Hmmph, I still had to go to work this morning so he’s no messiah.
And that’s all I have to say about that! Well, that and I’ll believe it when I can cash it!
Civic Duty
America the Beautiful! My country, ’tis of thee, Sweet land of liberty….. Oh, election day!
There have been many concerns voiced over this election regarding race, gender, and the like…. Voter registration has soared; and, in many areas of Chicago and Mississippi, the dead have risen to show their civic pride.
Voting itself has been a chaotic experience today. In Braxton, the touch screens weren’t working so they had to do paper ballots but only had 2 pens that were “approved” by the Secretary of State’s office. Therefore, a line developed of over 50 people who had to wait because only 2 people could vote at a time. I was not aware that there were specific pens to be used. In Mayberry, voting was always by paper ballot but I seem to remember them using some sort of charcoal pencil. My prescint was uneventful, thankfully. There were 3 old ladies waiting on the 4th on her walker. An old ass hippie yelling about how he shouldn’t have to be registered b/c he’s an American. I showed my laminated voter registration card; a 90 yr old woman confirmed i was on the roll. I went to the touch-screen booth where Ben Franklin’s grandfather made sure that I “knew how to use this new-fangled techno stuff” and I made my selections.
The sad part is that the major surge of emotion that I felt was not so much patriotism or pride but relief that perhaps now the mudslinging Wicker/Musgrove ads would be over.
Irony
I received my voter registration card in the mail yesterday. I haven’t voted since I moved to my new house 3 years ago; therefore, I had no idea where I would be going to vote in November. So I read the card that my voting precinct is on GEORGE WALLACE DRIVE. Does anyone else see irony in this or is it just my twisted sense of humor?
Bringing Home the Bacon
Okay so really it’s more like pressed ham but the good news is that I’M WORKING AGAIN. It is exciting to wake up knowing that I have something to do today other than laundry. (Why is it that even when laundry was all I had to do all day I couldn’t catch up? It’s like the post office. The laundry never stops.) I have a reason to shower daily again. I can wear clothing that wasn’t manufactured by Hanes. I’M WEARING MAKEUP AGAIN.
Back to the job, I’m proofreading again. (Who would have ever thought that I’d end up on THAT career path?) However, this time I’m proofing ad copy at a publishing company rather than audit reports and tax files. I have a large office in a loverly shade of light yellow but it’s most important feature is 
THE DOOR!
At my last job, internal offices did not have doors but rather arched “openings” to encourage more interaction. Personally I think it was so they could make sure you were working at all times. At the job before that, my office had 4 doors! Instead of privacy, the doors ensured my office was a central hub of the office, more of an busy intersection feel than a productive place to work. It’s rather sad that I’m so excited over a simple door moreso than the 100% employer paid health insurance or the 401k both of which start immediately with no waiting period. But I’m a simple girl who appreciates the simple things in life, which this week is a DOOR!
Outsourcing
I’ve noticed a recent trend in local journalism. As of late, both our statewide newspaper and our local television news reports have taking to citing ridiculous sources. A story on gang violence last night quoted WIKIPEDIA in the history of the gang. A recent murder victim’s MYSPACE page was ”researched” and comments were read. “The victim’s myspace page revealed that she was loved and popular.” WTF? When did Wiki and myspace leave the pop culture phase and morph into serious journalistic sources?
Wiki is a good source for information in a pinch but I’d never cite it for an academic assignment and certainly not for my CAREER IN JOURNALISM. That’s like quoting Dan Rather. Wiki is a USER MODIFIED site. An acquaintance’s ex-husband is an asshole of the tinfoil hat variety. A friend of mine begs her frequently for permission to “edit” said ex-husband’s wiki page. Because, you know, any moron can have a wikipage now. It’s practically myspace without the layout formatting.
Take 2 of these & Call me in the morning
My body is revolting against me. I’m not sure if it’s the heat or the unemployment. I can’t sleep, I can’t focus, and I can’t quit going to the bathroom. I’m constantly thirsty, which explains the frequent urinating. I havemunchies like a stoner. I took a few shots of Jack Daniels the other night. Usually liquor makes me sleepy after it makes me mean. I started a fight with Monkey Butt but I never got sleepy. My inner-hypochondriac is going at hyperspeed trying to decide if I am have diabetes, depression, or just cabin-fever.
When the going gets tough, the tough get going
I have the itch. As long as I can remember, every couple years, I get this itch.
{No, it’s not something that I picked up from a one-night stand, Chrissy. That would be you, remember 
}
My momma swears that I have gypsy blood. I can’t stay in one place. When I was a teen, I bounced back and forth between houses. In college, I hopscotched my way through the different campuses. I moved across the state and back in a matter of years. And then, I decided to play grown-up and put down roots. It’s been over 3 years now. I am starting to feel the need to wander.
Do I wander when I get manic or when I get depressive? Well, that, my dear, is a point to ponder….
Monkey Butt went and checked out my finding. He liked it too. Enough that he’s going to call the mortgage lender tomorrow. And it could just be another of my pipe dreams, but it could end up a 4 bedroom,3 bath way to scratch my itch. (Oh, and did I mention the inground pool? I can’t have what I really want so I might as well have a great tan!!)
Summer In The South
It hit 93 degrees today. Sidewalks sizzled all over the city. Summer in the South is like being trapped in a Mason jar for 4 months… or more. June, July, August, and September are guaranteed to boil your blood. October is a maybe month. It’s not just the scorching heat but the humidity. It’s sticky and opressive and it makes my hair go *poof*! However, if humidity was an energy source, we would have no gas lines in the South!
Monkey Butt got himself well roasted at the lake yesterday. Johnboy and Bubba are lucky enough to have their mother’s skintone. They tan easily. I’m slightly jealous. Monkey Butt, the Sassy Brat, and I share a skintone commonly referred to as fishbelly and is often known to cause temporary blindness when hit with direct sunlight.
I’m ready for Christmas, the South’s only other Season.
Angel of the Mourning
I frequently complain here about the state of my marriage. Today I read this line:
I have a divorced friend that has been divorced 3 years now, and mourns “being married”.
As I mulled this over in my head, I realized that I, too, would probably mourn the death my marriage as much as the loss of Monkey Butt. I love being married. Even if I nitpick about the way/frequency that he shows his affection, I would miss his companionship. I would miss being confident in my relationship status. For all my disgruntled rambling, marriage is becoming a security blanket to me and I, too, would mourn the loss of that warmth.
I hated dating. I disliked everything about dating. Unlike some people who relish the unattached life and the independence that it requires, I dislike floating through the world alone. I do not like meeting new people. I do not enjoy having to frequently change partners and repeat the “getting to know you” dance. I do not like having to decipher a new acquaintance.
I most certainly love my husband. I may not like him sometimes but I like knowing that he’s waiting for me at our home when I leave work at 5 o’clock. I like a lover that I know well. I like knowing his preferences and his habits. It doesn’t make love boring. It makes love familiar. I love lying in bed wrapped in his arms. I love that floating feeling when I think about him or how much I love him. I like that he allows me to maintain my illusion of independence while at the same time we are dependent upon one another. I like having inside jokes and pouring my secrets out to him. I enjoy the intimacity of the emotional relationship as much as the physical.
I used to believe intensely that love made you vulnerable. I used to make plans to leave before I was left. I used to have high high standards that few men could meet. I used to have a checklist of steps to be completed before the relationship could progress to the next level.
And then I met Monkey Butt. Monkey Butt is nothing like anyone I’ve ever dated. Monkey Butt who ground my checklist under his boot like a old cigarette. I broke the rules. He didn’t make me.
