Election day is tomorrow.

And I couldn't be more excited. Beyond the fact that all of the mudslinging slam ads will come off of television and radio, and all of the obnoxiously colored signs will be pulled from the streets, I'm excited to vote for technically the first time.

I know. I'm 22 years old, meaning I was old enough during the 2004 presidential election to vote. I tried. I tried to vote in the Democratic primary as well. "Tried" being the operative word in both of these sentences.

The Democratic primary was my very first voting experience. I was pumped. I got up earlier than usual so that I could hit the polls before work, I had no idea how long it would take. My polling place, which I had verified the night before, was a little church nestled in the debaucherous bars of Tempe. I parked, but didn't see any lines or people for that matter, and got a little concerned. But as I went inside, I was greeted by a few seniors (the elderly kind, not the about to graduate kind) who seemed very excited to have a voter, especially a young one. Or maybe I had spinach in my teeth and they got the giggles out of it. I wasn't on their list of people to vote there. I verified my address and they assured me that I was in the right place.

"You are registered Democrat, right?"
"Well, no, I'm registered independent."
"Oh, there's the problem. You have to be registered Democrat."
"Wait. Arizona is an open primary state [another fact that I quadruple checked before hand]. That means that as a voter registered independent, I get to choose which primary to vote in. And since Bush is an incumbent candidate, and there is only one primary, I get this one."
"Well, all of that is true. Except this isn't a 'primary' it is a Democratic candidate selection poll [or something else equally ridiculous, I don't really remember what she said]. And you have to be registered Democrat to vote in those."

So I left. I left, and I cried. I know, laugh at the stupid girl who gets worked up and cries. But this was serious to me. It was my first opportunity to exercise my right to vote, and I followed the rules. Before I registered independent, I made 1,000% sure that we were an open primary state. I followed the rules, and still got screwed. So I cried. Get over it.

The funny thing is that people in power wonder why young people don't vote. Or why any people don't vote for that matter. After my first experience, I [and I hate to say this] understand better why people don't vote. They have a bad experience, and so they don't go back. Not me though, I had a Bush to vote out of office, and nothing was keeping me away from exercising that right in November of 2004. Or so I thought.

In October and November of 2004, ASU was buzzing, as we had the opportunity to host the final of the series of presidential debates leading up to the elections. Being a journalism student, I had the opportunity to work with a division of ABC and actually be in that scary looking high-security area. I had to get a background check and all that jazz to get my press pass. We even got to write press releases and put together packages in class regarding the debates. I was so pumped about this election, it was a bit silly.

Election day comes around. Again, I'm prepared. I check the polling place, and it's the same as last time. I've moved since registering, but never changed anything, so I went by the old address. The line was long, but not Space Mountain long, so I wasn't too worried. Until the time kept ticking on, and on, and on. So I missed my Tuesday night class. Too bad, it was voting time. And the time passed easily because most of the people in the line were ASU students, and generally friendly. There was a rotating group of people who brought snacks and drinks to us. Sweet. I was still pretty hungry and, with a little persuasion on my part, got a pizza delivered to the line. I shared my pineapple pizza with my fellow voters as the sun was setting. It was romantic.

As we finally got close enough to the door that we could see inside the building, we started getting yelled at for things like talking, and laughing, and I think looking the wrong way. I got inside, up to the table, and lo and behold, I'm not on the list. The man who was working's bedside manner had either faded with the day or never existed in the first place. Before I could even ask any questions, he was quick to answer them

"You're probably in the wrong place. You could try to go to another one, but you'll probably get there too late, and it would probably be the wrong place too. You could fill out a provisional ballot here, but it probably won't count. Because you're probably in the wrong place."

To his surprise, I took the provisional ballot. Not that he made my odds sound good, but there was no way in hell I was just going to walk away. So I filled it out. He gave me my copy of some paper with a number on it. He said I could call to check if my vote counted the following day, but it "probably wouldn't." I thanked him and left. And you guessed it, I cried. I was confused, didn't understand what happened, and to top it off, the guy was a real jerk. Not only did I cry, I called my dad, and cried. Lay off, I just care.

I never called. I didn't want to know that it didn't count. I wanted to hold on to the hope that it did. So I didn't call.

And now, two terrible voting experiences in my back pocket, all I want to do is go to the polls tomorrow and be a voter. I want my sticker. I want to get my sticker, wear it to work, and know that it actually means something this time. I want to have a good experience so I can tell all of my lame ass friends that don't vote, that it's worth it. That sure, I got shit on by the system twice, but there's no way I'm going to let that keep me down. I have a right to vote, and I will never let a shitty system or crab ass election worker take that away from me.

And neither should anyone else.