No, Hillary is NOT “worse than Trump.”

I get it. It’s a rock and a hard place. Trump is the Scylla, and Hillary is the Charybdis. You hate them both. You wanted Bernie Sanders, and now that he’s out, you’re taking your toys and going home. The game is rigged, and your little slingshot is no match for the Goliath that is American Politics.

But the next time I hear the phrase “Hillary is WORSE than Trump,” I’m gonna have to start pulling the tab on my can of whoop-ass. On what planet is *anyone* worse than Trump? I would vote for my cat before I voted for Trump! My cat’s main hobbies include sleeping and barfing up hairballs, 2 things that would probably be more beneficial to this country than a Trump presidency. Never mind that he’s loud, annoying, brash, rude and has bad hair. Let’s focus on things he says.

Let’s break it down:

  1. Trump is pretty racist, and not shy about letting the world know it.
  2. Trump thinks nothing of committing war crimes.
  3. He is not great about being pro-choice, if he is, he considers pandering to pro-lifers more important than defending abortion.
  4. He wants to repeal the Affordable Care Act. I mean, Obamacare is not perfect, but it’s better than nothing.
  5. He thinks climate change is a hoax, and wants to do away with the EPA.
  6. He wants to also do away with the Department of Education and put more funding into (for-profit) charter schools.
  7. He wants to appoint Supreme Court justices who are “as close to Scalia as [he] can find.”

Hillary is not my favorite candidate ever, but I will give her credit where credit is due. She is pro-choice. She believes in climate change.

Listen, no candidate is perfect. No candidate will *ever* be perfect because he or she has to appeal to a large amount of people which automatically means ::boring::

Voting is not an exercise of personal expression. The point of voting is not to make some kind of statement of sticking it to The Man or whoever. Nobody cares about your write-in candidate. Your write-in vote is just helping whoever wins a tiny bit. Nobody is going to sit down and say “hmm. 90 people wrote in a vote for Mickey Mouse. What is it about Mickey Mouse that appeals to these people?”

BUT DEMOCRATS ARE BULLLLLLLLYING MEEEEEEE! you cry. Those big, bad Democrats are trying to scare me into thinking that the world will end if I don’t vote for lying, cheating, corporate whore Hillary! It’s not myyyyy fault if Trump wins, it’s the fault of the Democratic party for not giving me my customized choice of perfect candidate for office! Why should I listen to those big meanies who are invalidating my awesome opinions?

Because the president of the United States isn’t your personal mascot, that’s why. This isn’t about YOU. Voting is a strategic decision for the benefit or harm of the NATION. The office of the president is going to be there whether you like who is sitting in it or not. The president is the person who represents this country, the one who sits down at the table with the leaders of other countries to decide who is going to get bombed and when. The President is the one who gets to enforce or ignore the mediocre changes outlined in non-binding environmental treaties, and I would at least like someone sitting at the table who believes that climate change exists.

I want a president who really believes that climate change exists. Period. I also want a president who believes in LGBT rights and racial equality. Voting for Jill Stein or Gary Johnson may make you feel like the special snowflake you truly believe you are because you didn’t “sell out” or whatever, but it won’t do anything to protect the planet or the rights of minorities. Voting for the president isn’t like finding the perfect wallpaper for your iPhone– you only have two choices. Everything else is just noise. “but we need a better candidate! What is this, the Soviet Union?” No shit we need better candidates. The 2-party system is bullshit, but that’s what we’ve had for the entirety of our lifetimes so suck it up and deal. You know the way to make a viable 3rd party? Vote for 3rd parties in local elections. Volunteer for a local 3rd party candidate’s campaign, heck, you could even run for a local election under a 3rd party. You can’t change the system from the top down, you need to nurture and grow the seeds of change, or some metaphorical crap like that.

Hillary is not my idea of the perfect candidate, but I will vote for her. Do it for the current Supreme Court, if nothing else! The Notorious RBG is 83. Anthony Kennedy is 80. Stephen Breyer is 77. Samuel Alito and Clarence Thomas are both in their mid-late 60s, which would put them at retirement age for most normal jobs. There is already one vacant seat because @#%@$ Mitch McConnell won’t approve Obama’s pick. So, the next president will *definitely* get to appoint at least one Justice. This person will be a justice for an average of 26.1 years. That is somewhat longer than a generation. If Trump gets elected, and appoints someone “close to Scalia,” here’s a small sampling of what you get:
1. calls to overturn Roe v. Wade, generally anti-abortion
2. Anti- gay rights, gay marriage
3. Pro Citizen’s United

The Supreme Court is important, and will be around long after whoever gets elected president this November is around. Clinton’s possible Supreme Court Justice wish list looks a lot better than Trump’s.

