Lindsay Graham Donald Trump Lovers ?


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Lindsay Graham and Donald Trump were once adversaries.  Politics is adversarial by its very nature gets deep dark and ugly.  But some thing are so personal that they seems unforgivable.  When Donald Trump implied Ted Cruz’s wife was unattractive and his father was involved in the Kennedy assassination, I’m not sure, how it possible to have a beer together after that.

Lindsey Graham called Donald Trump a “race-baiting xenophobic bigot”.  He called him the “World biggest Jackass” for trashing his good friend John McCain.   He has call him unfit to be President (Questions?)   He says his Character made him unfit.

They disagreed about the Charlottesville rally .President Trump  suggested  there is moral equivalency between the white supremacist neo-Nazis and KKK members who attended the Charlottesville rally and people like Heather Heyer who was killed .I, along with many others, do not endorse this moral equivalency.

In a pair of tweets, Trump responded  “Publicity seeking Lindsey -Graham falsely stated that I said there is moral equivalency between the KKK, neo-Nazis & white supremacists and people like Ms. Heyer. . . . Such a disgusting lie. He just can’t forget his election trouncing. The people of South Carolina will remember!”

In January 2018, Graham was at the Oval Office meeting where Trump said he opposed letting in more immigrants from certain “shithole” or “shithouse” countries. Georgia GOP senator David Perdue, who was also in the room, called the reported quotation a “total misrepresentation.” But Graham couldn’t bring himself to lie for Trump. “My memory hasn’t evolved,” Graham told reporters. “I know what was said, and I know what I said.”

Is it in his Kiss? 

In 2018, Lindsey Graham changed.  In 2015, Trump was a racist, in 2018 Lindey said he had NEVER heard Donald Trump make a single racist statement.  After calling him a kook, he says he “intends to support him in 2020 without equivocation.

Graham said it was policy is what changed his mind. “He’s on track to do big things,” Graham says of the president. “He built up the military. I campaigned on it. He got out of the Iran deal. I campaigned on it. He’s destroying ISIL. I campaigned on it. He’s restructuring the tax code and the way we do business. I campaigned on it. He’s doing much of what I campaigned on, and I’m pleased.” Graham now speaks regularly with Trump and has become a close ally on matters ranging from North Korea to health care.

“One, I got to know him,” Graham says. “I’ve played golf with him. You know, play golf with somebody for three or four hours, you get to know them better. He’s funny as hell. He’s got a great sense of humor. There’s a method to the madness.”

“He’s nobody’s fool,” Graham adds. “Very smart. And he asks a lot of good questions.”

Graham, supports the Presidents North Korean Policy he believes Trump agrees with him that a war with North Korea is better than letting North Korea develop an arsenal of nuclear-tipped missiles that could strike the United States.

When President Trump was arguing he was forced to impose a policy of separating children from parents who had illegally crossed the border because a law passed by Democrats tied his hands, Graham said on CNN that it simply wasn’t true: “President Trump could stop this policy with a phone call.” But Graham didn’t call on Trump to actually make that call. When Graham was asked on CNN on June 15 whether his newfound support for Trump was “two-faced,” he had a simple answer: “If you don’t like me working with President Trump to make the world a better place, I don’t give a shit.”






Why I call my male freinds king


By:Malcolm-Aimé Musoni/Washington  Post

Male friendship is often mocked, in the many “bro culture” memes and the jokey way we invoke the word “bromance.” For both men and women, it’s easier to laugh and ridicule than to accept that genuine love between male friends is real, and can be wholesome and completely devoid of toxic masculinity.

My male friends are some of the most supportive and loving people I know. They have given me jobs, told me when my fly was down, checked in on me when I ghosted them, let me know when I put too much Vaseline on my face, given me space when I’m wyling out, texted me when I’m anxious, talked me out of dumb decisions and held me when I cried. But more than anything else, they have loved me and appreciated me. Which is why my male friends and I have been following the newish trend among black men to call one another “king.”

Male friendships are appreciated in some areas of pop culture. Judd Apatow has made an entire career out of movies about them. If you were a white man in the mid-2000s and wanted to be an actor, you could go audition for one of his movies that featured Seth Rogen and hope you were cast opposite him as his white best friend.

