Can't post.

Still geeking out on the convention. It started slow, but it's really gotten rolling.

Knocked it out of the park:

• Michelle. Warm, witty, earnest. She reminds me of another first lady whose last name started with "O." Plus she looked HOTT. And did you see what she is wearing tonight? With the flowers on the collar? I think I may have a girl crush on her.
  
• Hillary. Super-powerful. Not faked. Just what needed to happen. Damn, though, are we sure we nominated the right one? And allowing her to request the nomination by acclaim was an awesome touch.
  
• Dennis Kucinich. Yes, that's right. His six minutes were the most fun out of ALL of them so far. He got that crowd going apeshit. It's very worth YouTubing.
  
• Bill. He's a smart man, and I liked his endorsement. I've said it before, and I'll say it again. I had so many problems with his presidency - none of which had to do with oral sex with anyone - but, like that abusive husband of rote, when I saw what the alternative was, sigh...how I missed that man.
• John Kerry. I'm even surprised by this one. But, thank god SOMEONE FINALLY said that this Swift Boat shit is NOT going to fly this time. Seriously, have you heard this "Barack Obama is associated with a member of the friggin' old as dirt Weather Underground" rumor? This is INSANE.
  

Meh:

• Mark Warner. Kinda robotic, and oddly tanned.
• Nancy Pelosi. Eh, her speech was fine. I'm just perpetually annoyed by her. All I ever wanted was a strong, woman leader, and...this is the best they can do?
• All the goddamn pundits on CNN. Does anyone else fantasize about punching David Gergen in the head? I finally turned on CSPAN just to tune out the noise.
  

I'm looking forward to Joe Biden. He's funny, and smart, and isn't afraid to take swipes at these bastards. The Man thinks he is a bit of a blowhard, but I like him.

The relentless McCain commercial barrage has been pretty impressive, I must admit. And the ads are absoulutely nauseating in their negativity. Oh, and did anyone hear that McCain may name his running mate TOMORROW? The night of Obama's acceptance speech? During the week that the opposing candidates traditionally TAKE OFF? John McCain, you used to be classy. Too bad the Rushbots ate your soul.

You know, it's weird not to see Jesse Jackson there. I remember his serious candidacy back in '88, which was my first presidential election. (I remember, even then, thinking that my first presidential vote - for Michael Dukakis - was kind of a letdown.) Jesse's ALWAYS there, man. It's too bad he took a "falling off the turnip truck" turn, there, at the end.

You know how into this I am? TOTALLY forgot it was "Project Runway" night.

(Oh, and if you watch this totally inane show - like I do, slavishly, every week - you should really catch up with the guys on Project Rungay. They are heee-larious, and have absolutely wormed their way into being THE complete insiders on that show.)

---------------------------------------
Just an update...it's finally time to tell you the YG's real name.

Because, well, she announced that she was ready to change it. Her new name, she proudly proclaims, is "Cherry Sparkle."

I'm so proud. I hear Sugar's is hiring.

Noooo!

I've discovered a popular social networking website.

Jeeminy. I'm hooked like Book. Goodbye, rest of my life.

Grrr.

Stupid Firefox lost my last post!

It was a brilliant diatribe on the idiocy that is this TOTALLY FAKE "PUMA" movement - this so-called "group of life-long Democrats" who insist that they are going to vote for John McCain because of the way that Hillary was treated in the primary.

And it had all kinds of links to show you that the leader of this movement sent $500 to ... um, let's see, who was it...oh, yes, JOHN McCAIN, in 2000. And not dollar one to ANY Democrat.

Bah. You'll just have to believe me. Because I just can't bring myself to recreate it.

In any case, on this, the first night of the convention - which I will be watching from gavel to gavel, because I AM LIKE THAT - I beg of you, DON'T BELIEVE THIS shite.

The Nixonites had a name for it - ratfucking. They invented it, when they stole stationery from Muskie and McGovern and wrote horrible things, supposedly from one campaign to the other, to divide the Democrats. And they've been perfecting it ever since, from Lee Atwater and Willie Horton, to the Broward County "riot" during the Florida recount, and of course everything that Karl Rove has ever touched, ever, in his life.

