Not that there's anything wrong with that

horsey: am i gay if i think this is awesome: some youtube link
me: the default answer to that question is always 'Yes'

His open letter is better than mine!

There there, Tim Robbins. Everything will be ok.

And for anyone who has ever incorrectly used the phrase "Isn't that ironic?" This is truly ironic.

An Open Letter to The Lady in My Office Who is Always Talking About Her Kid

Dear Lady in My Office Who is Always Talking About Your Kid,

I have been working here for over one year and two months now, and I have noticed that not once have you said a word to me. In fact, up until about six months ago, I don't think you ever acknowledged my existence. As a shy awkward newcomer, I would brave a smile for you knowing it would probably not be reciprocated. Even though it might have been strained and uncomfortable, it was still an attempt at the universal signal for "Greetings!" Now that I am a seasoned employee, I still throw you a nod and half-smile when we pass eachother, but with more conviction and self-assuredness. You see, I own that little patch of walkway outside my cubicle. I also own about 2 square inches of space right in front of the copier. I, my fellow coworkeress, am confident about my place here in this fine establishment, and I shall no longer be intimidated by your cold, uninterested, icy stare.

I think you feel comfortable now returning a half smile. That is fine. In fact, restricting our office relationship to that of impersonal smiles is more than fine by me, because I have noticed that there is only one thing that you ever talk about. One thing. And that thing, is your son. Yes, I know you just had a son. In fact, the whole office knows you just had a son...two years ago.

We know about what you did this weekend with your son, and even what you did to arrange for his care when you were not with your son. We know what kind of foods he likes and how he doesn't like to eat anything that is orange in color unless its name has the word "orange" in it. We know that you have your theories on how to raise your son and they're in conflict with your sister's, and how you won't let your son stay at her house because you're afraid he will come back with bad habits that will take weeks to undo. We know you find him adorable, playful, smart, and endearing. We know you find raising him fraught with emotional conflicts, between exhilaration and exasperation, between the joy in the sound of his laughter, and the heartbreak in the sound of his cries. We know that you don't see anything wrong with breastfeeding him. Still. In public.

Lady in My Office Who is Always Talking About Your Kid, since the birth of your son, did you know that seven other children in this office have been born? Seven. That's almost how many commandments there are, and the first three suck anyway, so yeah, as many relevant commandments there are, that's how many other kids were born. And that's just in our office. Britney's 16 year old sister got knocked up and had a baby, and Brangelina squeezed out some twins for the world to ogle over. Other things have happened too, like, the credit crunch, which became a mortgage crisis of a teen, and is now an adult as a full on global economic recession. The world became enthralled by the unbuttoned iPhone, and we had the Olympics which took place in China this year. Oh smack, the Olympics! 8 year olds competed as 16 year olds...and won! And some schmuck from Michigan won 8 gold medals for different versions of swimming. 8! Russia invaded Georgia - no, not the one with the giant peach, the one over in Europe - and Bush got the double smack down by Chavez and Ahmadinejad. Were you aware that we had the craziest election year ever? Do you even know who got elected president? Can you even vote?

Lots of things have happened since your kid was born, and yet, everytime I hear your voice - in the kitchen, down the hall, in the bathroom, I know it's going to be a story about your son. You talk about him 123% of the time. 123%?! How is that possible? It's possible, because I know that those times when you pass by me and you think that you might want to say hi, it's because there's something that your son recently did that you want to talk about. I can see that story rolling about in your head. But you haven't warmed to me yet; you're still suspicious of me, so you keep it to yourself. So even though you're not saying anything...I know you're talking about him.

Anyway, I don't really have a point to this except to say, jeez all you talk about is your kid. I could say, Lady, give it a rest, but I know you can't, so I won't bother. Plus, I am very understanding of first time parents. Kids - they're a big deal - I get it! I'm kind of insulated from the stories anyway, so I don't really mind. I find it amusing. I mean, I guess I don't have any kids of my own to talk about, so here's me, talking about you talking about your kid. Now excuse me, I think I'm going to go get a slice of that cake you brought in from your son's birthday this weekend.

Tim Robbins ALSO doesn't know how voting works!

I blame it on Stuyvesant High. Yeah, we both went to the same high school. That's public schooling for ya.

But maybe the fact that I got to attend classes in the new building which probably had no asbestos in it destroyed my brain a little less, and so my story ended up a little less tragic than his.

Post Election Hangover Headlines

The top ten news stories, as expected, go to Barack. Well, the top nine.

