How About 'Team Bella'

I'm not a fan of the Twilight series, let me just get that our right now. I tried to make it through the first movie, and suffered a 45-minute assault of a melodramatic, self-loathing vampire and the dullest teenage girl in fiction. However, despite a complete lack in interest in high school vampire adventures, I have been consistently assaulted by a media obsessed with the three lead characters.

What has bugged me, aside from the excessive media coverage, is the idea that this teenage girl, Bella, is faced with choosing her 'swept me off my feet' vampire guy, Edward, or the 'hot best friend next door' werewolf guy, Jacob, in order to be happy.

Now I'm not such an old, married fossil that I don't remember how thrilling and exciting it was to have two guys interested in me at the same time. It's wonderful to feel wanted and pursued. For the teen and tween Twilight crowd, I can see the appeal, but I think the whole premise that her happiness is hinged on choosing one guy or the other is a bit backward and damaging.

In this day and age, we have more women than ever attending college, outranking men in the workforce, setting standards in art, literature, and independent film, yet I'm not sure why we, as a gender, remain tied to the ideals of the 1950s. Bella is 17 years old, why does she need to choose a guy to love? She should be more focused on choosing a college than choosing a mate.

In the next film, or part of the series, I think there is something about Bella focusing on college, but it takes a backseat to her relationship with her vampire guy. In an age where women can no longer rely on men to take care of them, is this the message we want to give to young girls? Many have justified Twilight's positive message, because Bella and Edward don't do the nasty until they are married. Big freakin' deal. Bella is still so emotionally dependent on Edward that she focuses more on him than on herself, which is wrong. Teenagers should be self-absorbed to an extent, because it gives them the ability to focus on their dreams, ambitions, and what they want to do with their lives.

Author Stephanie Meyer has to continue the series, but she should have ended with Bella choosing neither. Bella could have given both guys a kind let-down as she headed off to college to pursue a degree in psychology. Audiences could have been left wondering what Bella's life would have been like with Jacob or Edward, and in a day and age when technology has wreaked havoc on imagination time, it would have been a much healthier Team Jacob vs. Team Edward discussion.

Wife, Mother & The One Without Identity

I'm nearly 40 and it is still amazing to me how much women are expected to give up in their lives.

I spent 18 years looking out a window. My childhood was bleak and controlled. I lived in a small town with little opportunity. I looked forward to the day when I could break out on my own, and get on with my life, so figuratively, I spent 18 years looking out a window.

When I did finally make it into the real world, via college, I raged. I didn't want to be in school, tied down with studies, I wanted to be out there making action happen, pursuing a career in the music business. I was so very restless. If I would have had more insight, and bravery, I would have run screaming from my family, who always made a point to hold me back, and from that school. To this day, this is still my biggest regret; that I wanted to please unhappy, miserable parents, more than I wanted to go after my future.

I used my first marriage as an escape route, and began to get on with my life. I went to art school, began working in the music biz, and all was well, except my marriage, which consequently took a backseat to my ambition. Of course, it always takes two to create dysfunction, so I can't take total blame for the marital demise, but you live and learn.

It seems like all at once, I left the music industry, got married for a second time, entered into a new career path, and for a short time, (too short now that I'm looking back on it) I was a wife in an egalitarian marriage, the career woman better known as an 'up and comer', and felt like a completely independent being in control of my life.

Then I became a mother. Don't get me wrong, I have two amazing little girls who light up my life, but no one ever told me how much I would have to give up when I became a mother. I knew the body would take a beating, but physically I've never been fabulous, so it was no big deal. I knew that my sleep pattern would suffer, but I just put a fist in the air with the mantra, 'I'll sleep when I die'. I was willing to stay home for awhile, but I can't say I enjoyed it.

I like going into an office, dressing professionally, being respected and appreciated. You don't get that by having a clean house, well behaved children, or dinner on the table at night. I made the fatal error of believing that my husband would pitch in on an equal level. Again, no one ever tells women that men will only come to the table so much when it comes to keeping a home and rearing a child. Even when I was working full-time, I was still the primary care giver for the child, and expected to keep the house a home.

I once heard a young woman criticize the second wave feminists for encouraging women to be in the work force, because now we have to do it all. The response by Gloria Steinem was priceless. She explained to this woman that the original game plan was that women would be given choices to determine their own destiny, and men would step up and assume equal responsibility when it came to keeping a home and child rearing. Unfortunately the fatal flaw was that when women stepped up, men stepped back, and we didn't call them on it. We let them get away with making us do everything, and now the result is a younger generation of women who have very little interest in marriage or children. I can't say I blame them.

I find myself at home once again with a baby, a home business that remains quite neglected, and not much left to be excited about. As much as I love the baby, I can't stand feeling like I'm back staring out a window. I know this is temporary, the baby will grow up quickly, but it is hard for me to stand still.

Perhaps, during this dour time, the right thing to do is Google that old poster I used to see in my Junior High gym coach's office; the tabby kitten hanging from a bar that reads, "Hang in there", and make it my screen saver. This too shall pass, but in the meantime, I will learn not to expect too much from those I used to rely on, and I'll try to stay away from windows.

Guilt Becomes Her

I started this blog years ago to deal with the fact that I found myself in a life I never wanted. As a young girl growing up in an abusive home in a Podunk town, I dreamed of working in the music industry in all its excitement and glamour, and escaping to something sophisticated and urban.

I lived that dream for awhile, but still remained attached to the Podunk town. When I left the industry, ironically, I broke away from the Podunk town and all its baggage forever. However, I found myself in a dream of a romance with someone who I always told myself I'd never be with; a normal guy with a steady job who wanted a family, a house in the suburbs, family barbecues, Disneyland vacations with the kids, and a loving wife to grow old with.

I loved him and I chose to be with him. I claim complete responsibility for that decision. It seemed so great when we bought our first house, fixed it up, and sold it to upgrade to the dream house in the 'burbs. It seemed so great when we decided to have a child. It seemed so great when I made the choice to be a stay-at-home mom and give up my career. Then the reality hit. I was at home with a baby, in a house in the 'burbs, with a husband who worked 9:00am-5:00pm. I was living the "American Dream", but it wasn't my dream. I felt it was more the dream of my mother, a manipulative woman who raised me with half-truths, a huge amount of guilt, and a constant boot on my throat.

I started this blog to work through all that, because I knew in order to be happy, I would have to, reluctantly, get this all off my chest. A blog was more preferable to me than therapy. When you are told throughout your childhood not to talk about family matters, then at 30 years old find yourself on the therapist's couch, despite the safety of the environment, and the fact that you have been an adult for awhile, you still don't give anything up.

I used this blog for therapy, for a political platform, and as a sounding board for whatever my brain could come up with. It must have worked, because I don't find myself blogging much anymore. I find myself in a happy place in my life. I live in a beautiful house in the SoCal 'burbs with my normal husband, two children, and I've found that my, once dreaded, normal life is now a source of pride.

I was a poor kid from a one-horse town with a crazy mother, an abusive stepdad, and no hope for a future. I was supposed to wind up as a drug addict or pregnant at 17. I was supposed to be poor, white trash with a wage slave job, but I didn't let that happen. I educated myself, was smart enough to eventually land a wonderful man, worked my ass off to have a good career with a salary to match, and became the mother I wish I would have had. I am proud of this.

These days my guilt comes from the fact that I don't have much desire to write. For some reason I've lost a bit of confidence in my writing. Maybe I just need to quit bitching, quit feeling guilty, and just write. So, that's the plan. Many apologies in advance if it sucks, sounds incoherent, or doesn't really say anything original. My goal is to get back to creating quality content, so bare with me, and eventually, I'll get there. In the meantime, make sure you have a drink before reading my posts, everything will sound much better that way.

