orange and red make nothing at all

So this is the afterlife. Or, maybe this is just life at all.
Being at home. Cecilia watching re-runs of Stargate SG-1, my father running his receipts through Quickbooks, each strike of the return key yielding a cheerful "cha-ching!".
And me. Sitting at the computer. Eating a dish of canned mandarin oranges.

Did the dogwood tree blossom yet this year?
Yeah. About a month ago. You missed it.

These days my eyelids flutter open somewhere around 12 noon and I take a moment to decide whether or not I really want to get out of bed.
**It feels nice to sleep again.**

Somewhere in my daily tasks someone has asked me the date.
The date? THE DATE?! Good heavens, what's the DAY?
And then it dawns on me: it has been two weeks since Election Day. Two whole weeks. Ho hum....
It is then that I think of all the email left unanswered, all the phone messages left untouched. I try to think when it was that I stopped going to church, or paying bills, or eating at home. When was it that I stopped booking shows or stopped calling friends to wish them a Happy Friday? I have no idea. I just know that it feels like forever. It feels like I never did it to begin with.

Election Day can be miserable if you really let yourself think about it. I hadn't let myself think at all about it. Truthfully though? Well, I was hopeful, confident even that Bret would win. The General Election was a different story, but the Primary was most certainly ours, I was convinced.

The numbers weren't looking good and it killed me to walk around that place still smiling for our volunteers and supporters. Every single one of those people there must have asked me at least once "how are we doing?"
I smiled and told them that it was too soon to know, but we just found out that we won Union County, so that must be good.

I was sitting at a table with Gregory and Howard when Tim walked by. I caught his arm and asked, "how goes it, kiddo?"
We'd been through so many losses together, he knew exactly what I was asking.
"You get up the next morning, you put on your pants one leg at a time and you get back to work. Just like every morning. Just like after Mike lost."
I turned away because i didn't want Greg to see my face. My lower lip was taking the brunt of the evening as I chewed it in fervent worry.

The back room, the "war" room had been off limits to most people save the campaign manager, the candidate and his family, our attorneys (Tim included) and Amanda for most of the evening. It was Phyllis who came and got me.
"Amanda wants to see you. Just you."

That's when I knew. This election night was over. We had lost.
Two years of work...

The day after a losing election day is a funny thing. Everyone gathers at some point during the day at the office, but they're not really certain why. There's nothing to do there. We are the losers. The reporters that were chomping at the bit to get our attention yesterday look at all of us as though we were street urchins begging for money today.
I hid out in my office and could hear a million and one conversations flying around me. The tears, the apologies to broken volunteers, the sound of people (already!) tearing things off their office walls, the finger-pointing... OH the finger-pointing! The blaming! The surety that this is all the fault of Steve Lonegan. The accusations that if Rick Shaftan weren't a crazed lunatic this wouldn't have happened. The insistance that if all the other candidates knew what was better for the party then Bret surely would have won... oh there is so much blame!

We blame others because it feels better. We point fingers because we do not even want to begin to imagine that this is for a lack of our efforts. We worked so hard. We neglected family, and friends, and sleep, and food, and our health. We worked 90, 100, and 120 hour weeks. We garnered speeding tickets and parking tickets and left our court dates ignored, yielding us grossly large surcharges on our insurance. We ignored symptoms of strep throat, and stomach flu, and pink eye, and God knows what else. We drove our car into the ground and when that broke down, we borrowed our brother's car without even stopping for a breath just to get the job done on time. No, the thought of it being because our our lack of effort almost hurts more. So instead, we blame. And we concoct crazy schemes to run a write-in campaign for the fall when in reality we'll all vote for Doug Forrester. Maybe some of us will even work for him.

So... all of this is past. All of this happened within the last two weeks.
And now I write a public apology for something that is eating at me and hurting me even now.
I'm sorry. I'm sorry for neglecting you. I'm not ignoring you. I am hurt. And I'm hurt that I've made others feel the same way. I've made a mess and I'm trying to clean it up, I'm just doing a very poor job of it.
Please forgive me. And please continue to care for me.

Man... what does it take to get a drink in this town?

Currently listening : Odelay By Beck Rele

(grand)pre(prix)me

And I've spent all this time not thinking about tomorrow, not thinking at all about the polls, or the news reports, or the negative campaigning, or the online political blogs, or the direct mail pieces, or... well, anything really. I haven't paid attention to a damn thing. I've completely removed myself from election day, or this campaign, or my candidate so that I would not feel the anxiety that I'm feeling right now.
I've done my work.
I've filed my legal reports.
I've talked to the powers that be and have completely ignored my pending doom.

I've been working for two years on this damned campaign. If we don't win, I really am at a loss. I can handle not winning in November more than I can handle not winning this nomination.

So amidst all my worry and angst today, I have found moments of complete joy and comfort. The sound of the pounding rain on the roof of my office. It seems so stupid. It seems as though I'm making an effort to be poetic. Poetic I am not. I'm also not deaf. That sound... it washes away positively everything. It's quite extraordinary.

I'm sitting here at my desk now preparing my last legal report (to be delivered to Trenton tomorrow by 12 noon) and I"m drinking a Blue Moon Belgian Ale. They say that drinking on the job is the true sign of an alcoholic... I'm in deep trouble. I don't think I've ever worked anywhere where we didn't all drink on the job.

