So, the latest medical shenanigan I have fallen victim to is tonsillitis. How gross is tonsillitis? You get those disgusting white bumps on your throat surrounding the "punching bag," as I like to call it, and it feels like knives when you try to swallow anything. I discovered this while trying to enjoy a leisurely glass of orange juice. For the love of God, OW. I thought maybe I stabbed myself in the throat with a potato chip or a pointy piece of toast as I often do, but no, no, I have an -itis usually reserved for 5-year-olds. I told the doctor I would take them out myself if he would give me his little knife and some gas. Tonsillitis is not in my immediate life plan.
However, my new BFF, my ENT, gave me a steroid shot along with yet more antibiotics, and the steroid shot is my favorite thing ever. How do you just request to get those every month or so? That would rock. It made me feel better like, immediately, and gave me lots of kicky energy and interesting things to say...for hours and hours and hours, until Smitty told me to shut up with a look akin to a look you would give that annoying person in the doctor's office who won't shut up about their hemorrhoids or spastic colon until you want to lock yourself in the bathroom so they can't talk to you anymore. That was me last night. Oh, the shame.
I'm preparing for Christmas; I'm trying to figure out what to tell people to get me. I don't mean that to sound self-involved, I genuinely have issues telling people what to get me. In theory, I'm a really easy gift receiver. I just want gift cards. Well, actually, I want liposuction and hypnotherapy to make me exercise when I crave anything breaded, buttered, or carbohydrate in nature, but even Santa can't grant that wish. But when I tell my sister/mother/grandmother, "Just get me a gift card," they say that it's not enough to wrap up, that they want to get me something they can wrap...grrrr...The most useful things Smitty and I got, aside from our fabulous comforter, shower curtain, etc...when we got married, were our gift cards. That way, we would get whatever we wanted, and needed, and that was far better than getting a pig clock or something just because people "wanted to wrap something."
Now, just to pin other folks down about what they want. My family always wants to think about it..and they wonder why I end up shopping 5 days before Christmas. I do not enjoy this, much as I do generally enjoy procrastinating..no, no, this involves flourescent lighting with sweaty, fat people wearing Alabama shirts..not the good procrastinating. This is the kind of thing that makes me Exorcist-Yosemite Sam-crazy, which is why Smitty will only let me go with him to Wal-Mart during off-peak times, because he alleges that I will get him into a fight if I accompany him.
I told him a past story the other night that confirmed this: I went to an "after-party" during our karaoke days, and this guy walked past me wearing jeans and a sweater vest with nothing underneath. I had partaken of some cocktails, saw this abomination, and said, "Whoa, whoa, whoa, come here, what's going on here? Are you a Night Court fan? Did you like Mack? Why are you wearing a sweater vest with nothing underneath it? I can't handle this, really, why are you wearing this?" My, um...bookish guy friends were standing behind me going "Dammit, why did she do that? We're gonna get into some kind of rumble, etc..." And then I felt really bad, because the guy walked away in utter shame, and his friend came over to let me know that he had recently lost a ton of weight by working out and wanted to show off his new physique. I felt bad for calling him out, but you still do not wear a sweater vest, really anytime, much less with nothing underneath. That is very Jersey-esque.
I heard a story on NPR today (pretentiousness enters here) about Mark Twain, and it struck me on a couple of levels. One, he wrote nearly all of his best novels nowhere near the Mississippi, but in upstate New York. And he wrote from 8 to 5 with no break, and then read his daily pages to his wife and daughters after dinner. I love the image of that, his dedication combined with the love and inclusion of his family with the words that went on to inspire millions. He'd have had no way of knowing that. Could you imagine being his daughters and later in life remembering hearing the rough draft of "Tom Sawyer?" But then the sad part of it is, all of his daughters died before they were 30, and his wife was only 58 when she died. So, they were all buried at his haven in upstate New York, but after his last daughter died on Christmas Eve at 29, he said "I can't bear to see any more loved ones in the dirt," and he never went back. I guess things like that make me feel like a a completely entitled dilettante when I whine about the trivialities in my life. That's why I like NPR, not really the political aspect, but when I hear things like that, and I can acquire a little perspective and get goose bumps, I'll take all anyone wants to say about "liberal NPR." If by liberal, you mean thought-provoking, then call me Liberal Lisa, Mayor of Crazy Liberal Town.
