Be-fu-fu-fu-fuddlement

I used to have an instructor in my counseling courses, Jerry Benjamin, who constantly addressed us, the entire class, as "Beloved". He could be looking all around the room, eyes focused on nothing, but focused on me, locked on my eyes, all at once. He had the amazing ability to speak to a room full of people (all 52 of us in this instance), but still speak to just me, only me.

He was a Messianic Jew (we can all discuss the complexities and questions about this at another time), and had the most amazing stories to tell. He captured my attention then and the mere memory of his classes continues to do so now.

Admittedly, I had the hugest crush on him... not in the sort of way that you would think though. It wasn't THAT kind of crush; it was more of an intellectual crush, admiration really. I admired him a great deal.

His method of referring to us as "Beloved" added such a graceful and innocent intimacy to the entire experience... I can't really describe it, but it was a great feeling; the best week of concentrated study that I had during the entire eight week course, for certain.

I believe it's the little things that drive us, that motivate us to do our finest and be our best. The random day-to-day, smallish words, phrases, and gestures cause us to want to be the best person we can possibly be. Right? Yes? No? I don't know what I'm talking about (?).

No... I do know what I'm talking about. Sort of.

"You're the greatest!" makes me want to actually BE the greatest. That is truth.

***

There's a back room here at the office that we use mainly for storage - not many venture back there for much more than taking out the trash. My boss was giving a tour this afternoon to a visitor, an old friend of both the candidate and staff who stopped in today to say hello. I heard a commotion outside my office door during this tour and stepped out to see what the hustle and bustle was all about. There they were: five or six staff people, plus our guest, standing at the entrance to the storage room. All of them had a look on their faces... disbelief? astonishment? confusion? worry? fear? Don't know. They all had a look though. I asked sal what the problem was.

"There's some guy sleeping in our storage room. Some homeless guy perhaps? I don't know who this person is!"

All of them exchanged glances as if to say "Will Bret Schundler be considered a jerk if we kick a homeless guy out of our storage room?"

I peeked in the room.

"Ummm... that's Josh. You know, your Central NJ Field director's 17 year-old son?"

My job could be more difficult, but I kind of like it just where it is, you know?

Currently listening : Dial M for Monkey By Bonobo Release date: By 17 June, 2003

postage paid

I can feel the light heat reaching up from my neck to my face, and eventually to my hairline... the itching, insatiable as it is, buckles most of the time to my stubborness, but not today. Today the hives are back in full force, and although it could be blamed partially upon the fact that I did not take my magic pill last night, I happen to have 827 million things on my brain right now, outside of work, and I think that this time, these hives just might be stress related.

Every now and again I feel the need to be human (some have suggested that I'm part robot, others that I'm part primate... it's all still up for debate); I get the urge to FEEL, and to DO, and to cry if that's what the situation calls for - even if it's really not what the situation calls for at all.

Crying for the sheer sake of remembering what tears feel like.

Every now and again I don't like wanting what I can't have, or, more accurately, not having what I want.

Every now and again, something begins to consume my mind and there's no shaking it into resolve. There's no releasing it from my mind... at least, not easily. It's quite stuck, in fact, and part of me doesn't want to shake it into resolve anyway.

Peace I leave with you, my peace I give unto you: not as the world giveth, give I unto you. Let not your heart be troubled, neither let it be afraid.

I say it over and over again to myself, as I argue with God for what I want and struggle with the very nature of my humanity. Oh (sometimes) to actually be a robot and just be able to accomplish without feeling. Curse free will and its irrational behavior!

But then, I don't really mean that... no, not at all.
Not even a little bit.

matlock's clue (and speciality part II)

Again, I have failed to realize the importance of having a significant other on a specific holiday.

Everyone needs to chill out -Valentine's Day is merely an excuse to wear red and spend lots of money. I hold no cynicism toward valentine's day - simple neutrality at best. It's ok if you don't have someone. Really. you're great on your own (or with a side of grilled vegetables).

Admittedly, I completely forgot about Valentine's Day this morning until Greg came into the office with caramel apples for Amanda and I, bidding us a festive holiday.

Oh! oh... ummm, yes. Happy Valentimes Day to you as well. When do we get to drink green beer again??

