To Hell in a Handbasket....

November 5, 2008

No, no. I'm just kidding. Seriously, that was a joke. And I don't care who you are, Ronald and Nancy seemed like such a nice couple, didn't they?

I've been careful not to reveal my political preference on this blog, but today I'll let you in on a little secret: I'm a registered Independent.

And it's not because I'm an indecisive weenie. If you want to know the whole truth, I feel uncomfortable affiliating myself with any group or party that almost never functions in accordance with its ideals--government, social, religious or otherwise. Again, that was not a slam--it's just the truth.

So I'm an independent--who leans a certain way.

Honestly, I have no idea why my feelings on global warming should be directly connected to the way I feel about abortion or the war. And seriously now, how is gay marriage related to the financial policy? It makes no sense to me, and I just don't feel like adjusting any of my views to lay nicely against a set of party lines, ya know?

So you want to know who I voted for? Well, tough luck. But I will say this: I have a great deal of hope in Barack Obama. I think he's a good man, who's brave enough to want to lead this nation, and I have a feeling that he kicked my trash on the SATs. I owe him nothing but my respect and support, and you bet your bottom dollar that I'll keep hoping for the best.

I would also like to discuss the fact that Obama is the hottest President we'll have since JFK. Barack is totally smokin', he looks like a million bucks in an expensive pair of trousers, and if I had to wager a guess--I bet he wears some nice cologne.

I'm thrilled to have a President who appears to work out, and sincerely hope that he uses his authority to change the traditional American handshake into the traditional American ass-slap. And then I hope I get to meet him.

Seriously folks, you could bounce a quarter off of that backside. I've played in over and over and over in my imagination, and it works every single time.

I'll miss the McCain/Palin duo, seriously, and wish them nothing but the best. I hope Palin has all the time in the world to snuggle her little baby and her soon-to-be grandbaby. I also hope she'll work hard to maintain her zillion percent approval rating in Alaska--because that's pretty extraordinary. I think I have a six percent approval rating in my job.

And McCain? Well, I just hope the man retires, buys a helluva nice place on the ocean, and drinks liquor out of coconuts. He's an honorable man who's served our nation in the ways that count, and back in the day, he had quite the set of buns as well.

Election Day

November 4, 2008

I love election day. In fact, I love election day so much that I sincerely wish I could make out with it. If only there was a way....

There's just something about the lines, and the booths, and the decrepit old people collecting my ballot that makes me want to raise myself up a flagpole and belt out a couple of patriotic songs. Again, if only there was a way....

And not to mention how much I love writing in "Jared Lawson" as my candidate of choice for the United States Senate. Whenever I have a difficult time deciding between the mainstream candidates, I usually cast my vote in favor of my husband. What can I say? He's smart, he's sassy, and he photographs beautifully.

I also love petitions--and with the exception of something truly insane, like supporting a parent's right to tattoo a little baby's face, I'll support almost anything going on the ballot.

...You think it should be legal to ride two large turkeys to work? I can respect that. Let's take it to a vote. Where do I sign?

Like today for example--as I was leaving the Town Office, I was intercepted by a young man who was shabbily dressed in jeans and a ball cap that wafted the strong and distinct smell of marijuana. He staggered into my path and was like, "Excuuuuuse me ma'aaaaaaam. Can you sign my petition? Please? It's for medical marijuana."

And I was all, "It's just to get the question on the ballot, right? Signing this doesn't say I support medical marijuana, does it? Wait. Did we go to college together?"

I was right, signing my name simply expressed my desire to move the question this time next year. Fair enough. So I signed. Probably not the most Mormon thing to do. (Because everyone knows we prefer to mix pain pills with anti-depressants--and that my friends, is already legal.)

Just as I picked up the pen and began to sign--I shiz you not--my elderly neighbor walked by, and--wait for it--an older woman from church walked by. Excellent. Ex. cell. ent. I think they both gave me the hairy-eyeball.

That's how it works in tiny towns--lots of hairy eyeballs.

Just so you know, I have absolutely no opinion about medical marijuana. As long as sick people don't win the right to eat my cheezy-doodles without permission, I'll gladly stay out of the issue.

So Happy Election Day, everyone! Just remember: you can write-in my husband if you're undecided, be sure to look over your shoulder before you sign anything, and GO VOTE!--you'll totally lose your right to complain if you don't.

Halloween Costumes

October 31, 2008

Happy Halloween everyone!

