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.


Pimpin’ ain’t dead cuz I be the lifeline.

Well it looks like someone found this blog by googling “Troi getting fucked”. I’m glad you all are paying attention to the blatant sexuality within Star Trek: Next Generation that I find just downright offensive.

You know, I had thought about writing something prior to the election, but I really just didn’t have the time for you sexy crackas. But now… now I do. And the amount of bullshit being spewed in your direction by the media has likely been cut in half which, like your vagina, leaves a nice wide margin for MY bullshit. You’re welcome, little grasshoppers.

It strikes me as funny that we as Americans are so keenly aware of our consumer culture, full with disgust by the Christmas shopping tramplings for $3 coffee makers and tickle-me-elmos, yet have a striking lack of self-awareness when it comes to our consumerism when it comes to politics. We’re the SAME MUTHAFUCKAS, people! The average person who falls for the marketing gimmick on Monday is the same person who votes on Tuesday. And we fall for the same bullshit. Like “Republicans hate women” and “Democrats hate babies”. Now, at the end of the day, it’s clear that certain political parties don’t seem to understand real economics, or actual structural racism (or solutions thereto, respectively), but this isn’t exactly what I’m talking about.

It’s clear to me that American political figures (and more so Presidential figures) act as the face of a brand. Each political party is trying to sell you something. It’s similar to the Bud Light commercial showing you a hot girl in a bikini drinking low-calorie beer. If you drink our beer, you will look like her, feel like her, have what she has. And we all know that’s a bunch of bullshit. But we still behave as though it’s true. So these political figures tell us some bullshit about what they will help us become as a nation. How we will be, what we will feel. Are you picking up what I’m laying down? They make you believe that they will make you richer, that the other will make you poorer, that they respect you, that the other wants to control you or love you and leave you.  That they will fix your family and strengthen all families for generations to come, while the other hates you and wants to destroy your freedom to love.

There are seeds of truth in all lies. That’s why they are so goddamn convincing.  I would like to challenge you to be smarter than this. Have some goddamn self-awareness.  Now that the election is over, maybe you will hear me… American politics is a marketing game just like any other.  Can you see through it?

There seems to be a fear of non-“Christian” elements coming into positions of power and influence in our country. As though the “Christian” elements have been so amazingly positive.  May I, for an instant, question this root assumption? We’ve got a fucking hot new senator from Hawaii that is Hindu, and a sweet mature honey from Hawaii that just won the senate seat, being the first Buddhist U.S. Senator.  That’s hot.  “I certainly believe in the precepts of Buddhism and that of tolerance of other religions and integrity and honesty,” she said when she first joined Congress (Huff Post Religion).  Wait wait wait…  Isn’t this what America was founded on??? Freedom of Religion??? Freedom from the European stronghold on what we believe and how we live that out??? God Bless America. Now we have strong, faithful Americans leading us… “us”… The diverse and varied people groups that stand on a thousand different traditions that fortify our identities and sense of self and family and community… ready and willing to dream and build a strong country that is built from the grassroots up. It spans the political and ethnic/racial spectrum. Please, be willing to look across the political and ethnic/racial aisles in America, and see someone who wants something as simple and pure as you do, and is willing to do their small part.

I am a Christian. I am a political moderate. I am a cynic. I am a feminist. I hate abortion. I am a rebel. I am an economist that understands the black market. And I am a marketer. Which means I understand the game, and I’m willing to play it. But my idea of winning may not be something that makes you very comfortable. And I don’t expect you to pander to my ideas so that we can be friends. That would be expecting bullshit, correct?

Religious cults are solid foundations for the bad bitches.

