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

Why It Is a Good Thing I Attended College

A friend of mine sent this to me this morning. Please note: it is only funny because the driver was unharmed :-). All I could think was this is the exact reason my dad made sure I received an education. Otherwise, this could be me. Best, K

Stepford Stories Day 2

Wow. So, the blog has been up and running for less than twenty-four hours and I feel like we've got some great momentum already. My friends at Mommy's Space and Noni's House are launching their blogs as well. This is AWESOME!

I'm busy trying to figure out html code so that I can add more super cool stuff into the blog. I'm determined for it to always be a work in progress. My hope is that with everyone's help, input and comments the blog will get better each day.

At the top of my list for added functionality are the following:

1) Music
2) I want to feature writers that I love from other sites. I'm sending out feelers now for interest.
3) A counter for the number of hits the blog receives.
4) A way for readers to contact me personally rather than only through the comment sections.
5) I'm currently having all comments moderated prior to them being posted. I don't want their to be a huge delay in the posting of comments, so I'm looking into a new phone that will give me to ability to approve comments even when I'm away from my computer.

I have a lot more ideas running through my head, but this is where I'm going to start.

Welcome everyone and thanks for all the support!!!

Love,
K

Welcome To The New Digs

Happy Birthday to me!
Happy Birthday to me!
Happy Birthday, dear Kristi!
Happy Birthday, to me!

This is my new home, new playground, new place to hang, vent, chat and pal around with a few of my closest friends. No Haters allowed (you know who you are).

Cheers!!!

Best,
K

Confused Liberal (Part 3)

Alright. I had not intended to write “Part Three” of the Confused Liberal. But shit happens. And yesterday was a shitty day. Please forgive my lack of eloquence. There is no other way to adequately describe my day.

My day began with a notification from the IRS that my tax return had been rejected. REJECTED. Yep. They are not taking it. And curiously enough, it’s not because they owe me money. They are rejecting my tax return because someone else has filed a tax return with my husband’s social security number. Oh, and wait, it gets better. Not only has this person done this for 2008, but they also did it for 2007. Let me just tell you, I would rather have Karl Rove and Rush Limbaugh make a Kristi sandwich than call my husband with news like this. It was a bad start to my day.

Somehow I made it through the day, head pounding, and to the Palinmobile for my commute home. I drove out of the city, past three homeless men with cardboard signs, past apartment buildings I’m blessed to not have to raise my children in, and past a strip mall where I could get any part of my body pierced or tattooed or purchase any type of exotic condom. Traffic flowed well as I passed all of this. THEN ... I hit Stepford County. Ironically enough, President George Bush Freeway is the county line marker. Just as I crossed over the freeway traffic ground to a halt.

I inch along for the next twenty minutes while fielding calls from my husband. He left work early to file a police report about our tax issue and was now home filling out the mound of paperwork required by the IRS and the Social Security Administration to get this cluster fuck cleared up. I handle all our finances and he needed the information contained in my brain to get these forms filled out properly. The pounding in my head is growing worse with each ring of the phone. Little did I know it was about to get a lot worse.

As I approach the first main intersection in Stepford County, I can see up ahead quite a few people standing on the corner of the intersection. This is unusual. People don’t walk much in Texas and certainly rich people don’t hang out on the corners of busy intersections (someone might mistake them for trying to catch a city bus). Let me set the scene of this intersection. It is a shopping mecca. The four corners of this intersection contain Whole Foods, Barnes and Noble, Harolds, Talbots, The Gap, Banana Republic, Gymboree, Nordstrom Rack, Babies ’R Us, two Starbucks, Studio Movie Grill, and several expensive restaurants, specialty boutiques, jewelry stores, and hair salons. This is by far not a complete list, by you get the idea. It is a place where the rich eat, shop, and play.

As I pull up to the traffic light, it dawns on me. This is a tea party. I look over and see a young girl, maybe seventeen, holding a sign that reads “Obama is stealing my future.” OH MY GOD. I’m tempted to roll down my window and explain to her that if indeed her future has been stolen, it is because her college fund (or more likely trust fund) evaporated when the stock market tanked because of the rampant deregulation of Wall Street that occurred before she even started high school. I also wanted to ask her where she and her poster had been when the Iraq war was stealing the LIVES of young men and women not much older than her. Where was her outrage then? The next poster my eyes landed on said, “The Constitution: 230 years in the making—3 months to erase.” What? I wanted to yell, “Hey, Constitution Boy! I bet your hair was really on fire when Bush was in office!”

C’mon tea baggers, have any of you ever protested anything in your lives? Where were you last April 15? And what exactly is it that you are protesting? Your tax rate is the same as it was last year, so it can’t be that President Obama has raised your taxes. Are you protesting that your wealth has been cut in half? Again, President Obama is trying to fix this. If you don’t like how he is going about it, then why not offer up some alternatives? Let me tell you one thing I know for sure: You will NOT fix what is wrong with this country by creating posters of the sitting president with a circle and a slash mark covering his face. You guys need to get a freaking grip. You make more than 95 percent of the rest of the population, you drove to your tea bag party in $50,000 SUVs, and last night you slept in $500,000+ homes. Look around. You’re a bunch of privileged, rich, cry babies.

I’ve often wondered how to get the people I live amongst outraged and motivated to take some action. Now I know. All you need to do is convince them you’re coming for their fat checkbooks. The irony is this. The person they should be holding responsible doesn’t live in Stepford County. He lives in Dallas County. In Preston Hollow. Behind a gate. With Secret Service protection for which they are paying.