that if Uncle Peepaw and Bible Spice (thanks Jez who coined the term!) lose the election, she’s going to hit the talk-show circuit/tell-all memoir circuit with a story of how she was “coerced” into making all those racist comments* and just didn’t hear those calls to kill Obama, doggoneit! because she would’ve NEVER let it all happen if she were allowed to campaign the way SHE wanted to, because she’s NOT racist, nosiree.

Just a thought (but mark my words; I give it a year).

So I did something Wednesday that I haven’t done in, oh, something like two years, I think. Ready?

I am now the proud owner of a current valid drivers license.

This comes as no shock to my crew, who’ve had to haul my ass around and hold their breaths while I get carded since I finally admitted my lack of license (don’t worry—I may not look like I’m approaching 40, but I’m still not cute enough to pass as under the age at which it’s appropriate to card), but it shouldn’t come as a surprise to any of y’all, either, because truth be told, I’m kind of an asshole when it comes to stuff. Here’s what happened: I got dinged for speeding in late February or early March 2006 (twice within a week, as I recall); paid my tickets and was told I needed to go to defensive driving. Thing about that was, having gone through DD before several years ago during my last spate of speeding infractions, I seemed to recall the cost as being something like $90, which I didn’t have at the time. And then I forgot to sign up, and then I forgot I forgot and so on and so forth until my license was suspended (and yes, they DO send out the paperwork). Fast forward to April, I was heading down to my accountant’s for the annual buttrapemy taxes when I got pulled over. And the officer discovered my suspended license. Said officer was kind enough to NOT impound my car and wrote me a ticket far less than my actual speed. But did that prompt me to reinstate my license? Of COURSE not, because now that it was suspended, I figured the fee was MUCH more than $90 and I had to prepare for that kind of coin.

Then my first court date in August came and went—it was deferred since I was still a scofflaw—and I decided I’d better take care of this nonsense, so I called downstate to find out what I needed to do to become legal again. The lovely gentleman told me all I had to do was take the DD course I’d put off. “Really? That’s IT!??” I said in utter shock. “Yep, should cost you no more than $50.” Well, hot PISS! I thought, I can do this right quick!

Except I didn’t and deferred two more court dates before sitting my ass down at the computer to TAKE THE COURSE. Hey, I told y’all I was an asshole about this stuff.

In what has to be my punishment for being such a dick, y’all can rest assured that the picture is horRENdous—my face is too small for my head and my hair is HUGE on one side because I made the mistake of pulling it outside my collar (first mistake: wearing a collared shirt in the first place) without benefit of a mirror. None of that, however, compares with my Peter Griffin butt-chin, which is more prominent than I’ve seen it in forever. But you know, now that I have my license back, I kind of feel all out of sorts, like it’s not normal to not be a scofflaw. Is that weird?

Next up: getting my license plate renewed. Then I’ll be COMPLETELY legal (It was due in August.). The question, however, is will I still be the exciting, mysterious rebel I’ve become by having a suspended license all this time? Only time will tell, I reckon ...

Ever get wind of something you know is only half the story, and you’re hugely offended and feel the need to bring your side to the table even though you’re so much better off not being involved, and anyways it’s not like your side makes a difference?

Eeeeyeah.

No, not going to share with the class, except to offer a bit of advice: In every relationship you have that goes bad, when you’re sitting there justifying your reasons to get out of it—and of course there are great reasons to get out of relationships that don’t make you happy; not saying not to—do yourself a favor and make sure you’re completely aware of YOUR part in it, if for nothing else than to not repeat the same shit over again with the next unsuspecting schmuck.

Last night, the boys and I settled in for the night with jammies and blankies and stuff when I promptly fell asleep after watching the first half of SNL (yeah, I know, missing two of the best skits, but I already caught Mary Poppins, and that one’s tons better than Lawrence Welk. I about died with that one). And then I woke up about 1:45 a.m. to what I thought was the sound of someone knocking on my sliding door.

Which leads out to my balcony.

ON THE SECOND FLOOR OF THE BUILDING.

