Vroom-Vroom!

When I was in high school, I was invited to join a sorority. (Yes, yes, I know. It’s the South, y’all. A leftover from the debutante balls/coming-out presentations of yesteryear. Fiddle-dee-dee!) Anyway, I’ll never forget the junior who came to pick me up for the first in a series of weekend adventures/parties/dances/sleepovers. L. was a cheerleader, on Student Council, had adorable kinky-curly blonde hair, went out with the cutest soccer player at the private school across town, and drove what instantly became my dream car: a red Jeep Cherokee.

Long story short, my mom wouldn’t let me join that sorority—and I would have, too (but now I’m glad I didn’t b/c I know what a real sorority is about, and it’s not having your name announced by one of your former teachers in front of some antebellum mansion while you stand there smiling insipidly while wearing whatever heavier-than-a-gorilla, hotter-than-Hades sequined dress you could borrow from your “big sis”), partly because of L. and her awesomeness and the awesomeness of her red Jeep Cherokee. Which I fell in love with from the moment she let me sit up front and the other girls in the caravan (who were either juniors or seniors) laughed at my jokes.

So last week, when my friend A. went out of town and asked me to take her to the airport and hang onto her car while she was gone, I was beside myself with glee. Why? She drives it: a boxy, gas-slurping, four-door Jeep Cherokee Sport. And it’s red. It should belong to me. God bless you, A. I’ve never felt taller … or more wee and cute, all at the same time.

And while I was bouncing around town in A.’s Jeep (and I do mean “bounce,” because of all the things my dream car has, superior shock absorption isn’t one of them), I started thinking: if I were a car, I wonder what kind of car I’d be. Would I be this, my holdover love from age 15, a car almost that age itself, looking and feeling like a set of cherry-colored boxes with wheels?

Or would I be my car, one I love with all my heart but was chosen for me? (Thanks Mom & Dad! Buying your old car from you for $1 was the best birthday present ever! I’m grateful almost every day.) It’s a four-door that looks lilac to me but gray to everyone else—except when it looks silver. I used to think it was invisible b/c I could zoom along at 78 mph on I-65 when the speed limit was 65 mph and never get pulled over. I later learned that I wasn’t invisible, just lucky, and that luck like that runs out. My car has seen me through a dozen moves (most of them inter-state), a boy or two, and more drive-thru windows than I care to mention. It has made me very brand loyal, very vocal about the price of gas, and very, very happy. It has kept me safe and taken me to concerts, on camping trips, to weddings, and even to a prom.

I have to say that despite being able to drive my dream car and having it be just as fantastic as I’d hoped it would be, I think that if I were a car, I’d still have to be my car. I adore my light plum ’95 Saturn SL1 with all my heart, and get a little teary at the thought of not having her around forever. She has over 185,000 miles on her, and The Boy and I are slowly starting the discussion about when to … I can’t even say it. You know what I’m talking about.

I am my car! A cute little frugal thing that’s not the most trendy or flashy set of wheels on the block but that has tons of great memories (and, admittedly, a few dings). Reliable and easy to get to know ... with a normal-sized trunk.

Gasp

I Didn't Vote.

This is bad.

I always vote. Except sometimes, when you don't get t.v. stations, or the local paper, or work in the local area, you don't realize that it's voting day. Until 10pm on voting day, when you catch up on Wonder Women and turn with a furrowed brow to your political science student husband and say - Honey? Was there an election today?

This is inexcusable. Here are my excuses.

(1) I work an hour from the county where I live/am registered to vote. It be hard to get to the booths, mon.

(2) Um, can I still use first trimester of pregnancy as an excuse? I'm only a week out of it. What good was 3 months of puking if I can't get out of some social responsibilities?

(3) Due to aforementioned lack of t.v., local paper, etc., I know nothing about any candidates or propositions. I always feel guiltier voting sans information than I do about skipping altogether. Had I used my 29 year old brain that has been eligible to vote for 11 years, I would have realized one was coming up and boned up on stuff. But, um, see number 2.

(4) I voted last year. The year before. I vote all the time! I promise! Don't we get to drop our lowest quiz grade in this class?

So, I am the poster child for bad, bad American. But my sister is worse. She doesn't vote ever, I think largely to irritate me. She's very proud of her complete ignorance of the electoral process and all issues, candidates, propositions, etc. She loooves to drive me crazy with this. I looove to point out how lucky we are to live here and not Myanmar, or North Korea, and she goes Myanmar? Is that a chocolate bar?

Like how I turned this post from chastising myself for not voting to making fun of my sister? Now I look a lot better. Cool.

Peace and socially responsible electoral love to everybody who voted, and for those of us who didn't - may little elves visit you and tweak your nose and step on your feet and pinch you mercilessly until you agree never to do it again. - G

Send get-well-soon thoughts to super jane's family and travel-safely thoughts to Wicked M. THANK YOU!

Lucky To Be An American

I used to be one of those people who didn't vote. I know, I know. It's an awful thing to admit. As I get older and become more informed (and then more ticked off), I'm more motivated to do something to assert some change. I want to make my voice heard.

