I am assuming you guys already know the advantages of marriage: reduced living expenses, someone to zip up your dress, someone to point out when you're doing it wrong, but perhaps you are unaware of the disadvantages of a legal contract that can cost hundreds, if not thousands, of dollars to break.
One of the main disadvantages of this contract is that if you do something really, really stupid, you don't get to keep it to yourself. Even if this really, really stupid thing caused no damage to your car or to the other car and the other car owner says, after his daughter points out that, "Oh, Dad, that's what a bumper is for," and he has to bend over and get within two inches of the bumper just to see the one-inch scratch, "Well, I guess there's no point in spending $2,500 to replace an entire bumper just to get rid of one little scratch" and you sigh a huge sigh of relief because no, there isn't any point in spending $2,500 to replace an entire fender just to get rid of a tiny scratch and how many times did you wave off someone who had bumped into you? At least three. At least three. So now maybe your karma is coming around. But will it do you any good?
No. No it won't. Because when you waved people off, you were unmarried and driving your old Toyota and didn't have to explain yourself to anyone.
Now, you bumped into someone while you were driving 1. your husband's car 2. while you were married and 3. guess what you bumped into someone in the exact same spot while you were backing out of your driveway a year ago.
Ouch.
For the record, I'm blaming my sister. She was in the car with me and I was distracted.
Remember the van I hit right before we were leaving on a trip? The guy wouldn't take my insurance information. I kept trying to give it to him. He wanted to get together for lunch and talk about it. Which was weird. He emailed months later with an estimate. We told him to mail us a hard copy and we'd send him a check or submit it to our insurance and we never heard from him again.
So yesterday, I was backing out and not doing my due diligence. Our street is narrow and if you're not careful - well, bump. I bumped into the car parked on the street across the street.
I felt my stomach fall. I felt sick. I got out and looked. I couldn't see any damage, but I suspected eagle-eye Primo might find some. To me, a car is merely a means to transport a person from Point A to Point B. I don't want to have too many scars, but I don't care about a few bumps and bruises. But he is a little more particular about his vehicles, a difference that has caused me to lament more than once that I should never have sold my car when I married him.
I walked the slow walk of the guilty to my neighbors' door and rang the doorbell. Ruth opened the door. I winced. "I just hit the car parked in front of your house," I said.
"Oh!" she said. "That's my dad's. He just got here."
Great, I thought. I have great timing. If I'd left for the store ten minutes ago, this wouldn't have happened.
They came out and looked at it. He didn't look too happy, but she waved it off. "Dad, it's not a big deal," she said. "That's what bumpers are for." I gave him my insurance information anyhow. "In case you decide to repair it," I said, silently praying that he would continue to think it complete insanity to spend thousands of dollars for what is truly a one-inch long almost-invisible scratch.
When we got back from the store, I noticed he'd moved his car into Ruth's driveway.
Smart man.
Telling Ruth's dad I'd hit his car was not the worst part.
The worst part was having to tell Primo that 1. I had backed into a car 2. IN THE EXACT SAME SPOT I HAD BACKED INTO A CAR LAST YEAR.
This, my friends, is the reason to stay single.
The End.
Saturday, November 24, 2012
Thursday, November 22, 2012
Saturday April 28 what if I become a bag lady
Probably the thing that scares me the most in life is the chance that I will be out on the street with nothing to eat.
You are laughing. "Really, Gold Digger? You really think that is an option? You have savings, a house that's more than 60% paid for, not one but two defined benefit pensions, and social security. And family."
I counter with, "Savings can melt. My 401ks have not budged in the past 10 years. I can pay off the house, but I still have property taxes every year and they are not low. I have the pensions, but by the time we retire, they won't be enough to pay the phone bill. Today, they are enough to pay the property taxes and the homeowners insurance and that's it. Social security. Are you making a joke? And yes, I have family, but it's not like they're rich. I could move into my mom's basement if I had to, but she's not going to live forever."
I want to throw so much money in the bank that I never have to worry again. I want to pay off the house and bank thirty years' worth of property taxes. It would be really nice if property taxes would actually go down. Thank you, thank you. I'll be here all week please tip your waitress. I want to have enough in savings that we can fund our retirement. I want enough in savings that we can put a new roof on the house. I don't want to put a new roof on the house. I just want to be able to pay for it if we need to do it.
Primo earns a decent living. He works his butt off to do it. I hate that he works so hard, but have to admit I like the income. Not that we spend it. A good chunk of it - a really good chunk of it - goes to his ex wife. Remember what I told you? If you ever get divorced, get a really mean lawyer. Mediating a divorce works only if both of you want a divorce. Or, if you don't want to pay a lawyer but one of you doesn't want the divorce, at least look up the divorce laws in your state to find out about alimony. You might discover that the laws define how much alimony you have to pay. You might not end up paying twice as much alimony as you would have paid by statute. Just saying.
So we pay a lot of alimony. It ends in a few months. I was looking forward to finally getting my hands on that money. I was going to replace the from-hell smoothtop electric stove in our kitchen (duh - where else do you put a stove?) with a gas stove. Then we were going to pay off the house and bank, bank, bank the cash.
But now, if Primo wins the election, we'll have four months of alimony-free income before he quits his job to start serving in the house. And then Primo's income will drop by ALOT percent.
I've applied to over 50 jobs in the past three months. I've been qualified or over qualified for all of them.
I have not gotten even a phone interview.
I can't sleep.
You are laughing. "Really, Gold Digger? You really think that is an option? You have savings, a house that's more than 60% paid for, not one but two defined benefit pensions, and social security. And family."
I counter with, "Savings can melt. My 401ks have not budged in the past 10 years. I can pay off the house, but I still have property taxes every year and they are not low. I have the pensions, but by the time we retire, they won't be enough to pay the phone bill. Today, they are enough to pay the property taxes and the homeowners insurance and that's it. Social security. Are you making a joke? And yes, I have family, but it's not like they're rich. I could move into my mom's basement if I had to, but she's not going to live forever."
I want to throw so much money in the bank that I never have to worry again. I want to pay off the house and bank thirty years' worth of property taxes. It would be really nice if property taxes would actually go down. Thank you, thank you. I'll be here all week please tip your waitress. I want to have enough in savings that we can fund our retirement. I want enough in savings that we can put a new roof on the house. I don't want to put a new roof on the house. I just want to be able to pay for it if we need to do it.
Primo earns a decent living. He works his butt off to do it. I hate that he works so hard, but have to admit I like the income. Not that we spend it. A good chunk of it - a really good chunk of it - goes to his ex wife. Remember what I told you? If you ever get divorced, get a really mean lawyer. Mediating a divorce works only if both of you want a divorce. Or, if you don't want to pay a lawyer but one of you doesn't want the divorce, at least look up the divorce laws in your state to find out about alimony. You might discover that the laws define how much alimony you have to pay. You might not end up paying twice as much alimony as you would have paid by statute. Just saying.
So we pay a lot of alimony. It ends in a few months. I was looking forward to finally getting my hands on that money. I was going to replace the from-hell smoothtop electric stove in our kitchen (duh - where else do you put a stove?) with a gas stove. Then we were going to pay off the house and bank, bank, bank the cash.
But now, if Primo wins the election, we'll have four months of alimony-free income before he quits his job to start serving in the house. And then Primo's income will drop by ALOT percent.
I've applied to over 50 jobs in the past three months. I've been qualified or over qualified for all of them.
I have not gotten even a phone interview.
I can't sleep.
Wednesday, November 21, 2012
Saturday April 28 Polka Dot Prom
Primo is going to a big political deal tonight, the Polka Dot Formal, where the mayor and all the Polka Dot Bigwigs will be hanging out. It's the big annual Prom for the Polka Dots, the event they look forward to every year, hoping that special someone will ask them out. My friend Jen asked if Primo will be getting his photo taken under the balloon arch with the Important People. My gosh, I hope so. I want this all to have been worth it.
He told me about it the other day. "I could meet some really important people," he said.
"But my sister and her boyfriend will be visiting!" I protested.
"It could help me in the campaign."
I sighed.
"The thing is, it costs $125."
I looked at him.
And looked at him.
"Do you know what kind of shoes I could get for $125?"
"I could get one or two good contacts out of it."
"Just one or two? That's $60 to $125 per contact!"
"Actually, $62.50," he corrected.
I glared at him.
"The Political Wife said she might be able to get me a free ticket."
"Fine. If you can go for free, then go. But I don't think it's worth it to spend that much money on one or two contacts. Ten dollars a contact, fine. Sixty? No."
For those of you in big cities, you might think, "One hundred twenty five dollars? That's it? That's a swanky, expensive event? That's what it costs to get access to the top political figures?
Know that our city is a thrifty city. We may be the only city in the United States that ran a surplus yes that is correct a surplus during the Depression. These people, my people, do not waste. We are not big spenders. We hold onto a penny. We hate to see money leave our hands. Even politicians are reluctant to spend. Not as reluctant as other people because they are after all politicians but reluctant.
Last night, after my sister and her boyfriend, who is a keeper - if she breaks up with this one, the very first one I have ever liked, I will cry, arrived, and we were eating the Pinter's steak that as usual, Primo had prepared to absolute perfection, Primo said that the Political Wife had indeed come through with the free ticket.
"Will you be needing arm candy?" The Boyfriend, who henceforth shall be known as Matt, asked.
"He'll have the Political Wife," I said.
"Does that concern you?" my sister asked me.
"She doesn't need to worry," Primo assured her. "Political Wife loves her husband."
I turned to him and raised my eyebrows. "That," I said, "was not the right answer."
He told me about it the other day. "I could meet some really important people," he said.
"But my sister and her boyfriend will be visiting!" I protested.
"It could help me in the campaign."
I sighed.
"The thing is, it costs $125."
I looked at him.
And looked at him.
"Do you know what kind of shoes I could get for $125?"
"I could get one or two good contacts out of it."
"Just one or two? That's $60 to $125 per contact!"
"Actually, $62.50," he corrected.
I glared at him.
"The Political Wife said she might be able to get me a free ticket."
"Fine. If you can go for free, then go. But I don't think it's worth it to spend that much money on one or two contacts. Ten dollars a contact, fine. Sixty? No."
For those of you in big cities, you might think, "One hundred twenty five dollars? That's it? That's a swanky, expensive event? That's what it costs to get access to the top political figures?
Know that our city is a thrifty city. We may be the only city in the United States that ran a surplus yes that is correct a surplus during the Depression. These people, my people, do not waste. We are not big spenders. We hold onto a penny. We hate to see money leave our hands. Even politicians are reluctant to spend. Not as reluctant as other people because they are after all politicians but reluctant.
Last night, after my sister and her boyfriend, who is a keeper - if she breaks up with this one, the very first one I have ever liked, I will cry, arrived, and we were eating the Pinter's steak that as usual, Primo had prepared to absolute perfection, Primo said that the Political Wife had indeed come through with the free ticket.
"Will you be needing arm candy?" The Boyfriend, who henceforth shall be known as Matt, asked.
