Tuesday, November 6, 2018

Make Racists Uncomfortable Again

Hello. Happy Election Day. Hope you've already got your coffee, your "I Voted" sticker, and a yummy snack that'll sink your food diary for the day, because you deserve it.

I've been having some thoughts and wanted to write them down.

This weekend, I wore one of my "inflammatory liberal t-shirts," as a friend calls them, to my kids' soccer games.

One of the other moms - who seems like a great, kind, thoughtful person, came up to me and said, "I love your shirt. Good for you for wearing that here. I have a couple like that too, but I don't wear them out, because you never know what people's politics are, and I don't want to make anyone uncomfortable...." At the time, I responded, "Ha, not me! Come at me, bro!" But I got thinking about it later, and basically what she was saying was, "I don't want to make racist people feel uncomfortable about their racism. Because, you know, aside from not liking brown people, they seem like totally reasonable folks. Why ruin their Saturday afternoon?"

Oh, and before anyone responds "Just because they're anti-immigrant doesn't mean they're racist." Yeah, it kinda does. I mean, correct me if I'm wrong, but I've never once heard anyone who's making the "Go to the back of the line/Just file your papers and do it the right way!" argument lamenting the illegal immigrants from Canada, or Russia, or China, for that matter. I knew an entire rugby team comprised of white dudes from New Zealand and South Africa who'd overstayed their visas and had no intention of returning home. I never saw ICE banging down their doors. Hell, there's a good chance FLOTUS was an "illegal immigrant" at some point and clearly Trumpsters don't have a problem with that. There seems to be a direct correlation between the GOP's anti-immigrant rhetoric and the amount of melanin in said immigrant population's skin. (Also also, immigrants are better educated and commit less crime than the US-born population. So they can just stop with the terrorists and bad hombre business.)

In any event. My point is. Making bigots uncomfortable is THE WHOLE POINT. Use your privilege! If you're not part of the solution, you're part of the problem. "If you are neutral in situations of injustice, you have chosen the side of the oppressor." - Desmond Tutu.

In the words of Martin Luther King Jr. in Letter from a Birmingham Jail:

I must make two honest confessions to you, my Christian and Jewish brothers. First, I must confess that over the past few years I have been gravely disappointed with the white moderate. I have almost reached the regrettable conclusion that the Negro's great stumbling block in his stride toward freedom is not the White Citizen's Counciler or the Ku Klux Klanner, but the white moderate, who is more devoted to "order" than to justice; who prefers a negative peace which is the absence of tension to a positive peace which is the presence of justice; who constantly says: "I agree with you in the goal you seek, but I cannot agree with your methods of direct action"; who paternalistically believes he can set the timetable for another man's freedom; who lives by a mythical concept of time and who constantly advises the Negro to wait for a "more convenient season." Shallow understanding from people of good will is more frustrating than absolute misunderstanding from people of ill will. Lukewarm acceptance is much more bewildering than outright rejection.

I had hoped that the white moderate would understand that law and order exist for the purpose of establishing justice and that when they fail in this purpose they become the dangerously structured dams that block the flow of social progress. I had hoped that the white moderate would understand that the present tension in the South is a necessary phase of the transition from an obnoxious negative peace, in which the Negro passively accepted his unjust plight, to a substantive and positive peace, in which all men will respect the dignity and worth of human personality. Actually, we who engage in nonviolent direct action are not the creators of tension. We merely bring to the surface the hidden tension that is already alive. We bring it out in the open, where it can be seen and dealt with. Like a boil that can never be cured so long as it is covered up but must be opened with all its ugliness to the natural medicines of air and light, injustice must be exposed, with all the tension its exposure creates, to the light of human conscience and the air of national opinion before it can be cured.

"What hurts the victim most is the not the cruelty of the oppressor but the silence of the bystander.... The opposite of love is not hate, it's indifference." - Elie Wiesel

So get out there, my friends, with your connections, your voices, your Facebook pages, your bumper stickers, your inflammatory liberal t-shirts. Let's Make Racists (and misogynists and homophobes and bigots of all sorts) Uncomfortable Again! MRUA! 


