talking the forbidden talk and running like the dickens.

i am having a moral dilemma.

all anyone can talk about today and yesterday has been the dnc and barrack obama's vp decision. i've had more politically charged tete a tete's in the past two hours than since the last time i hung out with this guy. it calls to mind this quote about opinions... you know the one. i think it's especially true when you're talking about jesus or the president.

everyone is getting more... just more everything about this election. at work there are a few liberal democrats here and one or two conservative republicans, and you can't seem to start a conversation lately without it denigrating into a party line spitting contest.

i prefer it that way, though. i am happy to see people being challenged to decide and then stand by what they believe in and figure out where their priorities lie. we aren't all going to agree on the same principles, but hopefully we can come together on the larger issues and compromise on the political padding.

and this election's divide is an exhilarating one compared to the past eight years of apathy and disillusionment. we're on the threshold of breaking down social stigmas and reinventing ourselves as a nation.

the thing, though, is this- what do you do if your priorities don't lie within either major party? what do you when you're a libertarian?

i know, practically speaking, that if i want to participate in any seriously meaningful way in this election i have to vote d or r. and there's no way that i'd ever vote republican, so democrat it is. and this year it's made even more tolerable because of the thrill of possibly having a hand in such a landmark election. and even though the democrats are advocates of women's rights and have a more palatable idea of what tax reform means, i just can't bring myself to be entirely happy about this pill i have to swallow. especially after obama's thoroughly disappointing rm choice. he puports a platform of change, but then he doesn't have the balls to pick someone who isn't a career senator? biden is just another bureaucrat who's out for the profit of the party and his retirement fund.

i can understand that obama was perhaps hoping to infuse a more tangible air of legitimacy in his campaign and was looking to quell the accusations that he is too inexperienced to lead a nation. but his relative untaintedness was half his appeal! to me anyway. how will we ever affect a change if we just keep passing the torch from one inbred and leprous politician to another?

and there are options, there always are. you don't have to choose big one or big two. and voting for bob barr would certainly make a statement. it would say that i don't believe that 300,000,000 americans can be fairly represented by a two party system. it would call attention to the not insignificant number of us that
have lost faith in the abilities of rich white men to make good decisions for those who have no choice but to depend on them. they're letting us down, and we're letting ourselves down by surrendering ourselves to a bi-partisan limitation because we don't believe it'll ever be different no matter what.

but the cold fact is that it doesn't matter. we may celebrate an 11% popularity vote. but in the end we're just increasing the chance that we'll suffer another four year republican regime.

and frankly, if i'm going to be governed by someone whose politics i don't agree with, i'd rather it be someone who's also opening a door for social change.

so there it is. crisis averted or compromise choked down? i don't know yet.

red red whine

whatever has become of me? far worse than realizing the way my hangovers seem to lurk in my veins far longer than they ever have, i begin to fear that i no longer am able to stay in my own head when i'm in my cups, as it were.

perhaps i should just stick to pharmaceuticals.

but the 'my so called drinking game' was an absolute panic. worth the moment of deep despair that came at 6:30 this morning when i understood completely what i had done. i may have od'd on nostalgia a little, but i think by dinnertime i'll remember what decade it is and everything will go back to normal.

thank you 1995 for giving the world angst and desperation and boys with emotions underneath their disdain.

beau monde-haut monde, bebe.

when you're a freak like me, you get a lot of stares. it's jealousy. i know it. everyone wants in on the secrets of my style.

just how do i maintain my elegant blend of 'dressed in the dark' and 'homeless chic'? i've held out as long as i can, but i fear the time is come for me to reveal my sources.

there is only one place on earth to acquire the sort of accoutrements that allow one to attain the dizzying vertexes of dernier cri that i brave on a daily basis. and that place is here-



oh, heavenly ether, receive my darkest divulgence and grant me grace in the face of adversity.

amen.

womanthrope.

i learned a new word, or rather remembered an old one, the other day. gynophobia. it means 'the fear of women'. i always assumed that it had something to do with obgyn's, but i stand corrected. i don't know that i necessarily am afraid of women, but i suppose that up til recently i've held on to a certain nervousness (like when a non-parent holds an infant) around members of the double x variety.

while most girls were in junior high and learning to break eachother down, i was being home schooled and reading classic literature. which was all fine and well until high school, when my parents decided that i would be socially incapable of relating to other people if i didn't do some down and dirty developing with youngsters my own age right away. not cool, but all parents just do what they think is best.