"He'll have the Political Wife," I said.
"Does that concern you?" my sister asked me.
"She doesn't need to worry," Primo assured her. "Political Wife loves her husband."
I turned to him and raised my eyebrows. "That," I said, "was not the right answer."
Tuesday, November 20, 2012
Primo says I should be his campaign manager
So I saved a post with just the title, thinking I would get back to it later, but now, in November, I cannot remember a word of this conversation. So I will sum it up thusly:
Primo: I think you should run my campaign.
Me: No.
In retrospect, I should have. We would have been far better off.
Primo: I think you should run my campaign.
Me: No.
In retrospect, I should have. We would have been far better off.
Monday, November 19, 2012
In which we consider what to give Sly and Doris for Christmas (a non-political, real-time post)
Primo and I are thinking of giving Sly and Doris a framed photo of ourselves for Christmas this year. (In addition to a four-day visit from Primo through Christmas Eve.)
(Primo's Christmas present to me is that I am not going with him to Sly and Doris'.)
(They will hate a photo that has me in it.)
(This is a feature, not a bug.)
What we're not sure of is whether we should also give them a cast-iron cat.
(Primo's Christmas present to me is that I am not going with him to Sly and Doris'.)
(They will hate a photo that has me in it.)
(This is a feature, not a bug.)
What we're not sure of is whether we should also give them a cast-iron cat.
Tuesday April 24 Primo's parents send him a poison pen email asking him if he should run
Primo came downstairs and slumped into the bed. "I don't know what to do. I haven't gotten anything done all day."
I glanced at the clock. "It's 9:30!" I said.
"I know," he sighed. "I have a meeting with that graphic designer tomorrow. I have work to do. But I can't concentrate. I'm gridlocked."
"Why?" I glanced back at the book in my lap. I'd spent a few hours trying to put his website together, including trying to figure out to upload a photo to the front page. I hadn't worked in that application before. I never did figure it out.
I'd done three loads of laundry, cleaned the bathroom, washed the kitchen floor, gone to the grocery store, changed the sheets, vacuumed, taken out the trash, cleaned the cat box, baked a cake, gone running. I had let the cat in and out of the house three times. I had gone to the good hamburger place to use the two for one coupon before it expired. I had gone to the library to return books so I wouldn't be fined. I had washed mustard greens and cooked them so Primo would have a green vegetable for supper.
I had finally sat down to relax. Now Primo wanted my attention.
I guess he deserved it. He still had a harder life than I did.
"My parents sent me an email."
This was never good. I took off my glasses. I would not be returned to the book any time soon.
"My dad wants to know if I've put enough 'due diligence' into running. He doesn't want me to make the same mistake they made with the restaurant."
His parents had invested a lot of money in a restaurant with Primo's brother. The big difference between Primo running for office and the restaurant, however, is that we are 1. not taking a second mortgage against our house of 2. $250,000 for 3. a business about which we know nothing and 4. have researched not at all.
I rolled my eyes. "What else?"
"And my mom says I should worry about taking care of myself instead of trying to fix the world."
I double rolled my eyes.
"This? From your mother? Your mother who is the biggest emotional drain in your life? She is telling you to take care of yourself and not to take care of anyone else? Does she see the irony in this?"
"Everyone else is happy for me. Everyone else is supportive. Even you are supportive and you don't agree with me."
I shook my head. "What are they trying to accomplish? Are they trying to talk you out of this?"
"I don't know."
"Besides, what's the downside of your running? If you run and don't win, then what? It's not like you lose your job. I know you hate your job and want to do something different, but if you lose the election, we just make another plan. But there is no downside to running. There is no risk. I don't know why they would discourage you. You'd think they'd be all over this. It's not like they've ever been proud that you're an engineer, anyhow. Your dad thinks you should have gone to grad school. He doesn't think you really work. You'd think they'd be excited that you're going into politics so they can brag to all their activist friends that their son is in the House. I don't get it. Why do they always have to be such downers?"
"Maybe it's because they know if I'm campaigning all summer, I won't have time to visit them."
I laughed. "I'll bet that's it!"
He smiled. "And they called you an Ice Queen. And blamed you for keeping me away from them."
"Oh yeah. If it weren't for me, they would see you all the time. Wouldn't you?"
He nodded. "That's it. I just love visiting them and spending time with them."
He paused. "They think I'll be corrupted."
"They do? The people who raised you? They think that what, you'll get sucked up in the cesspool and lose your moral center?"
"Yeah. I'll start taking bribes. Except it's your side that does that."
"Oh right. Let's see. The most recent bribery scandal in our town was - Oh! On your side! For Johnny X! For $500!"
He laughed. "Yeah, for the big money, you have to go to the Stripes party. The Polka Dots aren't smart enough to go for the big money."
"Uh huh. That's it. That's the only time X ever took money. And he just happened to get caught. Your side is the side of angels. Nobody on your side ever does anything bad." I rolled my eyes again. I need to be careful. One day, they're going to get stuck.
He signed again. "What am I going to do about my parents?"
"I don't know. Were they drunk when they sent it?"
He thought. "It was 7:30 when they wrote it, so yes."
I seethed. "I hate addicts. I hate how they can't keep their poison to themselves. I hate how they have to spread it out and contaminate everyone around them. Why do they have to infect you? Why can't they be content to be bitter alone?"
"They don't want to be miserable alone," Primo said. "They want to suck me in."
"Tell them to leave you alone," I said. "Tell them to shut up."
I glanced at the clock. "It's 9:30!" I said.
"I know," he sighed. "I have a meeting with that graphic designer tomorrow. I have work to do. But I can't concentrate. I'm gridlocked."
"Why?" I glanced back at the book in my lap. I'd spent a few hours trying to put his website together, including trying to figure out to upload a photo to the front page. I hadn't worked in that application before. I never did figure it out.
I'd done three loads of laundry, cleaned the bathroom, washed the kitchen floor, gone to the grocery store, changed the sheets, vacuumed, taken out the trash, cleaned the cat box, baked a cake, gone running. I had let the cat in and out of the house three times. I had gone to the good hamburger place to use the two for one coupon before it expired. I had gone to the library to return books so I wouldn't be fined. I had washed mustard greens and cooked them so Primo would have a green vegetable for supper.
I had finally sat down to relax. Now Primo wanted my attention.
I guess he deserved it. He still had a harder life than I did.
"My parents sent me an email."
This was never good. I took off my glasses. I would not be returned to the book any time soon.
"My dad wants to know if I've put enough 'due diligence' into running. He doesn't want me to make the same mistake they made with the restaurant."
His parents had invested a lot of money in a restaurant with Primo's brother. The big difference between Primo running for office and the restaurant, however, is that we are 1. not taking a second mortgage against our house of 2. $250,000 for 3. a business about which we know nothing and 4. have researched not at all.
I rolled my eyes. "What else?"
"And my mom says I should worry about taking care of myself instead of trying to fix the world."
I double rolled my eyes.
"This? From your mother? Your mother who is the biggest emotional drain in your life? She is telling you to take care of yourself and not to take care of anyone else? Does she see the irony in this?"
"Everyone else is happy for me. Everyone else is supportive. Even you are supportive and you don't agree with me."
I shook my head. "What are they trying to accomplish? Are they trying to talk you out of this?"
"I don't know."
"Besides, what's the downside of your running? If you run and don't win, then what? It's not like you lose your job. I know you hate your job and want to do something different, but if you lose the election, we just make another plan. But there is no downside to running. There is no risk. I don't know why they would discourage you. You'd think they'd be all over this. It's not like they've ever been proud that you're an engineer, anyhow. Your dad thinks you should have gone to grad school. He doesn't think you really work. You'd think they'd be excited that you're going into politics so they can brag to all their activist friends that their son is in the House. I don't get it. Why do they always have to be such downers?"
"Maybe it's because they know if I'm campaigning all summer, I won't have time to visit them."
I laughed. "I'll bet that's it!"
He smiled. "And they called you an Ice Queen. And blamed you for keeping me away from them."
"Oh yeah. If it weren't for me, they would see you all the time. Wouldn't you?"
He nodded. "That's it. I just love visiting them and spending time with them."
He paused. "They think I'll be corrupted."
"They do? The people who raised you? They think that what, you'll get sucked up in the cesspool and lose your moral center?"
"Yeah. I'll start taking bribes. Except it's your side that does that."
"Oh right. Let's see. The most recent bribery scandal in our town was - Oh! On your side! For Johnny X! For $500!"
He laughed. "Yeah, for the big money, you have to go to the Stripes party. The Polka Dots aren't smart enough to go for the big money."
"Uh huh. That's it. That's the only time X ever took money. And he just happened to get caught. Your side is the side of angels. Nobody on your side ever does anything bad." I rolled my eyes again. I need to be careful. One day, they're going to get stuck.
He signed again. "What am I going to do about my parents?"
"I don't know. Were they drunk when they sent it?"
He thought. "It was 7:30 when they wrote it, so yes."
I seethed. "I hate addicts. I hate how they can't keep their poison to themselves. I hate how they have to spread it out and contaminate everyone around them. Why do they have to infect you? Why can't they be content to be bitter alone?"
"They don't want to be miserable alone," Primo said. "They want to suck me in."
"Tell them to leave you alone," I said. "Tell them to shut up."
Sunday, November 18, 2012
Monday April 23 raising money
Primo met with Blake, the chair of the county Polka Dot committee, this morning. This was his first official meeting with the party as a candidate. Samantha had set it up. "Be nice to Primo," she had emailed to Blake. "He's quirky, but he's smart."
"Quirky?" I asked. "What does she mean?"
"Oh you know. I bring wine to the meetings. And I correct the grammar on the mailers."
"Wouldn't they want the grammar to be correct on something before you mail it out? Or do they want to be the party of grammatical errors?"
He shrugged. "You would think they would want to be correct."
"So why do you have to meet with this guy?"
"Because if he doesn't like me, it's bad. He runs things around here. If he approves of me, it will be very helpful. But he's really demanding and picky. I'm worried."
****
The night before, on his way out the door to a campaign event for another candidate, he had asked me to do some research for him to prepare for the meeting. "Find out how much it costs to run a campaign for the State House."
"How on earth am I supposed to do that?" I asked.
"Google it," he suggested. "I need to go to a meeting."
"I'll do it tomorrow."
"No! I need to know by tomorrow at 10 a.m.! I have to know so I can talk to Blake about it. Forget it. Just forget it. I'll do it myself when I get back."
"No, I'll do it. Sheesh. You could have given me some notice, you know. Is this what it's going to be like for the next seven months? You decide you need something right now so that means I have to drop everything? I don't mind helping you, but I would appreciate more than five minutes notice."
"Start with the election board. Try that." He hovered over me nervously, which I hate, while I searched. I found a series of reports.
"Which ones?" I asked. "Which candidates?"
"Let me see. Find the results from the last election."
I googled 2010 state house elections. (I might capitalize "state house" on this blog, I might not. It's however I feel.)