Monday, September 24, 2018

If I were still a blogger, this is what I'd say about Brett Kavanaugh

I haven't really been able to blog since The Bad Man moved into the White House. He broke me in my funny bone. A cousin recently said I should just quit my (new-ish) job and start blogging again, because I do more good blogging than I ever will lawyering. Which is really nice. (I think.) But honestly, I just have so much hopelessness and rage, it's impossible to wrangle it into words and wrap it up in a nice little package with just the right amount of wit and fury.

Also I canNOT with Facebook, and that was where people used to find me, so... *shrug emoji.*

I sometimes think about what I would say, though.

Really throughout the whole #MeToo movement, but especially in light of this Douche Bonnet Yalie Frat Boy SCOTUS nomination... I just cannot abide the disbelief. "Oh, no, he would never. Not the upstanding pillar of society that I know." Okay, first, he's a frat boy named Brett. Like, bro, have you been to a frat party? I think it's probably easier to count the number of frat parties where I wasn't varying degrees of violated. This shit is straight out of their playbook. They probably have a fucken Power Point. "How to be just the right amount of rapey. Like Goldilocks. Except with your dick."

So yeah. Anyway. I’m ashamed to admit my initial reaction when I read most of these stories is, "That's it?" Effed up, I know, that I/we have become so accustomed to this pervasive abuse (of power, of trust, of our bodies and our self respect), that these tales sound so... ordinary... and expected. How sad that we have been conditioned to believe we are not entitled to outrage for these violations, as commonplace as they may be. You were drunk (or not), he was drunk (or not), he stuck his hand up your shirt (or down your pants), grabbed your lady bits, held you down on the bed (or against the wall), held your wrists behind your back, even though you said "Stop" or "No," or covered your mouth so you couldn't. Most of these things have happened to me, personally, and to many of the women I know, too. From the age of 14 to the age of 44. Sometimes it's someone you know, and sometimes it's a total stranger, in a long dark hallway waiting for the bathroom, on a slick and sticky dance floor, in moving car, on a romantic walk in the woods that took a turn for the worst, or predictably, on a rickety twin bed in someone’s dorm room.

It happens. All the time. "No" didn't mean no. And it leaves you spooked and shaky, but you think, "Well, it's not like he raped me or anything." Not that it was okay, but I would never have dreamed of reporting it. I just figured it was the "price of doing business." "What did you think was going to happen when you wore that outfit and drank too much Jungle Juice?" I usually told a friend, or two. They had stories, too. We'd talk about it the next morning, or a year later if something sparked that particular ignominious memory, or sometimes not at all. We compiled mental rolodexes of guys not to be drunk and alone with. That's smart. That's safe. That's how you "avoid being raped." I'm not even kidding, I'm pretty sure our RA's gave us a little talk to this effect freshman year. Did they give a talk to the boys about, maybe, not being rapey? I doubt it.

But then I think about teaching my daughter "how not to get raped, not even a little bit," and I think, EFF. THAT.

Here's a crazy idea. How about... don't rape people?! Like, at all. Not when you're 15 or 17 or 25 or 72! (Apparently I am in the minority, but I think the notion that something terrible you do in high school might haunt you thirty years down the road is actually a great thing?!)

So, let's just lay some ground rules: Don't put your BLANK on their BLANK unless they say that's okay. They're allowed to change their mind at any time, and you do not have a standing reservation. Let's stop acting like we don't know when a line has been crossed. We know. And we can't put up with it anymore. For our daughters and our sons. This ends with us. (I mean, I'm speaking hypothetically here. It's been a looooong while since anyone who was not legally obligated tried to touch my vagina.)

