I Approved This Entry: November 4, 2008
In which I vote for change, bitches.
Can’t sleep any more; too nervous. Get up, take shower, tremble. Try to relax by stroking cat; end with scratched human hand, mangled cat ear. Decide against cuddling rat to relax.
Two hours until polls open. Dear Road: I would like to get my show on you already. After all, I have only been waiting EXACTLY FOUR YEARS for this day.
Nearly forgot—must remove campaign gear from coat and purse! Upon removal, Obama sticker wrecks my purse by taking half of the vinyl covering along with it. Curse like a sailor; consider changing vote.
TIME TO GO TIME TO GO YESSS WE ARE LEAVING. Family is whining about having to leave so early; nobody believes lines will be very long. Smack backs of heads and tell to get moving. I may not camp out for Star Wars or Lord of the Rings, but I do get my geek on for politics. Mother whines about having to stand for so long; instruct mother to quit bitching, or will remove mother’s legs and replace with bicycle wheels. There is no pity in politics, woman.
Arrive at polling place. Six people are waiting outside; am angry at not being most hardcore voter in district. Over protests of family, I shove us into the line. It is not so damn cold that we can’t wait forty-five minutes here, people.
It is damn cold. Shove mittenless fingers deep into coat pockets and try not to shiver, as shivering makes liberals look wussy.
Line now stretches around block. HA, Family Unit, I was right. As always.
Doors finally open (my watch must be fast). In rush to be first through door, inadvertantly trample old woman and small child. Well, maybe the small child was deliberate…
Sign voter registration book; attempt to leave note, but am told it is not guest book. You mean this isn’t going to be given to Obama? Bummer. Race to ballot table, snatch ballot, wait in line for open booth.
NOT GOING FAST ENOUGH NOT GOING FAST ENOUGH MUST VOTE NOW OR HEAD WILL EXPLODE
Open booth! Well, open once I give the current occupant an elbow to the head. Kick limp body aside, grab felt-tip pen and wave said pen menacingly at shocked-looking voting official. Just you try and tell me voting isn’t a contact sport, Grandpa.
Little empty circles swim in front of eyes. Fight panic. I was never good at taking tests. Also fight urge to peek at neighbor’s ballot for correct answers.
Filling out circles! Yay! Vote for Obama (duh), vote for Franken (ugh… but still, duh), vote for DFLers and people whose names sound familiar. Write fake names in for everything else. I hope Donald Duck gets to be our new representative.
DONE DONE DONE. Bolt for ballot machine; knock Republican-looking types aside; cram paper into machine and laugh maniacally as it disappears. HA HA SO DONE NOW. Snatch entire roll of “I Voted” stickers and flee for the exit.
Mother is done; where husband? Probably checking/rechecking/rerechecking ballot. Husband kind of obsessive-compulsive. Pass time by picking out stupid people from passing line, giving them “I Voted” stickers and telling them to go home. They were probably McCain supporters anyway.
Husband done (finally). The three of us flee screaming into the grey light of dawn.
Waiting game begins. Pass time by chugging Cherry Cokes, popping ibuprofen, running in circles around apartment. Watch trailer for remake of The Day the Earth Stood Still, but title too relevant for comfort. Lay out clothes for next day: blue shirt and nice skirt if Obama wins, sackcloth and ashes if McCain.
Save drowning ant from cat’s water dish. Even if McCain wins, day will not be a complete failure.
Feel like utter crap—either nervous-sick, or plain-old-sick. More ibuprofen; less running in circles. Lie down on couch, try not to whimper when a state goes red on the NBC map. Brian Williams wriggling with excitement like hyperactive puppy; Tom Brokaw speaking too slowly; Luke Russert making game attempt to be as cool as his dad. Would change channel, but exit polls show my interest in living is down by 10%. Ugh.
Sick as a dog. Chug more Cherry Coke to stay awake. Obama ahead; I’m not daring to celebrate until all the votes are in and he’s given his acceptance speech.
Minnesota races: Al Franken winning = good, Michelle Bachmann winning = bad. If she wins, I will not be able to make fun of Sarah Palin, because Bachmann makes Palin look like a rocket scientist.
Shrieking. Tears. My husband and I clutch each other and cry and laugh and cry some more. Angry conservative cat glares and chews on Obama/Biden button; human roommates don’t even care. Wish I had an American flag to wave. Settle for waving a sopping-wet Kleenex instead.
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