Boo fricken hoo. These people are really getting on my nerves, I mean I'm really ytrying to laugh and keep a sense of humor about but what an entire generation of pansies this country has. This girl, along with all the rest of them seem to have no idea what true heartbreak or pain is. Sometimes life doesn't give you everything you want or need, learn to live with it.
This article had 20K responses to it, almost all negative (the ones I skimmed over anyway, got the gist of crowd). That's about 5 or 6X the usual controversial article gets.
I'll say it again, PROUDLY, GROW THE F UP!! (for the mentally impaired, this translates to act your age and try and mature a bit).
"I woke up on Election Day like a bride: rosy, thrilled, a little controlling about just how MY perfect day would be spent. After working on the Clinton campaign for eighteen months, I was ready to celebrate, and sure that by nightfall I'd be knocking back glasses of champagne and creating a story to tell my unborn children. Maybe I'd even get close enough to Hillary Clinton to hug her, to whisper "Thank you." I had dreamed about it every night for the last two weeks.
So on Tuesday — Jesus, it's almost embarrassing to remember — I smugly selected a baby-blue sweater with a not-so-subtle p**** motif and headed to vote with my boyfriend, smiling at the elderly socialists on my block like it was Sesame Street. I packed my HRC 2016 memorabilia into a brown box with my I VOTED sticker smacked on top. I spent the afternoon phone-banking with friends, and it felt more like icing on the cake than urgent business. Because as horrifying as I found Donald Trump's rhetoric, as hideous as I found his racism and xenophobia, as threatening to basic decency as I found his demagogue persona, I never truly believed he could win.
I'd been traveling the country for the last few weeks, in swing states like North Carolina and Colorado. While I'd dealt with a few irritating email questions (those f***ing emails, as if they were a worthy corollary to fraud and sexual assault), the resolve and passion of students, many of whom had made their way over from the Bernie Sanders campaign, gave me a sense of hope that got me downright high. I didn't see how with faces this bright, diverse, wise, and passionate anything but the best — the only — result could prevail.
The three hours I spent at the Javits Center Tuesday night, surrounded by campaign staffers and fellow surrogates for Hillary Clinton, are blurred and spotty. At a certain point it became clear something had gone horribly wrong. Celebrants' faces turned. The modeling had been incorrect. Watching the numbers in Florida, I touched my face and realized I was crying. "Can we please go home?" I said to my boyfriend. I could tell he was having trouble breathing, and I could feel my chin breaking into hives. Another woman showed me her matching hive, hidden by fresh concealer...."
https://www.yahoo.com/style/dont-agonize-organize-164149299.html
This article had 20K responses to it, almost all negative (the ones I skimmed over anyway, got the gist of crowd). That's about 5 or 6X the usual controversial article gets.
I'll say it again, PROUDLY, GROW THE F UP!! (for the mentally impaired, this translates to act your age and try and mature a bit).
"I woke up on Election Day like a bride: rosy, thrilled, a little controlling about just how MY perfect day would be spent. After working on the Clinton campaign for eighteen months, I was ready to celebrate, and sure that by nightfall I'd be knocking back glasses of champagne and creating a story to tell my unborn children. Maybe I'd even get close enough to Hillary Clinton to hug her, to whisper "Thank you." I had dreamed about it every night for the last two weeks.
So on Tuesday — Jesus, it's almost embarrassing to remember — I smugly selected a baby-blue sweater with a not-so-subtle p**** motif and headed to vote with my boyfriend, smiling at the elderly socialists on my block like it was Sesame Street. I packed my HRC 2016 memorabilia into a brown box with my I VOTED sticker smacked on top. I spent the afternoon phone-banking with friends, and it felt more like icing on the cake than urgent business. Because as horrifying as I found Donald Trump's rhetoric, as hideous as I found his racism and xenophobia, as threatening to basic decency as I found his demagogue persona, I never truly believed he could win.
I'd been traveling the country for the last few weeks, in swing states like North Carolina and Colorado. While I'd dealt with a few irritating email questions (those f***ing emails, as if they were a worthy corollary to fraud and sexual assault), the resolve and passion of students, many of whom had made their way over from the Bernie Sanders campaign, gave me a sense of hope that got me downright high. I didn't see how with faces this bright, diverse, wise, and passionate anything but the best — the only — result could prevail.
The three hours I spent at the Javits Center Tuesday night, surrounded by campaign staffers and fellow surrogates for Hillary Clinton, are blurred and spotty. At a certain point it became clear something had gone horribly wrong. Celebrants' faces turned. The modeling had been incorrect. Watching the numbers in Florida, I touched my face and realized I was crying. "Can we please go home?" I said to my boyfriend. I could tell he was having trouble breathing, and I could feel my chin breaking into hives. Another woman showed me her matching hive, hidden by fresh concealer...."
https://www.yahoo.com/style/dont-agonize-organize-164149299.html
