January 23, 2008
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I finished feeding and burping the babies and parked them under the Baby Einstein Gym. I turned on the radio (we just bought one, actually. I know. We're a little behind.) And there was BBC2 filling the house. Terry Wogan reads the news.
The stock market is sucking, huh? I wonder if I should hold off on buying their 6-12 month clothes. I'm short on 6-12 months items. Instead of hitting up a sale at Next, maybe I should wait. Maybe a market fall will commence WWIII. It'll be like a nuclear winter. We'll dress the babies in our clothing cast-offs and they will be taught to hunt using pacifiers and the tin liner of a can of formula. It's like the plot of a Stephen King novel, a creepy one like The Fog, which freaked me out so badly I can't see the movie and which, coincidentally, is the reason I stockpile nappies and formula so that we have enough to survive on just in case.
I shove my hair behind my ear. I'm not sure I like my haircut. I'm not sure I don't like it, either.
I reach for some tablets. Since giving birth I have battled with the demon known as Captain Constipation. It makes life hell. I replayed a recent discussion with Angus in my head.
"I bought you a present," he says, holding out a box of Dulco-Ease.
"Oh honey! Nothing says 'I love you ' like a box of laxatives!" I say, batting my eyelashes at him.
"But you have tablets to help treat that," he says, joining me and reaching to put plates away from a recently finished dishwasher.
"I know. I've been taking them for three days now. And drinking water. And prune juice. And eating more fibre than you can find in your average pile of rope," I reply mournfully.
That was three days ago. So now I'm going to need a militia to go in there and help get through the battle gates. Good thing I actually like the taste of prune juice. I have been popping the pills daily, and I've taken so many now that even Mike Huckabee would now be unconstipated.
Mike Huckabee, Mike Huckabee...seriously? A person can be called Mike Huckabee? His politics scare me, and you just can't elect a man named Huckabee, it's not on. Can you hear Dan Rather say "President Huckabee has plans to meet with the Japanese Prime Minister this Wednesday"? No, me neither. The rest of the world already has their enjoyment making fun of the States (trust me, I know. I get abused at every party as "the voice of America"). How can we show our face with a president whose name sounds like he's a long-lost cast member from the Andy Griffith Show?
Who am I going to vote for? Hmmm...as a Democrat (real-time note-this is not where you need to attack me, try to convince me otherwise, or palm off a link to my website to rabid, inconsistent, dogmatic right-wing bloggers. Generally I don't discuss politics here because I don't want the aggro and because I think politics are best discussed face-to-face over some single malt. I am a personal blog writer but hey - I do have a view of politics too, and those politics mean I am a platform voter, and those platforms are usually supported by the Democrats. Let me have my view in peace, as I won't try to convert you if you don't try to convert me, yes? Whiskey?) I'm not sure. The Democrats are polarized over the primaries. It feels like I have to decide, and I have to decide RIGHT NOW.
I don't mind Hilary, I like her stances on many things. Plus she stuck by Bill when his affairs were revealed, and if you've ever been cheated on you know that sticking it out with the one who's put his leg over someone else takes some major backbone. But I hate feeling like I have to vote for her because she's a woman, I'm a woman, and I am a feminist. I tend to get a little stubborn when people expect me to do something without asking if I want to do it. I also am a little pissed off about the recent Vogue gaff. Amazingly, for the first time in my life I'm actually siding with Anna Wintour, who I think of as Satan only with a slightly more expensive haircut. Clinton wouldn't do an issue of Vogue lest she appear "too feminine". What, so if you're feminine you're weak? If you admit to being a woman you've given away the ability to be taken seriously? Yes, there are prejudices in America but you would've earned my respect faster if you'd decided to address them head on, before you got elected, when you wouldn't just be talking the talk. Way to miss your own message, babe.
Obama, Obama...do I like Obama? I like him, I'd have a drink with him. He seems very intelligent and I like intelligent presidents, I think it's what we need. Does he have the experience, though? Will he be as seemingly ineffectual and invisible as Gordon Brown? If something goes very-pear shaped all of a sudden would White House aides find him under his desk in the Oval Office, moving the ink blotter around the carpet and making choo-choo noises?
More news.
Heath Ledger died? Is that possible? He was a fantastic actor, even if I think he might not have been such a nice chap in real life. But Hollywood people don't die. They just get cast in wax. They don't really die, not really. Or wait - maybe this is a conspiracy. It's something Stephen King is writing.
Ooooh Golden Grahams. That's what I want for breakfast. Opening the box, I read their new ad campaign - "With Ridges That Rock!" Think I've just gone off Golden Grahams.
Must call builders.
Must call nursery.
Must make up some bottles.
Must take some photos today.
Must get to emails.
Must ring health visitor.
Must clean house.
Must do more searching for a literary agent, although not entirely sure how one finds said agent.
Must keep writing, which I started doing the other night and which is taking over my mind.
Um....what was I just doing?
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