The Problem with Potatoes

I know this will come as a big shocker *eye roll*, but I’ve been a bit of a slacker as of late.

I could blame my former trainer for being an incredibly unprofessional loser that I had to fire.  I could blame the attacks that I’ve been under as a public union worker and the overwhelming, subsequent stress that goes with that.  I could blame Canada.  Hell, I could blame a whole heavenly host of beings/issues/distractions for me being a lazy mofo, but it all comes down to this:

I slack because it requires zero planning.

Planning requires thought.  Planning requires time.  Planning requires effort.  Planning requires…planning.

You know what doesn’t require planning? 

Couch potato-ing!  Well, unless you’re one of those people who plans what they’re going to watch while being spudtastic, since, for the most part, having regular shows requires having a memory that recalls what day and time they’re on the boobtube.  But that eliminates the fun of channel surfing.  No planning it is!

Course the deal with mashing oneself into the sofa (or the Lazyboy) is that despite their deliciousness, potatoes are fattening.  Okay, not necessarily fattening until you add the butter, sour cream, and cheesy goodness, but what the hell would be the point of eating a dry potato?  Seriously.  Does anyone even DO that??

And the problem with fattening is that it does nothing to help one fit into any pair of pants that actually zip and/or button.  If I could be a professional TV watcher, sweatpants would actually be a plus.  (Comfort allows for full focus on Castle’s ass…I mean storyline.)  Alas, my full-time job requires that I wear appropriate attire (reads: not sweatpants).

In the process of running my first 5K in ages today, I had the epiphany that fattening equals bad.  No one should be this out of shape this early in life.  I needed a plan.  It wasn’t just that at 37:40 my grandmother (in her nineties) could roll her wheelchair faster than I was running.  No.  I’ve awakened to the fact that I don’t really like being a spud.  There’s more to me than that.  Or rather, I’d prefer there be less.

Oh sure, I can come up with every excuse in the book not to do it, but in the end, they are just that: excuses.  So, today I sent a message to one of my old trainers that actually got results (not the injuries that I’ve been plagued with since I stopped training with him) out of me.  Hope he responds. 

If not, I am not going to use that as an excuse to pile on more cheddar.  I am going to pull out my books on training and get myself busy following through on a plan. 

Because what’s that they say?  A rolling spud gathers no moss?  Hmm.  Yeah, I’m dusting the moss off my ass and hitting the pavement.  This girl with a plan is done with the couch…

The Procrastination Equation...uh huh.

As Queen of All Procrastinators everywhere, I have to say that I don’t really do well in the realm of “get things done expediently”.  These days I suck at it actually.  I don’t mean to suck at it, but there it is.  Technicolor me.  The woman that can find just about anything to keep herself from doing things (reads: writing--among other things) that will propel herself forward to completion on a project (i.e.: the 52 stories I’ve started).

So when one of my real writer friends, Kelly (http://clickerbug.wordpress.com/  in case you want to check out her work), suggested I read this book about the real reasons for procrastination, I was all for it.  I mean, I needed to do something.  Maybe if I understood my own tendencies better, I could fix those gone wrong, right? 

Naturally, I went to the bookstore that very day that she told me about it, but they didn’t have it in stock.  Yes.  Yes, I could have taken care of things right then and there when the nice lady behind the counter asked me if I wanted order it, but alas, that would have been logical.  Reasonable.  What the normal Joette does.  Not me.  Oh no.  I was going to wait because I wanted it to come straight to my house if it had to be ordered.  Besides, I had other books that I wanted whose titles I couldn’t remember (and whose subject material was a bit sketchier than what’d be comfortable to bring up with a total stranger) so I thought it better to wait.

And wait.

And wait.

When I finally got around to ordering the book, it didn’t come as fast as I’d figured.  So instead of trying to force myself forward on a few projects what I did was wait (and play on the internet, my new favorite wastetime).

And I waited.

And waited.

And waited…until eventually, my savior, aka The Procrastination Equation arrived. *the crowd cheers*

*raises right hand and places left on a squirming pile of playing puppies*

I swear I planned to start reading it the day it found its way to my front porch.  Right after I finished reading the last Harry Potter.  And one of those dragony tattooey books that I borrowed from the library and renewed…twice.  Course I haven’t finished either yet.  But it’s only because if I get my drawers cleaned out, I may have something for the Goodwill Sale at Boston Store.  Course then there’s the fact that I’ve been slacking on catching up on facebook.  Haven’t talked to a few family members in ages and should probably give a shout out.  And then there’s the garage that needs cleaning.  Yeah, there’s something to be said for a clean garage.  And a clean car.  Winter’s coming, you know.  Did anyone notice how unruly the hedges out back have become?  Hey, why the hell are you all looking at me like that?

There’s gotta be something seriously wrong with the person who puts off reading a book on procrastination.  That irony isn’t lost on me.

And yes, there must be something seriously wrong with me since I’m still procrastinating the reading of it almost two months after it was delivered to my doorstep.  Well, not exactly true.  I started reading it.  Made it through the whole first chapter two weeks after the book arrived.  Now, I am putting off reading the rest of it.  Not sure why.  It’s been good so far…

Perhaps I have a problem, you say?

The only one I can see is this:  if you’re going to be royalty, you should have some sort of castle in the middle of a vast and mighty kingdom.  Rest assured I have one.  Now all we have to do is finish the construction on it.  I mean, it’s only been 10 years since we began. 

On the other hand, I could just go back to researching housing in Florida.  I’m looking to move there...someday…

A New Sheriff in Town

Corporations are people, Mitt?  http://www.latimes.com/news/politics/la-pn-romney-state-fair-20110811,0,1863810.story  I’m not sure what disturbs me more…that you said it, or that the comment “earned [you] a sustained round of applause”.  Stupid is as stupid does?  Hmm.

Should it surprise me that you and your cronies at Standard and Poor want to fuck with the world economy, too?  Nope, it doesn’t.  But here’s why you’re all heading south…FAAAAR south my friend.  You aren’t allowed to criticize someone else, or pretend like you are deserving of some self-served, sleazy patting of yourself on your own back for any credit rating that’s been issued by people you keep in your back pocket, asshat.  http://www.seasonalmagazine.com/2011/08/s-downgrade-of-us-debt-5-reasons-why-it.html  Can you say conflict of interest?  *eye roll*

Yes, dear reader, it’s times like these that I am SO happy that at the end of my days I am going to Hell…

First, all the really cool (albeit poor) kids are going.  It isn’t going to just be those hateful dumbasses like Michelle Bachmann, George W., Rummy, Walker, and Mitt.  (Rumor has it that Sarah’s petitioning for Heaven…course that’ll probably go as well as her previous vice-presidential bid.  No worries, I’ll save you a seat, Pretty Princess…NOT.  You’ll stand and sweat like a lipsticked pig in the heat like the rest of us and like it.)  

