And then my body just shut the whole thing down

I'm legitimately sick today.

Despite how clever I'm feeling about my use of the Akin quote, and how my uterus grew three sizes yesterday when America voted down much negativity and hatred, instead of feeling jubilant, I feel like complete and utter crap.

And I'm feeling very sorry for myself.

I have to head out and get my enthusiastic! exhausting! son, then keep him moving (no, we can't investigate every crack in the sidewalk; yes, we have more Cheez-Its at home; let's keep going) to get my daughter. Who I will carry, and then Jordan will want me to carry him too, and frankly, I'm pretty sure that in about two years, he'll be big enough to carry me.

And! I can tell you for a fact that one of those little snotgobblers is completely to blame for my state. They are constantly sticking their fingers or whole hands into my mouth or my nose or my food or my water. They give big, sloppy kisses. I love the shit out of them.

But they've brought home one illness and another - vomiting, snuffy noses, fever - your garden plague variety of things. So I've basically been slogging along for the past couple weeks, feeling like semi-hell, but well enough to put one foot in front of the other and continue forward.

And then today, my body voted NO on my proposal to get up and go to work. I have a fever, I have chills, and I slept until 1 pm. And still didn't want to get out of bed.

This was me yesterday, ready to head out and vote. C'mon India! Let's go look at democracy!

This is me today. Please give me kleenex and let me curl up and die.

I told you I was feeling sorry for myself.

Dear laawwd ... what happened here?

Yesterday, we took Jordan to a marina to feed ducks and look at boats. While strolling in the lovely fall weather, we came across this disquieting scene. There was nobody around to ask.

My Halloweenies

I don't have anything big to say about Halloween BEYOND OH MY GIRAFFE IS IT FUN WITH KIDS!

Last year I got Jordan an adorable, warm, fuzzy little dragon costume. He wanted nothing to do with it. "Take it OAF!" was all he said. Over and over and over.

I took it OAF! I returned it! And that was that.

So, I don't know how familiar you are with the Cars movie, but Jordan has watched it approximately 54 million times. He loves Lightening McQueen (who he refers to as LA QUEEN!), and he loves Mater. Tow-Mater. The tow truck sidekick.

We told Betty that Jordan was going to be Mater, as in Tow-mater, for Halloween, and she said, "Well, then, I'm going to be Q!"

"Q?"

 "Cu-cumber!"

 Uh, not that kind of tomater, tomahter, potato, potahter...

India had no say-so in her costume, but lemme tell you, she was the cutest giraffe I've ever seen in my whole entire life. She beamed and squealed in delight the whole time.

Jordan practiced saying "Twick or tweat!" and he said it so sweetly at every house. He gently took one piece of candy, and (with reminders) said "Thank you!" at each and every house.

Well, except one, when he said, "GBTFHMMFFF" and we realized that his jaw was basically cemented together with Milk Duds.

Love.

Frankenstorm, emergency porn, butt paste, and bathtub gin. Not together. Or maybe.

So there is this hurricane - Sandy - heading our way (and how come there's never a Hurricane Lisa, I'd like to know?), plus a winter storm and together they are supposed to do a million dollars worth of damage, knock out power and water, and disrupt the election.

People are rushing out and buying food, water, liquor. Jordan's school sent out an in-case-of-emergency message. Everyone is talking about this. I read a comment on someone's Facebook wall saying they didn't have to rush out because their Mormon upbringing meant they were stocked for a year. Which is practical.

The only thing I think we likely have a year-worth of is Japanese rice crackers and butt paste. Although I realize the latter is not food and would not be of use if the storm or the terrorists take out the water and power.

Although, honestly, if the terrorists attack DC, we're so close to the White House that I figure we're goners anyway. Unless butt paste is somehow helpful. We could coat ourselves in it and...sneak off to Canada? I don't know.

But back to Frankenstorm.

I cannot help but think that the media is enjoying hyping this because they are dead tired of talking about the election. As is everyone I know.

YOU GUYS! A STORM! PANIC! HYSTERIA! RUN OUT AND BUY WATER AND TOILET PAPER AND PORN! YOU KNOW, IN CASE THE POWER IS OUT FOR A LONG TIME!

Truthfully, I've not seen a single news outlet suggest the purchasing of emergency porn. I'm just kidding about that one.

So the storm is kind of a nice diversion from this appallingly partisan, divisive election.

And yet, much as I am so fucking sick of it, I still talk about it. I can't seem to stop talking about it. And every time I see a female friend on Facebook say something pro-Romney on Facebook I have to bite my fingers.

Because I want to reach through the screen, shake them and say, "Seriously? Do you want to hand your reproductive rights over to these narrow-minded men who minimize rape, who don't want you to get paid the same as your male colleagues? Seriously? And PS, you're not in the demographic they give a shit about, so if you personally think a Romney-Ryan regime is going to improve your life, maybe just buy a bunch of extra liquor for that four-year shitstorm."

But I don't, because where would that get me?

Plus, WHY CAN'T I STOP TALKING ABOUT THIS?

LOOK, A HURRICANE! LET'S MAKE BATHTUB GIN!

Happy weekend, all!

The time Nick didn't go on a date with Ann Coulter

I think we can all agree that my beloved Nick looks like a conservative Republican, at least most of the time.

He wears the Brooks Brothers suits and the seersucker suit and the bucs and the khakis and button downs and navy blazers during the week. On weekends he wears khakis or shorts and polo shirts and those cloth belts with things like anchors embroidered on them.

I've admitted this before - the fact is, uptight, conservative-looking men are my type. I just got lucky with Nick in that he's less uptight than many, and he only looks conservative. Under those starched, crispy shirts and carefully tied ties beats the heart of a man who believes in public education and health care for all.

I love this combination. I do.

Thus I was fascinated to learn that a year or so before we met,  a friend of his offered to set him up with Ann Coulter. THE Ann Coulter. Seriously.

Nick, my darling dearest, responded with something along the lines of, "I'd rather slam my dick in a car door repeatedly and then rip my fingers off with a pliers."

He doesn't remember exactly how he put it, but it was certainly not more gentle than the kind of things he says to customer service people who have angered him.

The friend insisted that Ann Coulter's actually a very nice person. She just says these dreadful things in public because that's her schtick. She makes her money by being so publicly outrageous. It's not really who she is.

In other words, she's not actually a vile, loathsome, carrion-eating bag of maggots. (My words, not either of theirs.)

Nick, however, wasn't buying it. He doesn't believe that you can say such hateful things and put such negativity out into the world and  and yet be a good person. No way did he want to meet her.

I do agree with him. Except that I was wishing he'd gone out with her, just once. So that he could give me an informed opinion on whether or not she's actually a man.