Stop Telling Protesters To Grow Up

Protesters come in all shapes, sizes, colors, and ages. Millennials seem to get picked on the most, but they aren’t alone. In the last year I’ve been witness to God-fearing Americans putting down a right that is given to us in America, something that should be celebrated.

Most recently we have the Pence protest that took place during the graduation ceremony at Notre Dame. I read an article that made my head spin, inspiring this rant. Not only are we given the right to protest, we are given the right to free speech, so by all means, the writer of said article is entitled to that. Something I do not think is a right is ignorance.

“Nothing prevented you from sitting and listening to the advice of a man who has come so far in life, who took the time away from his schedule and family to be with you on such an important and pivotal day. Regardless of his political beliefs, there is value in what he has to say simply because of the life he has lived. He is deserving of your respect because he is the Vice President of the United States of America.”

The writer is correct when saying it was, indeed, an important and pivotal day to these graduates. What’s interesting to me is that it’s implied they owe something to Mr. Pence, because of the life he has lived. If you’ve ever spoken to anyone who lives in Indiana, you’d know about the poor taste in their mouths regarding the commencement speaker, well before he was the Vice President.

If you didn’t know, Notre Dame is in Indiana. Mr. Pence, as their governor, has personally affected these people.

Pence himself even accepted the walk-out, praised the “values and teachings of the university which urges its students to engage in free speech and expression.”

👈👈 What he said. #notredame #penceprotest #firstamendment #rights #protest @joekilgallon

A post shared by Jen Boggs (@jenniboggs) on


Peaceful protest is not cry-babying. Peaceful protest is not disrespectful. Peaceful protest is not a temper-tantrum. Peaceful protest is not selfish. Peaceful protest is not cowardly. Peaceful protest is actually the opposite of all those things. The art of coming together as a unit to make a statement is democracy in action.

While humans are being treated poorly and wreak of inequality, we have people in the USA frowning upon it? Peaceful protest? This truly baffles me and the only logical thing I can come up with is that there isn’t anything in this world that is directly affecting these believers of the, grow-up  mindset.

Congratulations to the ones able to disconnect themselves from the madness that is now. Your lives must be very peaceful, not being concerned with anyone other than yourselves.


I have some question for you though:

Why does it bother you so much that people care? Why do you find it personally offensive that men and women are standing up for what they believe in? Were you upset when Martin Luther King gave his I Have A Dream speech during a peaceful protest? What a fucking cry-baby. Grow up, Dr. King. Or, is it just millennials that give a bad taste in your mouth?

Most importantly, why do you think American, tax-paying citizens should have to just sit down, shut up and deal with it?

Civil rights, women’s rights, anti-war movements all need people willing to have their voices heard. America would not be America without peaceful protest. To those of you wishing protesters would just grow up, take a piece of advice from yourself. Grow up. Educate yourselves. Or, stay ignorant and if you have nothing nice to say… just keep it to yourself – that’s what we’re supposed to do anyway, right?

I believe in absolute freedom of expression. Everyone has a right to offend and be offended.  -Taslima Nasrin

Every Single Time


A couple things have a way of reoccurring in my life, some good and others not, some out and some 100% in my control.

Maybe to you, this might seem small, but every single time I tweet about or to Dateline [don’t judge me] they tweet me back. This was the first time…

Then, a few months later:

A month later:

And for the win…

Perhaps this is not as exciting for you, as it is for me…

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I’ll move on…

Public bathrooms are scary places, yeah? Every single time I use one, regardless if there are three stalls or 32 stalls, I always seem to choose the one, then two, sometimes even three that have something wrong with them. Usually I’ll have to dip out real quick after a lack of flushing going on, or worse there is piss sprayed all over the seat.

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When every single stall in the public bathroom is disgusting…

We are ladies, right? Can we fucking act like it? I have to enter and immediately exit several times before finding one I find acceptable and that’s a problem. If you’re going to hover, clean up after your, omg-I-can’t-sit-down, prissy ass.

It drives my husband crazy, but every single time we get something new I have to open it. I don’t know if it’s an OCD thing, I’m sure it’s not medically related at all, purely selfish actually. Bags of chips, cereal, ice cream, toothpaste, dryer sheets. I do not care, at all, if the previous one is not gone. I want to use, more specifically, open the new one… it’s fresh.

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Every single time I drink vodka I make terrible decisions. Every single time Hanson gets played, especially without my own doing, I jump around and make sure every knows how great they are – if you didn’t know, they have the best Christmas album.  Every single time it’s pointed out that I am left handed or someone has a relative also named, Jenni, I respond with the same answer: We’re everywhere. Every single time I’m around a baby I want one, until I get home and remember how easy my life currently is with one ten-year-old… and I’m late, every single time.

E is for Every Single Time.

Deal Breaker

I’ve reached a point in my life where I’m capable of shaking my head and giving a hard fuck that, but it took a long time. Growing up, I was the one who tried to keep the peace, no waves allowed. Other people’s happiness was more important than my own, and while that’s a lovely thought and super nice of me, it’s not something I would do over again.

I’ve realized that my own peace of mind has nothing to do with what others say, do, or think. Your actions actually have nothing to do with me personally because…wait for it…the world doesn’t revolve around Jenni Boggs. I know, it’s so weird. Come to think of it though, I became a more well-rounded, content human being after that realization. Far from innocent, I’ve dished out some deal breakers and with that, fallen victim to karma.