Truth is, in Moo Hell, I don’t even want them there…which is precisely why they’ll be there.  And why I’ll be there to irritate them in retaliation.  Talk about a hellacious symbiotic relationship!  (You can’t be condemned to Hell and not have it be…well…Hell.  It’s the whole point of the thing.  No red wine and stuck with Pretty Princess Palin.  It’s the crystal clear definition of it...probably for both of us.)

But I'm not even talking about the evil minions that actually belong there; some of us will probably end up there due to stupid shit done whilst under the influence at some point in our lives.  (I’ve got stories…damn, one that comes to mind involves two besties from back in the day—both of whom shall remain nameless to spare the quasi-innocent—an unknowing chaperone—also nameless—and a pair or two of pantyhose used for questionable means.  What do you want??  We were in our twenties, married, bombed and ready for trouble.  But I digress…)

So, cool kids + booze-soaked sin = Hell-bound?  Check.  It’s nice to know, that in part, I’ll be amongst close friends.

Reason number two:  it gives me an opportunity to demonstrate my leadership abilities (and the fact that I really can be mean as…well…Hell). When I arrive, I am planning to tell the guy dressed in red to get the fuck out of my chair.  “You’ve been mishandling Hell, Beelzebub, and I’m gonna show you how it’s done proper, pally.”  Mitt?  Is your seat warm enough?  No?  I’ll turn it up, honey.  Michelle?  Meet your new wife Sarah.  I figured you’d be happy because I hooked you up with someone with which you have something in common.  (You’re both homophobic, antifeminist, political freak wannabes.)

Finally…y’all gotta know that with my love for heat I’m gonna decide how hot it’s going to be.  And it’s gonna be scorching, kiddies.  Just how Mama Satana likes it.  Those of you riding on my rocket sled with the super-duper turbo-boosters should be sure to pack light because Hell’s gone clothing optional (which, when I think of it, could be everyone’s personal Hell in one way or another).

Yeah, Me + Hell = Good Times.  Oh, and if a Mr. G. Reaper shows up, knocking with a special ticket for you, don’t let the turbo-boostered toboggan disturb you.  Light speed is the best way to go.  Everyone knows the anticipation of the ride is the worst part anyway.  Besides, if you’re reading this, no worries for you anyway.  You’re probably already in good with the new sheriff in town…

And the winner is??

What.

The.

Fuck???

I’ve struggled with sleep lately, but there are moments when my inability to catch my winks at night has the potential to create future nightmares of epic proportions.  So it is when I get to channel surfing and see a massive disaster like Toddlers and Tiaras.

When is it ever okay to dress up a four year-old like a hooker (fake eyelashes and heavy eyeliner, low-cutting, short-skirted dresses, and big, crazy, 80’s slutty-girl hair) and send her out on stage to win a supposed “beauty pageant”?

Crazy stage moms (and dads)?  They are in ample supply here, folks.  Many of them not that attractive themselves, you can see they are trying to vicariously live out their own pageant dreams through their way too young to be told to “shake your butt, but not like a stripper” children. 

Seriously??  Should a four year-old even know what a stripper is let alone know how she should shake her booty just right so the kid won’t cross that invisible boundary of decorum and good taste??

Look.  I’m not completely against the whole pageant thing.  I did the Junior Miss thing back in the day.  Thing is I was a junior…in HIGH SCHOOL.  There were scholarships involved.  But the point is that I was old enough to apply my own fake lashes, and I actually had real boobies and nice gams to put in the dress I borrowed from my friend Jill.  Oh, and let’s not forget that it actually was the 1980’s, so my big ole poof hair was era appropriate.

My problem isn’t the pageant idea; it’s when you take a toddler and dress her like a hoochiemama and try to pretend that the whole sitch isn’t a very messed up train wreck.  Let her look like a kid and have her do kid things because, well, she IS one.

Alaska just finished her striptease routine where she rips her jacket off and swings it around her head, all the while spinning and shaking her booty, but, naturally NOT like a stripper—even though she technically is acting out that role, all in front of the many grown males in the audience.  My mouth is agape.  (Not sure if this is because of the striptease or the fact that her name is perfect for the stripper she is playing out at the moment.  *shakes head*  I’m at a loss here.)

Yeah, then I started thinking.  What are these little girls going to be like when they reach adulthood?  Will they ever believe that it’s okay to walk through their world without wearing make-up?  Will they figure that they have to use their looks/sex to get what they want in life?  Or worse, that what is important is how you look not who you are, particularly as a woman?  As a card carrying member of NOW, I find the whole thing most disturbing.

Well, I gotta flip channels again for my own sanity and safety.  Maybe comedy channel has something on that will make the disgust fade away, though I doubt it…

Brain cells? We don't need no stinkin' brain cells...

I lost brain cells last night, of this I am sure.

Okay, I should explain.  It wasn’t because I over-served myself (although in all honesty I did, in fact, drink a little wine—red, natch).  No. In my effort to transform into the ultimate corpulent, dumpy, slacker-loser, I have developed an addiction to watching inane television.  Why read a book and learn something when you can sit your ass all potato-style, drooling in front of the dummy box?  Make mine mashed oozing with sharp cheddar and butter (keep your damn healthy broccoli) these days.

My latest greatest distraction from participating in the real world is my weekly dose of “The Bachelorette”.  I’m so irritatingly invested in this stupid show that I sometimes find myself actually screaming at Ashley on TV, which we all know is not even remotely helpful since she can’t hear me.  I’ve even coaxed my honey into watching with me.  And while, if I’m being honest, he probably plays along because he wants to spend time with me (reads: he wants to get laid when the show is over), he does get hooked into my mental measurements over Ashley’s very poor judgment, too.

So there we sit, pooled in spit, when the realization hits that not only am I invested in the psychology of what is going on, but I have to own up to having a fave guy, though all I know about him is that he makes wine (which I’m not sure says the right thing about me…or maybe says exactly the right thing about me, depending upon how you look at it).  Don’t even know the guys name.  Heh.  Maybe I’m not as devoted a fan as I previously thought.  Gee.  What a relief.

