I feel for you. I really do. You have foresaken your own happiness in order to spend the prime of your adult life cleaning up the messes of an emotionally wrecked man-child. I get that. And I understand that your marriage was always a business proposition. No doubt, you felt, after 8 years of Bill and his girlfriends (well 30 years) that you deserved compensation. And since you had all the money in the world, you wanted that compensation to be more than that- you wanted respect and power.
So, after a period spent agonizing over whether you were a Cubs or a Yankees fan, you showed up in New York, waiting for your crown. Except that Lazio, that little schmuck from Long Island, actually wanted to have an election- a move that seemed so quaint in 2000 that I ponied up 50 bucks for his effort. It was touching.
You were offended. No doubt you figured that you deserved something. No doubt, you still feel this way, which is why you weren't going to spend your prime boomer years sitting on the Committee for Aging Ex First Ladies or something. No ma'am. You deserved better. Which is why, in a display of arrogance that seems second nature to you, you marched off to race to the white house as the presumed Democratic nominee. And they almost went along, which is why they are called the stupid party.
But then, out of nowhere, this young black guy from Chicago came along and actually campaigned. Against you. The nerve of some people. Didn't he know that your husband was the first black president? [I believe it was Toni Morrison who said that Bill was black because he grew up poor and liked fried chicken. By that standard I'm black too. Neat huh?)
So anyway, not only did he campaign, he started winning. True, he didn't say too much that was daring or original but he did have the singular virtue of not being you. Also, he was black but not Al Sharpton black so that helped. Nobody likes being told all the time how mean, greedy and evil they are and Obama didn't do that. [Off on a tangent, I met Al once. He struck me as the sort who would drown his mom for a nickel.] So that was nice, even if his pastor is a fruitcake. Meh. Given Black American history over the last 400 years he is entitled to be a fruitcake. To a point. [Not that being a fruitcake is something to aim for.]
Let's talk about you. See, the thing with you is, you are inspirational. You inspire people to hate you. Why? Well....how do I say this? Jon Stewart once called your face the place where boners go to die and that's part of it. But there is more to it. See, i know this Lady who is drop dead gorgeous- inside and out. Usually (not always) that's a package deal. I have known pretty women whom I wouldn't come near. Over time, that sort of prettiness usually fades. And after a point they become you. Everything about you says "I wanted to be president since I was five, I deserve to be president, and if I don't become president my life will lose all meaning." This is an unattractive quality you share with Al Gore. NOT a good thing. Plus, whether it's Hillary in tears or Hillary fighting terrorists or Hillary bowling and doing shots, there never was a real Hillary. Like your husband, you have no core. You are whatever you think people want you to be. Not a good thing.
And that, ultimately, is what's causing your meltdown, rambling on about how Obama can't win white voters like you can. This is probably true but he doesn't need your kind of white voters anyway. You won western pennsylvania counties by 70, 75%. Hill, I've been out there. No chance that those people will vote for a democrat in the fall. They're pro-life Catholics who hunt and eat lotsa pierogies. That's all good but those guys will NOT vote for a democrat. Ok? They voted for you because they are (ancestorally) registered democrats and because they don't like Obama's age, suits, fancy city talk or skin color, in that order. But McCain has them anyway because McCain can relate better to them than either of you two. So your argument is "I should be the nominee because I do better with voters who will never vote for me again." Kind of absurd, no?
Go home. Kiss your kid. Kick your husband. See a therapist. Look forward to doing something worthwhile in your twilight years. Bye.