I hope you all get some carnitas today.

Happy Friday, friends.

At least my aura is glowing...

In a serious attempt to avoid throwing up-- People, please. I'm asking you a huge favor... if you ever hear me say that I'm going to have popcorn again for dinner, STOP me. I don't know how you'll do that, but I know in my heart that you want the best for me and you will try to keep me from making bad food choices... like having popcorn for dinner, which leads to the inevitable tummyache and we are OUT of Pepto-Bismol and yes, it's my own damn fault. So just promise, okay?--

Anyway, to keep my mind distracted, I decided to re-read an email I got from my sister today, regarding my niece, Little Curly Girl (you all remember her...):

"Wish us luck--we're potty training. She got married this morning in my black spiky heeled boots and black cocktail dress. She peed in the dress and into the boots... But she was a beautiful bride. Pictures to follow..."

I think the gist of the email is clear but what you don't know is that my sister and LCG had their honeymoon in Fiji, before the peeing incident. I think that is so romantic. I wonder what the pictures will be like.

(I guess the potty training train derailed a few months back when Princess Chubness was born-- who has been renamed The Forgotten Child because being the second, totally chill and happy baby that she is, no one is taking any photos of her-- anyway, having that kind of distraction kept LCG's Potty Training Train from leaving the station. So my sister thought to tell LCG that brides know how to use the toilet [that's a ruse, certainly] but unfortunately the idea of being a bride and then going on a romantic honeymoon with her mother to Fiji was not enough.)

See, just in writing this and laughing, I almost am forgetting about my poor tummy and what I've done tonight. Perhaps I've cured you of some small ill, too.

***

If I have not cured you (and you needed curing), I want you to know that there is a product that will improve the appearance of your aura. I bought some body oil today, by the brand Aura Glow. (I think body oil is way better than a moisturizer after a shower--okay, maybe that's a little too personal but I am always trying to provide you with helpful and inexpensive beauty advice).

Anyway, I didn't think much of the brand name, until I read on the label that the formula was recommended by none other than Edgar Cayce, and it "has actually been shown to brighten the physical aura when it is used."

To quote the inimitable Dave Barry: I am not making this up.

So now my aura is lavender scented and obviously brighter, even though I can't tell (does this mean I can read in the dark without my booklight?). I do have to say that I sincerely wish there was a Carl Sagan body oil because I'd be all over that sh*t.

Okay, I think between making fun of my new body product AND picturing my niece peeing in my sister's black cocktail dress and high heeled boots, dressed as a tiny Goth bride, is totally better than downing a couple spoons of Pepto-Bismol.

And on that note, my aura and I bid you a fond adieu.

***

UPDATE 5:02am: There is really no good reason for me to be awake this early, but I wanted to add that right now up at the top of my gmail inbox is an automated link (you know how Google thinks it knows what you want to read about?), and it's a recipe for:

FRENCH FRY SPAM CASSEROLE

(Again, I am not making this up.)

The secret ingredient (no kidding) is Corn Flakes.

I guess I could have had that for dinner instead of the popcorn..

Misdirection by Cuteness

Green Play-Doh ice cream, anyone?

All good magicians know that misdirecting the attention of their audience is a key part of performing effects.

I'm a really bad magician but I do know the value of a little well-placed misdirection...

***

Yes, I'm shamelessly using photos of the tiny, cute people in my family to distract you so that you won't notice that I haven't answered your emails or visited your blogs or finished those darned interview questions in the last couple of days...

It's late (so what else is new?) and I'm trying to finish some prints for my mom and grandma because I'm going to be spending a few days with them back at the homestead. And of course I'm running out of the only ink cartridge I did not buy today.


I might end up sleeping at my desk.

I hope this will distract you long enough until I get back.

I probably won't have much internet access while I'm away but I'll try to catch up with you in a couple of days. Otherwise you can try writing to Little Curly Girl and see if that helps.

xoxo

Oh, for crying out loud!

What is the difference between this?

