I Love My Life!

A couple of weeks ago, Mr. Wright and I attended a Washington Policy Center dinner in Seattle. I'll save the "boring" political commentary that went along with this event for Citizen Gonzo, but here's the photo:



That's economist Stephen Moore, my Hottie McHotness self, that handsome devil we call Mr. Wright, and Ben Stein.

"Bueller...? Bueller...?"

Kind of Sexy, in that "I-Caught-a-Serial-Killer" Sort of Way

Somehow, Mr. Wright and I switched Palms today. To tell the truth, it's not a mysterious "somehow," but easily explained by a "someone" who raced out the door without actually looking at the device he plucked from the nightstand. Ahem.

I decided to make the best of it and swipe the drag queen video I promised you many days ago. Alas, the video is MIA.

It's not a total loss, though. Just look at the goodies I found on his MicroSD card:

Perhaps the most adorably goofy pic taken of Snugglebug, ever


Princess's graduation

The video of belly dancing on Earth Day: Watch as I lose my sense of direction and turn the wrong way; not once, but twice! I would be the peacock in the back. My beautiful 12 year-old daughter, Pepper, is in front of me. I made her choli (small cropped top worn in belly dance) the night before!


The Divine Miss Teri B and me, demonstrating the only thing our boobs turned out to be good for in a gay bar

In my search, I also located this dirty little secret:

Oh, I hear you. You're saying, "What's dirty about this picture? What's the secret?"

People, people... DO YOU EVEN KNOW WHO THAT IS?!

Okay, on the left is Nathan Gorton. He's the Executive Officer of Snohomish County-Camano Association of REALTORS. You're right. His presence is, at a glance, neither secretive nor dirty. Actually, you can just forget Nathan is in the picture, for dirty secret purposes.

On the right is Mr. Wright. Again, not overtly dirty or secret-y.

In the middle... In the middle is Congressman Dave Reichert. He's the author of Chasing the Devil: My Twenty-Year Quest to Capture the Green River Killer.

He's my pretend boyfriend.

Some women have a thing for Sean Connery. Not me. My older-man crushing is all targeted at the Congressman. He is my only celebrity crush; kind of sexy in that "I-caught-a-serial-killer" kind of way.

A couple of years ago, I stalked him at the Capitol and introduced myself. When I saw him a year later at the Seattle First Citizen's Award banquet, he pretended to remember me, and I let him.

So here's the dirty secret: Mr. Wright went to Washington, D.C. to meet with Senator Cantwell this past week, and while he was there, he stopped in to see my pretend boyfriend, even though I wasn't with him!

Isn't that sort of like cheating on me with my pretend boyfriend?

My Husband: Facebook Celebrity Stalker

People who know Mr. Wright will tell you, unequivocally, that he doesn’t do anything halfway. It is for that very reason that I went to such great lengths to hide the existence of Facebook from him. For some, Facebook is a social networking site where they log on, catch up with old friends and business contacts, log out and sleep peacefully through the night, knowing that they are a little better connected.

Not Mr. Wright. In less time than it takes to grow a Chia Pet, my husband has turned Facebook into an ongoing name-dropping opportunity of the highest order.

“One of my colleagues invited me to join Facebook,” he announced only a month ago. “I think I’m going to join. It will be a great way to promote my real estate listings, don’t you think? I think it’s a good idea.”


Perhaps you, like me, routinely hear sirens of the air-raid variety in your head when your loved one has a “good idea.” The only thing worse is a “great idea.”

To give some perspective, the last “great idea” my husband had involved a late night drive to a service station to blow up a queen-sized airbed, rather than inflate it with our foot-operated pump. The trip to the service station was uneventful, but after using the free compressor, the inflated bed wouldn’t fit inside our Suburban. Attempts to tether the airbed to the luggage rack failed, as the mattress was wider than the racks, and squishy to boot.

I won’t bore you with the minute details, but suffice it to say, I drove slowly through the dark back roads to our hotel with the airbed on top of the Suburban; and my husband, spread-eagle style, on top of the airbed.

Obviously, I’ve lived with my husband long enough to quickly calculate the most outrageous possible results of any good or great idea he cooks up. Somehow, I didn’t foresee the Facebook Celebrity Stalking of 2009.

“Someone wants me to join their mafia. Should I do it?” he asked. I checked my watch. He’d had a Facebook account for two hours. “No,” I responded. “You want to block those applications; otherwise you will spend a whole lot of unproductive time on Facebook. Plus, I, um… I think you can catch a bad case of spam from those things. And possibly gonorrhea.”

Okay, I lied. Seriously, though, I know how competitive Mr. Wright is, and the last thing I wanted him to spend hours each day assessing was whether he had more Pieces of Flair on his profile than his friends.

I thought I’d set pretty good boundaries: Use Facebook for networking only. Don’t say anything on Facebook that you wouldn’t say to your client or your mother. Don’t waste time playing games. Don’t try to make a career out of Facebook. Unfortunately, I forgot the all-important, golden rule of Facebook, as it applies to Mr. Wright: Do not spend hours searching Facebook for celebrities that might add you as a friend.

“Michael W. Smith added me as a Facebook friend!” My husband was elated when the contemporary Christian music legend accepted his friend request. Sadly, it was just the beginning. Mr. Wright, after a month of Facebook use, has over 750 “friends,” and an embarrassing number of them are celebrities. Our dinner conversations usually start with something like, “I was talking to Eddie Van Halen today… we’re Facebook friends, you know…”



Today, he came home and boasted, “Belinda Carlisle, Heather Locklear and Julianne Moore became my Facebook friends today!” He doesn’t even like Julianne Moore.

I'd better get a national syndication deal, so he'll add me to his list of friends