I never thought that when I met one of the baddest bitches I’ve ever known, she’d turn out to share the same religious cult experience that I did during childhood. It’s a smaller Lutheran group, which apparently has shaped our souls into twisted abysses of rainbows and magic. I find her’s to be of a happier nature, while mine goes in the cynical direction, mocking every damned thing around me in a loving way that always ends in a drunken hug.  But I see her humor as the Yin to my Yang, birthed from a religious experience that I think of as the weird auntie that smells like bratwurst and has greasy bad hair, wears too-tight stretch pants in persistent wedgie fashion, always just walking out the door and yelling to her kids to get inside to take the dog out because it just shat in the living room, the poo crusting to the carpet while the baby sits in her crib next to a jar of spaghetti sauce, because apparently that belongs in a baby crib.  All of that inbred love hidden and wrapped up in a tight-lipped, hosiery-wearing church lady that never smiles, the soft scent of moth balls wafting in the air…  These are the foundations of our faith.

That’s okay, right?

Okay good.  Now that we’ve gotten that out of the way, I would like to introduce you to K-Fedette, one of the baddest bitches in the United States of Amerrrrica.  While her creative genius brings you the following video, all you get from me is this fucking blog. …That simply posts her shit because I’m too lazy to come up with my own. It’s cool, I’m okay with it. Just makes me a PIMP.  I just don’t think I’ve ever seen such skill with flutes and hot pink jumpsuits.  Have I even lived until this moment?

Ri Ri Resurrection.

It has been a year of death, and it has been a year of fighting to live. For many people, all over the globe, and for my family.  I find peace in accepting death, participating in the struggle of life, and celebrating that messed up journey of pain and joy.  And I would never be able to make that journey alone.

Today I share with you:

~ Great use of garter belts

~ Big Mouth Billy Bass on the wall

~  Car spinouts

~ Razing buildings

~ Being honest with yourself when you do stupid stuff just because it feels good at the time. And then having the self-respect to admit that stupidity to yourself, and giving yourself the grace to move on.


Sugardaddy serves a tool his “Last Supper”.

If you got a gun up in your waist please don’t shoot up the place (why?)

Cause I see some ladies tonight who should be havin my baby… baby…

‘Big Poppa’, Notorious B.I.G. (1995)

Today went down in the books as the “Maundy Thursday Massacre”, round these parts.

No later than 9 a.m. this morning I get a call from the manfolk of the house. He rarely calls me from work because, while I care for two small children who I love deeply and birthed from my own womb, he cares for 3 semi-useful yet mostly-douchey supervisors and 60 craft employees backed by a union that may or may not enable them to act like children, for which they cannot be fired.

He is a better person than I, because he seems to be able to productively manage the generally high level of bullshit he gets dished every single day, while working within the confines of these union contracts and the limited mental capacity of his management staff, who make it a point to fuck up all kinds of shit every single day, leaving Sugardaddy to clean up the mess. I’d just fight a ho. That’s just my style. But all of this makes very clear why he happens to be such a sweet and patient husband. This is just now dawning on me…

Anyways.  So he calls me this morning while the little people are still eating breakfast and I’m doing the dishes in my underwears, so I ask “What’s goin on?”  I thought for a moment I was wearing some kind of sexy lingerie after what I heard next.  “I just wanted to talk to someone who isn’t a complete fuck-up.”  What did I do to deserve such a compliment, you ask?  Someone’s gon get some tonight, beeeitches! Talk that romantic talk, Sugar. Mama like.

So he goes on to tell me of the bullshit disaster he walked into this morning because his 3 tool supervisors can’t tell their asses from the donuts they’re shoving into their faces.  When I excitedly asked if he was going to fire someone (I love that shit, I really do. I mean, I get hot from people getting fired), he said no, but he was going to tell one of them to pack up his shit and get the fuck out, because he wasn’t coming back to work at that station.

I wished him a happy Maundy Thursday.  He replied, “You bet your ass it is, because that guy just got his last supper from this place.”

Which brings me to my point: May the love of your lord and savior Jesus Christ bring you the peace that surpasses all understanding this weekend, as we remember his death and resurrection. Also, mayhap things would be a little better if we laid down our guns, and found some sexy ho to make love to, no?  Let the wisdom of Biggie Smalls rest in your hearts and minds this Easter weekend.