The monolith from the beginning of 2001: A Space Odyssey

and this

The monolith from the end of 2001: A Space Odyssey

and this

A giant stick of butter that fell off of my spatula (don't ask) and now is wedged between my refrigerator and the stove?

And I can't reach it?!

***

I am looking at this freaking miniature monolith of butter back there and all I can do is laugh and picture myself as a Stanley Kubrick monkey getting all pissed off and throwing a bone in the sky.


Boy, I wish I could reach that butter. And it's Plugra too. Damn, that sh*t's expensive.



Does this mean I'm going to evolve into the Star-Child soon? Because maybe then I'll figure out how to get the butter. *sigh*

***

ps.: Just so you know, this wasn't the post I had intended to write, but I'm very distracted and certainly not very evolved right now.

Your Call Is Very Important to Us

Dear #1 Tangobaby Reader,

Due to the higher than normal volume of comments recently (to which all of us here at Tangobaby World Media, Inc. are very, very appreciative), our normal standard of replying to each and every comment is becoming a wee bit difficult.

We apologize for the disruption in service and would like you to take a moment to give us your opinion on the matter. All of us here at Tangobaby World Media, Inc. thank you for your time.

Sincerely,

All of us

ps.: Yes, this is also an excuse to use polldaddy.com's free widgets, since I obviously can't go around making election campaign buttons anymore. *sigh* I miss being on the campaign trail.

My Dad Is SO Not Joe the Plumber

Some of you guys have really been so kind and complimentary lately about my writing. Thank you! And I did write some comments back about writing about what you know and writing from the heart and writing often because the more you write, the better you get...

And all that's true and I totally believe it. But the real deal about the history of my writing efforts became clearer to me tonight when I called my parents to say a quick hello. They were both hysterical on the phone and had a hard time talking to me.

They were laughing.

They had found a box of old papers, cartoons and photographs of my sister and me. Apparently, the old papers and cartoons were works that I had created, basically skewering one family member or another. So the truth about my love of writing really stems from me making fun of my family, and I must have done it so well that some pieces are pretty damn timeless, at least as far as my mom and dad are concerned.

What I learned from re-reading the story below explains why: 1. I truly appreciate a guy who knows his way around a toolbox, 2. where I learned to swear like a sailor, and 3. that my parents are totally cool--especially my dad-- in that they will let me go all David Sedaris on them publicly and tell humiliating stories about our family when I feel like it. (Tonight I told my dad that this family tale would make him famous and he was all for it.)

I wrote this little story when I was either a freshman or sophomore in college. I have only edited it a tiny bit to protect one innocent (my sister, and also because you won't be able to pronounce her name). I probably shouldn't call this a story because it's all true, every last word of it. You can even call my mom or dad to check... if they've stopped laughing.

ps.: Neither one of these guys are my dad.

***

Water Music

I believe that everyone has an area of expertise, a subject or hobby in which they excel above the average Joe. And then there are the instances where it’s just better to call in a professional. Take plumbing, for example. If our suburban ranch-style house could talk, I’m sure it would have pleaded mercy with my father on many occasions. My mother tried to intercede on the house’s behalf, but my father was always steadfast in his assessment of the home repair job to be done. “We don’t need to hire anyone. I can fix it myself.”

I grew up in a house where you had to explain the variety of toilet handle positions to newly arrived guests, lest they become embroiled in an embarrassing bathroom predicament by trying to flush the toilet by pressing the handle down (a situation normal to most homes) instead of the more exotic upward flush movement common only to toilets in our house. Our interest in our guests’ bathroom habits probably seemed strange and out of place at first, but I’m sure they were grateful for the advance information once they were on their own in the lavatory.

Although we didn’t live anywhere near a bayou, our house’s windows steamed every winter from the small lake that accumulated under the floors with each rain. My sister and I whiled away the evening hours drawing amusing faces, alphabets, and tic-tac-toe games in the condensation on the bay window in the living room. We didn’t need to draw the drapes in the winter at our house; our family was cleverly concealed by the inner fog that bloomed from beneath our floorboards.

