Dogs Gone Wild

Scene: It’s 10:00 at night, my roommate P. and I are cleaning up the kitchen before heading to bed. Dog comes into the kitchen dragging his beloved stuffed giraffe toy with him. Dog, places the giraffe just as he wants it, in the middle of the floor, then while staring me in the eye proceeds to climb onto giraffe’s back and have his way with him.

Me: Dog! Gross!

P.:What he’s just letting the giraffe know who’s boss.

Me: But why does he stare at me when he does it.

P.: I think he’s letting you know who’s boss too. You might want to lock your door tonight.

Me: I hate you.

The Youth Vote and Why You Should Care.

I was MIA last week, in case you noticed, attending the Young Democrats of America National Convention in Dallas, TX.  YDA holds its convention every two years and unfortunately I was unable to attend the one in 2005 in San Francisco, CA so I was thrilled to be able to represent my state as a delegate for the 2007 convention. 

The convention had over 500 people from 42 states and territories in attendance.  Not too shabby if you asked me.  We attracted speakers such at Jim Stoltz (founder of votevets.org), General Wesley Clark, Congresswoman Shelia Jackson-Lee, and Senator John Edwards.  Lots a people gave us the accolades of being the future of the Democratic Party, and we appreciated the acknowledgment that we do matter in the party.  For a long time, there has been a strain between the Young Dems and what is commonly referred to as the Senior Party.  Personally I think the tension is stupid, but it exists none the less.  I find that there is some animosity among Senior Party officials toward the YD’s, but they are rare and generally speaking they aren’t the most well-liked members of the party.  On the local level, I’ve found the Senior Party officials to be quite welcoming to YD’s.  My own Senior Party Committee offers a seat on the Executive Board to a YD representative and we work very well together on issues of the Democratic Party.   Because in the end, we all care about the same thing, and that thing is getting Democrats elected. 

But, things are not perfect.  I take specific issue with the notion that Young Dems are the future of the party, when in fact, we are the present.   In 2004 nearly 20 million people voted who were between the ages of 18-29.  This was a 9 point increase in youth vote over 2000 and more people under 35 voted than over 65.  Also in 2004, in the 10 most competitive battleground states, turnout was 64.4% among young voters, compared to 48% across all other states.  It proves that is we are targeted; we will turn out just as senior citizens are. 

We are also growing.  Young voters make up 21% of the electorate (about 41.9 million).  In 2008 the Millennials (that’s us) will be nearly 50 million.  In 2015, we’ll make up 1/3 of the electorate.  Right now there are as many Millennials as there are Baby-Boomers. 

We also vote Democratic.  If only people under 35 had voted in 2004, John Kerry would be President.  In 2006, youth voted 58% in favor of Democrats 6 points higher than the voting-age population as a whole.  Democrats picked up young independents and Republicans lost young voters to us.  According to a recent study by the Harvard Institute of Politics, increased turnout in college towns in VA (Charlottesville and Norfolk specifically), made a huge difference in Jim Webb’s victory of George Allen.

So, I’ve just thrown a bunch of statistics at you, what is my point?  The point is, we vote, if motivated, and we vote for Democrats. 

Here’s my other beef with the party, they think we only care about youth related issues.  I was recently at a candidates’ forum being held at a Young Dems group.  One person asked the candidates what issues they feel are most important to Young Voters.  The candidates all gave different answers, education, transportation; one guy said lowering the drinking age… it was kind of pathetic.  The truth is, we care about the same issues that everyone else did.  We, the Young Democrats, are already tuned in, we care about all the issues, the Iraq war, Social Security, Taxes, Education, Health Care… they are all important to us.  Sure, since I’m broke and a long time away from collecting Social Security or Medicare, they aren’t the most pressing issues of my life, but they are no less important than my concerns for College Affordability and Affordable Housing. 

As we grow as a voting block, and we are one, I hope politicians, electeds, and candidates a like will start taking YD’s seriously and invite us to the table.  For while I find cohesion between local YD and Senior parties, the National party leaves much to be desired. 

