Lil Dicky visits my root canal

I was told root canals are awful and painful. And maybe to people who haven’t squeezed 8-pound masses of human out of their vaginas, they are.

So while I’m laying there this week in a serene hour of root canal heaven, with my face numb and a “rubber dam” wrapped around my tooth that seemed strangely similar to the dental dams used for safe oral sex with women, I realized how I wouldn’t really mind starting out every day of the week like that.

And lo, an angel came to me during this paradise. An angel endodontal assistant named Kolby. He was a sweet Michael Cera-type that reminded me of my little brother, kind of awkward but wanted me to have a good experience. Talking about being an usher in his friend’s wedding that weekend, I would guess he was about 28 years old and just barely learning the ways of pleasing the ladies/mens, but I digress. The important thing about this encounter was how uncomfortable he seemed with waiting in silence while we waited for the numbing effects of the novocaine to set in.

michael ceraDuring this waiting period, the endodondist would go away and attend to other patients. So it was just me and Kolby. And Kolby was what we call a “nervous talker,” filling silence with whatever he could pull out of his ass simply because he had no idea how badly I wanted to sit there in silence. But he didn’t call me “mommy” so I’ll give him a pass. What he DID tell me was how my endodontist’s daughter was making her way in Hollywood, appearing in small films and music videos. “I was at my buddy’s playing board games one night, and she showed up in one of the music videos on YouTube. And I thought–hey I know that girl!”

Me, with my mouth wide open and this rubber dental dam on my face, said “Oh yeah, what music video?” He didn’t understand me. “Whuh mu-ic vi-eo?” He didn’t anticipate the questions I might have in my awkward position as he detailed shit I barely care about. “‘Lemme Freak’ by Lil Dicky,” he said, hesitantly. I could almost hear his inner thoughts as he squeaked out that secret, realizing maybe, just maybe, it’s not his place to be sharing this information about his boss’ daughter to the patients. Who knows, maybe the endodontist doesn’t give a fuck. But sweet little awkward Kolby had to say the words “Lemme Freak” to me as I lay there in front of him with my mouth wide open and sedated, so who knows. Not only that, but the video is kinda fucked up but I have to applaud Lil Dicky’s lyricism. Mayhap my endodontist feels the same way.

What took this whole surreal experience to another level was how I dreamt last night that I recounted this exchange to my friend Beth in a bar, because in weird dream-land this information tied directly to her in some random way. My mouth was even numb as I told her this tale. However, after that point I leave the bar and go home, but on my way home I stop by my dad’s house because I really needed him to perform an exorcism in my upstairs bathroom. A demon-possessed cat had taken over the bathroom and had been causing ongoing flooding and general disarray.

My dad took one look at the cat and said, “that cat–he’s the ‘beast’.” Well no fucking shit, he’s a cat of course he’s “the beast.” Fucking cats. Gross.

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Drunk pool parties save lives, duh.

So you’re at Wendy’s, shoving chicken nuggets or whatever the fuck in your kids’ mouths and you meet a new friend. She turns out to resemble Wild Style from the Lego Movie, so we’ll just call her that. Suuuure, at first she resembles a sweet little woodland creature who you want to take home and make your pet… she has two small kids the same ages as mine, and she seems to parent with the same como se dice “spirit”, but she turns out to be a real badass bitch. And in the course of maybe two weeks, this bitch your friend.

A year goes by and lo and behold, she gets you to join the motherfuckin’ PTA.   The Parent Teacher Association. This bitch…. the PTA. I can’t even.

But I’m on it. I’m on the motherfuckin’ PTA now. Cuz of this bitch.

So here I am, a few weeks ago, at a PTA meeting. She’s talking about the budget, and I’m sexting my strength trainer. Suuuuuure, the budget for the childrens is very important but there are numbers and there was wine, so I’m sexting. It’s all good. It’s natural. It’s SCIENCE. And this is a STEM Magnet school my kid attends, so science is importante, no?

Now what I haven’t told you thus far is that this girl has a pool. And if you have kids and you know the level of murder that almost happens every night in the summer, you may understand just precisely what a pool means. People are HAPPY in the pool. The children are happy. They grown folks is happy. People are HAPPY.  Then you add some wines. You know mama likes the wines.  So you drink the wines and you play in the pool and everyone is HAPPY.

Moral of this story? Drink the muhfuckin wines in the muhfuckin pool with your muchfuckin kiiiiiiids and Jesus help us let’s bring the crime rate down.

Also, I luh dat bitch.

The Fat Boi Diaries: Why Selfies?

Hello sweet babies. I haven’t written in a long while because I’ve been working on putting some other projects together, but this post was so inspiring and spot on, I had to force its truth down your sexy little throats.

Self-love. “I owe you nothing, but I owe myself everything.”

Preach.

And I’m not gonna lie, wishing I were his type right about now. MmHmmm.

