My assistant, Jim, woke me on Thursday. I like being able to say, “My assistant, Jim.” Makes me feel like Marlin Perkins.

I’d been sleeping – leaning back in my big, swivel chair with my feet on the desk – in the office again. No, I haven’t fired Bridgett already (that’s the girl I hired in New York). Jim is my Washington assistant. Bridgett hired him. She’s hired all my staff.

Jim pointed out that at the end of the day I would no longer be the newest member of Congress, the woman replacing Ed Markey would have that honor. And I had yet to make even the most banal of general speeches to the empty chamber (and a C-Span camera). This, he said, was why people didn’t know me.

He further announced that it was likely our last day in session for the year, that we would pass the budget compromise and go home, thus, if I wanted to say something to the non-assembled during my first calendar year in the body, it would have to be by the end of the day. And he would have to arrange it…NOW.

I told him to set it up.

I didn’t want to say something just for the sake of saying it. This of course, is at odds with the way I’ve lived my life, but a representative, in my opinion, should talk when he means it and mean it when he talks. How’s that for naive idealism?

I mean, it’s not like I’m president or something and I have to dance around the truth to protect the fate of the world or some kidnapped insurance guy in Szfazi (a made-up country). I can talk or not talk and if I’m gonna talk, I’m gonna talk the talk. I watched Speaker Boehner last week slamming Democratic initiatives I damn well know he’s not against, with the fervor (and perhaps sincerity) of an evangelist. And I thought, how can someone do that, simply say what he’s expected to, whether he means it or not, regardless of larger consequences? Gotta admit, though, I’ve been impressed by the man this week. Maybe I’ll buy him a gallon of Gunky Orange for Christmas.

“Jim! Where does Boehner buy his gunk?”


Good question. I should have gone to that party. I passed it at the beginning of the night and it called out to me. Fun people, not like those uptight Slopers. It’s true what they say, racists never prosper. History doesn’t support that, I know, but wouldn’t I have had fun if I’d not been such a bigot? Clearly, my experience, and not the experience of the world, should make the rule.

Fuck. Why don’t they have bumper stickers anymore? I might have passed one that said “Racists Never Prosper” and my whole night would have been different. Or a t-shirt. Why don’t all t-shirts glow in the dark? True, I’ve never seen one that said “Racists Never Prosper” but I might have tonight. Maybe.

Don’t wanna drop my keys and wake somebody up. A lot of people seem out early, though. Holy shit, it’s 10AM, where are all the people?! Didn’t notice the day happening while I was walking home.

To the office, I mean.

Okay, yes, I’ve been living in the office. It’s an apartment, so why shouldn’t I? Before I was elected, I didn’t even have a real address, I was sleeping in a storage space. Not a storage PLACE, I’m not an animal (unless it’s necessary), but my friend uses a tiny apartment for storage and I lived in the aisle between the stacks of teetering boxes poised to tumble and kill me.

Wha…where are my keys? Don’t wanna drop ’em and… Oh yeah, it’s daytime. I can hurl ’em to the ground and it won’t mean nothin’ t…”YAAAAAAAAAAAGGGHHHHH!!!!!!!! (That’s not someone upset by falling keys. I got inside and am shriekin’ like a mofo.) WHO THE FUCK ARE YOU?!!”

“Will you stop yelling?”

“This CAN’T be the wrong apartment unless everybody uses the same key and THAT would only happen if they bought the locks at the 99 cent store. Wait, my used tissues are on the desk.”


“I didn’t say what I used them for.”

“We had a meeting scheduled. You were late.”

“Are you the girl I was supposed to interview? Didn’t you get my note?”

“It said to wait.”

“And you waited all night? You’re CRAZY. I would NEVER hire you. You SCARED me.”

“Awww. You got some messages. I told your answering service to unforward your calls and started taking them here. Not too many but the local Democratic club called this morning and I thought…”

“Okay, you’re hired. Tell everyone else who calls that I’m home today, a little under the weather.”

“You’re going home? Do you have a cell number I can…”

“I AM home. If you need me, shout. You didn’t move the couch, did you?”

Ah, my wonderful couch. All that’s left is the snoring. And the periods when I stop breathing due to apnea. I probably shouldn’t have hired that girl all cute like that, like you see in a movie, but that’s the way things are in my head, I’ve been ruined by movies and stuff just like everyone else. I’m sure I’ll regret my decision, but I’d regret any decision I’d make on any basis, so what the fuck.