I will admit, however, that they are good at it. And I am completely fearful that people are buying it.

Spread the word. Unify. No more trash-talking each other - and I MEAN it - or I fear that we will have four more years of this nightmare.

-----------------------------
Oh, P.S.

Do you know what is the absolute AWESOMEST thing that can happen to you AT WORK?

Yes! You're right! It's diarrhea!

SO cool.

The Girl Who Wasn't There

My girls have been going through a phase of discussing their "imaginary friends."

I think that, with the OG, who is eight, it is mostly an excuse to make new characters on the Wii. (For the unen-Wii-lightened, one may create "Miis" with different physical characteristics to play the different games. The OG alone has made about 30 of them, including "Mallory," "Vallory," "Janet," and "Carter." And no, I don't know why my daughter is stuck in the 80's in her naming of these friends. Perhaps we'll get a "Krystal" or a "Fallon" next.)

I know that this is typical of kids, and am not concerned about this as a phase at all. I worry a bit that this is a reaction to the fact that she hasn't gotten a lot of invitations to play from school friends this summer, though. Any invitations, really, besides a birthday party. Realistically, though, I don't think she's really noticed, as we've been gone so much, and been so busy during the time we've been home. And, she's played quite a bit with our friends' kids, whom I honestly think she prefers above all others, anyway. However, it does sort of bother me; I wonder if her school, chosen for its quality, suffers from the side effect of being a bit too clique-y.

The YG, though, has brought a new spin to this production. Of course, as the YG, she slavishly copies her older sister, and as this game provides an invitation for them to actually play together rather than engaging in fevered mutual antagonism, she promptly devised several imaginary friends of her own.

Just within the last week, the most prominent of her imaginary friends has been "Callie." Now, the thing about Callie is, is that the YG has begun to blame Callie for everything wrong that the YG does.

For example, she was talking loudly the other night, and keeping my mother and the OG awake. (My mom is visiting from KC, and taking care of the YG whilst I return to work, and before her school starts. They like to crash in the office bed together when she visits.)

I went in several times to tell her to shut it - nicely and motherly, of course, because how could I NOT speak to my children that way - and, she replied, "IT'S NOT ME! IT'S CALLIE! SHE'S TALKING!" We went through this dance three times before I carted her off to her own room, with her screaming the whole way that it was CALLIE'S fault, NOT hers, and that I should get CALLIE in trouble, not her!

Tonight, she hit her sister, probably for good reason; however, she again refused to admit fault, instead again blaming Callie. Callie doesn't pick up her plate after dinner, Callie got water all over the bathroom floor, and it was absolutely Callie who trashed the YG's room.

So, I think I need the services of an armchair psychologist, or perhaps an exorcist. Because this bitch Callie has GOT TO GO.

--------------------------------
Urgh, I'm working again. My summer is over, and I am so, so sad. Pity me?

I spent all day yesterday moving offices, and crying a bit, because I have good friends at my other office, and in general I am NOT GOOD WITH TRANSITIONS. (My mother, who as I mentioned is here right now, stated as much when she saw me last night. In her words, "You NEVER wanted to change grades, or change classes, EVER. When you were in preschool, you cried when you changed from the Blue Room to the Yellow Room." Yes, OG, you don't fall far from the tree.)

The combination of emotions, a return to getting up at six-friggin'-A-M, and a full day of manual labor just slayed me last night, and today. I feel as though a gang of street toughs has spent the day hitting me with a shovel.

However, I think I'll probably like my new office. It's bigger, and has a window, which is a big step up from the previous one. Annoyingly enough, however, the previous occupant retired, and in so doing, left all of her shite, including two large cabinets full of books and stuffed-full file folders (thus rendering it impossible for ME to put MY shite in them).

And, she left flamingoes. Flamingo pens, flamingo cups, flamingo decorations, and a big ol' flamingo poster. If it had a flamingo on it - or was indeed flamingo-colored - it appears to be in this office.

The pack rat in me hates to throw things away, thinking that someone, somewhere, may need them. But I am afraid there is going to be some major landfill clogging soon.

I'll try to salvage what I can, but I think there may be some heretofore unsuspected psychic pain on my part if I continue looking at the pink bejeweled pencil cup much longer.

