Quirkee.com

Barack Obama got a new job on Tuesday (and the party at my house is still going strong). But with unemployment in this country reaching Terror Alert Orange, the rest of us are now in the market too. Hopefully it won't take us as long as it did our new Prez.

I've been self-employed for fifteen years - which, of course, means I never get a vacation, have no one to blame for mistakes but myself, and hardly ever get sexually-harassed. Well, there was last Thursday, but I didn't report it...

Halloween is supposed to be scary. Although it's scarier where I live. In Eugene, Oregon people dress, shall we say "unusually," 365 days of the year, so you don't dare say "Cool costume!" when you walk by someone in a bride of Frankenstein outfit because there's an outside chance that's what she (or he) wears to work every day. It's like reaching out to pat someone's belly and asking how pregnant they are, only to be met with a cold stare and a defensive, "I'm not pregnant, I'm a guy. And I'm on Jenny Craig."

But this year, Halloween is confusing for everyone, rolled up as it is in the middle of a giant election burrito. If someone shows up at your door with a chainsaw he could be a trick or treater OR a politician fed up with negative campaigning. One will want a miniature Snickers bar and the other your vote AND a handful of Snickers bars for all the members of his staff who all have low blood sugar after months of living off energy drinks and power bars.

I worry about the Undecideds. Sure, they're all the rage now, what with the media swarming around them like flies around a day-old pastrami sandwich. But what's going to become of them once the election is, uh, decided?

For a while I have to admit I was a little jealous of the Uns. Had I known that all it would take to get my fifteen minutes of fame was the inability to make up my mind, that's a path I would have chosen for myself months ago. Or would I? See, there's the rub. If I were truly undecided, could I make any life choices? Paper, plastic? Coffee, tea? Subprime mortgage, financial solvency?

A friend of mine (I'll call her Stanza just to screw with her mind) talked me into opening a Facebook account recently. Either my immune system was weak or my friend had done some kind of hypnotherapy on me with the pendant she always wears because usually I say "No" to things that require me to learn stuff like how to send plants that don't exist to people I barely know to dig into their virtual gardens.

Now that I'm on the Facebook train, I've found yet another thing I suck at royally. I make a lousy online friend. When I do occasionally log on because I've got three free seconds between items #14 and #15 on my To Do List, I'm overwhelmed by all the good karma and IQ challenges and love bites or whatever that people have sent me. And the truth is, up until that moment, I haven't actually been thinking about them. Please don't hate me for that.

I like Halloween. And I like sex. Just not both at the same time.

I went to Spirit Halloween last weekend in search of something to wear to a business Halloween party. From what I discerned, most of the costumes for sale these days are not appropriate for the office unless your business is porn. And thanks to YouTube, you show up in one of these outfits at the company party and you'll be haunted for many Halloweens to come.

There are hundreds, if not thousands web stores that cater to customers wanting French maids outfits and Catholic school girl costumes to live out their fantasies in the privacy of their own homes. Don't ask me how I know this. And I totally get how a young, size zero coed (who, according to my understanding of math, don't actually exist since zero isn't a real number), might want to dress like a slut for a campus party before settling down a less adventuresome life as a maid, Catholic school teacher, or Republican nominee for vice president. But the rest of us grown-ups, especially we women of a certain age whose fantasies are less of the "pirate rips off our bustier" and more of the "husband picks up own laundry" variety, would really appreciate a costume that says "I can relax and enjoy myself," not "Looking for a good time, mister?"

As I have mentioned in this column before, I used to be a debater in high school and college, which is how I managed to stay a virgin for so long. I usually keep this information (the debater part, not the virgin part) to myself, but every four years as the presidential and vice presidential candidates gear up for their own debates, I offer myself up as an expert. A nerdy expert most people avoid at parties, but an expert nonetheless.

Here, then, are my suggestions for effective debating, honed after six years "on the circuit" as we say in debate circles:

Want to wake up your inner revolutionary child?  It's easier than you think -- all you need to do is replace phrases like "Roth IRA" and "multivitamin with extra Gingko" with 60's-speak, man!   But before you do, check this dictionary to see what your favorite 60's slogans mean in the 21st century! Can you dig it?

I'm no Sarah Palin (although I do look like her with my hair up... of course I also look like Patty Hearst and that woman the national media nicknamed "The Runaway Bride" a few years ago, so draw your own conclusions.)

As I was saying, I'm no Sarah Palin. Nor am I Hillary Clinton, but I believe... no, make that, I KNOW I have the experience to single-handedly fix what's broke in this country. Look ma, no modesty! I'm a shoo-in for national office! After all, I live in a town bigger than the one Sarah mayored, and for the past year, I've been my city's official reigning Queen (if you need to vet me, go to www.slugqueeneugene.com. I'm the 2007 Queen). In fact, Vice President would be kind of like a step down for me, if you really want to know the truth. I'm used to having people curtsy and hand over their chocolate.

This past weekend I bought a 1974 issue of Sunset magazine at a garage sale. I needed a flashback and the only drugs in the house were Estrogen and BenGay.

What struck me most as I browsed through the issue was how much things have changed and how much they have remained the same. For example, there was an ad for "The New Datsun 710." Amazingly, the car came in both orange AND yellow. The tagline read, "The driving man's economy car." The driving woman, on the other hand, was forced to drive the Pinto station wagon a few pages further back in the magazine, and apparently she did so while wearing a long flowing skirt and flowers in her hair. Oddly enough, there wasn't a soccer ball in sight. The wealthy folk - with felt hats, cigars and long sideburns - tooled around town in the Caprice Classic, whose ad boasted "For people who think driving is something the car should do."