It's about dignity

Holtywood isn't very political. Well, I guess that's not really true - the idea of Palin getting into office in 2008 made me go kind of apeshit, and I am a huge Obama supporter, but typically I'm not writing about lots of hot-button, wedge issues on here because it's just not worth my energy. This stupid blog isn't going to influence anyone's fundamental views. People just come here to see pictures of my adorable children, find typos and learn new bad words. ("Dickwagon" is my current favorite, by the way.)

But there is this local thing that's going on right now that is just a tad infuriating to me. The Utah Senate won't even vote on a non-discrimination bill that would afford people the basic protection to not be forcibly fired or removed from their homes for the simple reason that they are lesbian, gay, bisexual or transgender. While other states are passing all-inclusive marriage and civil union laws, Utah lawmakers can't even bring themselves to discuss the very, very basic rights that all of the State's residents deserve. You can read all about how this bass-ackward process, here.

It's true, sexual orientation and gender identity are things that some people just looooove to hate, just as race, age, gender and religion are. The thing is, race, age, gender and religion are afforded protection (at least on paper) by many anti-discrimination and hate crime laws. Sexual orientation and gender identity should also be included. People who love and identify differently than others are no more or less human than anyone else and they should be treated with the same respect. It's not a gay marriage issue. It's not a sexual issue. It's not a morality issue. It's a dignity issue.

So, fellow Utahns, do you support human dignity? If not, read no further, never come back to this site and don't let the door hit ya on the way out. If so, let's help Utah's lawmakers pull their heads out of their asses, shall we?

Human Dignity Rally

Wednesday, February 29
4 to 6 p.m.
Utah State Capitol

Chatter: Political revelation

The best Facebook chatter ever, courtesy of my pal Mindy:

I was talking with my mom today about the Republican candidates, and I said, "Well, I'll give Santorum credit, at least, for not being a cynical politician like Gingrich and Romney with no real, solid issue stances. The guy seems to really believe what he's saying."

And then there was a silence where this sank in, and I had to follow it up with, "OK, no, that's actually much, much scarier."

"Something terrible has happened!" (My son has commandeered my iPhone.)

"Mom! Something terrible has happened!"

That's Patrick's favorite exclamation lately. It could be that a dog knocked Lucy over. Or that the Kleenex box is empty. Either one of these things is equally terrible in his mind.

But, to me, what is truly terrible is that he has become obsessed with taking pictures with my phone. My beloved new iPhone! I resisted the smart phone trend for as long as I could, and now that I have one I really love it. LOVE IT. And if that little punk drops it and breaks it while he's taking yet another picture of my ass, I'm going to show him what "terrible" is all about.

His photography skills are somewhat limited. Lots of ceiling shots. Blurred shots. Feet shots. Up-the-nose shots. Ass shots. He has taken upwards of 100 pictures over the past two days. I made a little collage of his work to show you. Those last 56 self-portraits were taken tonight while he was "helping" me with dinner; the little narcissist! (But a cute narcissist, no?)

Having kids---having a brain: mutually exclusive!

In the course of a public outing with the kiddos I probably say "sorry" 42 times to the various people who cross my path. Sorry for being in your way. Sorry for walking too slowly. Sorry that my baby just threw her toy at you. Sorry that my kid just said "butthole" in front of your kid. Sorry that I am taking too long shoving my overstuffed wallet back into my overflowing diaper bag. Oooo, ouch! Sorry that I just hit you in the ankle with my stroller! Sorry I didn't hold that door open for you. Sorry that I repeated myself. Sorry that I have no idea what you just asked me and you're going to have to repeat yourself. Sorry that I forgot that thing in that other thing . . . that thing with wheels, what's it called? Oh yeah, the car. Sorry. . .

It's like life around me is going 75 miles per hour and my brain is that jerk-off car doing 60 in the fast lane (well, in my current case, the car pool lane). I am quite sure that I am dumber since becoming a mom. I think that 10-20% of my brain cells escaped with each delivery. And for that I feel like I need to apologize to everyone I come into contact with. Literally, everyone.

Today I apologized to the Starbucks employee at Target for interrupting her in the middle of some paperwork she was filling out so that I could order a salted caramel mocha. And she looked up, smiled, and asked, "Why are you sorry?" And this sweet lady made me realize that my sorrying is a little out of control.

And so, I'm going to try to cut back. Life is life. And so what if I'm a little frazzled and crazy lately? Or for the next five years? Until my brain cells regenerate*, this page from the desk calendar my sister gave me will serve as my explanation:

Since I only have two kids I really need to Photoshop out the older girl. Plus, she looks like a smug, little butthole.

*Is that even possible? I'm not all that science-y...

February 14th: it's about love (and creepy, vintage cards!)

Since Holtywood's inception (conception?) I have managed to write a Valentine's Day post every. single. damn. year.

