, that’s also because I’ve been doing a lot of new things that are incredibly scary and great sources of anxiety for me.

In the past, I just would not have done those things and so I probably appeared less anxious, but basically just because I stayed in my comfort zone and never did things that would cause me any anxiety.  But now, as I’m doing more things that freak me the fuck out, lo and behold, I am often freaked right the fuck out.

So, it’s kind of a self-perpetuating problem–doing new things makes me anxious but I want to do new things so that I can get over being freaked right the fuck out by doing them.  I mean, folks, I have every intention of making Don Coyote put me back on that fucking four-wheeler and listening to me bitch and cry again until I finally just get the fuck over it, if I can.  I’d like that, anyway.

I hadn’t ever been to a counsellor of any sort before.  It’s not what I expected.  And I felt like I was spending a lot of time just bringing her up to speed so that she could understand me.  I don’t think anything during the session helped me understand me.

But the work I did afterwards, to try to understand what she was saying and to judge it against my own understanding of myself has been amazingly useful.

I don’t mean to make it sound like I’m discounting her diagnosis.  It’s just that I don’t feel depressed and I rely a great deal on my emotions and intuition to guide me.  I’d be really freaked out to discover that I was so out of touch with the tools I so heavily rely on that I couldn’t tell when I was depressed.

On the other hand, I always feel a little anxious.  Anxiety is a constant companion and one that does get in the way sometimes of me being in touch with my own self–as evidenced by the anxiety attacks and my freaked out response to them.

And the other thing is that I don’t want to patch myself together just so I can continue to do the thing we won’t talk about.  If it takes drugs and counselling to make it so I can continue to bear the thing we won’t mention, it seems to me that I need to find some thing other than the thing we won’t mention to spend my time on.

Is that myopic?

Stacey Campfield

I’ve been thinking a lot about Stacey Campfield (not in that way, you perverts) and I’ve been mulling over our encounter.  Okay, the encounter between him and Don Coyote, which I had the pleasure to observe.

We’ve talked some about the differences between conservatives and liberals, just in their mindsets–what they choose to emphasize and what they choose to downplay (and Indifferent Children, I’m still thinking about that article you linked to).  And my feeling is that, in general, most people are sincere in their political beliefs and motivated by a sincere desire to make things better (even if it’s only for them).  The mindsets are just very different.

But, as I was listening to the Republican lawmakers talk, what I realized is that they feel kind of sandwiched in some way.  When they’re at home, they can get tons of local media attention, but when they’re here, they hardly get any.  And, I have to say that, I think it’s because as “politician-y” as most of them came across, none of them, save one, was a real showman.  Yes, a couple of them were good story tellers and a few of them were funny.

But you know how there’s that moment in The Prestige where the magicians realize that the trick another magician is able to do requires him to hold a gold fish bowl between his legs and so, in order to pull the trick off successfully, he must be committed to living his whole life as if he is frail and barely able to walk–that way, when the fish bowl is between his legs, there’s no discernible difference?  How he is committed in his whole life to the success of the trick?

That, my friends, is Stacey Campfield.

He’s committed to the trick and everything about him is devoted to making Stacey Campfield a person who cannot be ignored.  Seriously, can you think of any other state legislator from Tennessee that gets national media coverage?

And, too, I was thinking about how Mack and I were saying kind of harsh things to him and nothing about his demeanor suggested that it got to him.

I honestly think his only misstep was ignoring us until Mack went over to his table.  If he had come over first thing and introduced himself, if he seemed unafraid of us and completely oblivious to why he might be uncomfortable in our presence, I would have sensed no sign of weakness.  Right now, though, having observed him in person, I think his weakness is that he’s not exactly sure how to answer his critics (I think that’s obvious from his blog as well) and he comes across like he’s uneasy around women.

I mention this because the man is driven and committed in a way that the other Republicans are not, and in a way I found, frankly, scary to be in the presence of.  Campfield is not the biggest fish in the pond, but he’s determined to make the most waves.  Right now, he’s got two big chinks in his armor, but if he fixes those, the dude’s going to be as smooth as silk.

Little Girl, Big World

It’s grandefille’s niece’s birthday today and I am madly in love with this photo, which seems to me to be one of those photos that, the longer you look at it, the more you think about.

We were watching USA, I think, the other day and they had some promo on there for the WWE and some hot woman was talking about how watching other hot women in tiny clothing and big ole fake titties roll around on a matt made her feel empowered.

