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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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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Cracka rap needs more ass.

The Food & Wine Hedonist recently asked me to write a music piece for his blog.  GO READ THAT SHIT. It’s about the white parent raps that go viral and annoy the shit out of everyone. BOOM!

CLICK HERE for some food and wine hedonism, sprinkled with commentary from yours truly about how people should eat shit.

How can I get my filthy hands on a dwarf?

I’m with my in-laws and I’m horny.

Back up.

It was Christmas day and I’m watching a movie with my in-laws.  “The Station Agent”.  With Peter Dinklage. You might know him as Tyrion Lannister from the Game of Thrones series on HBO.  He plays the dwarf. (Because he is a dwarf).

The dwarf makes me hot.  I would let Peter put his Dinklage in my pachinko.

peter dinklage2Now, don’t get me wrong, I don’t have anything against dwarves. I’ve just never had the opportunity to feel compelled.  Do we as a society hide them? It can’t possibly be that I’m not seeing them because they’re small. I notice children, for instance, all the time. Maybe it’s because the children are loud…  Maybe someone can help me further understand any societal discrimination as it relates to dwarves. It’s a topic I’m unfamiliar with.

But what I do know is that, when it comes to swagger, Peter erases any doubt in my mind that we would have nothing short of a fucking FABULOUS time together. He even has a nice voice, which makes my panties drop.  I mean, just look at those sexy forearms.

I think it helped that I am familiar with him as the badass, super-strategic Tyrion Lannister because, in “The Station Agent”, he plays this lonely emo character. And ya’ll know how much of a turnoff that emo shit is to this bitch. I usually just want to tell people to put on their big girl panties and take life by the balls. If you gotta lick those balls every once in a while to get what you want, then goddamnit lick the balls.  Ain’t no other way to live.  But he has his reasons, and he also grows and develops as a character, so it didn’t detract from his sexy dwarf hotness.  And it was a great movie.

The only thing I regret about the experience was finding myself on the floor, playing with the toddler, in-laws to my left and my right, knowing there was absolutely no relief in sight for my poor vagina.

I get sad when I see princesses that are ugly.

I realized this when I saw a picture of Princess Beatrice this week. I’m sorry Princess Beatrice. I’m sure you have a stellar personality.

I’ve been waiting for FIVE FUCKING YEARS to congratulate Katie Holmes for leaving Tom Cruise’s crazy ass. That stupid bitch made me wait longer than I thought! Turns out there was a contract or something. And *gasp!!!!* apparently scientology was partly responsible for the split. Um who didn’t see THAT coming???  Pfffffft.

Well, Katie, as an old married woman to a younger, less mature married (soon to be divorced) woman, I have some advice for you. After so many years, it can be a little rough getting back into the dating scene. You see a hot guy in a steaming hot parking lot, and all of a sudden your panties are wet and you get arrested for dry humping someone because it “wasn’t consentual”. (Although we all know that if he didn’t want my crotch on his leg, he wouldn’t have worn that old t-shirt and those perfect jeans. That slut.)  There are a whole lot of things you shouldn’t say to a man (or woman) upon this all-too-exciting reentry. Because you’ll get fucking arrested, Katie! I know they didn’t have restraining orders in Dawson’s Creek OR in the church of scientology, but this is the fucking real world, bitch.

Don’t say this shit:

“I wanna use your face like a thigh master.”

“What does a girl need to do to get you and your friend to Eiffel tower this bitch?”

“I wantchu to wear me like a mask.”

“It’s the end of the world and my pussy’s your only salvation.”

“I’d like to wrap my legs around your waist/head.”

“There’s a fire in my uterus and the only thing that can tame these flames is your semen.”

“My throat’s sore. I hear semen is good for that.”

“I can’t get pregnant from anal.”

“I want your penis in my vagina.”- (actually have used this one, then we got married!)

“Have you ever had a tuna taco?”

“Please put your coin purse on my crotch pocket.”

“My vagina would look awesome on your penis.”

“My lady balls would like to meet your man balls.”

“You’re getting my lady dick hard.”

“You’re making my lady balls tingle.”

“Hide your chocolate bunny in my Cadbury. I want the cream all over my face.”

“My nipples are hard, wanna feel?”

“No really, feel how hard my nips are. They could cut glass.”

“These are real, wanna feel? You need to feel with your mouth, that’s how you know for sure.”

“My clitoris would look good in your nostril.”

“Our lady balls should scissor.”

…………You’re welcome.

A special thanks goes out to doodoomamajuju and ‘trickdaddy for their contributions to this post. May the Lord bless you and keep you. May his face shine upon you and bla bla bla you know the rest.

What happens at RiversEdgeMusicFestival stays at RiversEdgeMusicFestival (and on the internet…forever).

