OK, so this is the sob story of what happens when a suburban mama for Obama (me) tries to show my support for my candidate in a tangible way.
It's not pretty, so if you have a weak stomach you may want to quit reading right here.
So this past week I got up my nerve and stopped in to our local Obama office. I say "I got up my nerve" because we just moved to FL and I'm still officially in my hermit mode, where the idea of talking to anyone and making connections is still a little overwhelming.
But I thought to myself, Screw that! My country NEEDS me, dammit!
So I pushed down my Woe Is Me mindset and toodled on over to our local Obama office to ask for a sign.
"We don't have any signs," the lady said.
OK, then how about a button?
"You can have one of those." She pointed to a tray of Gay Pride for Obama pins. "That's all we have."
Now, that's all well and good but 1) I'm not gay and 2) I'm not proud. So I passed up the pins, deciding to come back on a different day.
OK. Let's just start with a bumper sticker, then. I mentally started making plans for a trip to Michael's so I could get magnetic backing for the bumper sticker and didn't notice she was pointing to a small pile of Hispanics for Obama bumper stickers.
"Help yourself. That's all we've got."
As a straight, white, lapsed yet still repressed Irish Catholic, I declined her kind offer and immediately started feeling guilty for not accepting any of the goodies.
"Well, we just got those posters in. You can have one of those if you want." She pointed to a huge Obama Vote poster. Awesome!
I snapped one up, then grabbed another. In a house with 2 kids, one of anything interesting is ALWAYS a bad idea.
"Is there someone I can talk to about volunteering?" I asked. The words just jumped out.
"Oh sure!" She directed me down the hallway, and the next thing I knew I'd signed up to do phonebanking and canvassing. All of a sudden being out of the house talking to people in my new hometown didn't seem like such a godawful thing.
Deciding to see how far this new happy place would take me, I asked the Obama organizer person when they'd be getting more yard signs.
"Oh, I've got a bunch. I'll get you one." And she did.
And I turned around and headed home, psyched I'd gotten out to meet people, psyched I'd be helping out on the Obama campaign, and psyched I'd gotten 2 cool posters out of the deal.
As soon as I got home, I planted the yard sign on our front lawn, then took one of the bigass posters and taped it into our front window.
I couldn't wait for my next-door neighbor to see it. He ran every morning in his NOBAMA shirt. Huh. This was going to be fun.
My husband raised his eyebrow at me when he got home. "Way to get the neighborhood stirred up."
I snorted. "Last time I checked, this was still a free country."
"All righty then," he said, and that was it. He knows better to push a point with me, because we both know I am always right.
Next morning, sun is shining, birds are chirping, and I'm taking my dog for his poo walk. NOBAMA guy jogs past me, we exchange pleasantries, and that was that.
See? My hubby was getting all knotted up for no good reason.
Later that afternoon I am working in my office when my dog starts barking like crazy. I look up from the computer and see an old man with white hair looking in the window. I waved to him, figuring he was the bug guy coming by to give me an estimate. About half an hour goes by, he doesn't come to the front door with an estimate, so I figure he's just mailing it in.
Doorbell rings again. This time it IS the bug guy. He is not old. He does not have white hair. I ask if he's here with anyone, he says no.
I go into low-grade freakout mode, but there's nothing I can do. I mean, what can I do? I try to chalk it up to Lost Old Guy syndrome and hope he got home all right.
Bug Guy, the real bug guy, comes and goes. I go back to work and don't think anything about it.
Then I get an email from my hubby. Our realtor contacted him (we're renting the house we are living in until we sell the house we moved from....we just relocated)...anyway, the realtor contacted him to tell him that the seller's realtor contacted her to tell us that yard signs are not allowed in the neighborhood and we needed to take it down.
Now, I've only met the seller of the house once. They moved across town somewhere. So obviously there's some Homeland Security thingy going on here.
OK fine. Be that way. But I'm on my way to get my kids from school and drop them off at various after school activities.
I come home and slow down my car as I get close to the house. There is a large yellow VIOLATION sticker plastered to both sides of the Obama sign, with a HUGE note about how we are breaking the covenants, blah blah blah, and it has to be removed.
Slinking into the front yard after I park the car, I yank the sign out of the ground and skulk back into the house, feeling like a criminal. Was anyone watching me? Did anyone see? Are they all talking about me?
My face gets hot just thinking about it.
I haven't seen anyone from the neighborhood since it happened. I wonder if there is a secret newsletter with our name on it somewhere.
Then I try to get a grip on myself and remember what's important: the bigass Obama poster I've got plastered in my front window.
You know, there are a lot of reasons we need to make sure we get Obama elected on November 4. But for me, right now, PWNING my narcing uptight neighbors is right near the top of the list.
GOBAMA! And thanks for reading.