I laughed so hard I about fell off the big green couch.  The Butcher didn’t see what was so funny.

Clearly, I should have dropped an email… ooo… a “shemail” to Lindsey.  She would have appreciated the Twisty-ness of it.

Don Coyote

“Don Coyote”

“Ha, ha, ha, ha, ha, ha, ha, ha, ha.”

“See, I knew it’d be awesome.”

“No, B.  No.  It’s not ‘Daan Cai-otee’ [imagine, if you will a flock of geese calling to each other across a flat, empty corn field in the early evening: Daan, Daan, Daan Cai-otee].”

“Are you making fun of me because I’m Midwestern?”

“You must say it as if every letter were a lover’s kiss–delicate at first, soft, tender–feel that ‘n’ in your mouth like a warm splash of tequila and then let the jagged edge of that c catch you like an unexpected but anticipated nibble at the base of your neck.  Each sound should build to the next sound until, by the time you reach the ‘te,’ it comes out like the last gasp a woman makes before her lover fulfills his most sacred obligation to her.  That, that is how you pronounce ‘Don Coyote.'”

“Yeah, I don’t think that’s going to happen.”

What Do You Want from Writing?

We were talking writing today, what its purpose is, how it should work.  I’m still mulling it over.

I feel like how I was taught how to teach writing was inherently supremacist–that there’s some objective standard for what makes “good” writing and that everything else that falls short of that objective standard sucks.

That’s just not true.  I was taught to teach writing like it’s a fortress for ideas and that each part of the fortress must be precise and disciplined and correct in order to keep the good stuff in and the bad stuff out.

But “correct” English is a fiction.  No one speaks it.  It’s a useful fiction, because it lets a bunch of folks who all speak all kids of English have access to an agreed-upon formal, but fake way of communicating and being understood.  But it’s not “right.”  And I think it’s bullshit the way that “correct” English is used as a measure of the value of someone’s ideas.

I think good writing is when the writer imagines herself sitting across from her reader.  And she writes in such a way that something about her seems spread open (arms, legs, mouth, eyes, hands, etc.) and the reader feels like responding to that openness.  Sometimes, it’s meant to feel like a seduction–“Come in here, sweetie.”–and sometime it’s meant to feel like a reassuring hug and sometimes I want you to laugh with me or shout with me or lace your fingers through mine.

I want you to feel invited to connect with me in some intimate way.

And in a way that’s very hard for me to feel comfortable with in real life.

So, I don’t know.  I have to say, I think that’s what pisses me off about Bob Krumm.  I used to feel that, even though we disagreed on everything, that I was welcome over there to read and to think about his ideas.  And now I feel like something’s changed and I’m not welcome.  And I don’t know if it’s something I did or if he’s changing his blogging strategy or what.

But it’s weird.  And I don’t know how to explain it, but as a reader, I feel cheated.

Mack Needs a Nickname

I’m not asking for suggestions.  I’m just saying.  I’m thinking on it.

He’s over there right now suggesting that he can conjure shit and cure toe-nail fungus, but won’t.  I’m not sure that’s really fair to people who suffer from toe-nail fungus.

Remedial Feminism

It’s come to my attention that even well-meaning men still believe that feminism is somehow all about them–that it’s about hating men or how we’re the victims of men or how we’re trying to be the same as men (I mean, seriously, Bob Krumm wrote a postbasically mocking women’s desire for equality and not one person gave a shit enough about what Krumm thinks of women to point and laugh, which is something, considering that it proves two of my points simultaneously–1.  That women aren’t sitting around waiting with baited breath to hear what men think about feminism and 2.  That there are some folks who still think that basic things like equality between the sexes is a joke*.).

Anyway, yes, Slartibartfast, who’s over at his place complaining about how I’m forcing him to “accept ‘feminism’ (which is left undefined, so I assume we have to accept the whole movement – even the extremes), or acquiesce to wife beating, pay inequity, and general enslavement of the female gender.”

Aside from missing the point of my post, he clearly missed who the post was written to.

But let me put it simply.  Unless I specifically say that some post on feminism is addressed to men, you men are not the primary audience.  You’re welcome to read along and join in the discussion, but if you imagine that I am talking specifically to you when I’m talking about feminism and feminist concerns, you are missing a basic nuance.

I love you, but you are not my default reader**.