Emo haircuts suck, but this seems extreme.

If the ‘Hunger Games taught me anything, it’s that I continue to be right.  And not in the “let’s round up some poor kids and watch them kill each other gladiator-style because that’s a great idea” kind of way. The story uses a beautiful young girl to preach democratic capitalism vs. communist socialism vs. fascist totalitarianism (and if the author didn’t mean to do that, then she’s just a fucking genius, God bless her).  It’s a tale of power dynamics that leaves no one unscathed. Just like the real world!!!  Katniss, the main character who walks us through this circus of metaphoric political-economic reality (who just so happens to be a stunning and ballsy young adolescent girl), goes ahead and fucks everyone’s shit up. It’s better than Comparative Politics 101, this shit.

What I’d like to do for you today, folks, is give you an opportunity to live out the ‘Hunger Games’ real world style, via select daily news items.

District 13 in the HG is the post-revolution secret society, hiding away and amassing large amounts of man-power, weaponry, and technology. In order to achieve these advancements, they control everything.  They ration every fucking thing, make everyone wear gray, no one gets to express themselves apart from the group. The individual means very little apart from its role in the greater community. It’s a well-oiled machine of efficiency that exists for one purpose– to overthrow the Capitol, and all its overly-materialistic plastic-surgery-deformed socialites. Flashes of Nazi Germany, North Korea and South Korea, the U.S., Cuba and South Africa all float through my mind.  Apparently this shit happens when a stronger society holds more political-economic power and leaves the weaker to starve.  But so often the charismatic leaders who rise up and rally the group are a dark, dark sort… convincing normal, well-meaning folks that their fucked up views are normal and worth adopting as cultural norms. Hmmmm… which event of the day brings this story to the “Real Life” party?  Oh god, so many to choose from…

How about the Iraqi kids who got stoned for their “Emo” haircuts?  Ninety Iraqi kids were stoned to death by extremists, justified in their minds by the Iraqi Moral Police’s charge to “eliminate” this Western “emo phenomenon” among Iraqi youth. These extremists got this idea (“somewhere”) that it’s okay to just go around and kill anything that smells of “devil worship” (or kids who just have bad haircuts, or are gay, no big deal).  ‘“First they throw concrete blocks at the boy’s arms, then at his legs, then the final blow is to his head, and if he is not dead then, they start all over again,” one person who managed to escape told Al-Akhbar.’  Smells a little like pages taken from world history…violently persecuting people for merely existing… gay people, Black people, Irish people, Jewish people, Japanese people, Vietnamese people, Mexican people, Cuban people, Haitian people, transgendered people, Tribal people, Native people, Mormons, virgins, sexually promiscuous, Catholics, Protestants, Orthodox, Muslims, Persians, Arabs, Turks, everyone, everyone seems to have had a go of getting massacred because of who they ARE. God forbid they engage in any level of creative expression.

Sugardaddy has suggested that this sort of anger is due largely to suppressed homosexuality. Hitler sex fetishes? Saddam Hussein sex fetishes? Osama bin Laden porn vault? Really? That billionaire couldn’t find someone to make sexy with? Or was it so frowned upon that he had to wall off in a porn vault, while millions of his followers blow up people because they hate “the West”? (i.e. Free and democratic society.)  My microeconomics professor in college was a Russian official who defected from the Soviet Union all James-Bond-style, and made it to the U.S.  He described communism as a monopoly of the mind, painting a picture of Stalin’s terrorizing people by giving no rhyme or reason to his murdering. It was control by fear.

I’m not trying to offer up any answers to the question of “Why are people so fucked up?”  But I am suggesting that Katniss had a good reason for throwing up in her mouth a little when faced with the spectrum of political-economic options.  All of them carry downsides, some more than others, and we all as individuals have a responsibility to do our part to make this world a better place. That was what Katniss realized.  She couldn’t do everything. But she knew what few gifts she had to offer, and she capitalized on opportunities to impact her world with those few gifts.

