I’ve become more important lately. I can tell by my phone messages. For instance, I often come home to find a message from Meg Whitman. I know she thinks we are close friends—partly because she refers to herself informally as “Meg” (I mean that’s totally what best friends do), and partly because she’s always asking me for favors and sharing her political opinions with me. I’m not that into politics, so I’ll be honest—Meg’s messages do bore me a little. I’ve ignored her Facebook friend request, but she doesn’t seem to mind. I’m not actually sure how she heard of me or why she decided she wants to be my friend, but I assume it’s from my fame from being a Benicia Herald contributor.
Meg isn’t the only one who wants to be my best friend lately, though. Yesterday I came home to messages from the governor of New Jersey and a Congressman. They had a lot of political views to share too, but I saw through that subterfuge and assumed they were calling about tutoring services. I called them back to let them know my availability, but so far we’ve been playing phone tag.
I wouldn’t mind my sudden popularity except that these calls often wake my son when he is napping, and naptime is a sacred, golden time that can only be interrupted upon pain of public mutilation. Meg has now woken Colin so many times that I’m contemplating robbing her house and selling the goods on ebay—Just kidding; I like craigslist much better. I try to talk to Meg about it when she calls and I do pick up, but she isn’t a very good listener. She just talks right over the top of me, never once asks about my family or life, and prattles on about her political career. I find her a bit overbearing and boring, actually.
I’ve heard she’s spent $120 million of her own money on her campaign. That Meg—such a spendthrift. She says it’s because she wants to help California, but a little part of me feels like just giving the state the $120 million would have helped, too. I guess she just enjoys spending money. I’m thinking of asking her if I can borrow money next time she calls.
I am embarrassed to say that I have no interest in politics. Anyone who thinks he can run the state of California—or the United States—must be so conceited that I distrust his judgment and don’t want to vote for him. In fact, when political figures announce that they don’t want to run for a high office, I think them sensible, and they have my vote.
Whenever people talk about politics or current events, they sound intelligent, and I feel left out. I want to sound intelligent too. Sometimes I try to pipe in with my thoughts on Jennifer Aniston’s latest relationship (that Jen and John Mayer—wasn’t that a disaster?), but I don’t pull it off with quite the same level of sophistication as these intelligent current event talkers.
A few months ago at a dinner party, someone asked my husband and me what we thought of the oil spill. I don’t think either of us understood the question, so ill-informed are we. My husband, to fill our ignorant silence, aggressively responded, “I’m all for it!”, and we were saved from a more intelligent response.
I am ignorant of politics because they are boring, but I avoid current events because they are so depressing. I feel like news reporters try hard to find a rare virus in some obscure country that threatens to kill all of us and could possibly cause housing prices to sink lower. I’d prefer the news was less like an Oscar winning drama (as the Academy believes depressing equals genius) and more like a romantic comedy. If John Cusack fell in love with Julia Roberts every night at 6, I’d tune in. I think it would make for a happier end to the evening. I’d be able to chime in at dinner parties, and Meg and I would finally have something to talk about. Maybe then I would let her be my Facebook friend.
Meg isn’t the only one who wants to be my best friend lately, though. Yesterday I came home to messages from the governor of New Jersey and a Congressman. They had a lot of political views to share too, but I saw through that subterfuge and assumed they were calling about tutoring services. I called them back to let them know my availability, but so far we’ve been playing phone tag.
I wouldn’t mind my sudden popularity except that these calls often wake my son when he is napping, and naptime is a sacred, golden time that can only be interrupted upon pain of public mutilation. Meg has now woken Colin so many times that I’m contemplating robbing her house and selling the goods on ebay—Just kidding; I like craigslist much better. I try to talk to Meg about it when she calls and I do pick up, but she isn’t a very good listener. She just talks right over the top of me, never once asks about my family or life, and prattles on about her political career. I find her a bit overbearing and boring, actually.
I’ve heard she’s spent $120 million of her own money on her campaign. That Meg—such a spendthrift. She says it’s because she wants to help California, but a little part of me feels like just giving the state the $120 million would have helped, too. I guess she just enjoys spending money. I’m thinking of asking her if I can borrow money next time she calls.
I am embarrassed to say that I have no interest in politics. Anyone who thinks he can run the state of California—or the United States—must be so conceited that I distrust his judgment and don’t want to vote for him. In fact, when political figures announce that they don’t want to run for a high office, I think them sensible, and they have my vote.
Whenever people talk about politics or current events, they sound intelligent, and I feel left out. I want to sound intelligent too. Sometimes I try to pipe in with my thoughts on Jennifer Aniston’s latest relationship (that Jen and John Mayer—wasn’t that a disaster?), but I don’t pull it off with quite the same level of sophistication as these intelligent current event talkers.
A few months ago at a dinner party, someone asked my husband and me what we thought of the oil spill. I don’t think either of us understood the question, so ill-informed are we. My husband, to fill our ignorant silence, aggressively responded, “I’m all for it!”, and we were saved from a more intelligent response.
I am ignorant of politics because they are boring, but I avoid current events because they are so depressing. I feel like news reporters try hard to find a rare virus in some obscure country that threatens to kill all of us and could possibly cause housing prices to sink lower. I’d prefer the news was less like an Oscar winning drama (as the Academy believes depressing equals genius) and more like a romantic comedy. If John Cusack fell in love with Julia Roberts every night at 6, I’d tune in. I think it would make for a happier end to the evening. I’d be able to chime in at dinner parties, and Meg and I would finally have something to talk about. Maybe then I would let her be my Facebook friend.