I’m talking to other women. 

Listen, Exador is, by any measure, a handsome man, fun to be around, and, in his own way, charming.  I think it’s reasonable to say that being with him is, in its own way, pleasurable.

When a handsome charming man who heaps pleasures upon women insinuates, even teasingly, that, if only those darn feminists weren’t ruining it, all women could live happily with a man like him?

Well, good god damn, I’m only a person with a wet and welcoming cooter and that’s a person it’s hard not to want to invite in and make feel welcome.

And it’s not just Exador.  Every day we’re faced with men we care very deeply for who define feminism how ever the hell they want and then ask us to renounce those kinds of feminists, if not all feminism.

And when they’re looking so charming and smiling so sweetly and scooting so close you can almost imagine the warmth of their breath on your neck?

It’s tempting.

But it’s also ridiculous.  Feminism is not some scary monster movement full of man-haters.  It’s a movement that has immeasurably improved the lives of women, men, and children.  And the point of my post was a humorous reminder that, if there hadn’t been feminism, life would be very different for all of us.

I bring all this up because Ivy sent me a link to a story about her daughter that just ripped my heart out and pissed me off.

Is this story about men?  No.

Does Ivy want to castrate all men and tie their testicles to the bumper of her car and drive all through town laughing like she won the lottery?  No.

Does Ivy hate men and want to mock and belittle them at every turn?  No.

Ivy wants to be able to walk into McDonald’s and get for her daughter a toy without it turning into a lesson in how either 1.  Boys get all the cool toys and girls have to learn how to put up with shit. Or 2.  Because you’re a girl, you usually only deserve the girl toy, which sucks, but because someone has pointed out that you are “exceptional,” you might be able to get the boy toy.

See how nothing about this has to do directly with boys?  This isn’t an anecdote about boys.  No one is suggesting that any boy should have to suffer or put up with a shit toy.  There’s nothing in this story directly about boys.

This is about a mom who wants her daughter to be able to eat a god damn meal without being taught that shitty things are for girls and cool things are for boys and that, if she wants the cool thing, she has to accept that it’s not really for girls.

That’s feminism.  That right there.  Wanting your daughter to be able to eat a meal without it turning into a lesson on how to eat shit, metaphorically.

That’s all.  It’s both revolutionary and ordinary and I’m embarrassed for you and furious with you that you fathers would mock a movement your own daughters still need.

——–

*It’ll be interesting to see if Krumm finds this as amusing when it becomes his own children who are affected.  Not that I’m in love with the “exceptional woman” exception to women’s shit, but enough “exceptional women” go on to become feminists that I feel it’s a net gain after an initial setback.  I guess you could argue that, though.

**I know it bothers you to have to talk about “male privilege,” but really, gentlemen, getting to assume that you are the primary audience for everything you read and feeling hurt and confused, and feeling that those feelings are justified, when you are not?  That’s a damn big privilege.

Best Nap Ever

I just woke up from the best nap ever.  That is all.

Parting Thoughts

Even though they didn’t want to initially, I thought it was very kind of the Republicans to invite us liberal folks, who ended up being just me and Mack.

One thing I found really disturbing is that because the legislative branch of the government is part time, it really limits who can even run for office.  You have to have folks who have either a steady source of income from a spouse, a really flexible job, or some wealth.  I think we can all see that this limits, just practically, who can run for office.

I think I’d rather it be a fulltime job and see if that would open up the pool of politicians to draw from.

Ack, sorry.  I just fell asleep.

Clearly this post just needs to be put out of its misery, so I’ll end it here.

Notes on Tort Reform

10,000 doctors in TN

9 OBs in Memphis to serve all of the TennCare .

Tort reform…

Access problem to doctors because doctors leave practice because they can’t afford insurance. Some folks paying $120,000 to $200,000 a year in insurance.

OBs’ insurance rates have gone up 90%.

70% of doctors have been sued.

We export most of the doctors we graduate from UT.

MLRNow.org is the doctors’ website.

Hmmm…. Well, lots to think about.  More about this later.

An Unholy Alliance

I’ve just been told that I must remain here until Mack and Carter get back from smoking.  The two of them together, plotting, makes me nervous.  Hopefully they’re just discussing where to get good tamales.  But imagine if they find common ground of some sort.

Also, I need a haircut.

You know what tickles me?  Every single legislator we’ve talked to has made a point of telling us how busy they are.  No one has asked about it, so clearly, it’s a perception they feel people have of them and they’re worried about it.

