(California PolitiChick “Juliet Montague” is a closeted Hollywood Conservative. She is a commercial actress and brilliant comedic writer/author who enjoys dirty martinis and long walks on the beach with her ancient dog Buddy. Editor)
I live in Hollywood, just three blocks south of Sunset and Vine. This is an extremely dangerous area for a Republican, let alone an older woman pushing an aging, arthritic Maltese in a stroller. Thank goodness for the 2nd Amendment. So many tourists have taken little Buddy’s picture that I’m going to get him a Romney-Ryan baby t-shirt. I was going to buy him a toddler’s Hollywood shirt, but everyone already knows which area of Los Angeles they are visiting. The mattress on the corner is a dead giveaway.
Ole Buddy and I enjoyed the wrestling match (aka Presidential Debate) last night. Fired up by a dry and dirty Martini, I was totally in tune to the various political points made by both sides during their second prizefight. After the second Martini, I was singing along to the President’s tune, I beg your pardon. I never promised you a rose garden, and a few other terrorist attack hymns. Along with the sunshine, there’s got to be a blasphemy Muslim video sometimes.
Into the third Martini, I could swear that I heard Mr. President pass gas. After all, he did have steak and potatoes right before the debate, and we all know this will cause bloat in an already inflated ego. Or maybe he kept jumping up and off his chair due to nicotine withdrawals. I can relate.
During Martini no. 4, the referee seemed to continually interrupt with a comment on the tried-and-true fashion trend for all body types: Like that great black cocktail dress with a shock of white pearls.
Chewing vodka soaked olives, I found myself crawling closer to the television when Governor Romney mentioned something about binders full of chicks and how he’d let me go home from work by five. I was thoroughly offended. As a court stenographer, I left the courthouse at four-thirty.
Sucking on alcohol infused ice cubes, I was very disappointed that neither candidate was giving away free Internet dating memberships as part of any health plan to a post-menopausal single woman in need of treatment. It’s a fair exchange, since I won’t be turning in an insurance claim for free birth control pills or an abortion any time soon.
Outside on the sidewalk is my little Scion—the cute one, not the boxy egg roll delivery one. On each side window is a sticker for Hollywood Congress of Republicans in snappy red, white, and blue, complete with an antagonizing little elephant. Taped inside of my back window is a Romney/Ryan 2012 bull’s eye. So far my car has not been keyed, egged, or riddled by an assault rifle. Maybe there is still peace in this world.
Or maybe I am truly shameless.