What a variety of guys; all with some level of hotness, some smoking, but all playing a game.  Ash, sweetheart, I don’t know if you know this or not because you’re only, like, twelve years old, but guys like to compete.  Especially with each other.  Super-duper especially when it’s against each other for a girl’s affections.  But here’s the rub, darlin’…I don’t know many guys that aren’t almost more into the chase than the catch.  

You’re all concerned, Ash sweetie, (and you should be if you’re taking this whole bit seriously) that these guys aren’t being honest about their intentions and that they’re playing a game, which they are.  Duh.  So how in the world can you truly think that one of these men is seriously into you? 

Yes, they all want to woo and win you, but I’m betting that it has more to do with beating each other out of the opportunity to be the winner winner chicken dinner than it has to do with banging you for the rest of their lives. 

Honey, just deal with the historical facts.  Oh, sure, maybe one of these guys is excited to become Mr. Ashley, but if we’re being realists here, there’s a better chance of getting hit by lightening. 

Twice. 

On a sunny day.

It.

Is.

A.

Game.  *smirks*

When you look at all of the bachelor/ette shows, have any actually worked out?  Maybe that one way in the beginning.  I say take your fifteen minutes of fame and go the way that others have gone: pretend that you can act or something.  You’re pretty enough to make it on Lifetime or SciFi channel, I guess, and why reinvent the wheel with trying to become the next reality star?  Oh, wait.  You did that already.  Nevermind.

And for God’s sake, ditch this whole Bentley idea.  You think there’s a connection??  Really?  (Why are the young ones so bloomin' dense?)  Yes, I know that I get to see all the details of his extensive douchebaggery that you were unaware of, and he’s definitely a master manipulator, but come on.  The man is plant food.  Go with the wine maker guy (what the hell is his name??  Now I’m going to have to go look that up).

You know folks, all of it still leaves me at a serious loss though.  Not because I’m concerned about which guy Ashley will end up with, because who gives a shit?  It’s not like she’ll stay with the guy for longer than it takes to start a new season anyway, but because I’ve developed the horrible habit of wasting two hours every week on this dumb show instead of doing something productive, like reading or writing or doing my laundry.

Right now I’m write-avoiding by watching “The Voice”, but only after watching “America’s Got Talent” (though I find the title of the latter show somewhat misleading).  Point is that I keep doing things that keep me from doing the things that I want to be doing…or rather say that I want to be doing.

This got me thinking, which outside of drooling in front of the boob-tube is something I seem to be doing a lot of lately.  Maybe I don’t really want to be doing what I say I want to be doing.  But then what?  I could go for becoming a professional wine drinker, on account of the fact that I like my red, but I’d really like to keep the liver I’ve got because I’m kind of attached to it.  Transplants can be so…sketchy, and dialysis doesn’t really seem to be the way to go.

Television critic?  Lord knows I distract myself with enough of it these days.  Internet surf queen?  I’m beyond pro in that department, too.  See?  Now this is requiring WAY too much thinking and the confusion is impeding my ability to enjoy “The Voice” so I’d better shut up shutting up and get back to it.   

I mean, I have far more pressing matters to consider than my future anyway.  Rumor has it Bentley (the guy with a name fit for the dog that he is) is coming back.  Wonder what will happen?  If she lets him back and I was the nameless wine maker, I’d ditch her and go looking for his true match—a married woman in Wisconsin (or at least that’s what I’ve heard). 

You hear me, Ash? 

Don’t fuck up your chance to be with one of the guys who is sincerely pretending like you’re “the one” for the guy that’s pretending like he’s “the one”, except anytime he’s in front of a camera. 

Besides, FREE WINE, girl.  How can you go wrong with anything that’s free?  The fact that it’s wine…mmm…

A word about writing...

Writer’s block sucks.

Okay, that’s probably not news for the writers out there, and there’re a lot worse things in the world, but it is—at the very least—a tremendous pain in the ass.  And while I am a fan of whining (clearly, and not to be confused with “wining”, which I am also quite fond of), I’d really not like to have to whine about not being able to write.  (Wow.  Two glasses of wine and I can barely understand that last sentence.  Apparently I became a lightweight when the block set in?  *grumble*)

Wouldn’t it be MUCH more fun to whine about not getting enough sex?  Or to bellyache about the cost of gas?  Or that I have gas?  (Ate soy today.  Sorry, honey.)

Needless to say, I’ve got nothing to say.  No.  That isn’t exactly true.  I have LOTS to say, but my words won’t come.  I have whole movies playing repeatedly in my head, and they’re truncated by my own ineptitude in expressing clear thoughts without reading them back to myself and thinking, “AUGH!!!!  Awful!”  I can’t make the English fit the mind-film, so to speak.

Perhaps I should write in Spanish?  Yes, it’s true that it’s helpful to be fluent in a language if you plan to create in it, and I’m not…exactly, but I was thinking maybe the extra challenge would take my mind off of how bad I suck at this art, and how the words sometimes don’t find their way to the page, and that’s frustrating.  Sigh.

Okay, back to writing fiction.  Maybe.  Or maybe I’ll just go play on facebook for a while instead, drinking the rest of this glass of vino, and then go to bed. 

All I know is writer’s block bites ass…

Where, oh, where has my discipline gone...

Remember when I was single-mindedly focused, disciplined and motivated??

Yeah, me neither.  Seems it’s been such a long-assed time since I saw my old friend Discipline that I’ve developed an inability to look down and see my own feet as of late.

Okay, maybe my newest friend, Eggs Agerator, has taken over here.  Or perhaps it's my other friend Miss Taken.  My food baby has grown plump, but I can still see my shoes…when they’re sitting on the steps across the room, and I’m not too far from the stairs (my eyesight’s failing a bit these days).  And I can still button my pants, albeit barely, though a belt is completely unnecessary at the moment.

You’d think that the ole workhorse Mo Tivator would step in to help me give birth to this food baby by forcing me to eat raw veggies and hit the workouts instead of munching down the little bowl of potato chips I’m thinking of refilling as we speak.  (Uh, isn’t it considered exercise to walk all the way to the kitchen to fill the bowl and then all the way back here to the recliner in the living room??  Hmph.)  “Put the chips down, and get on the damned exercise bike, you lazy cow!!”  That’s what Mo would say, if A. Pathy wasn’t pinning him down on the floor, helped out by Dee Pressed’s hand held tight over Mo’s mouth.

