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Slump, Meet Anger. Slump, Watch Out.

9 Jun

My training malaise is still hanging tight, so I intend to find a way to channel my growing rage at the Congressman Anthony Weiner sex scandal to get my ass in gear.  For those of you who are blissfully unaware of the latest bad behavior by a member of the US Congress, here’s a quick summary in my own words.  Democrat Anthony Weiner of New York sent a picture of his erect penis bulging through his boxer briefs to a 21-year old college student who followed him on Twitter.  He mistakenly sent it over his public timeline rather than as a direct message and in the time between his realization of what he did and deleting it, some crazed troll who watches the accounts of politicians which they oppose had nabbed the photo and sent it to troll-overlord Andrew Breitbart, a far right-wing gadfly who roots out left-wing mistakes and hypocrisies and then publicizes them (way to use your power for good and not evil, shithead). When confronted by the media after the Brietbart exposé, Weiner lied his ass off for TEN DAYS that he’d been hacked, etc., etc., etc.  This past Monday, he held a press conference and confessed that yes, he had in fact sent the picture and even worse, weirder and MORE DISGUSTING, confessed that he has been doing this for years with at least a half dozen women.  Oh, but don’t worry, I am really sorry, my wife loves me and we’re going to stay together and I plan on not resigning my seat in Congress, because I didn’t do anything illegal, just completely objectionable and possibly deviant.

Are you puking yet?

Get ready to: the media just outed the news that his wife Huma Abedin, the smart, talented, glamorous and powerhouse right-hand woman to Hillary Clinton, is pregnant.

Go ahead.  Puke now.  Aim your projectile vomit at the media for not staying the hell out of that very personal piece of business.  I have been close to where Ms. Abedin is now and I cannot even imagine what it must be like to have the entire world know about the avalanche of cursed circumstance that has come down upon you.  She should call up Sandra Bullock or Maria Shriver or the ghost of Elizabeth Edwards.  Even though I didn’t agree with Hillary’s decision to stay with Bill, perhaps her counsel will offer some latent projection and she will tell her to get out.

I find myself particularly enraged with this whole mess for a number of reasons, even though I also agreed with many of the sentiments that Maureen Dowd brought up in her Op-Ed on this very topic.  I want to be clear that I am not a prude nor a moralizer.  I am a realist and a feminist and a mature adult.  So while I understand that human beings are extraordinary at making terrible decisions that complicate their lives when if they had paused for thought for maybe 10 more seconds beforehand all would be averted, I will NEVER understand the bald-faced lying when they get caught as a result of their impulses!  (Made the bad decisions, but I personally have not lied in regards to the consequences of said bad decisions.  I have however, denied myself the self-respect to express true feelings in the vain hope I was not hurting another.  Lessons learned, will never do again.)

Much is being made of whether or not he should resign, a charge for the “not” being led loudly by Rachel Maddow, mostly with the partisan angle that Republican Senator David Vitter was caught being a client of a madam in DC and patronized brothels in Louisiana for years (prostitution is illegal remember?), but no one, Republican or Democrat got any traction with calls for resignation, not to mention he sold his candidacy on family values and he was reelected.  She is right.  But for me, I still think Weiner needs to step down, because of the lying, and ironically, that we know now the personal info about his wife’s pregnancy.  My thoughts on this were crystallized in this brilliant post from New Yorker writer Amy Davidson.  She argues that his inability to understand that his actions, while not illegal like Vitter’s, do not properly estimate levels of risk, and isn’t that what a politician is elected to do?  She writes,

That is why it is, sad to say, a matter of legitimate interest that Weiner’s wife was pregnant when he sent those tweets. It widens our sense of just how careless he is with the lives of others, particularly those of people who are more vulnerable than he is. That is good to know about a politician; it is distinct from the question of whether someone who lies to his wife will lie to the public and, I’d argue, is more important.

So, if he lies to his wife, the thinking goes, he is going to lie to his constituents.  Funny, he was a co-sponsor on the legislation that I support and have been to Capitol Hill twice to lobby for.  Was he just lying to us too?  Imagine if the media spent the same amount of time, energy and resources to rooting out the near daily corruption scandals and collusions between our elected officials and the lobbyists and corporations who care only about money and not people?  Imagine if we were not hearing about the sad and personal circumstances that Ms. Abedin now faces, but rather how if we just raised the income limit on Social Security from $106,000 to oh I don’t know, $200K, it would be funded for like another 100 years.  Did you even know about the limit??

