Lately I’ve had some good natured sparring with some of my friends over the fact that Barack Obama picked Joe Biden to be his running mate. I have some problems with Biden myself, because I wasn’t very interested in seeing yet another old white guy sent to Washington. But I’ve been annoyed at the hand-wringing of some of my friends over why, oh why, did Obama pick Joe Biden, when Hillary Clinton is so much more qualified.

Yes. Someone actually said that to me. It immediately let me know that she was … uninformed (give me credit … I was going to be mean there). I freely admit that I was no expert on Joe Biden. But I have a handy reference called Wikipedia that is chock full of all sorts of little tidbits that I like to call facts. According to Wikipedia, Joe Biden first took office as a U.S. Senator on January 3, 1973. He’s been in office ever since. If my math skills are still sharp, I think that equates to thirty five years as a U.S. Senator.

Hillary Clinton, by contrast, became a U.S. Senator on January 3, 2001. It was her first elected office. That means she’s been a U.S. Senator for seven years. Anyone want to do the math? Try it. 35 - 7 = 28. I believe that means that Joe Biden has been a U.S. Senator twenty eight years longer than Hillary Clinton. How does he have less experience than Hillary Clinton?

Okay, okay. I know they mostly meant that in comparison to Barack Obama. So let’s look at that. Barack Obama was elected to the Illinois state legislature in 1996 and the U.S. Senate in 2004. So it takes some hair splitting to say that Hillary Clinton has more experience. She’s been in the U.S. Senate longer than him, but her first political office started in 2001, while Obama’s started in 1996. How does she have more experience?

Oh, wait. She was married to Bill Clinton. I’m sorry, but I don’t think fucking a President makes you President. Otherwise, Monica Lewinsky would have the same qualifications. Being married to a politician doesn’t automatically mean that you have the same experience and job qualifications that the politician does. Using that logic, Steve Job’s wife could just as effectively run Apple Computers as Steve Jobs himself. I’m sorry. I don’t buy that logic.

The amazing thing is that I didn’t sit down to write about Hillary Clinton. But it’s inescapable, given the shrill whining I hear from some of my friends. Hillary was robbed! First she was robbed of the nomination! Then she was robbed of being vice president on the ticket!

You want to know why Hillary Clinton wasn’t chosing as Barack Obama’s running mate? Set aside for a moment the fact that she shredded Barack Obama during her campaign using Karl Rove’s bonafide Right-Wing Playbook and repeated appearances on Fox News to do it. The reason Hillary isn’t on the ticket is because of Bill Clinton. Goddess! Does anyone really want Bill Clinton anywhere near the White House with nothing to do? If Hillary was Vice President, the only real way to keep Bill Clinton out of trouble would be for all those passionate Hillary supporters to do their civic duty and take turns in Washington keeping Ol’ Bill occupied (if you know what I mean). Yes, ladies. Drop the panties and let us know what flavor of cigar you like the most.

I guess I should probably get around to what got me started today in the first place. It wasn’t any of the above. But it’s all sort of related.

I was pissed off today to learn that John McCain has picked the governor of Alaska, Sarah “Barracuda” Palin, as his running mate. My first words were literally “Are you fucking kidding me?” I mean, I understand his logic. Given his background and his attitudes so far, no one should be surprised that John McCain figures all he has to do to win the White House is to give all those hormonal, whining Hillary Clinton supporters a female candidate to vote for. He’s already tried to make much out of the fact that Obama didn’t pick Hillary Clinton as a running mate, and suggested that women should, instead, vote for him. That’s all this is. “Hey, babes. Here’s a woman you can vote for.”

With apologies to Alaska, I’d never heard of the woman. So I again went to Wikipedia. Apparently she’s been governor of Alaska since 2006. Well. I’m sure she’s had extensive experience elsewhere in government, right? Wrong. Her first public office was on the city council of Wasilla, Alaska (population 5,470) in 1992. She was elected mayor of Wasilla in 1996. Wow. From city council to mayor to governor to vice-presidential candidate in a little over a decade. She must really be qualified, huh? As near as I can tell, the only thing she has going for her is that she’s kind of hot. I’d do her. Just to be able to say I did. Maybe Bill Clinton could loan us some cigars or something.

Does John McCain really think women are that stupid? Does he really think we’ll vote for a war-mongering old George W. Bush lap dog for no other reason than that he chose a babe to be his running mate? Yeah, she’s pretty, but she’s not that pretty. And what about the ethics investigation?

