WYFP is our community's Saturday evening gathering to talk about our problems, empathize with one another, and share advice, pootie pictures, favorite adult beverages, and anything else that we think might help. Everyone and all sorts of troubles are welcome. May we find peace and healing here. Won't you please share the joy of WYFP by recommending?

And so marks one year that the Dailykos community has made it possible for the tradition of "What's Your Fucking Problem" to continue by running on a strictly volunteer engine! On January 13th of last year ElizabethD signed off as hostess and the sign up began. I reluctantly blanked out the bad word in the title tonight as ElizabethD had previously given me specific instructions when standing in for her to spell it out as her predecessors had done. However, the F word on the front page has been discussed and rules have been set.

As the bill makes it way up the chain of lawmakers, caretakers and governance for the inevitable conclusion of one man's smirky smile and bully-like saunter entering a stage and signing away lives on the top of a mahogony desk with onlookers donning an approving smile, I can conclude only one thing: WE are the anti-war movement. This is what our elected officials have told us.

Just like a bunch of 10 year old children at a birthday party where the braggart bully really does punch a hole in the pinata, we are left with our arms hanging down and our hands at our sides.

We're shocked (betrayed really) that fate has not given us what we know in our hearts to be true. So, we speak out and point, only to be confronted with reality. He may have cheated, he didn't deserve the booty, and no one is going to do anything about it. No one. Except us.

      Please continue to keep station wagon in your thoughts.

Welcome to tonight’s edition of What’s Your Fucking Problem?  Though we hate to do it, won’t you please make it a cheeseburger? Errrr I mean recommend so that others may enjoy the fruits and bounty of this weekly tradition?

WYFP? is a community diary where community members may express what's on their minds and in their hearts without fear that their problem is too big, too small, too smelly or too green. Commiseration and empathy are possible and welcomed.

I will delete this diary if Liz shows up soon. Posting tonight has given me some trouble, maybe she is having trouble.

Come to think of it I have no idea how one goes about deleting a diary (?)  But if you are anything like me...your heart starting beating a little harder about 40 minutes ago...then  your breathing got quicker....then you had a hot flash (O.K., maybe that's just me and many women in the 38-and on years).  My neck also got stiffer and I began to crinkle my toes.

So here I sit, fingers poised on the "Publish Diary" button (oh shit! I forgot tags-I am so jittery now) wondering....Can I do this? Shall I do this? Does anybody give a rat's ass? Again, come to think of it, this is pretty much what my brain is saying all day long.  Now if what I were about to do  would cause any harm greater than hearing "Green beans, again?? I hate green beans" well then my little head banter would really not disrupt much of the world force as we know it.

But I hate to step on any toes here...but I need me my WYFP?  I want to know how you are.  And I want some Pooties pix.  Lots and lots of Pooties pix.

So without further anguish (on your part), I'm gonna hit "Post" and please help me delete if necessary:()

So what's your fucking problem?

Sweet Elizabeth asked that I stand in for WYFP this week as she is unplugged while moving to her new abode!!  I know you join me in wishing her much joy in her new home and that the move goes without a hitch (and that Earl quickly adjusts).  She asked me to forward a very important message to you: "Hi"

Welcome to tonight’s edition of What’s Your Fucking Problem?:

IT’S RAINING MEN!!

Good evening and welcome!  Elizabeth put out a call at Street Prophets for a stand in host/hostess for tonight's edition of WYFP as she is attending a retreat/conference this weekend.  She graciously gave me permission to post in her stead.  She was very much looking forward to this weekend, so here's hoping she has a wonderful time!

* Won't you please share the joy of WYFP by recommending?

WYFP is our community's Saturday evening gathering to talk about our problems, empathize with one another, and perhaps share advice. Everyone and all sorts of troubles are welcome. May we find peace and healing here. :-)

Welcome to tonight's edition of  *WYFP??-Postcards From The Peanut Gallery

I can't go. And I'm feeling kind of sorry for myself these days.  Similar to when Maria Gharetti had that slumber party in the fourth grade to which I was not invited.  Hmpf.

Although I must say that Daily Kos has given me far more than I can ever give it, and PhillyGal and I in Vegas would probably wind up nearly topping the infamous escapade of Flanders and Homer, I still feel very...well...you know...left out.

One thing that has helped me as this convention draws nearer is knowing I helped make it happen.  I gave money to Yearly Kos and I'm not flush with cash.  I work very hard.  My partner works very hard and we have five sons and a house and food and all the other things that make life go round.  But I gave $100.00 and that felt great.  I feel like I'm helping give back.

Cross posted at Street Prophets

I was moved this week more than once, during all the build up and joy surrounding potential indictments, by a few comments from people who could not share in the festivities. What these comments referred to each time were our soldiers. In particular our fallen soldiers. I am certain, beyond a doubt, that every person on this site is motivated in part by these men and women. I'm not sure why I was necessarily driven to compile their names here today. I spent a long time looking at them, editing, thinking and paying my respects.

Sadly, there is no way I should list all the names in a diary. The pages it took up, even after condensed, was a surprise to me. It shouldn't have been a surprise, though. And it made me unutterably sad. I remember thinking during the afternoon that a year ago I probably could have.

She called across the parking lot saying the day was beautiful and we exchanged pleasantries about the recovery of our lawns from the summer drought.  She escorted her granddaughter to their car as I kept an eye on my sons in the park playing with their three buddies.  We were hosting an end-of-summer blowout for their good friends.  It  was most probably the sight of a mom pulling up on her bike followed by six boys, 12 and under, that signaled  familiarity to her.  I was perhaps an approachable "mom".  

Within six sentences of our conversation she shared that she had two sons in Iraq; a boy in the army in "constant combat" near Mosul and a marine who only just left this last weekend and will be stationed near the Syrian border.  My instinct was that she needed to talk.  I approached her where she stood as her 4 year old granddaughter  crawled over every square inch of the beat up American made car with a small "Support Our Troops" magnet on the back.