Tomorrow I could shed a tear or drink a toast. Hopefully I'll be doing both, but all in good spirits.

Remember to vote (if you give a damn).

And I did have a moment of zen today... it was pretty terrific too:



I love volunteers who bring in pets with them. His name is Murphy, and today he is nearly all that thrills my soul (besides Jesus, of course).

Currently listening : Final Straw By Snow Patrol Release date: By 30 March, 2004

hydrangea

such a fun word, eh?? not really a fun flower though.

So here it is, my moment of zen today!!!



Spotted this today while driving around Jersey City collecting signatures for public matching funds. It made my day.

Currently listening : The Rise And Fall Of Ziggy Stardust (EMI) [ENHANCED CD] By David Bowie Release date: By 28 September, 1999

5 days (that's all we got)

Schundler TV Spot

I love the wave at the end. Everyone looks like rock stars.
This is SUCH a political ad and I love (almost) every minute of it.

Who wants Moe to keep her job (I realize that some of you do not want me to keep my job, but I have bills, so cut me a break)??
If you do, then get to the polls and vote this Tuesday. Maybe I'll see you there...

Currently listening : The Bravery By The Bravery Release date: By 29 March, 2005

I am...

... relieved.

long-haired freaky people need not apply

I wanted to feel special for a brief moment, and when Andy and Susan called me into their office and I had to ask what the sign on their door meant ("Long-haired freaky people need not apply), I was devastated to learn that they had such high hopes that, if no one else, I (me, moe, that's right) would at least understand what the phrase meant.

Drat. Angelene and Amanda got it. I didn't get it. It had to be explained.

So, I'm still wanting to feel special. I'm still wanting to feel great. I'm still wanting to feel... well, not in the spotlight at all. I don't want to be gushed over. I just want to feel like I've accomplished something really cool. I'm still idealistic. I'm still in my mid-twenties, so I can afford to lay on my back beneath an open sky and day dream about these sorts of things.
Truth be it told, I feel as though anyone, no matter what the age, should be able to afford this sort of activity.

I work with Phyllis. Phyllis is all shades of cool. She takes me shooting every now and again at the shooting range down by her house where she is a ladies' instructor and a top member. She obtained her under graduate degree not too long ago. She recently walked away from a 20 year career to get a start in politics. Five years ago, Phyllis learned to drive a stick shift so that she could get her new car with a sunroof at a cheaper price. Every now and again I catch Phyllis rambling off on a tangent about wanting to skydive or take an impromptu trip to Florence. Phyllis just turned 64.

I'll bet Phyllis still lies on her back beneath an open sky, imagining what she'd like to do next.

I'm excited and scared for the next thing. It's crazy to be scared of what I'm capable of. Absolutely crazy.

I am kind of crazy though...

26 days until Election Day. If we don't win, I'm in big trouble.

Currently listening : In the Aeroplane Over the Sea By Neutral Milk Hotel Release date: By 10 February, 1998

today

how many rounds of "I'm so sorry" can they absorb, can they tolerate before it sounds like someone is screaming in their ears? before it becomes fingernails being scratched down a chalkboard?

how many tears can possibly be shed, or prayers offered, or hugs given? how many tablets of valium must you consume to maintain this demeanor? how many times can you vomit from the illness of it all before there's absolutely nothing left to vomit?

the sound of wailing over a child lost is absolutely unprecedented.

his mother gains her composure just for another person to face her in line. she throws herself into their open arms - there are nothing but open arms everywhere to be thrown into.
"yes! this person, they understand. they know. yes, this person will feel my pain, will absorb this incredible sadness..."
until she realizes that she must compose herself yet again for the next pair of open arms. the next kiss on the forehead. the next "I'm so sorry".

the framed prints on the west wall are hung out of alignment and the mixed cd coming from the sound system is regurgitating instrumental arrangements of cheesy, early 90's easy listening hits. the wind beneath my wings didn't send barbara hershey to a happy grave and it doesn't seem to be helping much now either.

my uncle grabbed my hand and wouldn't let go. tears soaked his entire face and continued to flow, but he didn't really seem to care who saw.
"you kids need to slow down. you all just need to slow down."
it's the sort of comment that you would expect to hear in a condescending voice and half-joking. but he was not joking. and his words were not condescending. this was a warning, and from a man who knew the pain of losing someone who didn't slow down, who didn't listen to his body (or his friends that night), and who didn't live to tell about it.
i turned away, not wanting him to see me cry and not really knowing what to say in response.

I only saw Skylee on my way out. she hugged me and all i can remember thinking about was the feeling of her tears - so many of them - on my arm and shoulder. she showed me a framed picture of her and alex.
"this was our last picture. it was taken saturday night, about two hours before..."
and i was thinking that two hours later everything in her life changed. how could this picture, with the huge smiles and affectionate touch have been taken only two hours before his life was extinguished? it's amazing to me.
while i was reading, and on the phone, and while cecilia was playing pool, and while jc was at the diner, while my parents were sleeping, and while his parents were enjoying one of their last nights in cozumel... while we were living, he was dying.

and i think about these sorts of things, and they drive me crazy.

i am a fool.
i am careless.
i am... deeply saddened right now.
and i think it takes a lot for me to admit that.

in honor of the sun that shone so brightly

Current mood: bliss bliss bliss

And if the snow buries my,
my neighborhood.
And if my parents are crying
then I’ll dig a tunnel
from my window to yours,
yeah a tunnel from my window to yours.
You climb out the chimney
and meet me in the middle,
the middle of town.
And since there’s no one else around,
we let our hair grow long
and forget all we used to know,
then our skin gets thicker
from living out in the snow.

