I’ve gone temporarily insane … at least I hope its temporary. If I awake on November 5th to find that Sarah Palin is replacing Dick Cheney, I’m sure my insanity will be permanent. I’m obsessed with Palin. Something deep inside my being is so completely revolted by her that my normally composed exterior is cracking. I can’t live like this much longer. I’ve completely lost the finely crafted filter that I’ve spent my entire adult life developing. My mouth is betraying me. My Republicanesque exterior, so necessary for surviving in Stepford, is peeling back. I’m saying things I would have previously only thought, written, or at least whispered to a safe audience. Cases in point:
1. This morning, just as I was pulling into the parking garage at my office building, my cell phone rang. On the line was a like-minded friend and I immediately tore off into a post-debate rant concerning Palin. I was so completely absorbed in this conversation that I hardly noticed my walk into the building or stepping into the elevator. Under normal circumstances, I’m a “I’ll call you later, I’m getting into the elevator” kind of girl. Not today. Today I barely noticed the five other people in the elevator as I hopped in. That is until I slapped my flip phone shut after saying something to the effect of “If that bitch in pumps gets elected, this country deserves what it gets.” At this point, I realized in the sudden silence created because I finally shut the hell up, that these five people were all staring at me, wide-eyed and open-mouthed. What’s worse is that I knew instantly they were thinking that I was the “bitch in pumps.” I slunk out onto the tenth floor thankful none of the five followed me.
2. Last night, my eight-year-old daughter and I arrived home after her soccer practice just in time to catch the beginning of the debate ... and unfortunately, complete her second grade Tall Tales project on someone named Library Lil. I don’t think for a single solitary second there was ever a Tall Tale written about someone named Library Lil. I mean c’mon people—Johnny Appleseed. That dude that rode around on a blue ox, sure. But Library Lil? Whatever, I digress. While working on construction paper cutouts of Ms. Lil’s books I was listening to the debate and giving a running commentary, out loud, to myself … apparently forgetting my daughter was right beside me and listening. Now, as far as I remember, I kept the profanity in check, but that was about it. I had commented on her clothes, her hair, her voice, her dialect (I can actually “do” a pretty good Palin), her confusing and maddening sentence structure, anything slightly or outrageously inaccurate she said about Obama, you get the picture.
Then my daughter says: “Mom, why don’t you like her?”
Me, checking myself: “Well, the main reason is because I don’t think she is qualified to be Vice-President.”
My daughter: “What does qualified mean?”
Me: “I don’t think she knows enough to do a good job.”
My daughter: “She’s pretty.”
Me: “Yes, but being Vice-President isn’t about being pretty. You have to be smart and have a lot of experience.”
My daughter: “Soooo, it’s kinda like she has a fat, ugly brain?”
And me, before the filter could kick in: “It’s exactly like that.”
Not my best parenting moment. Thanks, Sarah.
3. I’ve recently had to get rid of my minivan. I’m still grieving it and it’s possible that I’m a little bitter. My husband needed what he calls a “commuter car” and I needed him to stop putting $500 a month in gasoline into the Chevy Avalanche he bought last year before gas hit $4 a gallon. So, I inherited the Avalanche since my commute is less than half of his. I call it the Palinmobile. Anyway, I play this little game with myself while commuting each day where I count the number of Obama or McCain bumper stickers I see on other cars. I have been overjoyed that even in Texas I see way more Obama stickers than I do McCain stickers. There are those days, however, that I see more McCain stickers than I would like, and yesterday while on my way home was one them.
I had just pulled into Stepford when I saw it—a minivan exactly like the one I had just surrendered that had been defiled in a previously unprecedented way. The minivan had five McCain/Palin stickers circling the bumper ... three on the back and, for some bizarre reason, one on each side of the front. Then, there were two “Drill, Baby, Drill” stickers on the back glass, one on each side. The grand finale was the “Palin!” sticker that sat in between the two on the back glass. I was horrified.
Further complicating my issue was that the light in front of me turned red and I pulled up directly beside the van. I looked into the driver’s side window to see a typical Stepford Wife behind the wheel. She turned and met my gaze which must have been a sight to see because she immediately rolled down her window as if she was going to speak to me. Sooo, I rolled down my passenger side window to see what possibly this chick might want. And then she committed her fatal error. She wrinkled her nose, pursed her lips, and said “May I help you with something!?” And before I knew it, I said, “No, I was just wondering who you pissed off that they would have pimped your van like that.” If she had been carrying a concealed weapon, I’m sure I would have gotten acquainted with it right away.
Thanks again, Sarah.
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