But you know all about Weiner’s peen.  It’s gonna take a lot of miles for me to forget about it.

People I Don’t Know

23 May

I spent most of tonight’s run thinking about Oprah Winfrey, since I am one of Those People who admires her immensely and am not afraid to say it. More to come on this topic after I see the finale show on Wednesday. I expect to be in full-on ugly cry mode and it is supposed to rain, so God (or similar) will be crying too.

The other person I don’t know personally but who I have been thinking about a lot is Lance Armstrong. I remember saying last year on a beach weekend with my girl friends that I thought he was guilty of doping and that sooner or later it would come out. I got some push back. Anyhow, more to write about here too, but I saw this quote and it all clicked.

“No man for any considerable period can wear one face to himself and another to the multitude, without finally getting bewildered as to which may be the true.” Nathaniel Hawthorne, The Scarlet Letter

Lance unlike Oprah, is very bewildered.

Kermit: Part III, The Last

19 May

Tonight marks four weeks since Kermit and I parted.  These particular four weeks have been monumentally busy, both professionally and personally, and my gratitude for this jolt of vitality cannot be overstated.  First, it has helped me cope with transitioning to the new wheels.  (Cloth seats are grabby and confusing.  What side is the gas tank on.  Why the eff doesn’t the rear window defroster turn itself off.  Etc.)  Next and more importantly, it has been the catalyst I have needed to go forward again.  I have been forced to be patient with a necessary inertia for close to two years now, a time in which I have learned and grown so much, yet am more than ready to bid farewell.

Saying that to Kermit however has been a lot harder than I thought.  And tonight, on my drive home in the new auto, I saw him sitting at the dealership all shined up with a big price tag in his windshield ready for someone to come take him home.

INT. CAR – EVENING
She bursts into tears.  Tom Petty, “You Don’t Know How It Feels” plays on the radio. 

(No really, that was playing.)

I have been trying to write this last post for the last two weeks.  Yes, work has been crazy, mostly due to the fact that my company has been sold to our biggest competitor in a nearly billion dollar deal, and yes, I took a four-day road trip to Southern Cal, and yes, one of my closest friends got her literal dream job and is moving three time zones away and all the last minute socializing that stirs up, and yes, both my dogs have been on a vet bender, and yes, SEAL Team 6 took out bin Laden, and yes, Kate Middleton’s dress was sublime, and yes, I did get up at 2:45AM to see it live, and yes, all the regular life stuff on top.  Even with the added action I intended to finish the Kermit posts, but every time I sat down to write, only nonsensical crap was coming out.  (I still don’t know if this makes sense or if it properly respects my time with the big green Allroad.)  The only thing I have figured out about why that might be happening is that I’m really missing our groove together and not getting the post done is a slightly immature rebellion in hopes of keeping the memories fresh.

Getting a new car during this time of transition is nothing but positive.  The facts are this: Kermit required more repair work than I could afford, or that he was was worth.  What chokes me up, is that I have always maintained and repaired all of my cars with care and diligence, but as  some very serious financial circumstances closed in on me, deferring maintenance on Kermit was a deliberate decision.  Not only do I miss my car, I feel guilty for nearly killing it.

Then I remembered “The Giving Tree.”  As much as The Boy is a caricature of insolent behavior due to his relentless selfishness, The Tree epitomizes warmth and respect and grace and love.  I will not compare myself to The Boy, but I will compare Kermit to The Tree.  He so consistently took care of me, over the hundred thousand miles we spent together hauling around me and my life, always making me look good, even when I felt very, very bad.  His final good deed was to provide the completely unexpected and sizable down payment for the new car.  To not be able to fix him myself as repayment for his service has troubled me, which I know, sounds absurd.  I am aware that I am describing a car, not a person.  I am aware that Kermit is a machine, worth only how well his parts work and what that market values.

But no matter what, I will forever love and appreciate that car like a member of my tribe, for always taking care of me, and for sticking by me through the very end, and now watching me go forward into my limitless future.

In a few days, I’ll introduce you to the new auto.  Kermit approves.