Fitting the Profile

Ever since some Nigerian kid tried to ignite his underwear, a discussion has been ignited about the issue of profiling. There are those on the extreme right that believe we shouldn't let anyone from an Arab country with a Muslim sounding name into the U.S., and the polar opposite view on the extreme left that says any type of profiling is morally wrong and shouldn't be done.

Perhaps the discussion shouldn't be focused on how much profiling we should or shouldn't be doing, until we come up with a finite definition for profiling. Profiling is wrong when its a bigoted cop who pulls over a Mercedes driven by a black guy, because he inherently believes that black guys can't afford to drive a Mercedes, therefore it must be stolen. This is usually the type of profiling that hits the news, and it has given profiling its bad name.

However, profiling is not the root of all evil when it is made up of concrete evidence supported by facts and used to ensure the safety of a civilian population. The fact is that every hijacking and/or serious threat to an airliner for the past 30 years has been committed by a Muslim male with ties to or from the Middle East between the ages of 20-35. Therefore, the question becomes, why are we frisking old ladies at Chicago O'Hare?

By not profiling persons of interest, we are wasting an incredible amount of time and energy all in an effort to look like we aren't profiling, and that's just stupid. After 9/11 I was selected for security screening nearly every time I flew, because Jeff worked for an airline and we bought our tickets as non-revenue, one-way legs. During one particular time, I did the usual discarding of metal into the little tray, and tried to pass through the detector three times unsuccessfully. As the TSA agent wanded me, I heard a beeping go off right over my chest. The agent would give me a critical look, and wand my chest again. After the fourth time, I finally lifted up my shirt, and exclaimed, "It's an underwire!" She let me go shortly thereafter.

Due to this exploding underwear incident, the Department of Homeland Security should immediately implement a policy of selecting the men who meet the watch list criteria. I know there will be a lot of innocent men who will be completely put out by this policy, but we can't take that risk. I don't say this lightly, and I will be more than happy to do my part. If I have to do the in-depth x-ray screening coming back from an international flight, I will express my condolences to the screening agent, step inside the x-ray tube with my arms raised and show the TSA what two children and age does to a once fabulous pair of breasts. It's a small price to pay to make sure I get from overseas to the U.S. without going 'boom'.

If this opinion seems a bit harsh and racist, then so be it, but until Brad Johnson, the 6' tall, blonde-haired, blue-eyed, Protestant from Kansas decides to fly a 747 into the Sears Tower, we have to be right 100% of the time.

The Real Tragedy of the Tiger Woods Drama

Unless you've been living under a rock, or in a country that actually has real news, you've heard about championship golfer, Tiger Woods' adulterous romps. The quick 411 is that this golf prodigy who sold the world on his clean, family guy image was banging porn stars, wannabe actresses, reality show contestants, and yes, even the waitress at the pancake house.

The news keeps assigning tragedy to the loss of his sponsorship endorsements, and somewhat to the pending demise of his marriage, but mostly to the possible percentage of fortune he will have to fork over when his wife finally does file papers. As mistress after mistress comes forward for her 15 minutes of fame, everyone seems to be missing the real tragedy of this situation.

For starters, I have seen a few interviews with these co-adulterers, not that I wanted to, but that is all the American news will carry. Not one of these women has expressed remorse about their part in aiding the destruction of a marriage and assisting a husband in committing the ultimate betrayal of his wife. They are plenty mad that they weren't his exclusive mistress, but none seemed to be phased in the least by the fact that they committed adultery. They seem to be justifying their part by claiming that the soon-to-be, former Mrs. Woods, "must have known what was going on."

My theory is that they also felt fine about participating in this betrayal, because Elin had the gonzo diamond ring, and Elin had the multiple mansions, and Elin had all the spending money a girl could ever want, so therefore, the expectation of fidelity in her marriage shouldn't have been Elin's priority.

This leads to the second tragedy in this situation; the idea that our society has about adultery being perfectly acceptable if you can afford it. I've heard all of the excuses from several people; Tiger is an athlete, Tiger has tons of money, Tiger is famous, Tiger gave his wife everything (well, except his word), but, did I mention that Tiger was a famous athlete who has tons of money.

Why should a man who makes $50,000 per year be required to be faithful to his wife and family, while a man who makes $50 million+ per year is exempt? What is the exact dollar amount that one has to make before he is relieved of his duty of trust that he vowed to give his wife? Also, if our society prides itself on morality, then why is it nearly expected that a wealthy man will have a mistress?

One of the arguments I've heard is that Americans are prudish, and that people in Europe are accepting of this sort of behavior. The assumption is that European society is so much more advanced and they don't have a problem with a man having someone in his bed other than his wife. However, this attitude perplexes me. Unless I'm missing something really obvious, wouldn't a European wife feel just as betrayed and heartbroken if her husband was cheating? The idea that European women are wired differently is ridiculous, but this has come up more than once, because Elin is Swedish. Apparently she didn't get the memo that her Swedish self should be okay with adultery.

The biggest tragedy of them all, is that Tiger, in fulfilling his carnal desires outside of his marriage, didn't just betray Elin, he betrayed his children. When a wife can no longer trust her husband to be an honorable person, then the family falls apart. Even if she decides to stay together for the kids, her lack of trust will not go unnoticed by the children, and will have a negative, long lasting impact.

This story isn't over yet. The "news" will be salivating over every illicit detail for at least the next few months. More women are likely to come forward for their ill-gotten fame, and Tiger will probably end up having to do an Oprah appearance before returning to professional golf. When all is said and done, I've heard people say that he will regain his status due to his talent. Right now, anyone will tell you that Tiger Woods is an amazing golfer, but as a person, he's an absolute scumbag, and no amount of green jackets or Oprah confessions will ever make that go away.

You're Not that Freakin' Important

If I could get my hands on Mark Burnett, I would beat the man with my shoes. He didn't start the whole reality television phenomenon, but his show, "Survivor", was the vehicle that made this ridiculous format populate like a pack of rabbits on Viagra.

Lately, there have been an obnoxious group of asshats who think they deserve their own shows. Here's a great barometer for whether or not you should be the "star" of a reality tv show; do you think you're important and special enough to have every moment of your life taped and broadcast? If so, then you don't deserve a reality show, you deserve a reality check, because you aren't that freakin' interesting or important.

Six years ago, it was hard for me to believe that someone would want to be dropped in a god forsaken remote location to survive on very little food, no shower facilities, and left with a group of people whose sole purpose was to betray you. However, I understood the draw, despite the fact that I have never followed "Survivor."

While Jeff was in business school getting his MBA, we watched "The Apprentice", because the business challenges were interesting (although we both wondered why anyone in their right mind would want to work for Donald Trump). We lost interest around Season 3 when the show became more about the arguments and in-fighting rather than the business contests.

Little did I know that in tuning out of one reality show meant I would have my prime time hijacked with a plethora of reality. There is a show for losing weight (The Biggest Loser) and praising those who gorge themselves (Man vs. Food), there is a show for people who want to make you look beautiful (Project Runway) and those who want to use Frankenstein techniques to make you look beautiful (Dr. 90210), there is a show for junkies (Intervention), dipshits (The Hills), whores (Rock of Love), more whores (For the Love of Ray Jay), pathetic whores (Flavor of Love), and assholes (Tool Academy).

The saddest part in all of this reality television is the shear lack of talent on the part of the "stars". What has Kim Kardashian done aside from a trashy sex tape and posing naked or half naked? More importantly, why the hell should we care about her narcissistic family. The same goes for the Lamas clan, Tori Spelling and her loser husband, that uterus with a bad 80s haircut and her 20 kids, and don't even get me started on Jon and Kate.

