During the days preceding the last presidential election, remember all that press about how the Obama campaign raised so much money from individuals who donated small amounts of money, like $5, $10, $100? I thought that was pretty cool. Perhaps your neighborhood even had a small community fundraising group who canvassed your area. Mine did.

One night, Nordic Boy, Biogirl and I were settling in for the evening to watch a movie at my house. We all had had a long day, and we were tired and ready to be total couch potatoes. We got the bowl of popcorn, we kicked off our shoes, we put our feet up, we got blankets out, we grabbed the remote, and the relaxation would commence in five, four, three, two…


Our doorbell rang. The back of our couch faces the front door, and none of us moved, none of us even turned around. “Maybe if we are quiet, they will just go away,” I said. Except for the fact that our blinds were up, and the folks at our door could see us through the window. As we sat there ignoring them.


Finally, Nordic Boy got up and answered the door. It was the Obama people. Relaxation had to wait until he could talk to them and then shoo them away.

The next time we felt that way (ready to collapse onto the couch in need of some serious mental shut down), for some reason, I said: “Close the blinds.”
Nordic Boy: Why?
Me: In case Obama interrupts us again.

I have continued with this strange metaphor in our lives ever since. I have turned our president into the door knock when you are about to eat dinner, or the phone ring when you are about to fall asleep. It’s just stuck in my head that way.

(As I am about to lift the spoon of ice cream to my mouth in the yard, the neighbor lady calls out to me for a nice conversation).
Me: (under my breath) D’oh! Obama!

Sometimes I even refer to this when I am just not quite sure who someone is.

(Someone waves to me from across the street as I walk down the street downtown).
Nordic Boy: Who was that?
Me: (squinting) I’m not sure. Obama?

It’s not like I don’t want to be in communication with my president. I subscribe to the presidential Twitter feed, I am on the email mailing list. But still, when I check my email and I see a message from Barack, I still pretend to be annoyed. “Dammit, it’s Obama again!”

I have reduced the president to the annoying neighbor in my life who won’t go away. It’s like the Commander In Chief is my own personal Mr. Furley.

Anyway, remember how last week I went with Nordic Boy overnight to Portland? I had those two days off because I asked for it, like, a year ago. In Libraryland, getting time off in summer or around holidays can be like a fight to the death with one’s co-workers. So I had put in for that two days off months and months ago. And for some reason, I had a premonition way back then that having those two days off wouldn’t quite be enough. That I would need another break for Portlandia a mere week later. So I took two more days off the following week. And goddammit I am so glad I did, because the time between when I got back last week and now? TOTAL CRAP, workwise. So wheeeee, I am going with Nordic Boy again this week! And Biogirl is coming with us this time! I am counting the minutes. We are leaving this afternoon, at 3pm. I need to get the FUCK OUT of here, pronto.

So when I woke up this morning and logged onto the computer to read the news, why, oh why was the top story that President Obama is landing in Seattle today? And that he will be leaving again at 3:30pm? And that the time in between his landing and his departure will completely fuck up all traffic leaving Seattle for hours and hours?

I am just about to leave for a mini vacation, people. And what, or should I say WHO, is going to interrupt that?



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