My President is black | His dog is, too

Two things that I love: the President and dogs. All animals really, but especially dogs. So when I woke up this morning and saw pictures of these two things together, interacting in the SAME SPACE, touching each other.... well I almost died from the cuteness.

Meet the First Family's new dog. His name is Bo and he's a Portuguese water dog. And would you look at that face! And those little white paws!

I'm sure Michelle will make the girls walk him and pick up after him, as they should.

A man and his dog. Does it get much better than this?

State of the unconscious

So I've mentioned before that I have very vivid, very strange dreams. Sometimes they make sense, and sometimes they don't. Sometimes the dreams have a theme and central plot line and play out like a movie, and other times it's just a bunch of random scenes stitched together by my wild subconscious. On occasion, I dream about famous people. And most recently, I've been dreaming about Barack Obama. A lot. Like more than a normal person should dream about their president.

I don't know where this all came from, but ever since the election, I've had probably about 2-4 dreams per month about him. And you know what? Even in my dreams, he's a perfect gentleman. He says please and thank you, opens doors, and lets women go first. I find that man so respectful, so genuine and honest, that in the first dream I ever had about him, he made it very clear that he was married and that nothing could ever happen between us. And that theme has pretty much continued throughout the dreams, making every one of them PG-rated. (Lame, I know.) In last night's dream, we were on a weekend trip for which he needed a date, and naturally he chose me. We were staying a huge house in the mountains where he was giving a speech. We stepped out onto the deck, his right hand waving to the crowd, his left hand on my back, guiding me forward. Amidst the cheering crowd, he leaned in and said, "You look lovely." And the only thing going through my mind was, "Too bad he's married."

WHAT?! Who dreams up stuff like that?! Only me. Only in my subconscious would I be on a weekend getaway with the President of the United States and repeatedly remind myself of his moral character and that he would never be unfaithful to his wife. That either makes me the hugest Obama supporter ever, or my mind is trying to tell me never to have an affair with the President. Odd that this wasn't ever a problem before...


....Actually, that makes perfect sense.

WOOHOO!!!

I'd like to congratulate our new president-elect, Barack Obama. He is 47 years old and the first-ever African American president.

Folks, tonight we made history. I can't describe how proud I am to be an American at this very moment.

To everyone who voted today, YOU ROCK!!

It's not OK to wear a speedo. Unless you're European. Or my dad... wait, that's not OK, either...

I like men. I enjoy them very much, actually. Especially the more scruffy-looking ones. Finals time in law school was always my favorite people-watching time of year because for 3 weeks, no one cut their hair or shaved. So it goes without saying that I don't exactly prefer the pretty boys. You know, the ones that get manicures and and shave their chests. But that doesn't mean I'm attracted only to bums and surfers; there is definitely something sexy about a man in a suit.

There are, however, a few qualities about the way certain put-together men present themselves that I really dislike. Like refusal to wear flip-flops. What is that about? Do they think it's un-manly to expose their feet? Flip-flops are not just for chicks, which may be the reason Old Navy and American Eagle have an entire wall dedicated to men's summer footwear. To the dudes who think it's girly to wear thongs: get over yourselves. (Unless you're wearing actual thong underwear, in which case I should probably direct you to the women's shoe department.)

It also really bothers me when men don't wear belts with shirts tucked into their pants. My eye immediately goes to their waistline and I get an irresistible urge to grab them and take them to the nearest Macy's and introduce them to their new favorite leather accessory. This may be the reason I don't like suspenders--not because they look funny, they don't at all; I actually think they make a man in a suit look distinguished--but because if you're wearing suspenders, you're not wearing a belt.

And please. For the love of all things holy, STOP WITH THE THUG WEAR. It's not 1997 anymore. Timberland boots should be worn only on construction sites and by loggers in northern Oregon. Additionally, please pull your pants up. Because our president said so.