Thank you for teaching me how to play Among Us. It’s not often I can hang out with a herd of 14- and 15-year-old boys (or want to, really).
Side note: What would a group of hormonal boys be called? A Testosterone of Teens? A Breakout of Boys? A (Growth) Spurt of Sons?
I can’t believe y’all were willing to have me in a game AND allow me in your Discord chat. I’m a mom; it’s not cool to be seen with me, I thought.
You were very welcoming and polite.
I’m sure it took some restraint to keep the convo clean, Gideon’s handle excluded. (Gideon, why?)
I realize I didn’t contribute much to the discussion. I was more interested in completing tasks than keeping my eye on character movements.
That one time I was the imposter was illuminating. I knew immediately I had given myself away when I popped in and out of a vent. It was an accident: I didn’t know what I was doing.
Gideon to me later: I can’t believe you killed me. Me: I didn’t kill you. That was Roscoe. Gideon: No! You killed me! Me: Are you sure? Dominic: You’re so ruthless that you don’t even remember the people you’ve killed.
Really, it was more ineptitude than ruthlessness.
Anyway, I know I’ll get better with practice. I hope you’ll let me play again.
With loads of appreciation,
Gideon and Dominic’s Mom
I couldn’t believe that people would vote for Trump the first time. But they did, and he won. And we all got on with it.
We’ve had four years of (fill in your preferred adjective).
Why is it so hard to believe that the same sentiment that drove the “silent majority” to the polls against Clinton in 2016 could be the same thing driving folks against Trump in 2020?
The election was not rigged. There hasn’t been widespread voter fraud.
Let’s look at the ways Americans had to vote:
Early voting. This does not seem to be in dispute.
In-person voting Nov. 3. This does not seem to be in dispute.
Absentee voting. This is apparently what’s in dispute. By Trump.
With absentee voting, people could mail them in or drop them in a ballot box. State laws vary, but the mailed-in ballots usually are counted as long as they are postmarked by Nov. 3. The deadline to drop in the ballot box in Georgia was 7 p.m. on Nov. 3. Again, states vary.
OK, stay with me here: Early voting and in-person voting are tabulated easily. Absentee voting takes longer because poll workers have to open and carefully check the ballots in a guard against — wait for it — fraud. Some states can open and count early. Some can’t.
I am a Georgia voter. I did not want to wait in line and be around people in a PANDEMIC. I requested, filled out and returned an absentee ballot via drop box by the Nov. 3 deadline.
Also, Trump himself has used absentee voting (as recently as August) and encouraged people to vote by mail. In Arizona. Where he thought he had plenty of support.
Just as the Democrats have not engineered a worldwide Coronavirus hoax, they have not perpetrated voter fraud. Please note that Georgia and Arizona (two states you are wound up about) both have Republican governors. And Georgia’s Secretary of State is a Republican too. One Trump supported.
Nevada’s is too. Are you alleging that they are in on this plot? Please.
And if Democrats were going to rig an election, wouldn’t they flip the Senate too? Come ON.
So stand down, outraged Trump fans. This is our democracy — the one you profess to love.
This is our process and it works, whether you like it or not.
I won’t be voting that day. Eddie and I chose the absentee route for two reasons:
I believe scientists that the Coronavirus is real and not a hoax perpetrated by the Democratic Party. (I mean, REALLY? A U.S. party is going to get the whole world in on a hoax? To what end?)
Hence, I want to limit potential exposure by not putting myself in close contact with people I don’t know.
I’ve had in-depth conversations with two long-time friends who support you. One was a rational, calm conversation where we agreed more than we disagreed. One was … not like that at all.
Here’s my response to some slogans you and your supporters use.
“Make America Great Again”
I thought America was pretty great pre-2016.
“Keep America Great”
Sorry, but America is not great at the moment. I am NOT better off than I was four years ago. I’m middle class and paying WAY more taxes. The industry in which I work has been negatively affected by your xenophobic policies. And as someone who travels, I can tell you that America is an international embarrassment.
“Life begins at conception”
Fantastic! So that means you’ll protect women endangered by a pregnancy, the children after they are born, old people who might get COVID-19, poor people, immigrants and people on death row. Right? Pro-life means that you support all lives.
“My body, my choice”
This one makes my head explode as it has been co-opted for the anti-mask movement. If you want personal autonomy, great. I’m all for that. But you can’t pick and choose. (See above.)