So in the Words of YDA: 

I’m Young: And Will Swing the Vote

I’m A Democrat: And My Vote Will Be Counted

I’m Voting: And My Voice Will Be Heard.  

 

The Little Guy

So, if you live in Virginia, or near Virginia, you may have heard recently about these new so called “abuser fees” that just went into effect here in VA.   The media has done a good job of portraying the fees as being thousands of dollars for simple traffic violations, which is totally incorrect.  However, as a result of the media’s inaccurate portrayal of the new law, I have been having some pretty shitty days at work.

I work for a State Delegate in VA.  I won’t say which office, or if my guy voted for or against this bill.  But I do want to tell you a little bit about my experience with the bill that created these fees, the process to its passing, and the now oh so apparent consequences.

We haven’t done shit for transportation in VA in quite a while.  In 2006, the House Republicans (who are in control) and the Senate Republicans couldn’t come to an agreement on transportation so after 6 months of special sessions to work on the fucker, the House Repubs killed it.  Now, anyone who drives on the beltway, 395, 55, let alone any of the highway roads like 50, 123, and 29, know what kind of transportation crisis we are reaching.  It’s the number one priority of voters polled in this region.  And it is fresh on the minds of all the electeds up here.   

Last summer, my boss joined with another Democrat (my boss is a Dem, but you should have guessed that), and two Republicans to draft a bipartisan transportation package designed specifically to address NOVA.  It was a good bill, a great bill.  They had input from several past Secretaries of Transportation, industry experts, concerned citizens, task forces… it was amazing. 

It was killed on the first day the House Transportation committee met.  Six months, down the drain.  But the House Republicans could not let a Democrat have the victory on Transportation that would be very poor politics. 

This year is an election year in VA.  And unless you’ve been living under a rock, you know it’s not the best climate for Republicans, even in VA.  The Republicans knew that we (the Dems) would be hitting them hard on transportation and that especially in Northern Virginia were it is constituents are turning more and more blue, they had to do something about transportation or face some serious problems come November.  

So they crafted this piece of shit.  HB 3202.  Took them quite a long time to draft it too, the Speaker introduced it about 2 weeks into session and the Republicans all congratulated themselves on crafting this amazing solution to the growing transportation crisis in Virginia.  No democrats were sought out, no Task Forces or citizen groups, the only industry folks they talked to were the contractors and developers who stand to make some money off us.  

This bill is over 40 pages long.  That’s pretty f-ing long.  I remember when the Page dropped off the bill at my office.  It made a loud thud as she placed it in my inbox.  I was mortified.  I knew this bill would be bad (Republicans crafted it after all) but I also knew it was going to be my job to read it over and over and over looking at every aspect, tear it apart, create power point projects and give my boss a very thorough brief on it.  

In order to understand how much of a hassle this is going to be, I think it’s important I paint a picture of what it’s like down there.  I’ve broken down a typical day below.

6:50 AM:  Arrive at office

7:00 AM: Prepare days to-do list, catch up on leftovers from previous day, enjoy the only solitude I’m gonna get during the day

8:00 AM: Mail guy brings mail and papers.  Usually dumps about 2 lbs on my desk.  Scan papers to point out interesting articles to boss, open and sort mail… if I’m lucky.  The mail comes 4-5 times a day, but this is the only one I look at.

8:30 AM: My secretary arrives.  I heart her.  I spend maybe 5 minutes at her desk commiserating. 

8:45 AM: Interns arrive.  I also heart them.  I had very smart interns.  We send the boy intern to cafe to get us coffee.

9:00 AM:  Battle stations.   Lobbyists start arriving.  Boss has committee meeting (maybe, depends on the day) receive daily calendar of legislation to be heard in session, highlight interesting bills and make notes for boss.  Juggle lobbyist visits; make people I hate meet with interns.  Field multiple calls, haven’t touched coffee.  Attempt to answer constituent mail, organize email, and meet with more lobbyists

12:00 PM: Mini break.  Members go into session so all the lobbyists disappear to get food.  Interns, other aides and I do the same.  Run downstairs to cafeteria.  Eat in office. 

