Super Tuesday

This week I was humbled. After years of, I’ll admit it, somewhat looking down on people who got the flu shot as a sign of weakness*, I got the flu. And it sucks. I was wrong, and will be first in line when my office offers the flu vaccine next year. But, despite being bedridden for four days and a thunderstorm looming outside, today is Super Tuesday, and for the first time in my memory, NJ is holding its primary today, rather than in the summer, when, let’s face it, it is basically just ceremonial at that point. So, I threw on a pair of leggings (see, I really am sick), my favorite Uggs, and my puffy coat and schlepped down to the local senior center to cast my vote. As one of three registered Republicans in NJ, how could I not. Oh, that and something I look down upon even more than voluntary flu shots (again, this is past tense, in my book, flu shots now = greatest thing ever) is people who choose not to vote. My college roommate’s husband is from Canada and cannot vote, and this drives him crazy. And I’m sure this race, with what seems like the entire country leaning towards a Democratic president, has him trying to figure out ways to sneak into the voting booth (kidding, I’m pretty sure this is a felony). As I was driving to vote today (it’s only two blocks away, but it’s raining and I’m sick and had to “sit” on line at the pharmacy yesterday, so give me a break), my heart warmed at what I saw. In the five minutes it took me to vote, despite the rain and cold, I saw a packed parking lot, a crowded polling place, a woman walking in the rain to vote, a daughter helping her elderly father from the car with his walker to vote, mothers bringing their children with them to show them our country’s judicial process…and all this begs the question, given the right, how can you not vote?

Of people I’ve asked, these are some of the reasons I’ve gotten as an answer:

1) I don’t have time
2) I don’t know where to go
3) I don’t know how
4) It won’t make a difference
5) I don’t know enough about the candidates
6) I don’t have enough time to make an informed decision
7) It’s against my religion
8) All of the candidates suck

Let’s address these, shall we?

1) I don’t have time: Um, okay, as I mentioned above, it took me five minutes. Granted I went at off hours due to plague-like illness and being home from work; however, in the past I’ve gone at prime hours (before or after work), and it has never taken more than 15 minutes.

2) I don’t know where to go: Okay, I somewhat understand this, because my town gets out the sample ballots notoriously late every year (once even AFTER the date). And there was the year they unexplicably changed polling locations, which resulted in my turning in confused circles at the local fire station, wondering where all the happy people were handing out I Voted stickers. However, a simple call to the municipal building should straighten out any confusion. Go ahead, make the call. It’s toll-free.

3) I don’t know how: If your town is anything like mine, there will be more than enough eager volunteers at your polling place to explain the process. If they could go into the booth with you, I think they would. And, I will admit, I still lose my mind a bit whenever I step behind the curtain (which for some reason always reminds me of the last scene in Wizard of Oz), and my OCD kicks into full gear making sure I’ve chosen the right candidate and not written John Locke into the write in slot. But, take a deep breath, there is no timer, cast your vote. You will be fine.

4) It won’t make a difference: 2000 election anyone? Florida? Ohio? Hanging chads? Hello.

5) I don’t know enough about the candidates: Okay, I don’t want people voting all willy-nilly and making uninformed decisions, especially with some of the people who manage to get their name on the ballot these days. Now, I’m not saying you need to review the candidates websites in detail, compare your results in an undetermined number of “Which candidate is right for you?” online polls, or DVR each and every debate (guilty, guilty, guilty). But you haven’t been able to blink over the past six months without being bombarded with information on the candidates. I would venture to say that to not know anything about them, you’d have to be doing your best ostrich impersonation.

6) I don’t have enough time to make an informed decision: So, we agree that we are bombarded by information, and sorting your way through all of the muck can be overwhelming. And you don’t need to devote your life to figuring it all out. But, take a few minutes away from finding hidden Easter Eggs in the latest episode of Lost, voting for American Idol, and keeping tabs on Britney’s latest escapades (guilty, guilty, guilty), and get informed.

7) It’s against my religion: I’m pretty sure this was a joke. (If you’re curious, he’s Catholic.)

8) All of the candidates suck: Yeah, I have to admit, it often seems like we are voting for the lesser of two evils or voting for one person only because you don’t want the other person to win. And when I get mired down in this, I try and step back and look at the core values of the parties and see where I identify the most.

In order to effect change and get candidates into office that you can actually support, you have to vote. It may not happen overnight, but if we all just throw our hands up with excuses as to why we choose not to vote, it will never happen. So vote, and get a flu shot, it makes you feel good.

