|"Just stay with me and I'll have it made..."
||[Oct. 26th, 2006|03:14 pm]
|||||Blind Melon- No Rain||]|
So, George Dubya Bush will be literally down the street from my house speaking at my old high school gymnasium, where we ate White Castles at prom breakfast, the Lunch League was formed and I graduated. And I really can’t bring myself to care. I’m not trying to be disrespectful. I just… don’t care. People laugh at me for this, but one of my biggest qualms with Bush is his complete inability to speak. I would get chills when Clinton spoke. I’m not asking for Clinton. Just not Qualye-esque. I’d just be disappointed with him and his speech. As always. I’d rather stay home. Also, over 4,000 tickets were dispersed. Hah. You can't fit 1,000 people in that gym. Hah. Can you imagine 4,000 angry Republicans trying to squeeze in that little gym? Hilarity ensues!
My computer INSISTS it is January 1, 1988.
I canvas for Baron Hill now. Good times. I feel like a Mormon. My job is to get kicked off various porches. Ray, that was a joke. I respect you and your religious convictions. It’s actually not bad. The money is pretty decent and it’s extremely laid back. As I was working the phones, someone stumbled across some type of Mike Sodrel campaign song. It’s hilarious. Sounds like John Ashcroft’s “Let The Eagles Soar.” In fact, I’ll bet John Ashcroft produced it. It was kinda glorious.
Has anyone seen the Michael J. Fox ad for stem-cell research? It will make you effing cry. Check it out…
Lately, I’ve been listening to a lot of music I’ve neglected for the past couple years. Tonight it was Dashboard Confessional. It’s funny how you’ll put in something that hasn’t had a spin in years and you still remember all the words and wonder why you retired it.
I’ve also been… baking… a lot. I come from a long line of liberal women who can’t cook. I’ll always remember my great-grandma, Gigi, putting important documents and other random things in the oven. Because, “What in the hell else are you going to do with an oven?” My mom recently bought me a cookbook. I think more in an effort to break the cycle and not have to rely on take-out for the rest of my life and not so much in an effort to domesticate me and turn me into an apron-wearing, Volvo-driving soccer mom. But as a result, I discovered that baking relaxes me. So I’ve been doing it a lot. And feeding everyone many banana-nut muffins and what-not.
I’m 20 now. I feel old. But for different reasons. Life is good.