Things I suck at #3

Voting.

One of the funnest dating horror stories I like to tell involves me incanting perhaps the most atrocious thing I have ever heard come out of a contemporary's mouth. To which my audience members will gasp Wait- was he kidding?! I don't want to repeat it here because it's actually too incendiary and offensive and it actually bothers me still when I think about it, but if you want to know just ask me offline about the "Republican Canadian." Likewise, in a similarly incredulous fashion, he has probably repeated to his friends something that fell out of my mouth which he found to be completely airbrained and ludicrous (this was well before his infamous comment). Something along the lines of "...I don't know how voting works." I actually do know how voting works, I tried to recover, but having been thrown off by something he had done I was confused for a microsecond and as usual, uttered words that didn't exactly match what was in my brain. That happens fairly often.

Anyway as it turns out, I apparently don't know how voting works.

I woke up this morning early, with a resolve to go and cast my ballot. I was up at 7:15. 7:15, people!! That is EARLY! My voting center was two and a half blocks away from me and during that short walk I felt charged with excitement. Was the line going to be long? What kind of people would be on the line? Where would my Dad be? Would they let me vote? Maybe the Unregistered Voters line would be short, because most people were responsible Americans unlike me. I got to 97th and Amsterdam and saw the public school, a bake sale, and what appeared to be three orderly but very long lines. I stepped up to the middle line and asked the gentleman in front of me what this line was for, realizing too late of course, that I probably should have been more elaborate. You can imagine the look he gave me as he said very slowly so my special education addled brain could understand: "This - is - the - line- for - voting." Not to be humiliated, I gave him the dirtiest look I could muster and told him "I know that." Quickly composing himself he apologized and just said it was the line to get in. I pointed to the line to our right and asked what that was, hoping he would say it was the unregistered voters/dumbasses line, but instead he said it was still the line, it had just wound around because it was so long. I shut my mouth and stayed in my spot.

The line was generally full of yuppies. There were a few baby carriages and lots of Burberry coats, briefcases, and cellphones with people reporting how long they'd been on line and what the progress was. Every once in a while, an election worker would come by and call out a precinct number and pull whoever was in that precinct off the line to bring them into the school if its booth was empty. The line moved relatively quickly and it never actually got longer than its original ending point. We were all pretty placid, although I wished I could go get a gingerbread latte. I was too scared to get off the line though and just inched along with everyone else. I wondered what it looked like inside, and what the voting booths would be like. I hadn't voted in 8 years, and that time I was in California. I wondered what my Dad was doing, and thought about how 25 years ago, right in the parking lot of this housing complex which we were all standing next to, he had taught me to ride my bike without the training wheels.

20-30 minutes into my wait, a very middle-aged couple came up to the line and asked if this was the line to vote. We affirmed. They pondered it for a minute, and then turned around and walked away. People on the line got agitated. The gentleman in front of me groaned as another guy on the line next to us griped "How do you expect things to change??" It's like the couple was going on their daily morning walk and it randomly occurred to them that today was Election Day, and maybe they'd stop in and get a coffee if the line wasn't too long, but oh well the line was too long so maybe they should go to the shop down the block.

At about 8:30, it occurred to me that I'd probably feel really stupid if I waited out the entire line and got to the gym only to find out that I couldn't actually vote. I asked the lady behind me to hold my place while I went to ask a question, and tagged along with the next group of people who had been rounded up to go vote in their underrepresented precinct booth. I passed by about 40 minutes worth of people and breezed right through only to realize that I probably could have just walked right in from the start and no one would have asked questions. The gym looked like what you'd think a public school gym in Manhattan would look like, with a bunch of dilapidated voting booths, throngs of people. The volunteers asked me for my address and told me I was in precinct 23 and pointed me in that direction. I went the first table and gave the lady my name, and as she slowly flipped the pages I started crafting what I might say once she discovered my name wasn't there. I looked around and was comforted when I saw my father on the far side of the gym. If my wits failed me, my father would surely not! He'd get me my write-in vote. The lady told me I wasn't on the list and to talk to Norah, the stout lady next to me who was in a suit and had her back to me. When Norah turned around, I blurted "I'm not registered. Can I vote?" And she said flat out "No." I waited for the punchline. I waited for the smile. I waited for the "Just kidding, come this way, Hon!" None of which happened. "Really? Wait, really? But I have ID!" Even though I knew that was useless (someone on the line forgot her ID, and the election worker reassured her that she didn't need it). "You cannot vote if you're not registered. Maybe in another state you can make a provisional ballot, but not in New York. Where have you been this whole time, how could you not register?" As she lightly chastised me, I thought back to that morning a few weeks ago when I'd had an opportunity to register between the 2 and the Shuttle...but was already late for work and figured I'd do it later even though I had a feeling that this was something I was going to let slip. After all, I figured if dead people and fictional characters could vote, how could they turn away me, a perfectly eligible voter who had 2 forms of government ID plus a current credit card statement that had my address on it?