So, you think Hillary is a crook, and Hillary lies or she’s a corporate shill war monger or whatever. Probably nothing I could say would make you change your mind about that, so I’ll leave this article here saying that she *is* for a lot of good stuff.

So even if you don’t like Hillary, you think she’s shrill and corrupt, and a liar (even though many of these allegations are totally blown out of proportion), vote for the Supreme Court Justice who will shape not only your life, but the lives of your descendants.

September 22, 2016 at 5:00 pm Leave a comment

Things I start writing in Internet forums but never finish/publish

If women got pregnant from washing dishes, and not from having sex (ooh, horrors!), abortion wouldn’t even be a debate. Once you bring sex into the equation, all rational thoughts are off the table because Oooh slutty women are stupid! We have to tell them how to behave! Honestly, abortion/birth control/abstinence/whatever is a personal decision and none of my business. If these hypothetical women who get 100 abortions a month stopped having sex altogether, they’d be frigid bitches in the eyes of society, and therefore less than human. The way to be an “acceptable” woman in this society is such a narrow path, I try to refrain from making judgments. Women spending all the taxpayers’ money on abortions! Oooh how terrible! Women spending all their own money on abortions! Oooh how terrible! Women spending their own money on going to NASCAR rallies and buying Twinkies! Oooh how terrible! Poor women keep having babies they can’t afford! Ooh how terrible! The government spent my hard earned tax dollars on subsidies for billion dollar corporations, yet we get all worked up about the hypothetical pennies spent on women. Oh no! We’re gonna have to pay for bitches’ birth control thanks to the ACA! Thanks, Obama! I don’t want my hard earned money to be set on fire so chix can be sluts! But wait, what’s the best preventative measure of abortion? That would be birth control. (for the record, you can’t use federal money for abortions in most states, though insurance covers Viagra, and nobody seems to have a problem with that.) Also, why should I have to pay for some stupid guy’s testicular cancer treatment? I will never have testicular cancer. Why should my hard earned tax dollars go to some dumb dick’s ‘nads?

In short:
1. how many abortions one gets
2. how “necessary” it is [i.e., was the embryo conceived happily in wedlock, but is medically defective for some reason? Is the woman’s life in danger? Is the prospect of motherhood just inconvenient for whatever reason?]
3. how one pays for said abortion
4. The circumstances of the conception [was the embryo created after a night of drunken debauchery in a barn? Was the woman raped by a stranger in an alley?]

are NONE OF MY BUSINESS.

Abortion is legal in the USA, and none of the above gives anyone more or less right to one.

Theft is illegal in the USA, yet nobody cares about circumstances of theft.
1. how many other people has the thief robbed?
2. is the thief just robbing to feed his or her starving children, or because he or she just likes that Rolex the victim was wearing?
3. what precautions did the victim take to ensure she was not robbed of her watch?

All irrelevant. Theft is still illegal.

On another note: why is there no male birth control widely available except condoms (which guys say they hate)?

Further note: I have proverbially “kept my knees together” (i.e., never been pregnant, never been a drain on taxpayers’ money to feed out of wedlock children) yet I am a selfish evil bitch because I don’t want to ever reproduce. Go figure. You can’t win. Stop judging.

September 15, 2016 at 3:29 pm Leave a comment

Gettin’ my nails done

I was a life long nail biter. My grandmother tried to bribe, shame, incentivize, enact consequences, and every other way coerce me to stop. I tried. I would stop for small periods of time, enough to collect the reward (or be disqualified from the vague punishment), but then I would relapse. It was a tough habit to break!

However, on February 2001, I decided to stop for good. I had the willpower. I was going to do it. I did! It took several years before I learned how to properly use nail clippers, scissors, and nail files and stuff (I still bit the nails when they got too long, what I considered “for maintenance” and not out of habit), but now I can say I have the knack!

Every year on my anti-nail biting anniversary, I make a tentative plan to get a manicure, but never do. I have always been fascinated by the concept of getting one’s nails done– it seemed to be something all women did, regardless of ethnicity, socioeconomic status, regional inhabitation etc. When I worked at Cornell, every woman, from the lowliest trailer dweller to the fanciest professor went to regular nail appointments. I was curious to see what a manicure was like, as manicures seemed to be the Great Social Equalizer. In a small city such as Ithaca, rich and poor alike went to the same nail salons, as there weren’t that many.

This year, I was determined to actually follow through on my manicure plan. I got my friend Athena to come with me, and I found a place not far from home to go. I was a little apprehensive because I had read this article, and didn’t want to support what is essentially slavery in the industry, but the place I picked seemed legit.