It should come as no surprise that I will not be voting for you. This is not to say I haven’t voted Republican in the past, and wouldn’t do so again if he/she were the right person.
But you are not the right person.
And the Republican Party is not the Republican Party of old. You know, the one that wanted a smaller government, fiscal responsibility, personal autonomy, etc.
I care about LBGTQIA rights, universal healthcare, eradicating systemic racism, reducing the deficit, upholding personal choice, maintaining separation of church and state — all those things that you are against.
We all knew Zeta was coming. We all knew there would be rain and high winds. We all knew the power would go out (because it goes out here if someone coughs too violently).
As a result, this family has a propane stove, a generator, hurricane lamps and many portable phone charging blocks.
So it was not a surprise to wake up yesterday at 6:13 a.m. with no power.
What was a surprise was that there were no updates from you on your website ALL DAY LONG.
There is no ERT.
I looked at Twitter, expecting to find more information.
Nope.
Your first tweet was at 10:05 a.m. — nearly four hours after 600K+ Georgians lost power.
And this ridiculously late attempt directed people to the outage map that had NO INFORMATION.
Much later, you tweeted this gem:
No shit, Sherlock.
I couldn’t resist replying.
Here’s the thing: I do not doubt your crews in the field and in the office are working very hard to restore power.
But in a crisis, you have to communicate to your stakeholders. This is PR 101. And THIS is why I’m dogging you.
Whoever is handling your Twitter account tweeted only 13 times in the space of 24 hours.
People are freaking out and you traffic in sporadic platitudes?
Come ON!
You can do better. You should do better. Millions of Georgians rely on you.
Next time, I hope your response team includes a dedicated crisis communicator.
Thanks for giving us one good day at the beach. We needed it after our annual trip turned into a nomadic search for reliable Wi-Fi in the age of ‘Rona ‘Rona.
(Thank you to Patrick/Petra, Tammy and Sharon for letting us park in your homes when the beach Wi-Fi would only allow us to connect my iPad and the Roku.)
Saturday became our hassle-free day. I only had to worry about keeping my foot elevated.
Dominic and Gideon only concerned themselves with how deep they wanted to dig a hole.
Eddie only bothered with taking photos of said hole.
Back story: For whatever reason, the boys love to dig a hole in the sand every time we go to the beach. I don’t know why.
But people act like they’ve never seen a hole. Not a single person passed without commenting.
Granted, it was quite an impressive dig.
Meanwhile, I was desperately trying to blend the tan stripes on my stomach that I got from tubing. (You know: When I got stuck outside of the tube and wiped off all the sunscreen trying to wriggle back into it.)
I was taking a nap when the family started badgering me to get under the umbrella. They started calling me names (“Whitey”) and reminding me of that one time.
It was hurtful.
Me to Eddie: Why can’t I be a bronzed goddess?
Eddie: You can be a vanilla goddess.
So I did retreat to shade, but not before checking the hole.
During the GREAT DIG, Eddie and I savored some adult beverages.
Thanks for running a marathon of “My Strange Addiction” last night. My strange addiction is “My Strange Addiction” (among other shows of its ilk). And it hasn’t been on in ages.
I thought it was a new season, but apparently I just stumbled across episodes I hadn’t seen. (Not sure how that is possible, but yay for me.)
Though there will be only a handful of you over the next couple of weeks, let me answer the inevitable questions now:
Yes, I broke my ankle.
No, it’s not a good story.
I wish I could say I broke it doing something exciting, like glacier hiking in Iceland, cliff diving in Bermuda or rappelling off the Empire State Building (if that could even be a thing).
But no.
I tripped on some uneven pavement and rolled my ankle.
I feel pretty, oh so pretty.
The ligament actually broke the tip off my fibula.
I broke the piggie who ate roast beef a couple of weeks ago. Same foot. My first two broken bones.
I guess if I’m going to damage myself, during a pandemic is as good a time as any. It’s not like I’m going anywhere.
This splint is my sexy new accessory for the next few weeks.
Dr. Peter said the bone will heal in about a month. I asked how long I should try to stay off my foot. He said:
I’m sure it took some restraint to keep the convo clean, Gideon’s handle excluded. (Gideon, why?)
But you know what? 
