And Then There Was Music

The day cannot be all bad when you figure out how get Pink to play on your blog. The request line is now open.

Love,

An Addition to Yesterday's Quips & Quotes

Okay, this was just too good to wait for the next installment. It didn't come from Stepford, but from Alabama and wasn't said to me, but to my Stepmom.

From my Stepmom's neighbor, "Don't let your mom get any vaccines. Obama has had the swine flu added to vaccines to get rid of all the old people."

No comment on what this might do to our infant and toddler populations.

There really is no shortage of stupid people. Of course, the mere existence of Fox News is proof enough of that.

Quips & Quotes Around Stepford

Alright, I've decided to start keeping a record of all the ridiculous stuff people say to me. Everytime someone says something outrageous I think, "Hey. That could write." But, I rarely get around to writing an entire article out of one stupid quote. So, I've decided to start a series called Quips & Quotes where I can group two or three stupid things together for a quick laugh.

Here is the first installment. Enjoy!

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From my mom after her most recent overdose of Fox News, "If Obama does not stop bussing Mexicans across the border we're all going to have Swine Flu by the end of the week!"

At this, I can only marvel at all the random ways DNA can align itself. I am very, very thankful for my own alignment that has apparently placed all my mom's genes in the recessive slot behind my father's.

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From my brother (who I truly love): "Do you believe in global warming?"

After my WTF pause, I replied: "Noooo. I believe in God. Science does not require me to believe in anything."

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From a fellow Stepford Wife after I disclosed I had taken my daughter to see the Hannah Montana Movie, "Was it appropriate?"

I replied (genuinely confused), "What do you mean?"

She says, "Any inappropriate sexual content?"

BIG WTF pause here. I'm thinking to myself, "I did say the Hannah Montana Movie, right??? I'm pretty sure Disney isn't going to let Miley loose her virginity in a movie geared for eight year old girls."

I did mangage to get out of my mouth, "Um. No. I thought it was fine."

I walked away thinking, "Holy Shit. I'm glad I didn't tell her I took both my kids to see Seventeen Again and my son's new favorite quote is 'Use a condom everytime!'"

I mean, hey, if your twelve year old son has to have a favorite quote, at least it's one that promotes safe sex.

Background Noise

Week before last, while I was raging about the pompous, spoiled teabaggers, someone said to me, "Let that stuff go. It's just background noise. It's unimportant and not worth your time."

Hmpf. I've been ruminating about this. Is it true? Am I wasting my energy on a non-issue? Are the right-wingers so marginalized that for all intents and purposes they are now extinct? Are the Republicans about to go the way of the Wigs? Are those moderates left in the party about to follow Arlen Spector's lead and abandon their failed ideology? Has the ObamaNation successfully stamped out those who would rule exclusively in their own self interests? Has the Berlin Wall of Conservatism really fallen? Are those who have damned us nearly to hell really obsolete?

Hmmmmmm.

I don't FREAKING think so.

I took a trip to the Dallas County Courthouse this week. It is rare that I venture into the city, but work necessitated it. My trip slapped me hard right across the face with what it is so easy to forget when you live in Stepford. Left a bad taste in my mouth with the little realities that we in Stepford can so easily pretend don't exist. Reminded me of the power brokers in Dallas that made it possible for a man with the integrity and intellect of Bush to rise to power in the first place.

Stepford is ninety-eight percent white. The city is not. Everyone from the parking garage attendants to the security guards who rifled through my purse to the clerks who took care of my business were black. I stood in line with whites, rode the elevators with whites, paid for my parking with whites. But, the basic workings of the city are powered by blacks. When leaving the city I decided to take a residential route rather than the tollway. It was getting late and I wanted to avoid a traffic jam and I had not driven through Highland and University Parks in quite some time. I enjoy gawking at the extravagant new architecture of the homes and search out those quaint little originals whose lots would be worth more if someone had already leveled them.

At the edge of the city and Highland Park is North Dallas High School. I came around the corner and hit the school zone minutes after the dismissal bell had rung. My mouth hung open. There were black teenagers everywhere. I searched for a white student. Nada. I hate myself for being so startled. I think about the high school my children will attend in Stepford, state of the art, modern, and very white. It is from another century, another time, another universe from this school. My heart breaks for these kids. Not because they are black, or because their school has a primarily black population. My heart breaks because I know the quality of their "equal opportunity" education is anything but equal or opportunistic. I know my own children will have advantages of which these children cannot dream. The disparity in public education in Texas is shocking and shameful. I hate it.

I moved onto Highland Park and past one of the many prestigious private schools to which those with money in Dallas send their children. I could only only catch glimpses of these students through the manicured hedge rows. Bits of blond and brown hair, pale skin, and the crisp white shirts of their uniforms. It occurs to me the disparity in opportunity between these kids and my own is as great as it is between my kids and the ones at North Dallas High. I refuse to allow myself to feel my children are deprived. They are not. And I know it.

