Do You Want Fries With That?

Well, Obama won. I'll be honest and say I was disappointed, but them's the breaks, right? I will be praying for him to make wise decisions as he leads our country. I encourage you to do the same - regardless of your opinion of Obama, he is still our President and we still need to care about our country. 

However, that doesn't mean you can't have a little fun with it, too.

This morning when Daniel told me Obama had won - my dedication to my country is second only to my dedication to my pillow so I was fast asleep for the results - my first thought was, "Okay. Just four more years. We can do this."

And then something occurred to me. What will Obama do after his next four years are over? I mean, he has kids, who I am assuming like food and shelter. And he doesn't appear to have any kind of magic wand or leprechaun to provide him with resources. So what will his next job be? **Disclaimer** I know there is probably an answer to this. I don't care about that answer. Mine is more hilarious.

I like to picture President Obama walking into a Barnes & Noble in about 4.5 years. He will walk up to the counter, straighten his tie, and say, "I'd like an application, please." A bored teenager will hand one over to him without looking up from his Angry Birds game and Obama will sit on a nearby couch, filling out his application, wedged between George W. and Sarah Palin.

Just picture it. For the section about his former jobs he would have to put "President of the United States of America." That's awesome. 

Then, of course, the interview process would be next. Still wearing his best suit, he would sit down with the manager of the store - a guy named Bobby who wasn't even eligible to vote in the last election because of his age - and proceed to answer some of the typical interview questions:

Bobby: So, Mr... How do you say it?

Obama: It's Oh-bah-mah.

Bobby: Right, sorry. So, Mr. Obama -

Obama: It's President, actually.

Bobby: Sorry?

Obama: It's not Mr. Obama; it's President Obama.

Bobby: Listen, Mr. Obama, the first thing you need to know to work here is that we are all team players. There's no room for any superstars here. May I continue?

Obama: Sorry; of course.

Bobby: What do you think qualifies you to work here at the B & N?

Obama: Well, I have great leadership skills.

Bobby: Can you give me an example?

Obama: Uh - well, I led a country for eight years.

Bobby: Mmhmm, I see. I noticed that you also wrote down that you had your last job for a while and then it suddenly ended. Tell me what happened there.

Obama: Well, that job had predetermined time limits. You can't work there for more than eight years in that position.

Bobby: Mr. Obama, we don't like the word "can't" around here. And we don't like excuses. It sounds to me like the job got too hard after eight years.

Obama: No... I mean, they made me leave. I didn't have a choice. It's the law.

Bobby: So you're telling me you were fired.

Obama: NO. I knew it would not be a permanent job when I took it. That is how the job is set up.

Bobby: Okay. Is there anything else you want to add?

Obama: Just that I also love the work of J.K. Rowling and Stephenie Meyer and would be a great help to shoppers in the teen and young adult section.

Bobby: Great. We'll call you.

AAAAnd scene.

Tell me that wasn't the best thing you've ever pictured.

Good luck and God bless you, President Obama. And if you get to work at Barnes & Noble, call me. I applied like a million times in high school and need to know what I was missing.

"And then I got to see the BREAKROOM. Boom. Obama's back in action."

Fireworks for the 13th of August...

I am currently listening to fireworks go off outside my window. At first I thought they were gunshots (which makes just as much sense to me), but as I listened harder, I decided that most gunshots don't start with a "weeeeeeeee" sound. At least I don't think they do. Daniel would be so proud of me. For those of you who don't know, he's a gunsmith. We've been together two years and I have yet to learn a single thing about guns. Well, that isn't totally true. I know what kinds of guns he has, and I know how to shoot the one, and yesterday I learned that a Saga is a cool gun because it is fed by a magazine and not by a tube. I have no idea if that makes sense but that's what I heard Daniel say. He tries to teach me, he really does. I think it's just like calculus for me. Never gonna happen but I respect those who understand it.

Anyway. Fireworks on August 13th. Why, you ask? Well, amidst the strangeness of our apartment complex, this is really just another thing to add to the list. We've been weirded out by way more interesting stuff than this.

Like our neighbors, whom we affectionately refer to as "those shirtless bald guys." Two men live across from us. Every time we seem them, they are shirtless. Every time. They grill out shirtless, they walk around shirtless, they wave me on ahead of them in the parking lot...shirtless. They grin a lot at us but never say anything, except for when Shirtless Guy #1 said "No problem" in response to me literally running into him on the stairs one day. That was awkward. And, yes, he was shirtless, if you were wondering. It's not that I find the shirtlessness uncomfortable, it's... no, you know what, I do find it uncomfortable. I'm barely comfortable seeing people in swimsuits at the pool. I might be a prude, but by golly, that is who I am, and when these guys are shirtless 24x7 it unnerves me, like their shirtlessness might be lurking around any corner (or on the stairs), waiting to make me uncomfortable. Do all men do this? Maybe I'm just out of touch. Enlighten me, men.

Another weird thing in our neighborhood is "that lady we almost always hit." A few weeks ago, a lady stopped Daniel on the sidewalk and blocked him from the car, then demanded a ride to a bus stop twenty miles away. He was coming to pick me up and said he was very sorry, he couldn't take her. She didn't like this and wouldn't move. He offered to call a taxi for her. No. He offered to PAY for her taxi. No, no, and no. She was so angry that he wouldn't just drive her - after all, "THAT'S WHAT NEIGHBORS DO."(btw, she does not live in our neighborhood...) Eventually he managed to step around her, and even though she stood behind the car to stop him, she finally left.

We thought that was the last of her. However, we each keep seeing her, and every time we almost hit her. Not out of anger or frustration, but because she literally steps in front of the car to stop you. Every. Time. She just lurks in the front of the neighborhood and then jumps out in front of us (and I'm sure our neighbors). We have offered to drive her to the nearest bus stop, call a taxi, steal a horse and watch her ride off into the sunset, but no. She only wants a ride to one specific place that is always twenty miles away. My main question is, when she gets to the place that is twenty miles away, why does she keep coming back here? How is she getting here? And why is she talking to her hand?

Then there is our manager's office. They are, in theory, open about 35 hours a week. They are actually there maybe 10 of these hours, and can help you with your problem about half of one of those hours. For instance, on Sundays they are open from 1-4, according to the sign. If you get there at 1, a lady inside will wave at you and make hand gestures indicating you should come back later. Okay. So you come back at 3:30... oops, they're closed. The best bet is to go in the middle of the hours, but not too close to the middle, because that is their break. The laundry room is open 12 hours a day. The machine where you put money on your laundry card to run the machines is open about two hours a day, from maybe 10-12. And the hours they are open is like a scaled-down version of the California Gold Rush, because everyone knows they either have to charge their laundry cards then, not wear underwear for a week, or use the extremely creepy laundromat down the road. I would definitely go with the no underwear, just to give you an idea of the options.

But we do have nice fireworks.