Normally, this cultural fad would be eye-rolling at best, but two adults disrupted air traffic in Denver, claiming that their son was in a weather balloon. Once it was discovered that the boy was okay, they made the child lie to the nation without a care in the world for their son's well being. They carried on the hoax despite the physical toll it took on their own kid. Their ultimate goal: to get their own reality show.

If these attention whores weren't bad enough, along comes the Salahis. Wanting to get a spot on "The Real Housewives of D.C.", this couple crashed the first state dinner held by the most threatened U.S. president in history. The failure was enormously the fault of the Secret Service, no question about that. However, the drive to gain fame at all costs has gone to ridiculous heights.

I remember the good ol' days when you had to have talent, ambition, and likability to be famous. It took years of practicing a craft of some sorts, and you had to pay your dues. A "star" is Meryl Streep, Johnny Depp, Madonna, Howard Stern, and the guys in Metallica, it isn't the latest young chick from Hicksville who thinks she can dance.

Now that fame mongers have committed a series of felonies in order to get their own shows, perhaps the American public should collectively start tuning in to sitcoms. Remember sitcoms; those great tv shows that we grew up with that had writers, actors, and sets. Remember gems such as "Night Court", "Family Ties", "The Jeffersons", even "Married with Children". Sitcoms were something to look forward to on a week night, and they won Emmys.

I've actually got nothing against legitimate talent shows such as "American Idol" and "America's Got Talent", it's just not my cup of tea. However, the winners and runner ups for these shows do not deserve an iota of the status and press that a seasoned performer has earned.

This scourge of television that represents the dumbing down of America isn't likely to disappear, because actors want to be paid, and reality show attention seekers are desperate to be famous for being famous, so they will make asses of themselves for free. Reality tv is the equivalent of digital meth; destructive, cliche, and a drain on all of us.

Five Years Ago and Forever

My mother always used to ask the same rhetorical question, "Why did I have children so young." She told us that she never regretted having us, she just wished she would have had me ten years later at 27 rather than 17. She also told me that everything happens for a reason, even though, at the time, we may not understand why. If my mother knew that she was only going to live to 49 years old, I wonder if she still would have asked that question.

She has been gone for five years now, and I've had five years come to grips with the beautiful memories of the woman I knew in childhood and the reality of who my mother really was.

My mother moved my sister and me out to Idaho before I started kindergarten. She said she did it, because she didn't think there was much of a future for us in our small Connecticut town. She was probably right about that. The family she took me away from who still reside in Connecticut don't have very nice things to say about my birthplace.

What I always took for a truth, and a wise decision was the first lie I learned about after she died. On a chilly night at my former home in the Northwest, my stepfather and I had a conversation, because I was dealing with a severe identity crisis. This is when he told me about my mother's motivation for moving West. She had gone to work at a local watering hole that happened to be owned by a guy who was connected, and I don't mean he was good at social networking. My mother always had a natural business acumen, so despite her community college education she ended up managing the club's finances. She told my stepfather that there was a raid on the club one night, she was arrested along with all of the other employees, and later released. At that moment she knew she had to pick up and leave.

From the age of five to age 12, we moved at least twice a year. We would have "sleep away nights" where we would go to some out-of-the-way motel in the middle of nowhere, get a bag of Cheetos and some Hershey's Kisses, and watch movies late into the night. When you're young, you take everything your parents say as law, and you don't question it at the time. Once my stepfather revealed that my mother spent several years on the run, all of the little nuances of abnormality surfaced, and I didn't know what about my past I could trust.

For the first year after my mother's death, I grieved her. For the next two years that followed, I would come to nearly hate her. I was angry at her, not for going on the run, but for separating me from my father with a web of lies. She spent most of my life telling me that my father didn't want me. This was the reason why he never sent birthday or holiday presents on time, and didn't call me on a regular basis. Once she was gone, and I had the conversation with my stepdad, I had a strong urge to reconnect with my father.

During one of our visits, we had a chance to talk about the past, and I asked him why he was never more involved in my life. He told me that during that stretch of my life where we moved twice a year, my mother would never tell him when we were moving or give him our new address. He used a local connection that he had at a state agency to find me, and would track me down every time. My mother would write to him, and tell him to go away, but he never would.

It is strange how this infuriating piece of news that my mother let me suffer emotionally in order to push my father away from me was also one of the happiest moments, because I found out that someone who I thought had abandoned me, had never given up on me.

During my teenage years and through my early 20s, my mother fought me on my ambitions to travel and work in the music industry. She said she didn't want me to turn out like my father who was unstable and shirked his responsibilities. What she really didn't want was for me to follow in her footsteps. She had a crazy wild streak, and had alienated herself from her family and friends through her thoughtless, selfish actions and behavior. Once she realized the consequences of her actions, she focused the rest of her life on creating the "perfect" family, having the "perfect" house, and constructing the "perfect" life. All the while forgetting, that there is no such thing as perfect, and even when you create the world in which everything is "perfect" it may be more prison than paradise.

Anger and hate settled into resentment. I took the picture of her down, and didn't speak of her. I wanted my mother to be nothing more than a memory that I was better off forgetting. I lit the candle of remembrance four years after her death more out of obligation than affection.

Forgiveness finally came to me through a dream. I was as I am today, but was back in the tiny house in my home town in Idaho. I came out of the bedroom that I shared with my sister, and walked into the country-themed living room decorated with the wallpaper Mom and I spent hours putting up late into a summer's night. I turned to walk into the kitchen and there she was, sitting at the table wearing her long, blue jean skirt, pink shirt, with her black hair hanging long in the hippie style she never abandoned. She was drinking bland, taupe-colored coffee out of a blue, gingham checkered mug featuring a cartoon duck wearing a bonnet. It was her favorite cup.

She asked me if I had my homework done, and I was speechless. I just walked up to her as fast as I could, wrapped my arms around her, and started crying, because I knew it was a dream and she was dead.

After that night I chose to remember my mother as the person I grew up with who was fun and loved to laugh. She never hesitated to help others, and was always someone that I could talk to about anything. I was glad she was by my side holding my hand when Rachael was born, and my heart ached terribly months later when I spent a lonely night in the hospital with my newborn, because she wasn't there.

Ultimately I chose to honor my mother's memory in Shayna's middle name, Michal. My mother might have told some devastating lies that had long term effects, but whether her demons were real or imagined, I hold on to the belief that my mother spent the better part of her life doing exactly what most mothers strive to do; their best.

My Bizarre Collection

My stepdad had a stamp and coin collection, my mother filled her shelves with English-style teapots, one of my sisters collects adorable frog figurines, the other has a wide assortment of Harry Potter t-shirts, my husband collects Hilton honors points (which I really love and benefit from), and as for me, I collect interesting human experiences.

It was no surprise that I gravitated to Mass Communications with an emphasis in Cultural Studies as my major of choice in college. Cultural Studies is a field which combines political economy, communication, sociology, social theory, literary theory, media studies, film/video studies, cultural anthropology, philosophy, and art history/criticism to study cultural phenomena in various societies. Basically, Cultural Studies helps explain why we do things the way we do, and how it fits into our society. Hence, my lifelong interest in collecting human experiences.

Some of my experiences have included sitting through a Mary Kay cosmetics sales and recruiting meeting, which seemed to put a lot of emphasis on socializing strictly for the purpose of selling makeup to supposedly "new friends", participating in a Native American sweat near Vancouver, British Columbia, where I sat around a very hot fire in a traditional tee-pee discussing my innermost thoughts to a group of strangers, while sweating like a pig. The upside came at the end of the two-hour sweat when I stepped out of the tee-pee and was doused by the tribal medicine carrier with a large bucket of cold water.