You change all the lead
sleepin’ in my head,
as the day grows dim
I hear you sing a golden hymn.

Then we tried to name our babies,
but we forgot all the names that,
the names we used to know.
But sometimes, we remember our bedrooms,
and our parent’s bedrooms,
and the bedrooms of our friends.
Then we think of our parents,
well what ever happened to them?!

You change all the lead
sleepin’ in my head to gold,
as the day grows dim,
I hear you sing a golden hymn,
the song I’ve been trying to say.

Purify the colors, purify my mind.
Purify the colors, purify my mind,
and spread the ashes of the colors
over this heart of mine!

instant [spanish] immersion

the fortress of security (known as my own, personal office) was nearly breached this past week as my boss, in a genuine effort to help me out a little, tried to move someone into my office with me to assist me in accomplishing my objectives.

oh my. the end was near.

"smarty", our computer networking guy showed up about 10 minutes into lunch and told me he was going to poke around back in my office and figure out the wiring for a new work station. I had a hard time finishing my meal with that unsettling news on the brain.
being the clever and resourceful individual that I am, however, I quickly intercepted this pass and before smarty knew what was going on, 100% control was regained by moi.
physiologic alterations in heart rate and blood pressure soon normalized.
I'm back to my own office again. this was a big scare - bigger than those in the past, but I've managed to escape it, once again, unscathed.

wow. that was a close one will robinson.

Currently listening : The John Byrd EP By Death Cab for Cutie Release date: By 22 October, 2002

oh, and by the way

Just for the record: things have been really great with me lately. I've been elated for the most part. My own internal, personal struggles are not to say that I have not been great overall. I'm the stinking happiest person on earth! Can you believe that? Someone stop me, I'm so happy.

The funny thing is - it's not sarcasm. It's for real. I really and truly am happy. People get so used to me never wavering that when I do every now and again feel a little left to the wayside, they can't handle it. I'm ok with that.

And I'm still happy.
And I'm still here.
And I'm still full of love and wildfire.

awakening (more sudden than rude); asleep (more restless than deep).

** The beginning portion of this was originally posted on May 25, 2004

All for comfort and worry. COMFORT. WORRY. Do they both exist on parallel planes? CAN they both exist on parallel planes?
I'm hitting a brick wall. I'm running straight into it, through it, with energy unsurpassed. I was sitting, listening hard. There was noise all around, but it was not noise. It was confusion. It was empty sound. It meant nothing. As the world spun around me, I was 100% focused, narrowed even.

Things change. Attitudes, actions - they all change.

I came to such a stark, candid realization yesterday. This is something that has been so incredibly long in the works, but I came to my end yesterday realizing all of my actions, my words, my thoughts, my motivations, my attitudes... they've all been so fettered - that is, fettered to this crazy idea that I have to please everyone, that I can't say no, that... well, sometimes to no idea at all. Sometimes they are blank, empty, hollow. Sometimes it's as though it's not even me.

God still bothers with me, and why? I strive to be a servant of Christ but I seldom strive with any great vigor. I strive to strive. I want to want. I desire to desire.

My life must mean something. It has to in the end. What will my life count for? More importantly, what will my earthly end count for? I don't know why I do some of the things that I do. I ruin my testimony. I speak from both sides of my mouth. I love my savior, but not enough to quit pushing him away. I'm like a 2 year-old. It's amazing.


***

I'm not certain that I've ever re-posted a blog entry/title. Somehow, this seems far more appropriate now than it did nearly a year ago.

For we wrestle not against flesh and blood, but against principalities, against powers, against the rulers of the darkness of this world, against spiritual wickedness in high places. (Ephesians 6:12)

For I know the plans I have for you, says the LORD, plans for welfare and not for evil, to give you a future and a hope. (Jeremiah 29:11)

I'm not one to typically walk around quoting scripture - but I do frequently state what's on my mind. If that happens to be scripture, then we're all in for a treat, now aren't we?

My life does equal something. My words and actions are always taken into account, but the bottom line is that I don't want my faith to be mediocre. I don't want my faith to be average. I am desperate for my faith to be extraordinary - and I'm somewhat unsure of how to express that. This is typical moe behavior.

I love people with such intensity that it postively aches - it's just that sometimes people don't know that. Many times people don't know that. I could maybe muster up the courage to say it - but what's to say that people would even believe me?

I often hate feeling introspective. It makes me feel vulnerable, even to myself.

When I think, I write.
When I write, I mostly feel the insatiable urge to post it on websites such as this (even against my better judgement)
It's been scientifically proven that when a person like me makes the decision to post their personal thoughts and musings on a public domain such as this, it is inevitable that at some point in time, it will be posted on a political site with the intention of embarassing, mocking, and/or destroying someone that I care about; I should probably be a little more careful, eh?
Moral of the story: politics suck.

except... well, that's not really the moral of the story at all.

