Bernie’s Revolution and why I am a Berner through the convention and beyond. Hillary’s NH Rally in Portsmouth.


I made a last minute decision Monday night to drive down to Portsmouth, NH to attend the Bernie Sanders/Hillary Clinton rally.  I have been indecisive all day but then listened to my heart and my heart has been with Bernie since 1990 when I volunteered on his first campaign for Congress.  We stood on an intersection in Essex with HONK FOR BERNIE signs.

So my heart said GO and I cancelled everything and went.I knew he had to endorse her that day to get floor time at the Convention in two weeks.  Or even to be allowed in.  Or to have his delegates go.  The DNC has all the power to keep him out.  Unless of course he gave Hillary a glowing endorsement.  And didn’t say a word to anyone about his future plans for the Convention.

I stood in line for two hours in the sun, after getting up at 3 a.m.  I had to PEE.  This became the most important thing in my head.  Where to pee, how to pee.  If I don’t pee now how long can I hold it.  Will they all laugh at me or feel sorry for me.  I asked Nick to say right where he was in line and said “I have to go to the car for something!”  This was a distraction.  I really just walked back through all the parking lots, looked around to make sure no one was watching, and crawled through pricker bushes to pee behind a tree.  And then looked up to see a rock wall and someone’s backyard in front of me.  A dog started barking but I was already past the point of stopping.  Then I tried to think of a way back out of the bushes and into the parking lot because people kept walking by.  What would they think I was doing in there?  A hippie girl in a Bernie shirt flies out of the bushes and . . .?

It seemed that Hillary’s team had a plan at her rally.  Two hours in the sun.  All water taken away outside the door.  The reservation form for the event said no bags or signs, nothing except car keys and cell phone.  However, the people who had decided not to follow the rules were allowed to bring these things in.  I like to be prepared so I had nothing with me.  Then inside it seemed like they were trying to split us up by telling us which side we could sit on.

Her supporters were not kind.  Now Berners will find each other seats, share signs, hug, high-five, and help each other in any way they can.  The huge smiles on their faces are contagious.  Berners have heart.  Hillary supporters complain if you hold a sign up in the air.  They shush you if you cheer or chant.  They ask you to sit down when you are giving a standing ovation to Bernie.  They order you in an authoritative voice as though you are a child.

There is one more thing I want to say about Hillary supporters.  I am a people watcher.  I am a mental health counselor.  I read people.  I stood in line looking back at the people walking in through the parking lot.  Hillary people tend to be well dressed, have money, care about their hair.  Berners are ordinary normal people.  That tells us all everything we need to know.

Excuse me, I am 45 and an American.  I have the right to do what I want at a rally.  I just ignored the women behind me.

Another hour of no water and I started to feel my heart speed up.  Dehydration became a THING.  Once again, my mind chattered on.  Are you going to faint?  If you walk down from the bleachers to find water will you collapse.  Will Bernie come help you up?  I didn’t think that last one, but I wish I had.  I went to search for water for myself and an older woman.  There was nothing except for a water fountain on the other side of the building.

One thing I did notice and became immediately angry about was that Hillary’s STRONGER TOGETHER slogan was on their signs and her supporters chanted this.  But it’s easy to chant STRONGER together when that means your candidate wins.  It’s easy to chant UNITED when that means we are the ones giving in.  I feel like if they really wanted to unite they would have welcomed Berners and let us have our voice, listened to our concerns, and not tried to compete.  This was not a competition.

I watched Bernie give Hillary the endorsement.  It was heartbreaking to hear him say those words.  He talked about the Revolution and how far we’ve come.  You can watch all of that online.  What I want you to know is that the Berners around me got angry and walked out.  I wanted to stay with my Bernie.  I didn’t want to leave him alone.  It was so hard to watch his face.  He talked about every position that Hillary had agreed to on the issues on his platform.  This was a brilliant way to continue to campaign for his candidacy, to show the power he has, to show how she has to adopt his positions.  I didn’t process that until later.  At the time, I just wanted to hug him.

I thought about leaving as soon as Hillary started speaking.  But I wanted to know what she would say.  I don’t want to be uninformed or informed by the media.  She also listed the positions she has agreed to take.  Some things were missing:  the amount of a minimum wage increase, universal healthcare, veterans . . .