Fuckin’ awesome weekend with my sister-in-law (known in blog-land as doodoomamajuju, or “Ju” for short) at the Rivers Edge Music Festival in St. Paul, Minnesota. First off, let it be said that she’s one badass sexy muthafucka. Ju, that is. And she was one of maybe six non-whities at the festival. Making her the sacrificial lamb of the Asian community of the greater Midwest. On more than one occasion I thought to myself, “White people at concerts. What the fuck?”  What is it with white people not wearing shoes at concerts? That’s so fuckin’ nast. The array of white shame thrust in my face was incalculable. Dear guy with the t-shirt with cutoff sleeves that said “it ain’t gonna lick itself”, we all know you have never seen a vagina. And you likely never will.

I also got to meet Satan this weekend. He’s no where near as intimidating as I expected him to be. He really just wanted to enjoy the Flaming Lips. Who put on a DAMN GOOD show, by the way. Even Satan was pleased. Look how he’s been inspired to share his water with his neighbor. That’s downright Christ-like.

May I be so bold as to offer up some fashion advice for all you sexy crackas that frequent summer concerts and music festivals? Please stop wearing fucking fedoras. That shit is not cool. The ONLY person in the land of the free that should EVER wear a fedora is THIS guy. No one else. Please stop wearing them.  Also, the only–and I mean the ONLY–person who can wear boat shoes and not look like a total douchebag is Sugardaddy. And that’s because he’s a serious geek and doesn’t try to be lookin’ all “boss” in fuckin boat shoes. Hooker please. Best t-shirt award goes to this guy, wearing the Vanilla Ice t-shirt. Well done, sir, for also not looking like a pretentious asshole at today’s show. You are one of the few, and you did well. With your “I don’t give a shit” attitude–if you act swiftly and strategically– you may just see a vagina at some point in your lifetime.  You know who else might get to see a vagina one day? This dude with the faux-hawk and amazing mustache, who was so kind as to have his picture taken with Ju. He stood mext to us the night before at the Tool concert, and his mustache was like a bright star in a sea of fashion darkness. Especially when a dirty little shirtless white dude with “dreads” pushed up behind me and started getting all up on my shit. We will call him Edgar, because he had a tramp stamp on his back that literally said “Edgar”. Either that’s his name and he tattooed it there so that the nameless stranger who would bend him over that night would know what name to call out, or that’s the name of the person who owns him, and has branded his name where he can see it when he’s making him his little bitch. Either way, to me, the bitch who yelled at him, he will forever be Edgar. Another little piece of advice… if you are at a Puscifer concert, leave your flowery parasol at home. Just a suggestion.

Also, may I wax a little bit on the whole VIP deal? Now, I understand that you have to pay a LOT more to be a VIP. So, unless you get something substantial out of that deal (which in this case you did not), you will only look like a huge fuckface by standing in the VIP cage… directly next to everyone else… as we roam freely on the less than crowded concert grounds.  I’m not kidding, you look like fucking tools.  So, it could not have been for any other reason than to punish you by drawing attention to this douchery, that this woman decided to hula hoop like a damned fairy in the middle of the VIP cage.  Oh, and 19-year-old girl sitting forlornly like a scorn hipster against the inside of the VIP cage wall, smoking a cigarette like fuckin’ Johnny Depp, I’m sorry that your parents decided to cut you off and force you to grow up and pay for your own shit like the rest of society… like VIP tickets to this music festival. Here, let me buy your poor entitled ass a beer. Oh wait, you’re 19. That’s not legal. Here, here’s a double-shot-no-fat-vanilla-latte. No whip. (*get a job*).

Ooooooooooooh wait a minute….!!! So THAT’S why you would buy VIP tickets to sit in that pathetic little cage. To stay away from THESE guys. The goth emo muthafuckas who love to feel the depth of emotion from the music, the trees, the earth, the sky, and from each other’s rarely washed bodies. HOURS later, we walked past them laying on their blanket, legs intertwined and arms around each other, listening to Flaming Lips. I’m sure they are still there, three days later. Because these guys would do some dramatic shit like that.

Douchebag Award goes to this guy with the ankle tattoo, wearing a polo from Abercrombie or American Eagle or some shit like that, sitting alone on a blanket he brought from his mommy’s house, smoking a cigar with his one little douchey knee up in the air. You, my love… I want to destroy you.

A very special “Thank you”  goes to Steve, the frizzy red-haired corn-rowed hippie from Minot, North Dakota, for sharing the Mike’s Hard Lemonade on a hot summer night, thereby keeping Ju nicely sloshed during the Tool show while she watched the love of her life Maynard James Keenan serenade her. Also, special thanks to the two large dudes (aka “Johnny Knoxville” and “Bouncer”) who cleared a path toward the front for us ladies at the Puscifer show.  You really deserve a little boobie flash from us, but you’re not going to get it. Thank you for your grace and sacrifice.

Guilty pleasures. Or, reasons I’ll likely burn in hell.

The hottest ho I know (we’ll call her “The Destroyer”) asked me to blog my guilty pleasures.  And when The Destroyer asks a question, mama answers.  Plus, what better way to kick off the 2012 holiday season of “Warmth in the Arctic Circle” (WAC), than by telling you the dark things that make me happy?  Once I started making my long and dirty list, I started asking my shady friends what their guilty pleasures were… some are listed here, but I won’t say which ones are mine and which ones belong to those sluts. We gotta keep it interesting.  I would like to begin by asking sweet little baby Jesus to forgive himself for the way he created us.

