Look who's choking now

I don’t like to talk politics. And I don’t like to write about anything that isn’t funny, but I have to comment on this Deep Throat debacle.

This is what “Deep Throat” Mark Felt said when interviewed.
"It would be contrary to my responsibility as a loyal employee of the FBI to leak information," he told journalist Timothy Noah six years ago, when questioned about his possible role as Deep Throat. I have to wonder how he managed to get that comment out without laughing.

But it’s the comments now about how Felt is the unsung hero that have really chapped me. Hero, my ass. This is more like it.

Wounded that he was passed over for the top job, furious at Nixon's choice of an outsider, Assistant Attorney General L. Patrick Gray III, as acting FBI director, and determined that the White House not be allowed to steer and stall the bureau's Watergate investigation, Mark Felt slipped into the role that would forever alter his life.

I hate to cloud the issue with the facts, but what about the law? You know, that agreement he made with the government when he got his job as a special agent? That he would uphold and defend the constitution and that he would not illegal disclose any information he received under the auspices of his employ?

When I was young, I used to ask my uncle about his work in the aerospace engineering field as a civilian employee for the navy. He was instrumental in engineering a fighter jet. His response was always the same—“Ten years and/or $10,000.” The penalty for disclosing top secret information. Not that I was asking for TS information. I wouldn’t have even known what the hell he was talking about. I had just seen Top Gun and thought it was cool that my uncle was the reason the plane flew.

It doesn’t appear that Felt’s actions were based on his heartfelt belief that a great injustice was being committed and the American people were being shafted. There was no nobility in his actions. He was pissed off because he got passed over for a job he wanted. I hardly thing that the anti-war protestors that were on the receiving end of his loose construction of the 4th amendment are thinking he is a hero now.

Don’t get me wrong. There is no justification for Nixon’s behavior. He was stupid and got caught. To believe that he was the first president to conspire as he did, or that he was the last, is naïve at best. One politician cheating on another? Big deal.

Inspired by Robin, here are my shout outs for yesterday. A series of cheers and jeers, if you will.

To my beautiful son who awakened me this morning through the baby monitor at 6:12 am as he talked to the animals on his bumper after 6 hours and 57 minutes of glorious uninterrupted sleep, GOD BLESS YOU and I am truly sorry for the late night threats to sell you to a couple in Dupont Circle looking to adopt a child.

To Will, the maintenance salesman who tried to rob me blind by claiming everything wrong with the car was a safety hazard and I obviously wanted my family to die of carbon monoxide poisoning if I didn’t get the power steering fluid flushed to the tune of $134, I’m on to your game.

To the JA taxi driver at the airport yesterday that veered into the left lane occupied by me in order to turn right at the light, YOU ARE NOT DRIVING A SEMI. I’m pretty damn sure that the turn radius on the Crown Vic can get you where you need to go without endangering the lives of those around you such as myself.

To the makers of toothpaste, it is your fault that since I don’t want my orange juice to taste bad in the morning, I have managed to forget to brush my teeth until 3 pm every day this week.

To the woman in Babies-R-Us shopping for a registry gift, thanks for trying to buy the Jumperoo not on the registry because you thought my baby was so cute and the perfect salesman. His Opa would be proud.

To the couple in Babies-R-Us last night who were kind enough (after asking a litany of questions to determine our child’s stage of development) to warn us about the baby’s back not being strong enough for the Jumperoo we had E trying out in the middle of the aisle, I have four comments.
1. We have an open position for a consultant that can advise us how to stop a baby that cries in your lap if you don’t let him stand the whole time (or a position for a person who can hold a standing baby for 10 hours a day);
2. If you two are such experts on baby development and we are such terrible parents, why are you asking us about Baby Bjorns now when your child is 3 ½ months old? How the hell have you people being getting anything done for the past 3 ½ months if you don’t already have one;
3. My back wasn’t strong enough to move my sister’s 1,000 lb. mattress from the old apartment to the new house yesterday, but I did just fine and will only require 50 hours of PT to fix the damage I did; and finally,
4. I don’t know how we ever got this far without having you (and your unsolicited comments) around.

And last, but not least, to my beloved husband, who had to eat an MRE for dinner because his wife didn’t come home and left no food in the house, who came to meet us at Babies-R-Us at 8:45 pm even after having to eat an MRE, and who kept his response to the above mentioned couple to a condescending glare, I worship you and do not deserve your love and affection. You are the best in the whole world.

