Current mood:	anxious
Current music:	Jay-Z

Baby Dykes and Luxury/Budget Motels
I get this phone call from my daughter's day care center saying they'd like to talk with me about Elise. I'm thinkin', all right, who has the little bugger bitten this time. So we make the appointment, and I go inside, and there is my daughter in the office with another little girl and her mother.

Well, there weren't any visible marks at least...

So I sit down, and the other mother is sitting there, near tears and she tells me our daughters have been kissing each other on the mouth, and how could the center not call her, and that she discovered them kissing in the corner when she came to pick her daughter up. Then she went on to say how she was from a very religious family and that she was concerned with this behavior.

Just so your up to speed, my daughter is all of 18 months old. And hers is all of 17 months.

So at this point I'm thinkin'..what the F#$%? Is this lady kidding me? And it didn't help that I was feeling like a real smart ass yesterday.

But anyhow, this lady starts tearing up, looking towards me for empathy, and tells me her daughter has been kissing a lot of girls on the mouth and that she's worried she might be gay.

So I say (sympathetic person that I am) "Well, your daughter might be Gay, but I think Elise is just experimenting..."

Daycare lady chokes back laughter.

Then; "Does she go for the blue crayon instead of the pink one?"

Daycare lady almost in tears

The mother starts thinking seriously about what I've just said, then you can see her expression change as she realizes I'm screwing with her. So my daughter picks this opportune moment to try and snog her daughter again...and soon the babies are goin' at it in the corner.

And being the sensitve person I am I say "Elise, please don't kiss your girlfriend in front of her Mommy, it upsets her."

Daycare lady loses it.

The mother gets up and claims she isn't bringing her daughter back. (Ours is the best daycare in town mind you, two governors awards in a row..they have their own chef and it's a year waiting list to get into.) And she tells me I'm going to Hell, my daughter is going to Hell, and she'll pray for us anyway.

He He.

Then she gets up, goes out the door and drives away in her classic cadillac with the bumper sticker on the back that says "Seek Salvation". Tacky. I hate bumper stickers on luxury cars.

So I hug my daughter, and tell her she needs to find someone more in line with our political values. And she points to the TV in the daycare office and proclaims "Teletubbies!"

I mean really people. How can anyone be worried about their child's sexuality at 18 months? At 18 months your still trying to keep them from sticking their heads in the toilet. Mine still occassionally runs into our glass door. I can't believe someone would waste time tihinking about this.

Well, since my hubby says I've been "Profoundly Irreverent" lately.

Rant #1 - A good friend of ours tried to convince my husband to invest in what he called a "Luxury Budget Motel". O.K. Now is it just me or is "Luxury" and "Budget" both used to describe the same place an oxymoron. And some oxymorons are all right, like deafening silence...but Luxury Budget is just plain impossible. I mean what do they mean anway? You pay luxury prices and we give you budget service? Or there's a pay toilet in the room, but we put a chocolate on your pillow?

Rant #2 - Dale Earnhardt was a famous race care driver here in the states who was killed (surprise, surprise) in a racing accident. And my rant today is about those memorials on the backs of every other freakin' car in Delaware. Before I begin, I'll say I'm sorry the man died. I'm sure he was a good person, etc...etc.. but why does everyone down here have to have fancy-lettered memorials on the backs of their windshields proclaiming his death a national tragedy. What? Columbia = National Tragedy. 9-11 = National Tragedy. Dr. King being shot =National tragedy. But Dale Earnhardt dying in a car crash because he drove a car 200 miles an hour around a narrow track = Darwinism at work.

Wow, this journal is just like therapy.