Cocktail-In-Chief: Five Easy Drinks To Make On Election Night

Less than two years ago (but also somehow already almost two years ago), we started out with like, 109 candidates. Over time, that number whittled down to the 5 candidates still standing. Now, it’s finally gettin’ to be that time. Today is Election Day, and I think this entire country is in need of a good drink.

Today, I am giving you something you didn’t know you needed, but now realize that you’ve always wanted. This handy menu gives you a drink option for every possible outcome tonight. Drink the respective cocktail of the candidate who wins! Or all of them. Drink all of them.*

*Please do not drink all of them.

The Lone Ranger

Darrell Castle is the Constitution Party’s presidential candidate. I first heard his name… last week? A huge part of his platform is pulling the United States out of the United Nations. To me, this just screams, “emo kid yelling at his parents.”

He’s also an avid pro-lifer. What an original stance for a 68-year-old white man with no uterus! Groundbreaking.

When I think about my buddy Darrell, I think of the South, and isolation, hence the name, “The Lone Ranger.”

You will need:

-the nastiest f*cking moonshine you could possibly imagine (2 parts),

-and the weepy boogers of a small child with no siblings or friends (8 parts)

The Berry Gary*

Gary Johnson is an enigma. He kind of never seems to know what he’s talking about. You may remember him as the dude who didn’t know what Aleppo was, or the dude who said we could cut 43% of the federal budget without instantly falling to pieces. That said, a small part of me does respect him and some of his values. His website literally says, “Solving immigration problems is not as easy as building a wall or simply offering amnesty.” You throw that motherf*ckin’ shade, GJ!

You will need:

-absinthe (more parts than what is considered safe),

-Ambien (4 pills, crushed to a powder; can be used as a rim for the glass),

-and a blunt

*can also be a “Benadryl Carson,” replace Ambien with Benadryl 

The VaccinStein

Jill Stein…. Oh, Jill Stein. This woman believes that vaccinations cause autism and wifi causes brain cancer. I liked her for two seconds before I realized she was the Bad Kind of Hippie™ and now she just makes me sad.

You will need:

-smallpox,

-and a homeopathic, organic, all-natural cure for smallpox

The Long Island HillarTea

Hillary is my GIRL, okay? I can’t even lie; I was a diehard Bernie bro prior to the DNC. I loved him so much, but I know when to prioritize. Bernie endorsed Hillary, and I trust his judgment. I jumped back on the Hillary wagon I was on before I knew who Bernie was, and I have remained #WithHer ever since. She has her flaws, but she has been kicking ass in politics longer than I’ve been alive. A LOT longer. She is more qualified for this spot than anyone else running.

You will need:

-ingredients for a standard classic Long Island Iced Tea (a.k.a ½ an oz of every alcohol in existence, lemon juice, and a splash of soda),

-blue food coloring (2 drops),

-and your homemade tears of relief and exhaustion (1 gallon)

The Sunburnt Sociopath

No comment. (Wouldn’t it be so cool if that was how he responded to questions he didn’t know the answers to?)

You will need:

-a fifth of vodka,

-and a straw

Death is imminent.

PLEASE VOTE!

http://yourfuckingpollingplace.com

xx Gabi

This article was a satirical piece originally written for my humor writing course. Don’t take me seriously (ever). 

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concrete jungle.

the following is a letter I wrote earlier this year when I was looking for internships in New York. I stumbled across it in my Google Docs and thought it would be cool to share with you guys. enjoy!


JANUARY 2016

I can’t lie to you. New York has intimidated me for a long time. It’s uncharted territory, like Mars, or Australia, and I have only in the past couple of weeks made any attempt to actually rectify that, thanks to my neo-New Yorker mom. She made the move from Philadelphia to Hell’s Kitchen over the summer, and while I spent my fall semester in London, she sprouted wings and flourished there. Seeing my mother so in love with New York, and knowing that mother knows best, I figured I would give la Grande Pomme a fair chance. As expected, as she is right about everything else, my mother was right about New York.