A slight downside to the underground lake was that the moisture warped our front doors, making them very hard to close, and each year was a little worse than the previous one. It got to the point where it was easier to let guests in through the garage rather than slam the door with the force required to propel a cannonball, and that the slam made almost the same noise as that aforementioned cannonball. The booming crashes (it always took several tries before the door stayed shut) became so horribly embarassing one year that my father ended up tying the door handles together (from the inside, of course) with a strong piece of rope. At first, I had delusions of knife-wielding attackers sawing their way into our domicile through the one-inch gap between the doors, but as the weeks passed, I realized the attackers probably felt sorry for us and I slept much more soundly.

One morning I awakened to the sound of a very long, very loud shower being taken in the bathroom next to my room. Which was kind of strange in that no one ever took a shower in that particular bathroom (it had nothing to do with plumbing anomalies in this instance). The water was absolutely pelting whoever it was hitting, and after a moment, I heard other noises besides the water: someone running, and muffled voices with an hysterical edge. Someone was crying. I should have stayed in bed, but then I would have missed the only geyser I know of in our neighborhood.

I stood in the doorway of the bathroom, and watched in gap-jawed amazement as an eruption of hot, steamy water from one of the sinks was smacking the ceiling with surprising intensity. My sister was perched on top of the counter, trying to stem the geyser with a pile of sodden towels. Her hair was plastered around her face in clumps and her eye makeup looked like Tammy Faye Baker’s Great Lash mascara on a particularly tearful day. My sister’s school outfit clung to her teenage body like Saran Wrap. She was crying. “Dad, I’m going to be late. They [the school administrators] are going to send me to Broadway.” (An explanation: My sister suffers from C.T.S., otherwise known as Chronic Tardiness Syndrome. Because of her condition, she was always on the verge of being sent to our high school’s version of a correctional facility. The mere mention of Broadway struck terror into the hearts and minds of kids and parents alike; therefore, my sister got a ride to school from my father every morning. This morning, however, she was definitely going to miss first period.)

Before I could comprehend exactly what was happening, an ominous thud crashed behind me. I whirled around to see my father, having just run in from the garage, wearing soggy flannel pajama pants so heavy with water that he was in grave danger of exposing his private parts to his children. His sopping rust-colored suede booties had left bright footprints on the beige carpet in the hallway, and his glasses were fogged up like pieces of Lalique glass. His expression was tragically frantic. He was holding a hammer.

I got out of his way.

My father dashed under the sink with the hammer, striking the frozen knobs under the porcelain bowl in an attempt to shut off the source of our newest attraction. The knobs didn’t budge. (We now know that you’re supposed to turn those knobs once in a while to keep them from freezing up.) My mother stood in the door to her bedroom, mirroring my expression on her face. She knew how to handle certain people (namely my father) in crisis situations. In the most restrained voice she could muster, Mom asked, “Don’t you think we should call a plumber? I bet Frank knows what to do.”

The fury from under the sink was palpable. “We don’t need a plumber!” Dad raged. (If this wasn’t an instance for a professional, then I am at a loss to ever think when a more appropriate time would be.) “These goddamn knobs are frozen! Son of a bitch!” With lightning speed, my father dashed back down the hall to the garage. My mother made a run for the phone, and called Frank the plumber anyway. My sister, frightened that she would never be allowed to leave her scalding perch, looked at me with enormous eyes. I went back to my room and shut the door, where I immediately burst into silent convulsive laughter (any giggle from me at that moment might have been my last). When I felt I could return to the scene, I put on my straightest face and reopened the door.

Dad had run back from the garage and into the fray. “Where’s my fucking hammer?!” he demanded of the gods. “Where is it?! Goddamn it!” My mother replied evenly, but with a tinge of iciness, “Sid, the hammer is in your hand.” Wild-eyed, my father looked confusedly at the hand tool he was clutching so tightly. His crazed glare softened and he seemed to understand English once again. My mother quietly repeated the instructions she had received over the phone, and like a somnambulist, my father glided into the garage, turning off the hot water heater as he was told. The geyser quickly stopped. The house was very silent, except for the sound of water dripping from the lip of the sink onto the three inches of standing water on the floor. My mother opened one of the bathroom drawers. My father’s watch, wallet, and other odds and ends were suspended in the miniature pool like vegetables in aspic. She closed the drawer again without comment.

