The Bloggess

UPDATED: As soon as ASU gets back to me I’ll be available for consultations and endorsements. And it will be awesome.

October 14, 2014in functions I shouldn't be allowed to attend, I am totally overrated, Random Crap

I’m not sure how it happened (I suspect voodoo) but I was somehow named the Distinguished Alumna of 2014 by Angelo State University, my hometown college. (ASU Magazine clipping at right to prove I’m not just drunk right now.)

It was very flattering but equally baffling, and I spent the weekend pretending to be “distinguished” and hoping that people wouldn’t realize that I am entirely overrated.

I was given my award at a banquet where everyone else being recognized had a legitimate reason for being honored and they were all insanely awesome, professional, and unintentionally intimidating, and I suspected that none of them had ever dug up a corpse or been attacked by their pet turkeys.

It was fancier than my wedding, and there was a live marching band to play us to our seats.

I can't play an instrument but I think I'd be a good band leader because I look good in capes. — Do all marching bands have capes, or is this one especially bad-ass?

I requested “Tusk“, but I don’t think they heard me, or possibly they’re just too young to know who Fleetwood Mac is.

My extended family all turned out, so I had to come up with a suitable speech that I could give in front of my daughter and my granny, so I wrote my speech on my phone while Victor drove us to San Angelo. Here it is:

“I am so glad to be here tonight to accept my honorary doctorate degree. I never thought this would happen. Until I was driving here, that is, and thought, “I bet if I accept an honorary doctorate at this event they kind of have to give me one. That’s just polite.”

It doesn’t haven’t have to be crazy official. You don’t even have to spell “doctor” correctly, and I will vow to never perform surgery on people without first telling them that I’m an honorary Doctor of Journalism, but that I’m really excited about seeing if I can find their appendix.

This might seem ridiculous but I heard some other college gave Ellen Degeneres an honorary doctorate and my husband was like, “Well, is ASU up to those kinds of standards?” And I said, “Oh, ASU is way better than that crappy college” and I think you could prove me right tonight by making me whatever it is that’s one step above doctor. I don’t know what that is. Super-Doctor, maybe? Major Doctor? I don’t know. I’ll leave it up to the board. You guys are the experts.

I’d like to thank my parents and grandparents for bribing me to go to college with the promise that I’d get whatever money was left in my college fund after I graduated.

If I’d had college math at the time I probably would have realized that there wouldn’t be any money left and that I’d have to rely on grants and scholarships and work to carry me through, but in the end it was worth it. Because 17 years later I stand here before you: A proud ASU graduate…

A Super-Doctor, at last.”

You can't tell, but that's me at the podium. Trust me. I'm a doctor. — You can’t tell, but that’s me at the podium. Trust me. I’m a doctor.

I was supposed to be in the Homecoming Parade but I said I’d only do it if I could ride on the float with Dominic (our live Ram mascot). I was told that was impossible, probably because they assumed I’d steal him, and they were right because LOOK AT HIS FACE:

He looks like he'd be fun to drink with. — He’s like if Matthew McConaughey was a sheep.

I refused to ride in the parade unless I was given an equal or better sheep but they weren’t going for it, so I was like, “What if I bring my own sheep?” and they didn’t say no, so I just dressed my kid up as a ram and smuggled her into the bed of the pick-up. Hailey had never been in a parade before either but you never would have known it and honestly she sort of out-Dominiced Dominic because she had the sweeping, majestic horns and furry coat, and she could throw plastic footballs to kids watching the parade because she has thumbs. Additionally, she didn’t shit everywhere and that is a big plus as far as I’m concerned.

(Hailey is the one on the right.) — (Hailey’s the one on the right.)

