are we suddenly a third world country that won’t accept the results of an election but takes months of dithering to finally give it up and accept the winner?
Are we all not tired of the bullshit?
I haven’t been comfortable blogging for a while
Every now and again, a rant escapes me
Then I agonize over whether to leave it up or take it down and in most cases, I take it down. I’m tired of being afraid to say what I think – so why bother to keep this open?
Comey had nothing to do with my decision not to vote for you.
There are a lot of reasons I didn’t vote for you – and the FBI investigation is merely one of them. It’s way down the list of reasons, but yes, it’s there.
And now I’m really glad I didn’t vote for you because, once again, it’s not your fault. Blaming Comey for your loss is like blaming the beer for getting you drunk. Again, you refuse to take responsibility.
Four good men died in Benghazi – it wasn’t your fault.
You called half the country deplorable – whose fault was that?
You called everyone who supported Mr. Trump “stupid, uneducated.”
You fed into fear – fears that have no basis in reality.
And you’ve refused to do anything to stop the rioting that’s going on in your name now.
I didn’t vote for you because I refuse to be told I have to vote for someone based only on their sex. Telling me I should vote for you because you’re a woman is as sexist as saying I shouldn’t vote for you because you’re a woman.
I didn’t vote for you because you said one thing in public and another in private. I hate liars. I hate people who play games. Enough said
I didn’t vote for you because your ads were the nastiest, and most annoying, I’ve seen in years. And I’ve seen a few elections come and go
I didn’t vote for you because you claim to be all about the right of women to choose – and you chose to stay with a man who treated you like shit, in public.
I didn’t vote for you – and this is one of the biggest reasons – because I was bullied and picked on and teased all through school, through grade school, and high school, and college, and in some of my earliest jobs. I was called a lot of names. I worked hard to get advanced degrees and I have a job I love. And along you come, calling me deplorable, and calling me racist, and bringing back a lot of bad memories. Your supporters – they remind me of those kids on the playground who wouldn’t play with me. I thought I was past all that. And here I am, in my 60’s, again being called names.
You should be ashamed.
I just don’t like you. You remind me of my sisters, the ones who are so nice on the surface and so nasty underneath that facade.
I much prefer “what you see is what you get” to “I’ll tell you what you want to hear.”
And this sore loser thing? It’s not really making anyone like you more. Get out there and tell the spoiled brats to go home, to deal with reality, to stop whining. Then maybe I’ll be able to forgive you, just a little, for calling me names
So
I’ve been thinking about posting about politics for several weeks
I didn’t
Because I’ve grown more conservative as I get older
I’m still afraid to say what I really think
I’m worn out by this election. Last night I was subjected to attack ad after attack ad, vicious, nasty ads. It made me hate the candidate that approved those messages. It made me vow, again, never to vote for that candidate. Disgusting, deplorable, nasty. Hurtful words thrown around.
So, Hillary, knock it off, please, my mute button is about worn out.
I’m the Princess and I approve this message – and I disapprove of your ads.
When did I get old?
I have old hands
Old knuckles
My heart and soul are still singing
My body creaks and moans
I fly in my dreams
I limp in my walks
growing old is not for sissies
Fourteen years ago I moved to Pennsylvania, leaving behind my entire family. Most of them didn’t care, and some of them did. I went back a few times, once a year, for the first few years. Then life got in the way, and it’s been six years since I’ve been back home.
I just spent ten days there. I’m going back to my real home tomorrow. It’s been a wonderful ten days, I saw so many people, people I still love, who still love me. I think I miss them more now, when I haven’t even left yet, than I did before I came.
But my heart is in PA, and oh how I’ve missed my Bear and my Max. I long for my home. I dread the drive, but I can’t wait to be in my Bear’s arms, and have my Max do a happy dance around me. I don’t even care if he knocks me down.
I’ll get up in the morning, and pack the few things that are still in my motel room into the car, drink a cup of tea and get a quick shower and head home. I really hope there isn’t a lot of traffic or construction delays. But I have a book on CD so the time will pass, but every minute sitting is one more minute I’m away from my Bear. And every mile I drive is one mile closer to home.
I never thought I’d leave the little town where I grew up. Funny how falling in love can change your mind about things.
Yes, sweet little kitty turned out to be not so sweet.
She bit me
Drew blood
And a whirlwind of doctors, shots, antibiotics, followed
My arm is sore from the bite, and from the shots
My heart is sore – I failed her. She’s no longer welcome here, because the Bear does not allow anyone, or anything, to hurt me.
Max has chased her away. He never liked her anyway.
This morning I saw a meme posted on facebook that says something like “I don’t mean to interrupt you, I just randomly remember things and get so excited!” and it was followed by tons of comments like, “oh, that’s SO me, LOL!” and “I KNOW, my friends get so annoyed, but I can’t help it!”
Bullshit.
You can help it. It’s rude, and it’s annoying and it makes the person you interrupted feel like you weren’t listening at all, that you were merely waiting till it was your turn to speak and you got tired of waiting.
Stop it.
A few people posted that they have adult ADHD and can’t help it. Really? Sounds like an excuse for bad behavior to me.
Do you let your children interrupt you? Do YOU not get annoyed when someone does it to you? Then stop it and stop saying, “oh, that’s just who I am!” and acting like it’s all cute. It’s not. It’s not cute when you’re 5 and it’s not cute when you’re 35 and it’s not cute when you’re 85. Well. Maybe 85, because by then the fact that you’re still breathing is kinda cute in itself. But otherwise, no, it’s not cute, it’s not funny.
It’s a statement, one that says, “what you’re saying is not nearly as important as this random piece of nonsense that just flew into my brain and is flying out of my mouth.” It says that you are the most important person in the conversation, which is obviously not a conversation at all, since you’re not listening to the other person.
People tend to talk over me. I’m not sure why. I reach a point where I let it be known that I will not tolerate it for another minute, but it takes me doing that more than once to actually have it sink in with a lot of people. I’m one of those people you’re interrupting, and then laughingly apologizing to – an apology that’s meaningless because you’re about to do the same thing again in a few minutes. While you’re being amused with yourself, stop for a second and think how it makes the other person feel. And when I stop talking to you, stop trying to make myself heard, don’t ask why we’re not friends any more. That is, if you even notice.