The place I went was in a building that used to be a real estate office where I had been contracted to take care of the plants when I was a plant care person years ago, so that was a little odd. It looked totally different now, though–the inside was well-lit and cheery, instead of the dark paneled “professional” look, staffed by disgruntled but immaculately dressed women who clearly hated their jobs of yore.

I sat down at the fingernail painting place, and the friendly Chinese women looked at my hands and said “oh, you have kids?”
“no,” I replied
“You don’t? No kids?” she seemed confused.
“No really. No kids.” Then I looked at my hands and discovered that they were covered in pink and green marker because I had been experimenting with coloring Barbie hair. This is business as usual for me, but I guess in the real world this is a sure sign of reproduction!
“Why no kids?” she asked.
“Too expensive.” I said. She laughed. Then asked
“You have boyfriend?”
“No,” I said, and she laughed again and patted my arm.
“Oh, but you so beautiful!” she said, and then, sadly “no boyfriend.”

Later, she kept saying “Next time you get red!” and held up a bottle of red nail polish and motioned to my fingernails.
“OK.” I said. “Maybe next time.” She laughed.
She brought up the red nail polish a few more times.
“Red is lucky. It’s a good color…” I said.
She laughed and said “Yes! Very lucky!” then she grabbed my shoulder and whispered in my ear “maybe you will be lucky and get boyfriend!” and then laughed.

Uh… I think it will take a little more than red fingernails for me to get lucky!
But hey, you never know. I never paint my nails red; I always paint them blue or green or purple or something. Maybe if I painted my nails red I would have to use those hands to fight off all the men who will be throwing themselves at me! Somehow I doubt it.

Anyway, my first nail experience was an interesting anthropological experiment. I’m not sure I will ever do it again, as it seems kind of a lot of money for what amounts to having your nails painted. I’m not sure I see the appeal. The people I used to work with would go to get their nails done on a regular basis! How often are you “supposed” to do this? I still have no clue. Maybe I should go and get long fake bejeweled fingernails with, like, sunsets airbrushed on them or something. Maybe then I will understand the allure.

2016-02-23 20.11.46

Athena (left) and I with our shiny new colorful finger and toenails!

February 24, 2016 at 4:07 pm Leave a comment

Protected: First world problems in the third world

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January 21, 2016 at 8:59 pm Enter your password to view comments.

An open letter to nobody in particular

Dear Offspring I will Never Have,

I don’t actually expect you to read this, because you do not, and never will exist. So why am I writing this? Because I’m selfish, duh! Because I possess a vagina, the world thinks it’s necessary to pass judgement on this, forcing me to explain myself. Let me explain the reasons why you will never exist.

First of all, I don’t want kids. Similarly, I don’t want a dog, I don’t want to provide foster homes for elderly diseased ferrets, I don’t want to climb Mount Everest, and I don’t want to eat live scorpions. Is that really so much to fathom? Why, because I sport a uterus of (albeit rapidly passing) child-bearing age, do I have to provide some kind of major justification of this? Do I need to write a manifesto about why I don’t like picked beets, too?

Men aren’t expected to have a “good reason” for not wanting to procreate. I don’t know any guys who have a stock response justifying their decision, unlike women do. We have to resort to movements and labels in order for people to take our decisions even a teeny bit seriously, like, “see? Other people are doing it too! It’s not just me!” In addition, do we care if men are selfish? Nah, that’s OK, brah. Looking out for Number One is a dude thing, and that’s OK. But for chicks, the second we think about ourselves (unless it’s to obsess about how fat we are because, let’s face it, if you’re fat, you are obviously being selfish by making people look at your non-state-sanctioned ass. Unless you are fat because you’re pregnant. That’s OK), we’re being selfish bitches.

To be truthful, little Figment of the Imagination, I’m not any more or less selfish than the average citizen. I give my seats up on the bus for old/pregnant/disabled/tired-looking people, I volunteer for charity organizations occasionally, I help friends move house asking for only a couple of beers in payment, I bring my neighbors cupcakes sometimes, I do all the normal stuff people do that proves in the minds of others that they are not selfish. You probably do the same. I do not sit around all day counting up my disposable income and cackling evilly as I plan how many pedicures I’m about to get tomorrow while sipping coffee that had once passed through an endangered cat’s anus. MUHAHAH future non-children! I’m focusing on my career so I can think about ME! ME! ME! as I ride around in my solid gold Escalade with no baby seat!