Just so you know, please prepare yourselves to be seriously disappointed with James's costume this year. Yes, the craftsmanship is superb, and yes, James pulls off the look like a freaking supermodel, but I'm sad to say that it's a pretty "standard" Halloween costume. And no, he's not a pumpkin. I would never allow my child to be quite that lame.

I think there are three main factors that set me up to fall flat on my face with the *WOW* factor this year:

1. Last year, at age two, I dressed James as Richard Simmons--which was arguably the best costume in the history of mankind. In other words, James peaked at age two. I knew what I was setting myself up for, but I had to squeeze that costume in before my child developed the power to choose. Ya know?

2. My child now possesses a strong opinion, or, as I labeled it above, the power to choose. He spotted a costume on the cover of a magazine in the checkout line, and I rushed home--with a heavy heart--to whip it up. You can bet your bottom but that I'm disappointed he didn't point to Oprah or Elton John instead--but seriously, what can I do? The child is three and he knows how to make my life miserable. I wasn't about to say no.

3. We live in the arctic. We need to make proper provisions for a snowsuit to fit under a Halloween costume. You know, just in case Mother Nature still hasn't gotten laid and decides to dump a foot of snow on the happy little children. So much for my Michael Phelps idea.

But the important thing is--James adores his costume. So much, in fact, that he threw a raging tantrum when I refused to let him wear it to Nancy's Nursery School this morning. I told him he could put it on when he gets home, so I'll unveil this very normal costume at that point.

And, with that, I'd like to leave you all with a question--a discussion point if you will.

What is your most memorable Halloween costume from childhood? Go ahead and post it in the comments. I'll even open up anonymous commenting for those of you without Google accounts.

Here are mine:

1. A Honker from Sesame Street. It was a cheep plastic costume with one of those horrible masks --you know, the mouth slit is like the size of a safety pin so the whole inside of the mask fills up with mouth and nose condensation? It really honked and the front of it said "Honk if You're Happy." I felt really good about myself that night. Thanks, Mom!!!!

2. A cow. My mom never made us our Halloween costumes. From the age of six-and-a-half, we were totally on our own. And that's okay--I owe much of my current crafting abilities to my mother's lack of. Having to make your own costumes for the school play really forces a 4th grader to step up to the plate, ya know?

Anywho, I made my own cow costume in 5th grade and it was entirely inappropriate: cow printed stretch pants, felt horns, a Christmas bell around my neck, and--wait for it--two (2!) inflated plastic surgical gloves twist tied to my abdomen. In retrospect, I looked like a drunk person with 10 schlongs and 2 enlarged prostates. My mom was like, "Perfect. Now go."

I made it on the 8 o'clock news that night. I wonder why. (Melissa or Allison, do either of you still have a picture of that?)

3. A school bus. When I was in high school, my boyfriend and I convinced the clerk at 7-11 to let us take the giant cardboard Wonder Bread display that happened to be shaped like a school bus. In retrospect, I don't think he spoke much English, because once we started unloading the bread and moving that thing out the door he started screaming like a loony--all pointing to his phone and saying "Police! Police!" We loaded that think in the mini-van and never heard a word from the police. So there.

Anywho, we reworked the bus so that we could fit four people in it at a time--me, my boyfriend (we'll call him Eddy), my friend Kimberly, and her boyfriend Nicholas, who happened to be the French foreign exchange student (Nic, if you're reading, thanks again for the help on those quizzes--so what if we were removed from the National Honor Society!)

My dad fashioned some straps so we could wear the bus over our shoulders, and dang, it was a tight squeeze for the four of us. There was a whole lot of shuffling that night. And not to mention, it was a major b***ch getting up and down people's stairs--but we prevailed.

4. The dice was RADICAL! (both times), and my Run DMC (Rest-in-Peace, man) costume wasn't too shabby either.

So now I want to know....what is your most memorable Halloween costume?

Lawson Family Update

October 29, 2008

It's been a while since I've posted a good old fashioned Lawson Family Update. So this one goes out to our friends and family who are far away, and also to the relentless stalkers who are desperately seeking more clues regarding our whereabouts.

We'll start with me--the pretty one.

Here is a picture of me eating lobster with my two favorite guys. Despite this fabulous meal, I have still managed to lose ten pounds in the last couple of weeks. No seriously, I have. Seriously.

One cruel symptom of late-term miscarriage is weight gain--typically five to ten pounds. So let's do the math here people...