"There," he said, leaning over me into the screen. I hate when he does that. "District 4. District 16. Let me see. Let me see!"
I took my hands from the keyboard. Sat back. Pressed my lips together. Breathed.
"See how these were close?"
"Yes."
"Well, the ones that were close."
"Just tell me which ones you want."
"The ones that were close."
"No. Just tell me which districts."
"The ones that were close."
"That's not what I mean."
"What do you mean?"
"I mean tell me the numbers. Don't make me think about it. You already sprang this on me. I didn't want to do this. I didn't ask for this. Just tell me what you want me to do and I'll do it. Tell me the districts and go away."
He grit his teeth. "Forget it. I won't go to this meeting. I'll just stay and do this."
"No, I said I'd do it. But you have to tell me which races you want. I'll pull the numbers for you, but you have to decide which ones you want."
We glared at each other. Politics does indeed make strange bedfellows.
"Fine," he hissed. He looked at the screen. "One. Five. Seven. Fifteen. Twenty. Twenty six. I have to go."
"You're welcome," I muttered under my breath as he slammed the door. Oh this was going to be a fun, fun seven months.
It didn't take me long to find the appropriate reports. It took even less time to figure out that running for office is not an inexpensive endeavor. Forty to sixty thousand dollars. No wonder it's rich people who go into politics. Rich people with rich friends. Who else can afford it? And this is for a simple, state-level office without much power. This isn't even national-level office.
I wondered what kind of job I could get if Primo were to be elected. Michelle Obama got a $200,000 raise the year her husband was elected to the Senate, but that was at the national level. What kind of raise do you get at the state level? Maybe $20? Of course, you have to have a job to get a raise. Maybe I can parlay Primo's position into a job! Someone will hire me because I will be a peddler of influence.
****
Primo was pale after he returned from the meeting with Blake.
"He says I need to be able to raise $2,000 by the end of today. He says Joe Smith, the candidate from the 28th district, did it."
"Two thousand dollars? In one day? How does anyone do that?"
"You call your friends and family."
I felt sick to my stomach. I hate asking for money for myself. I don't mind asking for others or for a cause, but for myself, I can't bear it. Primo is not much better.
"What are you going to do?" I asked. "How on earth do you raise $2,000 in one day?
"I don't know if I can do this," he answered miserably. "Who am I supposed to ask? My parents?"
"Oh yeah. That'll work. Your mom and dad have been so generous with you."
"I don't want to ask them."
"I'd rather use your bonus than ask them. Except I don't want to use our money on this."
"Teresa spent her own money."
"Yes, but Teresa was running for a job that pays $130,000 a year. She was making $60,000 a year. She took a gamble, but she was taking a gamble to more than double her income. You are running for a pay cut. We already decided that investing our own money for you to take a pay cut is probably not the smartest thing to do."
He shook his head. "No, it's not."
His shoulders slumped. "I don't want to do this part."
I shook my head. "I don't blame you."
"I guess I should call my mom and dad."
"Remind them of the twice a year trips - plane fare plus car. That's what, $250 for each flight plus $130 for the car. Five years of that. You can do the math."
"They pay for everything when I'm there," he reminded me.
"Oh, so you eat $380 worth of food?" I asked.
"You know what I mean."
"I'm not holding my breath," I muttered.
He went upstairs. Came back down
"I called them," he announced.
"And?"
"They said they'll contribute."
"OK. That's good. How much?"
"They didn't say."
If they broke $100, I would be surprised. Cynic, that is I.
"I called Tom, too. He said he'd contribute. I need to call Sam."
"Wow. This is going to be hard. Do you think he'll contribute?"
"I don't know. Maybe. I think so. I would give if they were running. They're my friends. I might not give a lot, but I would give."
"What if they were on the opposite side? Then would you give?"
"I don't know. Maybe. Yes. I would give some. Not as much as if I agreed. If they weren't extreme. I wouldn't give to Dave. He's gone off the deep end. I don't even think we're friends any more. But anyone else, yes. I would. Twenty five dollars. No more than that if we disagreed. But I would give $25."
"Me, too," I mused. "And I have never donated money to a political campaign. But if one of my friends were running, I would."
A few hours later, he called Sam. I heard his happy, Sam voice coming from upstairs. It's the voice I hear only when he is talking to Sam. I never hear that voice when he is talking to his parents. I don't even have to hear him say a name to know who he's talking to. Somber, grim voice = parents. Happy voice = Sam.
He bounded down the stairs, happy. "He maxed out! One thousand dollars!"
I gasped. "You're kidding!"
He smiled. "Nope!"
Upon further reflection, I wasn't surprised. Sam is amazingly generous. When Mike, Sam and Primo's friend, lost his job and his company computer, Sam went online, bought a top of the line laptop, and had it shipped to Mike the next day. "How can he find a new job if he doesn't have a computer?" Sam asked. "He has a wife and a baby on the way. He needs a job." We only found out about it because Mike told Primo about it a year later, tears in his eyes.
The phone rang. We looked at each other. We looked at the phone. It was Sly and Doris. They never call. Never. It is always incumbent on Primo to call them. Primo took the phone and walked into the bedroom. I followed him. No way I was going to miss this.
"What? Oh! Yes! Thank you!"
"No. No, I can't take that much."
"Because it's illegal."
"The limit is $500 a person, $1,000 a couple."
"Mom, Dad, thank you so much. I don't know what to say. Thank you. Thank you so much."
Then they blabbed for another half hour and I tuned them out, although I had half an ear cocked for any talk of bad bacon eating. Nothing.
When he hung up the phone, he said, "They told me that I hadn't asked for a cent since I was 20 and they'd given a lot of money to my half brothers, so it was time they gave some to me."
"How much did they want to give you?"
"Two thousand dollars!"
"Wow!"
"But they can't. That's over the limit."
"Oh well. Wow. That's really generous. That's really, really nice of them. Not that I don't think you don't deserve it. But that's really nice of them."
He smiled. "I've just raised two thousand dollars! I get to go to the county meeting tonight and tell Blake I've raised two thousand dollars!"
I hugged him. "You're a superstar. You did it."
"Quirky?" I asked. "What does she mean?"
"Oh you know. I bring wine to the meetings. And I correct the grammar on the mailers."
"Wouldn't they want the grammar to be correct on something before you mail it out? Or do they want to be the party of grammatical errors?"
He shrugged. "You would think they would want to be correct."
"So why do you have to meet with this guy?"
"Because if he doesn't like me, it's bad. He runs things around here. If he approves of me, it will be very helpful. But he's really demanding and picky. I'm worried."
****
The night before, on his way out the door to a campaign event for another candidate, he had asked me to do some research for him to prepare for the meeting. "Find out how much it costs to run a campaign for the State House."
"How on earth am I supposed to do that?" I asked.
"Google it," he suggested. "I need to go to a meeting."
"I'll do it tomorrow."
"No! I need to know by tomorrow at 10 a.m.! I have to know so I can talk to Blake about it. Forget it. Just forget it. I'll do it myself when I get back."
"No, I'll do it. Sheesh. You could have given me some notice, you know. Is this what it's going to be like for the next seven months? You decide you need something right now so that means I have to drop everything? I don't mind helping you, but I would appreciate more than five minutes notice."
"Start with the election board. Try that." He hovered over me nervously, which I hate, while I searched. I found a series of reports.
"Which ones?" I asked. "Which candidates?"
"Let me see. Find the results from the last election."
I googled 2010 state house elections. (I might capitalize "state house" on this blog, I might not. It's however I feel.)
"There," he said, leaning over me into the screen. I hate when he does that. "District 4. District 16. Let me see. Let me see!"
I took my hands from the keyboard. Sat back. Pressed my lips together. Breathed.
"See how these were close?"
"Yes."
"Well, the ones that were close."
"Just tell me which ones you want."
"The ones that were close."
"No. Just tell me which districts."
"The ones that were close."
"That's not what I mean."
"What do you mean?"
"I mean tell me the numbers. Don't make me think about it. You already sprang this on me. I didn't want to do this. I didn't ask for this. Just tell me what you want me to do and I'll do it. Tell me the districts and go away."
He grit his teeth. "Forget it. I won't go to this meeting. I'll just stay and do this."
"No, I said I'd do it. But you have to tell me which races you want. I'll pull the numbers for you, but you have to decide which ones you want."
We glared at each other. Politics does indeed make strange bedfellows.
"Fine," he hissed. He looked at the screen. "One. Five. Seven. Fifteen. Twenty. Twenty six. I have to go."
"You're welcome," I muttered under my breath as he slammed the door. Oh this was going to be a fun, fun seven months.
It didn't take me long to find the appropriate reports. It took even less time to figure out that running for office is not an inexpensive endeavor. Forty to sixty thousand dollars. No wonder it's rich people who go into politics. Rich people with rich friends. Who else can afford it? And this is for a simple, state-level office without much power. This isn't even national-level office.
I wondered what kind of job I could get if Primo were to be elected. Michelle Obama got a $200,000 raise the year her husband was elected to the Senate, but that was at the national level. What kind of raise do you get at the state level? Maybe $20? Of course, you have to have a job to get a raise. Maybe I can parlay Primo's position into a job! Someone will hire me because I will be a peddler of influence.
****
Primo was pale after he returned from the meeting with Blake.
"He says I need to be able to raise $2,000 by the end of today. He says Joe Smith, the candidate from the 28th district, did it."
"Two thousand dollars? In one day? How does anyone do that?"
"You call your friends and family."
I felt sick to my stomach. I hate asking for money for myself. I don't mind asking for others or for a cause, but for myself, I can't bear it. Primo is not much better.
"What are you going to do?" I asked. "How on earth do you raise $2,000 in one day?
"I don't know if I can do this," he answered miserably. "Who am I supposed to ask? My parents?"
"Oh yeah. That'll work. Your mom and dad have been so generous with you."
"I don't want to ask them."
"I'd rather use your bonus than ask them. Except I don't want to use our money on this."
"Teresa spent her own money."
"Yes, but Teresa was running for a job that pays $130,000 a year. She was making $60,000 a year. She took a gamble, but she was taking a gamble to more than double her income. You are running for a pay cut. We already decided that investing our own money for you to take a pay cut is probably not the smartest thing to do."
He shook his head. "No, it's not."
His shoulders slumped. "I don't want to do this part."
I shook my head. "I don't blame you."
"I guess I should call my mom and dad."
"Remind them of the twice a year trips - plane fare plus car. That's what, $250 for each flight plus $130 for the car. Five years of that. You can do the math."
"They pay for everything when I'm there," he reminded me.
"Oh, so you eat $380 worth of food?" I asked.
"You know what I mean."
"I'm not holding my breath," I muttered.
He went upstairs. Came back down
"I called them," he announced.
"And?"
"They said they'll contribute."
"OK. That's good. How much?"
"They didn't say."
If they broke $100, I would be surprised. Cynic, that is I.
"I called Tom, too. He said he'd contribute. I need to call Sam."
"Wow. This is going to be hard. Do you think he'll contribute?"