Governor Palin is currently under investigation by an independent investigator hired by the legislature to determine if she abused her power when firing Public Safety Commissioner Walt Monegan. On July 11, 2008, Palin dismissed Walter Monegan as Commissioner of Public Safety and instead offered him a position as executive director of the state Alcoholic Beverage Control Board, which he subsequently turned down. The Commisioner serves at the will of the governor, so her right to fire him is not in dispute; but Monegan alleged shortly after his dismissal that it may have been partly due to his reluctance to fire an Alaska State Trooper, Mike Wooten, who had been involved in a divorce and child custody battle with Palin’s sister, Molly McCann. In 2006, before Palin was governor, Wooten was briefly suspended for ten days for threatening to kill McCann’s (and Palin’s) father, tasering his 11-year-old stepson (at the stepson’s request), and violating game laws. After a union protest, the suspension was reduced to five days.

Hmmm. Maybe John McCain is a true American patriot after all. I’m beginning to wonder if he’s trying to lose the election in the best interest of the country. Maybe John McCain knows in his heart that the Republican Party has been taken over by the Right-Wing Neo-Conservatives, and he knows he’s the only one who can keep them from getting back into office.

Okay, that’s laughable. But one has to wonder what the fuck he was thinking. And personally, I refuse to believe that even an old dinosaur like John McCain could possibly think that women are really that stupid.

Honestly, I’m interested to hear what my friends think about all this. You have to wonder if the McCain campaign will be sending out free chocolate next.

Having a bad day. One of those days when you’re at a loss to put it into words. Not that anyone would be surprised to hear me say something like this, but I did something impulsive. Something that I regret now. Deeply. Not so much that I hurt anyone. I didn’t. Far from it. But I disrespected myself.

That’s what’s bothering me. I could care less what anyone else thinks about me. It’s just what I think of myself that I’m having a problem with.

I should stop now. But if I did, I’d be chicken-shit. At the very least, I should write this but not transcribe it. Not post it. That’d be the smart thing to do. Like I’m known for doing the smart thing. Well. You know what I mean. My list of regrets would make for a few hours of amusement for a masturbatory priest somewhere. And still I haven’t learned to listen to that voice in my head. The one that always tells me “No, Claire. This is not a good idea”. The one I always tuck away in a closet in my head with its hands tied behind its back and a sock stuffed into its mouth.

Okay. Here’s what happened. But I should explain a bit first.

Back in April I helped a friend of mine move to Fenwick, Maryland. I didn’t post anything about what happened while I was up there. I meant to, but I never got around to it. Suffice it to say that I met Susan’s family. I visited with Uncle several times, who took me to some shows in D.C. and to several dinners. Mosly I hung out on Susan’s family’s farm. Which sounds really boring, I know. But then there was Susan’s sister, Sarah. She and I got along really well. I mean, really well. Enough that we wound up hitting the town on our own, and wound up in hotel rooms on a couple of occasions. Alone, I mean. I was Sarah’s first girl. She’d always wondered what it was like, and I gave her the grand tour. That probably cost me Susan’s friendship. She hasn’t called me since I returned. Which is fine. She thanked me for helping her before I left. I suppose that debt was settled. The point of this is that I had a thing with Sarah while I was up there.

This isn’t what I regret. It’s not what I’m hating myself for today.

Sarah called me last Thursday. She was coming through Asheville to visit family before going on to Atlanta, where she’s accepted a new job. She wanted to stop by. Which was fine by me. I’ve been locked in this house for far too long, working on yet another project that I really didn’t want to get into.

She came by on Friday and we hung out for most of the day. Went shopping. You know. Girl stuff. She spent the night Friday night. And yes, we did. We got up Saturday and went out for breakfast, then went to an early movie. Rode around town. Had lunch. At the moment I can’t quite remember when things began to get odd, but looking back on it now I realize that Sarah had been feeling me out all day about something.

Eventually Sarah told that she was engaged. I thought that was fine. I was glad that she’d met someone. Everyone needs to, I think. We’re wired that way. I never thought that what had happened between us was a torrid love affair. I figured we were two people who were attracted to one another, and things sort of followed their natural course. I wasn’t hurt or anything. In a sick way I was kind of honored to have been her last fling before the matrimonial slave collar was placed around her neck.

Then she asked me something that cut me pretty deep. She told me her fiance was with her on this trip, and that he had always had a fantasy about being with two women. Or, more specifically, he’d always wanted to watch two women “getting it on”. I’m sure you see where this was going. At first it made me mad. But by then we’d had a few drinks. And when the voices in my head started screaming for me to kick Sarah out and tell her to never come back, I somehow found myself wondering what her fiance looked like. And I started thinking it might be time to re-examine my love/hate relationship with the penis. What the fuck was I thinking?