Side Note: Despite being hopped on enough prescriptions to require a Monday through Friday pill dispenser, I managed to get my point across (I think) without using the tired adage, “If you don’t vote, you can’t complain”…well, I guess until now. Le sigh. Vote.



*I don’t mean those who fall into the high-risk category or where it "doctor-recommended", I’m not a total jerk.

Who needs a roof in the winter?

Note to self: when your company feels the need to send the head of site services from desk to desk alerting everyone that they will be conducting roof work over the next few weeks, which should have no affect on you, but just in case, here's a business card to call with any problems, it is time to work from home.

Call me naïve, but by "potential problems" I was thinking maybe a ceiling tile would come loose and wind up in my cube. (which, I wouldn't notice due to the piles of paper stacked everywhere, making it look like I am trying to build a fourth wall to my cube.) or, worse case scenario, some poor roof worker dude would come crashing through the ceiling leaving a man shaped hole in the ceiling, a la bugs bunny cartoons. what i did not expect was a recreation of typhoon lagoon. Basically, it's like Kevin Costner's water world was filming here over the weekend. I would like to see the project plan for the roof repair. because from the flood zone that used to be the third floor of my office building, you would think that the building is currently roofless. and I'm pretty sure that would not be an approved milestone in operation: repair the schizz that has thus far passed as a roof. Seriously, i'm expecting to see a frog hop by any minute in search of his lily pad and having to settle for a group of clumped up, water-logged green post it notes. and amid the frenzied conversations in Spanish that make me wish i had paid a little more attention in my six years of high school and college Spanish classes, the coughing is increasing at such an alarming rate it sounds like I am working on a tuberculosis ward in 1923.

Concerns of the potential for asbestos- and mildew-related health problems aside, I have to give the guys a hand who are repairing the WTF roof damage caused by the acme roof repair company that was apparently originally hired. Because these guys are buzzing around here spackling shit, throwing up new ceiling tiles, and crawling around a what cannot be too sturdy sub-ceiling to make sure there aren't any more potential waterfalls waiting to dump out on our heads. Great, now there are tubes running from the ceiling into buckets to collect water. where is that OSHA handbook when you need it?

Xanax anyone?

I think it’s fair to say that things that probably don’t bother most people irritate me. I mean, most people probably don’t get irritated by the mind numbingly bad fashion choices of their co-workers and go around secretly nominating people for What Not to Wear. And, I’d wager a guess that it isn’t everyone who gets annoyed when someone who is not on his or her floor uses “his or her” public office bathroom. And I’d be lying if I said that I didn’t go through most days without asking myself at least once, “What is wrong with me?” or questioning whether I should be on some time of medication. (And I don’t mean St. John’s Wart or some natural mood elevator, I’m talking serious shit that requires Dr. Freud to whip out the prescription pad and start writing.) But today was different. Today I was angry. And although irritable, I rarely get really angry. Yesterday my friend and co-worker asked me if I could pick her up at the auto body shop this morning and drive her into work. So I set my alarm a little early and drove left so that I would get there at the agreed upon time at 8:15. I contemplated stopping at Starbucks for a warm Apple Caramel Spice, but I knew she loved Starbucks and figured it would be kind of crappy if I showed up with a warm tasty treat and she had nothing. Between the ride to work and strong will of Starbucks resistance, I felt like a pretty good friend. Pats on the back for me. That is until she got all shitty on me in the parking lot of our office building because I parked in a different lot than she was used to and she didn’t know how to get to her desk from the car. Now, our building is big, 3,000 people; however, it is only three floors and IS A SQUARE. Which even the geometrically challenged should realize that if you just keep walking in the same direction on your floor, you would eventually pass your desk. And I’m sorry, but, um, if you are 33 years old, you should be able to find your desk without a fucking GPS system in the building you have worked in for SEVEN years. Oh, and she was also pissed because I had stopped at Starbucks, despite the fact I had asked her if she minded, and she said, “No, not at all.” Not just “no”, she added “not at all”. I’m sorry, but to me that means it isn’t a problem. Not to mention, she spent the next ten minutes debating whether it was socially acceptable to get a café mocha at 8:20 in the morning. (My opinion, who the fuck cares.) Anyway, by the time we got to the office and parking lot three (which from her reaction you would think was in fuggen Kansas), it was about 8:45. And these three numbers were apparently enough to cause her to have a verbal Tourettes flip out on me in parking lot three. At 8:45 in the morning, I don’t have the patience for this shit. (Okay, you could insert any time, day or night into that sentence and it would be true.) So, I summon my calm yet clearly pissed voice (which I think I have perfected) and quietly told her, “If you needed to get to work, you should have told me when I ASKED you and we wouldn’t have gone to Starbucks.” And then I turned around and coolly walked away as she stood there with her café mocha (apparently it is socially acceptable). Granted, my cool walk away couldn’t really be a storm off considering I was trying to balance my dry cleaning, new wool tartan tote bag (thanks to Employee of the Month bonus for August), laptop case, empty diet coke can, my Dunder Mifflin lunch bag (the office rules!), and off course my medium cinnamon dolce skim latte (refuse to order by Starbucks rule. Grande = whatevah!). So, it wasn’t the effect I wanted, but I was proud of myself, because what I had really wanted to do was get all Mommy Dearest on her ass and scream, “I was doing you a favor! Or do you think I wanted to get up extra early and drive out of my way to take you to work? But, I did it. So, if I wanted to take a g. damn tour of Bergen County this morning, you should have just shut your mouth and dealt with it!” Or at the very least, paid for my cinnamon latte!