Currently reading : Blue Like Jazz: Nonreligious Thoughts on Christian Spirituality By Donald Miller Release date: By 17 July, 2003

veruca salt & sergeant pepper my palate

Headlines read today that the very line which threatened the death of me, is indeed itself DEAD. Finished. Kaput. Over.
Bliss, bliss, bliss...

It's nice to finally get back to normal working hours. Y'know - 12 hour days instead of the ridiculous 16 and 17 hours that I have been working lately.

I've had a lot of doctors appointments lately. Who knew it was so complicated to set up a primary care physician?

It's difficult for me to conceive that my family has been away nearly two weeks (and another week to go)! At first, it was something of a task for me to even think of Peru without my eyes tearing up. Ridiculously sappy? Perhaps. But true nonetheless. My grandfather is getting older and while I plan on moving down there next year, I still want to spend as much time as possible with them all now. I'd be lying if I said I didn't resent not being able to go just a little bit. The salt in my wounds is going home to three noisy dogs every night and stopping off at Kelly's every so often to check on her crazy cats. Speaking of which... if I forget to stop by there again tonight, I might be finding dead (not crazy) cats at Kelly's house.

And this stings. And this hurts just a wee bit.

***

And now, in the news:

McDonald's May Outsource Drive Thrus
In case Americans weren't getting fatter at a rate swift enough to please McDonald's corporate hogs, the monster cow killers have now decided to move the cattle line a little more quickly through the trough by outsourcing their pick-up window. In a similar article, the AP reports that all U.S. flights to europe are now being heavily scrutinized in fear that americans could begin to bring their disease with them on vacation and business travel, spreading obesity and dimpled fat syndrome across Italy and France. Travelers are currently being quarantined.


Ex-Worker Sues Madonna, Claims Harassment
This is similar to the class action lawsuit that America filed against the pop diva shortly after the 1992 release of her book: "SEX"
Regardless of how the trial ended, Madonna still won seeing as how you can now purchase her nudie book for a mere $145 on Amazon.com. Brava!


Shorter, Less Bloody, 'Passion' Opens This Friday
I really don't have much to say about this (but I'm sure many of you do), but I find it interesting that someone would try to make a human being's execution "more palatable to a wider audience". It just sort of struck my funny bone.

Carry on, Mr. Gibson. Can we hope to maybe see second cuts to Braveheart any time soon, in which several scottish patriots perform slapstick comedy for their oppresors while warriors don ballet tutus and dance about to the sounds of Tchaikovsky? Or perhaps a newer, friendlier version of the Patriot in which the redcoats fall subject to unkindly spoken words and much glove slapping? Inquiring minds...

Currently listening : Good News For People Who Love Bad News By Modest Mouse Release date: By 06 April, 2004

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.

without condition

You find the situation just a bit uncomfortable.
You'd rather stay far away from reality.
For you to understand would be clearly impossible, so you shut your eyes and swear you can see; claiming there is a god, but does that mean anything?

You're so condescending to those that you don't understand.
It's just too easy to make them your enemies.
Like an ostrich, you bury your head in the sand, and then you shout about all the things you believe. But if there is a god, don't you think he could see what you really mean, what you're doing?

So place all the souls that you know in their own little box.
It's quite convenient to handle them that way.
You're the only one you know who carries a cross!
You don't care what they care about anyway.
And you talk to your god, praying for those who sin, for their eyes to be opened...

You can't find the answers until you learn to question. You won't appear stupid, just ask for direction. You're insecure and it clouds your perception,
so STOP,
and listen,
and learn a lesson in love without condition.

** ginny owens. occasionally rocking my world so simply **

Everything is better on a kaiser roll

I'm not certain that the title is actually true, but I feel like most New Jerseyans feel this way. Egg and bacon? Better on a kaiser roll. Steak? Better on a kaiser roll. Butter? Better on a kaiser roll. Your mom? Better on a kaiser roll.

argh... I'll finish this later. It seems I don't have time to complete a thought these days. Drat.

As Steven Tyler once said: "It's Amazing"

Old English: 1
Moe: 52

Contrary to popular belief, I did not spend Thursday night downing several small bottles of Old English furniture polish. Nor did I spend the evening shooting pool at the Old English Pub (although... well, that would have been a really good idea).
Nay, I spent the evening driving around northern new jersey, top of the saab down. I successfully downed 52 oz. of beer in 30 minutes. Testosterone levels were high.

Please, allow me to explain something: most of my previous injuries have been testosterone induced. Certainly self-induced, but also testosterone induced.
Thursday was no exception. Example:

"Here. Have a 40. The rest of us are having 40's... and seeing as how we're guys, we're sure to finish them LONG before your wussy girly self does..."
(paraphrased in order to make my freaking point)

So how do I respond? Well, I respond by making damn sure that the 40, along with a 12 oz. bottle fo XXX, was down the trap within 30 minutes.

I spent Friday morning wishing I had jumped out a window. Gatorade made me feel only slightly better. Granted, 52 oz. of beer is not an extraordinary amount, but it did something to me that I don't care to experience again anytime soon.