I am constantly surprised by how quickly we as humans can adjust to new environments. The few trips I’ve taken to Manhattan recently have not been enough to truly decide whether or not I can blossom there, but I am feeling more and more confident about it with every passing day. I took the New York subway once, and by the second trip, I knew where I was going. With each passing moment, I can see myself living and working in New York more and more. Almost every time I speak to someone in my field, I am told that I should consider looking for internships and future jobs in New York if I really want to make an impact in the media, and I am starting to agree with that.

Until I left Philadelphia, I never wanted to leave Philadelphia. After spending four months studying in London, I am realizing that while I love Philadelphia, and while it will always be my home, I am pigeon-holing myself by expecting to stay there while pursuing my career (whatever that may be). How can I possibly grow in a city I already know like the back of my hand? London is just as crowded, big and intimidating as New York, and I still fell pathetically in love with it in a matter of days, giving tiny Philly a run for its money. If I can handle a massive metropolitan city like that in Europe, I know I can handle New York too.

I am a third-year journalism and public relations student at Temple University. I am 20 years old. If you ask me where I see myself in five years, I don’t actually know what I would say. I could end up doing investigative reporting for HuffPo in New York or doing PR for Taylor Herring in London. I could end up staying in Philly and writing for the Inquirer or find myself somewhere totally different. The possibilities are endless. I have no idea where I am going, and I’m okay with that. All I know is that I have to consider any and all of my options.

Philly has had me for 20 years, and London got me for a few months, but now I’m thinking it’s time to give New York a shot. There are aspects of both my hometown and Londontown in Up and Downtown, and with every comparison and connection I make, ten new things make their way onto my Pro-New York list. Every time I think about my potential career path(s), I am more and more drawn to the idea of thriving in Manhattan, and I intend to make it happen. New York is big and intimidating, but so is my future, and I am ready for it.


xx Gabi

brock turner + privilege. (TW: rape)

I don’t usually talk about incredibly serious issues on this blog, but something has happened that I find myself so insanely angry about that I cannot ignore it.

WARNING: I curse a bit in this post. It’s the kind of topic that I can’t really discuss without cursing. You’ll have to forgive me.

If you don’t live in the states (or read the news, which you should), you may have not heard about the human scum that is Mr. Brock Turner, a 20-year-old student at Stanford University that raped a heavily intoxicated woman passed out behind a dumpster early last year. A few days ago, it was announced that Turner is only being sentenced to SIX MONTHS in jail for what he did. Yeah, I said months. Not years, not decades, not centuries, but months.

In a fit of rage, I was tweeting about this walking garbage can, admittedly in a pretty aggressive manner, and my good friend, George, in his “I ❤ the US government” shirt, was all “hey, criminals have rights too!” Yes, George, I know. Criminals have rights. That said, rapists don’t even fall into what qualifies as “criminal” to me, they jump straight down to “monster” in my head.

Yes, George, Turner has rights. He had a right to an attorney, a trial, the whole shebang. But it is so hard to think about how this evil person still has basic human rights when he took away someone else’s. He single-handedly ruined a girl’s life, and now, on top of living with the trauma he caused her, she also has to live with the fact that he was barely disciplined for it. He undressed and raped an unconscious woman, and all he’s getting is six months? Really? How do you think that makes her feel? I’m guessing pretty f**king angry, and scared.

Today, Turner’s super charming dad released a statement that basically screamed (though I’m paraphrasing), “Hey! I’m a rape apologist. You shouldn’t have punished my son for doing something illegal. He’s a rich white boy, I think you confused him for somebody else.”

Additionally, Mr. Dan Turner wrote, and I’m quoting directly now, “His life will never be the one that he dreamed about and worked so hard to achieve. That is a steep price to pay for 20 minutes of action out of his 20 plus years of life.”

Are you… like, are you serious? You’re joking, right? Because he only violated another human being for 20 minutes, he doesn’t deserve to be punished? Six months is NOTHING. It’s a slap on the wrist. Brock Turner deserves years and years of jail time and he isn’t even getting a full year. That’s a goddamn blessing.