Jay-Z and Kanye West are on-and-off best friends who made a monumental joint album in 2011 about their brotherhood and being successful, famous black men at the top of their game. The biggest rap group in the world right now is Migos, made up of Quavo, Takeoff and Offset, a trio of best friends who also are related to one another, rap together, make money together and love each other.

These are some areas of pop culture that I look to as models for what friendship can be. But ultimately I do things my way. Last week, my best friend Isaiah was dealing with a tough personal issue, and it hurt me that he was hurting. I woke up the next day, typed a beautiful text to him in which I called him a king, offered to buy him Chick-fil-A, and told him that I loved him and would be there for him if he needed to talk that day and every day that followed.

Sometimes “friend,” “buddy,” “pal” or “bro” doesn’t suffice. “King” is a word that goes a step further than others in proclaiming your love and appreciation. It’s like: I see you out there. You’re doing your thing, and we may not agree on the best song off Frank Ocean’s “Blonde,” but you are a king.

When I’m calling you a king, I’m admiring your sauce and trying to remind you that you do have that sauce. I’ll see a homie on Twitter feeling down, and I’ll text them four words: You are a king. I’ll be on Instagram and see that my friend Stephen just got a new haircut, and I’ll respond to his story with one four-letter word: king. I’ll greet my friend Alston at his birthday party with “Happy birthday, king.” I’ll be going through something stressful, and one of my homies will tell me: “You got this, king.”

Men calling each other king isn’t a new phenomenon. In the black community, people have been calling one another kings and queens for decades as a term of endearment and to support the idea that black people collectively descended from African royalty. Writer Damon Young pointed out the issues with this in a 2016 essay arguing against the practice, saying: “If you’re from a place where kings and queens existed, there’s a small chance you actually directly descended from them. And a much, much, much, much, much, much, much larger chance you descended from people who were ruled by them. And, if history is any guide, if you happen to be from a place with an unfathomably wealthy ruling class, that unfathomable wealth most likely ended with the ruling class.”

But many songs still perpetuate this idea. A 2013 Jay-Z song opens with an intro from Pimp C’s last interview, in which he talks about black people originating from kings. Despite the historical inaccuracy, calling each other kings and queens is simply a reminder of black Americans’ history in Africa before slavery, something that many in this country don’t know much about.

In the past year, “king” as a term of endearment among black people has become more popular and taken center stage on Twitter. There’s no specific meme or tweet from an account with several thousand followers that started it, and no BuzzFeed article full of tweets from people calling each other king to explain it. Rather it’s happened organically, the way many things do on Twitter.

However, with the resurgence of king-calling, it is understandable that some black people are not pleased that non-black men have co-opted the term.

“They always latch onto black endearment,” my friend Guled told me. “You don’t qualify.

I’m a black man with tortoiseshell glasses and a nose ring, and I live in Brooklyn, so I do have white friends. However, we live in a patriarchal society where white men are the most privileged. They have been looked at as kings for centuries, and at this point I’m just not in the mood anymore to say what has already been said systemically. I would rather devote my time and breath to telling those among my male friends who will always live in a world that really doesn’t want them that they have that sauce and are the masters of that sauce.

Self-confidence fuels everything we do as human beings. Do you have the confidence in yourself to quit that weird marketing job and pursue your passion for cooking? Do you have the confidence in yourself to get that new haircut and proudly rock it? Do you have the confidence to just be you all the time and never sacrifice that for anyone? In 2018, there are so many things going on that affect our self-confidence and perception of ourselves as men, but when your kings got you and let you know that they love you and will always have your back? There’s nothing you can’t do.

Doctor Facebook

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Image: Google

I’m often astounded by what I read on social media.  Fights, vendettas, often very personal and detailed, all for the world to see.  Others use social media as a Doctor or  Therapist as a place to share their feelings.  Many are hurt and angered by the feedback they receive from friends,family.

These are actual posts from Facebook

My husband comes home drunk every other night I’m so tired of it.   I passed my test  at school yesterday and he didn’t care!!!!!    Oh he said!  I’m tired of his one minute erections.  I’m so tired of him acting all superior to everybody.   I hate every thing about him and home. I could be at school all day. ******  is a little pig, her room is disgusting. everything is a fight with her.  When she turns 18, she and her father can have each other.  I want and deserve a better life! 