On The News of bin Laden’s Death

1 May

The last six days of my life have been, for lack of a better description possibly due to the overload, extremely eventful,  on a personal , national and global level.  I want to pause to focus on the global for a moment, and offer up a quick personal reflection on the news of Osama bin Laden’s death at the hand of an elite American SEAL team, the CIA and the command of President Obama.  There is a part of me that is quite satisfied that the last thing he saw was an American bullet hitting him in the left eye, but mostly I am in deep thought and throwing out a few prayers in my own way.

First, I offer up my sincere and humble gratitude to the military and intelligence community for their service and tireless efforts to protect all Americans and in fact, most citizens of the world.  The sacrifice involved in making that kind of commitment to a duty is one that I have not pondered enough to fully grasp, but know without a doubt that it is deeply honorable and deserves respect.  So, I thank you again and again, and support your service that keeps me and our country safe.

Tonight, after the speech from President Obama declaring that we had killed bin Laden, I watched the reports of crowds in front of the White House and then took a look at Facebook to see the reactions.  For the most part, I felt dismayed, not by the genuine release of emotion at this news, but by the semi-thoughtless way in which people were basically celebrating his death.  I felt strongly it was not the time to break into chants of “USA!” but instead to gather for humble reflection at what the symbolic power of his death is about.  Yes, this perhaps brings a sense of peace for those who lost family and friends on 9/11 and in the ensuing 10 years of war, but mostly, it should be time to find that strength and unity so palpable immediately following the attacks.  I know this is idealistic and some would say naive, but I know it is possible, because I experienced it in the months right after… before it became a quagmire of politics and war.

On the anniversary of 9/11, I have often shared the following photos of my brother and I on top of the World Trade Center, or as we liked to call them, the Twin Towers.  They were taken on a hot July night in 1983, on a sunset trip to the viewing deck with our Aunt Rita.  We were on a  month long vacation to visit our family in New York and hit all the biggest and best NYC tourist spots.  We are wearing tee-shirts that we had gotten at a make-your-own shop in a mall in Albany the week before, mine is emblazoned with a decal of Duran Duran, also the same photo that hung in a massive poster on the ceiling above my bed.  Oh, to be 12 again.

In this photo, we are horsing around on the pay phones, and undoubtedly were looking in all the coin returns for forgotten dimes.  My brother has the visitor’s guide book in his back left pocket.  The copy reads, quite chillingly, “The closest some of us will ever get to heaven.”


Next is my favorite photograph, one that makes me tear up and smile nearly every time I see it.  My grandmother wrote on the back of the photo, ” …doing cartwheels in the sky.”   I actually have a memory of doing  that row of cartwheels, down one side of the deck, seeing the sun setting and the city lights brighten.

My thoughts and prayers are with all Americans today, especially those directly affected by bin Laden’s hateful attack.  Let us rise up together, with all our myriad opinions and backgrounds and stories and go forward, if for no other reason than  to honor those who died that terrible day.

Kermit: Part I.(V)

27 Apr

(Work went sideways today and into this evening.  Don’t know if I will finish the rest of this tonight, so here is the in between.)

Kermit the 2nd went into service about a month after the accident, which at that time was about a month prior to the wedding we were about to host.  We were already married, but were finally getting around to having the big celebration, and if you have ever hosted a wedding, you can understand that having a colossal car accident which requires replacing the car via car insurance claims and attorneys and a car dealer two months before you are inundated with family and guests and a weekend filled with highly coordinated events and logistics, well, yeah, it was a bit of added stress that I did not need.  (Oh, and my caterer died.  Literally dropped dead and I just happened to read his OBITUARY in the LA Times while drinking my morning tea a short time before the accident.  Again, pay attention to the signs people!!  The answers are always there. )

Annnnyhoodle, getting my new Kermit was a welcome calm in the chaos and we bonded instantly.  One of the only places I ever felt safe emotionally was during my drive time.  Even if I was headed home, the place where all the hurt and yet unknown dramas were waiting for me, I would float along in my big steel cage on wheels signing songs with all the windows down like I had not a care in the world.

Right at the very height of our relationship’s demise, he took my car to Utah for a ski vacation.  The ski vacation of course that we took together every year, but he announced he was going alone and he took my car since it was four-wheel drive.  I did not like this one bit.  Not only was I pretty well wrecked at that point because we had not yet made The Decision (even though we both knew it was coming and frankly, had not figured out how to get there sooner), all I wanted to do was get in MY car and drive drive drive away to get my head cleared.  When he came back, there was a big white chunky stain on the driver’s side floor mat.  It was from road salt that he must have tracked into the car on his boots from the snowy roads.  Even months after we split I used to sit and look at that stain and seethe that he didn’t place the all-weather mats properly, and that he didn’t clack his boots together to get off the excess salted snow and so every time I looked at that damn stain I thought, “What kind of a jerk leaves his wife he’s about to divorce alone for two weeks but takes HER car to do it?”  An asshole that’s who.