I've been a card-carrying member of both major political parties, and have attended their meetings. On the local and state level, both parties have good ideas and stand for something, unfortunately, as they start rising up to the national level the goodness evaporates and the void is filled by power hunger and monied lobbyists. I have encountered lesser known political parties during coffee with an ardent LaRouche Youth Movement activist, email correspondence with the head of the Democratic Socialists of America, and a shopping trip to the Revolutionary Communist bookstore in Seattle. Just as an FYI, the Communist bookstore doesn't take credit cards or checks.

After Rachael was born, I worried that submitting to a suburban "normal" lifestyle would lead to the end of my bizarre collection. After all, my belief was that you don't find anything interesting in the suburbs. Fortunately, I've discovered that one doesn't have to stop enjoying the peculiar just because the fates have chosen to put you in a life situation that June Cleaver would envy.

Since submitting to the suburb mom life, I have attended an Orthodox Jewish bris (ritual circumcision), which was an interesting pairing of an uncomfortable surgical procedure and fantastic buffet. I was a guest at a traditional Hindi housewarming celebration, which seemed a little uncomfortable at first, because both the man and woman of the house greeted us wearing silk sashes decorated with swastikas. Fortunately, my friend caught the look of concern in my eye and took the time to explain that Hitler totally jacked a beautiful, peaceful symbol of Indian culture and turned it into something evil. It's nice to know that Hindus hate him, too.

I have encountered a homophobic waitress at a Mongolian grill, hung out with two fabulous drag queens in hot pink, beehive wigs, met a famous Olympian at an enormous estate in Beverly Hills, and traveled to the much raved about Hamptons (for the record, I still don't see what's so great about that place).

Despite becoming a minivan-driving, soccer mom, I have no intention of ridding my life of my collection of interesting human experiences. In fact, I strive on a regular basis to continue collecting. The world is filled with bizarre humans, peculiar fringe groups, and situations that a truly normal person would find uncomfortable. I'll dive in with both feet, welcoming anything, except a Mac user group, because next to Scientologists, people who are militant Mac users make up the largest, nutjob cult in America, hands down.

Two Year Drought

Since I can remember, I've had this negative voice in the back of my head. If this voice had a human embodiment, it would look something like Faye Dunaway circa 'Mommy Dearest' without the extreme physical violence. She is pacing around an elegant, but claustrophobic room filled with gaudy, velvet-covered furniture and 1920s style lamps, smoking a cigarette in a long holder. Her voice is raspy, bitter, and constantly critical.

My Madame Negative usually only comes out in force when I'm looking at myself in a mirror or shopping for clothes. I go out determined to buy something to nice to wear. I have money in my pocket, and prep myself with positive reinforcements, yet come back with gifts for my husband and daughter, because Madame Negative reared her ugly voice and pointed out every physical inadequacy I have.

Fortunately, having lived with Madame Negative's criticism of my body since the age of 12, I've learned to turn her down. Perhaps in turning her down, I empowered her to regroup in a more damaging and vicious way.

There are two things in this world that I know how to do; one is produce non-profit auctions and the other is write. The auctions became an expertise gained after several years of practice, but writing was always second nature. I've never had to work at writing. I could whip out a flowing beautiful paper in no time flat. I used to fake rough drafts in school, because I never needed them. Writing was the one thing I could do well, and without effort.

Three years ago I began writing a book. For me, writing a book was a way to fill an unwritten expectation. In the 5th grade, at age 11, I had pledged to my class and my teacher, Mr. Gerhauser that I would write a book someday. My mother had always pleaded with me to write a book. I wrote 200 pages of a story about a very green entertainment journalist that enters into a toxic relationship with a rock star, and then it happened; Madame Negative read those 200 pages and told me that the story was cliche, and unreadable. She asked me how I could be a fan of George Orwell and Margaret Atwood and churn out such garbage. I abandoned my book.

For a short time I regrouped by writing essays, and blogging, but after doing draft upon draft of an article for a feminist magazine, I realized that for the first time in my life I was suffering severely from writer's block. This happened two years ago. I tried everything to break it, but the lack of confidence and the element of doubt haunted me in everything I wrote.

Despite my writer's block, everyone encouraged me to soldier on. My stepfather, on his deathbed, pleaded with me to continue writing the book. An old friend from high school, after hearing my dilemma, told me to basically 'get over it, stop wasting endless hours on computer games, and finish the damned book'. She now regularly brings it up, so I won't have any excuses.

I finally regained my confidence this week. A work-related project required that I write a tribute to a doctor we were honoring at our event. I was also asked to write a detailed script of the entire program. Since there was no one else to do it, I sat down at my computer and spent two days hammering out, what was to be, an amazing tribute and a detailed, spotless program script. Once again, I found a way to turn Madame Negative's voice down.

I don't know how long it will be before I revisit my book, but I think I've figured out a way to re-tool it. I've thought about making the characters a bit older, and far more interesting by making them equals. I can't say for sure how the book will turn out, but at least I'm writing again.

For those who have followed this blog, many apologies for the absence, especially in the past two years that had a monied and powerful American administration leaving office in shame, the election of the first black president (it's about time), and watching American society virtually collapse. Have no fear, I will address all of it with the candor and whit I thought I had lost to the angry, old crone and her death rattle voice.

Torture For Torture's Sake

I never thought I'd see a time in my country when reasonable people would be asking if it was okay to torture. When torture is mentioned, most people think the worst like pulling fingernails out with pliers or hooking electrodes up to testicles. In the U.S. we have been able, up to this point, to hold our heads high and proclaim to the rest of the barbaric world that we don't torture. However, in light of recent discoveries, we did torture, and now are in the midst of deciding whether to continue torturing, which is something I find deeply disturbing.

Torture doesn't work. It is just that simple. While the thought of getting one of those al Qaeda bastards under water and having him cry for his mommy might bring a smile to many people's faces, the info that guy will spew while believing he is drowning is totally useless. Over 60 years of research has proven that when human beings are in imminent fear of losing their lives or facing severe pain, they will say anything to make it stop. In other words, torture doesn't work.

Torture also becomes a slippery slope. It's kind of like an abusive relationship. The guy doesn't start out punching you in the face, instead he starts by slowly telling you what you can and can't do to see if he can get away with it. You begin justifying it in your mind, kind of like the people in this country are doing with waterboarding; 'sure they think they are drowning, but they really aren't, it's just like that bad pool experience you had in the 7th grade'.

Next thing you know the abusive boyfriend slaps you, and you're going to leave, but he begs you to stay, and you justify with the typical 'he really didn't mean to do it.' Like we are doing right now with not prosecuting the people who okayed the torture and are evaluating torture techniques to figure out if they are really torture.

Finally, the abusive boyfriend is beating the shit out of you on a nightly basis, and you feel pathetic and stupid for staying, but will still look at your black eye, swollen lip, and mess of a nose, and say 'he loves me, I know he does'. This is the point where waterboarding gives way to testicle electrodes and pliers to the fingernails, or that magical moment where every country operates like a South American junta or Iran. In other words, human beings can justify anything if they are given enough time to think about it, so torture becomes a slippery slope.

The fact is right now people in my country are acting like children. We know torture is wrong, and it's bad, but we want to do it, so we are trying to use logic and morality to justify our desires to string someone up by their neck, strip them naked, and beat them with an electrical cord, but in the end, there is no justifying that behavior.

During the Bush years, it was anything goes, but now that reason and sanity have returned, we have to grow up and realize that letting banking institutions sell crap loans to working people is wrong, allowing politicians to be bought by wealthy corporations to act in the corporate interest is wrong, invading and occupying another country that poses no real threat to us just to gain oil interests is wrong, and using torture to aid that war for oil is very wrong.

We are the United States and we don't torture, because we are better than that. End of story.