I should have said no. Now I feel like I’ve been wallowing in the muck, and I can’t get it off of me no matter how I try. Not so much because of what I did. I felt good. Before and during. I played my role with all of the expected gusto. Claire is not one to disappoint. And even when I got up this morning to an empty house, I didn’t feel uncomfortable about the things I did last night. I got up and took a hot bath, and the day went on just like any other.

But somehow this all started to eat away at me. Sarah and Keith (at least I know his name) were coming through on their way to Atlanta to make a new life for themselves, and along the way they stopped at Claire’s House of Ill-Repute for a memorable night of sinning before becoming upwardly mobile young professionals who are respected in their community and active in their church. I don’t know. The more I thought of it, the more I wound up feeling like some cheap whore. Not because of anything anyone said or did, just because of what I did myself. They might as well have tossed a fifty dollar bill on the nightstand before they left. But it never occurred to me that what I did for them would’ve cost good money if they’d done on their honeymoon in Las Vegas.

Mostly, I’ve looked at myself in the mirror a couple of times. I don’t know who’s staring back at me. It’s like there’s this dark, alternate personality inside of me that just loves to do the things that I cringe about in the light of day. But I don’t know how to control it. I’ll shake my head and think something’s inconceivable, but then there’s that moment when something snaps and I’m like “Sure. Why the fuck not?”

That’s something I just can’t get through my head. There’s always a day after. Always.

Okay, why can’t I find a decent MySpace theme? It shouldn’t be that hard. I’m not that demanding. Am I? Answer me!

I thought maybe I should dress up this MySpace page or something. I don’t know why. I think in some way this page has become like a pet that I reluctantly took in, and now I feel sorry for it when I forget to feed it. I went looking for free MySpace themes. Gods know I’m not going to pay for one. Who pays for a MySpace theme? Just the thought frightens me. The implications …

Anyway, I found hundreds. They all sucked. I mean, the majority of them looked like they were made as projects for some high school computer class.

Actually, I did find some that I really liked. Dark, scary Goth type stuff. Then I look at my picture. Oh, yeah. Everyone would buy me as a Goth chick. I tried a few of them. Maybe it’s something genetic. The themes that looked all cool and edgy looked, on my page, kinda drab and lacking in color. I wanted to spruce them up a bit. But where’s the fun in that?

Okay, I finally admitted to myself that my logic has a flaw. I wanted to avoid coding a page myself (mostly because I’m not exactly an artist or anything), so I went looking for pre-made themes. Somewhere along the way I realized that during the afternoon I spent looking through said themes, I could have just made my own. *sigh*

Oh, well. I’m still looking. I’ve found a couple that I like, but now I’m bored with the whole thing and don’t feel like messing with it.

Another day wasted. Good going, Claire.

I received an interesting e-mail from someone, and it made me wonder about something. I was wished a happy 4th, which was much appreciated. But the message was ended apologetically, when I was asked if Pagans celebrated Independence Day. As in, she was hoping she didn’t offend my Pagan sensibilities by wishing me a happy 4th.

Um … okay. Let’s just put the question out there. Why in the world would Pagans not celebrate July 4th in the United States? Where the hell do people get that from? It’s a secular holiday, not a religious observance (although I know some people who are pretty religious when it comes to getting drunk and shooting off fireworks). I guess, more than anything, it surprised me that someone would have to ask that question. Maybe I’m reading too much into it, but I’ve been told too many times that I should “go back to where you came from” to let this slip by without at least a cursory examination.

I respect the person who sent me this e-mail, and I know she didn’t mean that the way I took it. She’ll be horrified that it prompted a post. Mostly what I’m responding to is what I’ve experienced personally through the years; that a lot of people, especially Christians, assume that if you’re not Christian that you don’t love your country, or that you’re somehow ashamed of your country. Like if you’re a Muslim, your allegiances are automatically with Al Quesadilla, or if you’re a Jew you take your marching orders from Israel, or (if you’re a Right-Wing nutjob) that if you’re a Catholic you’re a mindless zombie who is controlled from the Vatican. I don’t know who they think Pagans get their marching orders from … unless it’s Satan or some other archaic Christian concept.

It reminds me of the same undercurrent of misinformation that sees a lot of Evangelical Christians assuming that if someone isn’t a Right-Wing Republican, then they’re an American hating Liberal. Like one can’t be a Democrat (I’m registered as “Unaffiliated” if you must know) and love their country or support the military. That sort of translates to what I’m saying here, that these assumptions come from the belief that if you’re “not like us”, you’re against everything we stand for. That’s the danger in living your life seeing everything in black and white. If someone isn’t part of your little club, then they must disagree with everything you agree with, and hate everything you love. Us and Them.

