Adoption and Poilitics Before I’ve Had My Coffee

Disclaimer: This is a humor piece, it is not meant to influence or inform, only to be amusing. Please do not use my comments section to post actual facts. You’ll just piss me off. Thanks.

I woke up way too early this morning. My life in the last few weeks has included falling way too hard for the media coverage of the political events in Iowa (I’m right next door) and adoption activism. No wonder these things got mixed up in my mind being up at this ungodly hour.

I began to think about the current crop of GOP candidates in terms of adoption, specifically what role they would fulfill if they were part of the adoption community….

(insert soft focus and the dream music from any 1970’s sitcom here)

Mitt Romney-Birth father, adopter, envies adoptees, duh, he’s Mormon.

Michelle Bachman-Adopter, with a blog and a website, working on a book, will tell you how important she is to the adoption community, known to troll adult adoptees reminding them how grateful they should be while misquoting Margaret Mead, who she thinks wrote a baby book.

John Huntsman-Adoptee, but nobody has noticed.

Newt Gingrich-Late Discovery Adoptee, claims to be grateful, but is troubled by sexually charged homicidal fantasies involving his adoptive mother.

Sarah Palin-Adoptee that wants to adopt, already has really bad ass names picked out, but has been turned down by every agency in the country. She can see Russian babies from her house.

Ron Paul-Adoptee, nobody listens to him, compensates by overachieving, but just can’t please his adoptoraptors by becoming president, destined to fail. Also wonders if his children are actually his. He still truly believes he came from the hospital.

Rick Santorum-definitely not a birth father. Google it.

Herman Cain-Adoptee, look at the group picture.

Rick Perrry-Sperm donor, but underutilized, has probably not fathered any children, intelligence means more to potential buyers than good hair.

(Que end-of-dream-sequence music)

Inspirational Clusterfuck

Life is an inspirational clusterfuck. Sometimes the things, the situations, the people, that inspire us most are the most fucked up.  Perfection has no place in moving us through life. Perceived perfection is pretty, comfortable, and safe, but it doesn’t inspire.

Perfection only exists in the minds of the deluded. It’s all really a clusterfuck.  If you recognize this, it gives you perspective, but no advantage.  You’re going to walk right into it. You can do nothing else.

After spending some time in the bubble of perceived perfection, where we must all go sometimes to maintain our sanity, the absolute enormity of the clusterfuck can be overwhelming.  It can take your voice, your heart, your whole self. It can be like adjusting to altitude. It incapacitates until you adjust, you just can’t get your feet under yourself.

Sometimes you find your bearings in time, sometimes you don’t.  If you don’t find your feet in time, you can only hope the nature of this clusterfuck will bring you back around.  If all isn’t still, there’s hope.