Tuesday, November 30, 2010
Tuesday, November 23, 2010
Walking in my winter underwear....
This is the first holiday season without my dad, and I am feeling vehklempt about it. All kidding aside, I really am feeling a void as the nonstop Christmas music and cheap marketing ploys start to flood everything. Thanksgiving was one of his favorite holidays, mainly because it centers around food, football, and lacks commercialism as much as any holiday can.
For a skinny man with no discernible ass or even the trace of a belly, he could eat pounds of dressing, (or stuffing, depending on your geography); he was the only other member of my family who enjoyed cranberry sauce as much as I do. I once ate an entire can. And if you ever try to feed me real cranberry sauce, I will scoff at you. If it doesn't make that "zoosh" sound coming out of the can and have the can ridges, I simply cannot eat it. I also identify with his take on Thanksgiving because you eat, watch football, and nap. Perfect holiday. No presents, no decoration really, and it's just a day to simply give thanks. What a concept.
How often do we really stop to think about our blessings? Whether you believe in God, Yahweh, Allah, or worship your plates and socks, someone provided everything we love. I personally am on Team God, and I, too, am guilty of taking things for granted and not really stepping back to admire and appreciate everything I have. To that end, I am thankful for, and there is literally no order to this:
1. Memories. I have a very happy life at present, but I also have some amazing memories that sustain me through darker times. I know, without a doubt, that I have loved and been loved. I have never stifled laughter or love, and even though it has not always ended well, I wouldn't trade any decision I've ever made toward either.
I have fallen down hills, out of shopping carts, sung my heart out at karaoke, kissed the wrong boys, been a bridesmaid and a bride, said stupid things, done stupid things, been carried to bed by my father singing Elvis songs to me, and made a perfect ass of myself being forced into singing show tunes in a talent competition.
I have yelled at a New Jersey gas station attendant, "I GOT IT," until I realized you can't pump your own gas in New Jersey, dug my car out of the snow three times in one day, said "No, thank you," to an offer of carrying a baby for a polygamist couple, and smelled my mother's Pond's cream to the point of thinking it a Pavlovian tool for inducing sleep and safety.
2. Family, blood, created, in-law, and any other kind that drives you SO crazy, you devise ingenious plots to kill them, bury them, and make it look like an accident, only after you've secured an air-tight alibi. This is not to be confused with family that you've been forced to deal with, like a certain psycho former in-law I was happy to bid adieu. No, these are the people you love.
The basic bottom line is, in a family, everyone will always have an opinion about what you need to do and how they know best. I'm no better. Looking from the outside into a situation is the easiest place to be. But, God bless Atticus Finch and my mangled remembrance, "do not judge a man until you've walked a mile in his shoes." It's the simplest thing to remember and the hardest thing to put into practice. 'Tis the season to be nonjudgmental....I will try my best, because I know.....that I have......
3. Stephen Durand Smith, a.k.a. "Smitty," a.k.a. "Woofa Johnson," a.k.a. "Turd Ferguson," and on and on..
I somewhat understand the term "hit the jackpot." I qualify it because clearly, I've never actually hit a lottery jackpot, but I'm still the luckiest person who ever set foot on the ground. Our 4-year anniversary is 11/25, Thanksgiving, ironically, and I'm still fairly gobsmacked by being Mrs. Emily Smith.
This is not a nauseating story, we have our moments, I can assure you. In the past year, in fact, which may have been the most challenging of our marriage other than the first, we have gone through a lot of stuff. My father died, his job has been ridiculously demanding, I've been sick for 2 months at a time, I had surgery and couldn't poop for 6 days and didn't even know that could happen, yes, it can, and you must be hospitalized.....but we never once lost sight of our love for each other, our mutual commitment to our marriage, and the fact that we would rather spend time with one another than anyone else.
