So, today is yet another provincial election in la Nouvelle-Ecosse.
[Why do I drop in random French words? Who do I think I’m fooling? I had cute blonde french girlfriends do all of my french homework in high school.]
The oxymoronic Progressive Conservatives are currently in power, but, hopefully not for long. And I know that it is bad form to discuss religion or politics with folks, but this is my blog, suckas, so deal.
The poll opened at 8:00 am, and by 8:30 I was turning into the parking lot. I realllllllly enjoy voting Liberal. I just do. And after I cast my vote, I once again felt that familiar buzz of striking a blow for good over evil.
As I drove out of the parking lot, I noticed the “service engine soon” light on in the truck. I assume that the PC party is somehow involved.
I should mention that the Liberal candidate that I voted for today is a very good friend and a college roommate of mine. So, I know where the bodies are buried. I may have even tossed a couple shovels full of dirt myself. I kid. He’s never done anything wrong in his life… except for the stories that will show up in my tell-all biography on him. Shhhhhhh.
Beyond this, voting Liberal is hardwired into my DNA. It’s right in there with freakish height and lack of patience.
As I walk up to each ballot box, I can hear the shuffling of past generations getting ready to roll over in their graves if I make the “wrong” decision.
Not that I actually COULD vote for another party. If, say, Hitler was running for the Liberals in my riding, I’d just refuse to vote. Not that we’d nominate Hitler or anything. (The NDP might. I’m just sayin’.)
My grandparents were hardcore Liberals. My grandfather even let the Liberals use his house as their headquarters during an election. Or two maybe. (Which turned out to be where I met a super cute blonde french girlfriend.)
My grandfather’s brother was even harder corer. He’d be willing to throw-down in the parkinglot of a polling station if someone said the wrong thing to him. He’d also get drunk, throw his fridge out of his house, and the next day need 4 people to help him bring it back in.
Back in the day, bottles of liquor were a staple of elections around these parts. Someone would pick you up, drive you to vote, then give you a pint of rum. But this, sadly like party patronage, faded. My grandfather’s brother once made me go to the liquor store for him to buy some pints of rum. I was 16 at the time. Did I mention the freakish height?
I did have a falling out with the Liberal party a decade and a half ago or so. They decided to vote out a fellow Cape Bretoner as the leader of the party. I was heartbrokeneded. I stood at the convention yelling “Nooooo!” and “Shaaaaaaame!” with a friend of mine.
As it turns out, that was the same friend that I voted for today.
Full circle, bitches. Full circle.