Bernie Brilliantly Beats Trump at the Twitter Game


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Early this morning, Little Tweetolini bitched and moaned on Twitter as per his norm. He is probably grumpy from not being able to take a fourth vacation so soon. We understand. We hate it when we have to adult and be held accountable at our jobs, too.

Two of his tweets centered around the country’s debt and were laced with self-praise and media distrust.

Once again, these are classic misleading tweets. The financial circumstances of Obama’s and Trump’s first months are so different, there is no basis of comparison. When Obama took office, the country was in the worst financial crisis since the Great Depression.

As of right now, the government is STILL running under the previous budget, so Agent Orange’s administration can take no credit for these numbers no matter the circumstance.

It’s just Twitter as usual for Trump – cry fake news while making fake announcements.

We know what he is implying here. He just loves to mock his opponents’ rallies and protests. With him and his supporters, there is always that underlying message that rights are great unless it comes to others’ right to protest.

Bernie Sanders, who has never shied away from making his distaste of Trump known, replied to Lord Cheeto’s rally tweet and our love for him resurged. He only needed four words:


So simple, but it was perfect. Bernie beat Trump at his own Twitter game and it must be killing him. Just to push the point a little further, Trump’s tweet is currently sitting at 93K likes while Bernie’s is at 212K likes, more than double Trump’s. Cue the sad trombone.

Bernie isn’t quite done with trolling Trump on Twitter today. Less than an hour ago, he tweeted:

Do you see how simple his tweets are? How perfectly worded for that platform? Twitmaster Trump, take note. You don’t need a lot of words to tell the truth. Take some tips from Sanders, mmmm’kay? We crown him the true Twitter King.


Right-Wingers Now Calling For Unity


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Beginning on November 9, 2016, right-wingers started calling for unity among the political parties. They say we have to stop hating and get over it. That we need to love one another.

They want us to believe that they feel this in their hearts when they are still bashing Obama? They are calling the Women’s March on Washington the work of Nazis. They keep spreading untruths to make us see something that isn’t there.

I remember the pictures of burning and hanging Obama in effigy. Do not doubt MY memory.

The Trump election goes far beyond not liking policies, not liking the politics of a particular man. We have all seen this man mock a disabled reporter. We all heard the tape in which he bragged about grabbing women by their genitalia – as though women are merely playthings for the rich.  We heard him call all Mexicans rapists, but he’s sure some of them are very nice people.

There will be unity. This unity will come  in the form of folks banding together to stop a man whose character is far from presidential. We want a leader who stands up for us, not call us losers in tweets. We want a leader who will see to ALL our needs, who TRIES to make us better. This man has proved time and time again that he does not have the temperament to lead. He is full of hate and the country can never be unified as long as people support the blind hatred of others.

Say It Ain’t So

The idea of Trump being president is not funny any more. He is our worst nightmare. This man is hate rolled into an ego-inflated, shit burrito.
My kid has been talking to Army recruiters and this man is going to throw us into WWIII. I don’t want to sacrifice my kid so someone like Trump can express his displeasure over brown people.

Some folks like him because he ‘speaks his mind’: so doesn’t every other schmuck on the street! It doesn’t make them President material.  He is smart enough to recognize that some people will believe anyone or anything if it suits their ideals.

He preaches that he’s going to make America great again: how is he going to do that? What’s his plan? I have only heard rhetoric, hatred, and ignorance spewed from his mouth. I would be impressed if he suggested any sort of strategy.

When were we ever great, anyway?? We are made up of a country of rejects who proceeded to kill off most of our natives, enslaved an entire race, and have tried to alienate/oppress every type of person that isn’t white, male, protestant, and straight.

Do his supporters think a man, who was born a millionaire, has Average Joe’s best interests at heart? He has NO idea what it’s like to struggle; what it’s like being on the bottom rung of middle class and teetering over the chasm of poverty. And you know what? He does NOT care.