Oh wait, no I don’t. I don’t actually have a career. But, apparently I am still a self-obsessed, vainglorious jerkwad because I don’t have a desire to leave my legacy to the world through multiple descendants. How will anyone remember me and what I’ve done for the world if I don’t leave hordes of progeny to sing my praises? I’m so selfish– the field on which the crowd gathers to do just that will be as barren as my windswept womb! Also, Megalomaniacal asshat me does not wish to spread her genetic code for bad knees, crappy vision, mutant feet, and short stature around the gene pool. Oh Right! I’m also so self-absorbed that I don’t want to force my spawn to live in a world that is on the verge of environmental and social breakdown. BUT WAIT! you say! “I could be the one to reverse environmental decay and fix the world! You are selfish because you are not loosening a potential force for good on the planet!”

Yeah, hon. I am not potentially raising the next Hitler, either.

All these arguments are made by well-off First World white people.

Let’s imagine, for the sake of argument, I were to get knocked up with you somehow. I choose to raise you and now you exist (for the moment, hypothetically). First of all, I would probably go into debt just to bring you into this world because my insurance sucks, hospitals are expensive, and I don’t have any money. Oh crap, maybe you need your tonsils out or something! Maybe you have a genetic disorder or serious medical condition! I guess you’re going to suffer, because I can’t afford that either. Sorry, kid. I have to now take a third job to keep us both fed, which means more daycare for you. Maybe it will build character. But hey! making you sit in a state-funded rat trap where you are probably molested by the “friendly” janitor is way less selfish than deciding to not have you exist in the first place! Unfortunately for you, I’m not gonna breed because I’m a selfish evil Feminazi who likes stupid, frivolous things like sleep and paying the rent.

God forbid your father/sperm donor should be black or another race. What would happen then? I am a selfish asshole because I don’t want to watch you get shot by the police, or get thrown in jail for writing something on a desk. Maybe I give you the name Tashaundra because I like it, thus hindering your chance of getting a job. It’s ok that I’m feeding the school-to-prison pipeline, though, because at least I know that a bunch of rich white people on the internet think I’m not selfish, and that’s what counts, right?

Even if you do and up 3/4 white (sorry, can’t make up for the 1/2 of me that’s not, maybe modern technology can fix that someday), I don’t have a lot of money, so the chance you will climb out of the poverty bracket is almost nil. I will not be able to afford to send you to college, and your potential unskilled job will probably be outsourced to the third world, but, I’m selfish because I like things like cappuccinos and not starving to death. I don’t think you’re going to discover a way to end the world’s problems with just a high school education. Sorry about that, my (not-selfish) bad! But, there goes that argument. At least now I know the joys of motherhood and being tired and cranky all the time from overwork and lack of sleep, and will pass that on to you. Losing my cool for a second and snapping at you to just give me a fucking moment of goddamn quiet is showing you by example not to be someone who grows up to be a selfish child-free narcissist!

OK, screw that hypothetical situation. I cannot afford children. I’m still not gonna have any. You are still asking questions, though. You are always asking questions.

“But who will take care of you in your old age?” you whine, trying to change my mind. That seems like kind of a bad investment. I mean, if I am reproducing just for stability in my old age, that’s a lot of variables. First of all, it will take like 40 years before I see any sort of return on that investment. Also, in that time, a lot can happen. What if there’s a nuclear war? What if you get hit by a steamroller? What if I piss you off and you  stop talking to me? What if you join a cult that isolates you from your family? What if a piano falls on my head before I’m feeble enough to need your help? Raising human larvae to adults seems like an awful lot of work expended on someone who is just going to stick me in a retirement home at the first sign of forgetting my keys anyway.

“But think of all the women out there who long for babies, but can’t have them! So many women have [fill in the blank fertility issues]! Don’t you feel bad for them?” Why are you even asking me this? I should make a minimum of two people miserable for the rest of their impoverished lives because some hypothetical lady can’t get knocked up? How do you even know that I am fertile enough to make up for her lack of contribution to overpopulation? I’ve never gotten pregnant, why do you even assume I can? Even if I am able, I should squeeze a parasite out of my nether regions and feed and clothe it for a couple of decades just so I can lord it over Ms. Infertile? Have you ever heard someone say “I’m having this baby for Suzi Q. Wombless, because she can’t.” That seems actually pretty cruel. I mean, way to rub it in. Ha ha, Suzi. You fail at womanhood. I win and I don’t even care. IN YO FACE. Real classy argument, Hypothetical Spawn. I thought I didn’t-raise you to be better than that!

