Don’t poop on me: A Universal rule in sex and other life scenarios.

Tonight I get home from running an errand for a friend, and Sugardaddy’s watching Star Trek: Next Generation. Again. Guess who’s NOT getting laid tonight. This bitch.

But let me break this scene down for you.  The episode involves Deanna Troi (the notorious “hot” chick on the Starship Enterprise’s crew) and her mother, who are of an alien species that can sense other’s thoughts and feelings and, I don’t know, have a lot of sex and go to weddings naked, and other stupid geek porn fantasies like that. Now, if you’ve ever watched this show, you’ll know that Deanna Troi’s mom is a serious fucking slut. She’ll reappear every now and again and try to get a VIP pass to party with Captain Picard’s trouser snake. Cap’n ain’t havin’ any of that shriveled slut’s diseased shit. (He’s classy like that… all French with a British accent and shit).  So a good portion of this particular episode involves watching old-mom-slut try to fuck like three different dudes on the starship.

Then …THEN…, Sugardaddy turns to me and says “You know what I like about the Fresh Beat Band*? That dark-haired chick? She kinda resembles Deanna Troy. Yeeeeeeah.”

Fuck my life.

And this is where I’d like to point out that some shit just shouldn’t happen.

There is a point, ladies and gentlemen, with many MANY things in life, where we as a society surpass the limits at which we need to FUCKING STOP. I’m talking about sex, I’m talking about politics, I’m talking about the small window I get into the imagery that may or may not go through my nerdy husband’s head as he makes marital relations to yours truly. And you know, it makes the throw-up come up into my mouth. It really does.

May I advise you of some things? All ya’ll dudes out there who watch porn and think that you are now pornstars and can do weird porn shit? Please read THIS link.  Now, I am going to blow up your brains at a later date with information on how to please your woman. But that right there needs to be mass distributed.

Now. My people. My fellow Americans. Democrats, Republicans, Moderates, “Independents” (whatever the fuck that means), Libertarians, Socialists and Fascists… lend me your ears, little lambs. Shhhhhhhhhh gather ’round. Are you listening? Please stop being so fucking stupid. I’m serious, just stop.

Let me tell you about a little thing called “mutual masturbation.” Can you say those words? Muuuuutual. Maaastuuurbaaation. This is when two or more people do or say things that make themselves and/or the other feel good, affirmed, validated, excited, ecstatic, hot, turned on… the list goes on. The point I need to make about mutual masturbation, and why it’s relevant here, is that it’s NOT REAL. Nothing is being PENETRATED. It is not real intercourse. It is not real fucking. There’s no. mutherfuckin. penetration, people. And this is where things can get a little… off course. Because it is at this exact point that leads me to ask: “What exactly is getting you off right now?” Because if you just think and talk about hopeful shit that sounds like the magical fucking land of Oz and spank yourself until you cum in your own hand, that don’t mean shit to anyone but you. And if it’s the actual act of pooping on someone that is hot to you, you need to fucking get therapy, or get the fuck out!

So when you’re watching the political conventions, Fox News, CNN, or listening to NPR, watching Meet the [fucking] Press on Sunday mornings, or reading something from Focus on the [fucking] Family, may I suggest that what you really like about it is not actually real? It’s someone telling you something that makes you feel good, logical, or right in your convictions, and it has just enough reality tied to it that it makes you believe it’s the real shit. But it’s not. It’s not the real shit. Like when you tell me you aren’t racist, sexist, classist, elitist on SOME level deep down, intentional or unintentional. Go fuck yourself. Because if you haven’t come to terms with the fact that life is complicated, messy, lacking easy answers and solutions, then I’m not totally convinced you’ve really experienced people. People who are in your life, your community, your planet. Those people? They want to climax too, asshole. They want to feel their bodies exploding in ecstasy, just like the next guy. Because at the end of the day, if you’re not doing something real, participating in something real, if you’re NOT penetrating something, you’re just masturbating. And the only person getting off is you.

*For all of you childless readers, Fresh Beat Band is a children’s show on Nick Jr. that makes me want to kill myself.

