A (male) friend on mine remarked on the debate, which he is just now getting to tonight. I said I didn’t watch it because it would just infuriate me and I already know Donald Trump is a dangerous idiot. His response?
“Oh I thought it would make me mad too but this is just funny.”
Now this is my best friend. He is generally an A+ human being. But he’s also an upper middle class white dude. He’s gay, so that knocks him down a notch on the privilege scale a tiny bit. Yet still, he said that to me, and I instantly had a “how the fuck do you find this funny?” moment.
A woman who is 1000x more qualified and has done her research has to stand there and nod politely while an idiot mansplains the job to her. While the idiot behaves in a way that so many people are going to say is “honest” and “true to himself” where as she would be a hysterical woman. And having been labeled the hysterical woman when I have done the research, am smarter and more qualified and gotten told to sit down and shut up, I can’t stomach watching it on this scale. I just can’t.
His response is that he’s proud because she didn’t take the orange madman’s shit. And all I want to do is scream SHE’S HAD FIFTY YEARS OF PRACTICE BEING TALKED DOWN TO BY MEN. I call it my corporate face. You can call it whatever you want. But there is NOTHING to be proud of watching yet another intelligent, prepared, over qualified woman have to work 100x harder to get even an ounce of respect.
I didn’t vote for Hillary in the primary. I wish there was a better option. I don’t necessarily agree with all of her politics. But the woman KNOWS policy. She knows the players. She knows the game. And I trust her with the launch codes. I don’t trust Donald Trump with a water gun.
Errand Running, Lions Meeting, and Patient Care Today. Cool and rainy this morning, warmer (almost steamy) this afternoon.
Brooks “346” hopsack blazer, Polo sport shirt, Dickies chinos, Ducks in a Row belt, Patagonia socks, and Sperry blucher Mocs. With my Lions pin, silk square, and a vintage Timex on a Grand Central Watch nylon band.
The “346” blazer because I walked past the Brooks store on the corner of Madison and 44th on the way to the Cornell Club last evening, and, the Grand Central band as I went through Grand Central Terminal to get there.
For Lux: “Is there a reason you’re naked in my bed?”
we’re going back to SR2 era for this one
Shaundi sits bolt upright, bleary eyes
blinking against the
sudden glare of the bedroom light and the tall, curvy figure leaning ominously in the
“Oh… hey Boss.” She makes a move to untangle herself from the sheets
and- fuck. Where were her clothes, again?
The Boss’s voice is a little higher-pitched than she remembers it.
“What the- is there a reason you’re naked in my bed?”
“Huh? Oh… yeah.” She scratches the back of her head and finds a small roll of bills tucked between two dreads. Nice. “We had this party. Nothing big, but halfway through Tony gets up and challenges me to Battleshots, and I figure he sucks at most drinking games so what’s the harm, right? But he’s good. Like, suspiciously good. So I-”
“Jesus, I changed my mind. I don’t wanna know. Just… get dressed and
meet us downstairs in ten, there’s shit to do. And Shaundi?”