"I don't know. Maybe. I think so. I would give if they were running. They're my friends. I might not give a lot, but I would give."
"What if they were on the opposite side? Then would you give?"
"I don't know. Maybe. Yes. I would give some. Not as much as if I agreed. If they weren't extreme. I wouldn't give to Dave. He's gone off the deep end. I don't even think we're friends any more. But anyone else, yes. I would. Twenty five dollars. No more than that if we disagreed. But I would give $25."
"Me, too," I mused. "And I have never donated money to a political campaign. But if one of my friends were running, I would."
A few hours later, he called Sam. I heard his happy, Sam voice coming from upstairs. It's the voice I hear only when he is talking to Sam. I never hear that voice when he is talking to his parents. I don't even have to hear him say a name to know who he's talking to. Somber, grim voice = parents. Happy voice = Sam.
He bounded down the stairs, happy. "He maxed out! One thousand dollars!"
I gasped. "You're kidding!"
He smiled. "Nope!"
Upon further reflection, I wasn't surprised. Sam is amazingly generous. When Mike, Sam and Primo's friend, lost his job and his company computer, Sam went online, bought a top of the line laptop, and had it shipped to Mike the next day. "How can he find a new job if he doesn't have a computer?" Sam asked. "He has a wife and a baby on the way. He needs a job." We only found out about it because Mike told Primo about it a year later, tears in his eyes.
The phone rang. We looked at each other. We looked at the phone. It was Sly and Doris. They never call. Never. It is always incumbent on Primo to call them. Primo took the phone and walked into the bedroom. I followed him. No way I was going to miss this.
"What? Oh! Yes! Thank you!"
"No. No, I can't take that much."
"Because it's illegal."
"The limit is $500 a person, $1,000 a couple."
"Mom, Dad, thank you so much. I don't know what to say. Thank you. Thank you so much."
Then they blabbed for another half hour and I tuned them out, although I had half an ear cocked for any talk of bad bacon eating. Nothing.
When he hung up the phone, he said, "They told me that I hadn't asked for a cent since I was 20 and they'd given a lot of money to my half brothers, so it was time they gave some to me."
"How much did they want to give you?"
"Two thousand dollars!"
"Wow!"
"But they can't. That's over the limit."
"Oh well. Wow. That's really generous. That's really, really nice of them. Not that I don't think you don't deserve it. But that's really nice of them."
He smiled. "I've just raised two thousand dollars! I get to go to the county meeting tonight and tell Blake I've raised two thousand dollars!"
I hugged him. "You're a superstar. You did it."
Thursday, November 15, 2012
Sunday April 22 The political Wife
One of the things about the campaign is the Political Wife. Samantha appeared when Primo was working on Teresa's judicial campaign. I like Teresa. I just don't like how she ran her campaign. I don't think judges should run partisan campaigns. The law is the law, right? Should Democrats apply the law differently from Republicans? Should my chances of going to jail vary depending on who is sitting on the bench? Technically, judicial races in our area are non-partisan, but Teresa and Samantha, her campaign manager, turned Teresa's race into a partisan race by attacking the governor.
I first met Teresa when Primo and I attended a candidate forum for the mayoral campaign in our city. If you had told me 20 years ago that I would have been interested in who was running for mayor, I would have laughed in your face. Who cares about mayor, I would have asked.
That was before I took the majority of every penny I had ever earned and sunk it in real estate. There is nothing to make you care about what happens where you live like knowing that your future literally depends on it. Now I care about the mayor. Now I care about the county executive. Now I care about the governor. I care about property taxes. I care about what they build down the street from me. Strip joint? Prison? Not so fast.
Teresa was campaigning at this forum. Primo had already started campaigning for her. I don't know how he got involved. I try to stay out of these things. He introduced me to her. "Her mom's from Argentina," he said. "You both speak Spanish!"
I tested her. Spoke Spanish. She answered in Spanish. Indeed she did speak Spanish. We conversed. My Spanish, she is not so good these days. I don't find many opportunities to speak it, so it's nice to have a chance to practice it.
"We need more women and more latinas on the bench," she told me. "We need more diversity!"
I raised my eyebrows. Her opponent was an African American. Wasn't that diverse?
I should have asked her then what immediately came to my mind: "How does being a woman and a latina make a difference in how you would interpret the law? Isn't the law the law?" But I never ask these things when I think of them. Besides, I was distracted by her seeming assumption that I would agree with her statement that of course we need more women on the bench. I think we need good judges, period. Male, female, intersex, neuter, transgender, whatever. I thought justice was blind, kind of flat-chested, and without anything between its legs, like Barbie, under those black robes.
That's neither here nor there. I started out talking about Samantha, the Political Wife. Samantha was Teresa's campaign manager. Primo would come home raving about her. "She's so smart! She has such good ideas! Her strategy is brilliant! She's cute, too! She dresses kind of hippie chic. She runs marathons!"
I hated her.
I had hated the Nighttime Wife, as well. At least at first.
The Nighttime Wife, Christina, is the woman Primo hangs out with when he goes out to sing. I'd been hearing about her for a year or so before I finally said, "I want to meet this woman." Primo had been telling me that she was a really good singer and she was pretty, too. I found her on facebook and friended her, then told Primo to take me out with him.
I met her. She is 29. She sings like an angel. She is very nice. She is beautiful.
And she is now my friend.
She is not a threat. I worry not when Primo is out late on Saturday and posts that he and Christina have gone to get burritos. I think, Well, someone is going to be sleeping late tomorrow. Good. That means I'll have the morning to myself.
I was getting tired of hearing about how amazing Samantha was. I needed to neutralize her. Deal with her the same way I had with Christina.
"Take me to meet Samantha," I said.
So he did. We went to a fundraiser at Coffee Blacker Than Midnight, which is a great name for a cafe, even though I prefer my coffee with lots of milk and cream. The fundraiser was boring, though. Can there be anything more dull than hanging out with a bunch of political groupies who already know they are going to vote for the candidate? And the candidate makes a speech anyhow? Shouldn't the speech just be, "Thanks for coming! Thanks for giving me money! Now let's all go home and watch Big Bang Theory!"
The only good thing about the fundraiser was that the chef at the cafe is from Alabama and he knows how to make fried chicken, mashed potatoes (covered in rivers of melted butter), and sweet tea.
Primo brought Samantha over to meet me. I looked at her. She was not all that. Kind of skinny. Mutton dressed as lamb, if you know what I mean. Women our age probably shouldn't wear miniskirts and patterned hose unless they're trying to pick up some cash.
Yes I am being a total bitch here.
She sat. "Primo raves about you," I said. Which was the truth.
"Thanks," she said.
"How did you get into this?" I asked. "Managing campaigns?"
"Oh, I did one as a favor and blah blah blah." She told me the story and it was a good story indeed. If I had been interviewing her for a job, I would have hired her on the spot, even though hiring without checking references is always a bad idea. She didn't exhibit an iota of self doubt. Not one misstep. She had never made a mistake. This was a woman who oozed confidence. Tons and tons and tons of it.
She annoyed the heck out of me.
"Well, people on my side of the political spectrum do tend to be really smug," Primo pointed out later.
"She is not cute," I hissed.
"She is not a threat to you," he laughed.
"I never thought she was," I sniffed.
Two weeks later, as an act of marital solidarity and because I couldn't get out of it, I had to go to Teresa's election night party with Primo. Samantha was there. Of course. I raised my eyebrows when I saw her outfit.
I will be the first to admit that I am no clotheshorse. As we speak, I am wearing jeans I bought on eBay, brown Durango cowboy boots I got at a thrift store, an orange v-neck t-shirt that I bought at Goodwill - don't laugh - you can find some good stuff there if you look, a gray cotton sweater, and an orange cotton scarf that is covered with cat hair, but I do know that for a party, one 1. dresses up and 2. wears clothes that fit. Oh, and 3. wears clothes that do not show one's bra.
I also know that the clothes are not necessarily the measure of a woman, but because Samantha is a 1. thin, 2. professionally successful, 3. marathon runner, I cannot attack her on anything but her smug personality and her clothes. So that's all I have to work with, people. I have to resort to cattiness. It's all I have.
Samantha was wearing - keep in mind this woman is in her late 40s - a sleeveless black dress with a huge ruffle around the neck. It was about two sizes too big for her. She is tiny - she is a runner and is quite thin. A little too if you ask me. The back was open so you could see her bra and her ribs. Visible ribs is not an attractive look. Her shoes were clunky and thick - they were trying to be so ugly they would be cool, but they didn't get to cool.
Yes! I know I am being ugly, ugly, ugly! I know! I know what I am writing says more about me than it says about her!
I don't like her, OK? I don't like her. I've met her twice and I'll probably have to see her again as Primo's campaign heats up because like it or not, she's good and she gets results and I'm going to have to suck it up and it burns me. Politics makes strange bedfellows indeed.
I first met Teresa when Primo and I attended a candidate forum for the mayoral campaign in our city. If you had told me 20 years ago that I would have been interested in who was running for mayor, I would have laughed in your face. Who cares about mayor, I would have asked.
That was before I took the majority of every penny I had ever earned and sunk it in real estate. There is nothing to make you care about what happens where you live like knowing that your future literally depends on it. Now I care about the mayor. Now I care about the county executive. Now I care about the governor. I care about property taxes. I care about what they build down the street from me. Strip joint? Prison? Not so fast.
Teresa was campaigning at this forum. Primo had already started campaigning for her. I don't know how he got involved. I try to stay out of these things. He introduced me to her. "Her mom's from Argentina," he said. "You both speak Spanish!"
I tested her. Spoke Spanish. She answered in Spanish. Indeed she did speak Spanish. We conversed. My Spanish, she is not so good these days. I don't find many opportunities to speak it, so it's nice to have a chance to practice it.
"We need more women and more latinas on the bench," she told me. "We need more diversity!"
I raised my eyebrows. Her opponent was an African American. Wasn't that diverse?
I should have asked her then what immediately came to my mind: "How does being a woman and a latina make a difference in how you would interpret the law? Isn't the law the law?" But I never ask these things when I think of them. Besides, I was distracted by her seeming assumption that I would agree with her statement that of course we need more women on the bench. I think we need good judges, period. Male, female, intersex, neuter, transgender, whatever. I thought justice was blind, kind of flat-chested, and without anything between its legs, like Barbie, under those black robes.
That's neither here nor there. I started out talking about Samantha, the Political Wife. Samantha was Teresa's campaign manager. Primo would come home raving about her. "She's so smart! She has such good ideas! Her strategy is brilliant! She's cute, too! She dresses kind of hippie chic. She runs marathons!"
I hated her.
I had hated the Nighttime Wife, as well. At least at first.
The Nighttime Wife, Christina, is the woman Primo hangs out with when he goes out to sing. I'd been hearing about her for a year or so before I finally said, "I want to meet this woman." Primo had been telling me that she was a really good singer and she was pretty, too. I found her on facebook and friended her, then told Primo to take me out with him.
I met her. She is 29. She sings like an angel. She is very nice. She is beautiful.