Are My Concert Going Days Over?

I love live music. From my first concert, which was Def Leppard at the BSU Pavilion, 20 years ago I loved the entire live experience. I spent two years working in live music where I took part promoting nearly 250 shows per year. I reveled in the energy of the performers and the crowds, and purely enjoyed the sound of the music in its more spontaneous, less studio produced form, which is why it pains me to say that I haven't been to a show in nearly two years.

I could blame the grueling job that consumed my life until I left it in October. I could blame the lack of a concert going buddy, but I'm sure if I asked around I could find at least one person in my social circle who might take in a show with me. I could also blame the fact that I'm 36 now, and I have a kid and another on the way, but a live music fan never stops loving the experience. No, the reason I haven't been to a show in two years is simple, it's Ticketmaster.

Ticketmaster is one of the entities that has ruined the live music experience. They hold a 98% monopoly on concert and event ticket sales in the United States. During the early '90s, the grunge band, Pearl Jam took on Ticketmaster and called them out for their practices. Unfortunately, Pearl Jam paved the way for another company or companies to come in and compete with Ticketmaster, but no one picked up that ball.

Back then people were just annoyed by the Ticketmaster surcharges little did we all know that under Ticketmaster's reign the issue ten years later wouldn't be the fees, it would be access. I didn't even think about the issue of access, mostly due to the fact that a lot of the shows I had been to around that time were smaller bands brought in by independent promoters, but upon waiting for tickets to go on sale to the, then new, musical "Wicked" I realized that Ticketmaster's brave new world was disastrous for live music lovers.

I had heard a rumor that "Wicked" was coming to the Paramount Theatre in Seattle in September 2006. I began checking Ticketmaster's website religiously at the beginning of 2006. I signed up for their weekly emails, and visited their site twice a week for nine months. I'll never forget the day that I went to the Ticketmaster site and found out all of the performances for "Wicked" were sold out. There wasn't one newspaper ad, no notice on their site, no radio ads, no mention anywhere, but between the Monday on-sale and Wednesday when I checked back every performance for the six week run was gone.

However, there were plenty of tickets to be had for extremely inflated prices from online ticket brokers. It occurred to me then that Ticketmaster had created a brilliant business. They would lock up every venue and promoter in the country, have an on-sale, and straight out of the gate sell all their tickets that included their inflated service fees to online ticket brokers. By doing this, they sell out the show immediately, therefore they can reduce the staff that they used to need to employ to continue selling tickets up until the date of the performance. They could basically collect a quick buck if they didn't mind screwing the concert going public, and obviously they didn't.

Metallica went on sale this morning, just eight hours earlier, for a show at the Honda Center in December. The Honda Center is huge and holds at least 10,000-15,000 people. The only seats left on Ticketmaster are in the nose bleed 400-level, but upon Googling 'Metallica - Honda Center - Tickets' I found several online brokers willing to sell me a mediocre-at-best seat for double the face value.

I ended up getting to see "Wicked" when my very persistent husband went to the theatre box office and demanded to speak with a manager. They sold him great seats, one behind the other, way to the left, but at least we saw it. I can't say the same for the upcoming Metallica show. I've got a good job, so money isn't the issue anymore, it's the fact that Ticketmaster is selling to scalpers. Scalpers who have a website and "legitimate" business offices, and call themselves "brokers", but are still just the same shady, piece of shit scalpers who used to stand outside of the arena and gouge you for double. Until that practice ends, I, like several of my fellow live music fans, will either find a way to get comp tickets or enjoy the music, as much as possible, from my satellite radio.

How We Got From There to Here

I've spent weeks listening to the corporate media talking heads blaming everything short of pets on this financial chaos that has taken over my country and extended its dour situation to the rest of the world. The conservatives blame liberal spending, the liberals blame conservative protection programs that favor the rich, but they're all wrong. This landslide to financial ruin began 30 years ago.

My stepfather, the consummate capitalist, is fond of the '80s. He was a Reganite, and believed that capitalism was the best way to run an economy. He hated regulation, paying taxes, and anything that held businessmen back from making money. His favorite quote was from the movie, "Wall Street" in which capitalist hero Gordon Gekko recites the mantra, 'Greed is good.'

This is the point where my country lost its way, and how we got to our current state. Prior to the 1980s, the U.S. had been a community-oriented society. Neighborhoods were safer, people were into spending time with their families, and national priorities were set more towards people rather than industry. Things weren't perfect; there was inequality amongst the sexes and racism to deal with. For the most part, however, no matter the place you live or the economic class you were in, you could find a community.

All of that changed in the 1980s. With the Gekko mantra, and Reganomics in place, we moved from a society of community to a society of self. We no longer cared about getting to know our neighbor, our new goal was to out-do them. If they had a 2,000 square foot house, ours needed to be 2,500 square feet. If they had a sedan, we needed an SUV. If they vacationed in Mexico, we had to take a holiday in Spain. If they had big, we needed to have bigger and better.

The problem with our new self-centered focus in terms of finances was that wages have been relatively stagnant over the years, so in order to afford our new, keeping up with the Joneses lifestyle, we began charging our faux success. To hell with volunteering on the weekends, we were in Valley Girl mode at the mall. Clothing and accessories labels became a new religion, and our tithe was millions upon millions to Visa, Mastercard, and American Express.

This new self-centered society generated consequences such as a rise in crime, drug use, and broken families. 30 years of having to accommodate an increasing prison population, fighting the losing War on Drugs, and providing emergency safety nets for broken families led to the nearly bankrupt state of counties, states and municipalities.

30 years, that is how long our self-centered focused society has lasted. Now, time's up. We are in economic ruin brought on by intense, selfish greed. A greed that comes from negating the value of community in favor of materialism.

We now have to finance our own rescue, but it comes at a tremendous cost. We are no longer able to focus on the self, and are forced to go back to the days where we were in it altogether. This re-focus has tremendous opposition. Capitalists have enjoyed 30 years of huge profits and they won't go down easily. They circulate the word "socialism" through their media outlets claiming that giving people healthcare and financial relief will take us from the freedom we've enjoyed to a Hitler-like fascism. Socialism is the boogie man that the wealthy and powerful have always used to keep the working and middle class voting against their own best interests.

Fortunately, a lot of people aren't buying the mainstream, corporate media's doom scenario. The citizens of this country have looked at other first-world countries, and we realize on some level that we've been jipped. While media outlets constantly show us the Canadian healthcare program's shortfalls, we can't help noticing that several European countries, and some of the second-world countries have gotten it really right.

We could let this situation pull us down, but we are Americans, and we have the type of grit that was earned by a melting pot of survivors and staunch individualists that left their homelands to make a life in this country. We have been side-tracked for 30 years by greed and materialism, but we are back on track now, focused on creating an America based on community where we all take care of each other, because we are, once again, all in this together.

Casualties of Bride Wars

If I went to Hollywood and made a movie about two uneducated black thugs living in a ghetto where every woman in the film was a pregnant teenager addicted to crack, and all they did each day was sit on their porch, listen to rap, shoot guns at passersby while eating watermelon and fried chicken my ass would be nailed to a cross on the cover of Ebony magazine.

However, Hollywood can shit out something as pathetic and degrading as Bride Wars, and entertainment media can't get enough of it. This movie is meant to show women at their worst while doing something that is supposedly strictly female centric (i.e. the wedding). Every negative female stereotype is on display in this film.

This movie is the story of two lifelong friends whose number one dream is to have a big wedding. Funny, in this day and age most women I know have a wedding as just one of their many dreams, and the wedding is rarely their biggest dream. The best friends end up having their weddings booked on the same day, which is weird considering that they are in New York City and we are supposed to believe that there is only one capable wedding planner for 25 million people.