Blurred Clarity

Who would have thought that chatting with an old friend on FB messenger would help me view myself more accurately? I get myself in a tizzy when people don’t meet my ideals. I believe that we all should be GOOD and cannot figure out why it’s just so hard for others. I start ripping situations apart and picking out all the bad. Then, I lose my original objective completely.

I’ve never felt the need to be perfect. What is perfect, anyway? However, I’ve always felt as though I should strive to show the good that is within me. I’m not religious, but I wholeheartedly believe in The Golden Rule. Do unto others and all that….

When I see folks being shitty, it offends my common sense. Why is it so hard to show basic respect to others? I’ve been told not to worry about it. If it doesn’t affect me, just keep doing me and not worry about others’ actions. I can see that perspective, but it’s blurry

Don’t those actions affect me? What anyone puts out in the universe affects everyone around them. It’s definitely a domino effect. Be careful. Be GOOD.

Public Suckery

I hate grocery shopping unless it’s really late or early. Tuesdays at Kroger are particularly bad because it’s Senior Citizen day (at least, it used to be) and it’s the last day of the current sales ad. I couldn’t avoid it, though. It had to be done.

Last week, I got a rain check for greek yogurts that the boys and I like. It was on sale for $.39/apiece, a steal. I got the rain check for 24. Yes, 24. I have teen boys – don’t judge me.

Anyway, the cashier was new and didn’t know the protocol. After he rang everything up and *then* asked how to do the rain check, he realized he’d have to void every single one and then do a price override on all 24. Ugh. Sucks, but I really was not in a hurry and I totally understand being new to a job. Everyone is new at SOME point. I was a great learning tool for that kid.

There was a woman behind me who already had her items on the belt. Probably 8 or so. The cashier told her politely that it was going to be a while and it would probably be quicker to go to the next aisle. Well, she just FLIPPED the F out!! Snipped at him like he kicked her dog. She also let him know loudly that she would speak with his manager.

Nope. Not on my watch. He did nothing wrong and I don’t work there. I turned around and said, “Ma’am, we have all been new to a job and he made an honest mistake. He’s learning how to do this now so he doesn’t hold anyone else up in the future. Have you never worked before? Just leave him alone and go over to the next aisle, no one is there!” So, she stomped off.

The cashier, wide-eyed, looked at me and said a very sincere “Thank you” and I told him that I generally dislike the public and she had no reason to speak to him the way she did. He said, “I honestly didn’t think she’d flip out like that. And she wants to talk to my manager”
I said, “She has a stick up her ass. You did nothing wrong. Let her talk to your manager. I’ll wait right beside her and talk to your manager, too.”

He thanked me again and said I made his day. Awww.

I made my day when the B got in front of me on her way out of the store, stomping like a wild horse…. and she was parked beside me. *EVIL LAUGH*
I got my things loaded in my trunk just as she did. I looked at her and said, “I hope people talk to your children today exactly like you did that poor cashier.”

Missing Her


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I lost my grandma last month. I saw her not quite two weeks before and I knew that she had given up. I haven’t even accepted it, but I can see her sisters, my great aunts, sobbing over her beautiful coffin and my heart twists. A beautiful coffin, but such an ugly life.

I don’t know much about my grandma, but I know how she lived during my lifetime.  The reason I didn’t know much about Grandma – her given name was Nancy Jane Bailey – is because the woman rarely talked. Mostly, she joined in conversations by repeating the last few words of the person who just spoke. She had to have lived under that ‘women and kids don’t speak unless spoken to” rule, although my mom says grandma’s dad was a very nice man. Occasionally, she would spout off a gem. One of my favorites was “I think my ass is paralyzed”.

Her kitchen was the only office she had ever known. That’s where she actually spoke up from time to time and gave her opinion on certain topics. She would talk back to whoever was annoying her under her breath. For instance, if she was making a sandwich for grandpa and he told her to hurry up, she would almost whisper, “I’ll hurry up when I shove this where the sun don’t shine.” She would have never harmed a hair on anyone’s head, but I’m sure she thought about it from time to time.

