I'm feeling campy today

Tuesday Am
Originally uploaded by iDTechCamp

This isn't a mommyblog. It's more like a Menoblog. A Menoblog in which I drivel on about the things middle-aged housewives become interested in when their child-bearing years are over. Like interior decorating, T.V., dead celebrities, annoying bureaucrats, and what to do about those kids who won't stay off my lawn, dagnabit!

Which means if you're looking for poop stories and tales of bloating and weird food cravings, look elsewhere. (If you don't know where to look, shoot me a comment. In my wanderings through the blogosphere, I've come across more Craving Mommies/Pooping Children blogs than you can shake a stick at.)

So anyway. This here is the boy (not the girl in brown, the tall fellow in green) at Here's My Hero How Do I Make Him Move? 3D Game Design camp (or whatever he was doing last week.)

Week before last it was 2D Games Design, or, Pac-Man Is Not Lame. Next week it's Let's Completely Rewrite World of Warcraft to Produce Version 2.0, and then we'll end the summer with Introduction to Programming in C++. (I know. How lame. But that's the medicine, and the three weeks of game design were the spoonful of sugar.)

See, we get more and more technical around here, and not all of us have the skills we need. So my son needs to learn moar computer-y stuff so he can help his mother with her blog. In fact, now that I think about it, I'm kicking myself.

I just know the formatting on this entry will be all screwed up. Whenever I use Flickr, the post ends up in single-spaced, teensy font. Why, oh, why, didn't I sign him up for HTML Programming for the Sons of MenoBloggers? Dagnabit!

How you can tell I'm old

without even looking.

1. A telemarketer just called me trying to get me to donate money to the Republican National Committee.

2. The last movie I saw in a theater was Capote.

3. I ran out of ambition a long time ago. Although I still yearn to perfect my bra-ironing technique.

4. Empty-nesterdom sounds pretty nice. Sort of the way sky-box seats sound when you're in the bleachers wading through spilled beer.

5. Pregnancy, labor, breastfeeding, diaper rash, and car seats are becoming distant, dim memories, along the lines of my First French Kiss and Learning To Ride a Two-Wheeler.

6. I'll never live in my dream house. It's OK; I'll probably never be much of a housekeeper. Except for the way I totally plan to nail the bra-ironing event in the 20012 Olympics.

7. I don't feel the least bit ironic or poser-y wearing diamond jewelry, matching shoes and bag, a skirt suit, and a mink coat--even all at once. As long as my bra is ironed.

8. Charitable institutions are not just asking me for money; they want to talk to me in person. They even try to come to my house. (I don't let them. It would waste valuable bra-ironing time.)

9. I don't "get" Etsy. To me, the whole thing smacks of wrinkled bra cups.

I saved the most important for last:

10. I don't take shit from anyone.

And I thought the way my wrap skirts fall off was embarrassing

I took a "which presidential candidate should you support" quiz at GoToQuiz. No, I won't link to the quiz. I won't do it that much of a favor. I'm pissed off at it.

OK, I found it on Belinda's blog. If you want to take the quiz, stop by her place for the link. Tell her I said hello.

Or don't. Because I just found out I'm a pariah. It turns out that I, a card-carrying donation-making Democrat, do not support Hillary Clinton. (Well, of course I don't. Bitch is married to my boyfriend.) Hillary was in the number two spot, though. Guess who was number one?

No, not Barack O'Boyfriend.

John McCain. JOHN MCCAIN. Who is a REPUBLICAN.

I can't remember the last time I voted for a Republican. Actually, I don't think I ever have.

I have no idea how that happened. None. But I blame the quiz. Because the questions are all about "hot-button" issues. And hot-button issues don't really interest me.

Like immigration. My ancestors immigrated a long time ago, so even if there was some law-breaking going on at some point--even if old Isaac Stearns shaved a year off his apprenticeship and got the right to vote illegally--my nose is clean. I get grandfathered in. (Get it? Grandfathered?) So who am I to act high and mighty about the current crop of law-breakers?

Abortion? Look, if people would stop having sex all the time, there wouldn't be so many unwanted pregnancies. Honestly, what's with all the fucking? What are you, people, anyway--animals?

Health care? Hey, going to the doctor sucks no matter who's paying for it.

Iraq? Well, yes, what an international diplomacy love-fest that's been. But now that we're in up to our armpits, do I have a solution? No, I do not. And therefore, I think it's unfair for me to expect all those Presidential candidates (and really, who the hell are these guys, anyway?) to have one.

But John McCain? You know who supports John McCain?

MY MOTHER.

In addition to new posts on this blog, there are a lot of things you don't see much any more.

Alka-Seltzer ads



Not that I miss these.



Or him.

Lifeguards with white zinc cream all over their noses

OK. Can somebody explain what this was about?


Maybe what I miss most ... Nicole Kidman's natural hair color. Why doesn't she want to be a redhead any more?

I liked them. (Are they still on?)


Psssssst! This stuff didn't work.

This didn't work either. And could be replaced with a wire hanger. Or cable.

Also:

telephone booths

women with curlers in their hair

Tokens. Subway or highway.