Dejected, I asked her if I could at least go say hi to my Dad and she said sure. I told my Dad the news and before he could say anything, a voice behind me said "Daddy, how can you let your daughter not register? I want to spank her!" Norah had followed me over. My Dad smiled and shrugged, the gesture perfected by all men his age who have been married as long as he has. "Can she write a..." "No! You much be registered! Oh, I am so sorry, but you cannot. The Board of Elections needs your name, and maybe if you went yesterday...but not on Election Day. You cannot do anything on election Day!" I think my Dad had thought that I could submit an affidavit ballot, but after opening my mouth about not being registered, it was really too late. Stupid honesty. My father pulled out some sort of notecard from a paper holder and told me to just fill it out. It wouldn't do me anything except register me for the next election, but it was the best he could do. Basically, I'd have to wait another 4 years. I left, with Norah sympathetically telling me to make sure I register, and my father feeling slightly sorry for me. I just felt stupid.

As I descended the stairs to the subway, it occured to me that I should have asked them to look me up as Mouse, Mickey. Wits under pressure! Wits under pressure! Clearly I have none.

At work, I relayed on IM my sad story to the few friends who I knew wouldn't ridicule me. To my face, anyway. nocommies98 offered me his second voting slot (yes, in America you can register twice!) but on the condition that I vote for his guy. I told him I couldn't do that, because I didn't think I'd vote for his guy (although how funny would it have been to literally cancel out his vote?) also, I probably couldn't pass for a male. And also, it was kind of voter fraud. "I had two forms of ID and even a bill with my address on it!" That doesn't matter nocommies98 said, you don't need ID - you can thank the Democrats for that. "Why can't I just automatically get registered when I file my taxes? They just need to ask me the three easy questions and boom, I'm registered!" Then that would make it too easy, said mr. poopypants. You can thank the Republicans for that!

mr. poopypants, who loves the internet, showed me a link to the NYS rules for voting. You can in fact write in an affidavit ballot! My mistake was in admitting that I had not registered. I considered going back after work and trying again. I considered it all day, as the hours passed and my feelings of dread, foolishness and being left out loomed. nocommies98 was sure that if I went later, Norah would have gone home by then and I could try my scheme. I didn't think so I said, they're there til 9, but maybe she will have forgotten me by then.

At the end of the day though, I decided that I just wasn't going to do it. It wasn't worth it - they'd probably just throw away my ballot anyway, and I didn't want to deal with lines. Besides, I consoled myself with the notion that I had pretty much almost voted. I mean, I went through 95% of the motions. I stood in line. I jeered non-voters (I didn't really, but I listened to other people do it). I talked to election workers. I stood in the stuffy gymnasium. I just didn't push the button. Or pull the lever. Sigh. I didn't even know what our voting booths looked like since I didn't actually vote.

I rode the subway, feeling slightly stupid, still. No one on the train knew about my goof this morning, and chances are they wouldn't care, they'd just think I was dumb. Did everyone vote today? Everyone must have. Everyone but me. The big dummy.

As I got out of the train station, I found myself automatically walking away from my home and towards the school. Let me just see if the line is long, I thought. Let me just say hi to my Dad, who at this point has clocked 14 hours and would probably be happy to see my face. My big dumb face. It was dark and the streets were busy. Was everyone going to get their vote in? As I turned the corner, I was surprised to see no line. NO line. As in, not a single person waiting to vote. There were a few people milling about in front of the school, and the bake sale (which was now selling curry) was still there. I rushed up the steps into the school, and saw that the people at the table had changed. "What's your address?" they asked, and I told them. "Precinct 23, over there." As I expected, Norah was still here! But she was busy helping someone else so I slipped past her and the table I was at this morning, and went over to the table next to booth number 23. Again I found myself trying to compose a story as the election worker flipped through the pages. I saw my mom's name on the list and her goofy signature. She hadn't come to vote yet. And I saw my dad's name on the list; he had voted. And then...I seriously blinked, like I was a cartoon, like a Mickey Mouse cartoon...I saw it. My own scrawl. Plus my name. Plus my address. I WAS REGISTERED, OH MY GOD, I WAS REGISTERED!!! I seriously couldn't believe my eyes and my ears and my neck and my throat, but somehow, somewhere along the lines, I had done my civic duty and registered to vote! I don't think the people at the table realized I was a lot more happy than your average voter; I doubt they cared, but I almost kissed someone.

