huck

When I first climbed aboard the Barack Bus, I didn’t know a soul. Hoping to avoid a Forrest Gump “seat’s tay-kuhn” moment with some addled septuagenarian, I plopped down next to Bridget. It seemed a safe bet that she would neither snore nor go berserk and saw my head off with picnicware in a cannibalistic freak-out like that recent incident in Canada.

Far from it! Turns out she’s a sociology professor at Virginia College and worked at The Settlement Home – a foster care facility for wayward girls – for three years like my friend Heather. Turns out she thinks she actually KNOWS Heather from back in the day. LOL, AUSTIN!!!

Anyway, she’s totally nice and a great Obama policy tutor slash first friend on a strange bus.

After changing into my limited edition Obama “Land of Enchantment” Tee Shirt, I shoved back off in this awesome lady named Meredith’s old white Volvo. Joining us were new friends Anne (front passenger), Rachel (HuffPo bloggie and middle rear passenger), and my beautiful bus buddy Bridget (rear right and alliteration.) We held court for some time regarding how to best divide our doorbells (“Look, you guys take Cedarwood Lane and WE’LL take Woodcedar Drive…” etc.), finally venturing back out into Suburbia.

Let me whisper in your ear: Angie was my first canvassing partner and reason #1,200,788 that the Democratic party rocks. I was glad to be in her corner for my first foray into one-on-one campaigning.

She does not take shit from anyone, and I felt a pang of vulnerability when she had to take off. Sigh.

What I wouldn’t do for a gurney. Barack had better win this thing, and dedicate it to all the six foot plus volunteers whose various appendages fell asleep, one-by-one, in a way that escaped their actual brains.

For someone as passionate about politics as I am, it’s a bit disingenuous of me to cleave so to my chosen party – the Dems, natch – without ever having given time or money to a campaign. This weekend, I’m doing both: ponying up some fliff and traveling to New Mexico with a bus full of similarly inclined folks where we’ll canvass for the Hopester. Surprisingly, there are no hippies in this caravan, unless they’re disguised – Mission Impossible-style – like earnest soccer moms and grad students.

P.S. Amanda, notice your boy Brandon in the back left.