In honor of St. Valentine's Day, Gregory made the keen observation that ours is most likely the most under-sexed staff in all of history. This has nothing to do with being Republican, I assure you. Simply something to do with everyone being over-worked and slightly crazy - which one might be lead to believe would equal more sex... I'm no scientist, but somehow it simply does not work out that way. I'm going to skip the remainder of conversation involving my co-workers and sex. I don't assume that anyone really wanted to hear about it anyhow.

There really is no specialty, Part II. I totally made it up. I went to DC, had a killer birthday, ate lots of gourmet food, slept in, went to brunch, searched for an hour for my beloved flip flops at Alejandra's apartment (only to find out later that they had been stolen by a party guest the night before) and then drove back up to New Jersey. There was nothing particularly special about it - certainly not sequel quality. Of course, spending time with the GWU crowd always turns out to be special. I don't know many 21 year-olds that would pull off a party quite like that.
There were high heels and cigarette holders,
there were dozens of fine wines and a rather expensive birthday toast,
the guys wore their good shoes
Will baked a cake
and Nathan got the urge to do all the dishes somewhere around 2AM...
It was nice.

So that was then, and this is now. Now is Valentine's Day. A day when St. Valentine rolls over in his grave as he watches millions of dollars being spent to say what could an should be said with a hug, a kiss, a note, a phone call.
We're so silly, eh? For as lazy as humans are, we're often taking on far more responsibility than is actually necessary. I know my brother just spent $100+ for dinner with some chick that he proclaims to be "a nice girl".

Give me a choice and I'll choose a hug over $100 comestibles anyday.

Currently listening : Funeral By Arcade Fire Release date: By 14 September, 2004

as forrester me, and as forrester you

Doug Forrester for Statehouse Janitor: Because the politicians in Trenton have been messing up the statehouse bathroom for far too long.

Someone just fired their marketing team... and rightfully so.
Truly, I am mystified.

Please pay special attention to the guy with the cigar. He got his acting debut on the Sopranos, which eventually lead to him landing this fine role.

Click here for the most recent rubbish from Conservative Businessman Doug Forrester!

reasonability

*** a weekly counter ***

97: hours spent at work

4: number of times I've eaten out

25: years amanda has been alive

16,487: dollars raised and collected... beh

23: times i've listened to abbey road on repeat in this blasted office over the past 24 hours

5: number of times today I told my mom that I love her

1: foozeball table donated to the campaign (?!)

159: tissues used on my poor, sore nose

287: times that someone else genuinely made me laugh

Currently listening : Abbey Road By The Beatles Release date: By 25 October, 1990

one flu over the monkey's nest

I've not been myself this week; perhaps a little more frank than moe with everyone. By nature, I am not a cantankerous person. I'd even say that I'm irritatingly upbeat, flexible to a fault.

Every now and again, however, ill's cloud rolls my way and rains it's shameful mess of tissues and vicks vapo-rub all over me as I then approach the mighty rubicon: do I utilize the force (and my lightsaber) to slay the wicked giant, or in my weakened state, do I sit down and take one for the teamsters?

This week, my friends, I chose the latter.
Argh.

Sickness is an illness.
Don't spend too much time thinking about that.

Amazingly, despite the heavy doses of DayQuil, the monkey buttloads of vitamin C, the seemingly endless amounts of water and/or other hydrating fluids, and the collective 40 hours of sleep this week, I managed to get some work done. With the ominous shadow of a deadline looming over my head, it has been absolutely necessary to spend as much time as possible here at good ol' campaign headquarters. New Jersey will thank me later.

In the meantime, I dance with the devil in these beautiful buildings. I find affirmative action as a useful reunion. I would change his name if it made any difference, as I wait in line for a lasting confession.

** I have a really funny story involving several neckties from the salvation army and a home depot advertisement, but I don't have the energy right now to type it out. Remind me to tell you later. It's worth it. Really. Truly. Trust me. **

Find your way out of this one, lovelies...

Currently listening : Meadowlands By Wrens Release date: By 09 September, 2003

duressed to kill

call me naive, but I was completely unaware of the phenomenon. I had no idea it was a big deal. I've lived my entire life not realizing the importance of having someone to kiss on New Years Eve.