Oh, and I asked about the best ways for constituents to get a hold of their legislators (especially after Rachel’s whole form letter incident) and this is what I learned.

Form letters from out of a person’s district get deleted or disregarded almost instantly.  Form letters from within a district get answered, but not really considered.  A personal email is considered, but all of them said that they’re inundated with so much email that it’s probably not that effective.  So, either an old fashioned letter or a phone call is the way to go.

Who knew?

Well, I guess some folks.

But isn’t that the trick?  Some folks just know that they can call up a legislator and be heard.  The rest of us, I believe, feel ahead of time that our voice would not matter to people in power and so we don’t bother.  I don’t know how you overcome that on your own.  It takes something or someone to show you a different way.

I mean really how crazy is it that here I sit blogging away in the state capitol?

I don’t know.  It’s like Plimco said.  If someone had told me ten years ago that this would be such a big part of my life and it would take me here or out east or where ever, I’m not sure I’d have believed it.

Ha, Carter just poked his head in so I guess they’re back from their smoke.  I’m going out to watch the New Americans have their day on the hill.  Maybe more later.

Live Blogging the AG Meeting

We’ve all been told that the AG committee meeting is going to be contentious so the computers are out and I’m typing away. I can’t tell if Kleinheider has managed to get online yet. Mack has his usual look of detached interest going on. And the room is full of kids all dressed in red. On the one hand, clearly, they’re having fun because they’re out of school. On the other hand, they have to behave. So, I can’t tell if they’re enjoying themselves or not.

I see from a distance that Kleinheider is online, so check wiht him for actual facts. I think we all know there will be no facts to be had here.

The rumor is that the two contentious things up for discussion are the tobacco tax (Republicans wonder why we’re raising taxes if there’s a budget surplus, yet they feel like they’re being asked to vote against youth health.) and the hog dog bill.
Ooo, we’re starting with the tobacco bill.

Republicans are pissed that they’re being portrayed as “tools of the tobacco lobbiests” by the governor. Oh, and here comes the “tax increase with a $400 million dollar surplus” line.

And here they come complaining about how much money is spent on education. I get their point, but I’ve got to tell you, Republicans, you’ve got to find a way to talk about education that doesn’t make you sound like you hate learning. Or the teachers’ unions.

Now we’re in recess and we’re learning that thee kids in red are not AG kids but kids from some Christian school, who are proud Americans. And proud of their Lord and Savior. I’ve got to say, I’m really surprised by how much folks run around this building giving props to Jesus. I was raised in a Christian household and I think it’s safe to say that my family loves Jesus as much as the next person, and I am just not used to all this Jesus cheerleading. I think if you’re brought up that way, you probably don’t think anything of it, but I’m sitting here getting a little weirded out.

Ooo, I heard a funny story this morning about a politician over in Memphis who was at a picnic and some kids were playing around in their sandbox and there was a salamander and the politician came over with a small shovel and a bucket and he tried to scoop the salamander into the bucket and he accidentally chopped the salamander in two. The kids start to scream and he looks at them and says, “I’m from the government and I’m here to help.”

Ha, okay maybe what passes for Republican humor is not actually that funny, but first thing in the morning that tickled the shit right out of me.

The Christians are leaving. I guess once you’ve done your Jesus cheer in one room, you’ve got to go on to the next room.

It’s also New American Day on the Hill so everyone Mack knows is here as well. I’ll just say that I’m concerned that I’m about to work Mack’s last nerve. I’ve just been following him around like a lost puppy for two days.

So, that Representative Dunn is pretty dang sharp. And funny. I’ve got my eye on him.

Okay, Campfield. He came over to our table last night and talked to Mack. I don’t know. The whole thing just was grueling and made me mad. He had no idea who I was, which was fine, except that he also barely looked at me and barely engaged me in conversation. I felt blown off and, you know, if he’d known me, I wouldn’t have blamed him for being rude. But he didn’t. So, yeah.

I told him that I thought his crazy-ass he-man act made it very hard for me, as a voter, to tell when his legislation was useful. Like we talked about before, there are pieces of legislation he puts forward that seem, individually, to be reasonable. But because he seems so batshit evil and insane, I assume there’s some nefarious purpose to it and feel like I must oppose it on principal.

He seemed unswayed.