However it sounds, this e-mail didn’t upset me. It just made my brain itch, and I have to scratch it or I won’t get any peace today. I don’t want the person who wrote this to think it ticked me off. It’s not her that I’m responding to, but the ever-present undercurrent of misunderstanding. Mostly it gave me a reason to address something I, and other Pagans, have been dealing with for a long time. We may not agree with some of what you stand for, but that doesn’t mean we’re the direct opposite of everything you believe. Like the old Christian misunderstanding that if you’re not a Christian, you therefore don’t believe in the Ten Commandments, and must not have any sense of morality whatsoever, much less a moral code. The same people who believe that because my sexual orientation leads me to prefer women that I’ll screw anything that I can have sex with, be it human or animal or inanimate object. Well, okay, I’ve been friendly with a few inanimate objects on occasion, but that’s beside the point.

To summarize, Pagans are just as American as everyone else. And to those who have told me to “go back to where you came from”, I was born in Asheville, North Carolina, in the United States of America. I am where I came from. I’m an American, whether you like it or not. What I came to believe after being born or whomever I decided to have in my bed doesn’t enter into it. And whether or not you like it, being a Christian doesn’t make you a better American than me.

I love my country. I think the United States is the greatest country in the world. Maybe the Republicans have managed to turn the whole world against us, but for most of our history we have been the one bright, shining light of Democracy that the world has looked to as a source of hope. Maybe I’m so proud of my country that I wind up on the opposite end of the political spectrum from the Christian Evangelical Right-Wing who want a defacto Christian theocracy in the United States. Maybe I’m not prepared to abandon the sacrifices my fore-fathers made to give us the freedom we take for granted (which the Right are all-too-willing to barter away for political power). But that doesn’t mean I’m somehow less of an American. In fact, I personally believe that by challenging these people’s bullshit, I’m being more of an American, because I’m calling to the carpet these people who would dismantle the Democracy that my forefathers spilled their blood to bring into this world. This freedom cannot be bartered away. It’s not negotiable.

So, in answer to anyone who doubts that Pagans celebrate Independence Day in the United States, I can say with some authority that we do, in fact, celebrate it as much as any other American. In fact, I suspect we might relish our freedoms more than most of those in more mainstream religions. We know that when the jackboots start marching, the trains start rolling, and the detention camps start being filled, Pagans are some of the first people they’ll come for.

I’ve had my patriotism questioned enough in my lifetime. I have no patience with it. I’ve been told once to often “if you don’t like what’s going in this country, why don’t you leave?”. To those people, I’ll say this. I’m not going anywhere. I’m going to shout loudly and jump up and down, doing everything I can to stop this country from becoming a theocracy or a police state, or becoming a living tribute to the freedoms that we no longer have. You know what? If you don’t like me and people like me being here, why don’t you get the fuck out? I was born here. This is just as much my country as it is yours. I won’t allow people like you to distort it to reflect your own twisted morality.

Yeah. Fuck you. I’m an American. If you have a problem with that, go fuck yourself. That goes for anyone who wants to kick me out, and that also goes for the rest of the world. Maybe I’ve worked myself up into a tizzy here, but you know what I’m getting at. Now I’m all indignant and righteous. I’m going to head out today with some friends, drink some beer, and blow up something (fireworks, I mean). Who knows? I might even be able to find some of those Right-Wing rednecks who thinks I should go back to where I came from. It would certainly be good for a laugh if the short, ditzy blonde accidentally fired off a couple of bottle rockets in their general direction. You want never-ending war? Let’s see how courageous you are under fire. Let’s see how much of a manly man you are when some drunk blonde fires off a bottle rocket and yells “Incoming!”.

Okay. Now that I’ve gotten all that out of my system, I just might be able to go out and have a good time today. Hopefully none of my friends will read this and think they have to designate a Claire wrangler. I’m perfectly capable of getting into trouble all on my own, thank you.

Happy July 4th everybody. I hope you have a great time. I also hope that sometime during the partying and fireworks, you’ll stop to think about what this day means to you. What this country means to you. And if you can look around you today and see nothing but other Americans, I applaud you. This is the one day we should be able to set aside our petty differences and celebrate the fact that we live in a country in which we are allowed to disagree without fear of being shot in the back of the head. Well, so far, anyway.

I celebrate my country. We’re 232 years into this experiment and we really haven’t managed to fuck it up yet. Damned right, that should be celebrated.

As the daughter of a woman whose parental rights were stripped away from her because of her faith, I’m particularly sensitive to the issue of religion when it comes to so-called Faith-based social programs. My personal experience has shown me that it’s foolish to expect help from Christians, because they’ll only use your situation or your pain against you as they try to convert you to their faith. I have nothing against Jesus Christ, but I often wonder why his followers can’t offer a starving woman a bowl of soup with hiding Jesus Christ somewhere in the chicken stock. “Here’s a bowl of soup, and have you heard about Jesus?”