The last 51 years of her life, she lived in a four-room house. There, she raised three children and waited hand and foot on her husband, Ralph, who she married when she was 18. The house is more of a shack. No, there’s no getting around it, it’s a shack. It has no running water – there is no plumbing anyway. With no running water, there is no toilet, so she used an outhouse.  The water well was behind the house, on a steep hill that she would walk up and down several times a day to get water for everyone.  Bath days were no fun at all;  there is a lot of water to haul, heat, and dump for four people.  She did what was expected of her and rarely got thanks. About ten years ago, they finally got a pump outside the back door, making her life much easier.  Until three years ago or so, she raised chickens. I still cannot get used to the eggs at the supermarket.

I didn’t know much about her, but I remember little things about her. Every summer when my brother and I were young, my parents would drop us off for a week at Grandma’s. Mom had sent some soup with us once for lunches and grandma had never made condensed tomato soup before. She didn’t add any water, so I had a warm, thick, tomato-flavored goo. I ate it because I couldn’t bear to hurt her feelings (and also because I inherited part of her shyness).

She may not have known how to make condensed tomato soup, but that woman was a genius when it came to biscuits and gravy. She would make her biscuits with only flour and water and they were the best biscuits in the world. I still don’t know what kind of magic she used when making her gravy, but if I ever asked for it, she could whip it right up. She always wore slip-on canvas shoes in the summer with sleeveless shirts and capris – it was her uniform. She was always on the tall side and so thin I was afraid I’d break her if I hugged her too hard. With her black hair in a bun and her pretty, green eyes, I always secretly thought of her as a kind witch. She had the only green eyes in the family until my youngest son was born. She was so proud to have passed some of her genes on.

Grandma was a caretaker. I mentioned she waited on her husband, until he died in 1995. She also waited on her two youngest children who never left home. They would sit and ask her, demand her, to do the smallest tasks. I can’t tell you how many times I bristled when I heard the words, “Mommy, go make me a cup of coffee”  Imagine, a hundred-pound woman waiting on two grown children in their 40s and 50s! She did everything, every day, and never expected a thing from anybody. The only time she ever rested was after grandpa died and the kids were at work.

No, she didn’t have a good life, but she was a good woman. She lived her  life and never complained. I never heard that woman raise her voice and she never touched a drop of alcohol. Her only vice was her chewing tobacco – gross, I know. There was always a big, metal coffee can on the floor near where she sat at all times for her to spit into – no brass spittoons for her. She raised her children, took care of the house, made food stretch when there was no money (or food for that matter), and somehow did not lose her mind. She was, at the same time, the toughest and softest woman in my life. I may not have agreed with her silence, for I could not live in such conditions and I would make it known, but I respected her quiet resolve.

My life, and many other lives, will never be the same without Grandma/Nancy. I will always have so much love for her. I don’t know what, if anything, is beyond this world. If there is a nice, perfect place, my grandma deserves to be there. She has earned it many times over.

About to Crumble…


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Why can’t people do what’s right? Why is it so hard to put others before yourself when it’s necessary? My favorite grandma is dying of bladder cancer. She doesn’t want treatment, she just wants to be comfortable. I know she’s tired and I know she’s sad. My grandpa passed away in 1995 and her only son died in 2009. However, I hate that she’s given up.  I just hate it.
My aunt is taking care of things, and she’s just not doing things right. She’s doing what’s convenient for her, and not what’s best for her mother.  MY mom is also being selfish. Her husband wants to go to Florida and she’s not doing anything to stop him. They haven’t gone yet, but what happens if they go and grandma dies? What will that do to her?  Is she in denial?

My dad died when I was a kid. My mom raised my brother and I alone.  I will do everything in my power to take care of my mom when she’s not able. I will do what’s right for HER. I may not like it, but I know what she’s sacrificed for me and I will sacrifice anything for her, because of my love for her.

This morning, in negative temperatures, my brother’s car battery died while putting air in his tire at a gas station. No one would give him a jump and no one would help him move his vehicle out of the way of other customers.  He had to walk to my house to get help because I live nearby.  I got out of my warm bed and did what needed to be done.