Then I went to the ASU homecoming game because I was told I needed to walk onto the field at half-time to be “recognized” and that sounded a bit awkward, but then when I got there I realized I was supposed to follow the royal homecoming court onto the field. And let me tell you, if you ever find yourself walking slowly, here-comes-the-bride-style, onto a football field toward a packed stadium of people (and one live sheep) while a marching band plays “You Can Tell Everybody This Is Your Song” and an honor guard makes a bridge of swords for you to walk under, just remember that it could be more awkward. You could be doing all of that while wearing a sweatshirt and pajama jeans as you follow the thinnest and prettiest girls on campus, who are all wearing strapless ball gowns and glittery jewelry, and one of them just got a tiara and that’s when thought to myself, I suspect a team of unicorns will be by to whisk them away, while a pack of dirty dogs carries me off because that’s the only thing that could make this any more glaringly unbalanced.

It's like turning up for a wedding wearing overalls and then you remember that you're a bridesmaid." — It’s like turning up for a wedding, but you’re wearing overalls for some reason and then you remember that you’re a bridesmaid.

I’m reading all of this and it sounds like it was ridiculously ludicrous, and it was.

But it was also…really lovely.

I kept waiting for someone to realize that they’d made a terrible mistake, but they never did, and I remembered that one of the reasons I’d chosen ASU in the first place was the fact that people there are accepting of anyone…even the girl who never joined a sorority or club, or went to frat parties or football games, or ended up in a single photograph during her time there. I wish I could have told the terrified college me who hid in libraries and tiptoed through halls that one day I’d go to my first homecoming. And that that very same weekend I’d aggressively accept a doctorate degree, and ride in a parade with a small, beaming child dressed as a sheep, and walk in the footsteps of (small-town college) royalty while a marching band played Elton John as I limboed under pointy sabers. Then again, I probably wouldn’t even have believed me. Honestly, who the hell would?

PS. Dear ASU Alumni Board/President/King/Vicar: I went ahead and made this myself because I know you’re very busy. I’m not sure if it’s totally accurate but it felt right. Could you forward it to whoever needs to sign it?

Please rush if possible. My first patient is ready for surgery but his family is giving me static and I think the certificate will help reassure them. Also, can I get a discount on bulk ether now? It’s important. These cat’s tonsils aren’t going to remove themselves.

PPS. Seriously, thank you ASU, for being a wonderful college for even the dangerously social awkward. I just saw the video you sent out this morning and it reminded me again that there’s a place for everyone. Thanks for being my place:

100% of all Super-Doctors approve of this message. (See?! Think of the endorsement opportunities alone, ASU.)

Now please hurry up with that certificate so I can start stabbing people legally for a change.

UPDATED (10/15/14):

This morning when I was getting Hailey ready for school I vaguely remembered that I might have sent an email to the President of ASU at 1 o’clock in the morning when my insomnia makes me even more unstable than normal. And apparently I did:

“To: Dr. Brian May

Just a quick thank you for the fabulous and unexpected honor of being named the Distinguished Alumna of the year. This weekend was really amazing and I can’t tell you what it meant to be recognized in the town where I always thought I was invisible at best.

I wrote a quick post about it I thought you might like. Or might hate. Hard to tell.

Ps. I’m just kidding about being given a “super-doctor” degree. But only if by “just kidding” you mean “ridiculously serious and dedicated to making this happen.” The last time I was this focused I was made an official Czar of Texas (true story) and ended up using this power to increase awareness of the awesomeness of Texas and also to overthrow the Government. (But just for one night and the Government was very nice about it because they recognized my valuable political contributions, and also because they didn’t entirely take me seriously since {according to my proclamation} I report to the stray cat that lives at city hall.)

It’s very late so this email might not make much sense but I thought I should mail it off before Tulane reads my post and offers me a Super-Doctorate and things get all awkward.

Hugs,
Jenny”

My husband, Victor, read my email and suggested that thing had already gotten awkward, but my faith in the weird was redeemed moments letter when a response came back from Dr. May, which read simply:

“Super Doctorate is in the mail!!!!”