Really. I was unaware. Is this really a big deal? Forget however dorky I said I was yesterday. My levels may have just escalated.

Currently listening : Transatlanticism By Death Cab for Cutie Release date: By 07 October, 2003

litmus pest

Oh simpletons and friends (simple friends... friends simply), hear me!

I decided quite some time ago, most likely when I was in 4th grade and found myself perpendicular to a fanny pack, that I am just really not cool.
I also, however, came to the conclusion that no one really is.

I can recall being confused by the actions of my uncle some years ago. He is my mother's youngest brother, 10 years my senior. I always thought he was pretty cool, mostly with it (whatever "it" is). His hair, his clothes, his car changing with whatever fashion and style had to offer, he was fairly hip. I guess. I thought. Maybe. Perhaps (what the hell am I talking about? I was 10. I thought he was sooo kewl).
My confusions arose a few times over the years however; my confusion over his coolness (kewlness). Not just with his decision to perm his hair sometime around 1984, nor only with his sudden use of eye-liner around 1987, but also (mostly) with his blatant hate for technology all through the nineties.

Email! What a cool, new thing! Right? WRONG. Email is the devil.
Cell phones! Awesome, just like Zak Morris, right?! WRONG AGAIN.
Oh.
So, Email... it's the devil, right? BING!
And cell phones, they're pretty much the bain of society, right? BING AGAIN!
What about Dave Matthews Band? Too Trendy.
New Beetles? Too new.
Ace Ventura? Overrated.
Argyle Socks? Nerds are "in". No thanks.
Although I've fallen prey to it on more than one occasion, I have more often than not been completely mystified by the fact that it is indeed hip to be square. In fact, hipper to be square than to be hip, if that makes any sense at all.

Sooo... I'm pretty square.
But in the not hip way.
On most things anyway.
On some things I'm square because it's actually square, which in turn makes it hip.
On other things I'm hip, which makes it square because it's not hip to be hip.

** I'm fairly certain that I've never said hip so frequently in such a short period of time. **

I gave up a long time ago.

I like my cell phone and hate to be unreachable (but I really hate blackberries, PDA's and anyone who talks loudly on their phones in public places).

I admittedly am a huge advocate of email (but I know very much the special quality that snail mail holds and write more letters than anyone else I know. Honest to goodness, personal letters).

I occasionally fall prey to internet jargon such as btw and brb (however, I absolutely abhor the use of "lol" or "lmao").

I listen to Dave Matthews Band, own 10 Things I Hate About You on DVD, travel with a neck pillow, shop at Wal*Mart, don't drink coffee, enjoy Maroon 5 (it's a guilty pleasure... whatever that means), and am not taking any sort of medication.

How can I survive (you might ask)?!

I've come to terms with the fact that I am a dork.
But wait... oh shit. Dorks are in right now, aren't they?

Currently listening : How to Dismantle an Atomic Bomb By U2 Release date: By 23 November, 2004

blessed to smitherines

OK Computer: finally found in foci's glovebox. egads!


Foxyboxer tee: hand delivered and a $2 beer to boot. super!


The Cheech: departed for now, but I will be in his groovy company again come Thursday. Neato!


iPod: now fully equipped to plug in to my car stereo. fantastic!


New Years: jet set for Nashville with the usual suspects. woohoo!


Summer Buddy: friendship restored, and beyond. makes me smile!


Wes Anderson: brand spanking new and a double trouble feature too. shivery delicious!


Pens: All full of ink. not one has run dry. Yesssss!



All in all, I feel like it's thanksgiving all over again. My prayers reach up eternally for those who are a mite confused right now; a tad discouraged; a pinch misguided. My heart aches for your highs and lows and knowing that, spiritually, I have so often depended on you for guidance and clarity and that now you seem positively vacant from wanting that role whatsoever. Chin up dear soul... my love is still real and strong, so is God's.

Currently listening : Pinkerton By Weezer Release date: By 24 September, 1996

and lavishly so

Oh hypocrisy! That beast of a thing, hated by all; but when tried on for size, seems to fit so well!

