It’s sometime in the spring of 2022. My epiphany to run for Congress is far too late in the calendar to do anything about it. Several candidates are already running in District 41. I canvas for Will Rollins at the end of his campaign. I vote for him. He loses by less than 12,000 votes.
It’s May 2023. I write to my friend in DC. He works for a member of Congress. I write to him ideas that I’ve been working on for years and different strategies I’ve come up with for a campaign that is suited to my personality. He calls me a week later. A day earlier, Will Rollins announced he would be running in District 41 again in 2024. My friend tells me not to run. I would get crushed and no one in the Democratic Party would ever take me seriously. Will Rollins has already raised half a million dollars and has been endorsed by a number of California Democrats including my friend’s boss. My friend can’t help me even if he wanted to. I vote for Will Rollins again. I’m not 100% convinced that I want Will Rollins to win. He loses by less than 12,000 votes.
It’s October 2025. After our 3rd in-home fundraiser where 10 people didn’t show up, my focus the rest of that night is on being there for my husband. My husband who just spent two days making food and cleaning the house. My husband who is crying and says his heart is breaking for me. My husband who says we would not be hosting anymore in-home fundraisers.
Those that show up are two close friends who have both known me for many years, have already contributed money multiple times to my campaign, and were present at the 1st in-home fundraiser that featured 2/3s of the invited guests not showing up. They know who I really am and they stand by me. And they both tell me multiple times that they don’t find Brandon Riker to be that impressive. Other than a friend my husband sings with, that is all who attend.
My husband pushes me to give my presentation anyway. It’s not much different than the one I have given before. But this time it features an actual physical prop as well as a recent quote from Ezra Klein on my dry-erase board to set the tone for what I’m about to say. My husband keeps pushing me because he believes in me and and my ideas. He jokingly told me that I had worn him down after bringing up the same issues over and over with multiple updates and histrionics. I have told the story many times that for the last three years he has been hearing me talk about running for Congress and then one day he finally said, “Either run for Congress or shut up about it because you’re driving me crazy.” It’s a reasonable request.
The next day, Sunday, I know that eventually I would have another hard crying episode.
This occurrence is not too dissimilar to eating something that you know will eventually make you sick. You know the vomit will come in due time, but until it does you have to just wait for it to happen and feel every bit of the attack slowly building as you wait. That was what it was like for me. I had to get up, eat breakfast, shower, run my errands for work, eat lunch, get stoned, have great sex with my husband while knowing that eventually I would be somewhere in our home crying and processing what had happened and how running for Congress to help my community and protect my marriage has completely demoralized me and broken my spirit.
Yet as I lie in bed, naked because even the clothes I was wearing felt suffocating, and as my husband has his hand on me trying to keep me calm, I’m crying and trying to catch my breath and even with the pain I have gone through and worse for me all the pain my husband has had to helplessly see me go though, I tell him that I don’t regret my decision to run for Congress. I mean it when I say it. I still mean it.
It’s May 2025. There is a candidate forum for District 41 on a Saturday morning in Palm Springs. I’ve never done this before. Six candidates are on the lineup. We are seated at the panel alphabetically. All men. I wear a colorful flower shirt. The other candidates are in jackets, some with ties. Except for Dave Karson.
Jason Byers is loud and off-putting. His tone is too bombastic for this type of event. It’s not a rally. It’s a moderated panel. He gets cut off by the moderator a few times. At one point he literally has a Rick Perry moment where he says he has three ideas but can only remember two of them.
Abel Chavez is cute. He and I become friends with a mutual agreement to support each other if one of us drops out. He’s 10 years younger than me and comes off as 10 years younger than he actually is. He’s caring and engaging and likable. But like me he is facing a steep uphill climb to get to the top.
Dave Karson is a human trainwreck. He also gets cut off by the moderator. He moved from Northern California to run in this district. He means well but I feel bad for him.
Tim Meyers is to my right. At one point he doesn’t answer a question asked, but instead chooses to address the fact that he doesn’t live in the district. He’s from Corona, but lives in Los Angeles. As I’m waiting for my turn I fade in and out of paying attention. I’m figuring out what my answer will be to the question. My husband and friends tell me that Tim said he would move to the district AFTER the election. They confirm that to me multiple times because I’m always in disbelief that he thought it was a smart idea to bring up the topic without being asked about it. I do remember Tim saying that it was MAGA voters that had made a big deal about his residency. I see a woman in the second row shaking her head and mouthing: “No, it’s not." Several days later, Abel and I have dinner and he tells me that he knows Tim Meyers will drop out because he has a good read on people.