Before you all vomit in your mouths and stop reading, I offer you this. Everyone deserves a partner, best friend, protector, and someone that not only makes you weak in the knees with their kiss, but their dizzying knowledge of bills and re-financed mortgages really blows your socks off. Everything is not fun and sexy and exciting all the time. But if you have that person that you know has your back in the event of a lay-off, family feud, or zombie apocalypse, you are golden.
Speaking of golden, in honor of my dad, I leave you with this:
Robert Frost, "Nothing Gold Can Stay"
"Nature's first green is gold,
Her hardest hue to hold.
Her early leaf's a flower;
But only so an hour.
Then leaf subsides to leaf.
So Eden sank to grief,
So dawn goes down to day.
Nothing gold can stay"
For a skinny man with no discernible ass or even the trace of a belly, he could eat pounds of dressing, (or stuffing, depending on your geography); he was the only other member of my family who enjoyed cranberry sauce as much as I do. I once ate an entire can. And if you ever try to feed me real cranberry sauce, I will scoff at you. If it doesn't make that "zoosh" sound coming out of the can and have the can ridges, I simply cannot eat it. I also identify with his take on Thanksgiving because you eat, watch football, and nap. Perfect holiday. No presents, no decoration really, and it's just a day to simply give thanks. What a concept.
How often do we really stop to think about our blessings? Whether you believe in God, Yahweh, Allah, or worship your plates and socks, someone provided everything we love. I personally am on Team God, and I, too, am guilty of taking things for granted and not really stepping back to admire and appreciate everything I have. To that end, I am thankful for, and there is literally no order to this:
1. Memories. I have a very happy life at present, but I also have some amazing memories that sustain me through darker times. I know, without a doubt, that I have loved and been loved. I have never stifled laughter or love, and even though it has not always ended well, I wouldn't trade any decision I've ever made toward either.
I have fallen down hills, out of shopping carts, sung my heart out at karaoke, kissed the wrong boys, been a bridesmaid and a bride, said stupid things, done stupid things, been carried to bed by my father singing Elvis songs to me, and made a perfect ass of myself being forced into singing show tunes in a talent competition.
I have yelled at a New Jersey gas station attendant, "I GOT IT," until I realized you can't pump your own gas in New Jersey, dug my car out of the snow three times in one day, said "No, thank you," to an offer of carrying a baby for a polygamist couple, and smelled my mother's Pond's cream to the point of thinking it a Pavlovian tool for inducing sleep and safety.
2. Family, blood, created, in-law, and any other kind that drives you SO crazy, you devise ingenious plots to kill them, bury them, and make it look like an accident, only after you've secured an air-tight alibi. This is not to be confused with family that you've been forced to deal with, like a certain psycho former in-law I was happy to bid adieu. No, these are the people you love.
The basic bottom line is, in a family, everyone will always have an opinion about what you need to do and how they know best. I'm no better. Looking from the outside into a situation is the easiest place to be. But, God bless Atticus Finch and my mangled remembrance, "do not judge a man until you've walked a mile in his shoes." It's the simplest thing to remember and the hardest thing to put into practice. 'Tis the season to be nonjudgmental....I will try my best, because I know.....that I have......
3. Stephen Durand Smith, a.k.a. "Smitty," a.k.a. "Woofa Johnson," a.k.a. "Turd Ferguson," and on and on..
I somewhat understand the term "hit the jackpot." I qualify it because clearly, I've never actually hit a lottery jackpot, but I'm still the luckiest person who ever set foot on the ground. Our 4-year anniversary is 11/25, Thanksgiving, ironically, and I'm still fairly gobsmacked by being Mrs. Emily Smith.
This is not a nauseating story, we have our moments, I can assure you. In the past year, in fact, which may have been the most challenging of our marriage other than the first, we have gone through a lot of stuff. My father died, his job has been ridiculously demanding, I've been sick for 2 months at a time, I had surgery and couldn't poop for 6 days and didn't even know that could happen, yes, it can, and you must be hospitalized.....but we never once lost sight of our love for each other, our mutual commitment to our marriage, and the fact that we would rather spend time with one another than anyone else.