12:30 PM:  Attempt to catch up on what didn’t get done in the morning.  Look at to-do list.  Cry.

1:15 PM:  They’re back.  Meet boss at elevator; exchange his coat and laptop for briefing on his afternoon meetings, walk backwards trying to block lobbyists from boss.  

1:30 PM: Juggle lobbyists, constituents, press, get boss to committee meeting, work with leg services on one of our 17 bills, drink morning’s coffee, hit head on desk

5:00 PM:  interns leave, secretary leaves, lobbyist start to trickle out.  Boss still in committee needs caffeine; run down 6 flights to get him a diet coke.  

6:00 PM:  Just me and the other aides.  Catch up on everything for the day, greet boss at elevator, exchange his briefings and notes for his coat and keys, and send him to the first of 4 receptions that night.

6:30 PM: Leave with other aides for receptions.

9:30 PM:  Arrive home.  Pass out.

So yeah, it’s hectic.  But I read this thing anyway, it was my job.  I read it and re-read it, and for posterity read it again.  There were so many things wrong with it.  Like constitutional issues of creating a transportation authority that had the power to levy taxes, yet weren’t necessarily elected by that constituency… that’s a big f-ing problem.  And to be honest, these abuser fees were barely a blimp on my radar.  It’s only one paragraph out of the whole damn thing.  My notes on it consisted of curiosity that Republicans who hate to raise taxes had no problem raising fees because the word “tax” didn’t appear in their title.  But in all honesty that was all I thought about it.

The bill passed, of course, the Republicans are in the majority and there were enough guys on our side who thought the bill was flawed, but also knew that their constituents demand that they vote for it that it sailed through.  It went to the Governor, who in VA has line-item veto.  He made some changes and sent it back… it passed again.  At the end of the day, the Republicans wanted to force our guys to have an up or down vote on the bill so they could use it against us in the election.  I’m not surprised, it’s a smart strategy the only problem is the bill is a piece of shit. 

So now, cut to a few months later and all of a sudden, everyone and their mom are pissed about these abuser fees.  I’ve got them calling the office, sending hateful email, threatening letters… and to top it all off, I can’t take them at all seriously because they are so unbelievably stupid.  “I’m gonna work for you opponent next year.” That’s great, but the election is this year and we have no opponent.  “This is why I hate Congress.”  Really?  Huh, that’s interesting ‘cause you know, we aren’t Congress right?  “You must be an idiot, I’m gonna look up each person who has to pay this fee and organize against you.”  Wow, that’s kinda creative, but I think this guy lacks follow through.  “You better repeal this law by the end of the summer.”  Wow, if only we were in session year round, but we’re not so at the earliest it will be next January.  “I’m gonna sue you.”  Bring it on baby. 

No don’t get me wrong.  I don’t expect the majority of people to pay attention to their state government.  Most people don’t think state and local level is worth their time.  The only time they do care is when they think they might have to pay some money.  Money is a good motivator and I understand people having concerns.  I have had people call my office to ask about it; I happily explain and offer to pass on information.  A civil discussion occurs and at the end of the day the constituent has received prompt, courteous information and generally speaking they are happy about it.  I have a great deal of respect for these people.

But then there are the others.  The ones who call and before I’ve finished saying “Thank you for calling….” I get an ear full of “Fuck you bitch, you fucking assholes think you can tax me?  Fuck you.”  Those aren’t that bad because it’s usually over quick.  But I especially hate when these ignorant assholes call my office and proceed to take their most perfected self-righteous and indignant tone with me, berating me, my boss, and anyone who’s ever worked in government as they spew their completely wrong interpretations of a bill they knew nothing about until Fox 5 did a story on it.  These people make my blood boil.  It’s easy to go through life blaming others for problems in our society, it’s easy to call up and scream at a stranger, but at the end of the day, these people are lucky we take the time to try and look out for them.  Sure, shit happens, but we do try to fix it.  Government is political.  When we are lucky, politics can also make good policy.  But we aren’t going to get that good policy as long as the Republicans control the legislature.

