Women.

So the veep is Palin. Maybe because McCain likes the updo?

K. can't stand it. He's giggling victoriously - women vote for women, right? Not if we do this right. First of all, women don't just vote for women. If that were true, my aunt - who is a fierce feminist (and unfortunately a Republican) would have voted for Hillary instead of Fred.

Hillary made sense for Democratic women - and probably some independents. But not Republican women. R-women hate Hillary. I would even bet that R-women are a little weirded out by a woman on the ticket period. I'm not talking about Republicans in New Jersey -- I'm talking about Republicans in Georgia, Tennessee and Montana.

Democratic women - if we do it right - understand that a vote for John McCain is a vote AGAINST a future for their daughters. Democratic women understand that having a good Democrat in office is more important than anything. A Repub-Gov from a state 97% of Americans haven't visited, let alone could identify the name of a city -- it won't instill the respect, fear or admiration that Clinton's run did. There's nothing historical about it - a) because we've had a woman veep before and b) because it makes as much sense as Log Cabin Republicans.

The acceptance speech last night was amazing. It went beyond liquid band-aid to heal wounds. We're fired up. We're ready - and Barack and Joe will be traveling the nation to inspire voters. McCain doesn't have a chance - his veep choice is meaningless. Eight years of poor leadership and mismanagement is enough. More than enough.

Three updates:
1) From Katie Cali via Wikipedia: Palin's family "were avid outdoors enthusiasts; Sarah and her father would sometimes wake at 3 a.m. to hunt moose before school, and the family regularly ran 5 km and 10 km races.^{[3]" Who does that?}
2) From Karen Thurman & the Florida Democratic Party: "She's no Hillary Clinton. She's Dan Quayle in a dress."
3) Also from Karen Thurman -- Palin endorsed Buchanan. Pat Buchanan. Crazy Pat Buchanan.

Go away!

Gustav is a stoopid [sic] name for a hurricane. I want something with a little more force - not a name more reminiscent of a baker in Bavaria.


But do you see that pink line (in the spaghetti model from BoatUS)? Do you see that light pink line? I would never wish a hurricane on someone else intentionally - but I'd much rather have Gustav choose teal or even purple as its favorite shade.

Say YES!

If you had a chance to go sail around the non-hurricane afflicted parts of the Caribbean this weekend, wouldn't you go? Like, run to the airport?

The Scrappy Kid

from Scranton. It should be a song - a jingle. I got the text at 6 am - unfortunately, the lull of tropical storm rain kept me asleep for four more hours. When I woke, K. gently informed me the choice had been made. Biden was the man.

I moaned. And not in a good way. Biden? Biden? Biden when you had Kaine and Bayh jumping like first graders with the right answer? BIDEN? As K. snickered over my meltdown, I spouted every conservative pundit's talking point -- he's too old. Obama's weak. Joe's the new Cheney. So, Obama feels a little inadequate in international affairs, huh? Beltway outsider? My right knee! The man only held a real job for 4 years!

So, I sat back for a few minutes and set the cable reminder for the announcement and hoped that the power would hold (Damn Fay!). I heard when Barack introduced Biden as the next president - I cringed. And really, I hold by my statement that the scrappy kid from Scranton blurb will not make it on a tshirt. But I started thinking about this choice - this decision - this engagement.

And, despite my initial reaction (which might have been skewed since I so wanted Mark Warner to rejoin the land of the political living), I'm really excited about Senator Biden. He's an incredible leader - and he talks like he's booked passage on the Straight Talk Express. Forget the cone of silence.

I'm likening this ticket to a relationship. When looking for a mate - you shouldn't fall in love with someone because they'll look good in prom photos. A strong relationship is founded on two people who recognize their strengths and weaknesses. If it's a good match, hopefully, the strengths and weaknesses compliment each other. I have no problem - on occasion - being the public relations manager for my husband. And, he's done it for me. He's protected me, defended me and helped me make good decisions. Isn't that what a partnership is? Whether it's marriage or business? Or gasp - politics?

So, if Biden helps shore up support among blue collar workers -- good. If Biden gives some folks more confidence on the foreign policy front - good. If Obama can help Biden curb that loquacious speech habit - GOOD. It's a good match - it's what a Pres/Veep ticket should be -- COMPLETE.

Summer o' Fun

So, as soon as I blog about my inability to be happy -- here I am talking about the last few trips. It's all relative. We were hoping to go to the family reunion in PA, but Gram hadn't shaken her cold, so we went to the beach instead. Dude. George likes to swim.

Last weekend we headed to Atlanta for one of K.'s retreats. It was another lovely weekend - even in the hottest city in America. Unlike New York - which I loved - it was like an overweight woman (small bone structure). The Aquarium was quite awesome. I want to go swimming with the whale sharks. I hate little kids who bang on the plexiglas. I had to curb the (very strong) desire to throw them in the tanks.

Oh, and I forgot to give you any glimpse into my Disney weekend -- here are two:

You don't know how to be happy.

And other encouraging thoughts from my husband. (I should write a book).

The first (and second and third) time he mentioned that I might have a little problem accepting the status quo, I didn't take it very well. I considered the source - my sweet partner doesn't always have a firm grip on reality. Of course I like being happy - it's natural, normal.

That is, until I realized that it's normal and natural for everyone, just not me. In my land, I always had to be prepared, anticipating the next problem and crisis. My ability to be spontaneous wasn't just a skill that floated beyond my grasp - it was as foreign an idea as supporting Dubya. After years of conditioning myself to prepare for the worst possible situation, I realized that the only one creating and/or perpetuating the worst possible situation was me.

My husband, my mate who often - and at his own peril, holds a mirror up to my biggest problems was right. I don't know what to do if I'm not (badly) trying to take care of some problem - real or imagined. Dude, this was a big honking thing to realize. HUGE.

What do you do if you realize that your soul seems to reject being happy? As much as I consciously tried to make myself happy, it didn't seem to work. God helps those that helps themselves, right? I finally felt financially secure, I was losing weight, I was working out, my marriage was going really well, I could handle thinking about my past without the feeling of an elephant on my chest. And yet still, nothing seemed to work. Happiness was a fleeting feeling. It visited, but only for the occasional happy hour.

Thus, I sat down with my soul. I invited some big guns - somewhere along the way I got the idea that I was the right arm of God (I'm not). You know what happens when you really give a problem up to the elements? I mean really believe that the higher power in all its glory can actually do something about the tangible thing going on in your day to day life? It gets better.

And I don't even have to lower my expectations like the Danish.