Men are shit!  I’m tired of talking to these punk assessed mutha fuckers here in Atlanta. I am moving outta here and I’m going back home before I stab a punk ass. 

I hate my brother in law he’s always stoned. Y oh Y did my sister married him? She wasn’t knocked up.  I hate everything about him and his family.  His uncles wife made me a sandwich and I put it in the garbage. They say they are  Christians, but go to church on Sunday Mornings hungover and everybody knows it. 

Before the internet, there were diaries, close friends ,confidants and therapists.

These tools exist today.  Individuals who post personal information about others have told us, they lack self control.  Once they’ve pushed Enter.  They have not only humiliated friends and family resulting in irreparable damage to those relationships, they have exposed their character flaw to the world.

Its difficult to come back from public humiliation

If someone I knew posted personal information about anyone.  It would forever change our relationship.

I don’t have a PhG degree.  However, what I do know, if you’ve shared personal detailed information of love ones, close friends on social media, it say’s something about your character and in time, I will become a victim of that character flaw.

Once the author hits Image result for enter key  it is in the Universe forever.  More and more current and potential employers are using social media to vet future employees. While they can’t demand you friend them or share the contents of your social media.   Its not difficult to access your page.  As I learned a couple of summers ago.  You see the more friends an individual has,the easier it is to access his or her page.  It isn’t illegal.  Your page often tells us who you are as an individual. its tells us if your kind. messy or vindictive.

The sword cuts both ways

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I love social media, there are some really great people on social media, many read this blog. There are others, who’s sole purpose is to create mayhem online.   They ,bully and leave mean and insulting messages on your thread.

Pause before you enter.  If you need to talk, your often better served offline.  Using a trusted network (or one person ) of friends or therapist.   Find a quiet moment when you can talk to those you have issues with and calmly state your case.  Dare to listen without judgement.  At the end of the day, nothing may change, but you were heard.

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If you would be embarrassed , humiliated by your thoughts, actions, words appearing on social media, its possible the individuals your talking about may feel the same way.

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What It’s Like To Love A Gay Man Who Isn’t Out (And Tells His Pals I’m A WOMAN)

dating someone who is not out of the closet

He told his friends my name was “Ashley.”

Ten years ago, I met the second love of my life. I say “second” because there have been three loves of my life. He wasn’t the first, he wasn’t the last, but he was the most influential. I don’t mean that to downplay the importance of the other two. However, he was the one I was with the longest and he was the one that I learned the most from. For the sake of his privacy, we’ll call him L.

I met L on a hookup website. This was not the kind of website that you go to find a partner; this was a place to meet someone, satisfy your needs fairly instantly, and then move on about your life. If you were lucky, you might land a friend with benefits, but it was mostly for one-night stands.

I saw his picture and was immediately into him. I instantly messaged him and anxiously awaited his response. He finally messaged me back and we ended up talking for 4 hours.

Click the Link for the Rest of the Story

Real Men Explain Why They REFUSE To Date Fat Women

By: Rebecca Jane Stokes/Your

They didn’t hold anything back.

I am a fat woman.

I am friends with other fat women..

None of us have a hard time getting dates, finding love, or sex, whatever it is we happen to be looking for.

But while that’s true, all of the fat women in my life have at least one story of me explaining to them that they could never date because of her fatness.

It’s never easy to be rejected for any reason, but fat women get used to it in their interactions with men sadly because it seems to be more socially acceptable to express disgust with fat than it is express other complaints about a person’s physical appearance.

In our culture, people are taught, unfortunately, that being fat is bad.

It isn’t bad at all. A fat person is just as worthy of love, respect, and kindness as any other person.

I’ve always wanted to know what goes on inside the heads of men who refuse to date a woman just because she is fat.

On the one hand, as a sex writer, I understand that people are attracted to different things, so I wanted to keep an open mind.

That said, it’s hard to be objective when someone is explaining why you don’t  give them an erections. 

With that in mind, I asked a group of anonymous men who refuse to date fat women to try and explain their feelings to me.

