Happy Birthday, Little Lady

Politicians Make Larry Strange Bedfellows

This week it was (finally) revealed that Idaho Republican Senator Larry "I am not nor have I ever been gay" Craig was arrested in June at Minneapolis St. Paul International Airport for allegedly soliciting anonymous sex from an undercover police officer in the men's bathroom.

Police reports state that Mr. Craig made "inappropriate toe and finger gestures" - which are widely known to be solicitations for anonymous sex - in the presence of an undercover police officer. The alleged gestures included sliding his foot under the stall and rubbing the officer's foot in the next stall. Mr. "I am not nor have I ever been involved in inappropriate conduct" Craig states that his finger and toe gestures were simply misconstrued and that his foot "may" have touched the officer's foot in the next stall, but only because he has a "very wide stance" when using the toilet.

Seriously, Lar, if your stance is that wide either the toilet is a hole in the floor or your legs are longer than your Pinocchio nose.

According to police and apparently several gay anonymous sex websites, tapping your toe in the next stall is secret code for "I want to have anonymous gay sex with you right here in front of the toilet." In all fairness to Mr. "There is not nor has there ever been a fairy on the prairie" Craig, could we be a little more specific about the toe tapping? What exactly is the secret code? Is it Morse Code for, "Hey, haven't I not seen you ever here before"? "Don't I not know you?" "What's a straight guy like you not doing in a place like this?" Perhaps it was a simple request for toilet paper?

In any case, Lar, I too think it's time for you to come out of the, uh, stall. You can still have bathroom sex with an undercover police officer. Or a domineering French butler. Your call.

And finally, while I'm here, which one of you douche bags got to my blog by Googling daddy finger spank?????

I'm Not Getting Paid for This

If you like motorcycles, or motorcycle stuff, or even just like to hang out with people who really do like motorcycles or motorcycle stuff, go here to buy, sell, or trade your motorcycle stuff:

http://www.cyclehound.com/

According to my friend, who is kind of a decent guy, http://www.cyclehound.com/ is a FREE site to BUY, SELL and TRADE motorcycle stuff and just $25 for bike ads. The first bike ad is FREE too with the COUPON CODE: 1free (used when placing the ad).

I think word of mouth is the way to go when building or expanding your business, so this is a great place to add the link to http://www.cyclehound.com/ . I mean, just think, I get one hit a day on this blog--and that's usually me checking to see if I got any hits on my blog. If I go to http://www.cyclehound.com/ and tell me about it, then I go to http://www.cyclehound.com/ and tell myself about it, well I think you can understand the implications for my friend's business.

http://www.cyclehound.com/

The (Internal) Vagina Monologue

As Thing Two approaches her first birthday this month, I feel a slight panic setting in. But I'm not reaaaddy!!!!

Not ready for walking? Nah, I'll just take some friendly advice and knock her down.

Not ready for sibling rivalry? Trust me, Thing Two has proven herself a brave, bloody, and worthy opponent.

It's not nostalgia or sentimentality that has me daydreaming these days--it's boobies and bicycles.

Thing Two is done nursing. I know this because of the high-pitched scream she produces each time I present her with the prize. She retracts the scream only when a sippy cup is lodged in her mouth.

Although I'm not one of those women who insist despite all evidence to the contrary that nursing your offspring until they are 30 is indicative of extra-good mental health and selflessness, I would have liked to continue just a bit longer. You see, the wonderful scientists at WeightWatchers gift nursing moms with an extra ten points a day. Points which, if you are familiar with the program at all, you will remember allow a nursing mom like me to continue to eat like a junkyard dog with little or no real exercise while still achieving my weight-loss goal.

Now, as Thing Two gnashes breakfasts, lunches, and dinners that would astound the Monty Python Just-One-More-Mint Fat Guy, Thing One and I seem to be competing to see which one of us can survive on the least amount of bread crumbs a day. Even thus, I am still required to get in 5, 435 minutes of "fast-paced" exercise a day in order to shed a pound.

So, what is a lazy mom with an epic case of exercised-induced hives to do? Bicycling, my friends. Bicycling. Take out a second mortgage to pay for a Burley to attach to the back of my bike, strap the spawn in with nothing in arms reach to throw at passing cars, and go. The great thing about riding a bike is you can do a minimal amount of work and then coast for a breeze. Work, coast. Work, coast. Definitely my kind of fitness. I have even taken to going on long bike rides by myself after the kids go to bed, and I am honestly astounded at the distance one can cover on a bike.

If you intend on following in my healthy example, however, and want to ensure you are able to enjoy the biblical act ever again in the future, I have two words for you: Bicycle shorts.

I know. They're not pretty, but they are definitely a necessity. For men, the choice is limited to a pair of skin-tight black Spandex with a video rocker built in. Thankfully, I was born a woman so I could choose the much-lovelier skin-tight Spandex skort with the couch-cushion crotch. I wore it last night on an 8-mile ride. Sort of cute in a Monster Truck All-Star cheerleader kind of way. And way cushy. But I still don't trust the ride. And I am convinced that each and every other cyclist I pass along the way knows what's going on. At first I imagined they were thinking, Look at the cute mama in the skort riding her bike with such talent. She must be really healthy. Then I recognized my folly. What they were really thinking - each and every one of them, I know - was,

Now there goes a woman trying really hard to keep her vagina from touching her bicycle seat.