My father reappeared from the kitchen holding a turkey baster. With that same sleepwalking gait, he moved silently into the bathroom and sat on the floor-cum-wading pool, mindfully sucking water into the turkey baster and squirting it into the bathtub. This was the scariest thing we had yet seen this morning; it appeared that his mind had completely snapped. My sister, my mother, and I looked at each other with furtive glances. My mother spoke again, with compassion, but also as if she was approaching a mad dog. “Sid, why don’t you get dressed for work? Your youngest daughter has to get to school. Don’t worry about the water; Julie and I will take care of it.”

He looked up at her like a three-year old who had been given a cookie. “Okay,” he said placidly. He dressed, and took my damp-haired, re-outfitted sister to school. After a few minutes, the shock wore off, and doubled over in laughter, my mother and I got down to the business of disaster recovery, minus the turkey baster.

***

I think this story might also explain where I got my sense of humor.

Now don't forget to turn those knobs under the sink! It's very important! Otherwise your children might write embarrassing stories about you someday and then put them on the internet for their own amusement.

One More Election Result Tonight

I am very proud to announce the members of my Tangobaby Administration 2012. Never will a country be governed by so many talented and clever people who also appreciate beauty tips and shoes! I have excerpted their fantastic resumes here so you can see how incredibly perfect these people are. Their original applications are here and here.

Presented for your enjoyment and in completely random order:

Madame julochka, Secretary of State and Chief of Campaign Buttons and Ephemera. Ms. julochka speaks several very important (and not at all minor) languages, has extensive experience with duty frees the world over and knows where the best deals to be had on perfumes and mascara and MAC cosmetics are--thereby saving the taxpayers' money. She once tried, and utterly failed, to become Miss South Dakota, which is extremely important in its own right! We now know how important being a beauty contest almost-winner is in capturing a certain segment of the population. Madame julochka is also "willing to be an ambassador to somewhere fun, like South Africa. Or the Philippines." So we will make her do some extra credit since she's already volunteered. Madame julochka singlehandedly introduced the entire country of Denmark to the importance of celebrating Halloween and has even been seen wearing long purple eyelashes lately. I also know that she hangs out with sailors so her swearing is probably better than mine. That could come in quite handy, too.


Madame red shoes, Secretary of Cultural Awesomeness and Secretary of Impressive Theatrical Lighting. Ms. red shoes got an A- in high school civics class, likes to read books (i.e., "real ones made of paper") and while she spends lots of time in the outdoors, she have never killed an animal for fun. She uses multisyllabic words and has traveled to other countries and gotten pissed (her own words) with the natives, which "is probably a better way to understand their national character than listening to their governments." Ms. red shoes would fight for education--especially in the areas of literacy, history, and the arts--for artistic diversity and for intelligent creative expression, which is nothing like intelligent design at all. She also happens to be a fantastic tango dancer, a huge plus for any competent administration, and is extremely photogenic, if I do say so myself. Ms. red shoes is currently finishing her education to become a world-class theatrical lighting designer, which will prove to be very important in lighting me properly for televised appearances, and also for when Cirque de Soleil performs at the White House.