Did you know?

• That I'll be playing in our annual, all-day, 30-person Texas Hold 'Em tournament this weekend? And that I intend to do better than just make it to the final table this year?

• That they are going to do a remake of Rocky Horror?

• That I know every line of the original Rocky Horror? And still know many of the shout-back lines?

• That if you Street View my house on Google Maps, that you can see not only my two children, but also my gigantic ass bent over the passenger side of my car? (And NO, I'm not telling you my address. If you know it, you will receive this unique gift. There.)

• That I am totally, completely, unabashedly, OBSESSED with Mad Men? (If you haven't, then go rent the first season. RIGHT. NOW.) And that Swingtown didn't really work out for me?
  

• That we have been battling an under-the-house, erm, rodent problem this summer, for the very first time in our lives? And, that this little problem apparently costs scads of money to remedy, between the pest control guys, and the duct inspections/cleanings, and the new, sealed compost pile, and eventually the new sealing-off of the pier-and-beam foundation?

• That I have, since my ankle surgery in May (and thus my hiatus from serious exercise,) put back on EVERY ONE of the fifteen pounds I lost between January and April?

• That those fifteen pounds have brought along two little friends? So I now weigh more than I have, excepting pregnancies...um, since...EVER?

• That because of this, I have joined an impromptu Weight Watchers-esque group with Christie that we are calling "Friend Watchers," that involves weighing in once a week? Which met tonight? And that it was so awesome to get on that scale in a room full of people? (We didn't peek, but still. Awesome.)

• That I have to start work again very, very soon? And that I got moved to a different worksite? So, instead of chillin' and reviewing on Monday, I shall be MOVING instead?

• And that I am not good with transitions, so I am all kinds of anxious tonight, to the point that my carefully-grown fingernails are now completely extinct?

• That The Man is so freakin' excited that tomorrow is the opening day of Olympic Track and Field, that I genuinely expect not to see his eyes turned in my (or my children's) direction for the next ten days?

• That, in all truthfulness, I could literally, loudly, fuck another man in his presence, and I think all he'd do is tell us to keep it down because the last lap of the 10,000 meters was coming up?

• That this thought genuinely occurs to me during the 10 days of the Olympics?

Port A recap

Home again, home again, jiggety jig. We are back from our third annual trip to Port Aransas, a.k.a. "Port A" in the Texan parlance. (Or, maybe it's just my parlance; I think they call Port Arthur "Port A," too. But I digress.)

Port Aransas, for the non-Texans amongst us, is a small town on Mustang Island, on the Gulf Coast about four hours away from Austin. The beach at Mustang Island (which is effectively on North Padre Island) is...well, it's nicer than some Texas beaches, like around the Houston/Galveston area. It's not as pretty as South Padre, which has more of that white sand-palm tree beach look about it; however, it has the big advantage (when one has children in the car) of being two hours closer to Austin, and also of being generally cheaper and not as touristy.

Port A, I think, is of two minds. It appears to want to embrace the beach tourism dollahs, and yet still keep its "sleepy fishing village" ethos. Generally, it's still a pretty charming place, and the growth, while evident, appears to be moving very slowly.

This is the third summer we've driven down there with some of our best buddies, including this family and this family, and for the first time, this family. So, that made a grand total of eight adults, four older kiddos (7-10) and four younger girls - all age four - in two three-bedroom condos. (And, I am so terribly sad that I was just too perpetually tipsy this trip to drag out my camera. A gang of four-year-old girls is a sight to behold. )

We stayed at the Sandpiper again this year, which is an older but well-maintained condo property south of Port A on the Mustang Island beachfront. I like this place for many reasons. The rooms are clean and pleasant, and apparently completely soundproof, which is an important factor when you have children who shriek as loud as our children do when they are together. Most importantly, however, all of the rooms have large balconies that directly face the beach.

Aaah. Internets, there is something just so indescribably glorious about sitting on a beach-facing balcony on a clear August night, punctuated by the odd early Perseid meteor, with a few excellent friends and a vast (and frankly shocking) amount of alcohol at one's disposal. I just love it.