And she is now my friend.
She is not a threat. I worry not when Primo is out late on Saturday and posts that he and Christina have gone to get burritos. I think, Well, someone is going to be sleeping late tomorrow. Good. That means I'll have the morning to myself.
I was getting tired of hearing about how amazing Samantha was. I needed to neutralize her. Deal with her the same way I had with Christina.
"Take me to meet Samantha," I said.
So he did. We went to a fundraiser at Coffee Blacker Than Midnight, which is a great name for a cafe, even though I prefer my coffee with lots of milk and cream. The fundraiser was boring, though. Can there be anything more dull than hanging out with a bunch of political groupies who already know they are going to vote for the candidate? And the candidate makes a speech anyhow? Shouldn't the speech just be, "Thanks for coming! Thanks for giving me money! Now let's all go home and watch Big Bang Theory!"
The only good thing about the fundraiser was that the chef at the cafe is from Alabama and he knows how to make fried chicken, mashed potatoes (covered in rivers of melted butter), and sweet tea.
Primo brought Samantha over to meet me. I looked at her. She was not all that. Kind of skinny. Mutton dressed as lamb, if you know what I mean. Women our age probably shouldn't wear miniskirts and patterned hose unless they're trying to pick up some cash.
Yes I am being a total bitch here.
She sat. "Primo raves about you," I said. Which was the truth.
"Thanks," she said.
"How did you get into this?" I asked. "Managing campaigns?"
"Oh, I did one as a favor and blah blah blah." She told me the story and it was a good story indeed. If I had been interviewing her for a job, I would have hired her on the spot, even though hiring without checking references is always a bad idea. She didn't exhibit an iota of self doubt. Not one misstep. She had never made a mistake. This was a woman who oozed confidence. Tons and tons and tons of it.
She annoyed the heck out of me.
"Well, people on my side of the political spectrum do tend to be really smug," Primo pointed out later.
"She is not cute," I hissed.
"She is not a threat to you," he laughed.
"I never thought she was," I sniffed.
Two weeks later, as an act of marital solidarity and because I couldn't get out of it, I had to go to Teresa's election night party with Primo. Samantha was there. Of course. I raised my eyebrows when I saw her outfit.
I will be the first to admit that I am no clotheshorse. As we speak, I am wearing jeans I bought on eBay, brown Durango cowboy boots I got at a thrift store, an orange v-neck t-shirt that I bought at Goodwill - don't laugh - you can find some good stuff there if you look, a gray cotton sweater, and an orange cotton scarf that is covered with cat hair, but I do know that for a party, one 1. dresses up and 2. wears clothes that fit. Oh, and 3. wears clothes that do not show one's bra.
I also know that the clothes are not necessarily the measure of a woman, but because Samantha is a 1. thin, 2. professionally successful, 3. marathon runner, I cannot attack her on anything but her smug personality and her clothes. So that's all I have to work with, people. I have to resort to cattiness. It's all I have.
Samantha was wearing - keep in mind this woman is in her late 40s - a sleeveless black dress with a huge ruffle around the neck. It was about two sizes too big for her. She is tiny - she is a runner and is quite thin. A little too if you ask me. The back was open so you could see her bra and her ribs. Visible ribs is not an attractive look. Her shoes were clunky and thick - they were trying to be so ugly they would be cool, but they didn't get to cool.
Yes! I know I am being ugly, ugly, ugly! I know! I know what I am writing says more about me than it says about her!
I don't like her, OK? I don't like her. I've met her twice and I'll probably have to see her again as Primo's campaign heats up because like it or not, she's good and she gets results and I'm going to have to suck it up and it burns me. Politics makes strange bedfellows indeed.
Monday, November 12, 2012
Friday April 20 I first campaign for Primo
On my way back from the gym, I stopped at the spice shop. I love that store. I open the door and the fragrance almost knocks me over. Cinnamon, pepper, smoky salt, cumin: it all mixes together into a wall of aroma. And it's pretty. The arrangements in Morocco were prettier. There, they display the spices in inverted cones that I was always afraid I was going to knock over. I never saw the clerk ever take any spice out of the orange or yellow or brown stacks. I wanted to see it, because I wanted to know where he took it from. The top? The side? Then what did he do? Replace it? Smooth it over? This spice shop has glass jars, which is not as glamorous, but is more practical.
I stopped at the shop because we'd had a pepper emergency that morning. We had run out of pepper. You'd think we'd run out of salt by the way Primo carried on. I explained to the clerk, a lady of a certain age much like myself, that my husband is a pepper fiend and that he had been quite distraught upon finding the pepper mill empty.
This is the Magnum pepper mill that his parents had sent him for his birthday a few years before and is probably the only present he has ever gotten from them, besides the cast-iron cat, that he has liked. Who spends $40 on a pepper mill? Better yet, who wants a pepper mill that costs $40? My usually low-maintenance husband, that's who. He is not demanding about what he eats (except that it be good, which is easy because I am a good cook who likes to cook) or about the state of the house or about what I wear or look like or about almost anything, but he likes pepper on his food. There you go. That's his thing. So when we ran out, he was not happy. Why hadn't I kept an inventory of peppercorns, he wanted to know?
I shrugged. I don't care about pepper. It's not at the top of my list.
Primo explained, "I had a roommate once who waited until he was out of things - food, toilet paper - toilet paper! before he would replace them!"
"Maybe I need to implement an inventory replenishment system like I learned in operations management in grad school," I said.
Quick story. Panos Kouvelis taught my operations management class. I loved that class. I loved the material.
I really liked Prof. Kouvelis. He was so cute with his neat sport coat and slacks and slick Italian shoes. I had a little crush on him. He was fun. Smart and quirky with this great subtle sense of humor. He wrote this formula on the board one day, then turned and looked at us. "I would say it's all Greek to me, but..." he deadpanned. I burst out laughing. I'm not sure if the other students got it. But I leaned on every word he said.
Back to the spice store. "A pound of Talicherry, please. We're a little on edge at our house these days," I sighed.
As she walked to the side of the store to retrieve the jar with the peppercorns, the clerk shook her head. "Men," she said.
"Yeah," I agreed. "I'm one and done."
"Me, too," she said. "I've been married. Never again. I want a companion, but not a husband. I have this boyfriend. I asked if he wanted to come over for dinner on Sunday. No. He can't. He wants to come on Monday. OK fine I said. I have Sunday and Monday off, so either day is fine. Then he said wait, he can't make Monday either. So how about next week? I said, nope, I'll be out of town. He gets all pouty and you know what? I don't care."
"Well, part of the reason is that my husband has decided to run for the state house."
"Oh!" she said. "Is he a lawyer?"
"No, he's an engineer."
She looked puzzled. "Will he be able to keep his job?"
I shook my head. "Definitely not. That's why it's rich people in politics. Ordinary people with ordinary jobs can't afford to do this, or at least ordinary people who aren't lawyers or who don't have really flexible jobs. The State House pays almost nothing. I can assure you he is not going into this for the money."
She scooped peppercorns into a plastic bag and put them on the scale.
"And we are of opposite political views."
She nodded sagely. "He's Stripes and you're Polka Dots?"
I shook my head. "No, he's Polka Dots and I'm Stripes."
She didn't say anything for a moment. Whatever.
"I never wanted this life. I have never been interested in being married to a politician or being involved in politics in any way. This morning, my husband asked me if I had known that he would be running for office when we met, what I would have done. I told him I would have looked a lot harder for a new job. I had just been laid off from my job when we met. I told him I probably wouldn't have married him."
She laughed.
"He's worried that the Polka Dots will hold it against him that he is married to a Stripe, which I think is stupid. If it bothers them so much that he is married to me, that is their problem. That it says far more about them than it does about me."
She nodded. "You'd think people would want someone who can get along with everyone."
I agreed. "You'd think."
"So are you going to support him?" she asked.
"I told him I would support him by helping him on his campaign, but that I won't endorse his ideas. I'll help with his website and nomination petitions and I'll be his treasurer, but I won't talk about his side's ideas. It would be a lie."
I looked at her. "So if you're a person who votes for Polka Dots, vote for him."
"I'm an independent," she said. "I look at the person."
"Then I can tell you this and I can say it with complete sincerity. My husband is a man of integrity and honesty. He will work hard for his constituents. He is running for this office because he wants to make a difference, not because he wants to make money. There. I just made my first pitch for him."
She smiled. "Ten dollars."
I handed her my money. She handed me my pepper.
That wasn't so hard.
I stopped at the shop because we'd had a pepper emergency that morning. We had run out of pepper. You'd think we'd run out of salt by the way Primo carried on. I explained to the clerk, a lady of a certain age much like myself, that my husband is a pepper fiend and that he had been quite distraught upon finding the pepper mill empty.
This is the Magnum pepper mill that his parents had sent him for his birthday a few years before and is probably the only present he has ever gotten from them, besides the cast-iron cat, that he has liked. Who spends $40 on a pepper mill? Better yet, who wants a pepper mill that costs $40? My usually low-maintenance husband, that's who. He is not demanding about what he eats (except that it be good, which is easy because I am a good cook who likes to cook) or about the state of the house or about what I wear or look like or about almost anything, but he likes pepper on his food. There you go. That's his thing. So when we ran out, he was not happy. Why hadn't I kept an inventory of peppercorns, he wanted to know?
I shrugged. I don't care about pepper. It's not at the top of my list.
Primo explained, "I had a roommate once who waited until he was out of things - food, toilet paper - toilet paper! before he would replace them!"
"Maybe I need to implement an inventory replenishment system like I learned in operations management in grad school," I said.
Quick story. Panos Kouvelis taught my operations management class. I loved that class. I loved the material.
I really liked Prof. Kouvelis. He was so cute with his neat sport coat and slacks and slick Italian shoes. I had a little crush on him. He was fun. Smart and quirky with this great subtle sense of humor. He wrote this formula on the board one day, then turned and looked at us. "I would say it's all Greek to me, but..." he deadpanned. I burst out laughing. I'm not sure if the other students got it. But I leaned on every word he said.
Back to the spice store. "A pound of Talicherry, please. We're a little on edge at our house these days," I sighed.
As she walked to the side of the store to retrieve the jar with the peppercorns, the clerk shook her head. "Men," she said.
"Yeah," I agreed. "I'm one and done."
"Me, too," she said. "I've been married. Never again. I want a companion, but not a husband. I have this boyfriend. I asked if he wanted to come over for dinner on Sunday. No. He can't. He wants to come on Monday. OK fine I said. I have Sunday and Monday off, so either day is fine. Then he said wait, he can't make Monday either. So how about next week? I said, nope, I'll be out of town. He gets all pouty and you know what? I don't care."
"Well, part of the reason is that my husband has decided to run for the state house."
"Oh!" she said. "Is he a lawyer?"
"No, he's an engineer."
She looked puzzled. "Will he be able to keep his job?"
I shook my head. "Definitely not. That's why it's rich people in politics. Ordinary people with ordinary jobs can't afford to do this, or at least ordinary people who aren't lawyers or who don't have really flexible jobs. The State House pays almost nothing. I can assure you he is not going into this for the money."