The scary truth

My neighbor Judy just yelled from across the street.

"I like your hair. It looks good."

I yelled back, "I washed it.

She just shook her head.

My best friend Mike

Who is Mike, you ask?

The UPS guy.

That's right. I'm on a first name basis with the UPS guy. Last year we almost invited him over for the annual Christmas party. Which we didn't have because I was pregnant and for some reason Derek refused to grill for 75 of our closest friends. He's so selfish.

Back to Mike. Just before I had Boo Boo Kitty, I was working from home a lot. Before I was so cruelly shafted by the federal government and left on my ass, without employment.

Boy did I bust my husband. Every day around 4 Mike would show up with a package for Derek. I didn't know about this little shopping fetish of his because he managed to always beat me home from work. So now that I am home, unemployed, trying to figure out if we are eligible for EIC, what do you think shows up at my door? Four packages.

I hope one is a book about how to not drive your wife so crazy that she runs off with Mike, the USP guy.

putting the baby to bed

OK, so this whole putting the baby to bed thing is a crock. I'm a lazy ass and I have been letting him fall asleep in my arms and then putting him down. Not successfully, but putting him down nonetheless.

So we thought we would try the No Cry Sleep Solution on my sister's suggestion. It should be the "No Sleep, Parents Crying" Solution. I have come to realize that the Ferberizers/Type A's of this world have made that choice because it is the quickest solution to the problem. I can't do it. The crying bugs me. Not like it bugs my sister though. All last week she jumped up to grab the baby. Even Dave did it when E started to cry last night.

But back to the book. The baby has had, oh, about 70 minutes of sleep the entire day. In his little defense, he did sleep until 10, so he really isn't that awful. But the house is trashed and I can't get anything done.

KH: The book says to have an hour long routine before bed.
DT: Is the author on the internet? Can we find her? Maybe she can come over here every night for an hour to get this baby to sleep. An hour is ridiculous.

I pointed out that we had just carried the baby around for the last 7 1/2 hours so he wouldn't cry. Perhaps a one hour commitment isn't THAT much. Whatever.

I read off the list of suggested activities that might induce an infant to be lulled to sleep. The list is as long as the check points for a Jiffy Lube oil change.

We have tried several things on the list already, but to no avail. How about that soothing bath before bed? We did it in the dark, by candlelight, with soft music in the background. The kid splashed like Michael Phelps, dousing his parents and not becoming even remotely tired.

And then there is the lovely suggestion about singing lullabies or playing music. Not a problem as long as we hum the music or play instrumental. Otherwise he sings loudly. That's what he did at the funeral last week. Cute, but not good. And certainly not something that is going to get him to sleep.

DT: Give him to me, I'll rock him.

Two minutes later...

DT: I'm getting seasick.

I think that must be better than being in a rocking chair and getting car sick, right?

Fence post holes and how to get out of work on holidays

We have a little problem with Zinni. He has decided that he would rather be anywhere but here. By nature Labs are not very loyal dogs to begin with because they will go with any person who says "good dog" and who will give them steak. Or treats. Or scraps of year-old crackers on the floor that made their way behind appliances but somehow are still able to be retrieved by the retriever. Or poop in the yard that may even be his. He's a whore. There are no two ways about it.

So he has now become the wandering dog. A little rattle of the gate and he is out. So Derek has decided that a 6 foot gate on each side of the house will solve our little "free bird" problem. Somehow the high fence on the front is going to fix this problem.

Like anything done by Derek, this front fence is being done right and will be able to withstand Cat 5 hurricane force winds. I haven't brought it to his attention that the dog can take the 4 foot high surrounding fence without even a whimper. Whatever. So not my problem.

So yesterday we spent the lovely day sinking posts. OK, Derek spent the day sinking posts. I may have had a 2 hour nap on the couch, but I can neither confirm or deny that information. Anyway, he was ready to throw in the towel when I came crawling outside.

KH: Come on, I'll dig the hole for the last post.
DT: Are you sure?
KH: Of course, baby. I should contribute.

Two inches into the hole and I hit concrete. But I don't do concrete. I would love to be an asset in this project but I don't do concrete.

KH: OK, I'll hold the baby and you just get the concrete up. Then I'll dig the rest. I promise.

When I turned back around 10 minutes later, the hole was two feet deep and the 2X4 was already in it.

I'll see your podiatrist's note and raise you with a fence post. Touche.