We got there first, and The Man declared his intent to grab the condo with the biggest television so he could watch the Olympics. This we did, and were pleasantly surprised to see that this room was also by far the nicest condo we had ever seen. It was tastefully and expensively furnished, and had actual art on the walls that was not seashell-based. The master bedroom (which we grabbed somewhat shamefacedly, but, y'know, still GRABBED) was huge, with a super-nice and comfy pillowtop mattress. And the blockout shades - OH, my friends, these blockout shades? The electric kind, inside the windows? That MAKE THE ROOM PITCH BLACK AT NOON? I am just a little jonesing to have them installed in my house like RIGHT NOW.

My alcohol imbibing over 72 hours included, um...let's see...beer (good and bad,) wine (red and white,) Bloody Marys, margaritas, sidecars, and pina coladas. Oh, and there was that misbegotten and short-lived whim of trying a Bud Light mixed with Clamato. It was so awful that I think I would have liked it better if it had had actual, literal ass chunks mixed up in there.

In the few precious seconds in between drinking, we ate well. The first night, the Bookharts brought red beans-n-rice, which is a big pile of awesome in the MagsMan household. The next night, I had several servings of some delightful Baked Ziti a la Noxious. Finally, the last night, Mrs. Po bought us all some absolutely massive and incredibly fresh shrimp*, which was thusly wrapped in bacon, brushed with garlic butter and cajun seasoning, and grilled.

I need to just stop and interject that there are NO WORDS to describe how good these shrimp were.

Sigh.

Man, what a fun trip, for every member of my family. I am so very relaxed. (And yes, tired, and fat, and mildly hung over.) I would like to go on record as saying that, as long as my winter home in Bora Bora is still in the planning stages, I hope that we do this every year.

*If you're going there, you MUST go to Oceans of Seafood, the best, and most violently pink, seafood market on the island. They specialize in tourists standing there looking confused, and will tell you exactly what you need and exactly how much. And $14.99 a pound for the biggest, freshest, most beautiful srimps in the place beats the holy HELL out of Central Market.

My Famous Drunk Motherfucking Forty-Year-Old Husband

A while back I posted about my significant joy that, if you Google the phrase "drunk-ass motherfucker," a picture of my significant other was the #1 hit.

It seems that the joy continues, as his Burnet Road #3 Bus Pub Crawl has officially been YouTubed by our friend Ed, and his blog posting about the same has had hundreds and hundreds of hits.



But, don't tell me about it. I can't bring myself to watch it.

I. Just. Can't.

Bullets 4 U

What I'm doing (instead of posting here, clearly):

• Recovering from The Man's 40th Birthday Burnet Road Bus Tour and Pub Crawl yesterday. Lordy. Would you like to know the definition of a bad idea? Mixing 103-degree temperatures with strong beer, extended over the course of 14 hours...and throw all that onto bumpy mass transit. Freak show, and yet oddly entertaining...JUST LIKE US.
  

• Catching up on last season's episodes of Mad Men.

• Avoiding leaving my house. Did I mention it's 103 degrees?

• Finishing the OG's two weeks of swim lessons, only to start the YG's two weeks of swim lessons this week, only to then be completely done with summer. Gahhh.

• Reading "Twilight." (I can't see why this is tapped into the zeitgeist, honestly. If you want a teenage mortal-vampire love story, um, I need point you no further than Buffy The Vampire Slayer, where it was done first, and WAY better.) Talk about your needs-no-attention-span summer reading fluff, though; it's as insubstantial as a cobweb, but it diverted my attention briefly. I also got the new David Sedaris, of course.

• Going to physical therapy for my recovering surgery ankle and carpal tunnel. Also exercising again, thankfully. It's been a while, and I look it, and feel it.

• Going to see The Dark Knight. Yes, and yes, and...um, yes. It's that good. And my late, lamented Heath is as amazing as they said he was. In-fucking-delible. Makes Nicholson look like a complete cartoon.

• Contemplating my annual fall return to work.

• Experiencing the nightly 3 AM hot-handed joy that is perimenopause. (Actually, at 38, I'm young enough for what I'm going through to be dubbed "premature ovarian failure," which is good, because that term is WAY sexier.)

• Um, aborting this entry early because of the passing out directly due to the first bullet.