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Politics, Schm-olitics.

Do you remember a period of time, where you would be in line at the grocery store/sitting at a bar/some other social situation, and you would hear someone else’s conversation and really, really, really want to butt in with your two cents?

Basically, it was life before twitter. You couldn’t just just hit the ‘reply’ button and interject yourself into someone else’s conversation. Well, you could, but that didn’t mean you were welcome to or that whoever you were about to spew your opinion on was going to appreciate it.

Granted, the same goes for twitter, but you’re on twitter. You have to understand on there that someone might not appreciate what you’re going to say, or might argue with you, or might unfollow you, or all sorts of fun consequences for whatever your 140 character opinion is.

Credit to Click photo for link.

I’m in line at the grocery store with two packages of toaster strudels, a can of red bull because i’m weak, and the Bastille CD because it was on sale and I seriously heard it was good and yes, I still buy CDs.

So, the person in front of me is buying her groceries with her kid and talking to the cashier about life. I’m half listening because I’m within earshot. The conversation is vaguely political – the Mom is asking the cashier if he plans to watch the State of the Union.

Their conversation, paraphrased, because when it got interesting I started taking notes on my phone.

Mom: The State of the Union will be on this week. Are you going to watch it?

Cashier: No, ma’am. Probably not.

Mom: Why not? Aren’t you concerned about the country?

Cashier: Yeah, I mean, I guess.

Mom: Then you really should be watching. Are you over 18?

Cashier: Yes, ma’am.

Mom: Did you vote in the last election?

Cashier: No, ma’am.

Mom: Why not?

Cashier: …I didn’t really care.

Mom: You should do research. You should be educated.

Cashier: Yes, ma’am.

I don’t like getting into political conversations, because let’s be honest, people are not always going to get along. And when it comes to politics, there’s a good chance that it gets heated and may not end well.

Photo from Keep Calm Studio. Click for link.

I once made a comment on Facebook about something political, to which the person responded:

Obviously, you’re a Democrat and I’ll be defriending you now.

And I was defriended.

Back to the situation at hand.

This woman is lecturing the cashier and I’m half debating if I’m on an episode of What Would You Do and if I should fucking say something. No one wants to be the person that John Quinones comes up to and asks WHY they didn’t do something, after all.

John Quiñones, in all his glory. Photo from Click for link.

Mom: Do you know who was running in the last election?

Cashier: Obama?

Mom: And?

Cashier: …

Mom: Do you know what political party Obama is?

Cashier: …Um…

She’s berating this guy. Like, he only wants to ask her if she wants paper or plastic and she’s probably all set to give him a pop quiz on the America government. I’m seriously going through potential things I can say in this conversation, and if I have the guts to say them.

Mom: Do you know what political party you are?

Cashier: …I…

But then.

Mom’s kid: I don’t think I’d want to go to any political party because it doesn’t look like any of them have any fun.

My abbreviated notes from eavesdropping. I really need to work on my shorthand.

My abbreviated notes from eavesdropping. I really need to work on my shorthand.

I have a new found hope in the youth of our country.


The one show with the Old Star and the Young Star and the guy that’s a douchebag, probably.

We finished up The Bachelor tonight. Dad and I walked in from choir just in the nick of time — something dramatic happened and then he picked a girl.

And then sunset and elephants and all that good stuff happened. Yay, TV relationships! Yay, true love!

Then, the whole “this is what’s happening now” episode happened, and my Dad and I bantered through it up to the point where my mom was,

You guys suck. It’s true love. They’re getting married on national tv.”

And then she went to bed, and my dad and I ate some fish, and I came upstairs to blog for day 5.

I was starting to write about the Bachelor, because OMFG, elephants and caribou, and I was all set to have a “Sh!t my Mother Says” entry, when I realized we didn’t really say 50 words — which is the length that the blogs need to be for this bet that’s going on.

You know you does say a lot of words? My father and me.

For example:

Dad: So who’s this girl?

Me: She’s the reigning queen of country music.

Dad: Who’s the bitchy girl?

Me: The newcomer. They don’t get along.

Dad: Is that her boyfriend?

Me: That’s the guitarist for the queen. He’s sleeping with her.

Dad: Sleeping with the queen?

Me: No, the bitch. He used to sleep with the queen. They have a history.


Dad: Okay, so he’s sleeping with this blonde girl?

Me: But not this blonde. This blonde’s his niece.

Dad: They look the same.

Me: She’s a lighter blonde.


Dad: I can’t tell. Is this girl the princess of country?

Me: She’s a waitress. She sings with this guy.

Dad: Oh, so she’s probably sleeping with him.

Me: Not yet. She’s got a boyfriend.

Dad: He looks like a douchebag.


Me: It’s because he is.

Dad: This guy looks like a douchebag too.

Me: He’s running for mayor.

Dad: Well, how’s he connected?

Me: He’s married to the queen.


Dad: I thought she was sleeping with this guitarist.

Me: Not this guitarist, but with that guitarist. And they don’t anymore. He’s sleeping with the blonde.

Dad: The mean blonde or his niece?

Awkward pause.

Dad: Never mind. I’m going to bed.

Ladies and Gentlemen, network TV and my father present Nashville.