She scooped peppercorns into a plastic bag and put them on the scale.
"And we are of opposite political views."
She nodded sagely. "He's Stripes and you're Polka Dots?"
I shook my head. "No, he's Polka Dots and I'm Stripes."
She didn't say anything for a moment. Whatever.
"I never wanted this life. I have never been interested in being married to a politician or being involved in politics in any way. This morning, my husband asked me if I had known that he would be running for office when we met, what I would have done. I told him I would have looked a lot harder for a new job. I had just been laid off from my job when we met. I told him I probably wouldn't have married him."
She laughed.
"He's worried that the Polka Dots will hold it against him that he is married to a Stripe, which I think is stupid. If it bothers them so much that he is married to me, that is their problem. That it says far more about them than it does about me."
She nodded. "You'd think people would want someone who can get along with everyone."
I agreed. "You'd think."
"So are you going to support him?" she asked.
"I told him I would support him by helping him on his campaign, but that I won't endorse his ideas. I'll help with his website and nomination petitions and I'll be his treasurer, but I won't talk about his side's ideas. It would be a lie."
I looked at her. "So if you're a person who votes for Polka Dots, vote for him."
"I'm an independent," she said. "I look at the person."
"Then I can tell you this and I can say it with complete sincerity. My husband is a man of integrity and honesty. He will work hard for his constituents. He is running for this office because he wants to make a difference, not because he wants to make money. There. I just made my first pitch for him."
She smiled. "Ten dollars."
I handed her my money. She handed me my pepper.
That wasn't so hard.
Friday, November 9, 2012
Timing
Hi you guys. There is not another post until next Thursday, I think, but then they will be daily. When I first started writing about the campaign, I thought there would only be enough material for a weekly post. Boy was I wrong.
I was, however, right about how time consuming this would all be.
I do not recommend being married to someone who is running for office.
I was, however, right about how time consuming this would all be.
I do not recommend being married to someone who is running for office.
How this all got started
Primo has always been a political guy. From the beginning, he was emailing links to me. "Read this!" he would urge and I would ignore it. I don't care. I mean, I care, but I want to read the story about the kitten who is born with three legs yet triumphs or the dog who walks 2,000 miles to find the owners who moved across the country. The bride who goes to her chemo appointment and then walks down the aisle. The people who persevere despite incredible hardship. These are the stories that interest me: What drives those people?
Those stories, and what can I wear to make it look like I have an hourglass figure? That's what I like.
Sure, I care about the Big Issues, but there's not much I can do about them. I volunteer on little, specific things. I read to pre-schoolers. I put the books in order at the library. I help at the funerals at church. I do what I can to make things better in my little corner of the world. I donate money to causes I care about. I rest on my laurels of the Peace Corps. But I don't see a lot of value in spending an afternoon marching up and down the square. It's fine for other people. I understand the strategy of raising awareness, but that's not my thing.
Primo, however, is passionate about big, abstract causes. Last year, the governor of our state tried to pass some legislation that was unpopular with the Polka Dots. They rallied and there were protests at the capital. Primo went. I stayed home and watched Mad Men and Big Love. He felt guilty about leaving me for an entire day and even a few overnights - he used hotel points, so don't worry, there was not much money being used on this endeavor, but I waved goodbye with one hand and held the remote in the other. "Go!" I said. "Go!"
To have a guilt-free weekend with the TV and a bag of Fritos? Usually when he's home, I feel as if I should be doing something productive, like cleaning the house or cooking a meal or looking for a job. But when he's gone, I can revert to my lazy-ass, soap-opera watching self.
Not to mention, when Primo's gone, we don't argue about politics. I would be very happy not to argue about them when he is at home, but it's one of his favorite pastimes. We don't argue about who ran us out of toilet paper (for one thing, because that never happens with a coupon-clipping engineer in the house) or who left the toilet seat up (see previous statement) or most character flaws, although it makes him crazy that I put the dishes away before they are bone dry or use canned goods past their expiration date (I used the old tahini to make sauce for the falafel and yet Primo lives), but we have had some knock-down drag-outs about politics.
Which I hate. I really, really hate those fights. Primo hardly notices. It rolls right off him because he was raised by alcoholic wolves, except wolves are nicer. I was raised in a low-drama family. When his parents are giving him their usual alcoholic crap, he'll tell me - and it's true - that I don't understand because I come from a nice family. I do. My family is nice. There is no emotional blackmail. There are no drunken emails accusing me of being a Bad Daughter who Doesn't Care.
I had many of those days and weekends in the months to come. Primo started attending more rallies and more meetings. There was talk of a recall election. That meant circulating petitions. He volunteered. Who circulates petitions in the dead of winter?
My true believer husband. Blesshisheart.
I started to watch Big Bang Theory. That's when I discovered Primo and Sheldon are a lot alike, but that's a different story.
I thought once the petition deadline had been met, I would have my husband back. I also thought we could stop arguing over whether I was going to sign the petition. (I wasn't.) (We didn't.)
I thought we could take a dance class.
Nope. I didn't have my husband back. That's when he started volunteering for a guy who was running in the spring elections for the county government. At least that race was non-partisan. No Polka Dots, no Stripes. I spoke to D. Liked him. Agreed with some of his positions. There was nothing too extreme. I wasn't crazy about his idea to ban smoking within 25 feet of the playgrounds at the public parks. "If you don't like cigarette smoke," I said, exasperated, "then move! But honestly! It's not even indoors! It won't kill you outdoors! Can't people just lighten up? Do they have to control everything that everyone else does?"
Primo agreed with me. We do have some common ground. He agrees with me that stale cigarette smoke in a bar is just nasty as nasty can be but we don't think that it should be illegal to smoke in a bar. If you don't like cigarette smoke, don't go to a bar. Period.
He picked up another candidate. Teresa, who was running for judge. Also an allegedly non-partisan race, but she made it partisan.
We argued more about politics.
I picked up another TV show, The Big C, and told him to go work on the campaign. He emailed more links to me. Delete, delete, delete. Hand me the remote and leave me alone.
Those stories, and what can I wear to make it look like I have an hourglass figure? That's what I like.
Sure, I care about the Big Issues, but there's not much I can do about them. I volunteer on little, specific things. I read to pre-schoolers. I put the books in order at the library. I help at the funerals at church. I do what I can to make things better in my little corner of the world. I donate money to causes I care about. I rest on my laurels of the Peace Corps. But I don't see a lot of value in spending an afternoon marching up and down the square. It's fine for other people. I understand the strategy of raising awareness, but that's not my thing.
Primo, however, is passionate about big, abstract causes. Last year, the governor of our state tried to pass some legislation that was unpopular with the Polka Dots. They rallied and there were protests at the capital. Primo went. I stayed home and watched Mad Men and Big Love. He felt guilty about leaving me for an entire day and even a few overnights - he used hotel points, so don't worry, there was not much money being used on this endeavor, but I waved goodbye with one hand and held the remote in the other. "Go!" I said. "Go!"
To have a guilt-free weekend with the TV and a bag of Fritos? Usually when he's home, I feel as if I should be doing something productive, like cleaning the house or cooking a meal or looking for a job. But when he's gone, I can revert to my lazy-ass, soap-opera watching self.
Not to mention, when Primo's gone, we don't argue about politics. I would be very happy not to argue about them when he is at home, but it's one of his favorite pastimes. We don't argue about who ran us out of toilet paper (for one thing, because that never happens with a coupon-clipping engineer in the house) or who left the toilet seat up (see previous statement) or most character flaws, although it makes him crazy that I put the dishes away before they are bone dry or use canned goods past their expiration date (I used the old tahini to make sauce for the falafel and yet Primo lives), but we have had some knock-down drag-outs about politics.
Which I hate. I really, really hate those fights. Primo hardly notices. It rolls right off him because he was raised by alcoholic wolves, except wolves are nicer. I was raised in a low-drama family. When his parents are giving him their usual alcoholic crap, he'll tell me - and it's true - that I don't understand because I come from a nice family. I do. My family is nice. There is no emotional blackmail. There are no drunken emails accusing me of being a Bad Daughter who Doesn't Care.
I had many of those days and weekends in the months to come. Primo started attending more rallies and more meetings. There was talk of a recall election. That meant circulating petitions. He volunteered. Who circulates petitions in the dead of winter?
My true believer husband. Blesshisheart.
I started to watch Big Bang Theory. That's when I discovered Primo and Sheldon are a lot alike, but that's a different story.
I thought once the petition deadline had been met, I would have my husband back. I also thought we could stop arguing over whether I was going to sign the petition. (I wasn't.) (We didn't.)
I thought we could take a dance class.
Nope. I didn't have my husband back. That's when he started volunteering for a guy who was running in the spring elections for the county government. At least that race was non-partisan. No Polka Dots, no Stripes. I spoke to D. Liked him. Agreed with some of his positions. There was nothing too extreme. I wasn't crazy about his idea to ban smoking within 25 feet of the playgrounds at the public parks. "If you don't like cigarette smoke," I said, exasperated, "then move! But honestly! It's not even indoors! It won't kill you outdoors! Can't people just lighten up? Do they have to control everything that everyone else does?"
Primo agreed with me. We do have some common ground. He agrees with me that stale cigarette smoke in a bar is just nasty as nasty can be but we don't think that it should be illegal to smoke in a bar. If you don't like cigarette smoke, don't go to a bar. Period.
He picked up another candidate. Teresa, who was running for judge. Also an allegedly non-partisan race, but she made it partisan.
We argued more about politics.
I picked up another TV show, The Big C, and told him to go work on the campaign. He emailed more links to me. Delete, delete, delete. Hand me the remote and leave me alone.
Thursday, November 8, 2012
More about politics and Primo and me
You guys know that Primo and I don't share the same political views. But we love each other. Politics are not the only thing in life. Food and sex are more important. Movies. Tennis. Traveling. Lots and lots of things are far more important than politics.
Although Primo is a wee bit obsessed with politics. Me, I couldn't care less about it. Oh sure, I care about issues. But I don't care about parties and personalities. I am a Party of Me. The Gold Digger Party. I don't see why I should have to declare allegiance to one side or another. I am interested in me. That's it.
Primo, however, was raised by activists and you know how that goes. I am a descendant of small businessmen and farmers and entrepreneurs who mind their own business and live their own lives and take care of their own. Primo is a descendant of activists and big union folks. One's raising does tend to inform one's thinking.
Where am I going with this?
Well, the past year or so, Primo has become quite active politically. He has been going to rallies and events. I have no interest in rallies and events, even for my side. I have better things to do. Yes, I am interested in improving my community, but I volunteer in ways where I can see a direct impact. We all have different ideas about how to make the world better and isn't that a good thing? Wouldn't the world be a boring place if we all wanted to volunteer at the library or the historic preservation commission or the funeral committee or as pollworkers? Some of us sort books, some of us protest. Primo protests.