So here’s to you, Little Guy.  Thanks for being a complete fucking asshole.  Despite your ignoramus attitudes, it will be my pleasure to continue to fight for you, God knows you’re not capable of doing it yourself. 

 

True Tales of a Political Operative Part II: The Curse of the GOTV Cell Phone.

The first time I ever drafted a post for this website, I wrote about my life as a political operative.  I promised (more like warned actually) you that I would write again of my misadventures in democratic campaigning, so here’s part two of the installment.

In 2005 I returned from Alaska to my home state of Virginia to work on the Tim Kaine for Governor Campaign.  I was thrilled to take this gig.  I had met Tim four years previous as a college freshman when he ran for Lt. Governor.  He is truly an amazing man and I was enthused to be working for him.  Plus after spending several months on barren ice tundra, it was nice to be home again. 

I was a locality director in a Northern Virginia locality.  I had my own office and staff and pretty autonomous from the rest of the NOVA staff.  By the way, there were six people on the Kaine race that I had worked with in Anchorage.  Just a random fact I thought you’d all get a kick out of.  The race was going well, but hectic.  When I had started, we were 11 points down.  At the time this story takes place we were down 1, with a margin of error of +/ – 3.  So to say it was close would be an understatement. 

So here’s the scene.  It’s the Sunday before the election; it’s about 1:00 in the afternoon.  my office was in a walk-out basement of a daycare that faced a rather busy street.  We were hitting the whole city, 24 precincts, 260 volunteers, 50,000 pieces of literature were all being disseminated from my office, and two staging locations I had set up in other parts of the city.  It was just about lunch time and about 30-40 people were in my office.  I had great volunteers and a fantastic local party committee to work with and we were all feeling pretty good, we were gonna make out goal for the day. 

As a couple ladies set up food on the conference table for the volunteers, I stepped outside with my partner in crime T. to discuss logistics for the rest of the day.  She and I sat on the steps leading up to the day care as I chained smoked and we talked about the day.  At some point my boss had called my cell and I had a ten minute conversation with her giving her an update on our progress.  After I got off the phone with her, we were both distracted as one of out super volunteers crossed the street waving a bunch of papers as if in a crisis.  We both jumped up to go help her (in the end it was just a miscommunication but for a few solid minutes we thought something bad had happened to one of our canvassers).  Crisis averted, I turned back to the steps to gather my coffee, keys, and cell phone and low and behold the cell phone was gone.

I had about 2 seconds of wondering if it was in my pocket before I realized it had been stolen and that I had seen the guy that did it.  When we were talking to super-vol (which by the way was less than six feet away from our original seats on the steps), we had all stopped to look as a car came to a screeching halt to avoid hitting a man who was crossing 4 lanes of busy traffic without bothering to wait for the crosswalk signal.  All three of us had commented on how crazy this individual must be to cross so dangerously.  A few moments later, I saw him walk behind me out of the corner of my eye, when you spot crazy you tend to try and keep it in your sight.  I didn’t think anything of it, but he totally grabbed my phone. 

I got inside the office all pissed and trying to figure out what I was going to do.  It was not an option to not have a phone 2 days before the election.  It was just not an option.  I called it, the guy answered, I asked him if he would give me back my phone, he said he would for 20 bucks.  I agreed and walked to the corner to meet him.  He didn’t show.  So I called the police and called Verizon to deactivate the phone.  I was sitting at my desk explaining to my boss the situation when the police showed up.  When they walked in, everyone in the office kinda stopped what they were doing to look at the cops.  It’s not everyday the police calmly saunter into that office and they were curious.  When one of the officers asked for me, H., a 70 year old former Women’s Rights activist stood up in front of me to declare that “she had never heard of her.”  It was kind of sweet to see this woman try to protect me.  She clearly thought I was in trouble with the cops and trying to protect me.  Thinking back on it, it was pretty hysterical.  This woman had burned her bra, marched with Dr. King, and been arrested more times than she could remember.  It was fun watching her recapture that spirit even if misguided.   After assuring the room that I was not wanted by the law, everyone breathed a sigh of relief and I went out with the officers. 