What has me thinking about all this is a woman in Idaho Falls, Idaho. A Pagan. Here name is Rachel “Raven” Litzau. Rachel was trying to get away from her abusive husband, so she went to a Christian organization called Ruth House in Idaho Falls, seeking aid for herself and her 17-month-old son. The Ruth House is “a non-denominational christian housing center”. They say they’ll accept anyone, but Litzau is Pagan. Anyone want to guess how that worked out?

Litzau was kicked out of the Ruth House. She says it was because of her beliefs.

“It was along the lines of, ‘Oh, well we’ve had a lot of complaints about this,’” said Litzau, “and then suddenly it was like she saw my ring for the first time, and said, ‘Oh, and that’s got to go that’s satanic and your jewelry has to go,’ and I said, ‘I’m sorry I can’t do that. It was really insulting because there’s a big difference between satanism and paganism,” says Litzau.

Danielle Leigh, a reporter for KIDK in Idaho Falls, investigated. She contacted Robert Gulden, director of the Ruth House, but couldn’t talk to him on camera. Gulden said that he’s not even sure Litzau violated any of the organization’s rules. They don’t have any standards on jewelry and the only rules on literature state that the ladies can’t read books with descriptive words or pornographic pictures. Oddly enough, in what was probably habitual ass-covering, Gulden mentioned that Litzau was struggling to get along with the nine other girls in the room, and that probably influenced his staff’s decision.

Rachel Litzau wasn’t buying it. “It’s upsetting because of the fact that it’s supposed to be helping women get on their feet no matter what their faith,” she said. “At least be open minded. At least be accepting of others differences because that’s what it feels like they’re not doing right now.” When asked where she was going to stay for the night, she said; “At the moment it’s looking like a park bench or a bridge tonight because all of the shelters in town are basically filled up.”

So much for Christian charity.

Robert Gulden, perhaps sensing a potential public relations problem, or the possibility of a lawsuit, asked Litzau to come meet with him personally and try to work things out. While chatting with Danielle Leigh, Gulden claimed he hadn’t even heard of the issue. He said he should have been notified and that his staff didn’t follow proper protocol. But he couldn’t resist pointing out that Litzau was being housed through private funds and was required to contribute $30 a week to continue staying at the shelter. She had not paid this week, but Gulden said that’s not an issue because they knew she was actively looking for a job and for that reason wouldn’t kick her out even though she couldn’t pay. So why exactly was she asked to leave? And what exactly was it is that Litzau is supposed to work out with him in order to get back into the shelter? Gulden didn’t elaborate.

In my opinion, this kind of problem is going to happen whenever Faith-based organization try to do social work. They can’t put aside their religion long enough to just help people. All’s well if you’re a Christian and you go to a Christian organization looking for help. But what if you’re a Pagan? Well, the evidence is before you. I’m not saying that it would have worked out the same way in every instance. But every Pagan I know has a long, long list of such problems in their lifetimes. We all know what that offer of help really is. It’s a carrot dangled on a stick. The only real way to get so-called Christian compassion for most Christian organizations is to pretend that you’ve drank the Kool-Aid.

I had lunch with a few old friends today, and immediately found myself arguing about Hillary Clinton (again). They’re upset that Barack Obama “stole” the Democratic nomination from Hillary. I’m tired of hearing this. It always seems to come from educated, relatively intelligent people, who simply have no clue how the process works. They’re right to point out that Hillary Clinton won more of the popular vote “if you count Michigan and Florida”. The problem is, they’re not counting Michigan and Florida.

These otherwise intelligent people also don’t seem to understand that Obama, Clinton and John Edwards agreed to sit out Michigan and Florida because of the conflict over those states scheduling their primaries earlier in defiance of party rules. Barack Obama and John Edwards weren’t even on the ballot in Michigan, and yet Hillary wants to count it as a victory? She won against no opposition in a primary that she already knew wasn’t going to count, and yet she wants those delegates to count?

Florida might be another story, because Obama and Edwards were on the ballot there even though none of the candidates campaigned, and Hillary won. But … again, it was pre-agreed that the delegates there were not going to count.

What the DNC decided to do to be fair to all parties was to split the delegates in both Michigan and Florida between Obama and Clinton (because if the voting had been fairly done in both places, Clinton would have won Florida and Obama would have won Michigan). This outraged my friends, apparently. I kept trying to explain to them that it was the only fair thing to do. By all accounts, if Obama had been on the ballot in Michigan, he would have won the state. Hillary won with 328,000 against 238,000 votes for “uncommitted”. That’s a pretty significant number of people who were essentially voting for “someone/anyone else”. All polls showed that if Obama had been on the ballot, he would have won the state, because a lot of people sat out the primary rather than vote for Hillary Clinton.