But the point is that Mack kicked his butt.  Just manhandled him.  Put his paw on the puppy and watched him squirm.  I was impressed and jealous of the ability he has to commandeer a room and kind of subtly dominate it.

Back to the meeting, Representative Shaw (I think that’s his last name) kicks butt. Smart and quick and has a very handsome pink tie.

Wait. Wait. It’s over. What the fuck?

Now Mack’s friends are coming in. This one standing in front of me is very cute.

P.S.

I did learn that Terry Frank is not Stacey Campfield’s mom.  In fact, she is younger than Representative Campfield, who is thirty eight.

I Have Failed You

I met Stacey Campfield and his evilness sucked the life out of me.  I’m going to bed so I can get up and finish up Blogger Day on the Hill.  I think I’ll be able to live blog from Legislative Plaza tomorrow.  Maybe more about Campfield then.

Blogger Day on the Hill Eve, the Eve

Well, here we are at the state capitol.  Fittingly, we’re practically sitting on the window ledge, which is, I believe, the space they reserve for everyone who believes in the rights of women.

Kleinheider is sitting behind me stewing because he’s not in the press box.  Oh, breaking news, he claims he’s not stewing and that we should all be in the press box.

Adam Groves is surprisingly cute.  Clearly, he’s not sitting where he can read this.  Ha.

Mack is sitting next to me.  He knows every liberal media person in the place.

Stacey Campfield is right below me.  He’s typing away on his computer, but I can’t believe he has any better luck getting wireless service than I’ve had, so I suspect he’s playing a computer game.

If you had to guess what computer game Representative Campfield is playing, which of the following do you think is most likely?

1.  Leisure Suit Larry
2.  World of Warcraft
3.  The Sims, Conservative Male edition.

A Cub Scout troop has just arrived–Troop 231.  They, unfortunately, seem very well-behaved.  We’re pledging and praying yet again.

Adam Groves repeated waved to various house members who all seem delighted and a little in awe of him.  So far I have learned that he secretly the most powerful person in our section of the gallery.

The 4-Hers seem very disappointed to see that the rules of order have been suspended.  They have left.  No word if it’s in protest or not.

A couple of women sit behind Stacey Campfield.  Rep. Maggart and Lynn, Adam Groves informs me.  Folks, we need to start pressuring these two to throw things at him randomly.

Adam Groves knows everything.  Having him here is extremely handy.  I wonder if we can convert him… maybe not into a liberal, but at least into a trouble-maker.

Kleinheider is grouching about in back of me, yet again.  I wonder if I can talk Mack into giving me a quarter for every time Kleinheider shoots me a look like “Damn, fool, woman.”

The dude running the show sounds like a mule auctioneer.  We think it’s the clerk of the house.  I could listen to him all night.

Mack is bored.  I believe he’s turned to Boggle.  Kleinheider looks confused.  I can’t tell if it’s because of the legislation being discussed (leins on automobiles) or because Mack’s not playing The Sims, conservative Male Edition–the choice of all the cool kids here in the capitol.

Mack is now fighting with Kleinheider, who would rather be be anywhere else.  Here’s a sample discussion between the two of them.

Mack: I’m yanking your chain.
Kleinheider: Is he serious?
Me: He’s yanking your chain.
Mack: Hey, Groves, where do they keep the gold plaiting for the giant eagle over there?
Groves: It’s a little known fact that the Speaker keeps a tiny jar of gold leaf and will refresh the gold covering if needed.
Me: I’m an idiot.  I’m just blogging about who’s cute.
The Boys: Duh.

Kleinheider just informs me he recently graduated from Harvard and would like us all to refer to him as Dr. Tiny Pasture from here on out.  (That’s not true; I’m just making things up to bug him.)

Ooo, ooo the zoo alcohol vote.  I bet this one will have some controversy.

No, but Campfield voted against it.  Okay, I guess we can rule out him playing Zoo Tycoon.

Mack thinks Campfield is playing Call of Duty.

Campfield wants to know why folks would need social security numbers.  Apparently, he needs to know when every woman has any medical procedure, but heaven forbid anyone else get our personal information.  I feel torn about this.

Mack wants you to know that amendments are by voice vote.

Now, some folks are teasing some other dude.  And now we’re worried that illegal aliens hiding in our court documents.  More teasing.  And they’re teasing Briley some more.  And they passed the bill and the dude, who’s first bill it was, got a round of applause.  Check other blogs for actual facts, because I don’t have them.