BlaQueer

Last week at an apartment party in Chicago’s Andersonville neighborhood on the North side, I whipped out my iPhone 5, told the folks at the gathering to press together, and clicked away. Simple act, happens at least a hundred times a day, and I completed the ritual by posting the picture to my instagram and linking it to my Facebook account. But, before I could put the camera away I heard a friend joke, read, throw a little shade (?) my way and say:

“Watch, tomorrow there will be like five picture of himself up there.”

Yes, guilty as charged, I am a selfie. One of those annoying people who take tons of self-pictures. Declaring to the world that I look good and you know it. This is so true that the same friend had earlier brought up the topic with me; apparently he and another friend occasionally discussed my…

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Shedding skin. Again.

“It ain’t no sin, to take off your skin and dance around in your bones.” ― Tom Waits

“Without deviations from the norm, progress is not possible.” — Frank Zappa

For so many years I was living to learn. I was living to make a reputation for myself in my career. I was living to put my time in and earn professional clout, to be taken seriously. I was taking those baby steps to get to that next rung in the ladder that would take me to my destination.

Then– I shifted gears. I was living to survive. I was living to keep my babies alive. I was living to get by. To get past “that year”. Skating through, hoping my marriage would survive the tension. It didn’t, by the way. It died. And was reborn.

Then– Shift into living to heal. Living to rebuild what had been decimated– physical therapy for the toddler, intense rehab and reinvention of marriage, getting a kid into school, picking our dirty finances up off the ground… dusting them off. Working a boring, soul-killing job to put the pieces back together. Sacrificing good credit to make sure the kids have milk. Stuff like that.

It’s a new day today.  Life is one long journey of grieving the expectations we have for any given scenario, period of time, relationship, you name it.  I think the element I’ve let ride along with me for so long is fear, though. Lack of confidence to take risks, to be the real me. Part of it is not really being confident of what that looks like.  And then lack of confidence in myself to even be able to figure that out.

The risks– What will people think of me?  What if I speak up and then find out I’m wrong? Can I go without that $3,000/month just so I don’t have to be a drone in a cube? I think… I can live without those things.  Being liked, being right, and being without spending guidelines.  I don’t know if even had those things to begin with.

So I’m shedding my skin again to move into my next phase. Time to stop living like a fool, and take the risk of living my true purpose.

Confidence in the path I’ve chosen. It’s terrifying.

I don’t know man, fuck is on your biscuit?

When I was a kid, I was always sticking up for the underdog.  I don’t know why, that was just my deal.  I’ve always been outspoken and, as “the pastor’s daughter” at a small private school, I had influence. People just didn’t mess with me. Or if they did, my ADD caused me to be too spacey to notice the mockers, so their bullshit was wasted on my dumb ass.  I was often totally checked out, daydreaming…staring into space.  And since my parents treated me like a normal kid, I didn’t quite develop all the bullshit baggage that pastor’s kids are known for.  So, whenever someone was getting picked on by others, I’d get all up in the bully’s shit. I learned early that it doesn’t take much for me to get people to do what I want. Privilege aside, that was just my reality, and I was aware of it.

Today, I want to explain some aspects of bullying. Because what I learned was that bullies BRING OUT the bully in me.  And in all honesty, I don’t LIKE how that feels. I don’t like BECOMING the bully. It feels shitty to me. And once I’m in the mode, I want to DEFEAT the bully. And I’ll stop at nothing to defeat. I become what I hate.  Isn’t that how bullies are developed in the first place?

In everyday life, I don’t find myself encountering bullies in person very often.  I think there have been three or four people in the past ten years of my life where I remember thinking “this person is a bully, and they are making me want to bully”, so I very intentionally separated myself from them. Otherwise I’d just sink to their level. I’d make sure that I could do what I could to help the underdog but, at the end of the day, those people will always be bullies. I can’t change that. Especially by treating them in a way that probably turned them into that in the first place. I’m sure they were bullied as kids or whatever, by their parents or someone else, and they have this chip on their shoulder. I can’t fix that chip. I have some empathy, but I also have sought out counseling to help me change the parts of me that are hurtful to myself and others. If you aren’t doing that…. now is the time to man the fuck up.

Every once in a while…. I am made to feel like shit by a man.  It doesn’t happen to me as often as it might happen to other women… I often don’t give a shit about what people think anyway, and I surround myself by good men.  And don’t get me wrong—women can be extremely hurtful to one another. So I’m not trying to be a man-hating femi-nazi here.  But when it happens—when a man says something that leaves me feeling like trash simply because I have a beautiful ‘gine—I get Really. Fucking. Pissed.

Today I am done. I am fed up with people with penises who think that women live and breathe for men.  I am so over that.  I have learned that there is a certain population of men who literally think this. They think when I get dressed and do my hair and my makeup and put on cute clothes, that I am doing it to get THEIR attention.  The fucking audacity of this is mind-blowing to me.  I cannot imagine walking around this earth presuming that people are acting in such a way to get my attention—simply because I am a penis-bearing human. (If that were the case, which it is not. Mama has the lovely labias).