I'm not saying call 9-1-1 if you're having a drunk make out session with someone and they try to grab The Lost Jewels of Nabooti and you say stop and they don't, at least not right away. I don't know. You have to do what feels right for you. But I am saying we don't have to - in fact we absolutely cannot - pretend it's okay, sweep it under the rug, or believe it's within the realm of socially acceptable behavior. Because it's not.

I guess I'm mad at myself because I am a strong, smart, independent woman and I feel like I "let" these things happen, by exercising poor judgment, by not saying "Stop" convincingly enough, by not calling these people out when it happened, to their face, to their friends, to their secret society of fraternal douchery, thereby allowing it to happen to probably countless others. I see myself when I read these stories. Fox News would 100% be able to find a photo of me smiling at a party next to the guy that definitely assaulted me while I was blackout drunk three weeks before. Does that make what he did any more okay?

This was almost 20 years ago. But I'll tell you what. If he runs for office or a judgeship or god forbid the Supreme Court of the United States of America - you can bet your ass I'll be telling you his name.

And don't even get me started on the "lesser" evil of sexual harassment without actually whipping out your dick or physically assaulting someone. Ugh. I'll save that for next year's blog post ;)

Oh, and on the other side, the whole thing about "Well, Dr. Ford's allegations must be legitimate because she's a professor," as if you need a PhD to substantiate your sexual assault story. So gross. Just don't.

Okay thanks bye.

PS. Life is not all bad and my children are enormous.

The Girl and her dad
Also have you read Missoula? You "should."

(Also also. Yes. Innocent until proven guilty, and I get that the notion of false accusations are terrifying, but a) that rarely happens ("studies have shown" less than 25% of sexual assaults are even reported, and only a small fraction of those are ultimately unfounded or unproven), b) if you are making it up, do you volunteer to take a lie detector test and ask the FBI to investigate? and c) all people are asking is that they do just that - investigate - before forcing the nomination through and letting this guy sit on the highest court in the land, with the ability to affect laws as they apply to women's rights and bodies, for the next 30 to 40 years.)

The End.


Several of them, actually. Patriots. 

Tuesday, October 3, 2017

With All Due Respect, Your Argument is F*%ing Stupid

I'm baaaaack :)

Did'ya miss me? I don't miss Facebook, not even a little bit, but I do miss you guys!

Anyway, as you may or may not know, senseless mass shootings are a bit of a trigger for me. (No pun intended.)

Obviously, I could prepare a dissertation on this subject (and have basically written drafts of such, here and here).

But I don't have time for that.

I just want to address one tiny part of the INSANITY that is the gun control debate.

The people that say "Oh well more people die in car accidents than from guns each year so why don't we outlaw cars, huh? What do you have to say about that, huh, smarty pants libtard? Huh? Huh?"

I'm so glad you asked.

1) Cars' primary purpose is transportation. Guns' primary purpose (at least automatic/semi-automatic weapons such as those used in the Vegas shooting (and San Bernadino, and Pulse Nightclub, and Sandy Hook), which is what most people are talking about when they say "common sense gun regulations") IS TO F*CKING KILL PEOPLE.

2) The ownership and operation of vehicles IS HIGHLY REGULATED. The purchase of a vehicle is a tortuous process that involves a small mountain of paperwork. You are required to register your vehicle on an annual basis and ensure that it is in proper working order. MOST IMPORTANTLY, YOU HAVE TO TAKE A DETAILED TEST IN ORDER TO OBTAIN A LICENSE TO DRIVE A CAR. You have to re-up that license, and demonstrate your physical and mental fitness for continued operation of that vehicle.

Jesus H. Christ. It's not F*CKING rocket science.

So yeah. Anyway. As you can see I've really calmed down and tapped into that deep hidden reserve of zen in the year I've been away. Sigh. I can't even talk about Tom Petty, or Puerto Rico, or Colin Kaepernick, or the vile human currently masquerading as the president of the United States right now.

