Bumper sticker seen today:
Therefore I vote Republican
You know, whenever I see something like that, I just want to say, "Good work! You're doing a fine job of keeping America great!" and then pull my pink cardigan a little closer around me and with a clink of my pearls, dash off to my DAR meeting with Midge and Muffy. Tra la la la, la la!
I mean, really.
The Great Pretender
Very interesting article by Audra Williams here -- she says she has feminist insecurity, and fears being unmasked as a fraud by Real Feminists, despite the fact that she is, in fact, a feminist, and a perfectly valid one, to boot. I don't know why feminism is such a dirty word, since to me it seems that any woman who uses her brain at all is probably a feminist whether she embraces it or not. A male friend of mine once recoiled to discover that I was a member of NOW -- it was like he thought I was in on some horrible plot to dismember him in his sleep. (When in fact we are actually plotting to --oops, I've said too much.) And then after a minute, he decided it was cool that I was a feminist. I don't recall morphing into some horrible man-eating monster in the thirty or so seconds of his horror and then morphing back to myself afterward. I guess I am trying to make a point here about other people's perceptions and how we can't let others define us, but I am not making it very well.
Read the article. She's a bit more articulate than I am.
Laughter is an Instant Vacation
Yesterday, when I picked Viva up from school and I was buckling her into her car seat, we heard a man laughing from somewhere nearby.
Viva: Who's that? Is that Auntie Diva?
Mama Blah: Auntie Diva? No, honey, I'm pretty sure that wasn't Auntie Diva. Although come to think of it, if she's laughing, we can probably hear her wherever she is.
Viva: Auntie Diva laughs loud.
Mama B: Yes, she does. You know who else laughs loud?
Mama B: Granny. Man, is she loud!
Viva: Granny laughs LOUD.
Mama B: Yeah, Auntie Diva laughs loud and Granny laughs loud. I don't mind. I kind of like it.
Viva: It's not a good thing. It hurts my ears.
Apparently, we must never have a good time. For the sake of the child. She is some kind of Puritan or something. (Probably from that New England blood, and thus, all my fault.)
Anyway, shortly thereafter, I was getting into the front seat and had an idea for something, so I pulled out my notebook and a pen -- yes, I now keep a few of each in the car at all times -- and started jotting down some notes. From the backseat:
Viva: Are we staying here forever?
Mama B: No, baby, we're leaving in just a second, I'm just writing something down.
Viva: Are we staying here for twenty minutes?
And now for some reason, I have the opening lines to "Proud Mary" in my head. Perhaps I should close this post with a sing-a-long. Shall we do a duet? I'll be Tina and you can be Ike. What? Well, nobody ever wants to be Ike. Shee-it. You can just go on then, and I'll sing by myself. And if I have legs like Tina when I'm 60*, don't hate, appreciate.
* Hell, I wish I had legs like Tina now. She is the shit.