10 pounds of baby weight + 10 pound of miscarriage weight = 20 extra pounds right before my stinkin' high school reunion

This can only mean one thing: Mother Nature needs to get laid. And soon. Seriously, what a flaming b*tch.

Anywho, I have dodged her shallow game and I'm happy to say that I'm pretty much back to my prepregnancy weight. My fat jeans are too big, my regular jeans are just right, and my skinny jeans? Well they can rot in hell for all I care, because I'll never stop eating cake every day. Ever.

Next, we'll move on to James--the cute one (at least my mother still thinks so).

I'd like to start this update with a suggestion: If your child happens to have a 3-year-old classmate with curly hair named James Lawson, go ahead and pull your child out of school--because seriously, James has been a really bad boy.

Yesterday alone he earned two timeouts from sweet, sweet, sweet Miss Nancy. The first was for hoarding thirty matchbox cars and refusing to share a single one with Willy. And the second? The second was for violently crashing the play shopping cart into the toy shelf, the book basket, the plastic kitchen, and others. By "others," I mean his friends.

He also came home with his head, ears, and the back of his shirt covered in red marker--obviously a two man operation. Apparently he coaxed little Lucy into the marker escapade and cheerfully encouraged her as she scribbled all over Miss Nancy's carpet.

What can I say? We're very proud of the little guy!

And then, of course, there's Jared--the smokin' hot one.

He might be posing next to a poster of the muscular system, but trust me, there's nothing in this man's head except trout. Rainbow trout, brook trout, brown trout...trout, trout, trout.

Oh, wait. What's that you say? You don't think trout sound very interesting? Well, neither do any of our friends or potential friends. Our social life has all but dried up on account of my Jared's obsession with aquatic animals. Thanks hun!

In other news, Jared has taken to leaving random crap strewn all over our yard: chairs, tools, tarps, extension cords--you get the idea. When our meticulous neighbor George keels over from a sudden heart attack, it will absolutely be Jared's fault. But let's focus on the bright side here--if the memorial service is well-attended, Jared will have tons of new people to discuss trout with. I'd call that a win-win-win situation.

So there you have it, life in the Lawson house. Wanna come over?

Maine, Winter, and Boone's Farm Wine

October 28, 2008

DISCLAIMER: I'm human, and I like to talk about it.

Well guys, tonight is not shaping up to be a good night in my little corner of the world. Not only does this Tuesday mark the last evening of my beloved sewing class--but we're also expecting our first snowfall of the season.

I know what you're thinking--Amy, you live in Maine. What do you expect?

Well, I expect the global warming crisis to do a little something in my favor. That's what I expect.

But woe-is-freaking-me, it still snows in October, it's still pitch black by four o'clock in the afternoon, and despite my religious leanings, I still have to fight the urge to drink a heavy-handed Jack n' Coke with every single meal and snack.

That, my friends, is no joke--just ask Jared.

I'm the Mormon who literally salivates when we drive past a liquor store.

I'm the girl who will stop a stranger at a dinner-party and politely say, "Excuse me Ma'am, but would you mind if I took a quick sniff of that cosmopolitan you're holding?"

And, of course, I am the wife who, from the months of November through April, gets angry with my husband every single night. When he asks the inevitable question: Amy, why are you mad at me now? I give the inevitable answer: Because I STILL don't understand why we can't be Methodists. They can drink, Jared! THEY CAN DRINK ALL THEY WANT!

Oh, and just an FYI--so can Lutherans, Catholics, Congregationalists, Jews, Episcopalians, etc. And seriously guys, I would be honored to be a member of any one of those fine religions.

So. Guess what's moving in right next door to Jared's office? Seriously--just guess.

That's right, a high class martini bar.

This has made me inordinately cranky. From time to time, the owner will pop into our office and ask me a silly question like, "Hey, when you have a minute can you stop over and taste a sample of our new chocolate martini?"

And I'm like, "No Patrick, I'm sorry, I can't. But if you ever need a taste-tester for your chocolate milk, you just let me know. I do apple juice, too."

But in the end, this is all up to me. I chose not to drink--partly based on my religious convictions, and partly due to the fact that I know I'd transform myself into a public spectacle within thirty non-sober days. Just ask my college roommates.

So that's that--I will muscle my way through this winter with out so much as a swig of Sam Adams or a luscious little dribble of wine-in-a-box. It's just me, some strength from the scriptures, and a little orange bottle of anti-depressants (with three refills).

Bring it on, winter! Bring. It. On.