When he got back, he moved out.  Double good news:  I was going to be freed from the mismatch that had temporarily turned me into a shadow of myself, AND I got to keep my car.  It was on to the next part of the journey for me and Kermit.

Kermit: Part I

24 Apr

Last Thursday night I ended my day in an unusual way.  I went and got a new car.  New car getting is terribly exciting and I have been very lucky to have had this experience many times in my life.  If I count just brand spanking new cars with less than 20 miles on the odometer, that’s four times including Thursday night.  I have also had two private owner cash purchases and one “pre-owned dealer-certified” experience as well.  It should be noted that this covers nearly 25 years of car getting.

I am of course very happy about the new car with its distinct new car smells and fuel efficiency and shininess and practicality.  But I am sad too.  I am missing my Kermit, my four-wheeled companion for the last nine years.  A lot has happened in the past nine years, but one constant has always been me and my big green Audi Allroad who faithfully carried me and my life in and out far and near and always through everything/everywhere/everyway I wanted to go.  And yes, I am crying buckets of wistful tears over my time spent with this hunk of metal.

Kermit actually existed in two versions of itself.  The first generation joined me in 2002 fairly soon after I was engaged and moved in with my fiancé.  I was driving another beloved Audi at the time, Ruby the A4, but she was too sporty for all the schlepping that I was needing to manage with my two new charges, my soon-to-be-step-daughters not to mention the plan to get a dog, (which then became two dogs).   She was a manual transmission too, so fun to drive, but again, not so practical.  His Land Cruiser, while bitchen, was just too huge, so I suggested the Allroads, being an ardent Audi fan.  (Including my three, there have been a total of seven Audis in my immediate family, one still being thoroughly enjoyed by my brother.)  He found one that was a year old, had 17,000 miles on it and every single solitary option you can think of as it was owned by a full-on Audi geek.  The geek man loved it, but wanted a new Audi toy, so we lucked out and got it for a great price with all the tricked out features to boot.  Plus, it could handle the amount of gear and sports equipment we were about to foist upon it.

My love for that car was immediate and intense.  I would read the manuals before bed until I understood all the specs; I would get it washed once a week; I would snuggle into the heated seats if it was anything below 70 degrees outside.  And it could pass going 80 uphill!  And it could take a corner like a Porsche!  And it could 4-wheel drive romp through mud and snow!  And the stereo was a private front row concert to all my favorite tunes every day!  Plus, it felt like it was all happening while riding on a cloud.

Then, one morning while driving along in a 40 MPH zone on the now almost auto-pilot route to work, a kid pulled a U-turn from a parked spot right in front of me and I crashed into her left front axle, thankfully not her door or I would have killed or maimed her. There was smoke and screeches and airbags and broken glass and adrenaline and when I could see again a few moments after impact, I unlatched my seat belt and walked away from my car that was now, as they say, totaled.  When my then-husband arrived at the scene and I burst into tears at the sight of him, he was apparently so comforted that I was up and walking around with no visible signs of injury, he dismissed me, and instead went over to the car as it was getting loaded up on the flatbed tow truck and sighed perhaps too heavy and sad a sigh over a hunk of metal in the face of my obvious shock and oncoming bruises and pains.  (That should have been the final straw for me that the marriage was not going to make it, but it took a few more car-crash like events to really get it through my head.  Live and learn, and please, just listen to your gut every single time!  An important digression…)   He came back over to me and said with utter exasperation he didn’t know what he was going to do now, and I said, through more tears, “All I know is, I want the exact same kind of car.”

And so, the 2nd generation Kermit came into my life. 

More on him and me tomorrow.  I need to back away from the keyboard, wipe these tears and go for a run!

American Thighs

18 Apr

Where have the last two weeks gone?  Been bizzybizzybizzy, but in a totally satisfactory, life-is-good-even-with-alotta-lotta-life-going-on kind of way.  However, I do have a gah-narly and super painful muscle spasm in my left trap and neck, so I’m not on a run tonight.  Instead, I have been laying on a tennis ball; the ball gets placed into the knot, then I shift my weight into the ball and it helps undo it.   It f’ing hurts, but in a good way most of the time.  Looking forward to knocking out a fast four miles tomorrow and getting some more writing done and posted.

