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my big fat republican weekend

Some of my best friends are Republican.

I know, I know. The slackmistress, she of the frequently pink-purple-or-red hair, the five-inch platform boots, the scads of leather-and-vinyl clothing, has been known to associate with members of Elephas persuasion. It wasn’t intentional, no more so that it was unintentional. I happen to be one of those people who just likes people. (Puppy-kickers excluded, of course.)

Friday night found me at the birthday party of a somewhat-new-friend who I’ve felt like I’ve known forever. K. started reading me a few years back. I was dating L. at the time, and he was advising her on the rocky road of women and weight loss. She started commenting in my blog, but I still hadn’t a clue who she was until one day she wrote me a pick-yourself-up-by-your-bootstraps letter and invited me to attend a media party with her. I reluctantly agreed. I was terrified walking into a party of journalists and pundits and Really Smart People, but mostly I was terrified of meeting someone who had the ability to just Figure Things Out, like K. K. led me about the party, introducing me to people and talking up the slack. I left feeling like Cinderella, except with a wallet full of business cards instead of minus a glass slipper.

Friday night found me fighting freeway traffic in the rain, my stomach doing somersaults at the idea of walking into a party where I only knew the host. I slowly navigated my pink Mini through the slick streets Beachwood Canyon, straining to read addresses in the dark. I had planned on arriving early, so I could save myself the embarrassment of walking into a Party Full of People I Didn’t Know. The festivities were just getting started and the house was filled with music, wine and food. I let myself in and wished K. happy birthday, and then re-introduced myself to her friend Cathy Seipp and Cathy’s daughter M.

I had met Cathy at the media party a few months back. She’s not hard to miss; she has that sort of penetrating stare that makes you want to tell her things, even if you have to make them up. I imagine in her career as a journalist, this isn’t a terrible trait to possess.

After the media party, K. had insisted that I check out Cathy’s blog. It wasn’t the prettiest page on the World Wide Web, but my long-time readers will know that the slackmistress won’t throw stones regarding this particular topic. But her blog was well-written. I found her charming, smart, and well-reasoned. I scrolled down the page and saw her quoting a National Review article that she had written. I cocked my head to the side like a dog hearing a strange noise. But that’s a conservative publication, I thought. That’s not right.*

…except that it was.

The more I read Cathy, the more I liked her. She’s smart, informed, and explains herself clearly and concisely. She’s not afraid to call anyone – right or left – on their crap.

I don’t agree with her all of the time (I am a bleeding-heart liberal, of course) but even when I disagree, I totally understand her point of view.

Cathy’s daughter, while only sixteen, has an offbeat sense of humor that bubbled up to the surface in fits and starts over the course of the evening. She also had a level of self-possession that I found myself wishing I had had at sixteen. I couldn’t help but to be charmed by her and her mother. Although I attempted not to follow Cathy around like a fan with a girl-crush, I don’t know if I was successful.

I had initially planned on staying at the party for an hour, but I found myself having fun. Completely out of my element and knowing no one, I wandered up to groups, introduced myself, and actually talked to people. I conversed with one of K’s former co-workers about Hollywood Hell and with one of her friends about the State of Horror Movies (said friend? The lead in Texas Chainsaw Massacre 2!) I may have inadvertently flirted with someone. Three hours later, with promises to see each other soon, I bid everyone farewell and headed home to a grateful Daisy.

Nineteen hours later, I was back in the Mini with my hood pointing east toward Glendale, where I was going to hang out with my friends W. and K. at W’s house. I had met them both during my tenure at Large Internet Company.

W. and K. are both Republicans. K. just looks the part. When I met her at Large Internet Company, I remember thinking she was like Teflon; nothing seemed to stick to her. She had a heart-shaped face framed by famous WASP combo meal of blonde-hair-and-blue-eyes. She was Children of the Damned meets Pasadena Society. I hated her on sight. She looked like everyone who I always wanted to look like. She looked like everyone I went to school with. She looked like Them.

Over time, I realized she could be snarky and self-deprecating, that she was funny and honest and hated putting up with bullshit. She had a laugh you could hear across the room.

W. didn’t look the part, but she made up for it in fervor. Saturday night found us huddled around her outdoor fireplace in the poolside cabana (hey, they’re Republican, they have money!) talking politics and boys. We laughed, we smoked, we drank wine. W. made the comment

Y’know, women can talk politics and totally disagree and then we can change the subject to makeup and totally be over it. When men disagree about politics, they just pissed off.

With which we all agreed.

A few weeks ago, I tried to turn a friend of mine onto Cathy’s blog. The friend emailed me:

Um, she’s a Republican.

I know, I responded, but she’s smart. You know, they’re not all gun-toting rednecks. Like we’re not all tree-hugging hippies?

I, the slackmistress, am still a pinko commie liberal. In tune with my lefty ways, I want gay couples to have the right to a legal union and abortion to stay legal. However, I also sometimes put my recyclables in the black garbage can if I don’t have room in the blue. And I refuse to support a single Democrat who tries to regulate my right to have my dog.

I am the slackmistress.

And some of my best friends are Republican.




*pun not intended