I don’t know about you, but this happens to me all the time — I’m going out, I think I look to-tally hawt, I open the door, photographers raise their cameras to capture the moment, and dang, I forgot my pants, AND my panties, yet again.
The best part of that story? Where it describes Britney’s “ample bottom.” I just like to say that phrase for fun. Our friends across the pond speak the same language, but so much more skillfully.
Sorry for launching today with a Britney Spears ample-bottom item. The Committee started at 7 a.m., directly across from my bedroom window. Today is the day the teacher assignments arrive by mail, which means the phone will ring nonstop from 10 a.m. until mid-afternoon, as the entire incoming fifth-grade class calls to triangulate their first-day outfits. (Last year we were out when they arrived. Came home to find the phone blinking: “You have…seven…new messages.”) I have to work my special kind of magic on four separate stories today, and none of this is helping. Why Nance, you’re saying, it sounds like you’re setting us up for another four-paragraph link dump. Not exactly. I’m just grumpy.
Actually, I was thinking about Larry Craig again, as much as I’d like to put him from my mind. I was thinking back a few years, when conservatives were simmering with anger over where Bill Clinton was putting his dousing stick, and claiming that, because of him, they had to explain oral sex to their children, who then went right out and practiced on one another. Well. Because of Larry Craig, I now know more about foot-tapping signals and wide stances than I ever, ever wanted to know, and I’m a gay-friendly sort of gal. Can I blame this on Craig? Because I want to.
Best rejoinder to the Clinton-made-my-kid-do-it line, from Roy: If he really is responsible for a rise in oral sex, I vote we put him on Mount Rushmore. Of course, this was after a conservative tried to blame Clinton for an increase in mouth cancer. Please.
So now, bloggage:
Who says Republicans can’t smile in this difficult time: Karl Rove’s ride, pimped. It’s a little juvenile — i.e., entirely in keeping with the White-House-as-frat-house culture of the capital these days — but at least no nations were invaded.
Jeez, let’s cut this mudbath short, eh? The clanking outside is making me INSANE. Better to go run bike errands and get it out of my system.