Hillary Clinton’s claim to have won the popular vote only works if she includes Michigan, where Obama, who wasn’t on the ballot, got “0″ votes. Nothing. Nada. He wasn’t on the damned ballot. What kind of intelligent person could possibly consider that a legitimate victory?

Well, when they couldn’t convince me using Hillary’s fuzzy math, they started using my gender against me. Apparently I’m some kind of gender traitor because I can’t stand Hillary Clinton. If you’re a woman, you’re supposed to support her no matter your personal opinions about her character or your distaste for her political opportunism, blind ambition and sense of entitlement. That’s as insane to me as claiming that if you’re black you have to vote for Obama.

Maybe I benefit from being Wiccan. I’m not used to following the crowd. The herd mentality doesn’t work for me. I’ve had no experience with it. I’ve gone my own way since I Was a little girl. Life hasn’t given me much a choice. I’ve learned the hard way to look closely at people’s motives and intentions. Especially when someone is as slick as Hillary Clinton, and changes her positions on a daily basis depending upon who she’s talking to or what part of the country she’s in.

I Was a little disappointed that these friends have so passionately decided to vote for Hillary because she has a vagina. I thought that the blind support for Hillary Clinton was mostly coming from old veterans of the feminist wars of the 70s, who are seeing this as their last chance to vote for a female president, regardless of who that person is. Most young people are excited about Barack Obama because they’re tired of the old political dinosaurs in Washington. It really hadn’t occurred to me that I’d hear the same tired old arguments about supporting a woman, any woman, from people my own age. I always thought we were a bit more cynical than that. I thought we had to be convinced. That we couldn’t be bought off by slogans and the clever twisting of facts. Apparently I was wrong.

The most disturbing thing for me was that these people are now of the opinion that Hillary Clinton should run for president as an Independent. They’re really behind it, and believe that she could win as an Independent. Again we run into fuzzy math. If Hillary takes her supporters and Obama takes his supporters, wouldn’t that split the Democratic votes and let McCain become President? Um. If the country is divided roughly 50/50, and two people split a half so that it becomes 25/25/50, would the person with 50% of the vote win? I realize I’m not that great at math, but I just don’t understand how Hillary Clinton could win the White House with 25% of the vote against John McCain’s 50%. Call me crazy.

I get so tired of arguing with drones. You’re free to believe whatever you want to believe, but I’m not going to take you very seriously, much less be convinced by your argument, if you can’t even tell me why you believe what you believe. Okay, fine. You think Hillary should be president. Why? If you think she’s more qualified, explain to me why she’s more qualified. If you think she’d make a better president, it’s not enough for me that you simply state that; explain it. That’s what drives me crazy. When people can’t explain it. You’re not voting for your favorite singer on American Idol, people. You’re voting for someone who will be leading this country for the next four years, and possibly the next eight. That’s a pretty significant fact. This person can bring us peace or (the last President in point) get us into a war. This is not a decision that should based upon little more than a person’s gender.

One of these days I’ll learn that I should never leave the house. I should have my groceries brought in by UPS, pay my utilities online, and get my entertainment through pay-per-view and the Internet. I should never need to date again. I have a great relationship with my Shower Massage. Why leave the house?

I was feeling a little claustrophobic this morning, so I made the mistake of going out for coffee. Something in me occasionally likes to pay three times what it’s worth for a cup of coffee (instead of just making my own). I don’t know. I just needed to get out of the house. So I went to a Starbucks near the house. I know, I know. I should have gone on down to Izzy’s or Old Europe. But no. Starbucks was close, and in my delusional daze I thought it was convenient.

Okay, I’m working too hard to set this up. I went to Starbucks, got my coffee, and then made the mistake of not leaving. I sat down at a table with my coffee and a newspaper. That’s something I’d normally do at Izzy’s. But I’d forgotten the kind of people who frequent Starbucks, and sat aside my general rule of “ye shall not linger here”. These are the same people who spend too much time at the mall sifting through cards at the Hallmark store.

Anyway, I was sitting there minding my own business, when two older women started ranting about how Barack Obama was going to steal the Democratic nomination from Hillary Clinton. I say these women were “older” because I view what followed as a generational thing. They were in their early to mid-fifties. The age at which they think their longevity makes them wise, and your youth makes you stupid.

Believe it or not, I can hold my tongue. Maybe I can’t keep my eyes from rolling, but I can keep my mouth shut when I need to. That is, as long as no one comes along and nudges me or tries to get me to comment, or looks over at me and asks “Have you been watching the election?”.