But I wasn’t sure until I heard it a second time, and yeah, it was distinct knocking followed a few seconds later by a kick to the window, maybe? So I did what any normal person would do and FROZE THE FUCK UP ON THE COUCH FOR AN HOUR, not moving a muscle because both my phones were out of reach, and since the blinds to the balcony were open, I didn’t want who- or whatever was back there to see me. So I waited patiently for doom to fall when tired got the best of me and I got up and went to bed, where oddly enough my window was opened and I can usually hear what’s going on in back WHEN I’M AWAKE. But there was nothing, and I fell asleep after an hour of wondering if it’s illegal to get my hands on some barbed wire to wrap around the balcony railing. Oh, and wondering why, if the person didn’t know me, they would knock (unless they DO know me, in which case, I would think she’d have learned that yes, I DO call the cops on family members).

Now, I’ve got the blinds closed and everything on extra-super lockdown, which I hate because it makes me feel closed in. Seriously, though, who the hell would knock on the door of the person they’re trying to rob or worse!??

She gave Amurricans a “shout-out.”

WHAT DOES THAT TELL YOU!??

Forget the obvious politics here for a sec, but there’s something about Putin’s head here that just kinda makes me giggle, especially when you put with it either the theme from Jaws or “The Imperial March” from The Empire Strikes Back:



[Ganked from tailfeather at ButterCup Punch, who in turn ganked it from BoingBoing]

Because it’s not hard to drink beer and carry on a conversation, at least for most: Lookit.

Better yet, maybe the party should just get her rip-roaring shit-faced before she debates. Couldn’t be any worse than the crap she’s been putting out in the two interviews the party LET her do. Gad. What an embarrassment to the gender.

Lookit

And here’s my favorite part:

Lookit.

Guess it’s a good thing I work in a crap-paying industry, or I’d REALLY be pissed about the money I’m getting screwed out of.

So lately I’ve been trying to determine which presidential candidate was responsible for the whole “I want to be able to have a beer with the common man” shtick. Was it Shrub? Clinton? As far back as Reagan (for me, anyway; I was only 10 when he took over)? Further than that? Whoever it was, he deserves a swift punch in the throat. If I wanted my leader to be so accessible that he or she would join me at G-Town for a couple beers, I’d run as a write-in, ferchrissake. I mean, I don’t know about y’all, but there isn’t one person with whom I have drunk beer in the last 20 years that I would want running this country, so how did that even become a consideration?

(And yes, I DID read the Salon-Paglia opus on Palin. To that I say unequivocally: Any woman who posits that rape is a biological male imperative does not and WILL NOT represent me EVER.)

Aaaaaaand ... let’s stop talking about this.

Instead, let’s talk about why I’m wide awake: For the first time in I don’t know how long, Poppy and I took the Peapod for a bike ride this evening. I KNOW, but it’s not like the 80-some collective pounds we gots to lose prior to our 20th in October ain’t gonna melt off by themselves. (Heh) Yep, Pop has agreed to go. She’s much more zen about it than I am—I’ve been going back and forth between, “Yeah, whatever,” and “Wow, do you think maybe they’ll think I’m cool now? Do you? Do you?” much to Poppy’s delight since she’s been making fun of me about it ever since I turned in my check. I’m annoyed, though, that the ensemble I planned to wear has already been seen by another classmate, but how was I supposed to know a former classmate was going to show up at the Bang-Bang grand opening, which was super-fantastic as only Ann and Ben can make it? I suppose it didn’t help that, upon walking in and seeing her chatting with Ben, I had to go up and hug him, as if she gives a shit that he and I are tight. Probably could’ve gotten around it unseen. Crap.

As always, I compared this version to my original, and something seems off in the editing, but I can’t put my finger on what, exactly.

Anyway, Mr. Nader was lovely to talk to and extremely gracious to me and everyone who interrupted us. And, believe it or not, there was only one woman who heckled him (and walked away before he could get in a word—to which he replied, “See the political bigotry? They don’t even want to discuss it. It’s a uniquely American phenomenon.") The rest were either fans or starfuckers, but whatever the case, it was a good interview, and love him or hate him, you have to give give him props for being a true believer.

And now, without further adieu:



Story and thoughts TK ...

who *I* just interviewed. Steph’s going to send me a pic, so I’ll post it, good or bad.

In the meantime, I found this really funny:

Dick Morris is quite the dandy, idn’t he:

making the Republicans cancel their parties because of a little rain:



Almost makes me wish the comments were scripted. Almost.