Sharing another action shot to remind self that muscle spasms are temporary.  Just like everything, this too shall pass.  A very comforting concept.

In My Day It Was Called MOS

16 Mar

Blazing through some blog check-in reads this morning, I was stopped dead in my tracks at this brilliant post about social media and human emotions and Fear of Missing Something, or as my friends and I have called it since college, MOS (Miss-Out Syndrome).  Caterina Fake, who, amongst other internet success stories is the co-founder of Flickr, wrote the piece.

I have been in a seasonal funk, one I blame on my lifelong sheer disdain for spring with all its erratic weather and time changing and messy transitional sludge.  When I get like this and now have the power to be a judgmental voyeur using Facebook like some kind of narcotic, my already sensitive nature is in for a colossal crash with every check-in.  I hate the way I feel when I make flippant conclusions about what I am missing rather than focus on being present in my very own and very superlative life.  Yeah, I may be going through some pot-holed hell for way longer than any normal human being should have to endure, but I am also a consistently tardy bloomer, and if my mom is to be believed, am quite special.  I think it is because most days I do stop to smell every flower along the way.

Ms. Fake refers to Mr. Rogers Emmy acceptance speech, and in the spirit of honoring all of my friends and family who I love dearly, know that I am thinking only the best for you, for way more than 10 seconds.  And I promise, I PROMISE, I will try super hard to accept that you are doing it for me too.

“Name It While It’s Happening”

8 Mar

Tripped up by a few bits of emotional gravel the past few weeks, I have been quietly focusing on slowing things back down to one-minute-at-a-time-if-that-is-what-it-takes mantras. Don’t really want to spoil my success with long winded posts about the noise in my head; I have a lot of material to write and edit, but this week it is way more important to me to be making the ferry on time wearing a proper work outfit and a polished face of make-up.

That being acknowledged, current events seem ever more pressing in our hyperspeed electronic world so I cannot wait to get over myself to do a little politics updating.** In the face of the union v. Governor stand-off in Wisconsin (Day 22!) and several other states dealing with similar budget issues that Republican and Tea Party backed politicians want to resolve by busting unions (first public employees, then private companies sure to follow), cutting taxes for corporations and imposing backdoor tax increases on the poor and middle class. They are using the argument that it is about the budget (cue freak-outs!!!) and that the only way they can solve the problem of massive deficits in state coffers is to not collectively bargain with public employees (police, firefighters and teachers make up the biggest parts of the budgets) because they need all this power to make budget cutting decisions on the fly. Um, NO.

In the past year or so, the Republicans (and some Dems too to be perfectly honest) were gaining traction with the strategy of having all of us tearing each other to shreds. There was never a better example of government abuse than here in California in the relatively small town of Bell. A few greedy and frankly very stupid people got themselves elected to the city council and then began to basically embezzle municipal taxes to pay themselves huge salaries and pensions. This went on for years. Once the financial crisis hit and there was no tax money to pay themselves and the numbers did not add up, citizens were disgusted and shocked to find they had been bilked by these jerks. The media meantime had been running with one side of the story, villainizing public servants and lumping them all into this bad batch. But then, a funny thing happened. People remembered they have the right to vote. Unlike in a private company where the CEO and Board can decide everything down to the penny of how much to underpay their workers and overpay themselves not to mention lay people off at will, the citizens of Bell used their VOTES to oust these jackholes. In the recall election today in Bell, OVER NINETY FIVE PER CENT OF THE REGISTERED VOTERS turned out and overwhelmingly elected a new council!!! The last election only had about 10% turnout. This is no coincidence. Voting is extremely powerful. Give ‘em hell voters!!!!

Finally, tonight as I was getting ready for my run, I had Rachel Maddow on in the background, feeling very proud of her on International Women’s Day. Her segment on the possible turn of events in favor of the workers in Wisconsin perked me right up and then, even more awesomely, her guest was another powerhouse woman, author Naomi Klein. Naomi’s current book is called “The Shock Doctrine: The Rise of Disaster Capitalism” and outlines the way that far-right billionaires have been creating policies and plans for the past 30 years to invalidate government for the people it is supposed to serve and instead exist only to prop up the 2% who own 98% of our wealth. Am I over-simplifying? Yes. But am I wrong? No. The good news is that people are finally waking up that this is NOT okay.