***

Today's soundtrack:

Evening of the Day, Supergrass
Saint Simon, The Shins
Evil, Interpol
Cemetry Gates, The Smiths
Here it Comes, The Doves
Love Will Come Through, Travis
Loose Translation, The New Pornographers
All God's Children, Finn Brothers
Entire, The Spinanes
Let Go, Frou Frou

Currently listening : Life on Other Planets By Supergrass Release date: By 11 February, 2003

It's just like Loverboy said

Current mood: boisterously brilliant!

How do I continue to breathe? How do I walk away from my bed every morning knowing? How does my heart not throb in aching pain from the mere realization? But, I do just that: I breathe, I wake, I fulfill everyday rituals without ever once acknowledging the very center of my existence.

eh... I am prideful, and extraordinarily so.

It is now that I wonder, and try to count how many times in my life I have earnestly prayed for humility -- I should be careful of what I pray for.

I can recall sitting in my Biblical counseling classes, 7 years ago, and listening intently to Dr. Jerry Benjamin. What an incredible man of passion, for both God and others. He made a habit to address us as "beloved" and challenged each of us to take a long, hard stare at our own lives, our own spiritual fractures, our own outrageous pride before ever attempting to consult another person's needs. I had never realized how much of a challenge that actually is until I sat weeping, three days later, faced with a list of prideful motivations and infidelities to my God that stretched to infinity (or, at least through several pages of a lined notebook).

I will never conquer pride, I realize that. For as soon as I have, I will develop a new pride for my altruistic attitude.

This is what I do while working on the weekend... I sit here, and I cook my books. I punch in my figures and pour over the election law manuals. I balance my calendar with my event requests, and I build new fundraising goals based on past performance. I work... and I think about my ever prideful nature. Is it entirely unacceptable to talk to myself?

* * * * * * *

In other items of fairly uninteresting news, I have gone and reached the pinacle. I have been to the mountaintop. I have experienced elation, and this feeling far exceeds it. Folks, I have reached blue-star status on ebay. I should just quit now, because life doesn't get much better than this

my high horse choked quite some time ago

I'm not 100% certain what's going on in the country right now--what's going on in people's hearts--that there is an absolute epidemic of absurdly large coffe/tea mugs. No more shall we drink 12 or even 16 ounces of coffee at a time. We must now and forevermore consume legal addictive stimluants at the rate of 18 to 22 ounces a clip.

I speak this all with the same breath that I now use to cool the tea lurking in my 18 ounce porcelain treasure (mind you, not a miniature toilet, but a coffee mug. Ease your mind for heaven's sake).

Admittedly, I drink tea only to keep my hands warm in this Siberian hideaway of mine - also known as my office. The heater still does not work. It's a double whammy for me. The heat at work does not function, nor does the heat at home. Call me cold-hearted if you must. It's most likely accurate and for reasons entirely outside my control.
I will now type even faster (because I type so much faster than you for sure) in an attempt to warm these frigid and fragile fingers of mine.

Philadelphia vs. Milwaukee. Good stuff yesterday. Kelly and I managed to score club box seats to the game (thanks, dad) and scurried ourselves out to the Wachovia center for an afternoon of crass yelling and general harassment of the players. I like to harass the players. Granted, they don't hear a word that I scream, but I enjoy the harassment just the same. One of the Sixers is the spitting image of Ashton Kutcher.



Pretty boy couldn't land a basket if his face depended on it. He managed to pull out the fun stuff and save the game in the end though, so he was forgiven.
I could go on a multi-paragraph tyrade about the ridiculousness of the corporate run sports world these days, but that would require far too much energy. Instead, I will highlight my disappointement in not being one of the first 5000 fans to arrive at the game, hence denying me a Fat Albert bobble head doll. Oh, how I wanted one of those bobble heads. The tearing portion of this is that the sentiment is completely honest. I really did want one. I managed to convince Kelly to walk the bleachers with me in hopes that some sad and whiny 10 year-old had accidentally left their's behind. No such luck. Everyone was on their toes yesterday. But with a Fat Albert bobble head at stake, who wouldn't be?
Bill Cosby and Keenan Thompson attended the game for approximately 8.4 minutes--just long enough for Mr. Cosby to accept a Good Neighbor Award, thanking him for his continued service to the city of Philadelphia. He then proceeded to kiss and joke with four members of the press before exiting past the Sixers Dancers (who didn't really know how to dance. It was all pretend. They all operate on grants from the Government. That pesky "Get a girl who has no skills a job" grant. 'This young lady needs a job, real bad man.' 'Well, does she have any skills?' 'errr... well, see it's like this... Um... well, she can move her hips!' 'Great! That squeaks her right in for the "Get a girl who has no skills a job" grant!'). I digress.

