Champion of the Semicolon

My weekends have been flying away from me lately. The last one was dedicated to Mom and her Visit. The one previous was largely worked and pizza-ed away. I'm not really sure where this one has gone. It's not even the conventional "lost weekend," though I can tell you which I prefer as easily as I can tell you that I like not puking.

I saw a dead raccoon today. It was very clearly hit by a car last night. Being the one to call the sanitation department has never been fun. I once saw a dog get hit by a range rover. It was a big poodle (standard? are those the big ones?), running fullshaggy tilt at me. But there was a busy street -- northern lights at latouche -- between he and I. After he went down, I ran straight into the road and wrapped it in my coat. The driver looped around eventually. She was someone I knew, which made it so much worse. Her son later told me that the dog was okay; I didn't believe him then, although I think I do now.

Not to be depressing or anything. Strange mood. To radically change the subject, I'm discovering Rilo Kiley. Erica likey. I've been downloading from amazon's free downloads like a fiend. I can't really bring myself to download more than a song or two illegally. If the artist is still working, I won't do it. More often than not, I won't anyway. That's reasonable guilt, right?

I can't fucking wait until the election is over. I've filled out my ballot -- it waits for stamps and signatures. Politics needs to leave me alone for about five months. In Oregon, Prop. 36 translates to Gay Marriage Ban, and it's pretty hotly contested. If it passes, marriage is restricted to a man and a woman, but if it's defeated, nothing changes. But the Yes-on-36 people are fighting as if NOT defining marriage means that men can marry other men, their cars, heifers of all breed, and any sort of thing they find on the floor. Likewise for the ladies. For a piece of thinly-veiled bigotry, they're awfully vehement. I'm glad people have stopped asking me about it; between prop. 36 (which, I might add, I can't vote for ANYWAY because I'm registered Alaskan) and the presidential business and Tony v. Lisa (Tony's up, I hear) I'm about ready to join the legions of the apathetic and turn on, tune in, and tweak out. Political burnout, thy name is Erica.

If anyone tried to call this weekend, when the phone wasn't broken (IHATEQWESTTHEYAREVILESCUMSUCKINGBASTARDS), Marie was attached to it. I'd say "sorry 'bout that" if it were actually my doing.