How long it takes to break a law or hurt another person has nothing to do with how long the punishment should be. It takes less than 10 seconds to shoot someone and kill them. What excuse would you pull out of your ass then, dad? Would you still write about how great of a cook your precious son is and again not bother to say a single word about the victim in your entire statement? Hmm?

Of course, all of this begs the question of whether or not Papa Turner even considers rape a real crime. Based on his unapologetic response, all signs are pointing to “unlikely” and “please try again later.”

Bringing up something as trivial as the amount of time his perfect angel son spent defiling this woman is nothing but a weak attempt to invalidate the horrendous nature of what he did. It’s irrelevant. Breaking it down to “oh well it wasn’t for that long” just kind of shows that this man clearly sees women as sexual objects. It means that Mr. Turner doesn’t really see anything wrong with what his son did. It means that Brock Turner just decided to take advantage of a person physically unable to consent purely under the logic that she was unconscious, it would be quick, and that she wouldn’t feel it anyway. It means that Judge Aaron Persky took more pity on the boy who lost his spot on the swim team than the girl who had her boundaries shattered and her mental health destroyed for the sake of that boy getting his tiny, wrinkled dick wet.

I have no sympathy for rapists. Criminals, in some cases, yes. But rapists are more than criminals. They are monsters, and so are the people that let them get away with it.

Brock Turner, I hope that what you did eats at you every goddamn day for the rest of your life. I hope you feel the trauma that you caused an innocent woman consume your sanity every second until there’s none left. I hope it destroys you.

I confess, I messed up.

~droppin’ I’m sorry like you’re still around~

Welp, it happened again. I blinked, and almost two months had passed since my last blog post. I confess, I messed up, but I come bearing a really good excuse (and Fall Out Boy lyrics). Indulge me, if you will.

I’ll be straight with you: this has been one of the hardest semesters I’ve ever been through. I’m nearing the end of my junior year, so I’m officially getting down to the nittiest of the grittiest of what the journalism and public relations departments at Temple have to offer. I’ve been dealing with papers, what feels like at least one exam every single week, presentations, and unfortunately, less-than-cooperative professors.

Coming back from our unseasonable and strangely early spring break in the beginning of March, it all seemed to hit me at once, and I’d be lying if I said it didn’t take a bit of a toll. All of this stressful schoolwork, piled on with the fact that I currently have $6 in my bank account and a boyfriend 3600 miles away, overwhelmed the hell out of me, and made for an admittedly unproductive and unhappy Gabi. For weeks, all I’ve wanted to do is watch Netflix and sleep. Well, for YEARS, all I’ve wanted to do is watch Netflix and sleep, but I digress. I’m f**king tired. That said, my motivation to write suffered some serious damage. I have like, four half-written posts sitting in my drafts, none of which I’ve had any inspiration to complete.

On that note, I’m sick of feeling so drained every day. With less than three weeks of the semester left, I decided to force myself to get back into the swing of things just by simply catching up with you. I know writing always makes me feel like I’ve been productive (even if I should be directing my productivity elsewhere). At the end of this semester, however, I have less than a week off before I am thrown right back in… to my CAPSTONE.

To all my Temple journalism kids, you understand why this is a big deal. Philadelphia Neighborhoods, the journalism capstone run by the ever-awesome George Miller, has been known to ruin lives. Fieldwork-heavy and writing intensive, this course is not for the faint of heart. Needless to say, I am super excited. No really, I am. George was the first professor I met as an anxiety-ridden freshman, and he made college just a tiny bit more less terrifying. Now, as an anxiety-ridden junior, I’m genuinely looking forward to working with him again, now that I have some idea of what I’m doing (ha).