It’s possibly he’s humoring me, in a “the-check-is-in-the-mail” sort of way, but if I really am getting my Super Doctorate I’m stoked because as a Super-Doctor I would always outrank everyone in the room and so no one would question me when I mispronounced words, or let myself into the lemur house at the zoo. Victor argued that I would actually rank below “Subway Sandwich Artist” because “Super-Doctor” doesn’t really exist. And he might be right, but I countered that”Super-Doctor” doesn’t really exist YET, and that with my Super-Doctorate I will be setting a record for having both the highest and lowest ranking degree to ever come out of ASU, and that’s pretty darn impressive.

Also, if I become a Super-Doctor I can diagnosis everyone as needed. Like if you’re having a terrible day you’d be able to say, “Oh, this? My doctor prescribed this portable margarita machine to help me get through these horrific business meetings. It’s medicinal, I assure you. Please carry on.” Or “I need to take a nap because apparently I’m suffering from ‘An Overabundance of Bad-Assness’ and my doctor says naps are the only thing to keep it from growing to dangerous proportions that might overload my body and make everyone feel terribly inferior to me. Basically I’m taking this medically necessary nap for you, so please keep it down.”

EVERYONE WINS.

I’ll keep you posted.

How can you say no?

October 12, 2014in Random Crap, weekly reruns

So, I just opened a package and I may have squealed a tiny bit and then Victor was like “NO MORE TAXIDERMY” and it was unsettling because HOW DID HE EVEN KNOW THAT? Apparently my “I’ve-got-taxidermy-mail” squeal is very obvious. Or perhaps he was just playing the odds. Regardless, he was right and he came into the room to tell me to stop with all the weird taxidermy because all those eyes on him were making him paranoid. Personally, I think that’s more his problem and he needs to sort out his emotional baggage and not bring it into our house. He says the same thing, but about my weird taxidermy.

But this one was harder to say no to because LOOK AT HER:

And Victor agreed that she was hard to say no to, but only because he doesn’t talk to dead animals. Which is sad because he’s missing out on a lot of conversations with excellent listeners.

(Made by the talented Lea Mai Nguyen of Le Heart Design.)

**************

And now, time for the weekly wrap-up:

Shit I made in my shop (Named “EIGHT POUNDS OF UNCUT COCAINE” so that your credit card bill will be more interesting.):

A perfect card for absolutely nothing. One side has a flaming birthday wish and the other side says: “None of the other cards seemed right either, so I just went with this one.” Basically just tells people you’ve given up. And that’s nice because you’ve lowered their expectations and they will be happy that you even sent a card.
As requested: STRANGELING. (If you’re here, you are one. Welcome home.)
It’s the perfect thing to scream when you’re frustrated. And you can give it to someone awful and suddenly it has a second meaning.

Shit that I’m vaguely involved with on the internets:

Kick-ass stuff I pinned.

Shit-I-didn’t-come-up-with-but-wish-I-did-because-it’s-kind-of-awesome:

Shit you should buy or steal because it’s awesome:

I was looking for some warm pajamas and I think this would fit the bill, except that it’s quite expensive for pajamas and also I might get odd looks when I’m running late and have to drive Hailey to school in my pajamas. Still…I’m considering it.

This week’s wrap-up is brought to you by Laurel Talbot, author of I Love My Gay Badger Son. This surreal short novel about a child-free couple who end up raising a gay badger son from first grade to early adulthood was written in under 30 days during National Novel Writing Month. From the author: “My intention in writing this collection of vaguely true and hilarious stories is to put out there – for all gay, straight, human, badger, artsy, sciencey, ADHD, geniuses – that it gets better. Life will be tough, especially as you will struggle to figure out who you are and where you fit in. You may cry and want to hide for years. You may even want to give up and end it all-I know, because I have been there. Don’t. Stick with it because there will also be moments of pure joy, when you are doing things you love, surrounded by people who love the same things you love, and in those moments it will all be worth it.” You probably need to buy it.