Madame Kath, Secretary for the Procurement and Enjoyment of Wine. Madame Kath, our neighbor in Canada, will fulfill an extremely important position attained by sheer nepotism (that is, "we have a pre-existing friendship which does not entail testifying against each other at hearings"). In her own words: "This posting will be important to you because at some point, as leader, you are going to need a drink and a very good drink at that. I shall ensure that you have such drink readily available. I will support the wine industry world-wide so that the international world will not think that you are an uppity American who simply sips California Wines. My campaign button for you will read, 'drink, baby, drink!' "

Madame namastenancy, Secretary of the Arts and Secretary of Social Conscience. Madame namastenancy, a working artist for most of her life, totally understands the struggles of the underdog. She has attended many schools, art focused and otherwise so she has personal experience of the classroom and teachers that can teach and teachers that...can't. According to nancy: "You can't beat age and experience on this. I've traveled a lot as a kid (Navy brat) and as an adult; I did the backpack, 3rd class routine before a lot of people ever heard of the words. Heck, I probably invented the concept (see reference to age, experience)." She has visited museums from Tokyo to Bombay and all parts in between so her artistic vision is vast. She has taught art on a tight budget so she won't waste taxpayer money but also "believes in the power of the arts to inspire, motivate and heal." Namastenancy brings her years of 60s-era wise woman wisdom to the Tangobaby Administration!


Madame christina, Secretary of Delicious Foods, Especially Cheese, and Secretary of Beautiful Urban Photography and Writing and Secretary of Voter Relations. I cannot paraphrase Christina's experience better than she does herself: "I think I should be your official, cheese-monger (dealer and trader in delicious commodity). My qualifications speak for themselves: 1. I am from Wisconsin, the dairy state! I come from a wholesome, mid-Western, background. 2. I have eaten from a wheel of parmesan in Italy. I know where the best cheese can be found (foreign affairs covered). 3. I have fried cheese in olive oil for breakfast. (not afraid to take risk for the little guy/girl). 4. You can love cheese or hate it, I won't make decisions for you on what you should eat (common sense). 5. As for a campaign button: 'Cheese is the real m.f maverick!' " Also, Madame christina has provided wonderful wisdom about voting issues this year from her home in Wisconsin, so I am putting her in charge of revamping the voter registration system so we don't have any more problems with people being able to vote. I know I've given her two extra posts in addition to the one she applied for, but I also know she'll excel in all of them. She's that good.

Mr. red shoes, Intern Extraordinare. Mister red shoes, delightful partner and husband of Ms. red shoes (Secretary of Cultural Awesomeness) is "ready and willing to take on the dirty work of this administration [as my invaluable intern]. I possess all the tools and skills required for the position. Regardless of how much needs to be done, you will find me tireless and capable." Trust me, he will be the best intern in our nation's history. And he's cute.

Madame Amanda, Secretary of What-the-Fuck? Such a creative comment must speak from the appointee's own heart: "You see, every campaign (and presidency for that matter) needs someone out there observing, and taking the pulse of both the campaign and the community at large. I have a very real propensity for saying "what the fuck" when needed. If, for instance you chose to represent the middle class of America, and then someone suggested that you go spend $150,000 on clothes, I would stand up and shout, "WHAT THE FUCK, TANGOBABY?" And, for instance if you came back from war and wanted to divorce your spouse because he/she had experienced a major trauma and didn't look the same, again, I would shout "WHAT THE FUCK, TANGOBABY?" I am looking forward to having Amanda spice things up with her outbursts, but hopefully we won't have too many issues she'll need to worry about.

Madame n a n c y, Secretary of Geriatric Affairs. According to her bio, she is younger than Cloris and older than Cher. Formerly known as TangoSlut to her friends, she also answers to MedicareSlut. She is multilingual and well-traveled: Buenos Aires annually, China, India, Europe, Central America, yadda. She has also volunteered to be an "Attack Bitch" so she will serve a dual appointment in this administration.

Madame Brenda, Secretary of Menopausal Affairs. Madame Brenda would make sure all menopausal women get their allotment of chocolate and drugs for hot flashes. In her words, a sort of "Medicare" system solely for the woman over 50. She would also work in a secondary capacity patrolling for evil individuals who are cruel to animals and mete out their punishment, so I'll be sending her for a visit to the Governor's Mansion in Alaska as one of her official duties so she can take away the wolf-hunting helicopters.