Before you all vomit in your mouths and stop reading, I offer you this. Everyone deserves a partner, best friend, protector, and someone that not only makes you weak in the knees with their kiss, but their dizzying knowledge of bills and re-financed mortgages really blows your socks off. Everything is not fun and sexy and exciting all the time. But if you have that person that you know has your back in the event of a lay-off, family feud, or zombie apocalypse, you are golden.
Speaking of golden, in honor of my dad, I leave you with this:
Robert Frost, "Nothing Gold Can Stay"
"Nature's first green is gold,
Her hardest hue to hold.
Her early leaf's a flower;
But only so an hour.
Then leaf subsides to leaf.
So Eden sank to grief,
So dawn goes down to day.
Nothing gold can stay"
Wednesday, November 17, 2010
A pirate looks at 33 (I will totally do this every year and make it fit my needs)
So, I expect this blog to be simultaneously cranky, pessimistic, hopeful, and inspirational. My five personalities will be helping. I'll try to keep them (and myself) on track.
I applied for a job, a promotion within my current company, and I didn't get it. I'm happy for the person that got it, and I do think she deserved. That, however, has not kept me from saying all day, to soothe my ego, "Stupid, quiet, smart people." In theory, I'm looking at the bright side..I still have my current job, so I'm not unemployed..huge plus. There's nothing keeping me from re-applying for that job, should it become open or any other job there...also an advantage.
So, here's where the dark side takes over...
1. I loathe...LOATHE coming in 2nd..even if there are 100 people in this metaphorical scenario, even if it's an engineering contest or a cleaning competition or a bake-off...I will justify and argue why my "rocket/shiny floors/apple pie are the best. I was a major smarty pants when I was little, and I find the saying,"What you are at 4, you are at 40," to be wildly appropriate...which is also why I will like monkeys or any animal wearing people clothes until I draw my last breath.
2. I am not professionally where I thought I would be at 33. I need to preface this by saying that I really do enjoy aspects of my job, and I would not trade anything for my co-workers (some of them anyway) and our management. We are treated extremely well, a Christmas bonus, for God's sake, among other perks, but if you had asked me when I was graduating high school, where do you see yourself in 15 years, I would not have said "customer service representative."
At 18, actually, I would've said attorney/lounge singer. I thought I wanted to be an attorney; I was certain I wanted to be a lounge singer, and with minimal pursuit of both, I became neither. I changed my political science major to a communication major, because I knew I wanted to write. I still know that I want to write. I pursued it the wrong way, though. I veered toward journalism, when I should've concentrated on English and creative writing. I can't say I regret that decision completely because some of my best friends are those I met while working in newspapers.
But I do feel I've gypped myself in a way. I can remember my family telling me to study where jobs would be, writing not particularly falling into that category. And even thinking about it now, what horrible advice to give your child. Of course, you don't want them to be financially unstable or worry about their well-being, but if/when we have our ONE child, I am going to tell them to do whatever makes them happy. If you want to dance, do it, and be the best at it. Love what you do, and if you put your heart into it, you could be the next Barishnikov, T.S. Eliot, Monet, etc...
I honestly do believe that writing and I have a big future ahead of us. I can't say it's the only thing at which I've ever excelled..c'mon...state capitals, spelling, karaoke, arguing, most recently, chili preparation...the list is endless, but it's the only thing that has ever given me true and complete happiness. I also get a very nice sense that both my father and grandfather are reading over my shoulder and chuckling for different reasons.
Have I mentioned recently that I miss my dad so much, it takes the breath out of me? In order for me not to cry while using Smitty's laptop and prompt some type of computer usage lecture, I want to share a happy story about my dad before I leave you:
I was about 6 years old and was eating dinner at the table with my parents and sister. I was finished, and my mom wanted to give me a bath. As I started to get up from the table, my dad told me I couldn't get up until I asked to be excused. (Never before and never since had we EVER had to ask that; he was not in good humor that night) I refused. Even as a 6-year-old, I was an incredibly stubborn pain in the ass, also leading my parents to attend a seminar called "Raising the Willful Child." I digress. We stared each other down for over an hour and by this point, I feel sure most kids might've just given in and asked to be excused. Not this rapscallion. Only when my mother finally insisted that she give me a bath so I could go to bed did he relent and let me get up from the table.
