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2004-11-03 @ 12:06 a.m.
electoral dysfunction


Argghh! decided its just too anxiety producing to listen to election results on tv, so I decided to listen to Louis Armstrong and write. I just made a much dreaded work related phone call. But it turned out to be pretty easy. I just had to call a team member at her house to ask her what time we had to meet tomorrow. I am going to be “shadowing” her to see what my new job involves. That should be enlightening. I mean KNOWING what my new job involves and all. Yay me!

Tomorrow will also be good because I finally get my disability check. And hopefully it’ll be the last time I get down to only having $12.38 in the bank. I’m also selling my dehumidifier to somebody so I’ll have an extra $60 to put towards something useful like FOOD say. I hope this is the end to this poverty shit, because I am here to say, it ain’t fun.

So I saw the ever intriguing “A” this morning. I tried to discuss the thing he had said last Thursday that was upsetting to me, but he said that I had said it aloud first so he thought it was ok to say it. Umm, no. But trying to win any argument against “A” is like trying to snatch a live chicken out an alligator’s mouth. He is an absolute master at putting stuff back on people and making them think they said it. He’s done it to me before. Many times. And I know it. And he knows it. And its like a little dance we do. So I just gave in. Why spend my whole session debating something that will never be settled?

You do know you’re annoying when you do that, right “A”?

He also advised against me sending Married Guy’s son a birthday card this coming week. I guess he thinks it’ll get things started up again between me and M.G. I feel really bad that I can’t wish kidlet a birthday wish for his 13th year though. On the one hand I can see his point. Sending kidlet a birthday greeting would show an interest in my part on perhaps being “part of the family” again. As in Witty...family friend extraordinaire. But on the other hand, kidlet had nothing to do with any of this. Its not his fault, my friendship fell apart with his father. And it is possible, he might possibly miss my presence in his life. He did like me. We always had a really good relationship. Everytime I used to go to the house, he used to always ask me to stay for dinner, much to the chagrin, I think of wifie.

My mom thinks I should send the kid a card. I’m torn. I understand both arguments. And I actually think Married Guy might still do something this week, like send me an e-mail asking me to come out to the house for a birthday party or something. As in:

...But witty....its Kidlet’s one and only 13th birthday. You HAVE to come. Guilt. Guilt. (see “A”, I do get it).

After “A”s appointment and a quick lunch, I headed over to the YMCA. Fortunately today the pool was a lot less crowded. As in no old fogies doing water aerobics and no rug rats running around screaming in the kiddie pool. It was actually very, very pleasant. I strapped on a flotation device before I got in the pool and grabbed a kick board and swam three laps. Three laps isn’t very much considering 9 laps is a 1/4 mile. But I didn’t want to overdo it like last time when I did the aerobics class and then swam 1.5 laps, flailing around with that stupid noodle, feeling really sore and achy afterwards.

And again there was that cute, Greek-God-like lifeguard watching over the pool. Oh, what a lovely body. Firm thighs. Succulent lips. And that lovely dark, wavy hair. I’m such a sucker for dark, wavy hair. And as I was kicking along with my kickboard, I was thinking about how much fun it would be to unleash some incredibly convincing “Help, help, I’m drowning and I need mouth to mouth resuscitation” scenario in front of the Greek-God lifeguard guy, but I figured that probably all the middle aged women had already tried it at least once, so I decided not to do it.

I did head over to the whirlpool however. The water jets felt awesome and they felt even better once the one whirlpool occupant, a zombie-like woman, left after about five minutes and I suddenly had the whole whirlpool to myself. Yowza. It was then that I decided I really needed some attention to my quads (the muscles on the front of my thighs. They are perpetually sore from walking and today from swimming). So I positioned myself around so that I had my thighs pressed up against the high powered water jets. Of course, I didn’t want to look too pornographic doing it, mind you, since I was at the “Y,” but yeah, baby!!!!

I couldn’t believe how good it felt. It actually rivaled a Married Guy massage, which I have so sorely missed recently. I’ll just have to figure out when there aren’t too many people around the whirlpool, so I can do the porno-thighs thing without detection. :-)

Afterwards I intended to stop in the sauna room for the first time. The other night I was talking to my brother’s girlfriend and she told me how relaxing and pleasurable a sauna can be and had given me an interesting tip. She had said to go get my hair wet in the shower, and then apply hair conditioner to the tips (or any part of your hair that is dry or crispy) and then go into the sauna for like 10-15 minutes. She said that your hair and skin will be just amazingly moisturized. So I was going to do that, but when I looked into the sauna room, which was a lot smaller than I realized (maybe 8X8), there was a blonde woman sitting in there looking somewhat orgasmic, so I decided I better not interrupt anything. Gulp.

On the way home I stopped to vote. And how lucky could I be? My polling place was directly ACROSS THE STREET from my house. So I got there and Harry and Betty, the 105 year old poll workers were sitting there with their oxygen tanks. I told them my name. And as usual nobody can EVER spell my last name right. So I spelled it for them and they’re slowly leafing through the voter’s registry. Daylight was slowly turning into night and I was like, come on Grandpa. Step on it. I want to vote in the 2004 election. Not 2008. And then they finally arrived at the conclusion that I was NOT registered.

WHAT?????


No way. I am definitely registered. I registered right after I moved to this address. I just got a postcard from the Board of Elections about a month ago. So they looked again. Them: “You’re not on our list”. Me: “But I live across the street. You can see my roof from here”. Them: “I’m sorry, but you’ll have to go over to that table”. So I walk to another table with Betty II, age 111. Me: “Is my name on your list?” She slowly looked through a stapled list of names and then looked up at me. “No. You’re not here. You’ll have to call the Board of Elections. Talk to Fred, our fireman assistant over there. He’ll call them on the phone.”

So I walked over to Fred, who looks like just about every old Eye-talian guy in my entire neighborhood. I had the Board of Elections phone number in my hand. He dialed it twice for me, rather half heartedly, like yeah, I’m really gonna get through to the Board of Elections on Election Day. It was busy both times and I could tell he wasn’t going to dial it a third time unless I went to the **** Bakery and got him some canoles.

Betty II then called out, “Well, there is another polling place two blocks from here. Maybe you belong there.” Huh? Doesn’t that seem a little strange? I live 100 feet from here and you can see my roof from your window. Why wouldn’t I vote here? But I wasn’t about to question it, since I was going to vote, if it was the last fucking thing I ever did. So I got in my car (it was raining and I was just coming home with groceries. Don’t think I wouldn’t normally walk ACROSS THE STREET TO VOTE FOR GOD SAKES) and drove down to the Catholic School.

I was rather astounded that there was no markings whatsoever, showing that this was a polling location. Even after I drove into the parking lot there were no signs. I pulled up and could see a priest teaching a class of school kids, and I was like....where the hell do I vote? I then walked into this dark, depressing Catholic School hallway (oh, what memories it invoked!!) and saw a door open with an old person standing by it. And since finding an old person standing in an elementary school hallway was a dead giveaway, I knew I had found the voting place.

Once in the voting booth, which I think was from 1942, I pulled only one lever. That was all I there for. I’m from a Kerry state anyways, but I wanted to be heard nevertheless.

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