Madame TheElementary, Secretary for the Care of Beautiful Gardens and Plants. As her resume explains: "In all the Agatha Christie books I have read, the gardener is always the most invisible, overlooked and forgotten character: yet is often the crucial element in the plot precisely because of that inconspicuous role. As a discreet gardener-figure who listens and observes I would be able to acquire much information that could assist you as President. In my schooldays I was permanently known as 'The Quiet One' to the extent that I tricked an old-lady nun teacher into thinking she had lost my term paper when in fact I had not written it, and I subsequently got the highest possible grade without doing any work. Once, at school, I was hit in the back with a glass bottle by a fellow- accidentally, as it was intended for somebody else- and, due to his thinking I was harmless and inconsequential, he laughed and turned away, whereupon I proceeded to smack him in the face and make a teenage boy cry real tears in front of the entire class. I frequently talk to plants and shrubs and flowers, have a functioning knowledge of green things, and would build a solid friendship with any foliage I am entrusted with." Also Madame TheElementary is from Ireland, and I'm guessing she has the most adorable accent ever, so I would have appointed her solely from the sound of her voice, but I'm glad she has all of these other qualifications, too.

Madame robin-bird, Secretary of Political Psychiatry/Recovery and Secretary of Incredibly Beautiful Nature Photography. Madame robin bird is an expert in stress management and weight management, so I get first dibs but I will share her with all of you. She has also offered to assist in the hospitalization of personality disordered opponents, which could be legion. She is also an amazing photographer of all things green and beautiful so I have appointed her this extra post to beautify the nation through her use of photography and soothing images.

Madame dutchbaby, Secretary of Incredibly Beautiful Floral Arrangements. Madame dutchbaby promises that the White House will always be fragrant with beautiful fresh flowers. She promises to always buy fair trade flowers and last, but not least, promises to make sure that anyone who annoys me will be ... composted (her words). She will work closely with n a n c y and Brenda on the "composting" issue. What more could I ask for? I am also putting Madame dutchbaby down as the Undersecretary to Madame christina, Official White House Cheesemonger, because dutchbaby knows a lot about aged Gouda and she makes a killer baked brie. She also taught me how to make broiled figs stuffed with goat cheese and wrapped in proscuitto, and just on the strength of that single recipe, she deserves a place of honor in my administration.

Honorary appointees:

Madame Paris Parfait, Ambassador to the UN and Secretary for the Aquisition of Delightful French Antiquities and Flea Market Finds. In her own words: "I still haven't found time to write up my CV to be UN ambassador. I will try to do that soon. (See that's one of the things about being a diplomat - you are endlessly busy, being diplomatic). And of course I have to break in my 1930s-look shoes, which were really for the Prix de l'Arc de Triomphe, but it rained and I couldn't wear them then. So now I must wear them tomorrow when I'm using my diplomatic skills in introducing an American guest to a French hairdresser." I am appointing Tara because she is brilliant and kind and I'm dying to see her shoes. And she looks great in hats, which I think will be important to our standing in World Affairs and regaining the respect of other world leaders. And if you don't already know about Madame Paris Parfait's excellence in the area of flea marketing, then you must check out her blog immediately.


Madame Elizabeth, Secretary of Leisure/Lazy People. I am not sure what this post will require yet. ("I was going to try to join your ticket but I was/am too lazy. Unless you need lazy people, then count me in.") Who knows? Maybe we do?

***

And now the moment you've all been waiting for!
My Vice-Presidential Pick/Candidate /Winner/Beauty Basket Recipient IS...

*
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(drum roll)

*
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*
*
*
*

(trumpet fanfare)


*
*
*
*
*
*

KATH!
(Please pardon the fuzzy cameraphone image.)

Hooray!!!! Hooray!!!!

We will have a CANADIAN Vice President!

I don't know about you, but I think that is terribly exciting! What a development in world affairs! We need some good Canadians around to knock some sense back into us! Plus, I am almost 100% positive that Kath can see Alaska from her house and I'll make Kath promise to ensure Palin stays in Alaska from now on.








Thank you to all for encouraging and supporting my sanity and the democratic process. You are all winners to me.