I've been strangely silent the past two weeks. This is simply an excuse to end the silence. Furthermore, it will act as my once every two months "I'm sort of a bitch" commentary. Thanks.

I love you, heater

I happened to notice tonight that my toes are blue. I saw them and thought to myself: "If only my bedroom heaters worked, my toes might be a friendlier shade right now."

I sleep at night in my big, lonely bed with a heated hot/cold pack to fight the chill. The mysterious daggers forming along the inside of my windowpane are no cause for fear; they are simpy icicles settling down for the winter.
If you hear a strange sound, don't be alarmed. That sound is not the castanets being played loudly at the Copa Cabana, it is merely my teeth chattering to the rhythm of the night.

All I want for Christmas is heat, glorious heat.

french

toast

raw man poodles

Relationships? I suck at them. Sometimes I want to admit defeat. Wrap me up in tin foil and stick a meat thermometer in me... I'm still raw.

I took a percocet last night, just for the hell of it.
The hives are back, full force, making me want to claw out of my own skin.
The turkey is in the oven, and the house smells like pumpkin pie... but strangely, I don't feel like it's Thanksgiving at all.

I think I'm still a little doped up on the percocet. I never thought that I would feel this way, but it's sort of good to be on percocet on Thanksgiving morning.

is that an ampersand in your pocket or are you just happy to see me?

::Thursday::

I saw a gentleman this morning on the platform of the PATH train in Jersey City that looked like Luke Snell. I saw him for a mere moment before the train lurched forward and he was gone - just as quickly as he appeared. I was hoping for a second glance, but no such luck, none indeed.

I took the train this morning because the Foci is in the shop. It's been making some interesting sounds the past few days... well, no, interesting is how you describe a light rattle or a faint bumping every now and again. This sound was far more obtrusive. It rumbled, growled, groaned and moaned with the best of them (not quite sure who the best is - perhaps Joan Rivers? Her daughter Melissa?). So to the shop it went this morning and on the train I traveled to Jersey City. Immediately, I closed myself off from the world (not sure if this is blissful or sad - perhaps a mix of both. I have very mixed emotions about separating myself from my surroundings with something as simple as a set of headphones). So there I was, plugged into the iPod - yes, I broke down and got one. And let me tell you: contrary to televised media depiction, plugging into the iPod made me feel neither "hipper" nor "cooler". Be advised - and I was completely engrossed in my music. The glorious part of the iPod is that it takes life's soundtrack just one step further (or several steps, depending on how far you're going).
Everything is set to music.
Music is set to everything.
I made eye contact, and he smiled. I nodded my head as if to say: "Yes. I know. It's great, isn't it?"
I felt like I was on the same wavelength as this guy here, headphones fixed over the lobes, just like me. My head nodded rhythmically until he looked away and I realized that there was a grand possibility we were not on the same wavelength. In fact, it occurred to me that we might be on completely opposite wavelengths. I'm listening to Devil's Haircut. He's probably listening to... I dunno, Brooklyn Tabernacle Choir.
I'm delusional with these damned headphones plugged in; absolutely delusional.

::Saturday::

Have I slept lately? I don't think so. Instead, I've spent my time sipping Chablis and pumping iron. Snuggled down, but no sleep to speak of - just heavy covers and barely-awake whispers. Striped socks and rumpled trousers that should have been changed into pajamas long ago... it's a good kind of not sleeping though. It's a resolving kind of not sleeping. I covet sleep sometimes. I don't drive home late at night anymore - it's one of the most critical factors keeping me alive these days.

Marketing thought: stuffed John Natelli dolls to give out at future Swiss Auto Club shows. Cute, cuddly, featuring arms that jut out this way and that - gripping plastic drum sticks, fuzzy hair... we could include a miniature bottle of hair gel as a bonus... just a thought.

::Sunday::

Happy birthday Mike.
The new office is massive. It stretches from California to Siberia (observe: my personal office is in Siberia. The entrance to the building is in California. Bliss, bliss, bliss). Gregory's office will probably be lost in Scandinavia somewhere... we're still trying to map out that bit.