About ten minutes into my conversation with one of the cops, another officer pulled up to tell us they had a suspect in custody.  The cops asked me if I would come with them.  As they held the door open to the cruiser I had a spooky realization that I was getting into the back of a cop car and what if we passed someone I know?  What would they think of me?  Silly, but it still stands out in my mind. 

As we approached the scene the officers explained the situation to me, I was to remain in the car and they’d have the guy stand about ten yards away from the car, he wouldn’t be able to see me and I’d try to make the ID.  I was pretty calm on the drive, ready to catch the fucker.  But, when we got there and I had to look at him, I felt strange.  I hated that this guy was an African American man and that I; a white woman was accusing him of a crime.  Why couldn’t this dude be white?  I hated that they caught him in the section 8 housing.  I hated that he was crazy and mean and he stole from me.  I hated the situation, I hated society, I hated the cops all of a sudden for dropping everything to catch the black guy that stole from the white woman.  It made me feel like a hypocrite, a stupid girl, maybe even a little racist because I had to describe and black man as my perpetrator.  All these things made me so confused and mad that I was having a hard time getting through the encounter.    

So I choked.  I wasn’t entirely sure when I was looking at him if it was the same guy.  The shirt looked different and he was carrying a white plastic bag, not a brown one and he was on foot, not on the bike when I saw him.  All these little discrepancies in my memory caused me to tell the officers that I didn’t think it was him.  They asked me repeatedly if I was sure, and each time I had to tell them that no, I really really wasn’t.  They drove me back to the office and as we pulled up I reached for the door handle and was a little surprised when it wouldn’t open.  I had almost forgotten that I was in the back of a police cruiser.  The officer in the passenger seat let me out of the car and shook my hand saying he’s sorry they didn’t get the guy and handed me his card, asking me to call him if I ever want to come by and look through mug-shots. 

After watching the cruiser pull away from the office I popped my head in to make sure everything was running smoothly, which of course it was because I had an amazing staff.  I jumped into the car and ran down to the closets Verizon store to try and get a new phone.

If I die and go to Purgatory, it will be a Verizon store.  Two hours later, and two hundred bucks down the drain, I had a new phone.  It was getting close to 8 that night.  I had to get my numbers in by 9:30.  I finally left the office somewhere around 2:00 am.  I had gotten my numbers in on time (just barely), made the 10:00 conference call and the 11:30 regional call.  I got the office sorta cleaned up and the materials for the next day mostly ready and after sending my staff home I left the office in the wee hours of the night hoping to get at least 4 hours of sleep.  It had been an eventful day and despite all the bullshit that had served as a distraction, everything that we were supposed to do that day got done.  187 days of the campaign down. 1 to go. 

 

Live Earth Concert

I woke up this morning rather early for a Saturday, at 7:00 am. I tried to go back to sleep, but the truth is I’d be up by 8:00 anyway, so I begrudgingly rolled over and turned on the TV. I was greeted by the Live Earth Concert on Bravo.

You can check out the site for yourself for a lits of all the artists preforming and while the music is entertaining I actually find their informational segments in between concerts much more interesting. Like for example, did you know that Ed Begley Jr. is Hollywood’s most eco-friendly resident? I’m not kidding, he’s got his own line of eco-friendly cleaning products.

Fascinating isn’t it?

I really appreciate the theme of this concert. Raising awareness about global warming is an important issue to champion and I’m glad to see all these artist giving their time to help commemorate that spirit.

But am I the only one that wonders how genuine they all are? I mean, come on. Most of these guys live in Mc-Mansions with their in home theater system, duel ovens and sub-zero refrigerators in their stat-of the art kitchen. The drive the latest from Mercedes, BMW, and Bentley and have the 6 car garage to prove it.

Maybe I’m being overly critical. Who am I to judge someone for living the good life. Yet I still have a hard time having environmental messaging shoved down my throat from a guy that arrived in a Hummer Limo.

