In the new

“No matter how one may think himself accomplished, when he sets out to learn a new language, science, or the bicycle, he has entered a new realm as truly as if he were a child newly born into the world.” ~Frances Willard

So, go to this page – www.wufpac.org – designed by the wonderful Sean Slinsky.

Go to the About section.

Scroll down to Advisory Committee.

And do you see that first name there? The one that reads Heather Barmore*? Why that there be me all fancy and shit. And I promise not to turn this into a long diatribe as to the importance of woman in politics. Or tell the story of last week when I told a fairly young Assemblywoman that she needed to ‘hold it down’ for the rest of us. No, no, none of that. Just some good old fashioned HUZZAH-ing from me.

But I’d be remiss not to mention my unrelenting fascination between ‘New’ media and politics. Each day I feel as of I come across something new that closes that gap between the Beltway crowd and those they serve back home. The other day my congressman – who I respect immensely – started to follow me on Twitter. I still plan to swear and discuss Grey Goose of course but I must say that no matter the member, I enjoy that there are so many who put themselves out there as a way to to take communicating with their constituents to another level. I like openness and transparency and having some sort of connection to those who represent me presented in a fashion that makes it far easier for me to communicate and see what’s going on down there from up here.

I like being where we are and can’t help but constantly jot down how to make it better. But I’m not an expert. Not even close and I roll my eyes whenever I see someone who has been blogging for two years, announce that they are a social media expert. I think that we’re all learning how to use this relative newness to suit us and our lifestyles. And I, for one, am having fun.

*If you go back to my Life List  - which has since been edited – you’ll see that #28 says “Help to extend WUFPAC across the country”. I’m kind of starting to cross that off but not quite. Either way, it’s fun to whittle the list on down.

Posted in Blogology, Life List, Poliogue | Comments closed

Aha!

The act of putting pen to paper encourages pause for thought, this in turn makes us think more deeply about life, which helps us regain our equilibrium.  ~Norbet Platt

Let’s face it; I’m lazy. But I like to say indolent because either someone doesn’t know what it means or they’re so mesmerized by my use of a GRE word to care that I recently ran out of silverware and only did the dishes once I ran out of plasticware. See? Lazy. This is isn’t about my laziness. Though epic it’s a different type of ho-hum behavior that brings me to you today. I guess you could say that I am a waiter. Not in the apron wearing, how would you like that cooked? sense but in the I’ll wait for something to happen to me sense. It seems that I’ve turned from go! go after what you want to eh, I’ll just wait for it to come to me. Perhaps that works for others but I’ve found that my lackadaisical undertaking of life has put me in a perpetual funk. Trust me, it’s just funk, a bout of ennui perhaps but not a full blown moment of depression. Though my God enough of these ‘eh, whatever. Let’s go back to bed moments’ happen and suddenly I’m crying in my therapists office wondering whatever went wrong.

Back to the issue at hand: On Friday something awful happened. No one died, everyone is fine. It was an awfulness that can only really be explained and understood if I were to describe background, the players and give you my infamous wild gesticulating and inflection. Otherwise the story is lost on you because you weren’t there. And that’s fine because it isn’t want actually occurred that counts but how it made me feel. There was a brief moment during the dreaded event where I dug my nails into the fleshiest part of my forearm. I pressed harder hoping that I would be able to disappear from my location. I turned my shoulders inward making my body more concave and closed my eyes. Tight. It was the only way to remove myself from the situation, I suppose. Or maybe the natural reaction to an unnatural situation is to want to run. I couldn’t run though so I just sat there and waited it out and then left with two others. And on the way home we rehashed, had a moment of silence to think about what had happened, then went in on how it could have been different. I told my mother what happened on Saturday afternoon where she cringed right along with me. A mirror image if you’ve ever seen us together. She took me shopping and I found the perfect empire waist frock for a dinner next month. Problem solved, right? Wrong.

Though kind of because oh my God, I’m going to look so cute.

