When pants won't work, try a skirt

Sneaky John McCain (and huge political machine of craziness backing him) - look what you did. Sarah Palin, governor of Alaska - how very chess-like strategy of you.

Now things are getting interesting.
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Have they not read 'Rants in My Pants?"

There has been yet another tropical storm/hurricane/lots of rain episode and still not a one named after me. Clearly this is a gross oversite by the National Weather Service which must be remedied. (After all, who can you think of that is more hurricane-ish than me?)

Unlike my Jenny, Amy, Jessica, Michelle, Stephanie, and Erin generational name counterparts - I haven't had my name on so much as a pencil. (Jenny even got her own song and phone number - which I bet you've actually tried calling at least once.) Even the stuff that was supposed to have my name on it was usually misspelled - (did I spell that right?) And so, National Weather Service storm namer guy, I am employing a technique of persuasion that, as the mother of three, I hear with sickening regularity - NOT FAIR.

Because, even though life isn't fair, the naming of hurricanes should be, so get the word out people: Hurricane Endre '08 - because it's less messy than the other campaigns happening this fall.
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Put on your party pants

Some suggestions to improve the Democratic Convention: (pay attention Republicans because you're up next)...

1. Less talk of "political red meat" - it makes me want a cheeseburger, and if I gain weight because of your speeches, I'm sure as heck not going to vote for you.

2. Less blue - I don't know if you noticed, but not all the speakers, (or attendees), look good in blue, and it's a shame that they are obligated to look less than their best just because they hate George Bush. It seems like something the Democrats would be against - leaving all the other colors out like that. I say, enough of this "courage to take on big business" nonsense - give me a Democrat with the courage to wear red. Now that's someone who will really stick it to The Man.

3. Less finger pointing - I mean literally. Stop pointing at us. We know who you're talking to. We know you want us to believe you - and we don't. So please, do something else with your hands while you're speaking. Here are some suggestions - salute (it will make you look more patriotic), wave one of those little flags my kids get from...hey where do they get those little flags (?) (it will make you look more patriotic), wave them in the air like you just don't care (I don't think it will make you look more patriotic, but it will certainly draw attention, and I'm assuming that's what you want anyway).

4. Less men talking about the "womens' vote" - Boys - you know a lot of stuff, but what's going on in my head ain't one of them. Stop telling me what issues are important to me. I can be concerned about whatever I want, like "why would I vote for a guy that wore a bolo tie with a 3 button suit to address a national audience?" (I don't care if you are from Montana - put on a tie dude.) Anyway, Mr.Political Know It All Guy - you aren't the boss of me.

5. No more MTV style picture montages to music by The Kinks, Lenny Kravitz, and Tom Petty making Hillary Clinton look like the gracious loser and champion of women everywhere, so that the people who wanted to vote for her wouldn't make a big bru-ha-ha (I made up my own spelling there) and mess up the convention by trying to vote for her anyway. By the way, even though I do not like Hillary Clinton and would rather move to Canada than vote for her, I don't think those poor losers should be discouraged from voting for her. Voting for the person that you think would do the best job is not "throwing away your vote" simply because that person is not going to win. Democracy was never about winning with the majority at the loss of your own opinion, it is about standing up and saying what you think. And if you think that the loser is the best choice, then voter - be a big loser. Do it for democracy, do it for your conscience, but most importantly, do it for the Republicans (because that is the only way they are going to win in November).

6. Lastly Democrats - let's stop using the word "party" so loosely. It implies a good time. From what I saw, your "party" turned out to be pretty darn boring (and you'd hate for W to have an excuse to sic (again with the invented spelling) the FCC on you for being a liar liar pants on fire. )

Hope these suggestions help you bring your "A" game next time Dems. - and just in case I'm always here to help.
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No pants today little missy

Sentimental Rant...

I went shopping for "first day of school" clothes with my kids today. Did we find anything? No we did not, but this blog is not about them, so that is the last you'll hear of them - I just needed a good starting sentence. This little outing, not unlike the one Mary Poppins took with Jane and Michael Banks when... oh no - I mean the one those little rat kids took with their dad where they caused a run on the bank and the police came and everything around them was thrown into chaos - yes that's the one - it got me thinking about the first day of school and how it seems so much more stressful dressing someone for their first day of school than it was actually going to the first day of school.