I hate the political season with every inch of my being simply because I hate the false rhetoric and macho bravado that the candidates employ. Most of the time I feel like they are more like slimy lawyers saying the same thing two hundred different ways to twist the real message than they are actual politicians saying things to affect real change. Rarely does a politician have a novel idea or platform and I greatly dislike that we so fear change that we actually encourage it. We continue to vote for the "safe" candidate or the candidate most neutral in their stance.

I think, if nothing else, that this current President's term(s) have taught us that the status quo is not always the way to go. The candidate with the most swagger isn't necessarily the best candidate. The candidate that is white and/or male isn't always the best choice. Thank goodness that in this election season we at least have a choice! There are quite a few options available to us and it is up to us to really listen to what the candidates are saying, to what they truly believe in, and what they truly stand for.

I do believe that you can affect change at every level. I may not be as informed about the local elections as I am about the current national election turmoil that is going, but I've done some research and I plan to use my voting power. Because I do care. Because I have a choice. Because I am lucky to be an American.*

Go Vote Today!

*And oh how I love to complain! Right, MSO?

Happy Election-Day Week!

I wonder how often we stop to think about how historic the next year will prove to have been. There are so many firsts that are possible with Decision ’08 … I wonder how much the fate of our nation will have changed by the end of that first Tuesday in November.

We could have:
· The first female president
· The first African-American president
· The first Mormon president
· The first “Law & Order” star to become president

I’m sure that each current candidate would bring some kind of first to the White House … I just haven’t started my personal political research yet, so the above list is a little cursory.

But even without much of a clue about where I’ll cast my vote, I can feel the groundswell of change approaching, especially since the current veep won’t be climbing into the fray. I wonder how many of us will weep with joy … how many of us will curse our candidate’s loss … how many of us won’t feel any different at all.

There are people very close to me who don’t vote and don’t ever plan to start. My view is: if you don’t vote, you can’t complain. I have, however, been guilty of uneducated voting (yes, I’ll just vote for the woman when I have nothing else to go on). I take the big primaries and the general election seriously, trying to really get to the heart of what I think someone represents and deciding whether I want to let him/her lead me and mine. But City Council for Ward 2? I’m not so much with the caring.

So anyway. Here’s my point. Vote! I don’t really care (not yet, anyway) for whom you vote, just that you do it. Exercise the thrilling right you have to be history. Because this time next year, we’ll be living it. And someday people will ask you where you were when the first ___________ president was elected … and I want you to have a good story!

i wonder why i like to hibernate.

it is funny that when faced with physical ailments or even psychological ones for that matter, all we want to do is curl up in a ball and have a little time to ourselves.

i guess i've never really thought about it before. i wonder why it is so comforting? is it some sort of primitive coping mechanism our cavegirl ancestors used long ago that has somehow passed along through time? or maybe it's an act that takes us back to our time in the womb when life was warm and grand? ah, i bet that's it!

i know we don't remember back that far, but think about it. when we feel insecure, when we feel sick, when we feel physcially or emotionally off kilter, we hide under big blankets with only our eyes peeping out. we make our bodies as tiny as possible and treat ourselves to whatever sounds good to eat - be it chocolate or chicken soup. and isn't that what we did in the womb? back in the day, we were teeny tiny, warm, content, and made our mothers eat whatever it is that we wanted at that. exact. moment. (can i get an 'amen' from the mamas out there?)

maybe it's the mom in me and the fact that i've grown 2 children in my belly. but when i feel sick or just need a little 'super jane' time, i revert back to the time my life first began when all was right with the world and attempt to capture that feeling once again.

Who Died and Made My Stomach the Boss?

Like Rin and M, I cannot deny my tendency to hibernate when unwell. I also can’t add much to their thoughtful and funny observations, so I’m going to talk about another tendency that we humans have when we’re not feeling up to snuff . . . and it has to do with food.

So, which are you? When you are physically, mentally, or spiritually unwell, do you hoof it for the pantry? Or does bad karma put you off your food and make you waste away into a swooning, pale, slender poor thing, described in 18th century whispers as suffering from “nerves” or “hysteria?” I cannot escape any kind of personal scrape without being reminded that my stomach is actually the ruler of this house. Distress reminds me that food is all, and all is food.

I have both tendencies, depending on the nature of the problem. Colds, flus, fevers, sore back, stubbed toe, chicken pox, my little finger hurts – if it’s a bodily illness that does not involve nausea, then a meal every hour and a half or so is definitely in order. PB & J, toasted. Hot chicken broth and grilled cheese. Tea and shortbread cookies. Sliced apples and cheese. Things steamy and cheesy seem to be my preference. Nourish the sick and sniffly me.

Things existential, especially affairs of the heart gone awry, leave me without an appetite. I have been known to drop twenty pounds following the demise of a relationship, and boy is that awesome when you run into the guy and his new girlfriend later. Fights with my loved ones leave me listless, all food tastes bad, and I’m put off my meals til things are made right again. On occasion I have asked Darlin’ to fight with me, please, because my pants are fitting a little tight this week and I need an appetite suppressant.

What’s your trigger? What makes you wolf down the chocolate, and what makes you push away the plate? Spill it.

Peace and tummy growling love to all of our readers (and their un/healthy relationships with food) - G