needless to say that the years i spent in my own company did not prepare me for the cluster fuck of highschool drama. this oddity hindered me a great deal in finding friends of any gender, but most especially my own. and i'm not so sure that i'm any more capable of deciphering the private language of women than i was back then.

but last night while drinking an entire bottle of rum, steeping in 2 a.m. dew-air outside in the street, marble-mouthed gabbing with some really cool ladies... the thought occurred to me that maybe my experiences are catching me up, maybe i'm close to making up that gap between me and every other girl i've ever known, maybe i'm close to finding the rosetta stone, so to speak. it's nice to think about not worrying that somehow my fellow ovariennes can smell it on me, my inexperience and discomfort.

so, here's to celebrating the divine feminine and trying not to run away from being one.

local man spins suds and duds into domestic paradise.

sometimes it's nice to have a house husband.

i come home from a grueling day at the office (we laughed, we cried, we litigated) not feeling quite calm because i knew that when i got home my apartment was going to be filthy. i was trying to psych myself in to doing the dishes and tidying in a general sense. while i do find the finished product of a long hour or two spent cleaning rewarding, i really really find it difficult to get started. (big surprise, i know. whoo, look at me, i don't like to do housework, meh.) well lo and behold, whilst i was away, my little davey crocker has done all of these things and more. it was like falling in to a good dream from a bad one. there really is just nothing at all that's better than coming home to a lovely kitchen and a made bed.

i'm going to be sad when he regains gainful employ. le sigh.

takin' it back to fidelity, tudor style.

when i was in college, i studied history and music (medieval to mid-renaissance, to be precise). while in school, and at that wonderfully brilliant age when everything is occurring to you for the first time and you get all head spinny when you realize that two ideas are connected, i realized that part of the reason i was so in love with this era was because it so perfectly illustrated a religious/social moment that sort of intensified and morphed over the next several hundred years into certain modern pitfalls that we still struggle with today. it's the progression, regression and denial that turn me on.

anywho, all of this to say that for the past few weeks, i've been hearing people recap the movie 'the other boleyn girl' to just about anyone who will stand still for half a second. it always perks my interest momentarily because i am particularly fascinated by the tudor era (predictable) and enjoy listening to other people espouse their opinions.

these particular recitations are made even more amazing by the fact that without fail people will pause when they come to the alleged rape of henry the viii's wife anne (spawned by sexual frustration/jealousy and resulting in a stillborn son) and hold court on morality and fidelity in the most disingenuous manner. over the past few days, this pulpit-fodder has assimilated overtones of john edwards-type scandal.

the forced spiritual outrage, when observed from a safe distance, is quite comical. they will put one hand on a hip and gesture grandly with the other while quoting scripture and casting aspersions as to the lowest type of character fellows like that must have. from here it launches in to a veritable sermon on declining virtue and setting a good example...

all of which is complete bullshit hypocrisy.

it leaves me with a pondering mind, though: what business have self-proclaimed theologians to decide a man's fate based on headlines or inter-office speculations? and why is it so much more important to maintain a facade of perfection while letting other (arguably more relevant) matters go completely to shit? is it because perfunctory morality is the easiest thing to be indignant about and throw stones over? is it that it's so seemingly black and white that people think they can take the moral high ground without fearing refute?

i don't know the answer to these things, but i'm sure there must be one.

recte et absurdum

do you remember that girl/guy that was creepily obsessed with you in high school and that moment when they gave you their diary to read?

that moment, that uncomfortable sceeved out moment, is what has kept me for so long from blogging. this is the virtual version of me handing someone my diary and saying 'so, you know, i just really wanted you to read this. you can tell me what you think, or whatever'. i suppose that what makes it different is that no one has to stand there with my blog in their hand and say 'thanks, man.' or 'oh, i can't take this from you.' they can just push a button and pretend this didn't happen, i'll never know.

the part that makes my highschool analogy complete (in my mind) is that i'm currently at work and shirking my responsibilities by writing this. and everytime i hear footsteps, i quickly click off this screen and on to one that has a list of client files so i can pretend to be looking for a specific document. just like that kid who would rebelliously write in his notebook in the back of french class.

i have become someone i would have mocked ten years ago. i fail.

in other news, i discovered that the inside of fingers looks like lots of white wire mushed together. i know this because i had to put together a slide show of the most disturbing looking photos of a table saw mis-hap to send to our products liability expert. my job, in spite of inevitable lapses, is awesome.