I was not allowed to wear pants to the first day of school. I think my parents hoped that my good grooming would divert the teacher's attention into overlooking the fact that I was a slightly bossy know-it-all who did not like to raise her hand and loved a good "death drop" from the monkey bars, dress or no.

My first day of kindergarten I wore a navy blue dress, knee socks (I'm picturing them in red)and Buster Brown shoes. I'm not sure if I liked the dress or not - quite frankly I should've been more concerned with the space between my two front teeth (seriously, you could've driven a semi through that thing) - but it never bothered me. I guess I figured that I was sufficiently armed with my Big Chief writing tablet (which I'm sure they no longer make, for obvious reasons, but I'd still like to have one), and various other sundry supplies and I was ready to learn... whatever it was I was going to learn.

The first day of going to school after we moved to California I wore jeans - I think my parents felt sorry for me and so let me out of the dress thing. They were acid washed - don't pretend like you didn't have any- and had , like, graffiti writing up one leg. Hot. Looking back I think I should've gone with a pair that had a zipper and bow on the back of the ankle - but those were hard to peg so...Luckily my mom had just permed my (short) hair and I still had the aforementioned space in between my teeth. Again, hot. I didn't even know enough to be scared. My school in Montana had 250 kids k-8, my school in California : 1800 kids 7-8th. By the end of the day, I sat down in the quad and cried right on my acid washed jeans. The next day I begged my parents to let me stay home, but they didn't, and it got better. And better. And better. And then it was really good...and I was ready to learn...whatever I was going to learn.

The first day of my Junior year (oddly, I don't remember what I wore when I was a Senior)- I wore a light blue kiltish thing with a red turtle neck. Sadly, I finished the look with cream tights and brown shoes of questionable styling. (Oh, 1992 - where have you gone?) There is a picture of me standing in front of my mom's car eating an apple - she was dropping me off at my boyfriend's house so that I could ride to school with him (and my sister, and his brother, and anyone else we could fit in the car probably) and even though I didn't have a Big Chief tablet, I still look like I am ready for...whatever I was going to learn, and I still didn't know enough to even worry.

So it comes down to this, after 13 first days of school and even though I said I wouldn't mention them again - I wish this for my little leaders of the Jane and Michael Banks fan club - I hope my kids never know enough to be scared and are always ready for... whatever they are going to learn. I'm sure I would be if only I could still fit into those tight ankle zipper jeans.
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Stretchy Pants

Who here does yoga - (yeah, I know "practices" yoga)? Of those of us who just raised our hands, who attends an actual yoga class - okay I know at least I know what I'm talking about then -

So... in a yoga class you have all your classic "Breakfast Club" characters. You have your perky and perfect Molly Ringwalds (their outfits match their mats), your muscle bound Emilio Estevezes (huh?) - (to be fair they are a bit older and pudgier than Emilio, and they are not very stretchy) , a lot of your strange and... well let's just go with strange Ally Sheedys. I'm assuming that there are smart and nerdy ones too - like that kid that was in every single John Hughes movie, but we don't get to talk, so they are a mystery to me. Anyway, I think that I just may be the Judd Nelson of the 24 Hr Fitness Friday late afternoon yoga class.

While my instructor is concentrating on "inhaling joy and exhaling gratitude" (her exact words) - I am concerned with inhaling the odd mixture of smells coming from the man next to me. While the Molly Ringwalds and especially the Ally Sheedys are allowing their minds to be "silent and present" my mind is extremely concerned that there seem to be an awful lot of times when my bum is stuck up in the air, and I am a bit more than a bit sweaty, because I just came from my cycling class and I think I might have bum sweat marks on my stretchy yoga pants and I'm hoping the person behind me is not looking at my sweaty stretchy yoga bum.

But the pinnacle of my shame came, when, at the end of class the instructor told us to "have a little fun on our mats before we worked toward 'bird of paradise' " - which I can only assume is not an actual bird - and I looked around and everyone was doing, like, free form yoga- like they actually knew what they were supposed to do, (including the pregnant girl next to me,) and they were focused on the whole joy/gratitude thing. Well ,what would you have done? I went with "fake it". However, there are some things you just can't fake, and at the top of this list is: flexibility. So I started twisting and writhing right there on my mat until I was laying on my belly (sort of ) with one knee underneath me and up by my chin, and my other leg extended all the way back behind me. (Don't ask me to replicate it.)