Friday was my Aha! moment. And selfishly so because what happened wasn’t about me but it did put everything that I have held dear for so many years, into perspective. I am this person with ideas and stories to tell but I’ve struggled with how to tell these stories because it’s not about the players but my feelings after the playing is done. Without giving away the ending – the one that has yet to be written but has been lived – I believe very strongly in something. To my core. And with a fiery passion. It’s the story that I – finally – want to tell. We all do what we do for a reason. We live our lives with a sense of purpose for greater good because I do believe in my heart of hearts that we want to do good things. We take different approaches of course but we all want to get to that place of Good. On Friday something I have always believed in but have a hard time articulating quite literally fell into my lap. In sum – so yeah, I’m giving you part of the ending – there are the minor few everywhere who become more notorious than those who are just trying to help. I want to tell the story of my encounters with those who aren’t famous. The regular old people that are passionate about the same thing I am passionate about.

On Friday I started that story.

Posted in Life List, On Writing | 4 Comments

Into Lemonade

“That’s it, I quit, I’m moving on” – Sam Cooke

Many weeks ago I had to purchase a new hard drive and it was a really awful thing. There will be some who take no pity and question why I’m flaunting new hardware for my thousand dollar MacBook. But then there will be the others who understand the pain of losing a huge part of your life. It’s not just a photo or a picture. It’s that picture where we look happy or this song that breaks my heart below the song that makes me jump on my bed. All of those things gone and now I’m left to start over from scratch. I remember going back to the Apple store days later to discuss my iWork versus Word dilemma and telling the hipster behind the Genius Bar that I was contemplating because I had to get a new hard drive and now I have nothing. And do you know what he did? That asshole said, “Yeah” all nonchalantly then he smirked. SMIRKED. Jerk.

So I here I sit in an awfully humid – like DC in July humid or New York City in August (you poor people have no clue what you’re getting yourselves into) (heh) (now I’m smirking) – office staring at my sparse iTunes library. I’m only now realizing that there are entire chunks of albums that are missing. I mean I currently have three songs from the Once soundtrack and all of Contra is into thin air and oh my God, John Legend? Singing what is sure to be my wedding song? Gone, baby. Gone. This is where you come in, my loyal readers and followers: What music should I buy? See, lemons into lemonade. I now have the power and this vast emptiness with which to fill with all sorts of new music. I also now have Time Machine that I use once a week as to avoid this crappy situation once again. On the other hand my hard drive is kinda of naked and dire need of a new wardrobe. Who am I to say no?

Posted in Humdrum | 11 Comments

“Having mom friends keeps my ovaries in check”

“There’s a period of life when we swallow a knowledge of ourselves and it becomes either good or sour inside.”  ~Pearl Bailey

One of my colleagues recently had a baby. Well he didn’t have a baby but his wife had a baby but you get what I mean. He works from home and with the newborn we have been meeting at his house. After our meetings I announce, “I’m going to hold your baby”. I pick up said newborn and talk to her in my baby voice, asking, ‘who’s the ‘cutest wittle baby in da world?!?’ I do this enough to get her – The Divine Miss E. – to eek out a half smile. I hold her until she gets creaky and cranky and pass her off to one of her parental units because far be it for me to get shrieked at for whatever babies get upset about. Air? Wind? Being looked at funny? Being looked at in general? AIR? Regardless little does my colleague know that though yes it is convenient to meet at his house the real reason – and I’ve been waffling back and forth as to whether or not I wanted to say this out loud – well, the real reason that I like to meet at his house is because there’s a baby at his house.

A baby. A little snuggly, cuddly baby. And as of late babies have had this odd affect on me. I see a baby and it feels like my ovaries and uterus are going mutiny. My lady bits are standing there ready to charge. Fists a-blazing ready to go. What it feels like is my lady parts are on PST and I’m on EST and currently our clocks ain’t synching.

Ya’ll I seem to have developed an intense biological need to procreate.

Mother. Fucker.