It’s not that I’m a lazy personality.  Or maybe, it’s not that I wasn’t a lazy personality…damn, those double negatives are nastiness.  What I mean to say is once upon a time, laziness would not have been a characteristic that one would have attached to the picture of me in a dictionary.  (In truth, my picture would be on the page where one finds the word “unphotogenic”, but I digress…)

Energetic.  That’s how I would have characterized myself back in the day.  Then life happened.  Again.  And again.  And again.  Yeah, life sure kicks the crap out of you, and the past ten years, give or take, I’ve been taking more than my share of beatings.  Not as many as some, but more than my energetic system can recover from.  (Shit.  Remember when I cared enough about written English that I didn’t end a sentence with a preposition?  *waxes nostalgic* Yeah, those were the days.)  Point is: perpetual emotional pain drains the life right out of you.

All I know is that, somehow, I’d better figure it out before I make it as Biggest Loser (on so very many levels) material.  With Jillian gone in the upcoming seasons, who would tell me that puking isn’t an excuse to get off the treadmill to go hide and feel all sorry for myself??  Nope.  I’m going to have to ride my own ass here, people.  Get up and get going, recliner potato!!  Tired?!?  So is everyone else on the planet, you big whiiiner!!

Well, chip bowl is empty.  It’s a war of wills.  Me against Myself and I.  Now to figure out which side says, “Fill the bowl!!”, and TAKE. IT. OUT…

…for sushi.  Sushi’s healthy, right?  *sighs, shaking head* Just pathetic…

Bed bugs, bed bugs, whatcha gonna do...whatcha gonna do when they come for you??

Remember the good ole days?  When you were admitted to the hospital and all you had to worry about was dying from some random, careless act of malpractice?  You know, a cotton gauze sewn into your gut during an emergency surgery that spirals into a fatal infection?  Or a flesh eating nosocomial one from someone neglecting to observe the “sterile environment” rules?  Or the newest antibiotic resistant disease?

Yeah.  Good ole days.  But no more, kiddies.  Now we have something even more insidious to deal with in our local hospitals…

http://bedbugger.com/2010/11/17/milwaukee-hospital-quarantines-suspected-bed-bug-victims-based-on-suspected-bite-marks-alone/

Itchy all of a sudden?  Me, too.  In fact, just typing the words makes me itchy-scratchy all over, and even though I probably wouldn’t die from them I am highly allergic to any buggies that bite me. *scratches arm*

If you’ve ever had the misfortune of dealing with these little bastards, you know that they will be here long after the roaches, rats and Keith Richards float off to the Big Party in the sky.  Oh yes.  Yes, they will.  They will be laughing at those stupid roaches.  Cause even though roaches are rather hardy, they can be squished.  Granted, you may have to use your car to do it (everything's bigger in Texas), at least they crunch. 

Ever try to squish a teeeeeny bed bug?  Impossible is the word that comes to mind.  And they’re the size that can sneak into and hide…well, everywhere.  *scratches leg*

I suppose I shouldn’t be surprised that the little buggars have found their way into hospitals.  I mean, if you travel at all, you put yourself at risk of bringing home a few “souveniers” that will keep the love giving and giving and giving.  But unless you’re getting a fantastic boob job, hospitals aren’t exactly the end all be all vacation, right?  All the same, you’re there, in an environment where many others convene so the risk factor is high.  *scratches knee*

However, when you leave the hospital, I think the only thing you should be bringing home with you is total health (and maybe a med or two).  What. The. Fuck?  *starts scratching all over*

I mean…YUCK.  Yuck, yuck, yuck.  Yuck.  Did I mention yuck?  *scratches buttcheek* 

What is it about bugs that make it worse than any other possible fatal disease?  Creepy crawliness?  Ugh.  Especially those really little ones.  *continues scratching furiously*

Well, I’d love to sit and chat about gross things like this, but perhaps I should go and investigate mattress cracks and crevasses.  (EEEEWWWW…)  I don’t live that far from hospitals.  Don’t work that far from one where those icky things were found.  Creepy-crawly days.  *blech*  Anyway, wish me luck.  *scratches at head*  Hopefully there isn’t anything to see here folks.  *tries to scratch back*  (Not finding bites so hopefully that’s a good sign.)  *scratches bottom of foot*

Shit.  It occurs to me that I’m traveling to my beloved NOLA soon.  Let’s hope that seriously drunken bed bugs get lost on their way to my clothes and suitcase so that they don’t find their way back to my home sweet home.  I’m willing to drink more to take home less.  “Souvs” of that variety?  Who needs those??  *scratches wildly*  I say the food and music alone should be enough for those nasties to stay right were they are.  But just in case, little bedbug, do you really want to party hardy all summer just to freeze come September?  (Yes, I know that the bitter cold doesn’t really come till a bit later, but shhhh…*whispers*  work with me here, people.)

Did I mention yuck?  *double shudder*

A New, Better Prayer

Okay, sometimes when you ask for trouble, you actually get it.  I stupidly forgot about that.  So before we move on to anything else, please call off the smiting, Goddess.  Call. It. Off.  Please?

Here’s the thing…I’m not overly afraid of death (You know that, for the most part, my spirit has never fully integrated in this body anyway) although I guess given the choice, I would prefer to not kick the bucket and give up this human form yet.  What I do know is that I don’t want to see others—innocent or no—be taken out.  So in this whole smiting request thingy, well, somewhere along the line, a few well-worded thoughts from others got me considering things differently.  (Thank you to those with better, kinder, more loving ideas.)  I managed to figure some things out about fear and love.  And smiting, while it seemed like a really good idea at the time, is not such a good idea after all.  That original request for planetary death and destruction?  Yeah, cancel that, please.

Instead, I have a better idea.  A way better idea.  I few small favors that I am sure You won’t mind fulfilling:

Favor number one:  If I am only allowed one request, this is the one I’m most looking to fulfill, okay?  Please, stop the nuclear problems that the Japanese are dealing with right now.  Actually, stop all of the problems they are experiencing.  Please.  The huge earthquake was bad; the ginormous tsunami was horrible.  The continued barrage on this area of the world is over the top.  These people have suffered enough.  Too much, actually.  So if You wouldn’t mind getting those powerful Hands in there, please, stop the issues, particularly the nuclear ones.  Save these people, please.