I had written out my opening statement. Seeing the candidates in front of me ramble and get cut off by the moderator, I decide to make sure that I say what I wanted to say. I tell the audience I am going to sit and read what I prepared. The same woman who shook her head at Tim Meyers advises me a few days later to NEVER sit and read again if I wanted to win people over. I believe that she is offering worthwhile advise. I also know that she will never support me because she has told me multiple times she is impressed with Brandon Riker.
Brandon Riker does the politician’s move where he comes around the table when he speaks to the audience. It helps that he’s on the end and is the last of us to speak. I can’t decide if I want to learn from him or just do everything that he does in the exact opposite way.
At 11 am, halfway through the forum, we get word that a bomb has been set off near the local hospital. The moderator says that the forum will continue, but I see several members of the local city council get up and exit the building. We learn later that a fertility clinic was the target. The embryos were saved by a local fireman and an FBI agent at the scene. The only fatality is the bomber. It’s a miracle that no one was walking by or biking on the street when the bomb went off. The man in charge of security told me later that he was outside the gym where we had the forum and he heard the loud boom. Our police chief, fire department and the FBI do an incredible job of assessing the situation and informing the public. Ken Calvert stays in DC to vote on the “Big Beautiful Bill”. He has not set foot in Palm Springs since the city became part of his district.
It’s April 2025. My husband and I host our annual party on Easter Saturday. His side of the family comes from different parts of California and some, when they can make it, come from Oregon or Minnesota or Michigan or Canada.
The niece from Oregon wasn’t going to make it. I tell her on the phone that I’m running for Congress and I ask her to not tell anyone else because I want to surprise them all at Easter. She decides to come anyway and be in on the surprise. 20 people spread out in our living room as I make the announcement from our stairs. A different niece cries when she hears me say it out loud.
It’s August 2024. Someone in Palm Springs has organized an outdoor fundraiser for Will Rollins at their house. It’s hot but also humid. The humidity is not something we in the desert are acclimated to. Will Rollins is wearing pants and a long sleeve button down shirt. He smiles through the sweat. I ask him about expanding The House of Representatives. To his credit, he starts to answer by saying that he has never gotten that question before. I don’t remember what exactly his answer was, but I do remember him regurgitating the canned response about adding DC and Puerto Rico as states and expanding the Supreme Court. Like a well-crafted politician, he has perfected the skill of not answering my question. He fits right in with the establishment.
Will Rollins and I speak later at the party. I explain to him how The House can expand and how Democrats can fight back against partisan gerrymandering. He gives me his full attention and says that’s very interesting. There are some days when I choose to believe that he would have taken this information with him and put it to good use had he been elected.
It’s February 2025. NH finds me through someone in California politics. NH has an impressive resume and a direct approach to wanting to work on my campaign. I ask NH who mentioned me. I think in my head there are maybe 5 possible people who could have known about my wanting to run for Congress. NH doesn’t tell me even after I sign the contract and make payments. I respect the commitment to confidentiality. At first I wanted to know who it was because of my curiosity. Now I want to know who it was because I’m lacking in people who believe in me. Someone believed in me enough to refer me to NH. I still don’t know who it is.
It’s September 2025. Katherine Aleman has announced she is running in District 41. Her timing on entering the race means that I didn’t get to meet her at the previous forums. I want to meet Katherine in person. If I am going to lose, I’d want to lose to someone I think would make a great representative. Someone I actually respect. Unlike some of the candidates, she and I actually live in District 41. And unlike other candidates, I didn’t move to the district just to run for Congress. She’s neither of those. She’s genuine and authentic.
I tell her that I will drive to Norco so we can have lunch. She agrees and we meet on a Saturday. We share with each other what we have gone through on this task that we are undertaking. I ask her what she would do if Prop 50 passes. She says she will just keep running the race in District 41 and see what happens. I get the sense that she would not switch to District 48 because the way the new map is drawn, she wouldn’t be living in that district.
She doesn’t believe in misrepresenting where you live just to be in Congress. She and I are on the same page.
She also brings me free eggs. A few day later, my husband and I use the eggs to make my grandmother’s pound cake.