People falling down.

People falling down is funny, so long as they don’t hurt themselves (I’m not that much of a dick). I almost ended my marriage once because I laughed my ass off when Sugardaddy slipped and fell at his office after hours and, unfortunately for him, I was there to witness it in all its glory.

Fights that include bitch slaps

This doesn’t need much explaining. It just makes me happy.

Booze

Like a cold beer on a hot summer day, or after I play sand-volleyball. Or before. Or during. Or right after I have a baby. I’m talkin’ like, the doctor hands me the slimey little baby in one hand, and some nameless bastard (or my husband) hands me a cold beer in the other. You have to ignore the dirty looks you get from the hospital staff. They’re just jealous because you’re drinking and they’re not.

Fashion Magazines

I know… I’m supposed to hate these things. That’s what the 2nd wave feminists told me. Luckily, I’m like a 3rd or 4th wave feminist (if there is one, I don’t fuggin’ know). So I like things that look pretty. Including women and their clothing and accessories. Specifically, shoes and purses, blue jeans, hairstyles, hairstyling tips, fitness motivation, and makeup art.  Maybe I have a hard time actually applying this crap to my life, but I like to read about it. I think of it as a time-out from real life, where I often sport workout items, not so much because I work out all the time, but because they’re stretchy.  I also enjoy Esquire magazine. The writers are funny, and they always feature curvy women. I’m thinking about contacting them to have them permanently airbrush me. That’s how it works, right?

Sexting

If you haven’t tried it, maybe you should.  I’m listing this as a guilty pleasure because sexting gets such a bad rap. If your sex life isn’t enhanced in even the slightest degree by sexting, then maybe you’ve got some bigger problems on your hands. Just sayin’.

E! Entertainment Television

I could sit on a sofa and watch that train wreck all day. I like watching pretty people who shop all day, especially when their lives occasionally completely disintegrate before the eyes of the entire world. Then I remember they’re real people, and I just sink into an existential stupor, contemplating the meaning of life, the dire struggle of so many people around the world with access to next to nothing that they need to survive, and which celebrity’s Prada bag I liked the most. It’s okay though, because I’m drunk when this happens. Which leads me to…

Britney Spears

So what if I like a little post-apocalyptic orgy action, taking place to a catchy pop song? We were also born just nine days apart, so I’m fairly certain that we have some sort of psychic connection. It explains her nervous breakdown a few years back. I would’ve come forward and taken responsibility for that, but I know she likes all that attention. You’re welcome, Britney.

Fist fights

If you are crazy-sexy-hot, dirty, sweaty, and not wearing a shirt, I wouldn’t mind seeing you engage in a fist fight with another man. Email me if you are interested in an audition (thiswaygeeks@gmail.com). The closer it looks to this scene from Sherlock Holmes, the better.

Watching people squirm

Like telling your racist homophobic step-grandmother who hates your family that her grandson is gay and in a committed relationship with a black man. Or telling your husband about the dirty things your in-laws likely do to each other. Pure joy.

Smoking cigars

It’s bad for you, the whole mouth and throat cancer thing… but the taste of a cigar and a stiff drink on the lips of an attractive man makes mama want some.  Which leads me to…

Masturbating during the kid’s nap time

Nobody, not even Chuck Norris himself, can get my two small children to nap at the same time. So I don’t even need to explain that this one isn’t mine, but I’m jealous as hell of that crazy slut. Anyone who is awarded this kind of leisure time is my idol. Teach me, master.

Sunbathing

Apparently this is a big no-no, but mama likes. Warmth, Vitamin D, my skin moving from pastey blue to simply pastey, ignoring my 4-year old while she plays dangerously close to the water… these are all good things.

White girl privilege

While this one has its many downsides (like the fact that it is even a social reality), it’s one that I’ve intentionally used multiple times to get what I want.  Like when I was 18 and living in a semi-racist town, and my friend Kerry (who is also a white girl) and I crawled into the back of my buddy’s pickup truck to scare him as he started driving away, and then he swerved all the way down my street to get back at us, and then got pulled over by a cop on a motorcycle as he pulled into my dad’s driveway.  Kerry and I stopped just shy of taking our shirts off for that guy to keep my friend from getting a ticket, but he was putty in our hands. I’ve always wondered if he realized what a tool he was as he drove away on his little cop motorcycle. Oh well– mission accomplished.

Touching and sniffing soft leather products with no intention of buying them

It’s soft and it smells good, and it’s expensive. You understand…

Flirting with old men or hot guys just to know you’ve still got it

If you have two kids and stretch marks, you understand.  A girl just needs to feel desired sometimes.  And, old men’s equipment may not work anymore, but their minds are still as dirty as ever. Sometimes they need an extended hug. Be a good neighbor!