Favor number two:  Please inspire us human beings to start interacting with each other and our world from a state of love and empathy.  Allow us to see the world from each others’ spaces.  Allow us to release our own victimhood so that we can stop feeling sorry for ourselves, which always results in the attempts to undermine each other.  Let us feel sincere and complete gratitude.  Help us to work together.  Show us that polarization serves no one and that the only way peace can happen is if we all compromise, that there is no weakness in negotiation.  Help us to see that we all gain if we pull each other up and give instead of ripping away from the other—whether we're talking the material, emotional or spiritual.  Bring those who suffer from greed to a new understanding about their wealth; help those with everything realize that their wealth has immense responsibility.  Forgive those who just don’t seem to get that and bring them to the fullest understanding.  Allow us all to see our hypocrisies, but even more, to strive for complete authenticity.  In essence, help us to realize our fullest potential, and to be grateful for it.

Favor number three:  Please continue to love, support and forgive us.  We need Your positive Divine influence, in whatever way it’s best seen by each and every person (even to those who don’t know You—they see Your magic; they just label it differently).  Allow us to see our mistakes clearly.  Inspire us to be better humans.  Allow Your hand to guide this “art project” with more involvement.  (But feel free to let us think it's our idea.  You know how we humans love to think we're the ones in control.)

Okay, I think that does it for now.  I’ll let You know if I think of anything else.  Remember, it’d be really great if You’d be a good Sport and put the kibosh on the smiting thing.  Especially the Japan issue.  We need You to step in on that and stop it super-stat, please.  (I don’t mean to sound pushy-You know how I get, but things are getting to a point where very bad things are happening.  Seriously.)

And please, remember, I am just a stupid human like everyone else.  It may have taken me some time, but I see the error in the thought process of that original request.  *raises right hand and puts left on a wrestling puppy pile* I promise to try to be a better person and to make a stronger effort to have a positive affect on the world around me.  Maybe I’m not deserving, but hopefully You’ll see me worthy enough of forgiveness of my ignorance and arrogance anyway.

Oh, and Lady?  Thank You in advance...

A Simple Prayer

Dear Goddess,

In my most humble manner I ask that You come, now, and hear my prayer, please.

I know You’ve been watching us, but know that I have been, too.

There are too many of us who cannot get along.  We’ve lost our ability to see each other in one another.  We’ve become victims, jealous of what another has, instead of being excited that our brother or sister has more that they can and will share with us.  As victims, we stifle each others voices in the name of greed, not caring if our morals are left on the curb, in order to succeed at our deviousness.  We sadly try to drag each other down instead of joyously pulling each other up.

We allow ourselves to believe that others, who have been equally victimized, are our enemies, instead of holding those who are truly responsible for our pain, who laugh their way to the bank with our monies and our human rights, to be held accountable.  Then we judge those most in need of repentance rather than embracing forgiveness of them.  We allow our fears to fuel our hate, and we allow our hate to justify our actions. 

We allow ourselves to believe that You pick sides, and want US to pick sides, too, when it comes to race, religion, sex or sexual orientation.  We have forgotten that You have created ALL of us and love us most completely, unconditionally, and EQUALLY.

We destroy our planet for the almighty dollar, my Lady.  We do.  We pollute indiscriminately.  We bitch that our gasoline prices are too high, but we do nothing to improve our public transportation.  We do little in the lines of developing more eco-friendly energy sources that would be more appreciative of our beautiful home so that we can allow a select 2% of our entire planet garner all the wealth regardless of the health of our precious Earth.  We don’t shop locally, but have our food shipped in from all over the globe.  Then we allow our food to spoil in our refrigerators while simultaneously our poor go hungry.  We are shamefully wasteful and hypocritical.

We toss our poor and our meek to the curb to live out the cold winters in cardboard boxes or worse while our rich live luxuriously and extravagantly.  We shun our neighbors who have fallen upon hard times instead of offering all that we have to help them.  We think ourselves more important than our brothers and sisters on this planet, dear Goddess. 

We abuse the animals here for food and clothes, and perform abusive scientific studies on them for superficial things like cosmetics.  We glorify those whose main goal is materialism instead of lauding those focusing on relationship development, and not just development with each other as a species but with our fellow beings on this planet. 

Our traditions and honor have slipped into an irreparable state.  We lie.  We lie and we cheat and we steal.  We use our victimhood as our justification for being the vilest and most base of your species.

We hide our heads in the sand even though we see injustice.  We deny these insults exist because we cannot tolerate the personal pain that comes with having to admit if they do that we have a personal responsibility to do something to rectify them, and we find ourselves unwilling or unable to do.  We simply move on with our lives, ignoring someone else has been wronged.  We tell ourselves “if it doesn’t directly affect me, why should I care so much?”  Or “yeah, it affects me, but I’m too busy.”  We’ve forgotten how to say "what can I do?" and “I’m sorry, and I love you” when we've done all we can but it isn't enough.

But You and I know that what is done to one, is done to All.  On some level, I believe we all know that.  We disconnect from each other because it feels safer.  And we—arguably the most fearful, superstitious creatures on the planet—need to feel safe.  Sadly, we’ve just forgotten that all we need do is look to You, and we’ll have all the safety and security we need.

It isn’t just that we’ve lost our way, our behavior has become far worse than that.  We spiraled onto a path toward destruction of all around us.  We have lost our ability to empathize and show simple though profound kindness to one another.  We’ve stopped listening to one another because it isn’t always what we want to hear.  Maybe this fear, hate, and divisiveness have been caused by our disconnection to You, which means to each other as well?  Or maybe it’s just because we’ve all been hardwired in a way that is just a little bit off and needs repair that only You can offer?

I know I haven’t come close to covering all the despicableness that we are, that we have become in the years since our original genesis on this planet.  You see, this request has already become far more complex and lengthy than originally intended.  I sincerely apologize for that.

All I know is this:  I have lost hope and faith in humankind.  And unless, in Your magnificence, You can show me cause to feel otherwise, I have but one humble, simple request that I tearfully ask of You in earnest.  

Come smite the human inhabitants on this planet, Goddess.  Destroy us, if You will.  We do not deserve the beautiful and magical gift of this planet or the pureness of sharing our truest selves.  We have stopped earning the right to be here when we stopped respecting and loving this place and all of its inhabitants.  We stopped earning that right when we put our selfish ego needs ahead of the good of the whole, when we forgot how to share ourselves, when we forgot how to prioritize in a way that we all win.

