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.

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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’m adding North Korea to my list of White People Problems.

“Sometimes we laughed. We didn’t know when to laugh or not.”
-Shin Dong-huyk

It’s been my view for quite some time now that utilizing free market economics is the best way for nation states to achieve political gains as it relates to liberty and equality.  So I don’t really get down with the U.S. when it places economic sanctions on another country because they’re not doing what we want, even if it’s with good intentions.  When you stop trading goods with a country for any reason, the top officials you’re trying to send a message to still get their shit. Those assholes at the top, making decisions and being dick-squeezes? They still get food and whatever the fuck they want. They just don’t get it from you.  It’s the average Joe who gets hurt.  They’re the ones who no longer have access to whatever we were trading with them.  It just adds to the hardship they were already experiencing from whatever tyrannical political leadership that rules their lives.

I recently read an article about the executives at Google going into North Korea to “discuss the free and open internet.”  And, while I agree with their leadership that North Korea’s economic growth will continually be stunted by their lack of internet access, I couldn’t help but thing, “What a bunch of naive assholes.”

With that being said, let me tell you who can suck my dick as it relates to North Korea. Anyone who turns a blind or ignorant eye to the reality of suffering, that’s who. And you know what?  Same goes for turning a blind eye to the reality of pain in the lives of anyone around you, or in any other neighborhood, city, state, country, or people group. Shit just isn’t as simple as you’d like it to be. You can’t just reason it away in order to make yourself feel better. It’s a fucking mess. The problems are complicated, and the solutions even more complex.

In the documentary Camp 14: Total Control Zone, Shin Dong-huyk was born in a forced labor camp in North Korea. He was one of 160,000 forced laborers in North Korea.  His first memory was that of a public execution.  All the prisoners were forced to watch the public executions. He was about 4 or 5, when he saw this. What are people executed for in North Korea? Not “working hard”. Being “disobedient”.  His first feeling he remembers was that of panic, at this particular public execution.  He is the only person ever to be born in a North Korean forced labor camp to escape to the West.

He had a little friend when he was 6 years old. She had hidden a few grains of wheat in her pocket. They were always starving.  Everyone in the labor camp.  The school teacher decided this warranted beating the young girl from 8 a.m. to 2 p.m.  I’m sorry, but can I just stop and say right now and ask you, “Does that seem real… when you read that???”  I want you to fight the desensitization to the fact that this shit is happening AS YOU READ this stupid blog.  That young girl finally fell unconscious to the floor. Her little friends carried her home. She was dead the next day from an infection in her head wounds.  I think of my 4-year-old, who is constantly collecting little things off the ground outside to bring to me. Rocks. Leaves. Flowers.  The contrast of the two girls’ lives is stark in my mind.

In the camps, families are not allowed to be together. Every human is treated as less than an animal. Less than a worm. You have no rights. You don’t have a right to eat, sleep, move, date, make friends.  All of these decisions are made for you. Your diet consists of maize and cabbage soup. If you are ever lucky enough to taste meat, it is that of a rat that you catch yourself (in your house).

Women will submit to sex with the guards, with the hope that life will be easier if a guard likes them. Hoping a child with a guard will keep them alive, they will try to get pregnant.  Instead, these women are killed.  Shin’s father received Shin’s mother as a wife, as a reward for good labor.  People are used as currency.  Trafficked.

The only societal value you are taught is that of suspicion toward everyone around you.  Everyone watches each other, spies on each other, in the event that you are disobedient. Then you are publicly criticized. Beatings are the norm. There is no sense of loyalty to another person. There is no compulsion of love. You are not compelled to protect one another. You are so hungry, all your mind tells you to do is to act in such a way that maybe you will survive better. Eat something. Shin was 14 years old, laying on a prison floor, deformed and burned from fire torture, before he felt what human affection and emotional support feels like from another. An old man who tended his wounds, and told him “You must survive.”  He returned to the labor camp to watch his mother’s and brother’s public execution, which was Shin’s fault. He had reported them for hatching an escape plan from the labor camp.  He felt nothing as he watched them die. The concept of family was completely foreign to him. He felt anger toward his mother, blaming her for the torture he had experienced in the prison after he had reported them.  He didn’t cry as he watched her die.  He hadn’t learned that you’re supposed to cry when your mother is executed.