About 7:30 the next morning, I sneaked into my parents' bedroom, shook my snoring dad awake and asked him if I could be excused. I had no problem eventually obeying him, but I wanted to do it on my terms. And even though he was ticked at me for being such an insolent little shit, this story also demonstrates how much like him I am, and he enjoyed telling it for that very reason.
I applied for a job, a promotion within my current company, and I didn't get it. I'm happy for the person that got it, and I do think she deserved. That, however, has not kept me from saying all day, to soothe my ego, "Stupid, quiet, smart people." In theory, I'm looking at the bright side..I still have my current job, so I'm not unemployed..huge plus. There's nothing keeping me from re-applying for that job, should it become open or any other job there...also an advantage.
So, here's where the dark side takes over...
1. I loathe...LOATHE coming in 2nd..even if there are 100 people in this metaphorical scenario, even if it's an engineering contest or a cleaning competition or a bake-off...I will justify and argue why my "rocket/shiny floors/apple pie are the best. I was a major smarty pants when I was little, and I find the saying,"What you are at 4, you are at 40," to be wildly appropriate...which is also why I will like monkeys or any animal wearing people clothes until I draw my last breath.
2. I am not professionally where I thought I would be at 33. I need to preface this by saying that I really do enjoy aspects of my job, and I would not trade anything for my co-workers (some of them anyway) and our management. We are treated extremely well, a Christmas bonus, for God's sake, among other perks, but if you had asked me when I was graduating high school, where do you see yourself in 15 years, I would not have said "customer service representative."
At 18, actually, I would've said attorney/lounge singer. I thought I wanted to be an attorney; I was certain I wanted to be a lounge singer, and with minimal pursuit of both, I became neither. I changed my political science major to a communication major, because I knew I wanted to write. I still know that I want to write. I pursued it the wrong way, though. I veered toward journalism, when I should've concentrated on English and creative writing. I can't say I regret that decision completely because some of my best friends are those I met while working in newspapers.
But I do feel I've gypped myself in a way. I can remember my family telling me to study where jobs would be, writing not particularly falling into that category. And even thinking about it now, what horrible advice to give your child. Of course, you don't want them to be financially unstable or worry about their well-being, but if/when we have our ONE child, I am going to tell them to do whatever makes them happy. If you want to dance, do it, and be the best at it. Love what you do, and if you put your heart into it, you could be the next Barishnikov, T.S. Eliot, Monet, etc...
I honestly do believe that writing and I have a big future ahead of us. I can't say it's the only thing at which I've ever excelled..c'mon...state capitals, spelling, karaoke, arguing, most recently, chili preparation...the list is endless, but it's the only thing that has ever given me true and complete happiness. I also get a very nice sense that both my father and grandfather are reading over my shoulder and chuckling for different reasons.
Have I mentioned recently that I miss my dad so much, it takes the breath out of me? In order for me not to cry while using Smitty's laptop and prompt some type of computer usage lecture, I want to share a happy story about my dad before I leave you:
I was about 6 years old and was eating dinner at the table with my parents and sister. I was finished, and my mom wanted to give me a bath. As I started to get up from the table, my dad told me I couldn't get up until I asked to be excused. (Never before and never since had we EVER had to ask that; he was not in good humor that night) I refused. Even as a 6-year-old, I was an incredibly stubborn pain in the ass, also leading my parents to attend a seminar called "Raising the Willful Child." I digress. We stared each other down for over an hour and by this point, I feel sure most kids might've just given in and asked to be excused. Not this rapscallion. Only when my mother finally insisted that she give me a bath so I could go to bed did he relent and let me get up from the table.
About 7:30 the next morning, I sneaked into my parents' bedroom, shook my snoring dad awake and asked him if I could be excused. I had no problem eventually obeying him, but I wanted to do it on my terms. And even though he was ticked at me for being such an insolent little shit, this story also demonstrates how much like him I am, and he enjoyed telling it for that very reason.
