Size matters. Especially if you’re being screwed.
And if this man is elected, we all will be.
Category Archives: Oh shit
My Choice
Tomorrow morning, I will leave for work not completely accessorized. Not being much of a fashionista, that’s not normally a problem. But tomorrow I will stop to make sure I have the perfect accessory:
It’s Super Tuesday, and Virginia is in with the in crowd of mostly southern states holding their primaries.
Strangely, here in Virginia, it doesn’t feel much like there is an election coming up. TV ads are not constant, and while we’ve been getting a lot of campaign calls, there aren’t any more annoying calls than usual.
Most unusual is the almost complete lack of political signs. For the past 8 years, there have been far more political signs than voters around here. The absence of them, without any sort of ordinance prohibiting them, makes me think that everyone around me is secretly supporting Donald Dfrump.*
Anyway, I’m sure you’re dying to know: I’m voting for Hillary.
Philosophically, I’m really in Bernie’s camp. I’d love government-sponsored healthcare. I’d love to make college free. I would love to erase income inequality.
But I’m a pragmatist.
Even if Bernie could get elected (and I don’t agree with pundits that claim he can’t), well, I spent 10 years watching the sausage mill that is our government. And I simply don’t think Bernie can do it.
Hillary Clinton has my vote because I think she will be a good president. Because she’s smart and capable. Because she knows the system inside, outside and upside and downside.
Is she perfect? Is she my dream candidate? Nope. I was for Obama in 2008 (actually, I wanted him to be my candidate beginning in 2004).
I am not blind to the problems with her. I would rather a flawed candidate than one who is promising more than he can deliver.
And I think that Hillary can beat Trump or whichever GOP candidate is vomited out of a brokered convention.
So early tomorrow, I will cast my vote and get my sticker.
Elections Matter. Make your voice heard.
* If you haven’t seen John Oliver’s show on Donald Trump, get yourself some popcorn:
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A Really Weird Day
Comedy and life works in threes. Today was no exception.
Or maybe it’s just a weird day.
You see, every morning I check reports on the status of the DC area’s Metro system. I don’t take Metro — it doesn’t go anywhere near where I live. But for some reason, I get notice of Metro problems hours before everyone else. So I pass them on to my friends and colleagues so they know whether or not to drink that coffee.
So I know from my personal observational study that the DC Metro is a mess. My friends are frequently stranded, late to work because of one delay after another. Forced to Uber to the office when the system lets them down.
Yet, just today I read that DC’s broken, crumbling, unreliable Metro was voted the No. 1 Transit System in the Nation.
Next, I learned that President Obama is considering a surprise guy to replace Antonin Scalia on the US Supreme Court — GOP Nevada Governor and gun-control opponent, Brian Sandoval, a “centrist” former federal judge. I am hoping that this was a ploy to force the Senate Obstructionists to stamp their feet and make it clear (OK, more clear) that the GOP is holding their breath until they turn blue.
That background should be red, don’t cha think? Google Image. Or perhaps Smirf
A pouty Smurf. I couldn’t decide which one was more GOP-like. Although I seriously doubt the GOP wears the white hat… Google Image. Because how much time do you think I have for these posts?
I drove home through a nasty storm — and wanted nothing more than to watch last night’s Stephen Colbert show.
Where a fun band played. But I was confused.
First of all, the group’s name is the “Violent Femmes” — and the band members were three men. I was confused — and it wasn’t just that my French sucks. Because “Femmes” means women. Really. It’s one of the three french words that I’m certain of.
But the weirdest part was that they had rather unusual percussion.
Their drummer played a Weber Grill.
I’m so glad it’s Hump Day.
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The Evoluion of a WorryWart
You probably wouldn’t believe it, but I used to worry. A lot.
It’s true.
My husband traveled frequently, and from the time he left the house until he was back again, I was positive that his plane would crash, his train derail, or he would be hit by a mode of transportation I couldn’t even name in a foreign country I might or might not be able to locate on a map.
News junkie that I am, I didn’t listen or read or google while he was away. Nope. I was not going to hear the inevitable on CNN.
And then, seemingly out of the blue, my sister Judy died. I hadn’t been worried about her at all. Not a bit (although I should have — she had a heart condition for goodness sake!)
A lightbulb went off in my head: The person I worried about was fine, the one I wasn’t worrying about, well, wasn’t.
I decided that worrying didn’t help. Not one little bit.
So I stopped. I took Alfred E Newman’s motto for my own.
Strangely, Alfred and I look alike. My hair is longer and curlier, though. Google image. Duh!
Let me tell you, being a non-worry-er is great.
You have room in your life for, ummmm, a life. You get to go about your business and assume that bad news will find you if it needs to. You get to sleep when your husband is traveling. Or when your adolescent-teen-young adult son is out. Or when the weather is bad and any one of the 3,427 people you know might just have gotten into their car. And started moving … and might just …
Sadly, though, I have gone full circle. I am not happy to say that I am once again a Worrywart. I have evolved. Or devolved. Or regressed. Or been bitch-slapped out of M.A.D. Magazine.
You see, my son Jacob had a car accident.
Most importantly, he was unhurt. He should, however, do a Subaru ad, because his Sub saved his life. It was crunched, front and back. Totaled. But Jacob only got a scratch when he reached in through the back window to retrieve stuff.
So now I worry. But I won’t for long, thank God. Or thank J.K. Rowling and Potterheads.
Because I just learned that somebody has finally invented a Weasley clock. You know, that special clock at the Burrow in the Harry Potter books. The clock that Molly Weasley looks at to find out how her family members are doin’.
The clock that lets her know whether a family member is in mortal peril.
Yup. Someone has invented a real-life Weasley clock that can let parents know when family members are at “Home,” at “Work,” “On the Way,” or in “Mortal Peril.”
After the inventor’s family, I’d like to be first in line to get one of these clocks. Because I know that if I get one of these I will be able to sleep again when Jacob is out. And that is worth whatever I have to pay to get one of these. I’ll even pay for shipping.
FiftyFourandAHalf 