Curses. Yes. One of them asked me that. I should have smiled warmly, picked up my coffee, given them the dismissive yuppie glare and left. But instead I took a deep breath, took a sip of my coffee, and said “If one could call it that, yes.” Well, that naturally lead to the dreaded “What do think about …” line of questioning.

I answered their questions. They didn’t like my responses. I won’t go into details. I think I’ve dragged this out long enough already. You don’t need a transcription. If you’ve read my blog at all, you know where I stand on some things, and you know how much I dislike Hillary Clinton, and how much I do like Barack Obama. I kind of felt like I’d been put in this position to defend reality against bullshit and spin.

Okay, look. Just because I have a vagina does not mean I’m going to vote for Hillary Clinton. According to these three women, that’s all Hillary Clinton needs to secure their vote. They’ve waited a long time to be able to vote for a woman as President, and they’re not about to let this opportunity pass them by. And if Hillary Clinton doesn’t get the Democratic nomination, these three women will feel that they’ve been robbed of that opportunity by … MEN. You know. Damned men. Dastardly men. Sexist, misogynist men (yes, I know those two words mean essentially the same thing, but one did use them together in a sentence).

I basically made my case that I was going to vote for whom I thought was the best candidate, and that Hillary Clinton wasn’t it. They realized, of course, that I hadn’t drank the Kool-Aid, and so took it upon themselves to educate me. That didn’t go as well as they could have hoped. Mostly because I had a lot more information on my side than they did. My suppositions about where each candidate stands are based upon actual information. Voting records. What the candidates have said. What they’ve done. In my opinion Hillary Clinton is whining so much lately about sexism because it’s the only card she has left to play, and because she knows that it’ll get a knee-jerk response from tired old feminist dinosaurs like the three women I argued with.

These women offended me on so many levels. First, they assumed that because I’m a woman that I would agree with them. That in itself is a sexist assumption. Then they talked down to me because I’m younger than them, telling me how I had been mislead into a cycle of self-hate by a male-dominated culture that made me subordinate to men. Blah blah blah. They even tried to point out how grateful I should be that women such as them had forged new ground so that I could live in my comfortable cocoon of self-denial and self-hatred, that I didn’t appreciate the history of the Feminist movement and the suffering that my predecessors had survived on my behalf.

I pointed out to them that I was a Wiccan lesbian who owns her own business and is therefore self-employed, that I own my own house, do my own thing, and am not beholden to anyone. I’m not some college girl who reads romance novels and thinks of Partying as my second major. Don’t assume that because you’ve lived to a ripe old age that you know all there is to know, much less that because I’m young I don’t anything about anything.

This encounter obviously upset me. I can’t believe that there are people out there who are this stupid. They’re voting for Hillary Clinton only because she’s a woman? Is that what it means to the old-school Feminists, that having a vagina means blindly supporting anyone else who has a vagina? From all I can see, that’s the only real qualification that Hillary Clinton brings to the job. She’s a second term senator (same as Barack Obama), so I don’t see how she has so much more political experience. Well, she obviously counts being married to a politician as political experience. But that seems to me that she’s running on her husband’s record, not her own. What kind of Feminist example does that set?

I’m not worried about Barack Obama “stealing” the nomination. Mostly because I can add. He’s so far ahead of Hillary Clinton that if Hillary was a man, she would have already been run out of the race. I don’t see this as an issue of rampant misogynist ideology. If anything, Hillary Clinton has gotten a free pass on a lot of issues because she’s a woman, and all of this whining about sexism is just a desperate ploy to rally support.

Look. I’d love to see a woman be President of the United States. But not Hillary Clinton. Goddess, she’s a throw-back to the kind of politics that most Americans want to move away from. That’s how someone like Barack Obama can come along and fare so well. He represents genuine change. Hillary is more of the same-old-same-old, and people like me are sick of it. Her sex has nothing to do with it. It has all to do with who she is as a person.

I will not be told that I’m not a feminist if I don’t vote for Hillary Clinton. I’ll definitely vote for Barack Obama. His message has been consistent and I like what he stands for. The fact that he has a penis never entered into my perception of his potential capabilities as President, and so I’m especially offended that Hillary Clinton’s campaign has essentially come down to “They don’t want me to be elected because I have a vagina”.

