for freaking out loud

Did I mention that I loathe the Republican ticket this election? It's not like me to be so engaged. Usually I shudder a bit and then get back to my Us Weekly. I don't protest. I don't rally. I don't make a stink. This year though, I am a changed woman. For instance, I spend way too much time on Youtube watching Tina Fey and Sarah Palin, cackling with evil glee over all of it, which somehow leads to watching way too many clips of the bickering between the diabolical Elisabeth Hasselback and Joy Behar on The View. (Loved the ones with Bill Maher.) (I know I'm supposed to provide links here but I have a DVD of Mad Men downstairs burning a hole in the player and it's not getting any earlier.)


This afternoon I went to my local Obama headquarters, donated some green and got a lawn sign. And buttons. I don't recognize myself anymore. Full disclosure, I wasn't an Obama-mama from the beginning, something having to do with attending Hillary's 50th birthday party at Tavern on the Green back in 2006, or the friend I used to have whose late father worked for the Clinton campaign back in 1992. I felt a personal connection to the woman, and watching her brave the Lewinsky storm showed a confidence and a backbone I admired. And the whole woman in the White House thing. That was exciting. But she lost, and maybe it was for the best because now that I've gotten a chance to learn about Obama, I am excited about a candidate for the second time in my life, and actually paying attention to the news, and excited for America and the world, should he win. If he loses, I will want to move. But I wanted to move when Bush won in '00, and again in '04, and I'm still here. If I spoke French, you never know.

Regarding last night's final debate, when you have a guy like Obama who is the walking epitome of calm cool class pitted against a guy who looks like he'd shoot you in the back and then stick the gun in your hand, I can only cringe to think that there are people who actually want that maverick guy (with his crazy rogue thumb) running the country. I guess this post is a prayer of sorts. Pleasepleaseplease as Anne Lamott says.

If I were McCain's mother I would pull his ear for the way he carried himself last night. Did I teach you to act like a slimy scuzz-ball? Did I? Have you no self-respect? Wipe that smirk off your face!  

For freaking out loud is Hamish's cry of frustration du jour. I amend it to say "for f*cking out loud" far too often these days as parenthood is kicking my culo yet again, and there's nothing like cursing with the real curse words to express the eye-popping humorlessness I feel when Stella insists on running naked laps around the house at bedtime instead of getting into her jammy-jams, and Hamish, between mouthfuls of cereal, is testing his new pre-K approved insults on me, like, "You're a doody." I keep having this thought, this belief that I should be a model of peace for my children at all times, that I am indeed a doody if I lose my shit, which is like saying that cats should bark. Like, meow, you know? So I'm renouncing sainthood like the Tao says. Freak it, man.