The childhood friends engage in a brutal catfight to sabotage each other's special day. I've been in many a friendship and out of basic respect, no matter how disappointed, I would never even consider ruining something that meant so much to my friend. Also, in any friendship or relationship in general, there is a dominant and a submissive. We are supposed to believe in this film that the friend who has been the lifelong submissive suddenly becomes the Alpha female, which is also highly unlikely.

In the end the aggressive friend who is also a successful attorney has her wedding cancelled and loses her would be husband as punishment for her warlike behavior. While the traditionally submissive friend has the perfect wedding. This is yet another example of Hollywood telling women that you can be a little catty for fun, but winning any kind of war through aggression is strictly male territory.

Most would say that this is just a romantic comedy and it shouldn't be taken seriously, but how can I not be pissed when films like this that show women at their worst are a blatant slap in the face to women everywhere. It's bad enough that Hollywood rarely has a movie that portrays women as interesting and diverse, but it has taken the romantic comedy genre down to its most superficial basic.

I'll be skipping Bride Wars, Bridezilla, and any other form of "entertainment" that depicts women as selfish, catty shrews who are out to destroy each other for a man or an idealized ceremony. I like to live in a world where women have strength, depth, and ambition that isn't punished through abandonment or an over sprayed tan.

Here We Go Again!

I've been on the fence about expanding the family for quite awhile. Rachael is incredibly smart, very strong-willed, and has the energy of a gerbil on crack, so the idea of adding another child was an exhaustion I didn't want to experience.

I went back to work when Rachael was 18 months. The job was low-key and in my field. I wasn't in love with it, but I was content. We moved to California a year and a half later, and that is when I started with a company that consumed my life. I diluted myself into thinking that if I worked hard enough I could reach a point where I could put my family first again, but that never happened. The result was my near absence for 16 months, my daughter's increasing neediness, and my husband's extreme frustration at a schedule that didn't adequately reward me for all of the hours that I took away from them.

The good news is that I woke up and got my priorities straight before I lost everything that ever meant anything to me. In no time I was able to repair the damage done to my marriage, and guarantee Rachael that she would never take a backseat again. The only thing remaining from a year and a half of hell is the guilt I feel for having made a real dumbass decision, but life goes on.

I started a new job instantaneously that resembles the job I had in Seattle, less the dysfunction. I wanted to wait a bit more before we decided to have another child, once again, out of loyalty for my job, but this time Jeff was adamant. He had waited long enough, so here I am expecting our last child, because I agreed to two and only two.

There are vast differences between #1 and #2. I freaked out at six weeks along, because I was as large in my second month with Baby Two as I was in my fourth month with Rachael. I was convinced that my sudden girth meant I had more than one little sprout swimming around in there. Thankfully, my sister-in-law who has been a midwife for 20 years assured me it was just a second baby, and that your body basically has something called "muscle memory". This means that the moment you get pregnant with your second child your body says, "hey I remember this" and inflates like a damn blimp.

The nice thing about my sudden expansion is that it is basically all in my stomach and boobs. I can get into my jeans and pull them up my thighs and over my butt, I just can't zip or button them.

I'm tired as hell, and usually ready to pass out by 7:00pm, which puts the kibosh on exercise. Aside from that I've had very little morning sickness just like the first time. The only other difference is my cravings. With Rachael I hungered for spicy Thai food, large amounts of chocolate, root beer and KFC original recipe chicken. I gained 70 lbs. during my Rachael pregnancy, but that's not going to happen this time.

So far, chocolate gives me heartburn, and all I want is tart. No, not the yummy, cream filled fruit tarts, caper, olives, berries, and an assload of Craisins! Root beer is too sugary, so my drink of choice is ice water-lakes and rivers of ice water-which means between the kid sitting on my bladder and the insane amount of water I'm up peeing at least five times a night. I just see it as nature's way of getting me ready for the every two hours feedings, and also very annoying.

I am excited about having a new little one to cuddle. Rachael has no trace of baby left in her, in fact she has already informed me that she will be changing all of the pee pee diapers and I can change the poopy ones (her dad made the same deal with me when she was the baby). So I guess I welcome 2009 with enthusiasm for a new president, a new place of employment, and a new little punk to unleash on the world. Here we go again!

Waaahhh Fucking Waaaahhh!

Imagine that you are standing in the checkout line with a basket full of groceries. There is a guy behind you who keeps pushing his basket into your back. There is only one checkout line, so moving isn't an option. After several minutes of rudeness you turn to him and ask him politely to quit poking you in the back. He stops for a few minutes, but then continues to poke you. Now you are getting pissed, so you turn to him again asking him to stop. He refuses and tells you that he wants to you leave the line, but you need your groceries, so you're not leaving. After several minutes of poking, and demanding that you leave, you finally lose it and turn around, punch the asshole dead in the face, and dump the contents of his basket over the top of his bleeding head. Did you overact? Maybe, but how much bullshit and abuse is one supposed to take before they finally lose it?

This is the one question that no one seems to be asking over the past two weeks during Israel's latest move to fulfill its obligations to its citizens and defend them against a terrorist organization. This, and why the U.N. didn't bother issuing a ceasefire against Hamas' attacks prior to this whole situation.

If this seems harsh let me make it clear that I'm not heartless. Once upon a time I felt bad for the Palestinians. I thought that Israel's actions were too heavy handed and that if given the chance Palestinians would reject the terrorist organizations dragging them down and opt for moderates who would engage in honest negotiations for peace and a two state solution. Then they elected Hamas into leadership, and all my respect for them went straight out the window.

Now I'm just annoyed with their constant fucking whining, and the way they paint themselves as victims. Like I said I could feel sorry for them if they were making an effort, but they don't. Instead of spending money on rockets, can't they use the money to set up an infrastructure or an education system? The answer is "no", because it's much easier to blame Israel for all of your problems. Setting up an infrastructure is difficult and requires educated minds who are willing to negotiate with others to achieve a goal. Rousing hate in ignorants is way simpler.

The truth is that everyone can fall back on bad shit that happened in their lives and be victims, but most people I know who have been through life's worst (i.e. violent rape, the loss of a child, cancer, etc.), they spend some time in a dark place, then rebound into survivors. In fact, I know so many survivors that I just don't have time and patience for victims, and constant victims are just assholes who don't want to better their lives.

I know the situation in the Middle East is a tough one, but until the Palestinians are willing to see themselves as more than the small kid who is always picked on they will continue taking cheap shots, electing self-serving terrorists to represent them, and will never have a good quality of life, until of course, civil war ensues. When that day comes and they are spending every moment killing each other, it will be interesting to see how they blame Israel for that, too.

Sweetie, Santa Isn't Real

I never really knew how challenging this time of year would be for my Jewish child.

I grew up in an agnostic house where a tree was put up around the first week of December, decorated with little interest from me who always looked for any opportunity to escape into my bedroom and watch television, then depending on whether or not my mom was trying to impress my stepdad that particular year, we would exchange gifts and have some sort of meal on Christmas Eve or Christmas Day. It was never a pleasant time, because my mom would have the "ideal" family holiday experience in mind, and we were not even close to the "ideal" family, so at some point in the preparations she would completely wig out and tell all of us that the holidays were canceled and we weren't getting presents.

I've never liked holiday music, ungodly huge amounts of decorations, and I've already mentioned my disinterest in the tree experience. Celebrating Hanukkah is great. All you have to do is throw a dreidel and menorah on the table, say a prayer and light some candles. On December 25th I have a very Merry Christmas, because I get a paid day off, and a chance to practice the yearly ritual of gathering with other Jews at my favorite Chinese food restaurant.