I’m genuinely concerned that old Feminist ideologues like the three women I argued with are going to make good on their threats that if the Democratic nomination is “stolen” from Hillary Clinton by those dastardly men, that they’ll either not vote, or they’ll vote for John McCain. Goddess, talk about self-hating. If Hillary Clinton doesn’t get the nomination, you’re going to vote for a Republican? Are you insane? If anyone steals the nomination, it’ll be Hillary Clinton, because that’s the only way she could possibly win it at this point, by some sort of logistical sleight-of-hand that lets her claim, just as she has been all along, that even though she was behind, she was really ahead. And if it comes to that, we all know there will be a loud chorus a self-hating, Kool-Aid drinking Feminists chanting “Hell, yeah! To hell with men!”

Well. If you know me, you must know that I’m rather fond of vaginas. But honestly, I never thought anyone would expect me to vote for one.

NAIROBI, Kenya (AP) — Officials say a mob has burned to death 11 people suspected of being witches and wizards in western Kenya.

Deputy police spokesman Charles Owino says the mob hunted down the 8 women and 3 men in two villages in the western Kenya district of Kisii Central. Owino says most of the victims were between 70 years old and 90 years old. Only one of the victims was 40 years old.

Senior administrator Njoroge Ndirangu says the mob used a list to hunt down people they said are suspected witches and wizards.

He added: “These people identified who is to be killed by accusing their victims of bewitching their sons and daughters.” Ndirangu is the commissioner in charge of Kisii Central district.

http://edition.cnn.com/2008/WORLD/africa/05/21/

I was just clearing out some friend requests on my MySpace page tonight, and I found myself wondering why so many Christian men want to be on my friends list. It shows that people don’t pay attention. Ahem. Don’t they notice the part that says “Wiccan”? Do they notice the parts when I talk about liking girls? Okay, I admit that I have my orientation listed as “bi-sexual” and not “lesbian”, but you would think that the Wiccan part might give them a clue that I’m not likely to be interested. “Excuse me. Would you mind if I stopped licking these hot lesbians chicks and instead saw what it would be like to be your morally upstanding church-going girlfriend?”

It’s not so much the young bucks with their shirts off, for whom the word “Christian” means next to nothing. What amazes me are the guys who write painfully worded notes about hoping to get to know me, and then when I look at their MySpace page they’re thanking Jesus Christ for His bountiful blessings. Come on. Read my page. Wiccan. Bi-sexual. What part of this package do you not understand? I’m not interested in your religion, and I’m certainly not interested in seeing the Rod of God. And why is it that the people who write and ask me if I’d be interested in a threesome always list themselves as Christian? Where is threesomes listed in the Bible? In what chapter did Moses get his freak on?

I just don’t think people read my page. Or anyone’s page, for that matter. That’s what’s wrong with this country. No one ever gets more than their toes wet. No one takes the time to learn anything. We skim across the surface and never engage our cerebellums long enough to pick up on the details. “Oh. She’s a lesbian? That’s cool. Lesbians make me horny. Oh. She’s a witch? Um … but … I thought she was a cute blonde … how can she be a witch? And what’s she doing with that athame?”

I’ll make a deal with all you Christian males who keep writing me or asking to be on my friends list. Since some of you might have it in the back of your heads that I can be converted, that I can be saved, let’s play a game. You renounce your Christ and come kneel before me, your one, true Goddess, and if I am sufficiently amused, I might lower my standards long enough to show you why your pastor fears women like me. Once you’ve groveled at my feet, baby, you’ll never want to darken the doors of a church again.

But I’ve said too much.

Suffice it to say that I am not a member of your country club. I don’t bow down before male gods. In fact, I bow down before no one. If you can’t handle that little bit of sacrilegious attitude, believe me, son, you could never handle a night with me. So stop getting your hopes up already. Believe me, young Joseph, I am a girl who loves to sin.

I didn’t something rash yesterday. Well … maybe not rash. I don’t do anything rash. Cold, calculating, and diabolically cunning … well, you know what I’m saying. But rash?

I bought a new car yesterday. I wasn’t in the market for one. The old Mazda has been puttering along just fine. But yesterday I went out for lunch and wound up afterwards in a car lot looking at a red 2008 Pontiac Grand Prix. Maybe I shouldn’t have had that second glass of wine. I dunno.

Long story short, I bought it. Bite me.

Okay, to those friends who have given me hell about buying a Grand Prix … well, see the part about “bite me”. Read it. Savor it. Live by it. Yes, I know I’ve wanted a Mercedes-Benz SL600 forever. But I pulled in to look at a Pontiac Solstice, and there was this cute little Grand Prix shivering in the rain on a corner of the lot. It looked lonely, like it was desperately wishing someone would give it a home. You know me … ever the push-over.

Wll, it’s not like I can afford a $165,000 SL600 any time soon. The Benz will have to wait. For now, I have a saucy new Grand Prix, and I’m excited about it. I can always grow old and buy hideously expensive cars later.

Pictures will be forthcoming, I’m sure.