::Right now::

I'm at the office late tonight and have absolutely, positively no business writing in the ol' blog. I'm pressed though. I'm going to be here for about 4 more hours at least. I needed a breather. I feel like this entire entry doesn't make much sense. Admittedly, I'm suffering a love/hate relationship with the entire entry right this minute. Ignore me... I'm feeling faint.

tramp(oline)

Three is a pattern - is this why it is also (presumably) the perfect number? Three's company, which is pretty lucky for any blind mice that happen to be wandering around out there. Three Kings purchased matching blankets for three pigs, sealing their fate as party platter favorites. Three tradesmen (of meat and bread and candle wax, naturally) took an adventure to the three corners of the Bermuda Triangle and were tragically lost at sea. Their three wives (along with my three sons) were lucky enough to collect $3 million from a hollywood studio to bring their story to the public with the power of an epic blockbuster trilogy...
Three dots come together to form an elipses, pausing a thought, an instant "To be continued..."

To Be continued...

pour more beers!

I love the smell of dryer sheets after they've already been through the dryer cycle. I wonder if they smell like fresh laundry or if fresh laundry smells like them. At that point in time, I get the strong feeling that it all sort of meshes together into a new smell, one all its own.

The Foci took me down to the District this past weekend for an impromptu dinner visit with the GWU kids. They love me. They really love me. Amazingly so, considering the President's recent re-election (not that I had much to do with it beyond putting an unwanted sign in someone's yard and getting to the polls on election day). It's amazing how well we get on though. The group of them, all 15 of them, are the most politically liberal and passionate people I know. Alejandra and I are most definitely conservative and politically active both. But just five days after the absolute antithesis of their political existence is elected back into office, we are able to get together for a friendly dinner.

It is based on this that I can justly say: it is the roast chicken that brings us together. It is the sauteed cauliflower with curry and brandied carrots that bond our souls. It is the cranberry almond cous cous with orange blossom butter that springs the well of love in our hearts for one another. All that, and approximately 18 bottles of wine.
We all ate and laughed for hours. We drank like it was nobody's business. Two o'clock in the morning interrupted us and the room reeked of passion fruit candles, marijuana, and satiated appetites. We lounged and smoked and vowed to change the world. I assured Looney that he is the only liberal politician I would ever dream of working for. I wore my favorite blazer and smelled of vanilla. Life is good.

I sit here now in my office, talk radio blaring in the background. Alice, one of our Jersey City volunteers, is methodically stuffing envelopes. Her hair is a shade only carried by Clairol and her shirt nearly matches. Under these glorious fluorescent lights, she's all but glowing with mustard splendor. Alejandra's loft seems a million miles away - absolute eons ago.

I miss the District. I've been told the District misses me as well.

***

Gregory is in Honduras. Hrrmmmmm...
I miss him. I didn't think a week would be a big deal at all. Well, it's not, really. Well... I sort of miss him anyway. Damn. I can't even fully admit that I miss him. I suck.

***

So I got a little ray of sunshine last week. It was welcomed, and enjoyed even - although my heart was really with Huck and his bees.

Figure that one out if you care.

cap'n crunching paint by numbers

I must confess, I feel just a mite cheated.
Cheated out of at least one good, solid week of nail biting, heart pounding, nerve racking, edge-of-my seat action.

I'm disappointed.
My respect for Kerry is torn. I find his lack of action on the re-count front to be quite honorable. We've all been through a lot and I'm sure that thoughts of "Florida Re-Count Part Two: The Ohio Chronicles" didn't really have anyone experiencing a "two thumbs up!" or "Great holiday fun!" type sentiment.
That being said, I'm sort of disappointed with the lack of fire in his belly. Why not a re-count? Why not surety? Why not $4.8 million dollars in excessive legal fees?

My favorite numbers all night? Washington, DC - where Senator Kerry won 90% to 9% against the President.
I was sitting at the bar last night when those numbers caught the eyes of two drifters.
"Wow! Bush only got 9% in the District of Columbia..." (He pronounced it slowly - he had no idea that the District of Columbia meant Washington, DC, our nation's capital).
I had to remind him that there were only about 380 votes cast in Washington, DC. He scratched his head and looked away, sipping his bombay and tonic, which he paid far too much for.