It’s March 2025. A women I’ve never met asks me if I’m running for Congress in District 41. She sends me a private message on Facebook. We have a brief message exchange and I tell her that I am. I send her an email with some of my ideas. She donates $500 on ActBlue. I think to myself this is a great start and it will only get better and easier.
Several days later I post on a Facebook group that is centered in Palm Springs.
10,000+ members and climbing with a lot of political activism chatter. When a local ice cream parlor experienced homophobic attacks from some customers, a post on the group led to hundreds of comments and shares which then led to 75 people showing up all at once to support the business with their love of community and their love of buying ice cream.
I post to the group on our 9-year wedding anniversary. I share what my husband means to me. I tell the story of how 8 months after our wedding I’m holding him in my arms on our living room couch as he was crying. Trump had just been elected President. That moment set me on the path to where I am today. I quote Harvey Milk. I include the link to my ActBlue page and I also welcome them to reach out to me via email or message if they have any questions. No one donates money. No one sends me a message. No one cares.
It’s August 2025. The maps for Prop 50 are out and Palm Springs is pushed into a district with San Diego County. The rest of the Coachella Valley is reunited into Dr. Raul Ruiz’s district.
Ammar Campa-Najjar teases that he might run in District 48 even though he has lost two congressional races in San Diego County as well as a mayoral race. He releases a public statement that includes: “A Democrat will easily carry Palm Springs.” This is a dog whistle. This is the expectation that a particular type of Democratic has for The Queers, to rely on their votes without doing anything meaningful to protect them.
Take them for granted. Remind them Republicans are worse. Count on their votes.
Ignore their problems. Return to the center. Rinse. Repeat.
It’s November 2024. Donald Trump has won. Again. Shit. I feel numb all over. Too numb to even be angry. I don’t want any part of this world. At least that’s what I think and it’s what I tell my husband when he comes home from rehearsal. It takes me a few days to come back around to the other side of the mental carousel.
It’s February 2025. I’ve taken matters into my own hands and I have filed to run for Congress. I set up a bank account for the campaign and create an ActBlue page. I know I have to raise money. I know I have to raise a lot of money. It’s a midterm year which typically means needing to raise less money than a presidential year. Still, a congressional campaign in California is born expensive. I estimate that I will need to raise $5 million. Conservatively.
I trick myself into finding a way to make the number not so overwhelming. If all I ask for is $100, then I just need 50,000 people to donate. Between Palm Springs, San Francisco, Los Angeles and the rest of California, there has to be that many pissed off Democrats ready to chip in. Throw in donors from out of state and those that can give more than $100, it seems like something that I can eventually accomplish. I’m not expecting to need to raise that much money right away. I just need to bring in enough money to give me forward momentum.
In slow tortuous drips, I eventually learn what the reality is when it comes to fundraising.
I learn what “Call Time” is. I had never heard of the term before I ran for Congress. I hate it. I feel like a telemarketer selling something intangible to people who either have no interest in the position I’ve put myself in or they don’t have any money to spare.
When I ask a friend for money on the phone and she tells me she can’t even spare
$100, my stomach gets tight and my neck is sweaty and I want to claw deep into my own skin. Politics should come with a warning label on it: Must Beg For Money Or You’re Fucked.
It’s June 2025. There is a second forum farther west in Riverside county. Anuj Dixit and Dr. Tiffanie Tate have filed to run in District 41 and are part of the panel. Tim Meyers was included on the flyer but he is not in attendance. His name placard is displayed on the panel in front of an empty seat. Someone wanted to make an example out of him. A few weeks later he drops out of the race to run for Lieutenant Governor of California. Abel was right.
The moderator stops the panel during opening statements. She calls the head of security over, the same guy who heard the bomb in Palm Springs. The room goes silent. Brandon Riker leans over to me and says quietly, “Oh, no. Not again.” It’s not a bomb this time. It’s just someone filming the forum when no one is supposed to be filming. I’m mildly curious as to who it is and why he would think this is worth filming.
Anuj Dixit is impressive in terms of his background and his fundraising. I’ve met him previously. He talks really fast and it sometimes sounds like his brain and his voice are out of synch. I had assumed because he is a lawyer that he would be more polished.
Dr. Tiffanie Tate is Dr. Tiffanie Tate. She introduces herself in full every time she stands to speak. She makes her answers all about her: her medical background, her military background and her professional accomplishments. I would hardly call her an inspiring speaker.