When did we become so self-centered? Why do we not think about others anymore? I get more jaded every day.  All of us have our selfish moments, but wouldn’t we want others to help us when we’re in need?  All I can do is go about my way and help when I can. Maybe it will rub off, maybe not. If we all tried, it wouldn’t be so hard.

Enforced Holidays


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Christmas is upon us. I’m not a Christian, so I really shouldn’t be celebrating the day, but this happens to be an enforced holiday so I will follow like the others. The kids get a break from school. There are mandatory presents to buy (whether we have the money to do so or not). On almost every channel, there are different Christmas specials to watch.  It seriously is enforced.

Why aren’t other religions’ holidays enforced in our country? It’s not as though we have a national religion. Aren’t we taught that the pilgrims came here to escape religious persecution?  That freedom doesn’t apply to only one religion and that freedom should apply to the choice to NOT practice religion. I have noticed that some of the most persecuted for their beliefs are those who are openly atheist or agnostic.

I have a personal example of persecution based on lack of belief. About a month or so ago, my aunt and I had a religious discussion. I asked her questions that she answered with all the normal cliches, but never really addressed the specific questions.  Toward the end of our talk, she slams me with: “Don’t you want to go to Heaven and see your Daddy again? I’ll be going there and I’ll be able to see him. Don’t you want to see us?”  Uhhh. I sat like Patrick Star for a moment just drooling. Can we say manipulation?  Maybe a phrase we can try to pronounce is “guilt trip”.  You get the gist.

Why do those who are so certain that they have found salvation concern themselves about everyone else? MY salvation may not be the same as yours.  I want to live my life by The Golden Rule. I want to help others when I can. I want to die loved. I want to die without leaving debt to my children. I want to die with my name not being poison on anyone’s lips.  To me, that is salvation enough.

So, on Christmas day, I will get up earlyish with the boys, eat our yearly french toast casserole for breakfast, and then I’ll hand out their gifts to them… which will NOT be plentiful. I can’t afford to buy my children EVERYTHING they want (and really, I wouldn’t do that if I could afford it. I don’t want my kids to feel entitled to anything).  I will then round up everyone and go to the same Aunt’s house for Christmas lunch with mostly her friends that I slightly remember.  After eating, I will help clean up to chatter about all the money she spent on everyone, and the cruise she bought for herself and her husband.  Then she will she show me the new chocolate diamond ring her husband bought her this year.

Christmas. The enforced Christian holiday where guilt trips are laid upon non-Christians and faith is proved by spending exorbitant amounts of money.  The one who spends the most, gets the Holier Than Thou Award. Keep your receipts to prove it.

I am cynical. Take it or leave it. However, I’m sure at least some of you will see some truth to my words.  Also? There will be a sentimental Christmas post. How can there not be?  I do have a heart.  I swear.

No Plotline


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Many people have told me that I should be writing a novel. I admit, I’ve always wanted to write one. I get these visions of Steinbeck and his perfect pencils.  I see a smoke-filled room: the smokier the room becomes, the more engrossed the writer with an idea. All time is forgotten and upon returning to the here and now, things have carried on with themselves.  That is so not my life.

Even if I could shut myself away for hours to create a fictional life, my real life would punch me in the face as soon as I finished. There would be dirty clothes lying on the floor, empty water bottles forgotten, every cereal bowl getting crusty in the sink, and random sticky spots  from errant drops of tea or juice left to be stepped in. My life is not conducive to writing the next piece of classic literature.  I’m certain the best I could do at this moment is a tame limerick.

Sometimes, I think all I need to do is think of a plot. Just a simple plot, then the words would flow. What do I WANT to happen? It’s all up to me, but I can’t even begin thinking about what I want imaginary people to do when I can’t figure the same out for myself.  Why can’t my life have an author? I want someone to tell me what to do. I want fun, exorbitant adventures and to fall in love with the super intelligent, beautiful loner in the bookstore. Dammit. I want a GOOD story line. If there IS someone writing the story of my life, that person is a twisted asshole.  Yo! Dude! You can take a smoke break….