This is funny. As in HA fucking HA funny because my mother never had this need. I could mention all of this to her and she’d ask if I were high. She wasn’t all that into kids in the first place and then she had me and she realized, ‘Eh, they’re not so bad’ and so she had Garrett. Me? Oh ho ho. I will make this as short and sweet as possible but I recently told my friend Alana that I wanted to have a baby. Not today. God no but then I presented a very strategic time line not based on my life but on actual rational arguments. I expected to be laughed out of the restaurant and she actually told me that it was GOOD that I was thinking of this NOW and that it was GOOD that I am prepared in this way. And then she proceeded to point out all of the glorious things that parenthood brings. Like wiping someones ass and being woken up at 5 fucking thirty in the morning and that intense pain of loving some little bald person more than yourself. So much that your heart might explode.

Alana said that having a kid is something that you have to do without thinking. There’s no preparation. You just jump and hope there’s a safety net and you land. I’ve never admitted this as fully as I am right now. I’ve said it out loud and casually but I want that pain and torture. I’m shocked and obviously unprepared and no, this will not be occurring anytime soon. But! But. I want to jump because someway, somehow I know that it will be worth it.

Posted in Whoa feelings | 16 Comments

Freud says…

“Dreaming permits each and every one of us to be quietly and safely insane every night of our lives.”  ~William Dement

Over the last several weeks – and I’ve been hesitant to mention this because, my God, what will The People say – but over the last several weeks I have been privy to a string of interesting dreams. And interesting would be putting my nighttime REM party mildly. I awake not feeling refreshed and recharged but checking my phone and my surroundings to see if what had happened then was just a figment of my hyperactive imagination or reality. I’ve been fired very sternly and when that dream occurred on a Saturday, I awoke on Sunday at 6:30 AM ready to save myself and make a grocery list that consisted of Ramen Noodles and maybe a can of Spaghetti-O’s. I was sleeping at my mother’s house that evening and so I went up to her room to tell her my tale. That my boss had fired me and she agreed with him and because I was so angry that she agreed with him I didn’t want to speak to her and then I ended up moving out of my apartment – meanwhile crying because it’s a Recession and there are no jobs – so I could live with my cousin.

My mother just ‘mmm hmm-ed’ her way through my story only stopping to ask if her hair looked ok after using a new flat iron.

A few days later it happened again. Then again. And every few days or so I’d wake up, look around and force myself to believe that no, no, everything is just fine. And then last night was a doozy: My father and his long-term girlfriend (question: are they called ‘girlfriends’ when the people involved are over 60? What would the proper word for this type of relationship be?) had a baby. Seriously.  A BABY. That wasn’t even the strangest part the part that threw me for a loop was when we (my boss, some other colleagues, my brothers and my cousin – trust me, none of these people would I host at a dinner party together. Oil and water and milk.) were at the hospital but the hospital was next to the mall. Not our mall, mind you, but some random mall that had a two story Ruby Tuesday that was like the size of a Macy’s. Also making an appearance in said dream were the IRS and my aunt who died last year. Joining me via telephone was my former boss now colleague and another colleague with whom I have a perfectly wonderful relationship.

If I could give names and composites of these people and how they do not intertwine I suppose it would all make far more sense to you. Because right now it is coming across as dreams usually do when told to a second or third party; which is a hearty ‘huh’. I mean what response can you have to a dream about a bunch of people you don’t know? But that isn’t my problem. Clearly these dreams are starting to become a problem for each morning I wake up with an anecdote. One should not have anecdotes come dawn about something that occurred between the hours of 11 PM and 6 AM. The only story that should come from ones mouth about that time of day should be about the amount of drool or the sheet crease impressions left on your cheek. Not about how clearly something in your head is completely out of whack.

I don’t know. Perhaps it’s the increase in medication? In lieu of being consumed by hypomania during the day I must experience extraordinary brain activity at night? Though I’m sure Freud would have something to say about why my boss continues to make an appearance in my dreams. Digression: I’ve told my boss about each one and he just laughs. Like ‘oh ho ho, Heather, you’re a special one’ and then goes about his day. But…and I keep saying but…I just wonder – out loud of course – what it all means. Then again I shouldn’t worry too much. They’re just dreams. Right?

It’s just a dream.

Posted in Humdrum | 5 Comments