I have learned from the previous panel. I stand up to give my opening statement. A few times my answers to questions get laughs from the audience. But another time when I try to be funny the line falls flat. I make a mental note to recalibrate. It might not work to my advantage if I come off as the candidate that just wants to be the funny guy.
The moderator shakes my hand and tells me after that I improved from the previous panel. It’s nice to feel a little bit of confidence.
It’s May 2025. I’m scheduled to speak briefly at the monthly meeting of the Democrats of the Desert. I had attended a few of the meetings prior to this one.
The tone of the meetings following the 2024 election was tense. A lot of angry Democrats in disbelief. I took notice from the first meetings I attended that all the different Democratic clubs in District 41 are predominantly run and attended by middle-aged and even older women. I’m convinced that they all have PTSD from Will Rollins losing in 2024. I don’t blame them. A lot of hours and energy were spent to get Will Rollins over the finish line. Now they have to do it all over again. This time they have multiple candidates to sift through. Unless, of course, they have already made up their minds.
I introduce myself to a woman who says she worked on both Jack and Bobby’s campaigns in the 1960s. She has never met me until now. She doesn’t know my story or why I’m running for Congress. She doesn’t know what my ideas are. She tells me she is already supporting Brandon Riker. The primary is a year away. Prop 50 is not even a concept yet. She already has her mind made up.
I should have known then that my mistake was trying to win over people that care so much that their perception of what is needed in a Representative is calcified. They only want to pick a candidate that is another version of Will Rollins: a polished politician who checks the prerequisite boxes and, of course, can raise money. They have trapped themselves into only being allowed to support a candidate whose existence is to focus on being able to win an election. A empty vessel who does not openly embrace any meaningful principles. Principles have no place in politics.
It’s July 2025. I write to the most famous political figure in the Coachella Valley: retired Senator Barbara Boxer. She lives in District 41. I send her a 2 page letter that I have handwritten on high quality paper, the kind of paper specifically used for writing letters. The text is slanted, but still legible and well planned out. I ask her if I could meet with her sometime and tell her more about my ideas. A few days later she endorses Katherine Aleman. I'm disappointed but not surprised. Katherine is fantastic and Senator Boxer had probably committed to endorsing her before I even mailed the letter.
When Prop 50 passes months later, even though Senator Boxer’s house is no longer in the newly drawn District 48, she wastes no time and endorses Marni Von Wilpert.
Senator Boxer still has not replied to my letter.
It’s December 2024. I get the phone number for Will Rollins and set up a time to call. We speak for 15 minutes. He’s very polite and friendly. He’s also adamant he is not running for a 3rd time. A few months later he moves back to LA to go back to work as a lawyer. He had moved to Palm Springs only to run for Congress.
It’s July 2025. I decide to mail potential donors. These are people who donated to Will Rollins. Everyone I mail is in California but outside of District 41. I write to them about why I’m running for Congress, how I am in the same district that Will Rollins ran in, and how anything they can pitch in will help. Even if it’s just $100. On each letter, in blue ink, I handwrite the date and a personalized greeting at the top of the page and I sign my name at the bottom of the page. I include a business card and self-addressed stamped envelope.
Folding paper and stuffing envelopes and applying stamps for hours dries out my hands. My guess is that I mail out around 650 envelopes in the days before my husband and I leave on a two-week trip.
By the time we have returned home, I estimate 40 envelopes have been returned: insufficient address, person had moved, person had died. Two people donate money on ActBlue. No one sends back the self-addressed stamped envelope. No one cares.
It’s August 2025. My husband and I fly to Dallas to see my family. They all know I’m running for Congress. My cousin, who is MAGA, shows up to a big family dinner in his Napoleon Dynamite “Vote For Pedro” t-shirt. He has put masking tape over “Pedro” He wrote on the masking tape: “Ferguson”.
A few days later we fly from Dallas to Toronto. My husband has an uncle who is turning 100. Canadians want to know what the hell is going on America. They are also very excited to hear that I’m running for Congress. As soon as I get to Canada, Prop 50 is announced and the new map is released. Everything has changed.
It’s November 2025. Prop 50 passes in a blowout. Abel Chavez, Anuj Dixit, and Brandon Riker had switched to District 48 weeks earlier. I am superstitious. I would not change districts until Prop 50 actually passed. However, I’m still confident that it will be passed.