Sunday, November 07, 2010
The fine line between relaxing and lazy
I really, really enjoy my down time. I can no longer sleep late for some inexplicable reason, but man, do I love doing nothing but watching the DVR and trying to locate movies I want to to watch on Netflix through the Playstation 3. This generally ends with my searching for a movie for about an hour, then cursing at the PS3 and giving up, only to watch a Lifetime movie or something I've seen a billion times. And then a nap occurs...ahh, naps.
I feel that naps without judgment are probably the best parts of getting really old. Well, that and the Senior Citizens Discount. I can literally sleep anywhere. When I was a senior in high school, my French class went to Paris. We were on a flight for about 11 hours, and I curled up in a little ball and slept for about 7 of those hours. Everyone else was cranky and jet-lagged when we landed. It was one of the few times in life I've ever been more energetic than those around me.
I have all these weekend plans that I would like to do. I want to go to the art museum or a movie or to one of the many festivals that seem to occur in the Birmingham and surrounding areas. I want to clean my closet so I can actually locate my winter clothes; I want to vacuum, even though it makes me dizzy because my body seems to reject all manner of housework; I want to wash the dogs, even though I will probably need an Epi-pen to recover from that. And what do I do? I watch the DVR, movies like "Seed of Chucky" and "Superman III," and before I know it, it's Sunday night, which even more so than when I was in school, is the most depressing night of the week.
I have been in the weirdest mood this weekend. I have gone from cranky to singing to sleepy to anxious. I went to the eye doctor yesterday and found out I have to have really expensive contact lenses because of a stupid astigmatism, I have an optic nerve dreuism, which really sounds made up and doesn't mean much of anything, but when it comes to your eyes, you get a little concerned when doctors throw out a term that sounds like you're German or in some kind of cult.
I'm also concerned about some family stuff that I won't get into right now, because it's not my place to, but someone that I care about very much in my family, may have a malignancy. We won't know anything for at least a week, which means that my thoughts are left to create bad scenarios and try to picture five moves ahead, and there's no need to do anything right now except pray...which I am doing, and I do have faith that everything will turn out okay. If you're reading this, you don't have to pray if that's not your scene, but just send out general good thoughts to the universe. It can't hurt.
A lot of times when I am scared, I turn to quotes and the words of people to whom my dad introduced me, and when he was dying, those very same words gave me enlightenment and a sense of peace and acceptance. I leave you with the words of Emily Dickinson," “Hope is the thing with feathers, that perches in the soul, and sings the tune without words, and never stops at all.” Let us all cling to faith and hope.
On a lighter note, because I don't want you to leave my blog super bummed, I wish that if Smitty can't hear me in the kitchen, he would tell me, because otherwise, I'm talking for five minutes, assuming that he hears me perfectly, and when he tells me he didn't hear me at all, it is REALLY annoying. I assume this is some kind of backhanded punishment because according to him "I talk all the time," but seriously, irritating.
I feel that naps without judgment are probably the best parts of getting really old. Well, that and the Senior Citizens Discount. I can literally sleep anywhere. When I was a senior in high school, my French class went to Paris. We were on a flight for about 11 hours, and I curled up in a little ball and slept for about 7 of those hours. Everyone else was cranky and jet-lagged when we landed. It was one of the few times in life I've ever been more energetic than those around me.
I have all these weekend plans that I would like to do. I want to go to the art museum or a movie or to one of the many festivals that seem to occur in the Birmingham and surrounding areas. I want to clean my closet so I can actually locate my winter clothes; I want to vacuum, even though it makes me dizzy because my body seems to reject all manner of housework; I want to wash the dogs, even though I will probably need an Epi-pen to recover from that. And what do I do? I watch the DVR, movies like "Seed of Chucky" and "Superman III," and before I know it, it's Sunday night, which even more so than when I was in school, is the most depressing night of the week.
I have been in the weirdest mood this weekend. I have gone from cranky to singing to sleepy to anxious. I went to the eye doctor yesterday and found out I have to have really expensive contact lenses because of a stupid astigmatism, I have an optic nerve dreuism, which really sounds made up and doesn't mean much of anything, but when it comes to your eyes, you get a little concerned when doctors throw out a term that sounds like you're German or in some kind of cult.