Then, in true Judd Nelson style, I started laughing - not quietly - because all I can picture is... well, me in this ridiculous position obviously (which by the way, only serves to emphasize the bum sweat thing). Let me tell you - yogies might be flexible, but they are not funny -
and so I'm pretty sure one more class like that and I will be serving Saturday detention in the Daycare Center ... maybe I should wear a bandana around my knee.
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His pants have been around

Much has been made about the recent John Edwards hoopla. We here at Rants in my Pants (and when I say "we" I do mean "I") choose to believe that Mr. Edwards was simply misinformed on pants wearing etiquette. We regret that we did not make these rules clear earlier as it would've freed up the media to report on more important stories (I for one need a bit more Brangelina as of late).

The general rule of thumb is : Keep your pants on. If you are unsure whether or not this rule applies to your given situation here are a few simple tests. Ask the woman with whom you are eating lunch "Are you my wife?", if "yes", you are free to do whatever you'd like with your pants as long as you are not in public - the rule always applies there. If "no" - leave your pants on . Follow up with questions such as: "Have you seen my wife?", "Do you know how I can contact my wife?", or "Why am I having lunch with you if you aren't my wife?".

If you cannot determine whether the aforementioned woman is your wife- keep your pants on, and leave the premises immediately. Proceed to a safe location, your home for example. If there is a woman there who is making sure your children are cared for, nutured, well fed (in theory),and is sacrificing herself to support your ________ career (add specific field of employment here) you may have found your wife. If she looks like the woman in the pictures on the wall - you can safely assume that she is your wife and it is now safe to remove your pants. (Unless she's the nanny - which is a far more complex and dangerous set of rules and a different blog all together.)

You're welcome in advance. Hope this clears things up.
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Their pants move really fast...

Olympic rant...

Super Awesome Track and Field Commentator: "Hey American guy taking a victory lap with the flag on your shoulders - you thought you won a bronze medal, but you didn't because you can't run in a straight line (or a curved line in this case) - how do you feel about that?"

Really Fast Runner Guy - "I'm relieved because I've heard those things are really heavy to carry around, and can cause neck problems. I just want to give the credit to God for making it possible."

ps - the medal being too heavy to carry around was actually my husband's joke... I added the God part.
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Who has stinky pants?...

Men - if you are getting on a plane, please leave the cologne your lady friend gave you for Christmas at home - yuck.
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Aloha to no pants

Dear State of Hawaii-
Thank you so much for having the ocean and sun all ready for my vacation. I think it must have been a lot of work. Also, thank you for keeping Jaws in his kennel while I was here - I'm sure he's lovely, but not everyone is an animal lover.

Also, I was wondering where all the chubby girls are? Do you make them declare themselves at the agriculture checkpoint, and quarantine them until they've done enough squats to tone up their bums? Do you keep the ugly people there too, because I didn't see any at all while I was here. Even your boys are pretty.

Anyway, I hope to come back soon - there is no shave ice where I live, and if there was, I would have to share it with my kids, and they can eat a lot.


ps- In case you do not recognize "maloha" it is hello, good bye and thank you all in one. It's a time saver really and I know how much you appreciate a good time saver.

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Move your pants rudey...

Angry Rant...
If you are a young man (or a pack of young men) - presumably healthy, presumably unimpaired by general rudeness - and you are sitting down waiting for the fancy seater guy at the restaurant to seat you for your fancy brunch, and you see my sister walk in with her baby and she is also waiting for her fancy brunch and there is no where for her to sit or set her baby... GET UP. GIVE UP YOUR SEAT. USE THE BODY OF WHICH YOU ARE, BY YOUR CONSTANT PREENING IN THE WINDOW BESIDE YOU, SO PROUD, FOR STANDING UP ON YOUR YOUNG MAN LEGS. Please do not assume that we will smile and say "oh, isn't that cute - male bonding". We will not - we want a little effort from you, we want you to be a credit to your mother who is trying to teach you manners everyday of your life, we want to sit our butts down - and we don't want you to call us "m'am" when you do it.
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What else is in my pants you ask?...

I went boogie boarding in Kauai yesterday and I got washed up on the shore because I have no idea how to get off the stupid thing before it vomits me onto the beach all exposed and not at all like those super models in the swimsuit catalogs and am left rolling around on the beautiful but abrasive shore and even the Pacific Ocean can't dislodge a wave induced wedgie worth of sand - yikes!
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