Now, my goal here isn’t to depress all my lovely crackas with all this blatant realism.  This little ditty ends with my friends Dick and Henry.  Henry was a hilarious, rich old man who sounded like Moe from the Simpsons. Henry died last week.  But he knew Love. And he loved with the passion and energy of a child. It transformed everyone around him. Henry belonged to one of the two delightful American political parties.  Then you have Dick, a melancholic middle-aged man who thinks he looks like Russell Crowe (although I’m really not seeing that shit) and runs a NGO that cares for the poorest of the poor in our world.  He belongs to the other of the two American political parties.  Dick has an uncanny understanding of Grace. Dick says that showing someone grace doesn’t always look like the nicest thing, but its what they need from you, given from a place of love. In other words, it’s healthy love– love with boundaries. These two, together, loved each other and loved people, and joined forces to transform people and communities. It is possible to accomplish big things with people who are different than you.

I may make fun of all the weird shit I notice in this world, but that’s the point– its all fun and games until people start fucking killing each other, or even denying the other’s right to be dumb and fucked up. The fat ex-Wiccan? He’s my friend. And he knows I love him. And I’m not trying to fucking kill him. And he laughs at me for the weird shit I do. And we’re part of a larger religious community that chooses a transforming Love, because that makes some fucking sense to us. And that Love may look the same as the Love that others choose, called by a different name, because that makes fucking sense to them as well. That’s great. Maybe we can get a beer.

Or not. Whatever. But you can count on getting the Love ’round here. With a healthy dose of boundaries. Like when you start acting like an asshole in line at the airport, I’m GONNA tell you to settle the fuck down.

Hail Snooki, full of grace, the Lord is with thee.

I come today with an encouraging word for my catholic brothers and sisters.

Firstly, God bless you.

Secondly, in the midst of political and religious tension relating to the provision of contraception to my catholic sluts everywhere, and in a bold statement of faith and religious fervor, Nicole “Snooki” Polizzi is pregnant with the Messiah’s second coming (blessed be the fruit of her womb).  Snooki, being a pure catholic woman, is preparing for this virgin birth with her fiance, Jionni LaValle (let’s just call him “Joseph” for short). Joseph, who plans to marry Snooki rather than have her stoned according to tradition, will help raise this virgin-birth Messiah, and says “We are not going to screw this up.”  Well I sure as fuck hope not, Joseph. There are an assload of catholics in America who are fighting hard to restrict women’s access to contraception, in order to protect the Holy Spirit’s ability to make babies where it wants to. If any of us find out you impregnated Snooki with this holy child, thereby usurping the Holy Spirit’s power and authority, ER’body in the club gettin’ tips! And then your ass is getting excommunicated, beeitch.

And if I know the catholic church and Mel Gibson at all, staying classy is at the top of the priority list for its followers.  Snooki has decided to take her new role as a virgin mother seriously. “I’m not living in that [Jersey Shore] house being pregnant. I don’t want to be one of those moms who’s pregnant in a club. It’s disgusting.” Praise Jesus and the saints.

Daily Mail reports ‘Asked what her first thought was after finding out she was pregnant, Snook replied: “S**t, I’ve been drinking!  I was worried. It was New Year’s Eve and we were in Vegas, so I did go crazy.”‘ By “crazy” she means they snuggled closely to one another at Sapphire Strip  Club while Joseph got a lap dance, as they read the sexy and pro-contraception book of Song of Solomon from the Holy Scriptures. The Huffington Post reports that “the book positively depicts a couple pursuing a love that is not approved by society. It begins with the woman wishing that the man would ‘kiss me with the kisses of his mouth,’ and soon she is inviting him to her bed of spices. The lovers do not live together, but instead must meet outdoors (e.g. 1:17) or in a parent’s bedroom (3:4; 8:2).”  Or in this case, the Sapphire Strip Club. Interestingly, I’ve never heard of chlamydia referred to as a “spice”, but whatever. I try to be an open-minded person when it comes to the sexual appetites of others.