1. I am too exhausted to give 1/10th of a shit about Britney Spears. I don’t understand why she is news. Why is she news?

2. I am also too exhausted to give 1/10th of a shit about any of the presidential candidates. I’m going to piss off my husband and say what’s been lurking in my mind for awhile now: I don’t think my vote is important. Never has my vote meant so little as now, after a presidential election wherein the popular vote meant nothing and a presidential election wherein voting was possibly suppressed in Ohio. Do I trust that the electronic voting machines are accurate? No. Do I think my vote on Tuesday in New Jersey will contribute to some news of election results? Sure. Jersey will be a state that gets some attention next week. Do I think my vote means jack shit on the actual election day this November? Nope. Too much voting snafu, too little attention paid to it, too long an existence of the electoral college. I used to think my vote meant something. Now it means I’ll be late for work that day and the news will be hyperventilating all over itself for the rest of the day. Big whoop.

3. If I had to pick? Meh.  I’m tired of both Clinton and Obama. I’m not voting Republican. If Bloomberg runs, I’ll fall over laughing with delight and awe. That would be the most ballsy move Mike B. ever made. As of now: undecided. Why? See #2. I don’t think my vote nor my contribution means anything.

4. My enthusiasm for voting is as slidingly depressed as the economy. I don’t see either getting fixed any time soon. 

I am having a craptastic day. It’s a million little annoyances piled up one on top of another and I’m blaming Bush for the whole of my altogether foul fucking mood.

Yeah. Him. I watched part of the State of the Union last night, and even with the mute on 60% of the time, it was infuriating and made me want to throw things. Hard. I was much happier using my bonafide-effective ostrich-strategy by pretending he didn’t exist, and our country was being steered by figments of my imagination made entirely of air. That’s preferable to reality.

Yesterday I had my blood pressure taken, and it was a balmy 86/53. I’ve got hypotension, aka low blood pressure, which I knew, but man, about ten minutes ago I was probably past normal into 121/82. Which is raging temper for me. I imagine I was a sloth in a former life. Or a koala - all sleepy and cuddly with HUGE fucking claws. Me and my stealth temper.

So now I have to figure out a way to recover my mood and make it a bit better. Perhaps chocolate. Or a valium the size of a Volkswagen to mellow me back down to normal.

I got up around 6:15 am because Baba wanted to eat. That’s pretty standard chowtime for him, so he and I went downstairs so I could give him his breakfast in a semi-comatose fashion. Well, he was awake. I was Not.

You know what was on SOAPnet? 90210. I watched 1.5 episodes - the graduation and the one where they hang the “Bev HS 93” sign over the Hollywood sign. I was never a fan of the show, really, though I watched a lot of the first season, and part of the second. But watching a show from 15 years ago is a big heaping teaspoon of cotton candy nostalgia that I can’t pass up. Not at 630 am anyway. My reactions:

1. I can’t believe they graduated the same year I did.

2. I am so freaking old.

3. Why was Luke Perry supposed to be hot? I don’t think he acted so much as moved his chin around.

4. How in the world did Jason Priestley’s hair stay that way for years, and not move? He’s like the teen 90’s version of Jimmy Johnson.

5. Would Shannen Doherty ever trim her freaking bangs?! Jeez. I’m amazed she doesn’t have microscopic cuts on her corneas.

6. Wasn’t Ahhhhhndrea, like, 45 years old in real life? Did she ever stop being miserable and neurotic (the character, not the actress)?

7. How come everyone else looked about 28 years old, while Brian Austin Green looked 12? Does he still look 12?

I feel so ancient having watched it. I need to go watch Hannah Montana - that’ll send me right into the geriatric home.

I think I have to break up with Domino magazine. I usually find one great idea per issue, like paint ideas for the bathroom or something like that. But this issue has given me no inspiration so far, except inspiration to spend money on some overpriced crap I do not need. Like $90 soaps or bath salts that I use in my underwear drawer and then use in the tub when they’re all evaporated and crap.

This is the top though - get a load of this;

“With their tangling cords, hair dryers have a way of knocking down everything else as you reach for them. In a bowl, though, they behave.”

Then they show a glass bowl that’s about 13 1/2” wide.

That costs $145 DOLLARS!

Seriously! It’s from some company called Blomma Home & Garden. Yeah, Domino magazine can Blomma if they think I’m paying over $140 for a glass bowl to put my HAIR DRYER IN! Are they SHITTING me?

Yesterday:

yellow poop (not me)
holy crap projectile vomiting (not me)
many, many costume changes (me)
happy baby (yay!)
mellow mommy (yay!)
long quiet day with naps and little bits of feeding (baby & me)

Today:

normal poop (HOORAY)
no vomiting (HOORAY)
ONE outfit (at least, so far)
happy baby (yay!)
happy mommy (yay!)
long busy day with naps for baby (yay!)
no naps for me! (boooooo)

We took Freebird and Baba to the Museum of Natural History today and so did every other parent of every other toddler in the universe. The museum opened at 1000 am and by 1045 it was a showcase of strollers and running toddlers. Nannies, parents, families, all pushing high end strollers - it was like comparison shopping while seeing them in real action - running toddler and stroller piled with winter coats. It was 19 degrees when we left the house, too. Brr.

Freebird loved the elephant displays, and we took him to see the hall of ocean life, the African mammals, and the dinosaur hall. Midway through all the bones on display he announced, “More Animals! More Animals!” I agree, dude. There’s only so many giant brown skeletons one can look at if one is two. Or thirty-two.

We spent about 2 hours there, then headed home through little to no traffic, and since Freebird had walked or run through many of the exhibit halls, he was exhausted. And there was great nap, and much rejoicing.

I hope all the toddlers were equally tired.

Look Freebird! This is the city. This is where Mommy works!

Wait, I don’t mean I work here on 8th Avenue…

Oh never mind.