I turn onto my favorite street. On it's corner is a house I'm sure Frank Llyod Wright inspired. I want to live there when (insert publish a book, win the lottery, or strike oil in my Stepford backyard). Then I see why this trip was not a good idea. I knew I was not far from the Preston Hollow street where Bush has made his post White House home. I am still taken by surprise. Yard after yard has the exact same sign. They read "Welcome Home, George and Laura!" As if they know them personally. Then I remind myself, many do. Most probably do. They are old friends, campaign contributors, and faithful supporters. Neighbors. When George and Laura enter a restaurant in Dallas, patrons stand and clap. They are proud. Me, not so much.

Make no mistake. The right wingers may be wounded. They may be temporarily marginalized. But the rich and powerful are still with us and they are still with Bush. They are reorganizing, strategizing, and they will be back. We must stay on our guard, stay engaged in our political process and vote every chance we get. Our future depends upon it. My children's future depends upon it. The children at North Dallas High, very definitely, depend upon it.

Breaking News!!!!!!

Thanks Kim for keeping me in the loop :-). Senator Arlen Spector switches from the GOP to the Democratic Party giving the Democrats 59 seats in the Senate. Once Al Franken is seated, the Democrats will have a filibuster proof 60 seats. Yippie!

Who Does This? Oh Wait, I'm in Stepford

I've mentioned before that things come into my life in threes. I'm not kidding about this. The more I pay attention to it the more it happens. You know kinda like when you decide you want a particular kind of car and then you see one at every stop light?

Anyway, I've always been intrigued by vanity plates. It is just one thing on a long list of things that lots of people do that I can't understand. Yes, yes, I know. My lack of understanding in no way invalidates the practice. It's just that vanity plates seem, at least to me, to scream "HEY! Look how cool I am!" And we all know how much I can't stand that.

Okay, so vanity plate number one is sooo typcial of Stepford that I really did almost have to pull over to puke when I saw it. It read:

GR8 WFE

Really? Really, really? There are only two scenarios for this plate being created in the first place and neither are good. Option 1, the Stepford Wife behind the wheel of this minivan is so secure (read: insecure) about how great of a wife she is that she needed to tell the whole world. Or, the equally disturbing option 2, the Stepford Husband to which this chick is married wanted the whole world to know how GR8 she is. Barf.

Yesterday, I pulled into the roller rink for my son's birthday party and right into vanity plate number two. It read:

NCHRST

Okay, c'mon Sister Saint. I'm sure you were well intentioned. However, there is something about this plate being attached to a Cadillac Escalade ESV that makes this plate very, very wrong. Seriously, if Jesus were here do you think a) he would be driving anything that costs $80,000 or b) something that guzzles gas and pollutes our planet like this bohemeth? Yes, I know I'm the proud owner of the Palinmobile. But, before you start reminding me of this let me remind you that a) I didn't purchase it (thanks hubby), b) I'm getting rid of it as soon as possible, and c) it does have a Obama sticker on the bumper.

Plate number three I eyed during my morning commute. It read:

VTE GOP

Good God. 'Nuff said.

A Dozen Years

After months of feeling your presence whenever I am with him, finally we meet. You are so many things that I am not. Young, flawlessly beautiful with your creamed-coffee complexion, long, lean and leggy. Politely deferrent, you look at him with a reverence I understand. Around your neck hangs a thin silver chain, a Valentine gift from him to you. For the very first time, this year, I received no Valentine from him. His eyes were only for you. You laugh at his jokes, reminding me how sharp his sense of humor has become. As I watch you together, I am reminded of how remarkable he is and how I so often have taken that for granted over the years. You are the first other woman in my life. This is going to take some time, some adjustment.

I'm certain that while you are the first, you will not be last. My hope is that your time with him will be special for him, although it is bittersweet for me. I loved him first, before any other and with a ferocity of which I had previously not known was possible. I have been faithful to him all these years and my love for him will remain so, even as I release him to you. My heart is certain and secure in the knowledge that my love for him has taught him how to give and receive love. My heart is confident there is room in his heart for me, you, and those that are in his future.

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Today, my son is twelve. Caught in the temporary purgatory where he is no longer my little guy and not quite a man. He vacillates between childhood and adolescence. He needs me and to free of me at exactly the same time. Releasing my son into young adulthood is much like giving birth to him in the first place. It is painful, joyful, and frightening. He left my body only to latch upon me, periodically, whenever he needed food, comfort and reassurance. A similar process is occurring now. He leaves me, more and more often, but still he returns for his basic needs. The periods of his absence are growing gradually longer, his periods of return to me similarly shorter. If all goes as planned, this will continue until he finally leaves for good, creating a nest of his own. My home will no longer be his. My family will no longer be his immediate family. I will become his extended family rather than the nucleus of his family.

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Happy Birthday, Sweetheart. Twelve years ago today you made me a mommy. You've taught me more about myself than I ever wanted to know. You've propelled me out of myself and into a world that is so much brighter because of the light you shine in it. You've shown me how to live a life that is greater than my own selfish needs. You've taught me how to live for someone other than myself. You've made me a better person than I could have ever been without you.

I love you with a love that transcends not only my vocabulary, but my very understanding.

Mom