And here’s where things got weird.  VERY WEIRD.  I didn’t realize we were sitting next to the assistant press section.  As the rally ended and I stood there not wanting to faint in the crowd headed toward the door, thinking about how tired, hungry, and thirsty I was and how much I love Bernie the network people and a guy from the Young Turks all approached me and asked me to do interviews.  I was dazed and confused.  That can be the only reason I would agree to anything.  I hate talking and I hate cameras.  I feel like the things I say will come out sounding stupid.  I like to be anonymous.

And somehow I ended up doing a radio clip, saying something to the YT’s I haven’t found online yet.  Doing an interview with ABC, and then doing a panel with 4 other Berner’s in the school library.  Someone told me today that I was on the CBS national news last night as well.

Here are the links so far.  I can’t watch myself.  It freaks me out.

NBC news

ABC News


I don’t know what parts they have cut out of these.  So I am going to say on here what I wanted the nation and Bernie Sanders to hear.

I am with Bernie all the way.  If he wins the nomination I am with him.  If he wants me to vote Hillary in the end, after the Convention, I will do as he asks.  When he forms his Revolution Group I will be there.  If he doesn’t become our next President this isn’t the end.  We have given him POWER in the senate.  I will be there if he asks me to March in Washington when Congress is voting on something important to our cause.  I will help elect other Berners.  Whatever it takes.

To those who are feeling angry or betrayed by the endorsement, I say Stick the Course.  Bernie is smarter than any of us.  He knows the games being played.  He has a plan.  Don’t give up now.  Continue the Revolution!



The Epic Battle of Nick and The Mingies

Nick took out a flowerbed full of mostly weeds and built a firepit area.  In Vermont.  At the end of May.  On a sunny day with no breeze.  In shorts.  With no bug spray.

I didn’t know I was being bit until that night.

The first of many baffling statements made by one who has not yet assimilated to Vermont’s swampy buggy culture.

His legs look like he has the chicken pox.  It’s been a week and a half.

What bit me?

I made the mistake of telling him that mingies are noseeums, little black insects that are small enough to come in through the screen windows, especially if they see light inside, and that I had to turn off all the lights that night so that I could sit in the livingroom without being eaten alive.

Now every night he closes all the windows and we sit in the dark.  And if he’s itchy at all they must be coming inside, even if I’m next to him and nothing is eating me.  He texts me pictures of mingies and definitions on the internet and recipes for all natural bug repellant.  And he douses himself from head to toe in bug spray every time he leaves the house.  Even on cool windy days.

This is how real Vermonters save themselves from being BUG FEASTS:

  • We walk outside to see what the temperature is, wind speed and direction, humidity, and make a judgment call on how buggy the day is.
  • We spray our hats and jackets, not our entire bodies.
  • We don’t wear shorts when working on projects in long grass.
  • We wait until we see a mingies in our glass of wine and THEN we turn off all the lights.
  • We eat garlic in the summer.
  • We don’t complain about bugs because summer is so short that we don’t want to wish it gone.
  • We show off our bug bites as a badge of hard work.

Sadly, Nick has not learned from this experience and is outside doing something right now without testing the weather or asking a Vermonter.  Vermonters also don’t have sympathy for anyone who should know better.

There’s blood in my POOP

by Guest Writer E.

This was too good not to post.  What story about poop is?

I’ve had raging diarrhea for 4 months now.  I shit when I eat.  I shit when I drive.  I shit so much my butthole hurts.

I changed my diet.  Less carbs.  Less sugar.  No caffeine and no soda.

Then two days ago there was bright red blood in my poop.  And dripping out of my butt.  I made a doctor’s appointment thinking bacterial infection or something.  HELP!  

Because I needed an appointment immediately I got a new doctor I’ve never had before.  She asked the usual questions about diet and exercise.  Then she took a good long look at things down there, lubed her finger and stuck it in.  It was awkward when she swirled it.  But the worst part by far was that MY BUTTHOLE is already red and hurts.  Why would I want anyone near it?

Things only got worse.  She asked about stress.  I told her my mom and dad didn’t have a good relationship and that they divorced when I was 5 and he died recently.  I brought up that I don’t ever orgasm during sex (an issue I ask doctors about and they never give me a good answer).  She asked if my father had ever touched me without permission and then suggested that maybe I was blocking it and stress from that was the reason I can’t orgasm and am having raging diarrhea.

I left with no answers, no help, and a butthole that had been violated.  That’s my day.



There is not enough coffee in the world to make morning better in a house with 5 kids

I almost cried this morning.  When I almost cry it’s time to blog.