Here is my prescription for surviving this world and not losing your got-damn mind:

Just add alcohol. 
Suggested Reading:

America's Unique Gun Violence Problem, Explained in 17 Maps and Charts - Vox

In 1996, Australia Enacted Strict Gun Laws. It Hasn't Had a Mass Shooting Since - Slate

Every Member of Congress Who Took Money From the NRA and Tweeted 'Thoughts and Prayers' to Las Vegas - Splinter News

Some of my favorite tweets on the subject:

Also these:
love her.
Brutal, but pretty accurately captures my current mood.

K. Love you. Take care of yourselves. Bye.

Wednesday, March 8, 2017

A Day Without A Feminazi


Lady Liberty knows what's up. I, however, failed bigly at #ADayWithoutAWoman.

My husband had to leave at 6:30 am for a meeting so I was solo drill sergeant this morning. Then I had to take both kids to the doctor. I didn’t boycott work, unless showing up at lunch counts. I have to finish ten hours of work in half the time, before attending a board meeting at 6. Then I have to rush home to hastily feed and bathe the rugrats and listen enthusiastically to really, really long, meandering stories devoid of plot or, apparently, resolution, about their days (so weird, I have no idea who they get that from ;)) Then I'll read books in a chipper, animated voice and pretend I’m not counting the minutes until they fall asleep. I basically spent my whole day doing all the types of things that moms and wives and women do most waking moments of their lives, with little compensation or recognition.

I wore red, though. So there’s that.

I was totally gung-ho for the Women's March, but I felt more ambivalent about “A Day Without A Woman.” It seemed to me that the most vulnerable women among us are not in a position to strike, even for a day, so it feels a little like we’re missing the point? It’s also not as effective if only some people participate. But how incredible would it be if ALL women really did refuse to work today? As a coworker said, "Our office would cease to function." Hell, the WORLD would cease to function. And that's kind of the point. But unfortunately, that's not terribly practical or feasible. Can you imagine though? If nary a woman was to be found? That would really be something else.

Short of turning the world upside-down, there’s something to be said about being visible, making our voices heard, raising consciousness, making people at least consider what a state the world would be in without the work that women do, day in and day out, morning and night, at home and at school and at the office and at the hospital and at the church and in the kitchen and at the construction site and in the sea and in the sky…. Women fuel the world. We might not be as loud and showy as the engine, but without us, you are going nowhere.

There’s also something to be said for standing up for those who can’t stand up for themselves. Me? I'm doing alright. I'm white. I'm not poor. I live in California. I work for a law firm founded and run by a woman. My commitments to my family are honored and respected. I am paid at a rate commensurate with my male colleagues. I make more money than my husband, in fact.

And speaking of said husband, he takes on more or less an equal share of the unpaid work at home – the kids, the dogs, the house, the dishes and laundry, breakfasts lunches and dinners, the family taxi service, all of it. (You want to know the really messed up part? I catch myself feeling guilty about this. “He does so much! He probably resents me for it.” I wrote a whole post about this once. And the reality check my friend promptly gave me. She handed me a pen and a piece of paper and told me to write down the things I do vs. the things Daddy Mack does. He does half-ish. On a good day. So why do I feel bad?! Like I’m not fulfilling my wiferly duties or something? Buncha BS, that is! I kind of suck at feministing.) The sad thing is, with our 50/50 split, he does more than almost every other man I know.

ANYWAY. The point is. Just because I am a woman and I have it pretty good doesn’t mean women have achieved perfect parity in our society. Far from it.

These are just some of the reasons I resist, and why I will continue to do so:

Because women and men are still not equal. Because America, and the world, are not always safe places for women, particularly queer women and women of color. Because strangers on the street tell me I’d look a lot prettier if I smiled. Because all my life men have told me I should dress/act/speak more like a lady. Because men have told me to "watch my mouth." Because judges and other old white male lawyers tell my I’m too young, too pretty, too sweet to be a lawyer. Because male employers and coworkers have critiqued my looks and my body behind my back, and to my face. Because each achievement in my life has been accompanied with loud whispers of, "Wonder what, or rather who, she did to get that grade/internship/promotion?" Because I've been grabbed by the pussy. By the tits and ass too. I think I was 13 years old the first time.

