All my life I've felt like I had to choose between feminine and powerful because you can't be both. But there is power in femininity. I love the boys, but I don’t want to be one. (I don’t want to think linearly and stop stopping to ask for directions.) I want to work/play/live like a girl, and if I’m going to get paid 78 cents to the dollar, then I want my bar tabs to reflect the same.

Speaking of ideas that undoubtedly came about in a bar, how about Donald Trump making a play for president? I have to admit I was watching the news with my mouth slightly open; that is, until I read the conspiracy theory that explains it all.*

Now, hear me out; what if Donald Trump is a plant? No, no, not as dumb as a… but a real, honest-to-goddess plant for the democrats. I mean, he’s taking the attention off of Hillary so she doesn’t have to lie on camera about her stance on GMOs or the TPP, and he’s certainly making the assclowns of the GOP look more assclownish— which I didn’t even think was possible. Trump wanting to be a puppet for guys with less money than he has doesn’t even make sense.

What does make sense is Hillary and Bill playing golf with their good buddy Don, and after a few spiked Arnold Palmers in the club house, concocting an outrageous plan to ensure Hills gets back into the White House. Who knows, maybe it was a lark at first; maybe they didn’t really think it would catch on. Maybe it backfired. Anyhow, now Trump is leading the polls and Hills is free to hide behind her dark glasses whenever she has to venture out into the sordid public.

Personally, I don’t think Hillary Clinton can even tell that she’s wearing the emperor’s new pantsuit. She is so out of touch with the average American it would be laughable, if I wasn’t crying for all the mothers who just want to feed their kids real food and give them a decent education, all the while trying not to get pulled over by an angry cop. This country is in a state of disgrace, and the Clintons helped us get here.

I like Bernie Sanders. I like irony, and it’s ironic that the old white guy from New England is the voice for radical change. Change like taxing corporations. Change like free education for future generations so we don’t have to live in a state of idiocracy. Change like labeling our food so that we have a choice when it comes to growing the cancer cells in our bodies. Yep, thanks to women like Alice Paul —if they don’t shoot him first— I’m voting for Bernie.

I also co-founded ALICE, an online women’s magazine. I am so tired of glancing over at the magazine racks while I unload my grocery cart, only to be met with piteous looks by underfed, underage babes with huge gaps in their front teeth. What is that?! ALICE is different because it contains health and beauty tips we can all use, articles that are as intelligent as they are gutsy, and art that speaks to the female soul.

We have been spoon-fed feminine culture in this country for as long as I can remember, and I’m about to puke from the artificiality of it all. I want the truth in all its vulnerable, authentic and sacred glory. No more dearheart second-class citizenry and no more patronizing of women’s issues. I’ve had it up to here with labeling the bitch in the room with power as unfeminine. The power’s not in the pantsuit.

ALICE is by, for and about real women. Women who love and laugh and let their body hair grow, or shave it, or whatever, because we know that the hair, makeup and costumes don’t diminish our strength even a little bit. Feminine does not mean weak, and equal does not mean the same. Check it out at


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