Smite us with Your fiercest hand, bring us Home, and maybe someday (should You see fit) You might try the human experiment again.

In deepest gratitude, tortured sincerity, and most genuine Love I say this simple prayer,

:)k

Moo for Wisconsin Governor 2012

I’m running for the governorship of Wisconsin in 2012. 

Yeah, yeah, I know.  The current guber isn’t planning on giving up his Machiavellian reign over his kingdom…er…ah, state just yet.  Why as we speak, he probably has the one of the Koch brothers on line one while reaching for the speed dial to contact the National Guard on line two, trying to figure out how he can squash us middle class union folk down. 

But I have a word for you readers: recall.  Here’s some of the real reasons why since you won’t catch them on any of the local news networks. (Don’t go reading the yellow print, or watching the yellow-tinted newscasts; it’s probably worse for you than yellow snow!)

Don’t you know?  Peaceful protestors are quite a threat.  Why, they might chant things that you don’t want to hear about yourself.  Or sing old threatening hippy folk songs.  *shudder*  Or WORSE, the national anthem while waving American flags!  AUGHH!!!!!  (Whew.  I got way scared by that last one.)  And they multiply like rabbits!  Why, they incite other, non-union, non-public workers to join in the fight against your anti-civil rights maneuvers because while some of those folks may have voted for you, they had NO IDEA that you were 1) a dicktator who refuses to even listen to what a good portion of your constituency wants and 2) incapable of compromise with all members of your legislature—a necessary skill in the world of politics, I say. 

But who needs to compromise when you can dictate?  Rumor has it that you had the powers that be lock the doors while simultaneously welding the windows shut in an effort to keep food from reaching the protestors inside.  http://blog.aflcio.org/2011/02/28/walker-welding-capitol-windows-now-to-keep-workers-from-passing-food-to-those-inside/  Hey, don’t worry about fire codes or anything like that, Heir Walker.  I assume your dicktatorship is shutting off the water next?  If you’re being honest with yourself, it’s not particularly surprising that some of those very same reasonable persons who voted for you might actually decide that they made a mistake.  (For those of you who now realize your grave voting error, I understand the need to save face here, so I’m personally willing to avoid the whole finger-pointing bit.  Plus, let’s be honest.  He did misrepresent himself as a reasonable person when in fact he’s a power-hungry kook.  It’s really not your fault.)

In fact, Dicktator Walker has pulled all sorts of forceful maneuvers at our state capitol to punish anyone, who in an effort to maintain true democracy, does what they feel is necessary to save these civil rights for the working class.  (By the way, I’m a firm believer that walking away in this case IS doing your job.  A special shout out to 14 fabulous, dedicated, brave politicians for realizing that sometimes your job includes “other duties as assigned or necessary”, which may require a whole lot of courage and stamina.  Keep up the good work, my friends.  Keep up the good work.  Without you, this asshat would have gotten away with bending over the entire middle class and giving us the unlubed version of his “repair” bill.)

All I know is there are a whole lot of reasonable people that have just about had enough of Heir Walker’s shenanigans.  And they should be at the enough’s enough stage.  His behavior borders on the criminal.  And perhaps, unconstitutional. http://budget.wispolitics.com/2011/02/milwaukees-city-attorney-says-budget.html

Here’s what I believe:  the head guber should be the head negotiator as well.  The person willing to work amenably with both sides of the aisle.  Compromise is a necessity for this position because when you only win 52% of the vote and less than half of your state has actually voted, there’s a REALLY good chance that more than just that 48% minority who did vote is in disagreement with your practices, policies and general ideas.  Confused?  Scotty, you can’t run your policies solely based on a minority of the total population, even if it's the majority of the minority.  You represent all of us, dumbass.

And let’s face it, he’s already admitted that all of this disgusting drama has nothing to do with the budget and everything to do with breaking middle class unions, and thus, eliminating middle class rights to fight for better work conditions.  (For the record, unions are defined as an organization of employees formed to bargain with an employer.  Note:  no where in the definition does it say anything about lazy parasites and/or bloodsucking leeches.  These ideas have been perpetuated by PAC groups formed by members of the 1% elite in order to keep us ALL down.  Get us hatin’ on each other.  Scary that this misperception seems to be working on some folks.) 

In any case, what we got here are regular middle class workers who decided to pool together their efforts to better their work conditions.  Yes, they happen to be public employees, but civil rights are civil rights.  It doesn’t say civil rights but not for public employees, well, at least so long as the Dicktator doesn't get his way.  Additionally, once you lose them, I can guarantee that blood will have to be shed to get them back.  Look at other dictatorships.  Our current head guber wants to get rid of that civil right, which in my opinion, doesn’t seem like the best idea for any of the members of the middle class.  Start with public unions.  Move to private ones.  Hell, let’s just get rid of any of the laws that allow anyone in the middle class the right to litigate in wrongful employment practices and whatnot.  Thank goodness people are starting to wake up here.

So now, we’re talking recall…well, that’s given that Dicktator Walker doesn’t mess up and get himself busted and tossed in the pokey for doing something stupid and illegal like actually hiring the “troublemakers” he’s been talking about hiring to stir up, well, trouble.  You know, it’s important to stir up trouble with people who are peacefully protesting your attempts at stomping out their rights.  *eye roll*  That way, the very, very yellow local press can create drama that doesn’t exist (taking a pro-uberconservative stance, of course).  If you want the real story, try the BBC.  They seem to have a handle on it, at least the last time I checked.  It’s depressing that one has to go thousands of miles away to get truthful, unbiased coverage, although I do think I’m going to like living in London someday.  So recall, provided we don’t have a trial.

Recall.  Why that means we’ll need a new governor come 2012.  I think I’m going to throw my hat in the ring.  I mean if a guy who openly says he’s going to take away your rights can get voted in, why, I think people would vote a wildcat like myself into office who says I won’t.  Civil rights have been fought long and hard for by our ancestors.  Blood was spilled for them.  We cannot, CANNOT, take them for granted nor give them up.  Times like these help us to appreciate their importance, I guess.

Balance the budget, you say?  I think I’m going to set up a law to tax groups like “Americans for Prosperity” that are set up by the Koch brothers (from out of state, no less) in order to manipulate one sector of the middle class into warring with other sectors.  In fact, those douchebags from out-of-state will be charged double.  We KNOW they’ve got the money.  I say, dole some of that sugar out to us regular dudes and dudettes.