Although we've accumulated Hanukkah decorations such as lights, a throw pillow, a table runner, and a cute, dreidel shaped candy tray, its been our discretion as to whether or not to put them out.

This year has turned out to be quite different. Our daughter is 5 years old, and wants our yard to be as flashy as our Christmas celebrating neighbors. No problem, Jeff bought blue and white house lights, and I ordered an inflatable, light up, 6' dreidel for the yard. We put up several menorahs in the house, and strung a 'Happy Hanukkah' sign we once used for a party across the fireplace mantle. It seemed as though we had our daughter's holiday spirit under control, and nurtured in a healthy way until the fateful night I got the question.

It's the question that I'm sure every non-Christian, non-Christmas celebrating parent dreads; "Mommy is Santa going to come to our house?"

I responded quickly with a comeback that I believed would be sufficient, "No, honey, we don't celebrate Christmas. We celebrate Hanukkah."

She started crying, and I admit it; I panicked.

"Honey, there's no such thing as Santa Clause." replied the flustered mommy.

"Huh?"

I explained that Santa was a fictional being, and that it was the parents who placed the toys under the tree.

"But why would the parents tell their kids that there is a Santa Clause when there really isn't?" replied the freakin' smart kid.

I had to choose my explanation carefully lest I ruin such childhood joys such as the Tooth Fairy, Elijah and the mysterious disappearing cup of wine on Passover, or the idea that the government works for the best interest of the people. I explained to the ever curious Rachael that it was kind of like telling their children a nice fairy tale, and that in no way, shape or form should she ever, ever reveal the non-existence of Santa Clause to any other child, especially her young, Christmas celebrating cousin, Savanna.

She seemed happy with this, and I'm still not sure if I committed a grave faux pas, only time will tell on that front. I think the idea that Santa isn't real is a bit comforting to my little Jewish child especially when she goes down aisle after aisle of Christmas decor at Target searching for the lone Hanukkah item that was not to be found, until finally settling on a big plastic Santa in which she pointed, laughed out loud, and whispered, "Mommy, he isn't real."

Sorry, My Ass!

I hate George W. Bush, that's been obvious for nearly his whole presidency, but lately I have been more pissed off than ever at the schmuck. His latest say nothing/do nothing was his pathetic excuse for an apology about the economy.

Let me break it down for you Georgie. While you and your war profiteer friends raped the treasury of the country you were placed as the leader of, millions of Americans lost their jobs, houses, savings, health care, and opportunity for a college education. Now, after all of this, you get to trot off into the sunset, live in an exclusive 8,000+ residence in Dallas, and continue to be completely removed from the mess your administration created.

Last week you said "Sorry about the economy", and this week you finally admitted that we were in an economic recession, but refused to admit any fault. Thankfully, enough people saw through you and your party's bullshit, and elected a politician who doesn't have his head shoved up his ass 24/7.

The part that irks me the most about the destruction of my country is that the people who helped destroy the economy, create the mortgage crises, and profited from the war got away with it. They are millions, even billions, of dollars richer, while good, hardworking people who spent their lives saving money for retirement are now in the poor house doing the countdown to homelessness.

We got the change of government that we needed, but now I want some justice...in a big way. I know Georgie Boy can't be tried for his crimes, but I want all of the other bastards responsible for this to pay dearly. Don't let Alan Greenspan go quietly into the night, it was his recommendations that cheered on the deregulation. How about Phil Gramm; he carried the deregulation flag, and championed a lot of the economic policies that brought us to our current economic and housing crises. Don't get me started on the greedy banking industry, the manufacturing companies that have sent our jobs to China and India, and those in our culture who have constantly promoted the lie of linking capitalism to freedom and happiness.

Electing Barack Obama was the first step, but along with the new administration I want congressional hearings and trials. I want the war profiteers tried, jailed, and fined. Let's take just a portion of the money they "lost" in Iraq and put it into a fund for all of the veterans returning from the Iraq War with traumatic brain injuries. Instead of letting Henry Paulson hand the rest of the bailout to the corporations who got us into this mess, why not give every American citizen their own large stimulus package. If you want the economy stimulated, cutting every man, woman and child a check for $100K would do the trick.

I agree that our country has been like a spoiled child for quite sometime. We have lived off of credit, went overboard on how much house we could own, and forgot to invest in our futures, but as with everything, I take it back to the leadership. After September 11th, had we been told to be more fiscally responsible and spend at least 10 hours per week volunteering for a community organization instead of being told to go out and shop, it might be a completely different world right now.

Kid Birthday Parties -- WTF!?!

I just have one question that I hope some parental historian can answer for me: When did a kid's birthday party, or parties, become the focus of so much of the average parent's schedule and disposable income?

I used to laugh at the idea of a parent spending $300 on their four-year-old's birthday party when I read about it in a magazine several years ago. I scoffed at the thought of these pretentious, 'keeping up with the Jones' suburb dwellers wasting money that could otherwise be put into the child's college savings account. After all, how could reasonable people justify hundreds of dollars for a kid's birthday party.

The cash register rang in at $66 and change today at Party City when I went to purchase some of the items for Rachael's upcoming 5th birthday party. I looked at the two bags (that's right, $33 per bag) of items. I didn't buy anything outrageous; Tinkerbell plates, Tinkerbell cups, Tinkerbell napkins, Tinkerbell streamers, Tinkerbell curling blower thingies, and some generic goodie bags (because I'm about ready to boycott the fucking Disney machine), and it came to $66 and change.

Her birthday isn't for another three weeks, but she was amped to go shopping for her party after spending the better part of the afternoon at her classmate's birthday party. The classmate had his party at the local kosher bakery, which was a cute and different idea. For those of us who have spent way too much time at My Gym and Chuck E. Cheese, cookie decorating at the kosher bakery was a welcomed departure.

The best part of the party was when the Israeli bakery owner took the kids and their parents on a tour of the back of the bakery. She let the kids take a spin in the big mixing vats telling them they were all cookie dough. Then with her heavy accent showed them the table where they would be shaped into cookies, and finally said to the kids, "Okay, now who wants to go into the big oven!" I'm not kidding, she really said that to a group of Jewish kids with their Jewish parents present. I'll be laughing about that for at least the next two weeks.

For Rachael's party I thought we'd be a bit more humble and have the party at home. Jeff and I thought it would be cheaper, but the $66 and change I spent today is only the beginning. Since she's still in preschool, we had to invite all of the kids in her class, who are accompanied by one or two parents and siblings, because I'm not going to say "no" to another kid who wants to come and have fun. Then there are the kids she knows from the neighborhood, our friends with kids, relatives, and anyone else we can think of who will assist us in getting rid of that monster-sized cake from Costco. We are clocking in at 33 people right now, and still have another 15 RSVPs that haven't come in yet.

We scheduled it for 1:00 in the afternoon, so that means lunch food. As expert party planners, we have a couple of games with prizes, my husband is renting a blowup jumphouse with a slide, and we have an enormous pinata that Jeff got for $10 in Tijuana. He was so happy about scoring the supersized pinata in the shape of a giant five for such a low price, until I reminded him that we have to fill it with candy, which will probably cost around $50. In the end, it won't be any cheaper to have the party at our house, and I'll be stuck with a big mess when it's over, but what can you do.

We all strive to give our kids what we didn't have growing up if we came from nothing, and if we had a great childhood, then we have the desire to give them the same happiness. I don't remember many of my birthday parties, but the few I do remember were big and fun, and all of my friends were there, and we played games and ate a big cake, and they were really wonderful memories. However, I can guarantee one thing, my mother never spent anything close to $300 on them.

Protecting Marriage?

