Archive for November, 2004

Election Day

Tuesday, November 2nd, 2004

It’s election day here in the U.S. I’m pretty sure that doesn’t come as much of surprise to anyone out there, even on the other side of the world. Yes, we are embroiled in a genuine flap here in the Home of the Brave. It’s Bush v. Kerry in a battle to the death.

I’m just glad that it’s almost over. The ads are off my TV, my mailbox will stop filling up with propaganda and my phone will quit ringing six (no, I’m not exaggerating) times a day from political parties trying to sway my vote. Just tell me who won and leave me the fuck alone – preferrably before my Thanksgiving leftovers start turning unnatural shades of green.

The really interesting part is how personally some people are taking this. If you voice a dissenting opinion about their candidate, they look at you as if you just told them their baby is ugly. People, relax. One person I know has been genuinely stressed over every little snippet of news against her favored candidate today. Stressed. The kind of stress that one normally reserves for events such as getting laid off and realizing you’ve only got one month’s worth of payments in the bank. Stressed.

I can’t wrap my brain around that. Yes I know that the election of the leader of the Free World is important. But here’s the thing: past the point where I go to my polling place and cast my vote, it’s out of my hands. Anything that is that far out of my hands isn’t worth my worry.

I have friends who love to discuss politics to the point of argument. I am not one of these people. My theory is that I refuse to fight with my friends about shit I cannot possibly control. It’s like arguing about the weather. Exactly what will all this discussion accomplish? Nothing. The leaders in Washington are going to do whatever they fuck they feel like doing, regardless of my feelings. The sun will shine and the rain will fall, no matter what my plans are for the weekend. It’s all pointless, so why bother getting all lathered up about it?

Afterall, this is a government who printed “I have voted – have you?” on my ballot. Yes, on the ballot. The thing you only see when you are in the very act of voting. Does it get any less logical than that?

Thanksgiving? Already??

Sunday, November 21st, 2004

Lost: all time between September and now. If found, please contact me.

Thanksgiving is a less than a week away. Do you know what that means? That means we are less than a week from it officially being the Holiday season. Christmas is five weeks away. Five. Weeks. Away. Somebody help me, I’m caught in a time warp and I can’t catch up.

I’ve had trouble preparing for the holidays before, but this year is just taking the cake. Everything seems to be going along at the proper place, then WHAM, you realize an entire month (or two or ten) has gotten away from you. I have tons of deadlines looking me straight in the eyeballs and I’m standing here like a deer in headlights.

Let the games begin.

I spent the weekend tidying up the house and doing all that autumn stuff that we Californians don’t have to do until the dead of winter – like raking leaves and cleaning out gutters. Only I cheat because I don’t rake leaves, I mulch them up with my lawn mower. (And the Beau Hunk was actually the one who climbed up on my roof and cleaned out the gutters because my roof terrifies me.)

Last year I hosted Thanksgiving here at my house, and since my giant tree out front decided to dump all its leaves at once, I decided that mulching them with the lawn mower probably wouldn’t work too well. Mom & Dad had come down early to start cooking the prime rib, and Mom was helping me with the leaves by holding the bag while I scooped the leaves in. I was wearing a crappy pair of my old fat sweats so I guess they were drooping a little when I bent over. The next thing I know, my Dad is saying “So. When did you get the tattoo?”
Oops. Busted. I forgot that I was hiding that from them.

(Some of you may remember that I got a bicycle-oriented tattoo on the back of my right hip in celebration of my 35th year of life. I never told my parents because the way I was raised, only sailors and whores have tattoos, so you can understand why I never shared. Besides, I didn’t want to risk a lecture. Hell, I even managed to hide it from Mom through two bike accidents and surgery. You try hiding a tattoo in a hospital gown!)

Mom took it surprisingly well. I thought she’d freak out about a daughter of hers having a tattoo. But Mom played it cool and just said “well can I see it too?” I showed it to her, and she said it was cute. Then she reminded me that I was a grown up and could do what I wanted. Funny, that’s not the way it usually works around here.

From then on my tatt was the news of the day (never mind it was 11 months old at this point). Everyone who showed up for dinner was told by my father about my tattoo. Some people had been clued in already, so it was no big deal. My brother and SIL were the big surprises. Bro was pretty put off by it, but clearly wasn’t surprised that his (crazy nutbucket of a) sister had done such a (horrible / tacky) thing. SIL blew my socks off by saying she was secretly coveting it and wanted one of her own, but didn’t think Bro would understand. (Good thinkin there SIL.)

This year Thanksgiving should be pretty quiet, even though I’m doing it in duplicate. Saturday I’ll be hauling my ass up to my parents’ house to eat steak with them. Thanksgiving proper will be spent with the Beau Hunk and his family. It will be the first meeting, so that should be interesting. Color me terrified, but I think it will work out. That is, unless the festivities include picking up leaves while wearing droopy sweats so everyone finds out that I’ve got *gasp* a tattoo!! But they’re a civilized bunch, so I suspect I won’t have to partake of lawn chores and certainly won’t show up in my dumpy sweats. Yeah, I think I’m safe there.

I suspect my biggest worry is whether or not I’ll spill gravy down my front or fling my turkey slice across the table when trying to cut it. Those are social faux pas for which I am quite famous. I keep telling myself it’s one day and one dinner, that I should be able to pretend to be a socially adjusted, graceful human being for one fucking night. Just one. That’s all I ask.

Wish me luck, history says I’ll need it.