Because this Administration has reinstated the Global Gag Rule, a spiteful GOP legacy that prevents millions of vulnerable girls and women in Africa and around the world from accessing birth control and family planning, HIV services, and child and maternal health care.

Because SwampCare deems maternity coverage "optional," and includes a provision that will defund Planned Parenthood. I, personally, fully and unabashedly support abortion. But even if you don’t. Since 1973, the Helms and Hyde amendments prevent the use of federal funds to pay for abortion. So what you’re really defunding is birth control for two million people, 4 million STD tests, 360,000 breast exams, 270,000 pap tests, and more.

Because there is no evidence that blocking access to abortion reduces the number of abortions. What it does do is increase the number of pregnancy-related deaths – up to double. I don’t know what kind of new math they're using, but this is where your pro-life argument starts to take on water.

Because gender discrimination is prevalent in elementary education and beyond. Teachers call on boys more often, ask them more difficult questions, give them more feedback. Teachers actually fail to notice girls raise their hands as often. When teachers do call on female students, their interactions are more likely to involve social, non-academic subjects. Teachers more often choose boys to lead groups, give demonstrations, or help with an experiment. The proportion of attention given to male students increases from elementary to junior and then high school. Teachers also favor boys in their nonverbal behavior, including head nodding and encouraging smiles. Similar trends are shown along color lines as well.

Because women are paid 80 cents on the dollar for equal work. The disparity is even greater for women of color. It’s worse for mothers too. (Yes, yes, I hear you terrible twitter trolls saying men just work harder. A) Fuck you. B) Maybe if you pulled your weight at home, your partner would be able to get ahead at work. It ain’t rocket science.)

Because women represent a disproportionate percentage of the people in poverty.

Because women perform a disproportionate amount of unpaid labor, including household and child-rearing duties, despite the fact that in the vast majority of two-parent families, both parents work.

Because voter suppression efforts disproportionately target women, students, and people of color.

Because women of color are negatively affected at much higher rates by police violence and mass incarceration (themselves, their families, and their communities).

Because women are much more likely to be victims of domestic violence – 85% of victims are women. This includes physical, emotional, and financial abuse.

Because one in three women experience physical or sexual violence in their lives.

Because Muslim women, women of color, and the LGBTQ community are particularly vulnerable to discrimination in housing, employment, and healthcare. They are the victims of hate crimes at increasingly alarming rate. Transgender women of color especially are disproportionately affected by fatal violence.

Because when I tell my daughter and my son the above and they ask, “How can we make it better?” I want to do more than shrug. I want to put my money, my time, and my heart, where my mouth is. Because passion without action is just observation. In the words of the great Angela Davis, “I am no longer accepting the things I cannot change. I am changing the things I cannot accept.”

Ambivalently Yours
Is this movement perfect? No. But to quote Hamilton the Musical: “Revolution is messy, but now is the time to take a stand.” If fomenting real, positive change were easy and convenient and uncomplicated, we wouldn’t be having this conversation. The world would already be a better place. You have to fight for the things that are worth fighting for.

Yet again, the internets seem to have earned their scout’s badge in panty-knotting. Why people get so incensed over the actions of complete strangers that have no effect on them whatsoever is completely beyond me. If you don’t agree with the strike, then, hey, here's an idea: DON'T STRIKE. But don’t you dare tell me “women are already equal” and there’s nothing worth fighting for.

“I believe in the fire of love and the sweat of truth.” Assata Shakur

The end.

PS Sorry I didn't source this for you like I usually do. Click here for assistance ;)

Friday, January 27, 2017

The Implorables

Friends! How've you been?! Time flies when you're living in a real life reenactment of some bizarre dystopian novel!

I've missed you, but not enough to brave the soul-suck that is Facebook. I've really been enjoying not losing my damn mind in all my newfound free time, though honestly, this past week, reality has been damn near impossible to ignore. Sigh.