I fixed it for you.

October 9, 2014in more than meets the eye, Random Crap, You people scare me and I sort of love it.

Yesterday I got an email from a very sweet girl who wanted to tell me how happy she was to have found “this tribe of bizarre stranglings” because she finally figured out she wasn’t alone and there were others out there like her. And it was very lovely, although I did think it was odd that she was witnessing so many stranglings here, but then I realized that she meant “strangelings” (like “changelings” but stranger, and that spellcheck had probably changed it for her because spellcheck is an asshole who doesn’t understand the fluidity of language.) She also included this quote from the Breakfast Club because she thought it fit our odd community so well:

And I agree.

And I decided to write this post in case you needed to be reminded of how important you are to me, and to all the other strangelings and misfits out there who find themselves at this blog, and realize they aren’t alone, and get the support they need to be the dazzlingly odd person they are without apology. You have no idea how important you are.

And I love the quote, but I did feel it needed a small tweak to reflect the us that we’ve become:

Never change, sweet strangelings.

Mama Paquita: “Why would a baby need a sombrero?” and other problematic questions.

October 8, 2014in International incidents, Posts that will get me hate mail, Random Crap, stuff better left unpublished

This isn’t a real post. It was a rambling email I was writing to my sister and then it sort of got away from me and so I decided to flesh it out and share it here because maybe we weren’t the only ones who were taught this song in school. You can ignore it if you want.

When I was little there was this song called “Mama Paquita” that we’d have to sing in music class. According to our music books, it was a 1930’s Brazilian Carnivale song but it was kinda fucked up. It was about some salesman trying to convince a mom to buy her baby a banana, a papaya, some pajamas and a sombrero, but she was like “Who has infant-sombrero money in this economy? Let’s go dancing!” (I’m paraphrasing, but only slightly) and I remember thinking, “Why would a baby need a sombrero?”

(Side-note: I just googled” “Why would you buy a baby a sombrero?” and I got a lot of vaguely racist pictures, and also a link to a poem, which includes the lines “He had heard stories of a baby sombrero wrestler who would one day rule the world, but he had never thought that it would be his son” and “Hey, do you want to go get some soup, and maybe have a baby?” {Which might be the best pick-up line ever. Or worst. Depends on who you’re trying to pick up, I guess.})

Anyway, when I was in third grade I asked the music teacher why we didn’t just sing the original Brazilian song, Mamãe eu Quero, (which I’d memorized from Carmen Miranda movies and old Tom & Jerry cartoons) but she shook her head disdainfully, saying only that there were “too many nipples in that song”.

I was confused about that for years, but in high school I told a friend that I knew the words to a risqué Brazilian nipple song, which I then sang. She knew a little Portuguese, and she told me my song was about breastfeeding and that my pronunciation was atrocious. Then I said, “Oh wait. It gets worse” and I sang her the bastardized English version from my childhood music classes, and she was like, “What kind of racist bullshit is that?” and I said, “The extremely problematic kind taught to small children in the 70’s?”

Then she looked at me in confused bewilderment and I nodded in embarrassed agreement and said, “Honestly, I don’t understand it either. I apologize on the behalf of white people.” (Which is a phrase I should just put on a t-shirt because that shit needs to be said A LOT). She gracefully accepted my apology and offered to teach me how to curse convincingly in Spanish if I agreed to never sing that song again. Our cultural bridge was built on a shared love of profanity, and although I never mastered the accent to her satisfaction, I will forever treasure the phrase: “I SHIT ON EVERYTHING THAT MOVES!” which is easily the best thing to scream when you are stuck in traffic, or when the copier eats your overdue report, or when life is just being an asshole in general.

This was all before the internet existed so I had to take my friend’s word on the translation, but then my sister reminded me of that song again and so I decided to go online to try to translate the Portuguese version.

And here is the (probably horribly butchered) translation:

Mommy I want, mommy I want,
Mommy I want to suckle!
Give the nipple, give the nipple, give the nipple
Give the nipple so your baby won’t cry!

