Wednesday or maybe it was yesterday, while I was fluffing at Fuzz and trying to fire up a cigar butt that had fallen under the azalea at the back steps, another revelation zapped me so hard that I nearly dropped the poor dog into the ash can. I was struck with a huge case of empathetic connection with President Obama about his party losing power and all. I, too, can’t hang on to a blame thing, and I don’t have close to a nation to look after.
I can do a passable job finding the dollar amount of a defense-contract for providing “Sports Officiating Services on Charleston Air Force Base, and Charleston Naval Weapons Station, Charleston, South Carolina 644K”, but I cannot locate half my socks. I try to blame the Fuzz (for the socks not the 744 K,) but she refuses to accept guilt for either. I can find the person-by-person vote on the healthcare bills, but since 2008, I have not been able to find my nifty blue sock with the red polo pony embroidered at the top. I was digging, with a 2/3 yardstick, around Monday under the washer hoping to turn up the mother-lode of socks but drug only one out. I was fairly thrilled at the possibility of matching it up only to discover that I had tossed its mate in a dumpster in 2009. I am hanging onto this turquoise sock for it may make a dandy dust cloth for the when I lose the Swiffer.
I can find for how much Dick Cheney’s (the biggest crook next to Richard Nixon that ever held a public office) Halliburton-stock options rose while the company was sucking up no-bid government contracts and serving our troops in the Middle East (241 K to 8 million from 2004 to 2005), but while standing in the backyard cogitating on how to cut a piece of safety glass, I lost my Land’s End cashmere sweater. One minute I have it on; at the next cool breeze, it is gone. I did find it, though, hung up under the truck on the spare tire rack, haven’t a clue how it got there. If I hadn’t bent over to pick up a pair of reading glasses that I lost last summer, I would never have spied it. If I don’t lose it before I get it to the dry cleaners that streak of oil running across the shoulders ought to come out just fine.
Hey, I can find in no time information on taxes; for example, “the value of the tax breaks for homeownership (88 billion) exceeds total spending by the Department of Housing and Urban Development or the largest tax expenditure is the exclusion of employers’ contributions for their employees’ medical insurance premiums and medical care. Under this provision, contributions are excluded from the employee’s gross income, while the employer may deduct the cost as a business expense.” I can also tell you that our government “is seeking applications (Optional Form 612) from qualified U.S. Citizens to provide services as a Higher Education Advisor under a Personal Services Contract, as described in the attached solicitation. The place of performance for this position will be in Jakarta, Indonesia (85 to105 K per year)” which if my info is correct because it is earned overseas will be tax free. I can find you all sorts of stuff like this, but right now, this minute, I cannot find my It Takes a Village to Raise an Idiot, George W. Bush coffee cup. I know I used it; there’s about a cup missing from the coffee-pot; I know from the lingering flavor of Kopi Luwak that I had at least one cup of coffee this morning. I want another but can’t find my favorite cup, and the way things are going, I probably won’t find it until next month when I get the George Forman grill out from under the porch. Oh well, I’ll just go find my Sarah Palin for Secretary of Education cup and hope I can hang on to it long enough to get my daily dose of caffeine. Then, I am going to Martha’s website to find out how she is so organized, alla time.