Adults discussing the candidates in the presidential election of the greatest and most powerful country in the world sounds surprisingly like merciless teenage girls talking about prom queen candidates.
"Barack is hot but not black enough."
"Biden seems drunk all the time and doesn't respect his own wife."
"McCain is too pale and too old, he could die any second."
"Palin will neglect her down syndrome baby if she becomes VP."
I hope people don't vote based on this kind of stuff.
I hate feeling like I don't fit into somebody's square hole. So what if I'm a round peg, SO WHAT! I guess it's my own problem because I will never fit into everyone's square holes (or whatever shape hole it is.) I should just be confident being the peg that I am.
Remember in high school when your BFFs and yourself were all the same shaped peg. There was comfort in that? But there was no depth.
I suppose a little discomfort being the exact peg that you are is better than shallow faking to be a square peg. I guess the only thing to do is to move towards being proud to be the peg that I am.
So there, I am a round peg....round, round, round!
So the wedding was beautiful and I cried my eyes out like a senior without a date to the prom. I am ridiculous. We came, we saw, we danced, we conquered. My favorite uncle danced a little disco. My son danced to La Bamba with his Nana, which he loved. I think the "bloons" (balloons) were his favorite part though.
I am in a funk today. Wanting to do something with nothing to do. Well, that's not entirely true. I could call someone and do something but nothing sounds fun. Husband and I are going to go do something outdoorsy later. But at this moment, I am in limbo. Alas, I will suck it up and clean the house. Ho hum.
In attempt to avoid whining, I am simply giving an update today.
My youngest cousin is getting married tomorrow. Married! Weird. It wasn't weird to me until I was at the shower and I had one of those moments where you feel like you're in a sitcom. Suddenly all of the chatter of, "ooooh dishes and aaaah crockpots", turned into distant echoes. This man sitting in the middle of the room with his future wife appeared to me to be five. Laughing not about the number of crockpots but at Pee-Wee's playhouse on my grandmother's cabinet teevee. I almost cried but refused because the shower was about him and not my nostalgic moment.
You must know that you are not welcome in my home. First, your front lines were annihilated, and any survivors were sent with a message back to the camp. Second, I bought agents for chemical warfare from the Cook's man. Although there has been little change in Scout activity I must believe there is an impact at your camp. So called "home remedies" or guerrilla warfare seems to have little effect only slowing down your men. But make no mistake, I will be victorious. This is nothing personal, I have no prejudices against ants. The yard is Switzerland, but you are just not welcome in my home. If your persistence continues I will search for your camp and genocide will be the only option. Again, this is nothing personal but you entered my home.