We went to Cancun in December. It was pretty. All-inclusive resorts aren't usually my jam, but I realized, when a generous benefactor is footing the bill, they are, in fact, a sublime way to vacation. I even read two whole books DURING THE DAY, if you can believe it.

Have Elf, will travel.
Chuck Ferry the Masculine Feminist.
This Blue Hawaiian goes great with my white guilt.
In all seriousness though. Read this book. It'll blow your hair back.
Jack was sick two days before we left - they thought he had appendicitis and ran a gamut of tests in the ER until 2am. Luckily he recovered in time for the trip, and enjoyed himself immensely. He drank more [virgin] "pina chihuahuas" every day than I did. Sadly, right before we entered the airport on the way home, he threw up e'erywhere. Then a few more times on the plane on the way home. By the way, did you know that United Airlines' policy is that you cannot throw away barf bags on the plane? Instead, you have to keep them at your seat for the duration of the flight? True story. Good times. Good times.

We got back to San Diego just before midnight on December 23rd to find that our dogs had chewed through the bottom portion of lights on our Christmas tree.


The big dog had scratched a hole in her ear and was bleeding. The little dog had peed on the carpet, and had deposited several little hershey's kisses of shit about the house. Big dog, not to be outdone, trampled through the dollops of doodoo and smeared them around the house. Mind you, they saved up a week of shenanigans for us, because the dog sitter had texted a photo of two non-bloodied, non-shit-stained pups to me several hours earlier. I cleaned up the mess only to realize that it was still spreading. I then realized that little Nacho's furry butt was basically a shit-sponge with which she was applying an artistic faux-finish to my floors. Charming.

So I brought her upstairs, thrust her into DM's arms while I undressed and turned on the shower, and then got into the shower with her to give her a butt-bath. We both started laughing maniacally at the image: jet-lagged, exhausted, showering, with a dog, using my fingers to comb clumps of wet poop from her natty butt fur... Having come into contact with every possible bodily fluid - not my own - in the last twelve hours. Does that ever happen to you? Where you make eye contact with your significant other in the middle of some outrageous circumstance, and become instantly, helplessly, hysterical with laughter? "For better or worse, richer or poorer, in sickness and health, and even when you have rivulets of shit-water running down your body, mingling with the blood, sweat, vomit, urine, and tears." But now that I think about it, it's times like these that true love really shines through.

Christmas was great though. Except the part where Jack started crying when he got a shiny new iPad because now he has so many iPads he doesn't know what to do. #whitepeopleproblems #ihavefailed

We spent New Years Eve with two other family friends and the kids had a great time. I'd purchased hats and crowns and horns - the last of which I immediately regretted - as did our host, who had just put her baby to bed. Whoops. Rookie manuever. Also, I'd gotten these popper things from Target? I vaguely remember having them when we were younger and thinking they were great fun. I had to show ID to buy them, which I thought was weird, but the Target checker waved it off and chalked it up to the great pussification of America. I didn't even give it a second thought. So, at midnight, or rather, 9pm Pacific Time, we gave the kids the poppers. I then provided a quick demonstration, tugging at the ends of the popper, which exploded and shot a freaking corkscrew at Colby's head. Turns out that instead of festive things like treats and confetti, the poppers were filled with things like scissors, handcuffs, and metal corkscrews. W.T.F. If there's a more fitting end to 2016, I can't think of it.

Now it's 2017. I wake up daily with a sense of dread and disbelief. It's kind of like when someone dies, and you keep forgetting, and then it hits you like a sledgehammer every time you remember again. This happened to me when I was in DC last week. I kept seeing this official inaugural schwag featuring DJT as the actual, real-life, no-this-is-not-a-sick-joke, President, and it literally took my breath away.

Let me tell you what gets me through the day though. This: These women and men and children, uniting, together, to stand up for what's right. And I got to be a part of it.