I knew that there was science to support the fact that men love a woman with a tummy, but I wanted to hear from the other side.

And, just to be clear, the views of these men are not my views — or necessarily the views of YourTango.

Now that we got that way-too-technical disclaimer out of the way…

Here’s what they had to say:

Why don’t you date fat women?

  • “Fat is subjective. Thick is not fat. Much like how women do not want to date a man shorter than them, men don’t want to date women who weigh more than them.”
  • “I grew up fat, and work extremely hard to maintain a healthy weight. I know firsthand how being fat wreaks havoc on your self-esteem and social presence. I would also be concerned about having a partner putting herself at risk for a variety of weight-related complications, especially in the long-term.”
  • “Folds of fat just aren’t attractive.”
  • “Save for instances of diagnosable (and often treatable) problems with metabolism, a fat body is often a sign of disregard for one’s health. Mind and body are not two separate entities; they are linked. You can’t abuse your body and expect your mind to fire on all cylinders. A fat body can (but does not always) imply laziness, short-sightedness, and a kind of disregard for one’s holistic well-being.”
  • “A woman who is fat clearly just doesn’t care about herself.”
  • “Being fat can become a serious health problem.”
  • “I’m skinny and dating a fat woman would look weird.”
  • “Fat women can’t do as much as skinny women, and I’m pretty active.”
  • “Living a healthy style is important to me. Fat women don’t lead healthy lives.”
  • “Chubby can be cute. But fat is ugly.”
  • “I’ve broken up with women who let themselves go. It’s my job to earn the money and it’s her job to look good for me and for herself.”
  • “I can’t stand lazy people. If she can’t be bothered to exercise for thirty minutes, that to me is a sign of true laziness.”

I agree that you’re attracted to what you’re attracted to, but I don’t think that gives you a right to be rude.

Online dating is rough enough without some guy responding to a message by saying “hit the gym and then we’ll talk” (totally true, totally happened to me.)

These answers reinforced what I already knew to be true:

We have to change the way we treat fat women. 

End of story.

3 Signs You’re Not Depressed — You’re Just Surrounded By Assh*les


By: Elvira Aletta/Your Tango.Com

Don’t worry, it’s not you.

“Before you diagnose yourself with depression or low self-esteem, first make sure that you are not, in fact, just surrounded by assh*les.” —William Gibson

When I saw this quote on a friend’s Facebook wall, I laughed out loud with delight and recognition. It hit me on a subconscious level. Why did I like it so much? I couldn’t tell you. It even seemed wrong that I, a psychologist, would like the idea of blaming depression on others. And then there was the swearing bit.

But I did like it — a lot. Enough to share it on my Facebook wall. And others liked it — a lot. And I started asking myself, what is going on here?

People clearly related to this quote just like I did. I started thinking of my own life experience. How many times did the behavior of others effect how I felt about myself? How many times did I have to leave relationships because of the damage they were doing to my self-esteem?

The different ways people can be asshles are infinite. Here three top qualities for asshle-ness that pop for me.

1. Assholes are happy in their stupidity.

And by stupid I don’t mean unintelligent. Not being smart all the time can’t be helped. No one can know everything about everything. I know nothing about fly-fishing except that it looks pretty when it’s done right. Would I assume to teach someone, anyone, about fly-fishing? No. But that doesn’t stop the assh*le.

The assh*le is deliberately, obtusely dumb and happy in their stupidity. Knowing nothing about fly-fishing doesn’t stop them from lecturing you as if they were a prize-winning angler.

2.  Assholes are loud and obnoxious.

Can an assh*le be quiet and shy? Maybe, but not in my experience. Most a-holes aren’t interested in the give and take of conversation. They monologue, take-over, shout, get into your personal space, and don’t even realize they’re doing it. Or maybe they do it on purpose to intimidate. Either way, not nice.

3. Assholes are selfish bullies.

Selfish is NOT the same a self-caring. The assh*le is self centered  in a way that’s exclusive. The feelings, thoughts, input or contribution of others is minimized, cast aside, even ridiculed, in order to pump up their own sense of self-worth. It’s sad really, if it didn’t come with the stupidity and the loudness.

