First and foremost, all opinions are mine, and mine alone. I created this blog so I had a space where I could think for myself without having to toe the lines between “coastal elite,” “libtard snowflake,” and “manic pixie dream girl.”

It’s supposed to be over the top. It’s supposed to be bitter. And it’s supposed to be progressive AF. But it is also researched and thoughtful.

So no, I don’t hate everything. Yes, I’m a pretty angry person, but I don’t hate people as much as it looks like.  I’m a socialist, how much can I really hate people if I want them all to have healthcare?

I just love hating at stuff.  It’s a relatively benign act that goes by different names in different cultures – drag queens might call it shade, the internet informs me black twitter calls it “spilling the t”. Of course, “hating”, like all slang worth using, was also invented by black people. White people just call it “exercising my first amendment rights, so there.”

I like the simple accuracy of “to hate at.”  This is not to be confused with the deep-seeded, soul clenching, never-ending distaste you have for whatever the opposite of your current political party is. See, if I really hate someone:

• They could broker peace in the Middle East and I’d just be complaining their jacket doesn’t match their shoes
• They could assassinate Donald Trump and I’d suddenly miss the big orange bastard
• They could give me a puppy and I’d – well ok, I’d keep it, but I’d name it after their least favorite fictional character.
• They could set me up on a date with Michael B Jordan and I wouldn’t go

But unless you’re a bigot, that deep kind of hate is reserved for politicians and food groups. Me? Fuck bell peppers.  Eating those bitter, lying, jelly-bean colored fruits is as tedious and unsatisfying as sex with most straight men. And sure, you can hate at things you truly hate hate – I just did to poor bell peppers – but you can also hate at things you love. We’ve all done it that one time our favorite celebrity tried to do something edgy on the red carpet.

Look, it’s ok. We all have to lift ourselves up sometimes by making jokes about other peoples’ horrifying life choices.

• It’s not MY fault you’re wearing fake uggs with a denim miniskirt in 2018.
• It’s not MY fault you make out with your partner in public with all the grace of a salty sea lion.
• It’s not MY fault you actually said the phrase “I like Nickelback” in public.

Psych, that’s all me.  Because just like we all have to let it out sometimes, we also all do things that are worthy of others hating. Yes, even Taylor Swift. Haters gonna hate, and they didn’t choose her because that red lipstick, vintage styling, and blond hair is a bold fashion choice America wasn’t ready for. If you ever want to know where someone’s from, just ask them what their favorite thing to hate at is. New Yorkers can’t decide, Bostonians choose New Yorkers, and Los Angelons start an eerily detailed story about a bad driver and what’s going to happen to them once they land in Hell.

I’m from a small town in Northern California, so naturally my answer is cities.  Billed as majestic concrete jungles full of opportunities to climb the ladder of the American Dream, cities are more accurately characterized as a simmering cesspool of everything that is wrong with humanity.  Bud light in the city costs as much as craft beer in the country. You can rent a house in a small town for the price of a studio in the city, complete with pet rats.  

While I am writing this, we are sheltering in place while an incompetent government fails to protect us from a terrible virus. The Republicans scare me. The Democrats anger me me. My fellow Americans disappoint me. Make no mistake, the rage you feel does not mean you are not a compassionate person. If you’re paying attention, and you give two cents about your fellow man — you’re pissed right now. Welcome home.

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