Need Help?

Well, of course you're going to get out and vote next Tuesday! To not do so would be asinine, and you aren't an irresponsible asshat like that. You actually acknowledge that the freaking country is a shambles, and you want to do something about it. You have a daughter or son whom you don't actively dislike and therefore you DO want them to have a non-sucky world to live in, one where abortion is safe and legal and you can breathe the air and drink the water.

So, yeah, DUH. But you're having a little trouble deciding WHICH candidate you should vote for.

Enter Presidential Guidester! You select what your beliefs on most "issues" are, and the guidester gives you the breakdown of what percentage of your beliefs go with which candidate.

I was 100% John Kerry.

I didn't expect it to be quite that cut and dried, but hey, what can I say? Bush is just that bad.

So, check it out! It's fun! And you might even learn something!

Update

The church took their sign down.

Thanks to all who contacted them!

Irony at its Best

For the past eight million years, or at least most of his "adult life", Sean has had Godawful Long Ponytailed Geek Hair. This was bad. Now, he has Shorter Sexy Hipster Hottie Hair. This is good. But, his Halloween costume is such that it requires Godawful Long Ponytailed Geek Hair. So he has to wear a nappy-ass wig.

This is very funny.


Speaking of Nappy Hair

My hair is crying out mercilessly to be cut. When it's wet, I can no longer pull my fingers through the splittiness of my hair's ends. I have a haircut in mind, something shorter and hipper and perhaps bang-ed. I was thinking Bettie Page-ish before, but then I remembered--I am a yuppie now and thus want to be taken seriously at work. Since I don't work at an "arty" job, that kind of precludes such cool haircuts as Bettie Page-ish or pink shaved. I also probably shouldn't wear a nose ring.

This is sad. I shall pout now.

Hate is Not a Christian Value

A church not far from my house has posted a sign out front that reads:

Homosexuality is a sinful choice.
Repent.

I know this because Sean called me saying he wanted to "call the police or something" because it was a "hate crime".

Well, unfortunately, it's not really a crime. But I was, of course, terribly angry and offended. If you want to preach hate in your church, fine, you are all ignorant fucks. But don't pollute my community with your nasty messages. The thought of someone from elsewhere seeing that sign and silently noting This town is a close-minded town angers me unspeakably.

So, I called. No one was there (they were probably all dressed in white sheets burning crosses somewhere), so I left a message stating my name, that I was a member of the community, and that I was offended by their sign. I said that I thought their sign promoted hate, and that hate was not a Christian value at any church I am familar with. I asked them to take it down.

Sean will be doing the same.

Would anyone else like to join us?

New England Baptist Church
30 Salem Street, Medford, MA 02155
(781) 395-6116

How 'Bout Those Red Sox?

How 'bout 'em???

A Story About Gas

This morning was not a good one. A graveyard of discarded skirts lay on my bed, and yet I still looked like crap. I didn't have time to put on any makeup beyond the requisite blush and concealer. I even forgot to slice up olives for my salad!

When I finally ran out the door, I remembered. Gustav the BeetleBugCar's gas alert beep had been beeping shrilly and insistently the entire way home last night.

Fuck, says I to that. Fuck.

So, off I went to the gas station, where I pulled up to the pump and breathlessly requested: "Fill it up! With Regular! Please!" The attendant smiled gamely and strode off to do my bidding, and I sat back in my seat and sighed contentedly, confident that all was at last well in the world.

Then, I reached into my wallet to pull out my trusty credit card, and found only a sad blank slot in its usual spot.

Fuck, once more. But a bigger Fuck this time.

I popped from the car like a jack-in-the-box on speed and ran to catch the attendant. "Wait! Can you make it ten dollars??? I forgot my credit card!"

He nodded and obliged, so I gave him my ten bucks and sped off.

But, I have to wonder--what would have happened if I HADN'T caught him? Or if I HADN'T had ten bucks in my wallet? Would they have held me prisoner until someone could come bail me out? Would they have hauled me across the street to the police station? Would they have made me give them my thumb?

Here Today, Gone Tomorrow

We arrived back from Barbados to a message from my mother, saying to call "whenever I get in, no matter how late it is.". (This always means someone is Dead. People never say to call "no matter how late it is" unless someone is either Dead or Nearly Dead.) It was just a hair of trepidation that I called her back, to confirm that, indeed, Someone was Dead.

So, yes, my grandmother passed away the morning of the night we returned to the good ol' U.S. of A. I foresee your condolences and I thank you for them. I loved my grandmother very much and saw her nearly every day of my life growing up, and almost that often when I was actually grown up. She taught me so much, and was strong and gentle and lovely to me all of my life. She was 94.

But, by 94, she was only a shadow of herself. I'm happy to know that she is no longer suffering, is no longer fighting, is no longer afraid. I hurt mostly for my grandfather, who is inconsolable and sobs that he "misses his wife". He is 97. They were married longer than the average U.S. lifespan.

Now, I know it is the Beginning of the End. He will not last long, grieving for her. When he is gone, they will sell The Farm. The place I grew up will become tract mansions, surely as my tummy is sunburned. My family will fight bitterly amongst themselves, the aunts and uncles who used to go on vacations with us and come over for margarita parties will become mad with greed, their lips twisting like pipe cleaners.

But I don't have time to think of that. I have to repack the bags I just pulled tank tops and bikinis and shorts from with respectable enough clothing to wear to a funeral. I have to hop on a plane tomorrow morning. I have to try and tie up numerous loose ends before then.

Then, I will come back and regale all of you with stories about the lovely island country of Barbados.

I'll miss you, Grandma. I've missed you for years.

Why I'm Not Sure We Should Have Kids

Conversation:

"Mathilda is so cute and small. Look at her tiny head!"

"I don't think she's that small anymore, honey. She's kind of a medium-sized grown-up cat now."

"I know." Pause. "But her head still fits in my mouth."

"Er...what?"

"Her head. It fits in my mouth."

"How exactly do you know this?"

"Well, I was sitting there one day, and patting her head. And all the hair was flat and her head looked so tiny, so I wondered. Then I just went...(*Opens mouth widely*)"

"..."

"What?"

"..."

"What?"

Anyway

"There are so many things I'll never get to watch her experience, now." the mother said regretfully of her dead child. "So many things she'll never get to experience."

"Like what?" the pre-teen asked.

"Oh, lots of things. Like, her first kiss."

"Like she would really tell you about that." the pre-teen sniffed scornfully.

"She wouldn't." The mother smiled a strange kind of patient half-smile. "But you know. You know, anyway." She turned then, looking far, far out the window; as if the answer to some profound question lay somewhere beyond the darkening horizon, visible only to her.