No matter what happens tomorrow night and on into Wednesday morning, some one in this country is waking up with a hang over and disappointed. Yes, that’s probably me. If Obama loses, then I will be disappointed about that. If he wins, well then it will just be business as usual and I will be disappointed in my life choices.
If I think too hard about the election and tenuous lead Obama has in the polls, my shoulders get so tense they block my ears, which has the added benefit of blocking out right wing punditry from me ears along with every other sound. It just winds me up to think about hypocrites. I am one sometimes, we all are. But the fundamental hypocrisy of wanting to limit the federal government but then wanting the federal government to control personal choices and behavior, same sex marriage, abortion and what color I dye my pubic hair, just drives me up a wall to Canada. I’d say vote in your best interests, folks!
We are so divided as a country right now, it’s hard for me to see a way to any one’s full happiness either way. My Dad constantly votes against “wellfare queens” yet gets all of his healthcare through Medicaid and the VA, programs that will suffer under a Romney administration. But years of trying to reason with him haven’t done shit. I just give up and never ever bring it, EVER. The only plus to a Romney win, would be that I wouldn’t have to laugh uncomfortably at his racist Obama jokes any more. I love you, Dad!
As the polls roll in, I’m going to be toasting my friends, who will be there to help me through the next 4 years, no matter what the outcome. We will be playing the “Popular Vote Drinking Game” where you take 4 shots every time the popular vote mismatches the electoral vote. This is all of the time.
Duck and cover everyone!
We were lucky in Brooklyn. For once, the choice to move out of Manhattan was looked on with envy. As soon as the power is back, I am sure that the East Village will go back to lording it over Brooklynites tout de suite.
In my neighborhood, and many in Brooklyn, it was business as usual for the most part. Here’s what most of us were doing.
When I was a little girl, Hurricane Gloria barreled down on Connecticut and even though I lived about an hour and a half inland, winds over 80 miles an hour downed trees and knocked out the power for days in my neighborhood.
Our house was one of the only ones on the block with a good sized basement and a generator, so the neighborhood gathered together there. We lost power but still had plenty of flashlights and D cell batteries to power the boom box. What did my parents do? They made a light show dance party to occupy the kids!
So here’s what you need to do survive this storm with the same kind of childlike glee I remember having as I stepped out to see the sun as the eye of the storm passed over us during Gloria.
1. Batteries! For your flashlights, boom boxes, and vibrators. We’re adults now and our idea of flashlight light show dance party is pretty different.
2. A big, long boring book to read, use as a weapon or as a sedative to make sure that you sleep. Might I suggest something Russian or by David Foster Wallace. If possible, the book should be hard cover. Those make such a satisfying noise connecting with a head.
3. 3 bags of kettle corn. One regular flavor and 2 bacon ranch. This should be self evident and is not optional if you expect to weather the hurricane with me.
4. Plenty of rubber duckies to set a float on the rising waters. It’s important to spread joy in the form of a goofy toy.
5. Plenty of actual rubbers for all that disaster sex you’re going to be having with, well, no one, since you’re hunkered down all alone in your apartment with your cat. But better to be prepared and spread joy not in the form of storm VD.
I once heard about this Japanese toilet for lades that had buttons to play both soothing and distracting sounds to cover up the sound of their urinating. I thought to myself, “Oh my God! How can I get my hands on one of these or at least a machine that can distract me from the fact that I am pissing mere inches from another person!”
I’ve always had a shy bladder. A wallflower of a piss pot. A shrinking violet at the urination ball. When I would go camping with my family, instead of peeing in the woods right next to the tent like a real outdoorsman, I had to bundle up and trek the 12 minute walk in the pitch dark to the toilets at the camp ground. 12 minutes in the dark for a 12 year old girl who has read far too much Encyclopedia Brown is a long damn time. It’s always been something of a challenge for me to relax that way.
I’m not exaggerating. When 9/11 happened, my reaction to it was to have a panic attack that manifested itself with me not being able to evacuate my bladder for almost a full day. I tried everything, running water, taking a warm bath, thinking of the ocean, listening to Billy Ocean. Nothing worked. I had to have my friends take me to the emergency room, fully thinking that I would have to get a catheter. Instead, I got into the exam room, the pain starting to spread up to my kidneys, and I finally was able to let it go. All over myself.
So, when I moved to New York, one of the first bars that I went is the now defunct Mars Bar. This bar had a bathroom so gross that if you touched anything you’d end up with Hepatitis C. I knew, KNEW, that I had to figure out how to get over this AND learn how to piss standing up. I am pretty sure that the only reason that all New York women take yoga is so that they get good at squatting to piss. There are far better ways to stay in shape without having to do something called the downward dog in public. I didn’t take yoga but I learned how to relax and piss standing up.
My shy bladder is now the bell of the pissing ball. I’ve peed at the top of a seven story abandoned radio tower in Berlin, in the fake planter of an office complex at 4am, in the woods of Prospect Park, in an alley on the South Side of Chicago. I guess I owe New York City that. It literally scared the piss out of me.