For convenience, I am going to call Primo's side the Polka Dots and my side the Stripes because I do not want these posts to be about the politics themselves but about what happens when people are politically involved. The politics of politics, if you will.
Doesn't that sound pretentious?
If you will.
Ha.
You know, that might not even be right. Oh well. The sociology of politics? The psychology of politics? The interpersonal dynamics of politics?
So Primo has become a Polka Dot activist. There have been Polka Dot rallies and Polka Dot parties and Polka Dot protests. He attends and I watch all of Season One of The Big C or Big Bang Theory, where I note Primo's startling resemblance to Sheldon. Win/win as far as I'm concerned. I'm more than happy to have a day to myself to watch TV. If Primo is at home working, I feel guilty for goofing off. I feel as if I should be looking for a job or cleaning the baseboards or doing something to contribute to the upkeep of the household.
This spring, Primo became even more involved. He put up campaign signs in our yard. He circulated recall petitions. He campaigned for candidates for two races, one for a county supervisor who lost and one for a judge who won. I liked the county supervisor candidate, but was put off by the judge, whom I like as a person but didn't care for her assumption that I would vote for her just because I, too, am a woman. I have never understood the thinking that only a woman can represent a woman. The law is the law, right? Does a woman apply the law differently from a man? Can I be represented in Congress only by a woman? Can only a woman understand my need for trash pickup, good streets, good schools, good defense? I guess so. I guess these issues are sex-specific.
He wanted me to be involved.
I didn't want to be involved.
But in the interests of marital harmony, I tried. I attended a campaign event with him. I took a book with me just in case. My instincts were correct. It was boring. Oh man. Is there anything more dull than a campaign event attended by people who have already decided they are going to vote for the candidate? Who then gives a speech anyhow? A speech to people who are already convinced? Why not just say, "Thanks for coming! Let's go home instead of wasting time here!"
The only thing good about that event was that it was held at a shop called Coffee Makes You Black, which I think is a hilarious name, which has a chef from Alabama, who knows how to make fried chicken and mashed potatoes. Mashed potatoes should have rivers of butter swimming on top of them. And tea should have so much sugar in it that you don't even know it's tea.
I even attended the victory party for the judge, where I was surrounded by Polka Dots, even though judicial races are supposed to be non partisan. Primo's Political Wife was there. She was the campaign manager for the judge, the one who had designed the very very partisan strategy. I am not sure if I should be bothered more by the Political Wife or by the Nighttime Wife.
The Nighttime Wife is the woman Primo hangs out with when he goes out to sing karaoke. When I first learned about her, I was very jealous. "She's so pretty!" Primo told me. "And she sings so well!"
I had to meet her. Even though I hate going out and I hate staying out late, I girded my loins and accompanied Primo to karaoke so I could meet Christina.
She's 29. She's beautiful. She sings like an angel.
And she is the sweetest, nicest thing. She is now my friend. She is not a threat.
But the Political Wife? When Primo introduced us, I felt my hackles rise. Still, I was polite. "Primo has been singing your praises," I said. "How did you get into managing campaigns?"
She told me. In great, self-serving detail. Wow. There is not one modest bone in that woman's body. Not one. She is self promoting and smug.
"Well, she is a Polka Dot," Primo told me. "We tend to be smug."
"You said she was cute. She is not cute," I said.
"She dresses cute," he said.
"She is mutton dressing as lamb," I retorted. "Women our age should not be wearing ruffles and dresses that show our bra straps. That dress was two sizes too big. Her shoes are ugly on purpose trying to pass as chic but they're just ugly."
"She knows a ton about winning a race and she's connected," he reminded me.
"Don't tell me she's cute. She's stringy and bony and she dresses like crap and she's smug."
"I love you," he said. "She is not a threat to you."
"I know that," I told him. "Sheesh. Like I would be threatened by someone like that?"
He smiled.
I had hoped that once the spring elections were over, Primo would be done and life would return to normal. I had hoped I would never have to hear Political Wife's name again. Or the names of any of the Polka Dots again. I had hoped that the yard signs would go away.
My hopes were dashed.
"I've decided to run for office," Primo said.
Although Primo is a wee bit obsessed with politics. Me, I couldn't care less about it. Oh sure, I care about issues. But I don't care about parties and personalities. I am a Party of Me. The Gold Digger Party. I don't see why I should have to declare allegiance to one side or another. I am interested in me. That's it.
Primo, however, was raised by activists and you know how that goes. I am a descendant of small businessmen and farmers and entrepreneurs who mind their own business and live their own lives and take care of their own. Primo is a descendant of activists and big union folks. One's raising does tend to inform one's thinking.
Where am I going with this?
Well, the past year or so, Primo has become quite active politically. He has been going to rallies and events. I have no interest in rallies and events, even for my side. I have better things to do. Yes, I am interested in improving my community, but I volunteer in ways where I can see a direct impact. We all have different ideas about how to make the world better and isn't that a good thing? Wouldn't the world be a boring place if we all wanted to volunteer at the library or the historic preservation commission or the funeral committee or as pollworkers? Some of us sort books, some of us protest. Primo protests.
For convenience, I am going to call Primo's side the Polka Dots and my side the Stripes because I do not want these posts to be about the politics themselves but about what happens when people are politically involved. The politics of politics, if you will.
Doesn't that sound pretentious?
If you will.
Ha.
You know, that might not even be right. Oh well. The sociology of politics? The psychology of politics? The interpersonal dynamics of politics?
So Primo has become a Polka Dot activist. There have been Polka Dot rallies and Polka Dot parties and Polka Dot protests. He attends and I watch all of Season One of The Big C or Big Bang Theory, where I note Primo's startling resemblance to Sheldon. Win/win as far as I'm concerned. I'm more than happy to have a day to myself to watch TV. If Primo is at home working, I feel guilty for goofing off. I feel as if I should be looking for a job or cleaning the baseboards or doing something to contribute to the upkeep of the household.
This spring, Primo became even more involved. He put up campaign signs in our yard. He circulated recall petitions. He campaigned for candidates for two races, one for a county supervisor who lost and one for a judge who won. I liked the county supervisor candidate, but was put off by the judge, whom I like as a person but didn't care for her assumption that I would vote for her just because I, too, am a woman. I have never understood the thinking that only a woman can represent a woman. The law is the law, right? Does a woman apply the law differently from a man? Can I be represented in Congress only by a woman? Can only a woman understand my need for trash pickup, good streets, good schools, good defense? I guess so. I guess these issues are sex-specific.
He wanted me to be involved.
I didn't want to be involved.
But in the interests of marital harmony, I tried. I attended a campaign event with him. I took a book with me just in case. My instincts were correct. It was boring. Oh man. Is there anything more dull than a campaign event attended by people who have already decided they are going to vote for the candidate? Who then gives a speech anyhow? A speech to people who are already convinced? Why not just say, "Thanks for coming! Let's go home instead of wasting time here!"
The only thing good about that event was that it was held at a shop called Coffee Makes You Black, which I think is a hilarious name, which has a chef from Alabama, who knows how to make fried chicken and mashed potatoes. Mashed potatoes should have rivers of butter swimming on top of them. And tea should have so much sugar in it that you don't even know it's tea.
I even attended the victory party for the judge, where I was surrounded by Polka Dots, even though judicial races are supposed to be non partisan. Primo's Political Wife was there. She was the campaign manager for the judge, the one who had designed the very very partisan strategy. I am not sure if I should be bothered more by the Political Wife or by the Nighttime Wife.
The Nighttime Wife is the woman Primo hangs out with when he goes out to sing karaoke. When I first learned about her, I was very jealous. "She's so pretty!" Primo told me. "And she sings so well!"
I had to meet her. Even though I hate going out and I hate staying out late, I girded my loins and accompanied Primo to karaoke so I could meet Christina.
She's 29. She's beautiful. She sings like an angel.
And she is the sweetest, nicest thing. She is now my friend. She is not a threat.
But the Political Wife? When Primo introduced us, I felt my hackles rise. Still, I was polite. "Primo has been singing your praises," I said. "How did you get into managing campaigns?"
She told me. In great, self-serving detail. Wow. There is not one modest bone in that woman's body. Not one. She is self promoting and smug.
"Well, she is a Polka Dot," Primo told me. "We tend to be smug."
"You said she was cute. She is not cute," I said.
"She dresses cute," he said.
"She is mutton dressing as lamb," I retorted. "Women our age should not be wearing ruffles and dresses that show our bra straps. That dress was two sizes too big. Her shoes are ugly on purpose trying to pass as chic but they're just ugly."
"She knows a ton about winning a race and she's connected," he reminded me.
"Don't tell me she's cute. She's stringy and bony and she dresses like crap and she's smug."
"I love you," he said. "She is not a threat to you."
"I know that," I told him. "Sheesh. Like I would be threatened by someone like that?"
He smiled.
I had hoped that once the spring elections were over, Primo would be done and life would return to normal. I had hoped I would never have to hear Political Wife's name again. Or the names of any of the Polka Dots again. I had hoped that the yard signs would go away.
My hopes were dashed.
"I've decided to run for office," Primo said.
Wednesday, November 7, 2012
Monday April 16 Primo decides to run for office
Primo has decided to run for public office. The state house.
Oh boy.
You guys know that he and I are in a mixed marriage, right? He is of the Polka Dot Party and I am of the Stripe Party, as much as that side represents my views. I pick and choose a little bit from each side and a lot from the Just Legalize Everything and Leave Me Alone people.
But it's not the difference in our views that has me worried. That's not what's going to make this difficult. He's my husband. I love him. I'll support him. It's not as if he's a neo-Nazi or a Stalinist. He's just on the Other Side. Whatever. People have different opinions and I can live with that. Really. I can. I have friends all over the place. As long as people leave me alone, I don't care. As long as they leave other people alone, I don't care. Be nice to other people, don't hurt them, don't bother them about what they do in their own houses as long as they are over 18, and let's just leave it at that, shall we?
No, what I'm concerned about is the fact that this campaign is going to consume every single waking minute of Primo's life for the next six months. And probably every single waking minute of my life for the next six months.
Which means that the cat carrier will not be repaired as he promised. That the two-foot high stack of magazines in the guest room will not be sorted and discarded, although why it's necessary for us to have the 2010 issues of Car and Driver, I do not know. That I will have to drag the big plastic tube out of the garage and out to the back of the yard to put it on the downspout so my backyard neighbor doesn't get water gushing from our gutter into his garage. Which I don't mind doing, but Primo gets very picky about how these things are done - there is a real science to attaching big plastic tubes to downspouts, you know.
It means that Primo and I will not be playing tennis. Or taking walks. We won't be going to church festivals. Well, we might, but it will be to campaign, not to have fun. We won't be watching Friday Night Lights. We won't be walking to the farmers market on Saturday mornings. We won't be spending the weekends at the lake with our friends. We won't be going to concerts at the gazebo.
We're not going to have any fun.