Sleep, son of my heart.
Take the bottle and join my dance party.
I have a sister, she’s called Anna.
She blinked so much she lost her eyelashes.

I look at the little ones, but this way
I’m sorry I’m not suckling.
I have a sister, she’s phenomenal.
She’s the boss and her husband’s an imbecile.

And now I’m even more confused, and I can’t get the fucked-up English version out of my head. And (if you were also taught it as a small kid) it’s probably stuck in yours too now.

Awesome.

I am part of the problem.

PS. Again, I would like to apologize on the behalf of white people. Seriously. White people fuck shit up for all of us. Including white people. It’s baffling. I’m so sorry. Let’s go get some soup and maybe have a baby.

I don’t even have the words, y’all.

October 5, 2014in Random Crap, weekly reruns

My friend sent me a link to a book she thought I needed to check out:

I can’t actually recommend the book because I haven’t read it yet, but I do have to share the list of related books Amazon suggests for me because HOLY SHIT, Y’ALL:

A few of my favorite things about this list: “Related Searches: Extreme Ironing.” Also? The fact that this list is categorized under “Women’s Biographies” and “Volunteer Work.”

No words.

**************

And now, time for the weekly wrap-up:

Shit I made in my shop (Named “EIGHT POUNDS OF UNCUT COCAINE” so that your credit card bill will be more interesting.):

As requested. Let everyone know what you’re really thinking.

Shit that I’m vaguely involved with on the internets:

Kick-ass stuff I pinned.

Shit-I-didn’t-come-up-with-but-wish-I-did-because-it’s-kind-of-awesome:

This cat fails on all levels.
Scientifically Accurate: Chip and Dale’s Rescue Rangers. (Do not listen at work without headphones.)

Shit you should buy or steal because it’s awesome:

I can’t afford this myself but I think it would be awesome, so maybe two million of us could chip in together.

This week’s wrap-up is brought to you by Sean Fox, author of Room Service is Closed. From Sean: “There are a great many horror stories from people who have stayed in hotels and had a miserable experience. No offense to those people, but working there isn’t all rainbows and sausages either. The front desk is where the vast majority of foolishness takes place. One of those front desk agents was me. Armed with bitterness, sarcasm, and general unpleasantness, I try to survive the world of The Hotel, a place filled with overly perky HR people, mind numbingly dull coworkers, and managers sent straight from the darkest pit of Hell. That’s not to mention the guests, a whole breed of crazy all on their own. Join me on my journey where I learn that the hospitality industry isn’t very hospitable and perhaps I don’t have the right attitude to be in it.” You should check it out here.

Nancy Pelosi is extremely disappointed in me for destroying the Democratic Party. In my defense, I can’t even load the dishwasher properly so maybe it was a mistake to give me that much responsibility.

October 2, 2014in Letters from Nancy, no one thinks this is funny but me, Posts that will get me hate mail, Random Crap

Yesterday my friend Laura and I decided we needed a break so we went camping (fine, glamping) and it was very relaxing until we checked our phones in front of the camp fire and realized that we’d gotten tons of frantic, distraught emails from the DCCC (Democratic Congressional Campaign Committee) who was using some fairly odd tactics to get us to donate cash to fund ads battling the ads that the Republicans were seeking donations for. I’m not into politics so I’m sure I explained that wrong, but what I do know is that all night we were flooded with so many doom-filled emails that if the DCCC was a person I would have called the police to have them do a well-check. I realize this is partially our fault, as Laura and I have each donated before, and that we could have unsubscribed if we wanted to, but at a certain point it became so insane that it crossed over into baffling entertainment.

Just a few of most terrifying:

From: Nancy Pelosi <dccc@dccc.org>
Date: September 30, 2014
Subject: we. will. fail.

We will fail to hit our goal tonight

Laura, we’ve tried everything.