None-the-less, I’m gonna keep watching. I really like the music and I have learned some interesting things (Begley’s best intrigues me, perhaps a purchase will be made). I’ll keep you guys posted if anything really interesting happens.

My Quit-life Half Birthday: 6 Months in Review

Six months ago today I quit smoking.

I had smoked for five years, seven months and two days. It started back in college, studying for a test with a friend, a smoker friend. He offered me a smoke to take the edge off and from then on I was hooked.

As with most college students, smoking was the corner stone of my social life. You could always count on conversation with a smoker when you open with the line, “got a light?” My friends were smokers, my colleagues were smokers, and most of my professors were smokers. Smoking was my social crutch.

After school my professional life did nothing but encourage my nasty little habit. I worked for a non-profit in DC right after graduation. They installed a smoking section around back with a couple benches, cemented in stand-up ashtrays, and a lovely little garden for us to admire as we blew our toxins into the air. Smoke breaks were practically mandatory and with the amount of stress we carried working at that place, the nicotine was necessary.

My Life as a college smoker became my life as a professional worker, which lead to my life as a politico smoker. And oh how I loved my life as a smoker. I really and truly did. I loved the relaxation of it. I loved the social aspect of it. I loved the smell, the taste, the feel… I loved a cold beer and a smoke. I loved a hot cup of coffee and a smoke. I loved that after meal smoke and the before you go to bed smoke. The driving with all the windows down smoke was a favorite, as was the post heartbreak cry smoke. I loved smoking.

So I smoked for oh so long. I tried to quit a couple times. A couple weeks here and there, but I always went back. I’m not delusional enough to think that I may never smoke again. I hope I won’t, but you never know.

This time I did the patch, and although it was really, really, hard… seriously the hardest thing I ever did. I’m glad I quit. Because as much as I love my smoke breaks, I realize that I was actually a save to them. I thought I was doing something I enjoyed that helped me relax and really I needed it and I caved to cigarettes whenever a nicotine fit hit me.

Now, I take NSSB (non-smoking smoke breaks) when I feel the need to step away for five minutes and instead of needing the fix to get through the day, I make my days. I don’t smell like a bar anymore, I feel reasonably safe that my breath is alright, and I no longer have to excuse myself to sneak off for a smoke. I have my life back, and it’s truly awesome.

So, in the six months of not smoking I’ve saved over $360. I’ve decided to buy myself a present. Suggestions welcome.

Happy half-birthday to me!

On Why Women Feel Targeted.

I’ve been in deep thought the last couple days. I know what you’re thinking, but I stretched first to avoid injury, so I appreciate the concern but I’m fine.

My best gal pal Jessabean, wrote an eloquent piece on her blog about feminism. The article links to several other blogs and articles specifically on cat calling and if you have the time I highly suggest taking the time to review all the different perspectives.

The question, “am I a feminist,” struck a cord with me. I’m a little surprised women have to ask themselves that question.

But that topic will be covered (probably extensively) another day.

Today I want to talk a little bit about the underlying theme of the aforementioned posts. Sexual assault.

These thoughts of feminism were sparked from an earlier conversation about cat calling, specifically in DC. Now I live in the DC metro area and have, myself, been cat called. Sometimes I think nothing of it, sometimes it irritates the shit out of me, and sometimes it scares the hell out of me. I’ll give you two examples.

The other day I was in Old Town, Alexandria, getting ready to cross the street to meet at friend at Chadwicks, I was waiting for traffic to cross and as a car drove past me, the guy in the passenger seat looked at me and said “muy bonita.” I’m not sure if he knew I even heard him, or that I spoke Spanish, but I gave this incident very little thought. Since his car was moving, I was in a public place surrounded by others and it was daylight, I didn’t feel threatened at all.