I jumped into the voting booth, and then promptly jumped back out to read the instructions, scared to mess this up. I pulled the lever, ticked off all the non-presidential candidates, and then paused for a moment while I made my last considerations. Obama. McCain. Biden. Palin. And then I flipped a switch, and I pulled the lever, and I emerged from the booth.

I had voted.

I had voted!

I ran over to my father, who was sitting in the same spot as I had seen him 11 hours earlier, and told him I had voted, that I had been registered after all. The other election workers at his table chuckled, and one lady told a story about how Kevin Bacon had discovered he wasn't registered and thrown a fuss and had gone down to the Board of Elections to do something about it (maybe he should commiserate with Tim Robbins). I said good bye to the table and thanked them for working today, and I called out to Norah on my way out of the school. I was registered afterall, I had just gone to the wrong table this morning! I told her, and she smiled and said "I'm so happy you voted!"

So I guess I was wrong before when I thought I knew how voting worked. But now, I am sure I know how voting works.

And now...we wait.

Tomorrow, we're electing a new President

I've been feeling queasy and anxious for the last few days, with me feeling worse as each day progresses. Today, I finally realized that it has to do with the Election. This election has definitely been the most interesting (and historic blah blah blah) election I've witnessed to date, and one that I have followed more closely than any other election I can think of. Which is really not saying that much, actually. I don't even know who ran in 2002. I'm probably going to get flamed for this, but this year, I don't hate either candidate. I actually don't! During the last election, I really hated one candidate, but that wasn't compelling enough for me to vote for his opponent. I really hated both options. I refused to vote, refused to take a stand, all while getting berated by one of my friends for wasting the glorious gift ordained to me by my fair country. Anyone that knows me knows that brute force tactics do not really work on me. This time around though, I'm thinking, hey, they're both not so bad. I mean, they're not great, but they're really not so bad. And I actually think that if I don't vote, I'll really be missing out on something grand and "historic."

That said, I'm trying to nail down why I feel so nervous, and I think it's simply this: Regardless of who wins, big change is comin' 'round the bend. BIG change. And for me, anything that resembles change is stress inducing and my automatic reaction is to hate it. I hate change and new things and I resist it. It's illogical and luddish (resembling a Luddite) but I can't help it. I hated it when stamps became self-adhesive (isn't a stamp defined by the very notion that you have to lick it? Clearly not.), when we went from using tokens to metrocards, bemoaned emails and forsook cellphones. My life went on like this for a while until one day I realized my problem and resolved to tackle it head on. I decided that the minute something new is on the horizon, before my gut can even cry out, I will embrace the new thing with gusto and love it. LOVE it! Immediately! Accept it, praise it, adopt it! And before I could change my mind, there was my new mentality. Love change and love new things!

I guess that works for things like keyless cars, "Artic Freeze!" flavors, iPhones and YouTube response videos (even though I still don't get them) but a little less so for things that will potentially change the way I live for a long time to come. Anyway, I'm totally rambling here, but I just wanted to tell y'all that I'm just really nervous about tomorrow and want to vomit everytime I think about waking up on Wednesday, and it has nothing to do with wanting or not wanting Obama/McCain/Palin/Biden to be our country's next leaders, but more so just the tantamount change tomorrow represents.

AND, I still have to figure out how to vote. Because, in a complete 180 from the attitude I had 4 years ago (ha! fooled you), I decided a while ago that I actually want to participate this year and stop hiding behind the excuse of ignorance about issues. Moreso, in the last 23 minutes, I have realized too that if I miss tomorrow's voting, I will really regret it and feel like a complete dumbass, because this time around, I really want to be a part of it - wrong or right. Even though it really doesn't mean anything. And even though I'm not registered. Yeah, I'm not registered. Oops. Luckily, my Dad is working the poll center in my neighborhood tomorrow, so I think I'm going to mosey along up to him and slip him my write-in vote. Wish me luck!