I'm also concerned about some family stuff that I won't get into right now, because it's not my place to, but someone that I care about very much in my family, may have a malignancy. We won't know anything for at least a week, which means that my thoughts are left to create bad scenarios and try to picture five moves ahead, and there's no need to do anything right now except pray...which I am doing, and I do have faith that everything will turn out okay. If you're reading this, you don't have to pray if that's not your scene, but just send out general good thoughts to the universe. It can't hurt.
A lot of times when I am scared, I turn to quotes and the words of people to whom my dad introduced me, and when he was dying, those very same words gave me enlightenment and a sense of peace and acceptance. I leave you with the words of Emily Dickinson," “Hope is the thing with feathers, that perches in the soul, and sings the tune without words, and never stops at all.” Let us all cling to faith and hope.
On a lighter note, because I don't want you to leave my blog super bummed, I wish that if Smitty can't hear me in the kitchen, he would tell me, because otherwise, I'm talking for five minutes, assuming that he hears me perfectly, and when he tells me he didn't hear me at all, it is REALLY annoying. I assume this is some kind of backhanded punishment because according to him "I talk all the time," but seriously, irritating.
Tuesday, November 02, 2010
Rock the Vote! Or just gently swing the vote, if you'd like
I just got back from voting, yay, voting. I am a giant dork in that I love to vote. Literally, the day that I turned 18, my grandfather took me to the Courthouse, and I was really, really excited. Most people are really excited to turn 18, but all I really wanted was my voter registration card. I guess it stands to reason that I eventually worked on a national campaign that was partially responsible for registering people to vote. I digress...
Here's what I observed while engaging in my constitutional responsibility:
1. You can't campaign within 30 feet of a polling place. Okay, fair enough. However, you can apparently, be a really, really loud campaign worker who will not shut the hell up while people are voting. I get it, my mother, grandmother, and grandfather used to work every election, and I know for the election workers, it is somewhat social, but when your abrasive Southern voice is so loud that I can't concentrate on the obscure amendment proposal I'm reading, shut UP...which brings me to...
2. Why must the wording on the amendments listed on the ballot be so confusing? I majored in political science, and it took me about 5 times to read through and omit the legalese so I could understand what in God's name the amendment was. I realize that's how the amendment would be worded if it were added to the state constitution, but I don't think it's a bad idea to put it in layman's terms on the ballot so I'm not voting to increase the elderly's taxes by 50% or allow people to marry farm animals.
3. I think they should make online voting available. I realize you have to verify people's information via ID, but it seems like with all the modern advances, there must be a cyber way to do that. If you could vote in your pajamas, I think voter turnout would be much higher. On a serious note, I sincerely hope everyone voted. Nothing is sadder than people complaining about things and doing less than nothing to change them.
I also realized today that I have even less of a sense of direction than I thought. I had to take a detour home from work because of mass chaos with firetrucks and police cars and total traffic stoppage, and I didn't quite get lost, but I went around the world to get where I needed to be. I understand north, south, east, and west, but that knowledge kind of eludes me when I'm driving. I need a GPS implanted in my skin, so that I will never end up in the ghetto with my gaslight on.
I restarted my allergy shots today, whoooo. I even had to give them to myself...in the stomach. The shots genuinely don't bother me, but watching a needle slide into my body makes everything go kind of yellow. That's why I never, ever watch when they take my blood, and when Smitty gives me shots, he injects them in the back of my arms, so I can't see what he's doing. I could seriously never work in the healthcare profession.
Also, along with my Real Housewives guilty pleasure, I have now become addicted to Swamp People and Billy the Exterminator, both of which are shows riddled with white trash. On Swamp People, they are speaking English, you know, the language of the country, but they have to put subtitles because the Cajun accent combined with missing teeth interferes with being able to understand some of them at all. They spend their days in wife beaters without any hint of a shower or shampoo, placing raw chicken on bait, reeling in alligators and shooting them in the head. It's simultaneously awesome and sad.