Eventually, Shin escaped the camp with the sheer purpose of getting his hands on some meat. He had been told about this meat called “chicken” from China.  He wanted to try this meat. He didn’t care about freedom– the concept was foreign to him. But he had been told about food by a man in the labor camp who hadn’t been born there. He wanted to taste the food.   He attempted escape with this fellow prisoner who had told him about the chicken.  That man died on the electric fence surrounding the camp.  The weight of his body made a hole in the fence large enough to allow Shin to crawl over his back, and out through the fence.

Which leads me to wonder… whose backs are being offered to us, so that we can fulfill our purpose in life, become who we are meant to be, tell the story we are meant to tell??  We are not alone, friends. We cannot live alone. We are social beings, which Shin himself confesses he had never known or understood until he landed on the floor of the camp prison after being tortured with fire, as the old man cleaned his burn wounds. Whose wounds are you cleaning? In your prison? Who are you tending to in their pain, to show them what they are truly worth?

Shin Dong-huyk maintains that, in all his meetings with political figures and NGOs, he has yet to find a clear answer on how to address the terrible reality that resides within North Korea, his home.

When asked what he misses about North Korea, Donghuyk says “I miss my innocent heart.”

The only thing we know is Work hard, Play hard.

Worky Jerky getting the best of you?

I’d much rather write about a bunch of bullshit on the internet than sit in this cubicle and work. Even if I DO look hot in these tweed slacks.  My mind explodes with the useless shit I plan to shower on you in the coming weeks. I’m recruiting some sexy assholes to help me with this. Let’s face it, I’m a lazy muthafucka. I choose the elevator over the stairs probably 3 out of 4 times. My love handles say to you “You’re welcome.”

I’m feeling inspired this week. What’s making your panties wet, people?

I want my baby where that cake and that icing is.

Get the money, get the money, that’s what I know
I’m hoping that my seeds know a little more than I know
I know, I know, but baby this what I know
If we ever settle down, well baby this what I hope

Please let her be a hustla, baby be a hustla
Hope my baby girl grows up to be a hustla
Let her be a hustla, baby be a hustla
If not, then you’re only a customer

~The Roots, ‘Hustla’, How I Got Over (2009)

Alright all you sexy geeks and gangstas. I’ve got to throw out a little word of gratitude. Every single person who has read this blog or left your amazing and demented ideas in the comments, or even contributed ideas and stories for me to expound upon– you have been part of a very serious event, for which I am quite grateful. Let me ‘splain.

I started writing this blog shortly after leaving my career back in January, in order to stay home and care for a very sick little baby. I had just turned 30, I was fat from being pregnant, complete with saggy stomach skin that was challenging, DARING even, every pair of pants I owned to look normal. I was adjusting to staying at home, which I had never seen myself doing, and I was exhausted and an emotional wreck from my baby’s health scares, extended hospital stays, open heart surgery, and other issues. I was grieving the loss of my career, and my friends who I’d made as colleagues from across the country, because I wasn’t sure I would ever see them again. In short, I basically felt like I’d lost my life, myself, and it had all been replaced with bittersweet heartache.

Recently, Sugardaddy’s cousin had her kid in the hospital for four days with an infection. Seems like a short stay, but to a mother even one night is an eternity. This was also one event in a string of difficult health scares they’d had within the past 6 months. Now, I don’t know how many of you have kids, but if you don’t, I can’t really explain to you what they do to you. They basically take over your heart and soul. There’s no other way for me to explain it. They move in, settle all their shit all up in your soul, permanently occupying every cell in your body.

So I emailed her and just let her know that I was thinking about her, and if she needed to talk or get negative with someone, that’s my specialty. She asked how we’d done it. How had we coped with months and months of what she had recently gotten a small but very heavy and real taste of?

So I began to give that a lot of thought.  I’m not suggesting you do any of these things necessarily, but they worked for me, so farbeit for me to deny you the truth. I touched on a couple of these things a little bit back in February, in my post about how to settle the fuck down.

1) Own it. Get real with the fact that life fucking sucks today (or this week, month, year, etc.). Denial is not going to get you anywhere. Just own that shit.

2) Move your sexy ass. Now, crises in life can be paralyzing. I want to warn you of that if you haven’t experienced that before. It’s depression, really, but if you find yourself paralyzed, for the love of God GET UP AND MOVE! I don’t care if you walk in circles in your living room, just move. Do. Not. Stop. Moving. Which brings me to…

3) MEDICATE. I’m serious people. Get yourself some antidepressants, and please do not stop taking them. Just freakin’ take them. Hustle ’em up off the streets if you have to. Take that shit.

4) Drink. And I mean draaaaaank! Drink** yourself something that, to a degree, numbs the pain and fear in your sweet little soul.  **Please drink responsibly by not driving directly thereafter.