Saturday night was spent with the brothers and Brandon (best bud since... well, since forever) amazingly called me to hang out (he hasn't returned my calls for about 6 months now. OK, so not best bud since forever. argh) and we decided to grace Finnagel's with our glorious presence. Much tequila was consumed. This is another example of the testosterone induced madness that I was speaking of earlier. Tequila? Sure. I'll have whatever you guys are having. And I'll be damned if I'm going to have a chaser to go along with it. Chasers are for wussies. I am not a wussy! I am a warrior!
OK, so we drank tequila, blah blah blah (blah cubed), and then JC, Tony, and I went home, watched a young girl get a DUI right in front of our house (long story - you can make one up if you'd like), and then left to go out and put up lawn signs for GWB. Out until 5 in the morning, with the dog, and AC/DC on the hi fi. I don't even know where all we put up signs, but we put up about 65 or so. We got tired after awhile and decided to call it a night. JC and I were halfway into a bottle of Petrone, and Tony (the only sober one with us - including the dog) was getting tired of driving. So we called it quits and head home at dawn.

hrmmm... JC is starting to get more political than me. But he's fun. He's fun when he's political and drunk.

customized tradition

Current Mood: satiably soulful

I don't want things to change from what they've changed to. I like them the way that they are. Right now, this is what I like. I enjoy right now because I love the feeling it gives me - to make someone else happy. All this, and I don't want it to change. No, not one bit.

Change (coinage or otherwise) is reserved for rainy days. Celestial tears wash away today's pain and pleasure only to be sent down the curb's drain and swished around, saving itself for later. I like it though. Sort of.

The fluorescent lighting in this office is reminiscent of "Joe vs. the Volcano" or "Being John Malkovich". Either way, it can't be good on the eyes.

The greatest time I ever had in the rain was with Brandon at a rest stop in Maryland. I don't remember where we were going (or coming back from), but it was pouring rain and the water was collecting on positively everything. Instead of running into the rest stop (stale pretzels and day old coffee waiting inside), we stayed just outside where water had filled the awning of a kiosk and we threw water at eachother until we were both absolutely soaked. We're such children. We were completely drenched and even managed to get a few innocent passersby a little wet, but for some reason it was so funny. We were probably high. Who knows?

I like the sound of the tires driving over the slick road. It sounds... dare I say? Yes, I will. It sort of sounds.... well, it sorta sounds sexy.

Oh baby, oh baby, let me hear the sound of your goodyears on the slick road again...

it's not raining right now in Jersey City - it's just a bit slick. But people are still walking by this office, on the sidewalk, holding fully open umbrellas. I wonder this, and it is this by which I am mystified: do they carry the open umbrella in the hopes that it might rain or in the fear that it might rain?
If I had the time to conduct a man-on-the-street survey, that's exactly what I would be doing right now, at this very moment.

For the record: I was leaving the office late the other night and pulled up alongside a car at a traffic light. On the back bumper of the car there were two bumperstickers proudly displayed. First one said "Go Vegetarian!" (please note the exuberant use of the exclamation point). The second one, directly beneath the first one, said "I ♥ Gorillas". Sadly, there was no repeat on the exclamation point. But the message was clear just the same.

Jersey City is so curious in the rain. I want more of it. I have very mixed emotions about moving to Mountainside come November. It will be nice to have a bigger office, and my own office at that, but I shall miss Jersey City something horrid.

For the record (yet again): Paige Davis was at my office the other week, and quite randomly so. I walked up the front steps and there she was, on the phone, sitting on the step. Her camera crew was in the pet shop next door and she was outside making a call. I had to ask her to move her knee in order for me to open the office door. She looked up, smiled apologetically, and gladly complied with my request.

I walked out 10 minutes later and she was there on the other end of the stoop, camera pointing at her, microphone in hand, doing her thing "Hi! Welcome to this episode of Trading Spaces! I'm Paige Davis!" (the exclamation points! again! argh!) and sadly I was walking out the front door with a huge garbage bag slung over my shoulder.

Apparently, the Pet Shop Boys were trading spaces with their neighbors and the show decided it would be pretty cool to stop by their shop and check out the scene in JC. Keep your eyes peeled for my black trash bag and humiliated demeanor.

Ladies and gentlemen, it's that time again. Back to work. Argh.

PUSHING: buttons, daisies, envelopes, helpless people down elevator shafts, etcetera

As of late, we have depended on mild forms of entertainment in the office. Argh...


****

Moe: If I ever get a boat, I'm going to name it... "Your Mom"

Amanda: (laughing because it's way too late and we've been at the office far too long)

Moe: And then, when people ask me where I'm going I can say: "for a ride... on Your Mom"

****

Moe: Gregory, there is a one dollar bill in my bed with me.

Gregory: That is amazing! Do you think that maybe your body is producing dollar bills as you sleep? If that's the case, I'm definitely on my way over there...

Moe: I'm not sure, but that's the most fantastic thing I've heard in a long, long time.

Gregory: Well, it's a slow road to financial freedom, but at least it's SOMETHING. I mean, take the Sally Struthers approach: for just the cost of a cup of coffee a day...


****

Moe: I swear, if I get ONE MORE infection in this eye...

Amanda: You're going to poke it out?