I mean, if someone tells you they own a house and you show up to a trailer in a trailer park…

Me, pulling into a trailer park when I was expecting a cul-de-sac.

Deal Breaker.

If you live in a trailer park – by all means, enjoy that but don’t go around telling people you own a house. Exaggeration is one thing, a small level of truth stretching I can appreciate, I’m a sucker for a good story. As long as it’s harmless, by all means…entertain me.

Deception is not included.

I actually used to lie a pretty decent amount. I’m not proud of it, but I was taught that lies are never forever, they’re tiny sprinkles of instant gratification that will come back to bite ‘cha right in the ass. Before you know it, or right when you think you got away with it: Bam! I promise you, telling the truth is always 1,632,953x easier – and for most traditional folks, misleading of any kind is frowned upon.

Domestic Shitty-ness, another deal breaker. There is no way to know what goes on behind closed doors of anyone’s home. I’m sure there are women, and men, who are in crap relationships all around you who need to decide at what point it falls into their own personal deal breaker spectrum.

Don’t judge them for it, too loose of judgement is also a deal breaker.

Being rude to your waitress? Bye. I have zero time for someone who is, for no good reason, impolite to a server.

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Sometimes you’re rude without even knowing it…

This can be extended to retail workers, customer service workers, and anyone else who is attempting to assist someone in any way, shape or form to pay their bills. I promise they don’t want any interaction to become awkward or hasty – quite the opposite actually. It’s way easier when everyone involved ends up happy. If you’re feeling bitchy, or like an asshole make a point to not take your shitty day out on someone who is at work.

D is for Deal Breaker.

Honorable Mention: Bad Breath. Deal Breaker.

An Open Letter To Carbs

Dear Carbs,

I just wish we could have a more functional relationship. It’s not me, it’s you…all you. Honey wheat, dinner rolls, cake, rye… if you didn’t basically just wad up into a doughy ball after I ingest you and slap yourself to my ass loving you all the time wouldn’t be a struggle. Or, maybe you could work on making my A-cups into B-cups, my ass does not need you the way those things do. I’ve proven my feelings over and over again.

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What can you do for me, Carbs? Help me, help us.

I’m not sure I’ve ever told you, there is a joke within my family regarding just how many rolls I can eat during holiday functions. I’m not even picky, give me 12 store bought rolls that have been sitting out for 5 hours and I’ll eat that shit right up with no regrets. You embarrass me.

I blame you for the tire that appears here and there above my favorite pair of jeans, it’s when that happens I realize the time spent with you needs to be monitored, like supervised visitations. I have to tell everyone who strikes up a conversation with me that I’m watching you, keeping a close eye. I even invite others to get all up in our business…

“Please take these away.

-Me, regarding bread, chips, beer, rice, potatoes…

We just need to find a happy medium. One where you don’t make me feel uncomfortable and gross. I think the word might be, moderation. That’s what we’ll work on, Carbs. Me and you. We got this.

Love & Hate,


C is for Carbs

An honorable mention goes out to my friend, Casey, who also loves carbs.


We just celebrated our fourth wedding anniversary. I hope every married person feels the same when I say, my wedding day was the best. Obviously it’s who helped make everything happen, who showed up to watch me forget my vows and who danced the night away – but most of all I got to marry Brandin Boggs, and there was a chocolate fountain.

Dreams really do come true, ladies.

Marriage isn’t easy. You know this, because at least two of those picture-quotes zip through your newsfeed on Facebook daily. It’s not surprising that cohabiting, co-parenting, co-budgeting, co-everything is hard. Sometimes it actually sucks.

This one time, in the midst of a bickerfest, I told Brandin that he makes me more angry than anyone else, I might have thrown the word ever in there but I hope I didn’t. As soon as the words flew past my lips I knew they were hefty, not only did they actually feel like there was weight attached, I saw Brandin’s face drop. After going through the motions of justifying the mean words I actually decided that it wasn’t really all that crazy.


Please know that am not completely unreasonable and I’m aware of this thing called time and place and shouting it out while having a disagreement was probably not appropriate.

I’m terrible at math, and this isn’t even going to make any sense but let me pull some numbers out of my ass real quick. The amount of time I spend with Brandin is 98.34% more than I spend with any other human. So, in this totally illogical math/emotion problem he would also make me happier than anyone else. It all comes down to comfort. I can be a bitch and he can be an asshole, we know this.

We probably should have mentioned something about that in our vows, I could have remembered those.

I promise to always apologize after saying wild shit.

I wrote and really laid out our uncommon love story a while back if you’re interested in finding out more, if not, just know that we have history that backs much further than the eight years I’ve called Wisconsin home. We’re that couple that made a pact back in the day, when we thought 26 was so old and if we weren’t married by then well, shit, we better just marry each other.

Brandin is my personal chef and driver. An occasional babysitter… like, he babysits me after too many adult beverages. We stay up late listening to rap music while playing scrabble… because we’re confused 30-somethings. This one time, before confronting me with something potentially relationship-changing, he bought me a piece of cheesecake…just so I’d know he still loves me.

We have mastered a few looks, good and bad, that the other can read without saying a word. We grocery shop together, cook together, clean together, and want-to-go-home-as soon-as-we’re-out together. He’s logical, sometimes to the extreme and I can be quite the opposite – it’s a nice balance.


We disagree, we raise our voices, we say things that we shouldn’t. Parenting is not always eye-to-eye, and sometimes we annoy the shit out of each other… but at the end of the day, we always have each others backs and we love each other way more.

B is for Brandin.