That guy on the bottom right is wondering what he got himself into ;) 
Some people say they don't "get it," and/or "women already have rights," and/or "other countries have it way worse" so what are we even protesting? Okay, first of all, just because other women in other countries have fewer rights and shittier lives than we do doesn't mean we should just throw our hands in the air and say "oh well" when our own rights are being threatened. In fact, horror stories coming out of Syria and Sudan and Afghanistan should make our mission at home all the more urgent. These places are cautionary tales of what can happen when human rights are subverted to an authoritarian will. Also, if I ever heard any of the above arguments from an actual woman suffering in one of these terrible places, I might stop to think, but because it is invariably tossed out by suburban white women, I am less than persuaded. The fact of the matter is, even America can be a scary, dangerous place for anyone who is not white. And/or straight. And/or male. Better than Darfur? Certainly. But c'mon, is that really the bar we're setting for ourselves?

Second of all, if you are okay with the fact that you, as a woman, make 75 cents on the dollar to white males (63% if you're a Black woman, 54% if you're Latina); if it doesn't bother you that women still do the vast majority of household and child-rearing labor, even when they work as much or more than their male partners; if you're okay with the fact that the United States is the only industrialized nation in the world without a mandatory paid family leave program; if you're fine with knowing that women of color are victims of domestic violence at much higher rates than their white counterparts, and face often insurmountable barriers in seeking redress or assistance; if it's cool with you that old white men who've never had a period, been pregnant, had a miscarriage, or had a baby are legislating our rights to our bodies; if it doesn't bother you that our LGBTQ, Black, and Brown sisters and brothers literally do not feel safe walking down the street, and are victims of hate, violence, and discrimination at alarming rates compared to the rest of the population; if you aren't concerned that our president is taking discriminatory action against minorities, not to mention an entire religion that makes up nearly a quarter of the earth's population, actions that are literally out of the Nazi playbook; if it doesn't bother you that immigrants, who make up over 10% of Americans and 25% of Californians, are facing threats to their homes, their rights, their families, and their lives, well,... hmmm. How do I say this politely? You're, uh... let's see... kind of an a-hole? Either that or you're completely and utterly oblivious, willfully or otherwise. But hey, that's your prerogative! Murrica! That brings me to my second point though: If you don't agree with the march, DON'T GO! That's the beauty of this great country! But guess what, freedom of speech and freedom of assembly are two of the actual pillars of American democracy so, with all due respect, back the eff off.

Finally: Privilege is when you think something is not a problem just because it is not a problem for you personally. Check it.

Anyway, that's a really long way of saying that the Women's March on Washington was one of the most meaningful, incredible, cup-runneth-over days of my life. And in addition to a million nasty women and bad hombre's taking to the streets for their sistren, I saw a little girl take her first steps in the halls of the Supreme Court, I got within drooling distance of the Constitution and the Bill of Rights; I teared up reading the Gettysburg Address, and I saw a young, adorable mixed-race couple get engaged at the Lincoln Memorial. All in all, this trip made me want to wave a flag and yell 'Murrica from the rooftops! There's hope for us yet :)

By the way, I thought I'd still blog despite committing social media harikari by getting off Facebook, but clearly I haven't. Nor do I intend to in the future. DJT has utterly annihilated my will to live blog, or really, do anything other than try to avoid the internet, hug my babies with fanatic fervor, and sit rocking in my bathtub with my paws wrapped around glass of bourbon until I eventually realize that the water's grown cold so I get out and repeat the process in bed. I guess, more accurately, the horror of a Trump presidency has galvanized me in the vein of "deeds not words." As Gloria Steinem said at the march, "Sometimes we have to put our bodies where our beliefs are. Sometimes, pressing 'send' is not enough." Nothing has brought this realization home like the first seven days in this reign of terror. I'll check back in periodically, but if you need me, I'm still on the Twitter, garnering an average of one like a week, and more importantly, in real life, making calls, knocking on doors, and walking in the streets. Hope to see you there!