And Billy the Exterminator, oh, Billy. He is the lead exterminator in a family business owned by a highly questionable Louisiana family. He has what can only be described as a hair gel mullet, wears full-length leather, rarely uses gloves or any protection while spraying insects, catching snakes, etc...His brother Ricky has an old-school mullet with what looks like highlights, and he has broken up with and reunited with his super trashy wife about 6 times. I also think at one point, he was hooked on meth. If either of these two people came to my house to exterminate anything, I would probably burn my house after they left.
Their mom, Donnie, who answers the phone and sends them to jobs, has giant pageant hair and clearly shops the Jaclyn Smith collection at K-Mart. Also, she is an amateur matchmaker for Ricky, and placed ads in the paper to pick up a woman for him, part of one ad including "must be single," because apparently, that was an issue before. It's trashy and wonderful.
Before I leave you, remember, you can be experiencing the worst day ever, yet "Every Rose Has Its Thorn" can come on the radio, and all that changes...
Here's what I observed while engaging in my constitutional responsibility:
1. You can't campaign within 30 feet of a polling place. Okay, fair enough. However, you can apparently, be a really, really loud campaign worker who will not shut the hell up while people are voting. I get it, my mother, grandmother, and grandfather used to work every election, and I know for the election workers, it is somewhat social, but when your abrasive Southern voice is so loud that I can't concentrate on the obscure amendment proposal I'm reading, shut UP...which brings me to...
2. Why must the wording on the amendments listed on the ballot be so confusing? I majored in political science, and it took me about 5 times to read through and omit the legalese so I could understand what in God's name the amendment was. I realize that's how the amendment would be worded if it were added to the state constitution, but I don't think it's a bad idea to put it in layman's terms on the ballot so I'm not voting to increase the elderly's taxes by 50% or allow people to marry farm animals.
3. I think they should make online voting available. I realize you have to verify people's information via ID, but it seems like with all the modern advances, there must be a cyber way to do that. If you could vote in your pajamas, I think voter turnout would be much higher. On a serious note, I sincerely hope everyone voted. Nothing is sadder than people complaining about things and doing less than nothing to change them.
I also realized today that I have even less of a sense of direction than I thought. I had to take a detour home from work because of mass chaos with firetrucks and police cars and total traffic stoppage, and I didn't quite get lost, but I went around the world to get where I needed to be. I understand north, south, east, and west, but that knowledge kind of eludes me when I'm driving. I need a GPS implanted in my skin, so that I will never end up in the ghetto with my gaslight on.
I restarted my allergy shots today, whoooo. I even had to give them to myself...in the stomach. The shots genuinely don't bother me, but watching a needle slide into my body makes everything go kind of yellow. That's why I never, ever watch when they take my blood, and when Smitty gives me shots, he injects them in the back of my arms, so I can't see what he's doing. I could seriously never work in the healthcare profession.
Also, along with my Real Housewives guilty pleasure, I have now become addicted to Swamp People and Billy the Exterminator, both of which are shows riddled with white trash. On Swamp People, they are speaking English, you know, the language of the country, but they have to put subtitles because the Cajun accent combined with missing teeth interferes with being able to understand some of them at all. They spend their days in wife beaters without any hint of a shower or shampoo, placing raw chicken on bait, reeling in alligators and shooting them in the head. It's simultaneously awesome and sad.
And Billy the Exterminator, oh, Billy. He is the lead exterminator in a family business owned by a highly questionable Louisiana family. He has what can only be described as a hair gel mullet, wears full-length leather, rarely uses gloves or any protection while spraying insects, catching snakes, etc...His brother Ricky has an old-school mullet with what looks like highlights, and he has broken up with and reunited with his super trashy wife about 6 times. I also think at one point, he was hooked on meth. If either of these two people came to my house to exterminate anything, I would probably burn my house after they left.
Their mom, Donnie, who answers the phone and sends them to jobs, has giant pageant hair and clearly shops the Jaclyn Smith collection at K-Mart. Also, she is an amateur matchmaker for Ricky, and placed ads in the paper to pick up a woman for him, part of one ad including "must be single," because apparently, that was an issue before. It's trashy and wonderful.
Before I leave you, remember, you can be experiencing the worst day ever, yet "Every Rose Has Its Thorn" can come on the radio, and all that changes...
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