We got tom-toms over here bigger than a monsta.

“But I take a left and leave ’em hangin’ like a teste.” – Nicki Minaj, ‘My Chick Bad’ by Ludacris

You knew it was only a matter of time before something threw that special little happy place I was in for a couple of weeks straight into the commode of cynical frustration with the world.  It’s just how things are. It’s nature. It’s science.  So now I blog to you MFer(s). (You’re welcome, K-Money.)

After a little hiatus from workin’ for a living, in order to nurture some lil’ babies (you know, chewing their food and spitting it into their open mouths like a little bird), I’m having to look for a job in a fucking awful job market. Luckily I have semi-decent bazungas. You gotta pay for these titties, aight? Or at least pay my baby-sitter.  The upside to today’s job search was 2 extra hours of being kid-free, leaving me sitting here writing this bullshit, eating a leftover piece of my 4-year-old’s birthday cake, and sipping on a Bud Light “lime” beer, but the kind with less alcohol content because that’s all they sell in grocery stores in the arctic circle, and I was too lazy to go to an actual licka sto. The situation is that sad. Yet I’m strangely happy.

There are two main ways that I effectively deal with anxiety– 1) running, and 2) drinking… well, now that I no longer compulsively eat to drown out the pain…maybe I’ll write about that sometime.  The happy juice was my method of choice for about the first 3 months of 2012… and quite frankly, since July of 2011.  But there comes a time, boys and girls, when you look down at your love-handles and realize they’ve expanded beyond what can legitimately be considered love-handles. When they become too big to hold onto, for instance… they’re not “handles”.  So on March 22, I decided it was time to stop literally pouring cheap wine down my throat every night, and to begin the slow process of purging my body of toxins and rarely used stores of energy (i.e. “fat”). I began eating better, and exercising every single fucking day.

Believe me it was a good choice, and here’s why.  When you run, or do any sort of cardio exercise as far as I’m aware, your brain releases seratonin, a happy little neurotransmitter that makes you feel all squishy and satisfied (low levels of which cause depression). Chocolate does the same thing, but with alternate results to running, I’m afraid. Figure it out.  Your body also begins to release endorphins after 30 minutes, which minimizes your brain registering pain (praise the Lord Jesus!), and give you a feeling of euphoria.  This euphoria… this is a good thing. Sometimes situations in life leave me feeling so shitty and out of sync with the universe that running is the only thing I can do to make things right in my head.

Now, mama can’t rightly attempt this daily feat on her own, no sir. Mama needs some purty lil’ children to serenade me down the path toward what Sugardaddy and I jokingly call “beach-ready hard body”.  These sweet sweet voices… they go by the names of Nicki Minaj, Ludacris, Nirvana, Metric, Jay-Z, and Filter.  Some songs offer up a good tempo, other songs are energetic, but these speak truth right when you need it. And running is very much a mental game. If you’re thinking thoughts like “I can’t do this anymore”, you literally will not be able to do it anymore. If you imagine little lego guys rebuilding the muscles in your legs, and visualize your lungs opening wider so you can get that oxygen you feel short on, that shit’s gonna happen.  The songs below speak truth or power that put the right things in my head, all at just the right time, like sweet little angels in my ears.  And I find that running isn’t too different from life in general. The mental approach you take can greatly influence your actions and the way you perceive reality. Make sure your self-fulfilling prophecy is a good one, friend.

So I offer these up to you as a gift, with the hope that you will also experience this euphoria. It’s just good shit.  And somehow, after the two-hour long hard cry I had at the shock and horror I felt when I found out I needed to go get a job, I was able to promptly get on with it. Somehow, through running, I think I’ve managed to reverse some of the self-inflicted brain damage that may have occurred during my binge-drinking months as I was coping with my little baby’s close blows with death and the resulting halt of my career.

Here is my homage to the wind beneath my feet. You can go to the full playlist and listen to the songs HERE if you’d like. You’ll find more than what’s described below. What are the songs that help you live life better?

Did it on ’em by Nick Minaj. This song is probably what I’d consider my theme song for motivation, and gives me a sense of power over anything that gets in my way.