As I am taking the capstone on its own, rather than with a full semester of classes, I definitely plan to post more regularly. Like I mentioned before, I am currently working on a few different posts that I hope to finish at least by the end of this semester, so stay tuned!

xx Gabi

*lyrics in title/intro from “A Little Less Sixteen Candles, A Little More ‘Touch Me'” by Fall Out Boy

sad sacks + panic attacks.

I’ve talked about this before, but sometimes, things happen, and it bears repeating: I have anxiety. Not like, “oh no, I’m worried about failing this test I didn’t study for” or “I’m nervous about participating in this social event” anxiety, but more like, “I physically cannot retain any of this information to save my life” *bursts into tears* or “I’m legitimately terrified to speak to other humans” *bursts into tears* anxiety.

I’m bringing this up today because I just took an exam, and I had a panic attack in the middle of it. I studied for it, and even though I struggled to memorize a few dates and definitions, I felt decently prepared, but for some reason, my brain just did not want to make this easy for me. I didn’t expect it to be easy-easy. I knew it would be a difficult exam, but “difficult” quickly becomes an understatement when you add a heaping spoonful of involuntary mental illness to the mix. All anxiety sucks, but when I’m in the middle of a panic attack, I tend to draw a lot of blanks, which is basically the worst thing that can happen mid-midterm. My biggest concern was forgetting all the material I’d studied, and because life is totally hilarious and not at all annoyingly ironic, I had a panic attack that made me completely forget all the material I’d studied.

I don’t know if the same goes for everyone with anxiety, but for me, once I’m having a panic attack, it takes an insane amount of effort to stop having a panic attack. I had 45 minutes for this exam. 5 minutes and 2 questions in, it hit me, and I spent the remaining 40 minutes and 8 questions trying to fight through it. I was able to answer all but one question, but whether or not any of my responses were comprehensible or even legible, I couldn’t really tell you. At that point, what I wanted more than anything else was to burst into tears and run out of that classroom like I was being chased by a serial killer.

It sucks, having this uncontrollable internalized stress monster eat at your life every day. I can go a whole week without a panic attack, but it takes only one to ruin the following week. It’s like a stomach virus. It might only last a day or so, but you can still tell that your body needs a solid three days to recover afterwards. It takes a toll. On your mood, your energy, your motivation… the only thing it doesn’t really take a toll on for me is the desire to eat crappy food and take a four-hour nap in the middle of the day.

So, here I am, fresh out of a panic attack and completely drained. This was not a plea for pity, but a plea for understanding. To those of you who do not suffer from anxiety, please consider yourself one of the lucky ones, because you truly are the lucky ones. To those of you who know where I’m coming from, know that you are definitely not alone, and that I sympathize with you endlessly.

On that note, I think I’m going to go take a nap.

xx Gabi

paying tuition: now or later?

I have a question for you guys.

Today in my state and local politics class, we discussed the possibility of state governments one day dropping the concept of upfront tuition completely, so that students wouldn’t have to pay anything while in school, but pay 5% of their annual income after graduation every year until their higher education is paid off.

A lot of my class immediately was like “screw that, I don’t want to give up my hard-earned money,” but unless you’re so lucky as to not have taken out ANY student loans, you’ll have quite a bit of student debt to pay off in your adult life anyway, so why not?

I think this idea sounds pretty good in theory, because not having to pay tuition while still in school would make everything infinitely easier, and depending on whether or not this method would require you to pay interest, 5% a year could actually end up being less than what one would pay in order to get out of debt from the tens of thousands of loans they took out as a student.

I’m curious to know what people think about this. Would you rather borrow money to pay upfront and spend the rest of your life paying it off, or just postpone payment until you have the means to pay without taking out loans?

Talk to me, college kids.

xx Gabi

upperclassman·ism.

*Author’s note: this is a bit of a ramble-y/minimally edited post. I apologize if you were expecting my usual flawlessly polished writing. Be patient, loyal subjects.

This is my second semester as a junior in college, but since I spent last semester in London, this is my first semester as a junior on my actual campus. I didn’t expect that to really mean anything, but it actually feels quite a bit different.