The forecast is calling for rocks through windows here at Schundler headquarters in Jersey City. I'm not about to take my Bush/Cheney signs down though.

percocet

Current Mood: Apothecarian

At some point in time, I stole my parents' heart. I swept them off their feet. I won them over completely and 100àAt least... well, this is what I'd care to believe. Whether it is the truth or not, I have no idea.



My father was in a car accident when I was four. He spent the following 4 months in the hospital. 3 of those months, he was in traction. I was supposed to be in the car with him. They told him I would have died, seeing as how none of the seatbelts in the vehicle were functioning. This was taken a year later - you can still see the scar on his leg from one of his 6 surgeries following the accident. I was supposed to be there and it gripped his heart that I was not. He quit his high-paying job to spend more time with his family.



My mother's heart broke to pieces when my father was injured and in the hospital. My parents were not only in the middle of some severe marital problems, but they were also in the process of completely renovating the house. Mom had just had her fifth child and was at the end of the proverbial rope. I didn't know what stand-up comedy was, but I made it up real quick and on the spot. She laughed at most of my jokes and skits and this gave me the most minute sense of sanity. I missed my dad. And the babysitter that my mom used to leave me with while she was visiting my father in the hospital smelled of elderberries. I hated her.

I don't suppose my father ever expected to be broadsided on his way into work
one winter morning. I don't see that he would have expected for my nursery school schedule to have been changed just days before and for me to not be in the car with him. I don't imagine that my mother expected him not to come home that night. I don't bet that she expected to spend every afternoon at the hospital for the next 4 months. I don't think that either one of them expected the backlash they received from the five of us kids.

Expectations are funny things. I don't ever think I have it all together. So I won't sit here and say, "every time I think I have it all together..." That's just absurd. I know that I'm a mess. I know that I never have anything together. I know that I'm in serious need of strong organizations skills.

However,there is the occasional curveball. It's thrown, and only occasionally swung at. Evern less occasionally made contact with. And scarcely ever hit out of the ballpark. But there is that cureveball. And whatever expectations I did have go flying out the window like a stream of smoke from a cigarette, coiling slyly, this way and that. Although I feel like I don't know what the hell I'm talking about, some part of me must secretly think that I do. Because when these people or circumstances come floating about, they really do throw me for a loop, and it's insane. And it's crazy.

I wasn't expecting Gregory. I wasn't expecting him at all. He came out of nowhere and saved my day, so to speak. I wasn't expecting for someone to force me out of my miserable self-pity. I was expecting to wallow in it for quite some time; get nice and dirty. Get saturated, as it were.

Instead, I was made to laugh. I was made to forget. I was made to be a girl-friend, so to speak: something I've never been before, but was willing to try.

I wasn't expecting a revelation. I wasn't expecting a conversation. I wasn't expecting to be honest. I wasn't expecting to get past all the things that had seemingly hurt me so badly. I really wasn't expecting to feel sorry for the way that things turned out.
But I got one.
I was.
I did.
I am.

I'm sorry, but at the same time I am not. And I mean that in the kindest, least offensive way possible.

I saw a bumpersticker in Jersey City not five days ago that said: "Kerry for President... because he's not BUSH!" I grew sad thinking of people voting against Bush instead of for Kerry. It just didn't seem steeped in any sort of sound principle at all. That, and I felt sad for Kerry - a person whom many people don't particularly care for but see as a means to an end. I'm proud to say that I've completely put all of my political expectations aside. I've
cast them out from me. I live in New Jersey. I am a conservative Republican. I have no political expectations except for the occasional cynical one. Sad? Probably.

Swiss Auto Club rocked my world once again. I find myself paying closer attention. I find myself knowing every riff and every bass drum beat. I find myself wanting to leave politics forever and work with a rock and roll band... I never expected to get this involved in politics anyhow.

At some point or another, I stole my parents' heart. They stole mine as well, so I suppose it's all good and fair. I respect them more than any other human beings on the planet. They call me at least 6 times a day and it's annoying as hell. But, I figure if my parents love me, this is the least of my worries. I wasn't expecting them to care so darn much about me, but apparently they do.