So why do asshles make us feel depressed? If we’re exposed repeatedly to asshles, they can wear on our self-esteem.

Most of us are reared to be nice. Being nice means listening to others, sharing a conversation, pointing out the other person’s good qualities, and reasonably expecting the other person to reciprocate. We respect others’ opinions even if they aren’t shared. We generally defer to authority. Nice people are slow to anger and tend to emphasize the positive (for everyone else, anyway).

Asshles, however, make us feel like dopes for being nice. At first we might get angry, and if the asshle is someone we only see once in a while we can be angry and get over it quickly. But if they’re someone we see everyday at work or school, maintaining anger is very difficult.

Eventually, our self-esteem begins to erode leading to feelings of hopelessness, fatigue,sadness and depression. That’s right: chronic emotional abuse can indeed lead to diagnosable depression.

Where do we find assh*oles? You can find them everywhere: at school, socially in your circle of friends, at church, at work and in the family. And here’s what you can do about them:

  1. Be honest with yourself. Give yourself permission to see the situation for what it is. Once you’ve identified that there’s a person in your life who’s harming you emotionally, you can begin the work of getting your self-esteem back.
  2. Take action. Taking action is what’s important. Even if you can’t change the relationship because the assh*le is your brother, you can still take action.
  3. Reduce your exposure. The action you choose to take may be to stop seeing that person, request a transfer to another office, or calling them less frequently. In extreme cases, you may decide you need to break up with them altogether.
  4. Put into place healthy self-care strategies. That means keeping an eye on your sleep, eating and exercise habits. Spend time with people (and animals) you can count on that make you feel good about yourself.
  5. Find a support system. Whether it’s a therapist or a close friend, find someone who can help guide you through your assh*le recovery. If the damage done by assh*le exposure is deep, the journey to robust emotional health can be complicated. Be strong and get help.

Now that you know how to identify an assh*ole when you see them, it’s time to pull yourself out of your feelings of depression and sadness, and live a life free of these toxic people.

The $20 That Broke My Relationship’s Back


My boyfriend’s “borrowing” ended us. ​

By: Suzannah Weiss/Marie Claire

The fall semester of my second to last year of college, I was browsing my OKCupid matches when a cute musician’s response to the site’s “most private thing I’m willing to admit” caught my eye: “My cat was 100 percent deaf, and I still talked to her.” I composed a message that was sure to sweep him off his feet: “My cat was 0 percent English-speaking, and I still talked to him. He was always a Spaniard at heart. Get it? He speaks Catalan.”

Somehow, my pun earned a “LOL,” and we met for dinner the next week. He came with an essay I’d sent him about my dabblings in New Age spirituality, sympathetic comments penciled in the margins. He confessed that he had dabbled in fringe practices as well. I already felt closer to him than the liberal atheist friends I wouldn’t dare discuss past lives or auras with.

The next day, he sent a follow-up text beginning, “Heylo! Get it? It’s ‘hey’ and ‘hello,'” and I knew I wasn’t alone in my bad puns either. And the day after that, he called me, to my surprise—most of the flakey college guys I exchanged numbers with didn’t even text me—and invited me to the animated movie Hugo. We lingered in his Volkswagen Jetta discussing multiple universes and astral travel and missed the first showing. When we finally took our seats in the chilly theater, he draped his jacket over me.

As I took on three jobs, he planned breaks to teach me his favorite childhood card game, Magic the Gathering, and take me to book fairs, where he’d fill $5 all-you-can-fit bags with fantasy novels for himself and feminist theory books for me.

One June afternoon, as he drove me home after a weekend at his parents’ house, he confessed that he’d been short on cash since he stopped working as a waiter. Earlier that year, he had quit to devote more time to recording music, woodworking, and teaching drum lessons. Gas was expensive, and since he was the one with the car, he’d been driving me around quite a bit. He asked that I compensate him with $20 a month, about half of what he’d been spending.

I was cheap, rarely tipping bartenders, so the thought of paying for my own date’s chauffeur services made me uneasy. However, I trusted that the guy who had used his tips to book a weekend with me at a bed and breakfast wouldn’t take advantage of me once he’d lost that spare change. And as a 22-year-old working feminist, I was careful not to further the cultural expectation that men support women.