And that's just the campaign. If he wins, he'll take a pay cut of $A LOT. Many legislators keep their day jobs once they are elected, but Primo doesn't have that kind of job. He's an engineer. He has a 70 hour a week, travel at the drop of a hat job. His employer would not be understanding or flexible.
We'll have a lot less money. Enough to survive, but not enough to re-roof the house. Or take a nice vacation. Or save for retirement Yeah, I'm superficial. That stuff bothers me.
Which means I need to get a job. Which I really, truly would not mind doing. Except nobody seems interested in hiring me.
If he wins, he has the job for only two years. Then he has to run again. If he doesn't win, then what? It would be very difficult for him to return to his profession. Things change too quickly. He's already falling behind. In two years? His knowledge will really be obsolete.
This is going to be lots of fun.
Oh boy.
You guys know that he and I are in a mixed marriage, right? He is of the Polka Dot Party and I am of the Stripe Party, as much as that side represents my views. I pick and choose a little bit from each side and a lot from the Just Legalize Everything and Leave Me Alone people.
But it's not the difference in our views that has me worried. That's not what's going to make this difficult. He's my husband. I love him. I'll support him. It's not as if he's a neo-Nazi or a Stalinist. He's just on the Other Side. Whatever. People have different opinions and I can live with that. Really. I can. I have friends all over the place. As long as people leave me alone, I don't care. As long as they leave other people alone, I don't care. Be nice to other people, don't hurt them, don't bother them about what they do in their own houses as long as they are over 18, and let's just leave it at that, shall we?
No, what I'm concerned about is the fact that this campaign is going to consume every single waking minute of Primo's life for the next six months. And probably every single waking minute of my life for the next six months.
Which means that the cat carrier will not be repaired as he promised. That the two-foot high stack of magazines in the guest room will not be sorted and discarded, although why it's necessary for us to have the 2010 issues of Car and Driver, I do not know. That I will have to drag the big plastic tube out of the garage and out to the back of the yard to put it on the downspout so my backyard neighbor doesn't get water gushing from our gutter into his garage. Which I don't mind doing, but Primo gets very picky about how these things are done - there is a real science to attaching big plastic tubes to downspouts, you know.
It means that Primo and I will not be playing tennis. Or taking walks. We won't be going to church festivals. Well, we might, but it will be to campaign, not to have fun. We won't be watching Friday Night Lights. We won't be walking to the farmers market on Saturday mornings. We won't be spending the weekends at the lake with our friends. We won't be going to concerts at the gazebo.
We're not going to have any fun.
And that's just the campaign. If he wins, he'll take a pay cut of $A LOT. Many legislators keep their day jobs once they are elected, but Primo doesn't have that kind of job. He's an engineer. He has a 70 hour a week, travel at the drop of a hat job. His employer would not be understanding or flexible.
We'll have a lot less money. Enough to survive, but not enough to re-roof the house. Or take a nice vacation. Or save for retirement Yeah, I'm superficial. That stuff bothers me.
Which means I need to get a job. Which I really, truly would not mind doing. Except nobody seems interested in hiring me.
If he wins, he has the job for only two years. Then he has to run again. If he doesn't win, then what? It would be very difficult for him to return to his profession. Things change too quickly. He's already falling behind. In two years? His knowledge will really be obsolete.
This is going to be lots of fun.
Thursday, November 1, 2012
In which I run into another Chile volunteer in La Paz and get the tip of the iceberg of the story about his engagement
Once in La Paz, after a
night on relatively smooth road, I cabbed to the hostel (I had decided this
walking with backpack stuff was for the birds, especially in countries where
cabs cost 50 cents) and fell into bed. Unfortunately, my room opened onto the courtyard
lauded by the Handbook. (“Great place to meet other travelers!” it enthused.
All I saw and smelled were Frenchmen returning after four showerless
days in the mountains.). My room had huge windows that allowed in both sound
and light. Those elements, coupled with the cold that I was unable to escape (have you ever wakened
because you are too cold to sleep?) allowed me only a few hours sleep.
Frustrated, I resigned myself to being awake and showered and dressed.
A word about budget showers in Latin America. It is rare
to find a shower that is set off from the rest of the bathroom. Usually, a
shower head hangs somewhere over the toilet and the water drains out through a
drain set in the bathroom floor. (This was why squeegeeing was important in Argentina.)
No shower curtain protects the rest of the bathroom. (If there is a shower
curtain, the stall is sure to be absolutely tiny and you end up fighting the
curtain off your body, where it insists on wrapping itself and clinging with
clammy intensity.) Your toilet paper and your towel usually get soaked.
Sometimes hot water is available. Usually, this is only
in tropical countries and then only at the end of a steamy day. In the cold
countries, some places might have hot water, but only during certain hours. I
learned to ask the right questions about the water supply. Not only must you
ask, “Do you have hot water, and, if so, when?”, you also must ask “How is your
water heated?” If it is by solar power, hot showers in the morning are out. If
it is by electricity, the likelihood of the power going out during your shower
is high. (I also learned that an American definition of “hot” is different from a Latin definition. They think
we are sissies because we can’t bathe in cold water.)
Another important shower fact is that some places don’t
have water at all sometimes. Ecuador was going through a drought (until I got
there) and I found out the hard way that sometimes the shower just -- stops.
Even when there was water, the pressure was barely enough to get the shampoo
out of my hair.
I walked across the
courtyard from the bathroom to my room. A tall, dark-haired man with a mustache
was sitting at a table drinking coffee. He looked familiar, but without my
glasses and out of context, I couldn’t place him. From inside the room, I
looked out the window. Who was he? The n I remembered. He was Scott,
another volunteer from Chile. I’d met him a few times and had found him to be
humorless and dull.
I walked out toward the main door. As I passed him, I
scrutinized him. Yes, it was Scott. He looked up and saw the recognition in my
eyes. I was stuck. I couldn’t ignore him now without being totally rude. “Hi,
Scott!” I said. “What are you doing here? I thought you were getting married.”
He and another volunteer, Cindy, had become engaged after
a whirlwind courtship. The whole affair had been grist for the Peace Corps
gossip mill for weeks. He was 42; she was 35; and they’d both been married
before. (“Shouldn’t they, of all people, know not to rush into this?” we
said.) He was dull; she was beautiful. He was a millionaire; she was hooked. (“I
wouldn’t marry him, even if he is filthy rich!”) Peace Corps had refused to
sanction the marriage and wouldn’t give Cindy an assignment in Santiago, where
Scott worked. Cindy had said, “Fine. I’ll live in Santiago and commute the hour
and a half every day to my office.” They’d announced they were marrying -- with
or without Peace Corps approval -- in September.
But it was now September and Scott was in La Paz without
Cindy.
He told me what had happened and I felt sorry for him --
until I heard the rest of the story from Cindy’s former roommate. “Cindy had
this boyfriend in Hungary,” he said. “I thought when we started going together
that was all over with. After all, she had come to Chile and left this other
guy behind. Anyhow, we were living together and talking about getting married
and she kept pushing back the date. First we were supposed to get married in
August, then in September, then in December. Then I found out she was still
corresponding with this guy in Hungary. And that she’d made arrangements to
visit him over Christmas! Well, I realized it was all over. I confronted her
and she moved out.”
His voice was sad. “You know, I thought we had something.
At our age, you can’t expect passion and romance. Those aren’t real. They don’t
last. The best you can expect is strong friendship. I thought we had that.”
How romantically melancholy, I thought. I still found him
to be humorless and dull, but he seemed a little more human than he had before.
When I returned to the US, I heard the rest of the story.
Apparently, Cindy had decided to move out and had informed Scott that their
relationship was over. One morning, she got up and saw Scott’s open journal
lying on the breakfast table. She did what any normal person would do -- she
read it. Scott had written that he’d had a dream about killing Cindy -- and
that it had felt really good.
She moved out but had left her furniture in Scott’s
apartment. When she returned for it, she found it all chained together in the
living room.
Thursday, October 25, 2012
In which I ask the right questions to take the bus
I tried to be more scientific
about the bus I chose for this trip. Several bus companies made the journey to
La Paz and I interrogated each. “Do you have heat?” I asked one clerk.
“Yes!”
he said enthusiastically.
“Do
you have a toilet on board?”
“Yes!”
“Do
you have a VCR?”
“No.”
He looked dejected.
The
clerk at the next booth spoke up. “We have heat; we have toilets; we have
movies!”
“Great!”
I said. “What kind of movies do you show?”
“What
kind do you like?” he asked coyly.
“Oh,
no,” I said. “You tell me first. If I tell you what kind I like, you’ll say,
‘That’s what we have!’”
“Well,
I couldn’t really say,” he said.
“Do
you have action movies with a lot of violence?”
He
brightened. “Yes, we do!”
“Great!
That’s the kind of movie I hate!”
“Wait!
No, we don’t have that kind!”
“Ha!”
I said. “Now you say so!” I returned to the bus without the VCR, bought my
ticket, and went downstairs to wait.
The
Potosà bus terminal had a clever method for loading luggage. Most places had
men hauling the luggage up a ladder to the top of the bus, but in PotosÃ
someone had actually planned. The bus offices were on the second floor and had
patios that opened to the concourse. A company’s bus would park in the gate
corresponding to the office and the workers would merely carry the luggage from
the patio to the top of the bus -- no ladders necessary.
I’d
smartened up by the time I got to La Paz: I’d called for reservations and
warned the guy I’d be arriving at 5:00 a.m. I just didn’t know that I’d be arriving
bathed in sweat. The other buses had been so cold that I was absolutely
unprepared for the sweltering temperatures provided by El Dorado, Cia. When we
first pulled out of Sucre, I was excited that the bus wasn’t freezing. But
within an hour, I was pulling frantically at the window to open it a little. It
was so hot inside the bus that the windows were steaming, which meant that I
couldn’t see the stars.
I
did have my chance to see them when we stopped for our 11:30 p.m. supper break
at a lonely café huddling on the enormous plain. The aroma of grilled guinea
pig (or llama or whatever the catch of the day was) didn’t appeal to me, so I
wandered to the back in search of the bathroom. Someone figured out I wasn’t
from there and asked what I sought. “The bathroom,” I replied.
“Behind
the café,” he told me.
I
left the din of the café, which, despite the apparent lack of electricity in
the area, had electric lights and a television blaring “Guardia de la BahÃa.”
“Guardia de la BahÃa” means “Guards of the Bay.” The first time I heard the
title, I thought was a National Geographic program but then I learned it was
“Baywatch.” “Baywatch” and “Beverly Hills 90210” are two of the most popular
shows in Latin America. It’s hard to defend assertions that the U.S. lacks
culture when these two shows are among our biggest exports.
I
stepped into the enormous cold night and walked shivering to the back of the
building, looking for the outline of an outhouse. Twenty feet from the café, I
was out of range of the TV and there was no sound. Millions of stars flickered
overhead. I couldn’t see an outhouse. But dappling the ground were little dark shadows. In the darkness
cast by the café crouched even larger shadows. As I watched, some of them
unfolded and drifted away. It was then that I understood that the toilet
facilities were wherever I wanted them to be.
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