Moe: No!! I'm going to get a glass eye; one of those fancy deals with the Schundler for Governor Reform logo painted right on it. That way, everytime I go to shake hands with Doug Forrester or John Murphy I can stare them right in the eye with that shit!


****

Amanda: I'm going to put on the hugest gala this state has ever seen. I'm going to have 5,000 people there!!

Moe: what if there's not enough room at the Atri...

Amanda: I don't care! I'll have people outside, in the freezing cold, busting down the doors to get in! Bob Schroeder, and Doug Forrester, and John Murphy, and Diane Allen will all be out there, freezing, trying to peek in. And it WON'T be the cold air blowing off the Hudson that makes their teeth chatter that night!


****

Amanda: Moe, we have all these young, male volunteers coming in and it's all because of you!

Moe: No, no, no... Amanda, don't be ridiculous. Please. Are we being honest? Let's be completely honest...

Amanda: Moe! I am being honest! Think about it: why would all these guys be coming in unless there was a hot girl here to keep them entertained?! Why else would they be hanging around unless they had huge crushes on YOU!

Moe: What?! I look like POO... with orange hair!

****

Amanda: I'll tell you what... I'll go ahead and buy your line. But only as long as the money doesn't go to support your habit of being an ASSHOLE!

****

Christopher: The name Chris just pisses me off. I hate it.

Clarence: My son's name is Chris.

Chelsea: My best-friend's name is Chris.

Moe: My sister's name is Cris.

Clarence: So basically, what we're telling you is that we're about to jump your ass... Jersey style

Moe: Chris, you're not in Kansas anymore...

****

Amanda: Awww... shit on a stick!

Moe: Shit-ka-bob?

****

Moe: You know, for a cop, traffic duty is sort of like prostitution.

Amanda: What the hell are you talking about?!

Moe: Well, I mean, there's just no honor in it, you know? Just no honor.

****

Moe: Hey, Amanda, what's "Hackensack" Indian for again? County Seat of Corrupt Government or something?

the best I can do

Tragically, the best I can do is not all that great (as it turns out). But it's still my best. So brava! Everyone give me (moe, that's me. I'm moe. right here. look at me) a big pat on the back. A high five, if you will. Because my best has arrived.

This is completely uncalled for.

FRIDAY: Absolutely outstanding. My excitement for the Swiss Auto Club show was completely out of control. I'm super proud of the boys to say the least and was more than pleased to be there. Bought the new album and have been rocking it in the car ever since.

The Friday bit in all caps and followed by a colon made it appear as though I was going to continue in like fashion with at least one other day of the week.

haha. i fooled you.

I've sat down to write in the good ol' blog at least six (6!) times this past week and each time was met with so much information, events, words, phrases (a mere extension of 'words'), and emotion that I've found myself overwhelmed and really unsure of WHAT to write. Work has been overly female dogged although somehow pleasurable just the same. There's something about working really hard and getting it accomplished. Granted, I've been working about 14 hours a day this past week (and it will only get worse) but I've been really satisfied with actually getting things accomplished. The family has been great - Cristina and Cheech were in town for two weeks and just left yesterday. He's gotten so big, it's amazing. My dad ran over some woman in a parking lot the other week. That's not the best part of it though. See, the best part is that he ran over her on purpose. Isn't that just fantastic? I realize it's a tad severe, but really, he only did what everyone else was thinking. So it's at least somewhat justified (not like Timberlake and Christina).

PARTNER IN CRIME: I've managed to outdo myself yet again. I've managed to score myself one of the coolest cats on the planet and in him I've found a true confidante, a great partner in crime. He makes me smile at least 8 dozen times a day with crafty machination and random wordplays that are far too clever for me. He tells me long stories that I love and we poke fun of quirky and awkward everyday things as often as possible. Mr. Gregory Andres is soooo coool. Special even (in that very non-rainman sorta way). Stick around... 'cause I like you. I like you just fine.

Post surgery follow-up appointment this Friday. Should be tons o' fun to be poked and prodded yet again. Except this time, in vibrant technicolor! Well, I'll be toting a fancy scmancy blue health insurance membership card around in my back pocket this time around anyway, which is just as good (if not better) than technicolor - vibrant or otherwise.

I realize that I mentioned it in my last blog title, but failed to fully highlight the important role of the york peppermint pattie in my life these days. Please, do not misunderstand me. Do not believe for one second that I have no self control over such trivial indulgences. I really and truly do - it's just that the ypp is so special I don't want it to be gone from my life. No, not in the least. I see no reason to eliminate this tasty comestible from my diet and so I'm keeping it around. Its small, smooth roundness and fresh sensation has imbedded itself in my everyday routine and I just can't shake it. Experience it for yourself and you will be hooked, I'm sure. My mother has recently been found guilty of supporting my nasty habit - she brought me home a Costco size box of the little buggers. 180 miniature ypp's all for me! Good heavens, I hardly know what to do with myself.

On this note, my friends, I bid you farewell. As I said earlier, work has been somewhat of a bitch lately and I must arise early tomorrow morning to walk the dog (this is totally a metaphor, in case you didn't catch on).

Goodnight.

the perfection of the york peppermint pattie

Current Mood: shivery delicious

Full of smite am I right now.
At this very moment.