I’m still finishing up a handful of general education courses (Gen Eds) that my university requires every student to take in order to graduate. Usually, people knock them all out in their first two years because they either haven’t declared a major program yet, or they’re not sure if they want to stay in the field they’re in. Gen Ed courses are great filler classes for kids who are still weighing their options.

That said, I got kind of lucky. I’m not 100% that I want to be in journalism, but it has been my major since my first day of college and I haven’t changed it once. I declared a minor in public relations last summer and I’m honestly feeling much more confident about that field than that of my major, but because I’ve been in journalism for almost three (!) years, my first few semesters consisted of a good balance between Gen Eds and major classes. Because of that, I’m a junior and still finishing some of the Gen Eds that my friends finished last year.

While there’s nothing wrong with that, I am now finding myself in an interesting position: I am one of the oldest people in the classroom in any given in Gen Ed. I have never been the oldest person. As a June baby, I didn’t even turn 18 until the day I graduated high school. But today, in my State and Local Politics course, the professor had us go around the room and introduce ourselves in a few words (Sidebar: Why does everyone hate doing this? I love this. I love talking about myself. I’m interesting as hell. Let me talk about myself. All day. Please.) Many of us had similar majors: journalism, political science, etc., but there were at most only two or three other juniors in the room. It suddenly hit me that I was in a room full of freshmen and sophomores.

Why did I feel so weird about that? Maybe it just hadn’t occurred to me that I was actually an upperclassman until that moment. Maybe I’m in denial about it. Maybe (probably) I’m actually kind of excited about it. I’m more than halfway through college. I know things. Do I get to share my collegiate wisdom with these kids now? Do I have authority over these tiny children? Do I have upperclassmen privilege like the bullies in Ned’s Declassified School Survival Guide? (8TH GRADE PRIVILEGE, NERD.)

The truth of the matter is that I’m not a baby owl anymore. I’m finally one of the big kids, and I don’t know if I’ve ever actually been here before. You’re only ever in class with people in the same year as you for all of primary and secondary education, but every student in a college classroom is at a different point in their pursuit of higher education. It feels good finally being on the higher end of higher ed.

xx Gabi

study abroad entrance essay

Hey guys,

With finals creeping up on me, I’m feeling slightly braindead and not too motivated to be my usual witty self this week.

Something I do when I’m feeling this way is go back and read old papers I’ve written for school, and I came across the essay I wrote when I was applying to study in London. As I am getting ready to go back to Philly in about two weeks, I thought I could do a little throwback (#ManyMoonsAgoMonday?) and share it with you. Maybe next week I’ll give you guys a conclusive update, to reflect on my time here and see if I really did what I came here to do. Enjoy!

As a child, I was very fortunate to have many opportunities to travel. Thanks to my perpetually adventurous parents, I have been lucky enough to see twelve countries in the twenty years I have been on this planet. From getting to travel to Moscow and Kiev at twelve years old to see where my parents grew up, to knowing Paris like the back of a good friend’s hand, I think I can safely say that I am more comfortable on an airplane than most.

When I was thirteen, I went on a two-week expedition across parts of Western Europe with the student ambassador program People to People. Spending two days at a time in each city, we toured France and Italy, and spent our last 48 hours in London. While those 48 hours are the only hours I have ever spent there, London became one of my favorite cities in a matter of minutes. A self-professed anglophile, I am practically jumping out of my skin to further indulge in British culture.

Being able to travel so much as a kid helped shape me into the person I am today. Getting to see how people live in places other than where I live has expanded my view of the world and diversified my way of thinking. I gained valuable knowledge through those experiences, and I believe that that has benefited my academic writing. I chose to study journalism because writing is a true passion of mine, and I know that if I did not have a more culturally diverse outlook on things, it might not be. I am hoping that this opportunity to study while suffusing myself into another culture will strengthen that even further, and allow me to analyze the world from a new perspective.

Going to study in London at this point in my life is crucial to me. I’ve looked forward to this experience for as long as I can remember. This trip is a huge step in my academic career and I know that it could make or break my future as a journalist.