I was recently reminded of how fucking mental this makes me— a really cute picture was taken of a beautiful girl and posted on Facebook. There was nothing weird or inappropriate about the picture, she just happened to look crazy fucking hot, as per the usual.  And it inspired a couple of male friends to say something about it. And it wasn’t “hey girl, you look great, have fun, you’re awesome.”  The comments were more along the lines of “why are you dressed like that?” and how she clearly wants attention so why can’t they say whatever they want about it…. Bla bla bla. It saddens me that this even happens.  A girl is left feeling so diminished by the comments about her looks, that she decides it may be better to hide. To not show her beauty. To not shine…

I am infuriated. I apparently have friends that are bullies.  And I CAN’T FUCKING STAND THIS.

I am here today, friends, colleagues… to offer up some wisdom for you. And YES it is wisdom so listen real close. Because after this, bullies get deleted from my life.

She dressed that way because I asked her to. BECAUSE SHE LOOKED AMAZING in that outfit. So she did. She wore the outfit I liked. Now, ultimately I don’t really care what she wears.  But she had a few options of clothes that fit her style, and I told her which one I liked the best.  Lesson you should take away from this: NOBODY CARES WHAT YOU THINK. That night was all about us. Not you.

The second thing goes a little deeper for me.  The idea that you can say whatever the fuck you want because someone, in your mind, is INVITING it.  And this, ladies and gents, is part of the root philosophy of what has become known as “rape culture”.  There is an inherent disrespect for women at the core of this way of thinking.  Because, at the end of the day, if someone is “asking you” to treat them poorly… with less value than they really actually have as a person… so you’re going to do that shit???  And in this particular circumstance, how is looking nice for a night out with your girlfriends perceived as being asked to be treated poorly again?

What if we went ahead and reversed things.  I mean… a moderately chubby guy who goes out dressed “nerdy”, wearing Airwalks from Wal-Mart or some shit like that MUST be just ASKING to get rude and degrading comments, right? Otherwise he’d obviously work out, eat well, and get a fashion consultant.  At MINIMUM…. Shop at Target.  He clearly wants to be treated like shit. Duh…  It’s like this guy in a wheelchair who vandalized a church for loving gay people. IT DOESN’T MAKE ANY FUCKING SENSE.

So I will leave you with this:

  1. I’m sorry someone treated you poorly or disrespected you in life, inspiring you to do the same to others. That sucks for you and it sucks for the people around you.
  2. Deal with your shit, and start being a better person.

Underneath the skin there’s a human.

A beautiful, captivating woman said to me yesterday, “When you make yourself vulnerable, you are actually safer.”

…I would tend to agree.

I am sitting here on my grungy sofa, listening to my little people talk themselves to sleep through the monitor, with a chill YouTube playlist in my ear, and pinot grigio on my tongue. The FINALLY warm air is on my shoulders, and I smell the damp earth carried in through the window behind me.  For the first time in several days, I am letting down my guard, and I am letting my thoughts and ever stormy feelings melt through my fingers.

I have known “guarded”.  As much as I lay myself out there for the world to see, I tag on a little follow-up of “fuck you” to anyone who has a problem with it. I guard myself against those who will potentially hurt me with that threat.  How I decide they fit into this category is a messy, tainted process.  You will find things in there like racism, sexism, religious baggage, affiliations by the thousands that carry a poor vibe in my mind… past memories of hurt and resentment.  These are not your friend when it comes to the playground of my mind.

When you choose to live in a “life-long” partnership with a beautiful person… you damn them—your best friend and lover—into the jail of both predator and prey.  Those are roles they will play in your life. They will hurt you, you will hurt them.  It is no easy task for two broken people to care for each other to the degree that an ideal marriage/partnership demands.

So now what?

What are your options when there is such high risk of hurting and being hurt?  Why do people even do this? It can’t just be because of the babies. There’s more to it. I think we as humans want to feel vulnerable to another person. Protected, cared for, exposed. Naked.

Maybe we have to be exposed and vulnerable in the relationship, the personal connection, to really relate sexually. To be naked physically, and connect in a really authentic and meaningful way, there has to be some sort of meaningful exposure of the human spirit…  BOTH the beautiful and the dark and ugly parts of your humanity.  Otherwise it’s guarded. It’s closed up and wary, self-conscious. It almost feels violating.

“Guarded” has not worked for me in this relationship.  After ten years, I have found that it is only vulnerability that brings good things between us.  It ends up being a safer, happier place.  In the process of achieving that end, we take a risk. And we hurt each other. Pretty badly. We are broken people. We cannot possibly care for another person’s emotional or physical needs perfectly all the time.

The question I’m left with is—Is it worth it? The pain?  So far I’d say yes. But you know what, it’s a real fucking hassle.  And it gets really fucking old sometimes.  It’s fucking exhausting. To be so fucking vulnerable all the goddamn time, especially when that person is struggling through a place of hurt and insecurity, caused by you and a myriad of others from the past.  Who wants to open themselves up to that level of unpredictable volatility? It’s a huge risk.

I think it’s the only way to live.

~