***

ps.: Dear VP Kath, please be sure to email me your mailing address so that I can send you your Vice Presidential beauty basket. xoxo!

I Have Arrived

I have to tell you that my campaign for 2012 is off to such a great start. I'm so glad I skipped that whole fact-finding commission! I'm probably going to skip the vetting process too since I'm so pleased with all of my prospective administration officials so far.

You are so good at offering yourselves up to the campaign in the spirit of Civic Duty, and obviously the hope of winning a beauty basket didn't hurt either.



***

I think my campaign really is going to pick up steam now because I have one of the most important things a president or a presidential hopeful can have.

I have my own intern.



***

Not to mention all of the other super-fantastic cabinet roles I would have never even thought of, like my Secretary of WTF? and Official Cheesemonger. But where are you?

Seriously. I don't have anyone like YOU in my campaign. So step up and sign up. You have until November 4 to participate! I will announce my entire future administration and my VP choice then. (And I am for full inclusion in my administration: Boys, our friends to the north in Canada, assorted people from all nations that still like us and hold out a wee bit of hope that we'll get our sh*t together, and people with exceptionally developed senses of humor are all encouraged to participate.)

***

BTW, why would it be that you would come home from work and find that your modem doesn't work? Just like that-- poof! I always jump to conclusions and assume that Karl Rove is behind things like this, but maybe we didn't pay the cable bill? Not having internet access at home is not enjoyable. It's pointing a big finger at my addiction. But it's my addiction to YOU.



UPDATE: Because I know that some of you secretly want to make your own campaign buttons.

Some People Believe in Nostradamus

I think John McCain should have listened to Hall and Oates before Bill Kristol or Dick Cheney or Karl Rove. Now I'm on a kick since my Palin-Putin forbidden love fantasy from this morning.

She's a Maneater! Watch out, boy!



She'll only come out at night
The lean and hungry type
Nothing is new, I've seen her here before
Watching and waiting
She's sitting with you but her eyes are on the door
So many have paid to see
What you think you're getting for free
The woman is wild, a she-cat tamed by the purr of a Jaguar
Money's the matter
If you're in it for love you ain't gonna get too far

Oh here she comes
Watch out boy she'll chew you up
Oh here she comes
She's a maneater
Oh here she comes
Watch out boy she'll chew you up
Oh here she comes
She's a maneater

I wouldn't if I were you
I know what she can do
She's deadly man, and she could really rip your world apart
Mind over matter
The beauty is there but a beast is in the heart

Oh here she comes
Watch out boy she'll chew you up
Oh here she comes
She's a maneater

***

Part of this is because I don't feel like finishing my laundry and the other part is that I just keep cracking myself up. I'm so Eighties today!

Private Eyes

Someone special just sent this to me.

I couldn't help thinking of that classic Hall & Oates song, Private Eyes. (Come on, let's have an Eighties moment together.)

I see you, you see me
Watch you blowin' the lines when you're making a scene
Oh girl, you've got to know
What my head overlooks
The senses will show to my heart
When it's watching for lies
You can't escape my
Private eyes
They're watching you
They see your every move
Private eyes
They're watching you
Private eyes
They're watching you watching you watching you watching you

***

I couldn't help picturing Putin and Palin all hot 'n heavy, rolling around in a stealthy, fur-covered embrace on each other's tundras. Maybe they do spy on each other! Some sort of tragic romance diverted by the politics of their countries! Hearts kept separated by the Alaskan National Guard!

Oh, it's so Romeo and Juliet! Does Todd know?

LMAO today as I go to City Hall to VOTE!

***

UPDATE: How could I not include the video?

Listen to this while you close your eyes and imagine an illicit love affair between Caribou Barbie and President Putin. It totally works.

Joe Biden Is My Homeboy

I'm sorry, but this is too damn cute.



I'd watch a news anchor like him any day.
And also why I have a crush on Joe. He's my homeboy, too!

Join My Future Administration and Win a Prize!

Hello fellow Americans! All of you, the real and the fake Americans! Even you Communists in North Virginia! Hello!

