Occam's Razor

Last night I had one of those super vivid, wake up thinking it really happened kind of dreams. We were hanging out with the Obamas and we really hit it off. They invited us to the White House for dinner and I got to snuggle with Bo, the family dog. I've come up with two interpretations for the dream:
1. I'm hungry for power and am constantly trying to make friends in high places who will elevate my status socially, economically and politically until I am THE MOST POWERFUL PERSON IN THE WORLD and all will bow to me.
2. I miss Ollie.

Would it kill you to take a shower, hippies?

Yesterday we went to an Obama campaign speech at CU. To some I know I might as well have said, "yesterday we went to a secret communist gathering where we slaughtered kittens." The vile, corrupt topic of his speech? Education and its importance to America's future. THE HORROR. Seriously though, be you a democrat or a republican, the chance to see the President of the United States is pretty incredible. So incredible that I waited in line for three hours to get a ticket. Lucky for me, I was waiting next to The World's Greatest Baby Expert (self proclaimed). I learned all about the evils of the Baby Bjorn (after I told her we owned one), the importance of teaching your infant sign lanuage and the importance of nursing (while I was giving Ivy a bottle). I pulled out my ipad and put on my most serious face to appear to be working and not have time to chat while really I just refreshed Facebook over and over. Still worth it to get the ticket. When I really started to doubt my commitment to the event was while sitting in the un-air-conditioned CU auditorium among ten-thousand Boulderites. Boulder is known for many things, but meticulous hygiene is not one of them. To be fair, only one person shouted out "legalize pot!" during the speech.

All in all I'm glad I went. For the first time really in my life, the way our government is run actually makes a difference in my day-to-day life. after receiving no less than twenty hospital invoices, I suddenly have opinions on healthcare. And the raising of student loan interest would certainly effect our future. So I'm paying attention to what the people in charge have to say about these things.

I marked my party as unaffiliated when I registered to vote. I guess I like being wooed by the candidates, especially now that we live in a swing state.  And I appreciated Mr. O paying a visit. So, your move, Mitt.

This woman needs no wooing. All thos blurred objects are Obama pins.

worth a thousand words, none of them good

Ok. It's time I address this.
Those of you of the same religious affiliation as presidential hopeful Mitt Romney and myself may have noticed a familiar face in your For The Strength of Youth pamphlet or Relief Society/Priesthood manual. Yes, that's me posing with an elderly woman. No, I don't "go about radiating sunshine, developing happiness and lifting up thos who are discouraged, and bringing joy and comfort to those who are in distress" often as the caption would have you believe. No, I don't weigh 300 pounds as my chin would have you believe. No, I didn't think the photographer was serious when she told me there was a chance the photo would be used more than once. Yes, I should have taken her seriously since the photo has now appeared in two issues of the Ensign, the Liahona and the aforementioned manuals. No, I am not a fan of that photo. And no, I don't say that like a girl who "hates" her yearbook photo and tells all her friends it's the "worst photo ever" because she knows she looks smokin' hott and wants all the high school boys to look it up and swoon. This photo is anything but smokin' hott. It's smokin' terrible. And why The Official Photo Selector for Churchy Matters decides to use it over and over will forever be my life's greatest mystery. Does this feel like a back door brag post? I promise it's not. Because I really hate that photo. I hate that it looks like I hadn't brushed my hair in years. I hate that I wore such an unflattering top. I hate that my chin is so chinny. So please, please, please do NOT tell me that it's a cute photo. Because if that's me looking cute, well, then there's really no hope.

but i'm not the only one

One of the latest symptoms of my "condition" is CRACKED OUT dreams. I live a quiet, peaceful existence during the day, but when my eyes are closed, boy howdy it's a wild ride. Last night via REM cycle, I was somehow kidnapped and forced to work as an intern for the Sarah Palin/Michelle Bachman campaign (My dreamself thinks they're running together). As their indentured servant, my duty was to buy their cigarettes. American Spirit cigarettes. Because we all know Palin's a total hipster.

I would hand them cigarettes under the table. Then they would kick me.

About three seconds later I was in a seamstress' living room. She was making me a prom dress, and while cutting the fabric said over and over "Since you're so fat, I'll have to cut it extra wide."

Help.