Dear Mr. Trump,


Please stop lying to me.

I know you wouldn’t hesitate to turn your back on me if ever I really needed you. I know you hate the LGBTQIA community. I know you hate racial and religious minorities. I know you hate anyone different from you. 

Why are you lying? Who are you trying to fool? It is so obvious how you really feel. I’m sitting here, watching your speech after watching four full days of right-wing bullshit, and I’m insulted. Not because you hate me, though that doesn’t feel so great either. 

No, I’m insulted because I’m sick of being lied to. Sick of being told you’ll protect my wages. I’m sick of being told you’ll respect my Hindu religious beliefs and my Hindu brothers and sisters. I’m sick of being told you care about my rights as a bisexual woman, that you care about the trans, gay, lesbian, poly, asexual, intersex, queer community. That you care about the welfare and safety of racial minority groups in this country. 

You don’t care. You’re a selfish, lying bigot and I’m disappointed in how many people you’ve got supporting you. 

So stop lying. Because honestly, Mr. Trump, if you hate who I am, you could at least fucking tell me. 

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Romney’s Full of Something…


Ehhhhhh, Romney’s Shady! …Romney Style…

So we all watched the debate last night, yes? And I hope we can all agree that it was at least less infuriating than the first? Obama was a little more, shall we say, present, and I actually found myself wholeheartedly in support of him for the first time in four years.

It’s been a rough road, his presidency. We were all so hopeful, and sometimes he didn’t deliver on what we wanted or needed. And I was frustrated, to say the least, by his inability to stand up for his administration at times, and by his need to please everyone, which you just can’t do. So last night, watching him lay it down hardcore made me absolutely joyous.

I just don’t believe what Romney says. I feel mislead by his statements at times. He says he doesn’t support Planned Parenthood, but says that no one should deny women contraception…so…that makes sense.
He also seems to think that if people wait until after marriage to have sex, their children won’t initiate gun violence. While that may definitely be a factor (stable homes, etc), how many Christian, two parent homes produce complete maniacs who shoot people in schools or on the street? We need to do better background checks on people, and not allow young people to get their hands on guns in the first place. I’m not a politician, so I don’t claim to know everything about this, but I do know that “sex can wait” has little to do with it.

While I appreciate that Romney has attempted to bring diversity to his staff by specifically choosing women for positions of power, I would rather not be hired simply to add a little pizzaz to an otherwise male dominated workplace. As Eche Madubuike said on Twitter: President Obama: “I passed a law allowing women to get equal pay.” Mitt Romney: “I hired women once.”  

And let’s just chat about this whole Binders of Women thing, which has exploded on the Internet in the past 24 hours. I think it stems from a desire to laugh at the silly way he put it, and I will agree that it has really showcased the creativity of this country. I found the photo above on this site and just about peed my pants…basically the only reason I’m writing this post was to be able to show y’all Psy and his exploding binders of women.

I would like to say one thing: I was disappointed in the way both candidates disrespected Jim Lehrer, the moderator of the first debate, so I was glad that they weren’t total idiots and mostly respected Candy Crowley enough to let her shut them up every once in a while. But I got a little tired of Romney deciding that he understood the debate format better than the moderator, and hearing him say, “No, it’s my turn,” got a little old. If I’ve learned anything in my 19 years, it’s that no one likes a complainer.

So while there may not be binders full of women out there, Romney’s definitely full of something, and it’s starting to smell a little.

Stay tuned for another Race 2012: A Conversation of Race in America post coming soon. I haven’t had time to watch the documentary yet, but as soon as I do I’ll blog about it! (You know…college keeps me kinda busy.) You’re all welcome to watch the documentary here and join in on the conversation on Twitter @PBSRace2012. And make sure to watch the final debate next week so that you’re informed and can vote vote vote! Cheers. 

Mr. Senator!


I don’t know if you’ve ever been in the presence of secret service men before, but they’re not exactly secret. In fact, their attire practically screams, “I am protecting someone very important and that person is really close!” About 8 years ago, I experienced this firsthand.

My family was vacationing in Washington D.C. in the spring of 2004 and were driving along the street when we saw about sixty-five million (and I totally counted) “secret” service men standing outside a row of shops. “Maybe George is getting a coffee,” my dad said, referring to our beloved president George W. Bush and the Starbucks that the secret service men were standing in the vicinity of. So we pulled over (fancy that – a parking spot in D.C.) and got out of the car just as Senator John Kerry (you know, the candidate who should’ve defeated Bush in the 2004 election) walked out of a hair salon. We all know how silver and delightful (although slightly shocking) his hair was, so imagine it newly styled and glimmering in the spring sunshine. Now imagine yourself completely dazzled and possibly hypnotized by it. Now stop imagining that, because you’re being ridiculous. John Kerry’s hair does not possess the power of hypnosis.

Any of you who know my father (so basically none of you since a few of you are from South Africa and his voice, though loud, has not reached that corner of the earth) know that he is not shy. At all. And he was a huge fan of Kerry (or, perhaps, not a fan of George Bush and therefore a huge fan of the alternative), so you will not be surprised to hear that as the senator walked toward his large, black, bulletproof car my father yelled, “MISTER SENATOR!” so many times that I’m surprised a secret service man didn’t shush him.

Before we continue, may I just say that I admire my father a little bit for being a persistent man. I don’t think I ever would’ve done that, and therefore wouldn’t be able to say that I had met John Kerry. This blog post would be about 3 sentences long and would go something like this: “I saw John Kerry one time. His hair had just been dyed. He got in his car and drove away as I stood silently, pointing.” So yay Dad!

Anyway, nobody shushed my father, but Kerry did turn around and come greet us. The ghosts of secret service men past rolled over in their graves, and the ones present at the scene inwardly huffed. Why do famous people always do the ‘turn around and risk their safety just to shake some twit’s hand’ thing? they all thought with disdain. Because they need people to like them, John Kerry’s spirit animal, the otter, whispered to the wind.

He walked over and shook our hands and let us take pictures with him, which was cool (and those pictures later went in our Christmas cards, no big deal) although I would’ve preferred it to have happened when I didn’t have stupid hair. I would attach a photo to this blog, but this incident occurred when film was still being developed on a regular basis, and therefore don’t have a digital copy. Also, I am crap at scanning. So there. Maybe it didn’t even happen (it did).

Poor John. His hair, however spectacular (and possibly hypnotic?), was not enough to distract people from calling him a flip flopper or criticizing his self proclaimed war hero-ness, even though George Bush was a doofus and shouldn’t have been allowed to graduate college, much less spend 8 years as president. But at least I met Kerry and got to tell him, in my humble 10-year-old opinion, that I supported his candidacy. He was a nice man.

Plus, my degree of separation from President Obama = 1. Whoop!