“But it’s what humans were built to do! Every species on earth’s function is to reproduce! It’s natural!” Yeah, many species also eat their young when there is a lack of resources to support them. There are over 7 billion people on this planet. When are we going to start gobbling up babies? Basically, this is saying… After all, what else are women good for but to be baby factories? I mean, in the Good Old Days (i.e., 1945-1965), Women knew their place and devoted everything to the happiness of their children! Look at all the kids born in that era– they are all happy, well-adjusted adults with great lives now! For the record, lots of animals also eat their poop and kill other animals’ babies. Who’s to say what is natural?

“But having me will make you a better person! As soon as you have me, you will understand the meaning of life and know the joy that is motherhood!” That’s your opinion. I could say “Riding a flaming motorcycle over Niagara Falls would make you appreciate life and make you a more daring person,” but I’m making an awful lot of assumptions. You think maybe I should let you make up your own mind about that? Yeah, maybe. Why don’t you open up a shelter for homeless rottweilers? What? Too selfish to devote your time and resources to it? Don’t like Rottweilers? I’m JUDGING YOU.

May 7, 2015 at 9:53 pm Leave a comment

Protected: Too old and fat for booty

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October 2, 2014 at 12:49 am Enter your password to view comments.

I am woman, smell me roar

Years and years ago I dated this Russian guy; we’ll call him Boris. He wondered why I never wore perfume. I didn’t really have an answer. He said that women were supposed to wear perfume, so that when a dude smelled it on something somewhere, it would make him think of her. I thought that was sweet, but kind of pooh-poohed the idea for myself because perfume made me think of old ladies and how it kind of annoyed me if I was in the grocery store or at a movie or something and had to constantly smell them.

I had a string of jobs where my supervisors were way into smelly candles and aromatherapy and things of that nature. I remember one job where the denizen of office to the left of me liked “energizing lemon” and the office on the right of me’s occupant constantly had a “calming lavender” thing going. I joked that my left half was wide awake while my right half was falling asleep. Altogether I felt like my personal airspace was being violated by other peoples’ scents. The scent I enjoyed most was nothing. I didn’t think it was fair that someone else’s particles of smelly shit should be able to attack my nostrils without my consent. It was like olfactory rape. Why couldn’t they make air fresheners that destroyed all smells and made the air smell completely blank? That’s what *I* wanted.

However, I kept the idea of the perfume in the back of my head. I experimented with essential oils, because I liked the smell of flowers. Not the flowery perfumey scents; the smell of actual flowers, and essential oils were the closest thing I could find. I liked jasmine a lot, but got accused of smelling like a hippie, so I switched to roses. That, of course, prompted people to think I smelled like their grandmother’s bathroom soap, so I eventually gave it up altogether.

Enter Klaus, my current beau. He is very scent-oriented, he says. While he doesn’t burn aromatherapy candles, thank goodness, he does like a good perfume. In fact, it was at his suggestion (bordering on insistence) that we go to The Mall and check out a department store perfume counter. The last time I had gone to a department store perfume counter, I was probably about 7 and was with my grandmother, who instructed the counter lady to spray me with something (probably “Charlie,” she always wore perfume called Charlie). I remember smelling like perfume all day and being slightly annoyed, but it also sort of made me feel vaguely like a grown-up.

Anyway, it must have been quite the sight at Macy’s in the Burlington Mall yesterday– Klaus was the one taking the lead on the perfume. Since this was Klaus’s project (and he was paying), I was totally fine with it all. He kept describing what he was smelling to the old ladies, who eventually drifted away to help other customers. “I smell grass… with some musk.” It turns out he likes super duper flowery things that are a little too sickeningly sweet for me. I like citrusy things, which make him think of being in the produce aisle. He doesn’t want “food smells,” as he put it. At one point the old lady who was showing us the perfumes said, somewhat sarcastically, “is SHE gonna be wearing this, or YOU?”

If, at age 22 when I was way into being an independent non-girly woman, you had told me that in nearly 20 years I would be at a Macy’s perfume counter with a dude who was going to buy expensive perfume for me, I would have scoffed. Why should I let some dude dictate what I smell like? Yet, here I was. After huffing like 20 different kinds of perfume, we finally settled on Chanel No. 5. Yes, we sniffed all these different things, only to come back to a perfume that has been around 95 years; that generations of women have worn. I smell like legions of dead flappers and grannies… and I kinda like it!

I am wearing it now, and it’s really weird– it doesn’t smell like me. I keep thinking there’s someone behind me that I’m smelling. I like how it smells a lot, but since I have spent a lot of my life thinking that the best smells are the absence of perfumes, I gotta get used to it!

August 4, 2014 at 7:07 pm Leave a comment

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