Once Upon a Blog

So I'm looking at my friend Kathy's blog about her life as "a singleton and serial dater" and I'm thinking this seems like fun.  Maybe I'll try it. The blogging, not the serial dating. Then my friend Hallie starts a blog about her life at school in Spain.  Well that settles it.  I'm not in any place so exciting as Madrid and I have no dating life to speak of (except for an occasional outing with a guy we'll call Eyebrows. Enough said.), but I have a story or two. Just yesterday, I wanted to tell someone about my anti-christ dog Punk (not the one at the top of the blog--that's Judge and he's a saint) eating all of my toothpaste, but I didn't have this blog then. Lucky you, reader.

So here's a fuzzy picture.  For relative scale, look for the little white square on the wall behind Punk.  It's an electrical outlet.  Tiny beast.

And then there was the time not long ago when I decided to vote two weeks early.  We could vote at about 15 different locations including some libraries.  I chose a library I'd never visited before.  I waited two hours, but I enjoyed every minute of it.  I was the only white person in line so the Black Caucus woman didn't know what to do with me. When she got to me, she paused, then politely gave me a list of endorsed candidates. The list was very close to who I was voting for and I felt like running after her to reassure her, but then I realized it was me who wanted reassurance so I stayed put. Next, CNN showed up.  Great. I'd just left the gym and I looked like it...neon t-shirt, wild hair.  I wasn't the only one avoiding fifteen minutes of fame. Ava, the woman next to me, practically stuffed her head in her bag. Turns out, she'd called in sick to vote. She asked the cameraman to avoid us and he pointed his camera in another direction.  Nice, huh?

When I pulled out my voter's registration card (VRC), a wave of activity undulated down the long line.  People looking in their pocketbooks and wallets. “I don't have one of those...I don't know if I ever did," said the woman next to Ava. The Black Caucus lady told us we didn’t have to have a VRC or even an I.D. We all calmed down.  My fellow waitees spent the rest of our time together laughing and calling me the Dave Chappelle White-Lady-with-the-proper-paper-work. I thought I had to have a VRC.  I've carried that card around for a decade. Well, at least it's one less thing to keep track of.  See what I learn when I venture out? 

When I finally stood in front of the ballot box, I had to take a moment to breathe.  There was my candidate, one that I felt absolutely certain about.  Certainty doesn't come along very often. I enjoyed touching the screen.

I wanted to tell that story, too.  And now I have.  Writing in my journal will seem so Little Women compared to blogging.  Stick around friends, I hope to get better as I go along!