We’ve seen what happens when we play supply side economics.  Doesn’t work.  Remember the big ole tax breaks that George W(eener) Bush gave out to his cronies?  Our economy tanked out AND his good ole boys moved the working class jobs to Third World countries anyway (while giving outrageous bonuses to the company elite) because no matter how you look at it, the labor’s cheaper there because they don’t have unions in the Third World to fight for the everyday worker. 

That’s another thing I’m gonna do.  Create an environment where jobs exist for American workers.  You, Mr/Ms Richierich?  You wanna move your company to a Third World and screw the American working class?  Fine.  I’m going to create a law that makes your shit illegal to buy in this state.  You need us to make your riches.  Use Americans for your workforce, dammit.  We know that it’ll cut into your billions and billions a little bit, and that will trigger a case of the greediness DTs, but I hardly doubt you’ll starve if you have to cough up a little more for the everyday worker.  Think of the pride that you could have saying your product is American-made... 

(At this point, I’d also like to take a little time to address John and Jane Doe from Anywhere, Wisconsin. You’ve got a bit of faulty logic happening for you.  Public workers are not to blame for your old company moving jobs out of the US, forcing you to take a lower paying job.  The sole blame for that falls upon the owner of that company, no matter how your old boss tries to spin it.  Perhaps if they hadn’t given the big bonuses out to their managing elite while sending your job to China and India?  Stop displacing your anger on the wrong people, please.  I swear *raises right hand*; we're on the same side.)

The end game is this: You think you can fuck the working class, and then you expect us to buy your shit?  Don’t think so, Biff. We need to go back to buying from companies that support American workers, thank you.

Well, that’s all I have for now.  But I’ve got a little more time to map things out before January 2012 rolls around.  Be looking for my name on the special election ticket though.  I’ll be there under “M” for Moooooooo...

*stares blankly*

There’s something seriously wrong here.

Heh, I know you think I’m going to go on another 45 year-old, middle-classed, working woman’s diatribe about how the middle class is committing suicide by their poor choices in governmental leaders, but no.  What we have to discuss here is something way more important.  Earth shattering, really.  And y'all need to know about it.

Were you aware that work shouldn’t be split 50/50 in a marriage or resentments will develop? 

*puppy head tilt left*

*puppy head tilt right* 

What. 

The.  

Fuck? 

http://shine.yahoo.com/event/financiallyfit/economics-the-key-to-happy-couples-division-of-labor-2455003/

My bullshit meter has really been working overtime lately so you’ll have to excuse me if I’m off base here a little bit, but Dory, sweetheart, you’re cracked.  Epically.  Well, unless by 70/30 you meant that my hubby was going to do 70 percent, and I was responsible for 30.  Then it’s perfect actually.

Dory, honey, I’m going to set you straight on a few things about marriage since it appears you were hitched just yesterday.  Happy and marriage used in the same sentence is pretty much an oxymoron. 

Don’t misunderstand.  A person can be gloriously happy and be married, but the point is it’s work.  Most times a whole lot of work.  If you see a happy couple who’s been married for any length of time (15+ years), it’s because they’re all in and do all they can to make it work (and also perhaps because there’s a written agreement to avoid sharp objects while verbally warring).

And no matter what you seem to do in the context of marriage, there’s going to be resentments and strife of some sort.  Part of the territory when you live with and screw the same person for years (and years), exclusively, I say.  Take it from me.  Happy as hell, married 23 years, but I have no doubt that there have been days my boy has seriously considered holding my own pillow over my head until the kicking stops.  (Oh.  Now that I think about it, maybe that’s just my idea for him, particularly when he’s snoring in tandem with our hound and sleep is eluding me.)

As for this idea that each spouse should do what they’re good at *starts shaking head*, ah, no.  Not necessary to sort by virtue of speedy skill.  There’s trickery to be had here, D-gal.  Trickery of the sneakiest sort.  You can prove yourself crappy at all jobs (at least all the ones you don’t really want to do), but this doesn’t mean you should be awarded the “get out of jail free to go sit and watch the ball game instead because you finished the 30 percent you were good and speedy at” card. 

Case in point:

“Gee, sweetheart, I don’t know how my red running sock got in with your lacey whites.”  (Pink.  I fucking hate pink.  And he knows it, too.  Grr…Don’t think for one minute I don’t get the ruse happening here.)

“Yeah, loverboy, sorry about the 53 holes in the vinyl siding out front that you’ll have to repair later.  The hooks for the Christmas wreaths are right where I want them…now.  Perhaps if my mind wasn’t obsessed with A) how fucking cold it is outside the day after Thanksgiving, and B) how much I just love the color of my new pink panties…  *smirks*  Well, next time we’ll both get it right.”

And we do.  The learning curve is furiously fast when you start thinking damage control.  Promotes an honest effort to do your half, too.  I’ve learned to measure twice and cut once; he’s learned that red socks can hide in the darnedest places.  See what I mean, Dory?  Don't have to be good at the job; you just have to do it.  50/50.  Partnership.  Even Steven.  Committed to the split up the middle.  Just how we like it.

Oh, and one final thing…you’re wrong about the dishes, too.  My mate actually likes doing them, especially when he can do them by hand.  Yes.  You heard me right.  Mr. Mom?  Maybe.  Reminiscing the years when he thought marine biology would be a career choice (right up until he married the woman afraid of sea life forever trapping him in the frozen state in which we live)?  Possible.  Then again, it could just be that he’s a super-freak, he’s super-freaky, yow…

The Face of the Union

I just got back from the most moving experience I’ve had in years.  While I was there in my state capitol (although I've had the information coming in all this week for that matter), I learned a few hurtful things…

I’ve learned that I’m entitled. 

And lazy. 

And living off the backs of everyone in the private sector who pay taxes so I can supposedly live high on the hog. 

I’m not going to lie.  I’m completely perplexed by this.  Anyone who really knows me, knows I suffer from serious self-worth issues.  I don’t think I’m entitled to anything, even if people say I’ve earned it (and many times more).  I won’t approach anyone to start up small talk because I can’t imagine why anyone would give a shit about what I’d have to say.  Once in a while, someone manages to convince me that I can take a little (not even my full share), but I usually end up feeling guilty, and return whatever favor tenfold.  I've been convinced to start this blog because someone thought I had something to say that I can't personally believe anyone would want to read.  At the same time, my inner compass is driven by doing the right thing for the right reasons, which do not typically include self-motivations.  And let’s face it, society doesn’t value any of that…I’m definitely not validated for my values.  Yet operant conditioning just doesn't seem to work on me because it doesn’t change them.