— President Obama has emailed you.
— Hillary Clinton has emailed you.
— I’ve emailed you more than I can count.

But with this new Republican outside spending, we’ll still need 28,OOO more online donations to be able to compete.

It’s hard to see that happening with just 4 hours until the deadline.

We have a meeting set to figure out how we’ll slash our campaign plan. But for right now, we have to ask one more time:

Can you please donate to President Obama’s call-to-action, and help us limit the damage?

MIDNIGHT DEADLINE: All Gifts Triple-Matched!

Thanks, Nancy

Nancy’s disappointment in us was palpable and we suspected we would soon be grounded. Then more letters flooded in from equally frantic DCCC members asking for donations and saying things like:

“We’ll be blunt: We need help. And we don’t know where else to turn”

“It’s just awful.”

“We’ve got nothing left, Laura.”

“YOU ARE ON NOTICE.”

“If we fall behind now, we will be past the point of no return. We will lose.”

The subject lines alone made me need xanax: “no time. just read.” “PUMMELED.” “BEGGING.” “we. will. fail.” “Please help!” “TRAGIC Conclusion.” You could almost hear them pulling their hair out and tearing at their clothes. Honestly though, the “BEGGING” one did push me into action. Here it is:

From: James Carville <dccc@dccc.org>

Date: September 30, 2014

Subject: BEGGING

I’m not going to sit by and let the Republicans buy this election.

Will you chip in $5 or whatever you can right now to turn this election around?

(If it helps, I’ll beg too.)

We’re still coming up short.

When we say we’re begging, we’re REALLY begging.

Control of Congress is at stake. President Obama’s agenda is on the line. And we’re in serious danger of falling short here.

If we can’t pull it together TODAY, we’re going to get demolished.

We’re begging, Laura. We need 13 donors from your zip code to answer President Obama’s call-to-action. Can you step up today?

MIDNIGHT DEADLINE: All Gifts Triple-Matched!

Sure, it was a little unsettling that our own party was sending us emails that made us feel like we’d all spontaneously explode that night, but in their defense, that terrifying email shamelessly entitled “BEGGING” was the one that spurred me into action. Sure, I could donate the $5 they were asking for, but I’d already done that before and it obviously wasn’t enough to stem the hysteria so Laura and I decided to use some good ol’ DCCC tactics to raise morale and money: Apocalyptic-sounding emails.

We replied directly to James Carville’s email:

Date: September 30, 2014
To: “dccc@dccc.org”
Subject: Re: BEGGING

Dear James Carville:

I am begging you right back.

Please, please, please, for the love of God, send me a photo of yourself holding a Popsicle or other frozen confectionary by midnight tonight and I will not only donate five dollars, I will match that five dollars.

If the frozen dessert is an ice cream sandwich I will triple match it.

And I’ll use that photo to raise money for our party. Your gift can make or break us.

DON’T LET US DOWN, JAMES CARVILLE.

Unsurprisingly, the DCCC recognized the power of vaguely threatening emails and responded immediately. They must have been confused though, because their email read like a form letter and began like this:

From: <dccc@dccc.org>
Date: September 30, 2014

Thanks for emailing us at the Democratic Congressional Campaign Committee (DCCC)!

If you have a question or request, we want to get you what you need as quickly as possible:

1. Want to donate online to our campaign to elect Democrats? CLICK HERE TO ACCESS OUR SECURE DONATION FORM…

We stopped reading at that point because they seem to have misread our initial email. Suddenly I understood how frustrated they probably were. It is awful when people ignore your histrionic emails. But we took a deep breath and (following standard DCCC procedures) we decided to send another email explaining the severity of the issue and the level of shame they need to feel:

Date: September 30, 2014
To: DCCC
Subject: Re: Thanks for emailing the DCCC Membership Team!

Dear DCCC:

Thanks for emailing us at Laura’s laptop!