Here in California there is a proposition on the ballot known as "Prop 8". The State of California made a bold and progressive move to recognize the rights of gays and lesbians to marry, and Prop 8 wants to repeal this progress. I'm always pissed when someone tries to tell another person, especially a complete stranger how to live their life, but the argument as to why Californians should vote "yes" on Prop 8 is completely asinine. According to the "Yes on 8" bigots, voting in favor of Prop 8 is protecting marriage.

Marriage is an age-old ritual practiced in nearly every culture. Some cultures allow for more than one spouse (most often more than one wife, because women aren't stupid enough to opt for more than one husband), there are also cultures where marriage is a set length of time, where a mandatory separation happens once a year, and where the marrying parties never meet until their wedding night. In this country, marriage has been defined as the union of a man and woman, but that concept has failed miserably.

The United States has a 53% divorce rate, and the sad part is that 2007 was the year with the lowest rate of divorce since 1970. Let's face it, we Americans suck at commitment. The hypocrisy is that most of the gay couples I know have been together longer than most of the straight couples I know, yet some of us heteros feel there is nothing wrong with telling the homos they can't enter into a commitment despite our distorted history with the marital institution.

The other big argument that the "Yes on 8" homophobes use is that gay marriage will be taught in the schools, which is another steaming pile of bullshit. Schools barely have time to teach math, reading, English, and other essentials, yet alone the ins and outs of marriage. The haters keep flashing the children's book, "King and King" in everyone's face claiming that kids will be exposed to gay marriage via this children's book. I got news for you parents, your kids will be exposed to a lot more harmful shit than some fiction book, like hardcore gangster rap delivered by wannabe homeboys who live in the upper middle class 'burbs, slutty clothing from their friends (especially preacher's daughters), weird demon-summoning rituals where you splash water at a mirror and turn around three times taught by that creepy, older, goth chick whose parents ignore her, and the average, run of the mill, drugs and alcohol. In fact, when you look at the roster of scary shit that your kid will be exposed to, two girls kissing doesn't seem so bad.

The key, as a parent, is to know how to respond. Instead of freaking out over the "King and King" book, simply tell your kid that this is how some families are, but our family is like this. It's just that simple. The other, lesser stated, yet obvious, point is that most kids won't get the whole homosexuality thing until they are well into puberty. When I first moved to Idaho at age 5 with my mom and sister, we were all but destitute. The three of us lived in a 300 sq ft. studio apartment, and lived on $25 per week. I don't think we would have made it had it not been for Jessie and Bobbie.

Jessie and Bobbie were a lesbian couple in their early 60s who lived downstairs from us. They saw the situation my mom was in, and helped us out. They did everything from drive my mom to doctor's appointments and the store when we didn't have a car, to babysitting my sister and I, and cooking us meals. Bobbie was an old school dyke who spent her career in the military, and had an anchor tattooed on her chest. Jessie did the traditional marriage and family after high school, and spent several years as a punching bag for her abusive, alcoholic husband. I remember visiting both of them for years after we left the apartment, and watched as they called next of kin family members to sign papers and give "okays" for each other, because these ladies weren't allowed to be married. The funny thing was that despite knowing them for years, I didn't figure out that they were a gay couple until I was 14. In my child mind, I thought Jessie slept in the bedroom, and Bobbie slept on the couch, and they were just best friends.

The last thing about this Prop 8 that should tell you voting "yes" isn't kosher is the fact that the whole "Yes on 8" movement has been funded by the Mormons. They are the secret "protect marriage" folks. Mormons, you know, the people who believe that when they die, they get to be gods of their own planet, and that all of the women in the world (Mormon or not) get to marry the Mormon men, and will be pregnant for eternity having spirit babies to populate their planet. Mormons, you know, the folks that believed it was perfectly fine to have as many wives as you could get, until the United States government refused to recognize Utah as a state, then suddenly someone in the church had a "vision".

The other group aiding in the "protection of marriage" are the Knights of Columbus, which is a Catholic organization. Given that the Catholic church has made hiding child molestation a practice for the past 25 years, I don't think they should have much of a say on the definition of morality.

In the end, the only people who can protect, nurture, or destroy a marriage are the two people who are married, so why not give gay people the equal opportunity to make someone else completely bonkers without the convenience of being able to walk out the door any minute. Instead when their spouse screws up their life, makes them dreadfully unhappy or straight up crazy, they should have to go through the same gut-retching legal drama that the rest of us have to deal with, which would make even the homophobes happy, because it would mean those homosexual married couples would be a little less gay.

Sarah Palin: Pretty Vacant

Men in power never cease to amaze me, not because they do great or mighty things. No, they amaze me by doing such stupid shit, I can't believe they are in the power positions they are in. The latest dipshit move by a powerful man is Sarah Palin.

Fresh on the heels of watching Hillary Clinton lose the primaries, Republicans recognized a void. There were a lot of pissed off ladies who were Hillary fans, and they wanted to capitalize on this anger to win votes; enter Sarah Palin. She was a woman, a governor, a right-wing lunatic conservative, and completely unknown meaning she was unlikely to be linked to scandal. In the mind of a Republican male, especially an old, Republican male like John McCain, she was the perfect pick. She would enable him to get all of the Hillary gals on board the "straight talk express".

The only problem is that John McCain is a man, and again, an old, traditional man who hasn't a clue about the mental workings of the younger generation of gals he was marketing Sarah to. He also made simplistic assumptions: Sarah is a working mom, therefore working moms would be able to relate to her. Unfortunately, she is a working mom who has the hypocritical view of touting her family as her first priority, but went back to work three days after giving birth to a Down's Syndrome child. Most women I've talked to, both conservative and liberal, couldn't believe that.

Sarah is all for traditional family values, and women who are into family values will like that, which would make sense if her daughter wasn't knocked up at 17. Traditional family values, again, dictates that your family comes first, and if you're daughter is banging a hockey-lovin', self-proclaimed redneck, where the hell are you to knock some sense into her head?

The final blow to the whole 'chicks will dig Sarah, just because she's a woman' theory was the fact that she was anti-choice even in the case of rape and incest. A woman who believes women aren't smart enough to make their own choices, and don't believe they should be relieved of a burden after an act of sexual violence?!? Nice going dipshits!

Despite all the above, the simplistic, powerful males in the Republican party still believed Sarah was a winner, and they put her out there to read a great speech from one of Resident Bush's speech writers at the convention. They raved about how well she did reading the speech, which really shouldn't be surprising since she worked as a news anchor before running the thriving metropolis that is Wasilla, Alaska.

There was a lot of attention paid to Sarah, which was exciting to a campaign that was damn near dead. However, as time has wore on, the audience that Sarah was brought on board to secure is getting sick of her, and here's why: she's cute.

Again, the powerful men made a dipshit decision by choosing beauty over brains. Sarah's a lovely looking gal, we know that, but most of us are getting really fucking sick of looking at her face. She botched the Katie Couric interviews, and used way too many "ya sure, you betchas" during the debate with Joe Biden. In her effort to be Miss Cutesy Tootsie, she is pissing off the average American woman. There is nothing we hate more than watching a bitch with no brains advance in the world, because she's pretty.

Now, all of the men are raving over Sarah, not because of her opinions on policy or her revolutionary ideas, no, they like her sunshine smile, and her laugh. This might be cool if we were talking about the star of the latest Disney movie, but we are talking about the potential second in charge of a country that is failing miserably. Women don't relate to smiles and shtick, they relate to a strong woman with a brain who faces adversity and does her best with what she has, and if she happens to be less than a beauty queen, all the better.

I smiled when I first saw Sarah, because I knew what those men had done and what they were thinking. I knew they would fail miserably, like they always do when they underestimate the fairer sex. For next time, gentlemen, just remember, if there's one thing a woman hates, it's another woman who gets four times further in life by doing half the work, which is Miss Sarah in a nutshell.