I've given it a solid 24 hour's thought, which might be more time than Sarah Palin spent deciding whether to enhance the McCain nomination with her presence, and now I really think that I should run for President in 2012.

At first, I thought I only wanted to do it for the free clothes. (Which is still a huge incentive, to be honest.) And then I realized that I could offer a lot to the American people and perhaps give them something to look forward to in 2012 if our country is still around and holding elections then. I know that I may sound shallow and silly at times (but in a good way, I hope) but I think that it's time to step up to the plate and I want to take all of you with me.



Besides, I found this Election Campaign Button designer and you can see I've gone a bit crazy with it. And as you know, accessories are very important to create an overall impression.



Most of you know that good makeup artistry will be a keystone of my party's platform. But first I have to decide what the name of my political party will be called, so you can immediately identify and affiliate yourself with me. That's crucial for me so that I can start receiving the donations that will go to my Tangobaby Campaign Wardrobe Fund. I want to be very transparent about that. The clothes are important.



One very important element of my campaign is YOU. I need to find a running mate and also key members of my cabinet and advisors. It's going to take a crack team of super smart, crazy talented people to turn this country around, and I think that all of the best people qualified to run this country read my blog.



So I am going to have a contest. A beauty-incentivized contest to bring out the patriots in you.

To show that I still believe in free elections that have nothing to do with Diebold machines, one lucky winner will be chosen in a drawing to receive an assortment of fun beauty treats that I haven't decided on yet. (But trust me, they'll be good.)



To enter my drawing, you must do THREE very important things in the comments of this post:

1. State what position you would play in my administration. It can be anything from Vice President (who's also in charge of Congress) to the Secretary of Footwear. (By the way, in case the random male that happens upon my blog would like to be a part of my administration, you are welcome to participate. I don't disqualify anyone on the basis of their gender because there are other important things I can use to base my judgement on. My caveat though is that if a guy wins the drawing, I might have to slightly alter the "beauty" concept of the giveaway.) Also, you are welcome to enter even if you don't live in this country. I just want smart people in my administration--I don't care where they live!

2. Write in at least three (but can be more) coherent and related sentences why you are best qualified for the position that you are seeking. This is a very important requirement for several reasons, the least of which being that I only want people who can construct complete sentences that show some semblance of a thought process. This way, if you end up being interviewed by Katie Couric, I won't be sitting here with knots in my stomach because you might say something really stupid and embarrass me and the campaign. Also, I want to preempt the vetting process so I don't have to look into your background and then later find out that when you were in the first grade, you used to belong to a militant separatist movement that wants to repatriate all zoo animals.

3. Choose one of the campaign buttons here to kick off my campaign. Or if you think these slogans suck, come up with something better. I want to keep using the Election Campaign Button generator because I think it's a hoot. Also, if you have some ideas for my platform, please do let me know. I want to keep up with the will(s) of the people. I do know that sushi will be an important area of my foreign policy.



My friends, I look forward to working with you to rebuild this great nation of tired, bummed out, poor people! I look forward to sending you some beauty products that will make you radiant!

I have decided to announce my running mate and my cabinet appointments on November 4, in order to tailgate on that other election that's being held on the same day.

Now, put on your thinking caps and get ready to win for a change!

xoxo

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IMPORTANT CAMPAIGN UPDATE!!!

If you have designed a campaign button for Tangobaby/Your Name Here 2012, you won't be able to post it in the comment here. Please make a post on your blog with your campaign button and put the link in your comment so we can go and see your button.

Thank you, potential Secretary of State Julochka, for this sage advice!

You can see her button here.

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SECOND IMPORTANT CAMPAIGN UPDATE!!!

I was seriously getting paranoid for a bit that Karl Rove was trying to keep me from running for office and that he broke Blogger so that none of you could leave comments for me.

But now Blogger appears to be fixed. I'm still thinking Rove had something to do with this but at least freedom to comment on blogs hasn't evaporated just yet. So do comment.

xoxo