Will all the Baby Baracks please stand up? Please stand up.

After reading this article in The New York Times I can't help but even be more fascinated by names and why and how parents make the decisions that they do.

Maybe just a running joke between friends, but Khadijah-Blu is a favorite name. Not that Khadijah, wife of Mohamed is anything to laugh about (thanks to RoomBabi for discovering the essence of this name wonder), but the thought of a four year old learning to write and spell or even pronounce her name just makes me laugh. Little Khadijah-Blu has more letters in her first name than my first AND last name, and it wasn't easy to learn for me. Maybe I was just slow.

I am all for naming babies after significant figures in life, whether famous or personally significant (I was in fact named after my great-grandmother, who did NOT make burgers as good as White Castle but was a lovely woman my dad has informed me). But to make a significant name cutesy by adding a mispelled color just doesn't seem quite as dignified. To each their own I guess.

Growing up, I used to volunteer at a pre-school attached to a housing project after school. I would go each week and read to the little three and four year olds. Though I think of the children often (a four year old named Asia, I assure you is famous somewhere...that kid had brains and personality), I am always particuarly reminded of little Nyquil Williams. I just googled Nyquil (or Willie as the teachers affectionatly called him) to see what he was up to (he might be a teenager by now) only to find that there is ANOTHER Nyquil Williams out there--actually a Synepherine Nyquil Williams out in the world. I hope my Nyquil is doing well, even if he has to explain his name to everyone he runs into. I wonder what his mother was thinking. Maybe it is a significant name...maybe Nyquil helped her sleep before she gave birth? Either way, he will have some explaining to do when he applies for jobs, that is for sure. But I guess Cupcake Brown was a success, so here is hoping for Nyquil.

Holy Election!

Can you even believe it? I keep wanting to pinch myself (I wish it wouldn't hurt or leave a mark). I am still trying to catch up on sleep.

After playing hostess to over 30 on Election Night, my body was exhausted, but I didn't want to fall asleep for fear that I was dreaming and would awake to a nightmare, or lawsuits or something even worse. My normally cheesy smiles in posed pictures were huge and I was just thrilled to be an American and thrilled to host a party that so many of my friends were able to attend.

Every generation has one of those events. I was getting to the point that it sadly may have been September 11th for mine (I mean I remember even what I was wearing in Mr. Liddy's third block Econ class). But for it to be a day of hope and excitement and something that I just didn't want to end was fantastic and something that will not leave my mind.

We had a full election night themed menu. My little fundraiser was a fantastic sous chef and really helped out as I am a girl with big ideas but not much talent in terms of cooking. Here was our menu:

Primaries
Vegetables and Dip….for our Green Party Friends
Pit bulls and Lipstick (mini hotdogs and ketchup)…..cause who doesn’t love hockey moms?
Taco Maco Southwest Dip….for John McCain’s Arizona roots

Election night
Sloppy Joes (vegetarian)...for our sometimes reckless but nonetheless charming Democratic VP Candidate Joe Biden
Deep Dish Chicago Style Pizza….for Barack Obama’s Chicago roots

The Results
Chocolate Moose….for our favorite moose-hunting VP Candidate Sarah Palin
Red, White and Blue Berry Cake Extravaganza….cause we’re all more patriotic when eating dessert
Donkey Tails and Elephant Tail Cookies….cause I have to at least pretend to be bipartisan

Acceptance Speech
Blueberry and Cranberry Soda
Red wine, White wine, Blue Moon Beer
Obama Slama (blueberry soda and blueberry vodka)
McCain Coffee (coffee with Baileys and a candy cane)

Champagne to Celebrate!

For me, it was unbelievable for many reasons, besides of course the obvious historical significance. For one, a night that is normally so important to me (this was my second biannual party), it was so nice to celebrate with so many friends. And so many different friends. Friends you wouldn't normally expect to care, did in this election. Some might have said we cared too much. I beg to differ. Also, like it was no big deal at all, my friends and I started counting down until 11 PM when it would become official. It was the happiest new year celebration I can remember. And no one threw up or got in a fight.

So I know we are all saying it, and it is cliched and the whole kit and caboodle, but I am not only proud to be an American, but proud to have the friends I have and be part of a generation that changed history.

Shemini Shemini to all!

Because this is only the second ever post I have written, despite my friend's dismay, I guess it is officially time to join the blog bandwagon, so giddy up!

After my San Francisco adventure visiting the girls, I am trying unsuccessfully to kick jet lag's ass. As someone who loves a nap, it is nearly impossible for me to have a half day (Happy Shemini Atzeret everyone...right, I'm not too sure either), and not canoodle with my couch.

As a young teen, I remember trying to dominate jet lag after a trip to Hawaii, only to watch the sunrise with Al Roker each morning (and this was Al Roker pre-gastric bypass, so he was a little bit less jolly, though still adorabley adorable). This happened for three damn weeks straight. I started to get nervous. My not Jewish but oh so Jewish mother also got worried. So we headed to my pediatrician (think Jesus the Jewish Doctor with long hair and all...too bad is stethescope was not a staff, but I digress), only to find out that good old Dr. Jesus T. Jewish Doctor had hired a new "associate" to share his practice. The wench made my mom leave the room and insisted on asking me THE most intense and perverse questions a fourteen year old still very much in her awkward stage could handle. She then also tried to convince me to that I had Heptatitis (yes the sexually transmitted kind...I know suburban Jewish kids have a reputation for being sex-fiens but really...have you seen the pictures of me).

Also, isn't "no I have not touched male genitalia" enough of an answer that she did not need to ask me if I had ever seen it before. Last time I checked you couldn't catch the Hep from seeing balls. But I guess there is a chance that only taking one science class in college prevented me from ever learning that.

So maybe/hopefully it will be the nightmares of having to face such questions as a gal in her mid-twenties who doesn't hang out with nearly enough men to answer these questions proudly that may let me finally end this death sentence known as the jet.