You said: “If you have a question or request, we want to get you what you need as quickly as possible” but the quickest way would have been to respond to my original response asking James Carville to send a photo of himself holding a popsicle (or similar) by midnight. Please see original email for details as it could be worth up to $15 to our party.

PULL IT TOGETHER, DCCC.

“1. Want to donate online to our campaign to elect Democrats?” Yes. Desperately. But I can’t help you until you help yourself. As Nancy Pelosi said to me moments ago, “I’ve emailed you more than I can count.” (Twice, actually. So I guess I can count how many times. Sorry. I’m bad at hyperbole.) At first I thought Nancy was shaming me a bit much considering that we don’t know each other, but I understand her frustration now.

If we don’t get the photo of James Carville holding some sort of frozen dessert the Republicans will have already won. As you said to me a few hours ago, if we don’t have your cooperation “We. Will. Fail.”

YOU ARE NOW OFFICIALLY ON NOTICE. Your chance to get my donation TRIPLE-MATCHED will end at midnight tonight. Control of Congress is at stake. Please, don’t delay.

Also, that last paragraph was taken almost directly from the email you sent me moments ago but I don’t know how to do it in the flashing yellow warning letters like you did. Please know, however, that I am just as serious, regardless of font.

Shockingly, no popsicle pictures came. Apparently the DCCC were just as immune to our threats as we were to theirs.

We checked on twitter to see if we were alone in getting these terrifying emails every few minutes. We were not: (You should see a box of tweets here that you can scroll down through when your mouse is inside it. If not, just go to the link)

[protected-iframe id=”29f172430cbcc06f23de58d3dda9d69d-58006636-1561224″ info=”//storify.com/TheBloggess/i-thought-it-was-just-me/embed?header=false” width=”100%” height=”750″][View the story “I thought it was just me.” on Storify]

We waited for the whole hour(s?) for a follow-up after the midnight deadline passed, but all was quiet. We had expected another email. Possibly something with the subject: “WE. ARE. DOOMED. And it’s mostly your fault” with a picture of orphans and kittens and orphaned kittens being speared by gleeful Republicans making giant shish-ka-bobs. Instead? Silence. They were serious. It really had been our last chance to donate and be triple-matched. We felt a bit bad and said a prayer for the people at the DCCC, who we hoped were being given sedatives by helpful nurses.

The next day this came from Nancy:

Date: Wed, Oct 1, 2014
Subject: we. fell. short.
I was being dead serious when I said we’d miss our goal last night.

We fell short.

Despite emails from President Obama, Hillary Clinton, and myself…we just couldn’t get it done.

It was one of the most aggressive fundraising goals we’ve ever had. We even surpassed our initial goal of 1OO,OOO online donations in 5 days. But we were forced to raise our goal when we learned that Republican outside groups put in 12 million dollars at the very last-minute.

I’m not giving up. And you shouldn’t either, Laura.

We have one last chance to right this ship. To do it, we need 11 donors from your zip code to make a triple-matched donation by midnight.

TRIPLE-MATCH EXTENSION: (for donations made TODAY ONLY)

Chip in $5 immediately >>

Chip in $35 immediately >>

Chip in $50 immediately >>

Chip in $100 immediately >>

Chip in $250 immediately >>

Or click here to donate another amount.

Thanks,

Nancy

PS. For those of you who might be new here: This isn’t a political post. It’s more about marketing. Also, it’s a waste of your time to debate politics in the comments section because this community is fairly divided politically but united in the fact that you have the freedom to believe whatever you want no matter how wrong you are. I’m a Democrat but I’m married to a Republican and we can both agree that there’s a lot of crazy bullshit on both sides. If you can’t recognize that you probably need to seek help right now. But first give me $5 immediately if you believe in America, or else all the American eagles will become so despondent that they’ll lay out in the middle of the road and just let you run over them.

PPS. I wrote this yesterday but forgot to publish it. This is exactly why I should never be trusted with deadlines, Democrats.