It's quarter past one in the morning. I have to leave for work at 6 o'clock tomorrow morning. I have to shower now for it will never happen later - er at least, it could happen but would ruin any promise I had of actually leaving for the office on time.

At any rate - all this aside, I am in such a state. The Garden State of Euphoria, if you will (and I will).

I will finish this some other time. I realize that I have been silent for quite awhile, but I will have to remain silent (or at least semi-silent) for a few moments longer. I'm falling asleep on the keyboard and I'm not the biggest fan of getting drool between the keys.

Farewell and goodnight,
moe

If Heaven goes to Betsy, then who gets Hell?

I have been working with such great velocity and ferocity lately that I've had little time to keep up with things like, well, the blog on myspace. Although I love it and hold it so dear to my heart, and although I've had so many good writing thoughts running through my head lately, so many good ideas, I've simply not had a moment to sit down and actually WRITE. It's left me slightly irritable, but still thoughtful as ever as I keep busy saving the world from such atrocities as New Jersey Republican party leaders, emphysema, crazed unicyclists, and the tragic and untimely death of the semicolon. As you can see, my schedule has been quite booked.

Yet, this is just an abbreviated view of my oh-so-busy schedule over the past two weeks. I have also managed to finish painting a wall in my room, make several impulsive ebay purchases, make a groovy new friend who is as big a dork as I, score tickets to a concert, not-so-fruitlessly garner media attention for a band I think is pretty cool, convince myself (not so convincingly) somehow that I can be seemlessly reunited as buddies with a former fling, taught someone the etymology and proper usage of the word machination, picked up my Cheech from the airport, attended three birthday parties in one weekend, told my mother that I love her, discovered that I really really do enjoy the Postal Service quite a great deal, made several other long and meaningless lists... ummm... let's see, what else.... A lot more of a bunch of nothing really.

*** And I shall miss Jersey City...

I won't miss the commute, but I will definitely miss our neighbors: The Pet Shop Boys, Baker Dorks, and Lombardi's (AKA: Death). I will also miss the parking tickets I seem to get on a fairly regular basis. I will miss the construction that they have been doing on the exit ramp off the turnpike for the past year and a half to no great or even somewhat successful end. I will miss the atrocious parking situation at the Jersey City post office. I will miss the potholes the size of volkswagens. I will miss my picture windows (that one is for real).
Schundler for Governor is moving. We are moving from Jersey City to a more central and certainly larger location where we will be able to facilitate a staff of 15-20 plus volunteers instead of our current number: a meager three. The office is moving to beautiful Mountainside, New Jersey - just moments from such great landmarks as Bowcraft, The Colorado Cafe, and (most importantly) the Echo Queen Diner. Apparently this office even has a shower - which is great considering how many nights I'm sure that I'll be spending there over the next year.
One thing I am really excited about is the 20 minutes that will be instantly shaved off my commute. Oh yes, I'm super excited about that. It will also be nice to eliminate the $150 I'm spending every month on tolls, as I will no longer need to use a toll road to get to work.

So, as of November 1st, Schundler for Governor campaign headquarters will be in Mountainside, New Jersey. Come and join the fun!

The Grapes of Bathgate's Laire

I'll be the grapes fermented, bottled and
served with the table set in my finest suit
like a perfect gentleman.
I'll be the fire escape that's bolted to the
ancient brick where you will sit and
contemplate your day.

I'll be the waterwings that save you if you
start drowning in an open tab when your
judgement's on the brink.
I'll be the phonograph that plays your favorite
albums back as your lying there drifting off
to sleep.
I'll be the platform shoes and undo what
heredity's done to you: you won't have to
strain to look into my eyes.
I'll be your winter coat buttoned and zipped
straight to the throat with the collar up so
you won't catch cold.

I want to take you far away from the cynics in this
town and kiss you on the mouth.
we'll cut our bodies free from the tethers of
this scene, start a brand new colony
where everything will change, we'll give
ourselves new names, identities erased.
the sun will heat the grounds under our bare
feet in this brand new colony.

everything will change...


** crushes are such fun things... revel in them. **

death cab for cutie patootey

October 22nd.
Roseland Ballroom, NYC.
Gregory and Moe.

6:45 PM the curtain rises sharply, casting contrast on the loud crowd
minus one, two, three, four members, standing tall and limber, center stage.

Dim lights and endless fights with bar tenders of chicken big spenders
Pouring over and into full mugs of light beer chugs, sliding down, down, down…
Bright pink wrist bands keeping loud double fisting fans at bay
And long lines through far off lands ending in restroom etiquette disarray.
Melodic sounds filtered through subwoofer box hounds, and a new musical discovery for moe.

Sounds absolutely splendid, I must say.

where have all the cowboys gone?

Some things force me to realize that I have bigger fish to fry than the fish I've been frying so far (pun entirely intended - if it does not appear to be a pun, bear with me, i'm heavily medicated at the moment).

Today I stepped outside for the first time since Saturday night - save getting in or out of a vehicle. I hobbled across the lawn to get the mail and felt a mite dizzy in the noon day sun, but it was nice to get outside just the same. I had to sneak out because Lord knows my brother would have shot me if he knew I was walking around outside. He's been awfully protective these days.
It was him who was with me in the emergency room at 5:30 Sunday morning, holding my hand as my body writhed in absolute paralyzing pain. He was the one who yelled at the nurse when she left me in the hallway for over an hour waiting for an ultrasound. And now he's staying home from work to be with me all day while I lay around like a vegetable, tuning in and out of deep sleep (God bless percocet).

