Just sittin’ over here at TDP eating chips and guacamole. Listening to coverage about how the asshat and his smug sidekick are not going to be in my face much more. The whole world smells like nachos and margaritas. (Metaphorically, I mean – my room really smells more like a frequently neglected cat box and whatever the opposite of ‘freshly dusted’ is. But nachos and a margarita are my go-to comfort food, with which I celebrate the good and trudge through the bad, so that’s one solid way to recognize goodness in my world.) (Never mind, it wasn’t a very good metaphor anyway.) But I’m sitting here with my chips and salsa and guac and wine listening to NPR and waiting for the official concession and acceptance speeches, respectively.
Also, because I just can’t resist it, some short open letters:
Dear Todd Akin: I guess women SHUT THAT WHOLE THING DOWN…
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