But after weeks of lending him a few dollars here and there at cafes and gas stations, I started to wish my monthly $20 were a fee to stop him from asking me for money. Since I was not one to dish out cash generously, I kept strict tabs on how much he owed me.

One night at a game store, he suggested we split a $4 pack of Magic cards. When I pointed out that by paying for the whole purchase, he’d cover two of the $11 he owed me for meals, he said he also owed his parents cash for food and gas and was indebted to a friend for woodworking supplies, so he would appreciate if I could let my hard-earned $11 go this time. I did, but not without a fight—and something he said during that fight stuck with me.

“You’ve never struggled with money. You don’t understand,” he said.

I hated to admit he was right. I grew up with an upper-middle-class family on Long Island. I was an Ivy League graduate without student loans. My dad frequently reminded me of this, warning me not to let my background make me careless with money; he often doubted my ability to support myself. My desperate attempt to hold onto every dollar I made was an effort to prove my dad wrong. But in reality, I was more than supporting myself with three jobs, and losing $11 would not set me back. After making a fuss over it, I felt the way I did when I mumbled “I’m broke” to beggars with $20 bills in my wallet.

My friends confirmed my nagging suspicion that I was acting stingy, or worse, anti-feminist. One told me she and her husband never thought twice about helping each other out. Another said she and her travel companions all pitched in for gas on trips.

Torn between feeling selfish and resenting my significant other for making me feel selfish, I asked my dad over the phone if I was being a princess. He launched into a tirade about how a “real man” would pay for his own gas. His words had the opposite effect that he’d intended. I didn’t want my boyfriend to fit the mold of a “real man.” I wanted him to remain sensitive and willing to ask for help, and I wanted our relationship to be financially equal.

As his monetary problems escalated, however, I wondered if the pressure he exerted on me to dole out dollars was its own form of inequality. He was still acquiring new Magic cards and entering tournaments, which cost $20 each, but my monthly $20 was still not enough for him to visit when he promised. After he backed out of plans because of technical difficulties buying Magic cards “as an investment” on eBay and needed the night to “cool off,” I felt like I wasn’t a priority.

Meanwhile, I was offered a job that could be performed from Boston or New York, and we both assumed I’d go to Boston to remain near him. But as I began doubting our long-term potential, I wondered if he should even be a factor. My impending move became another source of tension. I wasn’t the only one feeling placed on the backburner.

After he objected to covering his own glass of wine at my birthday party, I finally voiced the concerns that had been amassing over the course of the summer. He broke down crying, promised he’d never ask me for cash again, put on Ellis Paul’s “Take All the Sky You Need,” and told me he didn’t want to stop me from “flying as high as I could.” Looking back, I’m not sure what that song had to do with our argument, but somehow, it ended with me crying in his arms, hopeful to relive our days of $5 book fairs and late nights huddled over cards on my bedroom floor.

I moved to New York that September, visited him once, and called him the next week.

“I miss you,” I said. “When can you come?”

That weekend, he was building his parents a shoe rack. The next, Nine Inch Nails were coming to town. Gas was getting ever more expensive, and public transportation was “over-stimulating.” I would never be his priority.

“We need to break up,” I said into the receiver, and blinked back tears as I left to shop for furniture.

When I confessed to my friends that financial disputes undid my relationship, I felt like a failed feminist. But as I heard other women recount similar experiences of men borrowing money from them and living with them rent-free, I saw it was more empowering to exit a hopeless situation than it would have been to stay.

Meanwhile, I was trying to convince my roommate that exclusively mooching off the WiFi from the Starbucks downstairs exempted me from paying half the Internet bill. I was always more like my ex than I cared to admit—except I had no excuse. He was struggling, and I would not have struggled even if I doled out over $20 a month.

Even though he wasn’t the one, if the best match for me is short on change, he won’t need to ask for help twice.

Heartbreak prevented me from seeing my ex for a year and a half after the breakup, but finally, we reunited as friends over sushi. Since my meal cost three bucks more than his, I offered to cover the tip in addition to half the bill.

“It’s fine if we split it,” he said.

“No, I insist.”

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