Child #2 popped in to get her Ipad and bag before heading to college.  Her bag was covered in pee.  The cat who is in withdrawal from his anxiety meds because the person who was supposed to refill them put it off for a week and then the vet’s office put it off because it was $10 more than they told us.  Not peeing on everything in my house seems to be worth $35 a month.

The pee was everywhere, on the shoe rack, on the rug by the door, on me.  I carried the bag carefully down to the washing machine to find:

Child #3 had taken my clean laundry out of the dryer while I was working 10 hours yesterday and put it in the basket the cats sleep in by the furnace, which is full of hair and possibly cat vomit.

I tracked child #3 down and demanded she fix this.

Then I opened the washing machine to find the inside covered with black pet litter?  Or poop?  I found Child #3 who said Child #1 washed a doll?  Weird.  Child #1 claimed she never touched the washing machine yesterday, but whatever it was she washed was now in the trash.  I informed her that she was lying and that we both now know this.

I used a baby wipe to wipe out whatever that was and lysol to clean the cat pee on everything else and that’s when:

I started to cry.

Now I have to get ready to go to work and I already want to hide in my room.


This is what OLD AGE looks like

My friend Victoria and I went to a training in Salt Lake City last week and wore ourselves out with all that therapy and wine.  That’s our only excuse for where we ended up.

On opposite ends of a reclining leather couch

sitting on heating pads

drinking wine

with cats

watching Dawson’s Creek

googling actors to see how we know them

which was mostly from soap operas in the 80’s.

This is my poem about becoming OLD.

Science Experiment by Gina

How to Make Mom Crazy

  1. Eat several apples while laying in bed and chatting on Ipad.
  2. Throw cores in trash can in bedroom from bed with the least amount of movement of legs or arms.
  3. Rest.
  4. For one week add more apple cores to trash can.
  5. During the only 2 minutes of motivation the next week, due to a visit from a friend, remove bag of trash, tie loosely, and place outside bedroom door along with the trash can which now has sticky rotting apple stuck to the trash that migrated into the bottom.
  6. Wait one week.  Step over bag.  Ignore bag.
  7. Complain to Mother that something smells upstairs.
  8. Notice and complain about explosion of fruit flies in the house.
  9. Leave for another state.

How a MAN From Wyoming Kills A Skunk, or NOT.

Our dog was barking wildly outside the front door.  It was morning, just after breakfast time for the babies and I had shooed two of the cats out with her to keep them from sharking me.

(Sharking is when a cat rubs against your feet wanting something and then bites you on the ankle.  And no matter what you give it, it’s still not happy.)

I opened the door to see what was going on and came face to asshole with a skunk.  My face to it’s giant puckering anus.  Not ten feet from the door.  I will never forget that gigantic round sphincter staring at me like a hungry sucking sea creature.  Now, I’m known for being calm in a crisis.  So I let one cat in the door behind me and picked the other one up to throw him in.  Save the easiest first!

It was too late for the dog, because she ran at the skunk and was nipping at it’s ass with her face in it’s hole.  I couldn’t really see the rest of the skunk beyond that because it was crouch down into the lawn, hiding behind it’s weapon of stench.

I ran inside shouting for Nick.  He came out of the bathroom and looked frantic and lost at the same time.

“Take a minute and think of what you need,” I said and went back out the front door while he went down the basement stairs, I assumed for a gun.

I grabbed the smelly dog by the collar and dragged her away from the cowered skunk ass while he came around the house from the basement door carrying TWO SHOVELS.

Two shovels?  Is this proper skunk procedure in Wyoming?  Do they sneak up on skunks and catch them between two shovels and carry them gingerly away from the house?

Get your gun!” is all I said and he turned around.  He came back with a long range rifle with a scope.  And shot at it 12 times.  He explained to me afterward that you can’t aim close with something long range.  So he shot up the yard around the skunk.  I’m not even sure he hit it from 10 feet away.  BOOM BOOM BOOM.  I was starting to feel sorry for the skunk.

He walked over to it.

“It’s still breathing,” he said.  And gave me another frantic and lost look.

Then get the shovel and cut its head off, quickly.”   At this point I just wanted the poor thing to pass over to the other side as soon as possible because we didn’t know if it was injured and in pain.  So he went back to the basement and brought the curved shovel instead of the straight one with the sharp edge and . . . it’s was just as bad as you are imagining in your head right now.  I took the dog farther away and turned my back.

Vermonters kill things in a quick merciful way.  Apparently, not so in Wyoming.  I am so so sorry little skunk.