I love voting.
It makes me feel all grown up and stuff.
When I went off to college, and even when I lived across the country for grad school, I still stayed registered to vote in my home county because I knew I’d eventually move back to California (and plus I’ve never lived in a swing state, or I would’ve re-registered before you could say “Bain Capital”).
Because of this setup, I voted absentee via the mail. That was cool an’ all, but it wasn’t the experience I was craving. I wanted the anticipation of standing in line at the polling place. I wanted to feel the rush as my name was crossed off a list and I was handed a ballot. I wanted to feel the urge to do something naughty in the privacy of the voting booth – and then feel proud when I resisted it. I wanted to actually physically participate in the action, the ritual of voting rather than just putting a piece of paper in the mail like I was sending off a bill.
And, let’s face it, I wanted that damn sticker. I wanted the bragging rights.
Needless to say, when I found my Big Girl Job and moved permanently back to Norcal, I registered in my new county and got to start voting in person on election day, and boy it was everything I had hoped for and more.
My local polling place turned out to be the fire station that is down the street from my apartment. Can you believe my luck?! Few things are sexier than voting, and one of those things is a firefighter drinking a glass of milk or washing a fire truck (or both). Put those things together, and you have one civicly responsible, hot-and-bothered pair of Lyssapants.
This explains why I carry a gallon of milk with me when I go to vote.
Happy voting, everyone!!
Oh my goodness! If I got to vote near them, I would bring milk too! But probably to cool the burning flame in my pants. I’ll leave it up to them to choose to drink the milk afterwards or not. Aye carumba!
I’ve only voted in person once. It was not very exciting because I lived in the ghetto at the time, and was surrounded by things you only see in horror flicks & anything in the “Scary Movie” series. Seriously. everything from creepy prison inmate to a guy with pacifiers in his hair. Now I live in WA where voting is all done through the mail.
Luckily for me though, I can fulfill my need to procrastinate while doing it and still get a sticker when I drop it off at my kids’ school on the last possible day of voting.
Pacifiers in hair really creeps me out. I don’t blame you for not voting in person.
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Creative title! I have nothing to say as far as that pic is concerned, though…
Everybody loves the Britney pre-head shaving.
We had the paper ballots that go through the scanner.
I miss the old booths with the levers. No opportunity for “naughty” at the scanners.
Hmph.
Levers? Like a slot machine?
Sounds like fun! Bring me a G&T, please.
I can`t vote :( Nothing is more depressing than living in a country for 8 years as a foreigner. In any case, when Canada does accept me as part of the family, I will go all out in red and white, sing the O Canada and wait in line watching the mounty police drink maple syrup flavored coffee (because maple syrup milk is just gross).
I eagerly await the day!!
My polling place is a gym/health center. Not nearly as exciting as a fire station.
But I hear you on the voting in person on election day vs. absentee. When I was in college I voted absentee. And now I vote in person on the big day. Because I want the sticker.
See, you know what’s up.
Mine is by a senior home so less defined abs and more milk drinking.
I guess you can’t always have it all.
Yay being a grownup and voting! I do it for the stickers too. Love me some voting swag.
If I’m lucky, they get me free drinks.
We can only vote by mail here in Oregon. I definitely miss the rush of going to the polls when I lived in San Jose.
Aw. Live vicariously through me and my sexy, milk-filled firemen.
Jeez, ours is at a jr. high school, which only serves as a reminder that it’s SO GOOD to not be in jr. high anymore. So many sulky pre-teens. Happy Voting, America!
Sulky pre-teens have a special place in my heart that’s rimmed with black eyeliner.
Jealous. My polling place is at the registration center of a public golf course. It lacks the glamour the “golf course” might imply, and lacks firemen altogether. Voting fail. But I’ll go anyway. I crave the sticker.
Bring some milk. Or set a fire. Maybe that will attract some firefighters!