Though for some reason (hint: I'm an asshole), I can't ever seem to acknowledge my child or husband's birthday on the actual day, but I'm always right on the ball on February 14th. Go figure. Maybe it's because one of my favorite people was born on that day. Or maybe because I have a strange affinity for Saint Valentine. Or perhaps because I just adore the idea of soul mates! and love! and romance! (Um, no.) Well, no matter. Let's proceed.

Oh, Valentine's Day! You started as a holiday honoring a Roman martyr. Then you morphed into a special day when lovers simply celebrated their "romantic love" by presenting each other with flowers. Now you are a Hallmark Holiday on which:

• Your 4-year-old would rather hand out cheap-ass Angry Birds-themed cards to his preschool friends (complete with most-likely toxic temporary tattoos) instead of the uniquely cute robot ones you painstakingly tracked down.
• You and your beloved wait for 60 minutes to eat a lukewarm $100 dinner in close proximity to many strangers.
• You and your single friends get drunk on "Valentinis" while watching old episodes of "Sex and the City" and screaming at Carrie to "Stay with Aidan!"
• You find triple-X conversation hearts thrown onto your desk at work that say things like, "Nice t*ts" and "Let's f*ck". (Thanks, Courtney!)

But I'm okay with all those things. To summon a very overused phrase, the modern Valentine's Day "is what it is". Yes, it's commercialized, cheesy, expensive and kind of a pain in the ass, but it boils down to expressing your feelings for the people you care about, and however you choose to do that is great.

Today, Patrick and I will make chocolate-dipped strawberries while Lucy takes her nap. And since the vasectomy-themed valentine I created for Matt seemed a bit harsh, I may craft one of these highly sexual vintage images into a tangible card for him. He'll appreciate it, because he and I share something very special: the sense of humor of a 12-year-old boy.

These are bad, right? Is it just me?
 

Okay, to be fair, I may be over-analyzing the unfortunate placement of the rocket.

But this banana is pretty obviously phallic, right?

Now, COME ON! This is a "snow job" if I ever saw one.

*For other vintage images, go here. This clever treasury was more than I could have hoped for when I Googled "offensive valentines"!

PaddyTube: Heh Heh Heh

You know you're going to find something awesome on your phone when you hear this from the other room:

"Mom! I filmed Maui's butt!"

Make sure you turn the volume up so you can hear his impish little chuckle.

Putting the V in Valentine

For the next few months we're a busy little family in terms of holidays and birthdays. Coming right up is Matt's birthday on the 8th and then Valentine's Day. Right around the corner is Patrick's birthday on March 9th. Throw Easter in there somewhere and then Lucy's birthday on April 25th, with mine a day later, and done! All immediate family members' birthdays taken care of by May!

Speaking of done, we're so done. And by that I mean "no more procreation". Thus, we're taking steps towards ensuring that our quartet remains a quartet. No Fifth Beatle here. Back off, Yoko. BACK OFF.

As we're driving to my parents' house on Sunday morning, Matt and I are talking about options. Surgical options. Surgical options for males. You know what I'm saying. And Matt's fussing and stressing about finding the leading urologist in the entire Salt Lake Valley. I'm trying to downplay it by saying that it's a pretty standard procedure and that it's probably not a life or death choice. But then he gets into his reasoning for wanting someone "highly qualified", and the following conversation takes place:

Him: I'd just really like to find someone who performs the least invasive procedure. Someone who is up-to-date on all the laparoscopic technology.

Me: *driving* Yeah, well, that makes sense. I think the actual incisions are pretty superficial, in general, right?

Him: I guess so, but you know, I just want as few stitches as possible.

Me: Right. *thinking back to the birth of our first child*

Him: I mean, the less uncomfortable swelling and pressure I have to deal with, the better.

Me: *silent while thinking of the birth of our second child*

Him: I just don't want it to hurt when I pee!

Me: *gripping the steering wheel while picturing the peri bottle (Google it, guys) I had to fill with warm water every time I went to the bathroom for two weeks post partum*

Him: *finally noticing my clenched jaw, gritted teeth and narrowed eyes* What?

Me: I want to smack you so hard right now. Like, really hard.

So, in light of this conversation, I have created a couple of e-cards for him. One for his 35th birthday, and one for Valentine's Day – each expressing the same heartfelt sentiment. Hopefully he'll see them as not only tokens of my love, but also as I'm-really-not-kidding-about-this-shit calls-to-action.

Chatter: I knew it couldn't last forever

Me: Did I tell you the big news?

Matt: No.

Me: Pink isn't Patrick's favorite color anymore, now he likes red the best.

Matt: Because of Lightning McQueen, right?

Me: Yep. *sigh*  Our little girl is growing up.

I shudder to think of the day when Amber is no longer his favorite toy.