On the other hand, one time I was walking toward the metro and walked in front of a row house where several men were sitting on the porch. It was just after 9, it was sorta dark, and it was a quiet street. From the porch one of the guys yelled to me “We need a swing like that on this porch baby!” I kept walking and pretended not to hear him as his friends laughed. I guess the guy wasn’t satisfied because he came down off the porch to follow me yelling “Hey,” at me as if to get my attention. I continued to ignore him. He jogged up to me and put his hand on my shoulder to stop me. It scared the shit out of me. I turned around really quickly and put my hands up defensively. I guess he got the hint because he put his hands up in and backed away from me calling me a “crazy bitch” under his breath.

Now I imagine the women reading this post find my reaction to the guy touching me to be justified, probably a lot of the men too. But there are some out there that would see me as overreacting to a guy trying to get my attention. But the point men often don’t see is that we as women see every cat call incident as a possible threat.

Why do we react to a guy calling out “hey baby” as a threat? The answer is not simple. Female sexuality has been taught to us (us = women) as something we should protect. We are told as little girls that boys only want one thing and that its our responsibility as women to protect our virginity. Now I don’t actually think this is a good thing to teach our daughters, I think sexual empowerment is liberating and helps develop a balanced psyche, yet, I still recognize that some evil men might use my sexuality as a weapon to hurt me.

A woman is raped every 2 minutes. EVERY 2 MINUTES. Now I’m not trying to say men aren’t raped, they are and while only one in 50 female rape victims report the crime it’s estimated that the under-reporting for male victims is even higher. I’m not saying men aren’t victims, but most of the male victims are also children (under 16) and that brings about a whole other topic about pedophilia and child abuse.

We, women, are taught from a very early age that rape is a possibility of our lives. One of my favorite feminist books Cunt! A Declaration of Independence, by Inga Muscio goes into a little detail about this unspoken female awareness of sexual assault. Muscio is a night owl and often writes into the early hours of the morning. She describes in one of her chapters about the relationship she has with a woman in her building. This woman works the graveyard shift is often just getting home around 3:00 am. When Muscio needed to run out to the 24 hour corner market to get supplies for her all night writing sessions she’d call the woman and tell her where she was going and that she’d be back in fifteen minutes. The woman never inquired why Muscio was calling to tell her that piece of information nor did they ever discuss what was to be done if she didn’t call her. She just knew, just like we all do.

I’ve done this myself, especially in college. I would call my roommate (who happens to be unquietheart from the linked blog at the top of this post) when I was leaving something late on campus to let her know I was going to be home soon. I wanted her to know where I was and what time I’d be there in case I was attacked on my route home. This may seem dramatic, but sexual assault happened often on our college campus and while I didn’t live in fear that it would happen to me, there was no shame in taking precautions.

My freshman year we had a peeping tom hit the Village (a group of 8 dorms or so) where I lived. He would peak at girls in the shower. We had been warned, but didn’t think much of it. Then we got the report that he had reached into one of the showers and grabbed a girl on her buttocks. That had me pretty concerned. Then a night sometime later I hear my suitemate scream from OUR bathroom and ran to investigate. She had walked in to find a man standing on a sink looking over into the shower on her roommate. He fell at the sound of my suitemates scream, but escaped before campus police arrived. From that day until the guy was caught we had a buddy system. We dragged a chair into the bathroom and took turns sitting in the chair to keep watch while one of us showered. To this day my gal pals will still sometimes call me to let me know where they are and when they will get there. I never question them and always stay up until I get that “I’m home,” phone call or text message. It’s what women do for each other, it’s the unspoken rule that we all know and never talk about.

In Case You Were Wondering…

I saw this on a blog somewhere… I’m not sure where. Anyway, it was seven random things about the author and I found the concept sorta intriguing and since I am lame and have nothing poignant to contribute, I figured what the hell.

1. I’ve never had a cavity in my life. When I was a kid my Mom took my brother and me to a pediatric dentist and he put these sealants put on my teeth that supposedly prevented cavities, and I guess it worked because I’ve never had one. I’m freakishly afraid that I may have one now as an adult and would look incredibly foolish in front of the dentist when I start asking a billion questions. Plus that drill sounds scary.

2. I sleep with six pillows on my bed, and they are all for me. I like to surround myself with them so anyway I turn I can have a pillow to hold on to. When guests come over and need to borrow a pillow it can take me up to ten minutes to decide which one to sacrifice.