Why My Cat's ASPCA Rep is on Speed Dial...

Disclaimer: I love animals. Really, I do. Please, I can’t watch any movie, TV show, or even commercial that begins to even hint at animal abuse, homeless pets, or anything of the like. I’m currently reading Water for Elephants, and I my mother had to warn me which pages I should skip because of the descriptions of the cruel way circus animals were (are?) treated.

That being said, I had what I thought was a great idea this morning (I was wrong). And that was to dress up my cat, Lulu, for Christmas and take her picture, then, wait for it…use this as my Christmas card. I even had the funny holiday message I wanted to put inside. Now, I feel that I must add another disclaimer here.

Disclaimer 2: In the game of Love it or Hate it, I’ve always kind of hated people who dress up there pets; however, this excludes for holidays. If you want to dress up your dog or cat for Halloween or Christmas, I say go for it, just be prepared for a little pet to owner hatred that will take many treats to resolve. However, it’s the people who dress up their pets on a daily basis that I hate. There is no need for a Chihuahua to be dressed as a bumblebee or a Persian to be dressed as tiger. I mean you are dressing an animal up as another animal. Not necessary. And don’t even get me started on the people who dress their animals like idiots and then tote them around in a little doggie purse. Pet owner rule #321, dogs don’t belong in purses.

Okay, back to Operation Best Christmas Card Ever. So, I trekked off to Pet Smart with my Perks Card in hand. (This somehow made me feel like a responsible pet owner and not one who was about to overtly humiliate her pet.) Since it was only four days after Halloween, Christmas decorations were abound. Now, Lulu is a bit on the fluffy side (read: fat), so I bought her a jaunty small dog Santa suit with Velcro closures and a pair of reindeer antlers. I realize Santa didn’t have antlers and Rudolph did not wear a Santa suit. But, she’s neither Rudolph nor Santa. She’s a cat. Get a grip people. I’m not going for reality here. I’m going for funny.

I got home and couldn’t wait to begin the photo shoot. I dragged out a green fleece blanket to use as the backdrop and set it up on the sofa. Then I called Lulu, which is usually all it takes to get her to jump, light as a bowling ball, into my lap. Being that she is a cat and doesn’t have a lot of reasoning skills (I mean, the antlers and Santa suit in my hand should have been a tip off that something was amiss), she trotted right over. First I went for the Santa suit and was slightly horrified that the SMALL DOG size I purchased didn’t quite fit. (Read: There was no chance in Hell the Velcro closures were going to hold; considered duct tape, but then thought better, as I didn’t want to give her a brazillian wax w/ duct tape.) I finally managed to squeeze her into it and then strapped on the antlers, which was surprisingly easy. I was silently congratulating myself on the brilliancy of this idea and how my Christmas cards were going to be the talk of my friends and family.

Disclaimer 3: Never congratulate yourself until the result you want has been achieved. In this case that would be a usable picture, preferably of Hallmark quality.
I got about 20 pictures of her squirming around the couch and then on the floor, shaking her head trying to lose the antlers. B/c of the minute size of the Santa suit, it looks more like she is wearing some sort of red and white muffler around her middle. And none of the pictures I managed to get captured the look I was going for, Christmas joy, undeniable cuteness, and slight humiliation, just so she knows that I know she is going along with this but not happy about it.

Basically, I have 20 photos of a pissed off cat who is exploding fur. Oh, and a raging allergy attack from the dander that accompanied the fur explosion. And now, costume free, she is mocking me, lying on her back and mugging for the non-existant camera. On the bright side, it’s only November 4. Thanks to digital cameras and Kodakgallery.com, I’ve got plenty of time…as Lulu silently picks up the phone and hits speed dial 7.