I do love my brother dearly. He's been an absolute gem.
And I'm glad that he was around Saturday night when I arrived home late, barely able to walk and I sat down and told him my concerns. We decided to sleep on it for one night. I'm stubborn and I hate doctors and hospitals. There was no way I was going in unless this was really serious. He knows me enough that he recognized this when I called him at 5 in the morning to tell him that he should call an ambulence. I couldn't even roll over in bed. I couldn't move my legs. Another experience. Another removal from my day to day element. Another opportunity for me to understand a certain experience a little better.

I spent 8 hours at the emergency room Sunday - from 5:30 AM until 1:30 PM. They were going to discharge me. I had been poked, prodded, probed, and every other thing imaginable. I was too heavily medicated to care though. I just wanted to go home and go to bed. The spasms of pain were still coming every 30 minutes or so and lasting about 4 or 5 minutes a piece. They would wave over me and pull my entire body into a tight little ball of contracted muscles. I could literally feel every single organ in my torso quiver with pain. My lungs were not able to expand hence making each breath so short and so labored that it was as though I wasn't breathing at all. My oxygen levels were dropping and the ER knew that. Why they were discharging me, I will always wonder.

Kelly arrived to pick me up and said that I looked pale. Too pale to be going home. She was concerned. She had me wheeled back inside to get out of the muggy air. I was feeling quite nauseated but was nervous to eat anything because of the all the medication that they had pumped into me. Kelly insisted that I be admitted to the hospital and it was so (oh the power of an obstinate woman's words)!

I had been admitted absolutely no more than 20 minutes when the Gynocologist came up and introduced himself. Kelly, Cecilia and JC had just left 10 minutes earlier to run home, shower, pick up some stuff for me and eat. The Dr. was older, kind, but had a definite sense of urgency. I had just been given another two doses of something or other and the room was spinning a bit.
He started talking, slow at first, but it took off from there into a million different directions at a mach speed that I couldn't keep up with.
He just looked through my test results and ultrasound images. He can't believe the ER was going to discharge me. I am suffering a great deal of internal bleeding - it's starting to flood into my chest cavity which is why I am having difficulty breathing. He is hellbent on operating immediately. Will I sign this release form? Have I had anything to eat? Do I know how serious my condition is? Oh, by the way, there is a large possibility that infection has spread to my ovaries and if that is the case, he will have to remove my reproductive organs making it impossible for me to ever have children. But, it's all in the release form. Just sign on the dotted line please.

I started to tear up and the tension in my muscles began the worst pain spasm of the day. I dropped the pen he had handed me and grabbed hold of the bedside rails. My body curled up and I tried to speak through my labored, short breaths. I needed to call my parents. I needed to call someone. Cut me up, do what you have to do, I don't care - but that last part, the part about never having children really threw me for a loop. I didn't want to sign ANYTHING until I spoke to someone first.

The doctor seemed irritated all of a sudden. He leaned in and grabbed my hand. He was right in my tear-stained face.
"Look at yourself. You NEED this surgery Monica. I can't wait for you to sign this release form. What if you pass out in the next few moments? If you don't have this surgery now, you won't have the option to have it later. You won't be here tomorrow."
OK - so he wasn't really helping matters. I was spasing out because he had upset me and he certainly wasn't making me feel all warm and fuzzy with that comment.
So behind door number one was a surgery where I had a fairly large chance that I would lose any shred of hope to have children in the future. Or behind door number two was the loss of any shred of hope to do anything in the future at all.
Yeah, I chose door number one.

It's funny, even in these sorts of instances, I'm hard at work, plugging my candidate. The last thing I remember before going under in the OR (Oh... are they?) was talking to the anaesthesiologist about what a pickle Jim McGreevey is in, that he should step down now, and yes - you should vote Republican come election day.
Waking up from surgery is exactly how they show it in the movies. Sort of blacking in and out, bright lights and fuzzy faces in your line of vision. That's probably the only thing hollywood has ever captured accurately.
I've spent the past few days at home, holed up in my bedroom. I watched TV for the first time this morning (it's no wonder I never really watched it before - the options are so meager and frankly, unappealing). The swelling in my belly has gone down noticeably since last night also. I was sporting a pregnant belly since Sunday night and I was beginning to worry that it was going to stay that way.

I have three tiny incisions - one in my bellybutton and two on the left and right hand sides of my lower abdomen. There won't be any real noticeable scars at all. And even if there were, I would sport them with pride. Scars are, afterall, only tattoos with better stories.
And I'm doing all sorts of cool things on my own now, like walking and showering. Woo hoo! It's been kind of fun to sit around all day reading and popping percocet like M&M's. I have to admit, it's not all that bad. Apparently there are a slew of pictures and video footage that was taken during the surgery which my entire family has seen but I have not. I'm looking forward to getting my hands on that and selling it to Discovery Health. Might as well make a buck or two off this, eh?

Oh, and I can still have kids. :) Imagine that - little monkeys running around all over the place. Sort of makes you feel all warm and fuzzy inside, doesn't it??