NH had told me when the new map came out that I would actually have a better shot at getting out of the primary. This confidence was based on the new math of the new district. But it was also based on math for a candidate who is better at being a politician than I am capable of being.
Given how slow California counts ballots, I figured that the outcome might not be called until at least the next morning, if not a few days later. Prop 50 is called roughly 15 minutes after the polls close. I can’t believe how fast it happened. As results come in over the next few days, I am amazed at the number of people who voted when it was literally the only issue on the ballot.
I worry that I may already be too demoralized to consider this result to be good news.
It’s May 2025. At our 1st in-home fundraiser it becomes clear within the first 30 minutes that something is wrong and that many people will not be showing up to our house, even though they personally confirmed to me that they would be in attendance.
My husband and I are good hosts but I can’t hide the fact that I am not handling the situation well. After I give my presentation, our neighbor Jeff asks a few questions. I answer them. He tells me later that if I ever need someone in the peanut gallery at my next fundraiser to ask questions, he would gladly help.
It’s September 2025. Jeff dies at home in his husband’s arms after fighting cancer for the last 2 years.
It’s the 2025 CADEM convention. I drive from Palm Springs to Anaheim for one day. I have requested a slot to speak at the LGBTQ caucus. I get 1 minute.
This is the first time that I can vividly remember the sinking feeling that I don’t belong in this world. A comic book convention fills me with excitement and wonder. A political convention fells like a chore. These are not my people.
Later, a prominent member of the Riverside County Democrats tells me directly to my face to stop telling the story about Trump making my husband cry. That story won’t go over well in other parts of District 41 that isn’t Palm Springs. The message is clear: Don’t be too gay.
It’s October 2025. I’m in downtown Palm springs with a friend from Hawaii. Halloween falls on a Friday night this year. The block is full of people, food, drinks and two different DJs playing on opposite ends. The bars are crowded. I’m dancing. I’m seeing many friends. I’m smiling at some of the fun costumes. I love Palm Springs. When I came to Palm Springs, I knew that I had found my people. For once, we deserve to be represented by one of our own.
It’s June 2025. A friend has been flown in from Seattle to help bartend at our 2nd in- home fundraiser and hopefully to play piano for our guests. He doesn’t drink so the bartending assignment needs to be kept simple: refill ice in glasses, make basic mixed drinks, pour wine. Weeks earlier I sent him the sheet music for the song “Mellon Collie and the Infinite Sadness.” His performance is adequate, just needs more practice time with the piece.
More than 20 people actually show up. I talk about the other candidates in the race. I talk about expanding The House. I answer questions. I win over a few converts. A week later at our neighbors’ party someone tells me that he didn’t think much of me running for Congress, but once he heard what I had to say he knew “I was the guy for him”. Great. I just need everyone in the district to sit down and let me talk for 30 minutes and explain on my dry erase board what my ideas are and why none of the other candidates understand what really needs to be done in order for our country to escape the tyrannical darkness.
It’s December 2025. I’ve been invited to another candidate forum in Riverside. It’s for all the candidates still in District 48. Anuj Dixit had dropped out several days earlier. When I get the email about the forum my chest tightens and my body jitters.
As I read Joan Didion’s essay “Slouching Towards Bethlehem”, I feel my mind coming out of hibernation. I have to get my thoughts out. I need to write about what this experience has been like.
It’s January 2025. I drive to Riverside at the last minute to see my friend. He is in from DC for a town hall. He doesn’t know how late he will be. I tell him I don’t care and I’ll take my chances. I kill time in the city. I walk around. I stop to have coffee and read. I wait for my friend at the hotel bar.
We have dinner sometime after 9 PM. He tells me that the Democratic Party won’t help me unless I can raise money. I’m not rich. I’m not famous. I’m not known in any political circles. I’m on my own. It’s a discouraging conversation. I haven’t even filed to run for Congress yet and already I feel like I’m starting at less than zero.
I drive back home and my husband is still awake. I sit down in the chair in our bedroom and bawl my eyes out. It’s the first of many full-bodied crying sessions I will have in the past year. More than any that I can remember. Too many days of feeling overwhelmed, frustrated, exhausted, defeated, dismissed, humiliated and brokenhearted.
My husband patiently lets me go on and on until I’m spent. Then he kisses me on the forehead and reminds me that no matter what happens that he believes in me. He guides me to keep going.