Kara Watkins, who is very sweet, is wearing these incredibly painful-looking shoes and yet she’s been on her feet since we got here.  Also, clearly, they made these seats for people with much shorter legs than me because, seriously, if somebody were to sit in front of me and wiggle around just a little bit, I bet I’d have an orgasm.  Face the wrong way and I’m getting pregnant.

I think Briley has a kind of soothing, sexy voice.

I’m surprised by the amount of talking going on.  It kind of reminds me of a very noisy study hall.

Kleinheider yet again rolls his eyes at me.  I hope he has vision on his insurance policy because he’s probably going to sprain something in his socket(s).

Only Adam Groves knew which amendment gave women the vote.

Mack, I’ve decided would look striking in a red robe.  When he is king of Atzlan, I hope he considers a red velvet robe.  I wonder if he’ll grant Kleinheider guest worker status or if Adam will be forced to live undocumentedly in Murphreesboro, trying to keep alive the food and folkways of his people.

Well, If It’s For My Health…

Exador sent me a link to this story about how being equal to men is bad for women’s health.  Well, golly.

Clearly, we must immediately do away with feminism!

I have taken some steps.

1.  I’ve called all the major credit companies and listed myself as Exador’s wife on his accounts.  While he’s working hard, I’m out spending his money on high-heel fuck-me pumps.

2.  I’m giving Nathan Moore a quarter for every dollar I earn.

3.  I’m walking three steps behind Mack and kissing the ground every seven feet, in thankfulness that the Lord has seen fit to put such a man in my life.

4.  I will not look Kleinheider in the eye, but will demurely look down at my feet whenever I have to speak to him.

5.  I’m going to be a stay-at-home mom!  This will be the most difficult part, seeing as I don’t have kids.  I will have to break into Sarcastro’s house, find his kids, and stay at home with them.  Hopefully, if I play it right, it will be a few days before Mrs. Sarcastro notices that the kids aren’t going to school.

6.  I’m going to support all of Campfield’s legislation.  My little brain is too small to question his wisdom.

In fact, I declare today to be “Doing Without Feminism” Day.  Ladies, act like you don’t have any more than an eighth-grade education!  Some of you, pretend to be dead.  Act like you’ve been pregnant twenty times, but the kids you have are the only ones to survive infancy.  Encourage your spouse to beat you.  No matter who calls you on the phone, put them through to your husband.  Quit your job and mooch off your parents or your brother if you’re above 21 and not married.  If you do have to work, spend all day coming up with an appropriately female title for your job.  You’re not a teacher, you’re a teachress!

And, at the end of the day, come with me to Exador’s house, where we have a little ceremony (I’ll make the doilies!) and declare him King of the Patriarchy!

Come on, women–it’s the healthy thing to do!

Clearly My Phone is Trying to Tell Me Something

All right, technology geniuses.  I have a cell phone.  It’s one of those kind you have to flip open to answer.  When it’s shut, there’s a little screen that usually just flashes the time.  Sometimes, though, there’s an icon of an arrow pointing to a phone on there as well.

When I get just the phone icon, it means I’ve missed a call.

But sometimes, it just shows me the arrow pointing to the phone, and there’s no reason, as far as I can tell.  Is my phone recommending I call someone?

If so, who?

Blogger Day on the Hill Eve

Today is Blogger Day on the Hill Eve and so the festivities start this afternoon at about 4:30.

I need to email Kara Watkins and ask her if we can bring our laptops and, if so, if it’s possible to blog from the capitol.

If so, then I will bring you up to the minute hilarity as it occurs, presuming any does occur.  My goal for the event is to just lay eyes on Stacey Campfield.

Mack’s goal, though… I can’t say for certain.  When last I talked to him, he was plotting against Kleinheider, and designing the official t-shirt of the Aztlan East movement*. 

I’m not sure Blogger Day on the Hill, sponsored by Republicans, is the best time to announce your leftist revolution, but who am I to say?

*From the Manifesto: “WHEREAS Huitzilopochtli’s people already keep the Southeastern United States running and WHEREAS the indiginous peoples have been run off or rounded up and WHEREAS the threat of secession is so damn popular in this region; we hereby declare our intentions to take over the states that formerly made up the Confederacy with the intention of keeping them in sympathy with Mexico until a point when they can be turned over to the Mexican people for real.”