@Whoever you are…

Whoever you people are that come here via searches like “Obama sex” “sex mccain picture” “palin fuck” etc … this is not the den of iniquity that you are looking for.

And you kinda freak me out.

Still My Favourite

Love this image:

And in case you don’t know his economic policies as to exactly how he’s got it, check this post out.

Deepak Chopra on Palin

Having just turned off the TV because Dr. Phil was too busy calling Sarah Palin a “single mother” to check his facts (“Oh, sure, she has a husband now…”), I found it to be a delightful juxtaposition to stumble across a link to the following post on Chopra’s page:

She is the reverse of Barack Obama, in essence his shadow, deriding his idealism and turning negativity into a cause for pride. In psychological terms the shadow is that part of the psyche that hides out of sight, countering our aspirations, virtue, and vision with qualities we are ashamed to face: anger, fear, revenge, violence, selfishness, and suspicion of “the other.” For millions of Americans, Obama triggers those feelings, but they don’t want to express them. He is calling for us to reach for our higher selves, and frankly, that stirs up hidden reactions of an unsavory kind. (Just to be perfectly clear, I am not making a verbal play out of the fact that Sen. Obama is black. The shadow is a metaphor widely in use before his arrival on the scene.) I recognize that psychological analysis of politics is usually not welcome by the public, but I believe such a perspective can be helpful here to understand Palin’s message.

Click here for the full text. It’s intriguing to read about politics from that angle for once.

Here’s some sex-ed for you, McCain:

Go. Fuck. Yourself.

You are a slimeball. Period. Good job on running that clean, honourable campaign you promised us all during the primaries.

Not four more years… four more months.

Asshole.

Barack Obama 01

Let me make it clear: I love this man, and I hope with both of the hearts beating in me that he becomes President.  It’s been a long time since I’ve been able to say I’m proud to be an American without a twinge of sarcasm (along with deep, abiding guilt, which I’ll touch on later), and I think that he will restore my love in a country that is deeply wounded.

So tonight, Chris and I were snuggled on the couch watching CNN’s Candidates Revealed series, since we missed the first broadcast, and every once in awhile Chris would mutter, “Fucking elitist.”  Then we’d both laugh.  How can anyone in the American public earnestly put the ‘elitist’ label on this man?  A mixed race man born to a single mother, raised in a community without strong role models of his father’s race, one who lost his way as so many of us did on the way to becoming an adult?  We learned that for his first job out of college (which was not, btw, Harvard), he bought a junky car just so he could get around and be a community organizer.  We learned about him helping a development where asbestos lingered in the homes — but the government only planned to remove it from the manager’s office, and not even inform anyone else; Obama helped these people organize and have their homes made safe.  How can you label someone like that elitist?  I’m pretty sure that under any other circumstances, people would applaud selflessness and courage.  In fact, some might even toss around that overplayed ‘hero’ title that has so saturated our media over the past seven years.

My child will be born in Canada, but will have dual citizenship with the US.  I am a first-generation American and feel a great deal of guilt that I am not more grateful for this fact; my grandfather legally brought his wife, his son, and his 4 year old daughter to the shores of the US back in 1965, via a boat ride that was months long. Though none of them spoke English, my grandfather found a job and worked his ass off so his family could prosper.  They all learned English.  His children went to American schools, and his daughter grew up to be my mother.  Because of her family’s old-world values, she was not close to her father growing up, but these days, he plays a huge, loving role in her life and in the life of all his grandchildren.  He and his son, my uncle, are the strong male role models in my life, the ones I look up to as ideals of what a father and husband should be. It cuts me to the core to think of telling my grandfather, who worked so hard to establish his family here because life would be better, that I am glad to have moved out of the US.  That I feel his first great grandchild would be better off living in Canada, because at least here “liberal” isn’t a smear.

Barack Obama is just a man.  But his ideals, the ones I share and need the Supreme Court to share, fill me with pride.  When I know that America is on the path to a brighter future, where the citizens are its most treasured possession and are no longer the butt of jokes world-wide, then I will honestly be able to say that yes, I am PROUD to be an American.

Until then, this Canadian flag pin will stay lonely on my wallet.

OM NOM NOM

This is how I feel now that I’m in my second trimester. I just cannot get enough food sometimes; I daydream about a never-ending bowl of steaming hot noodley soup waiting for me to dig in. Have I mentioned my love of noodles? My undying love? More than anything else, noodles are the one food that have gotten me this far, although this means I am going through pasta at a prodigious pace. I’ve eaten a bowl of pesto every day this week (I know, so many carbs, right? I’ll worry about a that shit when I’m not, oh, CARRYING A CHILD), and have discovered that an extra squirt of lemon juice on top of it is like… super heaven. I love lemons. Lemons, noodles, and ginger ale. Maybe with some dill pickle spears on the side, although I haven’t had a pickle in at least two weeks now.

Anyhow, I was inspired to post this because I just parboiled some potatoes for hash browns later. Although, I have discovered that fried food tends to upset my stomach these days (which I mean really, if my baby doesn’t want to eat greasy stuff, I’m okay with that), even if I have had a desire to make fried chicken that is constantly foiled by the fact that I KEEP FUCKING FORGETTING to buy flour & cornmeal at the store. But seriously. Hash browns. Fucking pro. Too bad I don’t have any cheese in the house (another thing I keep forgetting to buy) to top them with, to make them super … healthy …

Next week, my father-in-law will be visiting the new apartment. Fortunately, we haven’t lived here for long enough to make it a disaster area yet, and I’ve even swept the floors THREE TIMES this week (which may be more times than I swept them in a year at the old apartment, but let’s not dwell on those dark hours). Of course, last night, Buffy decided to piss all over the couch, which JUST LAST WEEK we steam cleaned and Febreeze’d the shit out of. It’s really out of character for the dogs to pee on the furniture — we broke them of that habit at least a year ago (except for when my brother-in-law tried to pet Buffy that one time and she did a little submissive peepee for him). But okay, here’s what happened — see, Cindy McCain was talking and I got too bored to continue sitting there listening to her drone on (Michelle Obama she is not), so I came to the computer and screwed around on Facebook & TPM until she finished (I was so bored by her that I even did dishes and made lunch for Chris after this). Anyhow, I finish with the dishes, I walk out to see my dogs… and there is piss all over my couch. WHAT THE FUCK, SERIOUSLY. Clearly, one of my pets loves the Stepford Wife about as much as I do, and I think it’s Buffy because 1) she looked guilty and 2) Joss lifts his leg and pees ON things, such as boxes sitting innocently on our old apartment floor waiting to be moved, not all over and across things, like innocent couch cushions.

Anyhow, I’ll be putting a cover over the couch.

Copyright © A Very Good Year 2012. All Rights Reserved.