I’m stunned that anyone could think me lazy.  Most of those who have spent any real time with me know I suffer from Type-A personality as a disease process.  I actually look for things to do when I’ve finished doing what I have to do.  I gotta get the A+++ in classes.  I’ll push myself until I’m sick or injured because my body, mind, and soul can weather it.  There isn’t a seam between my home and work lives.  I can be rather warped in my need to be sure I’m doing my part.  I use work to avoid other work.  (Who the hell does that??)  I end up arriving late to appointments, parties, and the like because I think I can get that one last load of laundry in so my hubby doesn't have to do it, or maybe because I want to assist a colleague finish up with something before going home at the end of a long day.  Relaxing is something I’m learning to do now (with difficulty) at the ripe age of 45, yet my work ethic is a sickness; I get that.  A sickness I'd hardly label “laziness”.

I’m not afraid of giving my share.  I’m not.  In fact, I’d rather give more than my share if I’m being honest.  Sometimes I have to force myself not to give of myself, but most times I do.  So to ask me to pay more to lighten someone else’s load isn’t a difficult decision for me.  I know people pay taxes…that includes me.  LOTS of taxes actually.  But you want me to pay more for things you feel are my personal responsibility because you'd like to pay less?  That makes sense, and I’m okay with that as well.  Truth is I believe in the services that others get so I don't have a problem with the paying more taxes part anyway.  I’m okay with paying for someone else to get the help they need because if I have and they don’t, I’m okay with sharing.  Seriously.  And not that it's the point, but I don't have a problem taking care of my fair share of insurance and retirement plans either.

I don’t live ostentatiously.  Oh, but if I could!  Nah.  Not true.  I would end up donating and gifting a lot of it if I were a rich girl.  I'd feel guilty for having it.  (See personal issue number one.)  Call it faulty hardwiring.  I guess I prefer to live more modestly anyway.  In part because that's who I am.  But mostly because that's what my checkbook allows.  I don't make the great riches that have been erroneously portrayed in the media.  Their numbers are GREATLY inflated.

So when people say how public unionized employees are entitled, lazy richiebitches, I am left completely stunned because that is not the woman looking back at me from the bathroom mirror.

Wanna know something?  My kind of work ethic is the rule, not the exception.  Outside of colleagues at my institution, I have a friend Pam who, no shit, works 3 different jobs to survive.  Probably one of the hardest working, most responsible women I know.  Not only a public servant, but a public worker, by the way.  She has ZERO problem with doing her part and then some.  I don't see her in the negative, media-hyped description either.

Wanna know something else?  The reason most people work a 40-hour week in a safe environment with any benefits at all instead of working in sweatshops is because of unions.  Approximately 150 years of fighting for the rights of workers.  All workers.  Yeah, you may think the Union works only for their members, but the truth is that all workers garner the benefits, whether they recognize them or not.

I’m scared that people won’t wake up.  I am.  Or worse they’ll wake up too late and be very aware of what they could have stopped.  I spent the day at our state capitol at the most peaceful protest I’ve ever seen, even though yellow journalists tried to spin it as some crazed, out of control, anarchist situation.  Seriously.  The people I saw didn’t even get into each others faces spouting nastiness, let alone get violent with each other.  There were about 1,000 members of opposition to about 70,000 union folk, and there weren’t ANY altercations of which I knew.  That’s how the middle class is though, isn’t it?  We don’t really want to hate each other, do we?  But we sure would rather keep our eyes closed, humming songs to ourselves...

This fear and lack being promoted by the power elite isn’t really us everyday folk, is it? 

The fear is being promoted to divide and conquer all of us.  And it’s working.  Their plan is genius in it’s perfection.  We’re all biting, hook after hook.

The power elite is playing us ALL like pawns in some nastily contrived chess game where they use us as little pieces.  They will use one side of us to take down the most powerful pieces first, eliminating their rights one by one, but you can be certain that no one's rights are safe, and in the end, only the power elite “king” will win, laughing all the way to the bank; 100 percent power corrupting 100 percent.

Yeah, I may not be perfect.  I honestly don't claim to be.  But I try really hard to make good choices, fair choices.  I always try to choose the whole over the one, or the me, as it were, even when it is to my detriment.  If you know me, really, truly know me, you know this is true.  Ultimately, I live from that space.  Thinking of the whole.  We are the whole.  All of us.  Even the power elite.  The power elite needs to know that we want to work with them, too.  Just do the right thing.  That's what we're asking.  One human unit on this planet.  You, too, Union.  Play fair and nice.  I truly believe we are all One.

In the end, here’s what I absolutely know with all my heart. Removing someone’s rights doesn’t resolve a budget problem, especially when a surplus is turned into a deficit because the power elite has been given a financial get out of jail free card.  (PS.  Think they’re really going to use that tax break to hire more people?  Really?  When has that ever happened on a global scale?  It has been proven again and again that this sort of economic policy does not work and that those monies end up in CEOs pockets while we peons flounder.) 

Asking people to sit down and talk about what they can give up to help the budget not only can help resolve budget issues, but it preserves the rights for everyone and develops trust.  It gives people a sense that they are part of a solution rather than being in an adversary role.  Isn't that a better, more peaceful solution?

Truth is this "war" isn’t about a select few paying their share.  It’s about the power elite's attempt at eliminating the political power of unions so that the power elite can do whatever they want to all of us Joe Blows eventually.  And they do it by pitting us against each other.  And we’re playing along just how they want it. 

I hope we wake up before it’s too late and find out the rights most important to us are already on the chopping block, and there's nothing we can do to stop their demise.  I hope that they realize that we are all being used in some big corporate game where richie-rich CEOs everywhere are laughing their asses off like we’re all some big middle--soon to be lower--class joke.  In the meantime, I pray the power elite grows a healthy conscience.  Rich does not equal evil.  Some power players get the big picture while playing nicely in the sandbox, and I thank them for that.

And the Union?  In the event that you think the Union is some outside entity that is the perfect focus of your hate and contempt, I’ll tell you one simple fact.

If you are my family or true friend, you need to know you don't have to agree with me, but your constant open hate and lack of support hurts me deeply.  You see…

I am the face of the Union.