5) Lose yourself. What I mean by this is, do something occasionally that really lets you check out. My personal favorite is to go dancing with friends who make me feel good. But maybe you prefer reading or fishing or running. I’d do a lot of running when the baby was in the hospital. For some reason, it felt cleansing to go out and run so hard that it just hurt. Like I was purging pain from my heart and mind.

6) Fuck. If you don’t know already that sex makes you feel AMAZing, then I’m sorry for you. But it’s fucking science. It releases all kinds of endorphins and shit that make you feel so good that it keeps you coming back for more. Over and over and over… just do it. I don’t care who you fuck– mama ain’t here to judge. Just be safe and try to only fuck people who don’t leave you feeling like shit afterward. Let’s not perpetuate the hard times you are already experiencing.

7) Dump. And this is where all you mutherfuckers come in. This blog has been a really nice place for me to just dump all the shit in my head so I don’t have to carry it around inside all the time. And I think this has been a really important part of the processing that must be done when coping with crisis. It’s okay to get cynical, negative, sarcastic, etc. But find a place to deposit all that shit, and move on. You’re going to need to emerge from the place of pain you are in eventually.  I think that process gets stunted if you hold on to the negativity.

So I want to thank you all for basically being my garbage recepticals. Kisses!

Mama just got a job, so I don’t know how often I’ll be throwing shit up on this blog, but I always love good material to get stupid about, so feel free to send stuff my way at thiswaygeeks@gmail.com.

I love you assholes. Get in here, let’s hug it out!!!!

Just ’cause I walk with a limp like an old-school pimp don’t mean I’ll slap ya.

But If you wanna talk tough and you wanna puff up then I might just have ta.

But I didn’t come here to clock your mouth, I came here to rock the house.  – LMFAO, “We came here to party”

It’s a damn good thing Sugardaddy’s auntie made us a chocolate sheet cake that we put in the freezer when baby was in the hospital and I just found it. Desperate times call for desperate measures, and I ate that whole motherfucking sheet cake over the course of three days, assholes. That’s right. AND maintained my weight from a week ago. Eat it.  Sure, I feel like shit. But I felt like shit BEFORE I ate the sheet cake, so it doesn’t matter, right? Thank you.

Moving on… So what’s with people eating each others faces? Any takers? Dan Mitchell? Doodoomamajuju? I’m sure you have insight. I mean, I’m sure it’s been happening for thousands of years, but it’s just now getting publicity on the news and causing thousands of ignorant little crackas to freak out about zombies.

Another question I have for you is– how the fuck do I get hooked up with a bartending job??? That’s really what I want to do right now. And I’m pretty sure I could make some BANK doing that happiness. I LOVE getting people drunk and happy. To get PAID to do it? Genius.

Here is a list of skills and/or talents I have that I think might warrant someone paying me a full-time salary:

  • Touching my baby’s chubby leg-rolls.
  • Listening to 90’s rock.
  • Hair-flips with my luscious long black hair.
  • Putting on mascara. I’m really good at that.
  • Writing random phone numbers on parked car windows with lipstick.
  • Eating raw cookie dough.
  • Saying “Let’s get crunk!” to 15-year olds.
  • Picking out shoes I like.
  • Parking directly next to the cars parked way out in the weeds at the drive in.
  • Suggesting to douchey men that their fathers are probably really disappointed them. And then patting them on the back when they start crying in public.
  • Explaining awkward things to my 4-year-old in ways that might bring shame on my family.
  • Doing the robot.
  • Going up to Black people and touching their hair in that special creepy white-person sorta way.
  • Going to high-end boutiques in my mom-sweatpants and making the people there wait on me.
  • Speaking in a fake British accent.
  • Making fun of people who drive the BMW 300 series.
  • Eating nachos.

If you or someone you know is looking to hire someone with one or more of the above qualifications, by all means, let a hooker know.

If everything could ever feel this real forever.

Sleep deprivation does this to me.

Have you ever been like, working out, maybe doing some pushups or some variation of a plank, and just started crying? Because you were just that fucking exhausted because maybe your baby or something similar to that in your life won’t fucking sleep at night? But not just for one night, but for days and days on end?

Well if that happens, take a shower, because that apparently will help you make it through the rest of the day.

Oh and, a Foo Fighters documentary on VH1. Foo Fighters were one of my favorite rock bands in high school, and they take me to a very centered, familiar, happy place that few things sufficiently do.

Dave Grohl. I love you. Thank you. Goodnight.