I am not entirely sure where this saying originated, but it is something I am determined to follow while in London: “be a traveler, not a tourist.” Tourism only pokes at the surface of travel. You can see Big Ben, eat fish and chips, and take a “selfie” in front of Buckingham Palace. Genuine travel, on the other hand, goes past all of that. You can get lost in the London Underground, eat your weight in Indian food, and take a “selfie” with some nice strangers in a pub. When I go to London, I do not want to treat it like a vacation. I want to treat London like I just moved there for a new job and I have to figure out the city on my own before I start work on Monday.

xx Gabi

Judaism, Sikhism, + Agnosticism

Religion has never been a very big part of my life. Yes, I was raised (loosely) Jewish, I spent four years in Hebrew school, and I was Bat Mitzvah-ed. I have every intention on taking my Birthright trip after I graduate, and I love spending Rosh Hashanah and Hanukkah with latkes my family. I identify as Jewish by blood, but I don’t really know if I’m religious enough to identify as Jewish by faith. I don’t know if I truly believe that there’s a big omniscient being watching over us, or if that lie I told about doing my homework when I was 12 will come back to bite me in the ass when it’s my time to go. Part of me wants to cringe a little when people tell me that something horrible happening is “all in God’s plan,” and it can be really difficult to believe in someone that’s supposed to be all-powerful and loving when they’ve let innocent people die and let Donald Trump get this far in the presidential race.

Adonai aside, I understand and love being Jewish. We’ve been around forever. We’re certainly not Hinduism, but we’re pretty ancient. I may not practice Judaism very, for lack of a better word, religiously, but never in my life would I want to erase that part of my identity. Erasing my Joots (Jew roots) would erase my people’s history and culture, and we’ve done some pretty cool shit (סלח לי). Name one time you had a candle last you eight whole days. Don’t worry, I’ll wait.

Fortunately, last week I was given the opportunity to do some on-site religious research and visit a Sikh Gurdwara in Southall with my classmates:

I can’t really say that my stance on religion has changed much. I may have a better understanding of Sikhism, by which I mean, I now know what Sikhism is, but nothing life-changing clicked in my head. However, I will say that as a non-practicing outsider, Sikhism seems pretty great. Sikhism is one of the youngest religions in existence, only founded a few hundred years ago, and it is accepting of every religion. Gurdwaras are Sikh places of worship, but you don’t have to practice Sikhism to go there. They have “langar,” which is essentially free food for anyone who wants it, and their whole shtick (that was me being Jewish) is that they will accept (and feed) anyone. While I suppose it isn’t wildly uncommon for a religion to be accepting, it isn’t wildly common. I don’t know everything about the faith, or their beliefs on homosexuality and abortion, but hearing the word “acceptance” in a religious building made me feel oddly reassured that these people knew what they were talking about.

I think that if I really learned anything from this experience, it was that I need to learn more about religion. Maybe I’m just a little lazy, or maybe I’m just really ignorant, but my views on religion really don’t go past the views I’ve picked and chosen and tailored out of the minds of the people around me. Who knows? Maybe one day I’ll wake up and decide to become a born-again Jew, dedicating myself to my synagogue (which, ironically, was once a church). For now, I’m just Jewish by blood, and agnostic by choice.*

*Subject to change.

xx Gabi

“Honestly, I think I found my people. I was raised in a church, where I was told to believe and pray. And if I was bad, I’d go to hell. If I was good, I’d go to heaven. And if I’d ask Jesus, he’d forgive me, and that was that. And here y’all saying ain’t no hell, ain’t… sure about heaven, and if you do something wrong, you got to figure it out yourself. And as far as God’s concerned, it’s your job to keep asking questions and to keep learning and to keep arguing. It’s like a verb. It’s like… you do God. And that’s a lot of work. But I think I’m in, at least as far as I can see it.” -Black Cindy on converting to Judaism, Orange is the New Black