Snakes and Snails and....well, you know.

Everyone is nosey these days.

No one is safe from voyeurism.

No one.

Not even the unborn.

It is bad enough that on every corner of the city I live in there are these dang cameras. They call them photo radars...to catch those dreaded red light runners...doing no good for speeders or other violaters. I'm sure there are other cameras for that, so that our highly skilled officers can sit a little longer at the QT enjoying their powdered donuts.

The other cameras I am referring to are what you see when you are watching the news and they pan over to some stationary view from high above a freeway...there you have it...a bird's eye view of whether or not traffic is moving or frozen, or maybe if OJ is fleeing in the Bronco.

Can I just admit that it drives me nuts how many bloody times a day I am captured on video.

Dude...I can't even drive through for a Frosty without it being on closed circuit television.

And when is someone going to learn to use these powers for good and not evil. (It's not like the cameras are there to make sure we get all of the fries we ordered. You always get the shaft in the drive through.)

By evil, I mean slapping a ticket on a poor unsuspecting maid. A mom of SEVEN going on eight children...so you know that she is a careful driver. You know that she is diligent about keeping close to the speed limit, not driving like a crazy person, and obeying the rules of the road. She is, after all, responsible for chauffering around so many little helpless lives.

So why is it, that in a mere moment of "I don't think I can stop in time, I'd better go for it" the blazing camera lights strike? Why is it that I had to be driving that route that day? Why is it that of course as soon as the flash goes off the maid admits to the friend on the phone that she thinks she just got a ticket. Why is it that I had to be on the phone? UGH! (All captured on film, by the way.)

Of course, just when you think you got away with it too, the ticket arrives via the good old postman. (Or badly coiffed postwoman...as is our case.) There are not one, but FOUR photos. FOUR! Oh, and it gets better, there is also a link where you can watch the offense online in real time on their stupid cameras, in case the photos were not enough.

Jerks.

Yep, big brother is watching. Big brother has his cameras placed in such a way that not even an unsuspecting, dear, sweet, innocent maid (wink) can avoid them entirely.

But hear this, I am one to seek counsel. I am one to listen to the masses. In fact, if I didn't hate to be photographed, I might even consider running for office. I am the one who asked the very peers that I respect so well what to do about this little situation.

You can only guess what I heard a lot of.

Yep.

"You can just ignore that ticket. The city has so many offenders that they can't keep up with it. In fact, if you didn't receive it certified mail, well, then how can they prove you got it?"

Sounded logical to me.

So the maid just kept on fluffing pillows as usual.

I mean after all, it was a $214.00 ticket. If it went away, chances are it would, that money would be at least a tank of gas, right?

Well a wise Proverbial man once uttered..."A companion of fools suffers harm."

Hence, no public office for me. Apparently my lobbyists are fools. Apparently, I cannot depend on those who elected me to the office of ticket trasher. And it is dually noted that I am not going to be saving the $214.00.

Why, you ask?

Oh, let me tell you. :)

Being that I am the knocked up maid, I am often tired. My teenager was away at camp and so the family was a little more hectic than usual. I hadn't been able to sleep much, and of course when the mouse is away, the Maid worries. So I was extra tired.

Wednesday rolled around and I conjured up a little scheme. My dear Butler would take the tribe of our hillbilly Hyatt to church...and I would get a break. No kids for almost 3 hours. Did you hear the pin drop? Silence...for THREE hours.

I could sleep, I could pee in peace, I could do whatever I wanted...for THREE hours.

So just as the troops headed out, the doorbell rang. No doubt someone forgot a baby bottle, or diapers or something important for church, like a Bible. Yep...I ignored it for a minute thinking that they would use their key. They dinged and donged again...apparently a child had been sent to the door, sans key.

I grudgingly got up...waddled to the front door and without a keyhole peek, swung - it - open.

He: "Becky?
Me: "Yes."
He: "I have a photo radar ticket for you."
Me: (Pseudo disbelief and half-waiting to be arrested) "A photo radar ticket? I had no idea." (Liar - maybe I'm cut out for public office after all.)
He: "Sorry about that, bad end to the day, huh?"
Me: "Oh, well...no problem."

Door shuts. I think I even thanked him. ??

Do you realize how sneaky these people are?

Do you realize that this guy stood there totally dressed in denim and a t-shirt looking to be some guy that actually might have known me and his appearance totally didn't send a red flag?