The link to the interview is here. Please scroll ahead to the 4:00 mark and let Ms. Klein explain it. My favorite quote (transcribed poorly) is below:

“Crisis was created on Wall Street, that was moved to Main Street and this crisis as we know was deepened by the policy decisions that were made. The decision to bailout banks instead of homeowners, instead of bailing out workers, and what that means is that your tax base collapses. So your tax base collapsed and now we have to pay for the crisis again. First we paid for it with bailouts and now we are paying for it with budget cuts.”

The crisis as they describe is not really real my friends. The money is with the banks and corporations who CAUSED it. FIGHT people FIGHT!!! We can make THEM pay and we can win.

** this is for you, Echeve.  :-)  thanks for encouraging me to write some politics.  I pretend I am just telling you!

Hypocrite-Hypocrites

9 Feb

Normally, I don’t get too heavily into politics here on ‘sugarleg’ because I already spend a lot of time reading politics and watching politics and talking politics and writing emails about politics and blowing gaskets about politics, and then I really need a run to cool out, and then I just don’t want to talk about it after that.  But this morning, a story that has been on my back burner came to a full boil, and I will burn the house down if I don’t share a few key pieces of information.

Many of you may have heard that the Republican led House of Representatives is trying to dismantle the new health car law and since they failed at a full blown repeal, they are trying to de-fund it piece by piece.  Although they got elected on a wave of concern about keeping that nasty big government off our backs  and promises to get the 10% of unemployed Americans working again, they are instead up to their old tricks of being in recess except for when they want big government to get inside my uterus.

After a massive public relations failure last week when they tried to re-define rape, a bill called H.R. 3 or “The No Taxpayer Funding for Abortion Act” wants to use the tax code to ensure that no tax breaks are given to provide abortions.  This is basically another layer of de-funding which already exists in the Hyde Amendment to the health car law (that says no federal funds to be used for abortions).  There is another bill called H.R. 358, “The Protect Life Act” that wants to reinforce the Hyde Amendment.  But here’s where it gets really scummy.  From the Washington Post, “The “Protect Life Act” would prohibit federal funding of abortions under the national health care overhaul. It also would prevent funding from being withheld from institutions that are opposed to providing abortions.” Yeah, re-read the last part about “institutions opposed” and think about what institutions are pro-choice and those opposed.  Opposed will get the money and pro-choice will not.  And who is on the not-get-the-money list?

Yep, PLANNED PARENTHOOD.  They are going after Planned Parenthood AGAIN.  By using the tax code.  Funny, I don’t seem to recall them having a lot of love for tax codes, or tax paying, or the IRS, but now they want to use the tax codes to keep funds away from a partially federally funded institution that serves women and families because they believe that that institution encourages abortion.  And then they want to turn around and give tax breaks and dollars to institutions that oppose abortion.

Dear White Republican Overtly Religious Usually Wealthy Oft-Divorced Congress MEN (and a few of your women colleagues):

F**K OFF.  My body is none of your business.

Have you ever even been in a Planned Parenthood?  Because I have.  When I started having sex way too young at age 15 and was terrified to tell my mom, but knew how babies were made thanks to SEX EDUCATION IN PUBLIC SCHOOLS and my parents candor, I found a friend to take me to PP to get on the pill.  I went to PP all through high school and then after college when I had no health insurance, no longer had access to my PUBLIC UNIVERSITY health clinics or to be on my parents’ insurance (which thanks to the new health care law young adults up to age 26 CAN be) and needed excellent, low-cost health care and birth control.  That MY tax dollars were funding!

Would you have preferred that I didn’t get a yearly pap smear?  Maybe lady parts you’re not merely objectifying make you squeamish.  Would you rather I risked pregnancy and STDs? Oh and I know you would have thrown me a fantastic baby shower had I gotten unintentionally pregnant.  Or, maybe not… unwed baby mommas are all just doing it to be on the dole right?

And now you use rape as a way to chip away at a woman’s right to make personal, private health decisions that sometimes include abortion.  Like I said, f**k off.

For those of you who did not see the brilliant and hilarious piece on The Daily Show last week about this, watch and learn.  (WordPress won’t let me embed it, grrrr.  Click above.)

Please feel free to vent with civility in the comments.

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