3. Tomatoes are foul and I will not eat them. I’ve eaten cow’s liver, but I won’t put a tomato in my mouth. They taste putrid and rancid and I don’t understand how anyone stomachs them.

4. Quitting smoking was the hardest thing I ever did and as happy as I am with my healthier life, I so terribly miss my life as a smoker. I really miss sitting on porches with friends and chain smoking for hours or using the old “got a lite?” line to flirt with guys at bars. That was nice.

5. I’m missing a bone in my pinky toe. It’s not noticeable to the naked eye, but I still feel self-conscious about it. Medically, there’s no outward difference, I can wiggle it and move it like the other toes, it doesn’t look deformed or anything. But still, I think its weird and worry that others will too. Can’t date anyone with X-Ray vision or they’ll know my secret.

6. When I was a kid I had a crush on Danny from the New Kids on the Block. Remember him? The older, uglier one? He had the rat tail? No? Don’t worry, no one else remember him either. But at nine I loved him and would have been his rock star wife. And after his career faded and he was forced to take a job selling insurance I’d start my own music career and be more famous than Debbie Gibson. Excuse me, Deborah Gibson. That was the plan at any rate.

7. I was nationally ranked in the Junior Riffle Tournament in 1993. I earned my expert marksmen achievement in both the prone and kneeling positions. My proclivity for deadly sports continued in college where I shot archery competitively. Lesson here, there’s a good chance I can kill you from across a football field so let’s play nice.

 

Drivers Beware, God is Watching You!

I’m not making this up. The Vatican has just released its Ten Commandments for Drivers. You can view them here if you’d like, but just in case your clicking finger is broken, I’ve copied them below.

 

Drivers’ Ten Commandments

The “Drivers’ Ten Commandments,” as listed by the document, are:

1. You shall not kill.

2. The road shall be for you a means of communion between people and not of mortal harm.

3. Courtesy, uprightness and prudence will help you deal with unforeseen events.

4. Be charitable and help your neighbor in need, especially victims of accidents.

5. Cars shall not be for you an expression of power and domination, and an occasion of sin.

6. Charitably convince the young and not so young not to drive when they are not in a fitting condition to do so.

7. Support the families of accident victims.

8. Bring guilty motorists and their victims together, at the appropriate time, so that they can undergo the liberating experience of forgiveness.

9. On the road, protect the more vulnerable party.

10. Feel responsible toward others.

Wow. I mean seriously wow. Thank God the Vatican has told me how to be a good Christian driver.

I know now that I must give up my hedonistic ways. No more driving through school zones at 90 mph, smoking a cigarette and flicking the burning ember toward the little children fleeing from my vehicle for their very lives.

I guess spinning my tires in the Wal-mart parking lot would be a clear demonstration of my expression of power and domination, so can’t break number 5 again.

And the Pope is right, I should stop giving blow jobs for 10 bucks in the back seat of my Johns’ cars. From now on, they’ll have to take me down a back alley to get some of my sweet lovin. Just like the trannies do.

Thank you Vatican, without your clear and concise road practices, I doubt I would have ever truly known the wonders of Christian driving. Seriously, this is so much more important than trying to end hunger or advancing peace in the Middle East, or encouraging those of wealth to give to the poor… No, why waste your time on those complicated and foreign problems when you can solve road rage with one little piece of paper.

Twits.

I’ll kick you in the lugnuts

Scene: Its 11 am on Saturday its already a steamy 350,000 degrees Fahrenheit outside. My Roommates J. and P. are helping me change a flat…er exploded tire… I had gotten the previous evening.

J.: “Do you have a spare?”

Me: “I have no idea.”

P.: “You’ve got a jack though, right?”

Me: “Again, no idea.”

J.: “Well I’ve got a jack but we need a spare. Do you know what size tire you drive on?”

Me: “They come in sizes? Like dresses? I don’t know, medium?”

J. to P.: “It’s like she’s gone temporarily retarded.”