Thursday, July 22, 2004
My place of work, the State House, will be closed to the public next week in deference to the Democratic National Convention (DNC). Well actually not in deference to... in fear of a terrorist attack of some sort. Technically, state employees are to show up to work during this week and as incentive to do so, the Associated Press will be in the building keeping tabs on the Reps and Senators. Except nobody keeps tabs down in the 'basement' where Fritz and I hang out (it's not really a basement in that we have beautiful windows peeping out to street level). So Anna Bloviations will be checking her email and constituent calls from home thank you. I mean how timely could this all be? We move August 6th and now I'll have a whole week to finish up everything. Mind you a lot has already been done: Yard sale. Check. The 1-800-Got-Junk truck to pick up accumulated debris. Check. A little of this or a little of that brought over in my car everyday to the new house. Check. But live someplace 15 years and there are still a whole lot of miscellaneous unidentified objects in drawers to be sorted. Uncheck.
What I might ought to be doing right now is going to a slew of V.I.P. DNC parties to which I could gain easy access through those 'connections' I spoke of earlier. For instance my little four-month pregnant, very connected friend is going to all of them. There was internal concern about her being pregnant but the consensus was that her boobs have gotten so big of late that no one will notice her slightly bulging tummy. Not that there is anything wrong with being pregnant.... Yes, she'll be right in the mix of all the big hitters. Her petite-n'-tiny self telling the Democratic demigods that "Sorry no you can't have access to that room."
Yes I'd like to meet Clinton. And Hillary. I'd pass on Teddy. And Kerry for that matter except that he just has to beat Bush. But guys I have to move. And every finger I lift over at the new house is a renovation budget that maybe won't balloon out of total control i.e. I'm going to pick up the workers' trash, seal the wood closet doors, and prime the edges of the new doors. Bottom line is that it is a hell of a lot cheaper if I do it based on my hourly wage than if they do it based on theirs. In fact I believe this conversation has come up before when I was renovating the bathroom at my just-sold house. Remember? I was the designated errand bitch...
This weekend I will also frantically pull up weeds from the 'minimalist' garden that has proven an optical illusion in minimilism. I'll have to talk to the cute landscaper about that. Jet-lagged hubby comes home from London tomorrow. Oh if he knew his To-Do list...
What I might ought to be doing right now is going to a slew of V.I.P. DNC parties to which I could gain easy access through those 'connections' I spoke of earlier. For instance my little four-month pregnant, very connected friend is going to all of them. There was internal concern about her being pregnant but the consensus was that her boobs have gotten so big of late that no one will notice her slightly bulging tummy. Not that there is anything wrong with being pregnant.... Yes, she'll be right in the mix of all the big hitters. Her petite-n'-tiny self telling the Democratic demigods that "Sorry no you can't have access to that room."
Yes I'd like to meet Clinton. And Hillary. I'd pass on Teddy. And Kerry for that matter except that he just has to beat Bush. But guys I have to move. And every finger I lift over at the new house is a renovation budget that maybe won't balloon out of total control i.e. I'm going to pick up the workers' trash, seal the wood closet doors, and prime the edges of the new doors. Bottom line is that it is a hell of a lot cheaper if I do it based on my hourly wage than if they do it based on theirs. In fact I believe this conversation has come up before when I was renovating the bathroom at my just-sold house. Remember? I was the designated errand bitch...
This weekend I will also frantically pull up weeds from the 'minimalist' garden that has proven an optical illusion in minimilism. I'll have to talk to the cute landscaper about that. Jet-lagged hubby comes home from London tomorrow. Oh if he knew his To-Do list...
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