Do you realize that had Tommy Lee Jones been decked out in detective garb, Fugitive style, on my front porch that I may have thought faster and said, "No, I don't know any Becky."

Dang Dept of Transportation.

They are getting smart. In fact, they may have been taking lessons from Sherrif Joe...had I been an illegal alien, I'm pretty sure I would have taken Joe's bait too.

Yep, I have been made a fool of. I have been served with the dang photo radar ticket, in person.

Worse than that, the guy who served me was nice. He even apologized. File this one under the category of "No one to be mad at but myself." Sigh.

My $214.00 ticket will now cost me an additional $35.00 in personal service fees.

And where are my lobbyists now? Where are those who told me to ignore it? Where? I want to know. Because I am feeling a little like a trapped Bill Clinton right now...

"I did not run through that light ... no sir"

Oh wait, define "Red light?"

Busted, man.

Completely busted.

I want you to know that as my first order of business as your elected Maid, I intend to abolish all security cameras not attached to a bank or in a prison somewhere.

I should be able to run the light on my way to get a frosty without being captured on video.

And you know who else deserves exemption?

The unborn.

My poor unborn child was completely violated this week via ultrasound.

It wasn't enough that we saw the alien head and the huge cheekbones, oh, and the big nose. Yep...chipmunk face was fine. We had to move on to the organs...scoping them out one by one. And even after we had determined that the child was healthy...and it declared it had had enough...(translation: squirming all over and curling legs to avoid crotch shot)...Big brother would not stop. (Of course, I hired Big brother to come to my home and do this...and he, being good at what he does would not leave until we could tell which public restroom video camera this child would someday be captured on.)

Yep...the big eye in the sky...the intruding Orwell -esque probe...went right for the goodies.

And there were goodies.

Boy goodies.

Someday in the not too distant future, the Maid and Butler, will be teaching this boy of ours how to avoid all of the photo radar cameras in the city. I know, touching isn't it.

Hey, we are all about leaving a legacy.

The red-light running, ticket ignoring, totally served and busted, ripe with boy - Maid

Me too, Me too.

I have been absent for a while (translation: in a lovely, cooler place celebrating the 4th of July weekend!) and come home to read all kinds of blog-ony (bologna) about turning the computer off for 48 hours and spending time with your family. Ha.

I did it for 72 hours.

So there.

And guess what. Spending time with your family is great but leaves you a little hungry for the blogworld.

And then I get home to get my fix and realize that everybody and their mother is getting a blog makeover and sprucing up their site...reading books...having babies (Congratulations Roland and family on your fourth of July baby!)...cooking for your family...sharing recipes...and doing all kinds of other things that I just don't have time to do.

(Okay, well the baby thing...but that's it.)

So then I started longing to go back to the cabin and be useless and unplug from blogworld again.

I remember recently listening to a family on some show (probably Oprah because that is where all of the radical ideas seem to start...maybe next I will be reading the "book" - Not) talking about going on a media fast. For like 30 days.

Yep. 30 days.

Ouch.

That would be hard. But it has got me thinking. No TV (what the heck...ours had a ladder through it and is kind of useless right now anyway), no internet, no ipod, limited cell phone use....blah, blah, blah.

Could you do it? I'm needing a diet coke right now just thinking about it. (And 15yo son is at camp and unable to bike ride to Sonic for me - sigh.)

So as I ponder the good, the bad, and the ugly of that whole no computer thing, I was curious to know what all of you think?

1) Could you go on a media fast that included no tv and computer (not pertaining to your job) for 30 days?

2) Would it be helpful or stressful?

3) What do you think you would learn from that?

4) Would you be a nicer person to your family, or would you be grouchy like when you are on a diet?

5) Would you even want to unplug that much for that long?

6) Is it possible that my butt would get smaller?

7) Would my fingers become crippled and arthritic from lack of keyboard use?

8) Could I find anything I needed the old-fashioned way?

9) Is there life without these little initials: LOL.

10) And really, would anybody miss me?

I guess what I might discover in that time is that I sit on my butt a lot and think about working on projects more than I actually work on them...and that I really don't feed my family as much as I clean up after them feeding themselves. I know. Shameful.

So...maybe I will try it. I will let you know, however, and not pull a Scarlett on you. Just in case any of you might be tempted to rip me off of your blogrolls. ;)

Hope to hear from you!

The Maid