Notable lyric: “If I had a dick, I would pull it out and piss on ’em. Let let let let let let let let let let me shake it off.”

Hustle Rose by Metric. Emily Haines soft sweet voice will calm you during the moments that you need to calm your breathing and focus, slowing your pace to recover a little. But this beautiful song slowly progresses to get you back into a strong and steady place. The shift into awesomeness happens at 3:25, and you’ll be well on your way to another strong tempo.

Notable lyric: “If you’re looking for something life-like in this sardine nightclub… If every surface you touch is cold, never go home… You could throw me a bone, if I get too close you wake me up, remind me…”

Dirt Off Your Shoulder by Jay-Z. It’s easy to just get down on yourself when you’re running. There are too many times when you feel tired, weak, sore. You have to mentally push past that. And Jay-Z will help you with that, crackas. He’s like the coach telling you to keep going when you want to stop.

Notable lyric: “If you feelin’ like a pimp n***as, go’n brush your shoulders off. Ladies is pimp too, go’n brush your shoulders off… You gotta get that dirt off your shoulder.”

You Know You’re Right by Nirvana. This is another good song to get you to refocus at its beginning, especially if you’re at a really tough part of the run, and then Kurt Cobain starts pleading with you in his raspy voice to remember that you’re okay, because it sounds like he’s saying “you know you’re alright“. And I need that reminder. Thank you, Kurt.

My Chick Bad by Ludacris feat. Nicki Minaj.  Ludacris is one of my favorites. In this song, he’ll tell you how great you are, and how he wants to buy you Louis Viutton shoes and stuff.  Sometimes a girl just needs to hear how great she is.

Notable lyric: “My chick do stuff that your chick wish she could… Trash talk to ’em, then I put ’em in a hefty.”

My Chick Bad Remix (“Pussy Rules the World version) by Ludacris feat. Diamond, Trina, Eve. Again, this song just tells me how amazing I am as I embarassingly chug down the street.

Notable lyric: “I got swagga on the hund-ed, thousand, trillion… Now that’s what I’m all about, I’m the baddest… Still the Eve of Destruction, still pushing buttons that’ll do away the roof… So put your diamond rings on and get yourself a hustla.”

Let’s get loud: Female beauty of all flavors.

New post over at BIG TOUCH >>> (Go there now!!!)

Ladies, let’s explain sexuality to the world (so they hear us).

Beauty has been defined for us as women, of all races and ethnicities.  Here are some voices contributing to reclaiming sexuality and beauty.  Raise your voices, friends.

Take me to BIG TOUCH. 

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.

Enjoy.

Apparently, global warming isn’t caused by my hotness.

Which I find fucking hard to believe, but whatever.

The narcissistic folks who decided humans were responsible for the earth’s climate behavior– good, bad or otherwise– are getting their filthy little hands slapped by none other than… themselves.  The United Nations Intergovernmental Panel on Climate Change (IPCC) Special Report on Extremes, released March 28, reads, “There is medium evidence and high agreement that long-term trends in normalized [property] losses have not been attributed to natural or anthropogenic climate change.”

Awwwwwwwww shnap the EPA is gon be peeeeissed!  Not that I care. If the good African folks fighting for their lives against malaria were any of the greedy little mutherfuckers in the EPA or the U.N., DDT would have never been outlawed. Racist bastards. Let them feel “uncomfortable” for a minute.

But regardless of all those shenanigans, even if my hot body didn’t cause global warming, it can still throw a whole row of semi-trailers around, like this Texas tornado did today.

That dick Bambi just won this mother’s gratitude.

It’s springtime, and birds are getting their freak on!  Meanwhile, I got caught up watching Bambi with my daughter this morning.

I’ve never liked the movie Bambi, and after watching it again this morning, I know why. It’s just boring. It lacks any imagination whatsoever.  I couldn’t even find any of the good ol’ racist character depictions that Disney cartoons are so known for. See if any of this shit sounds familiar:

Bambi is a baby deer who, directly upon his mom dying from a gunshot wound, learns what sex is, and swears a life of bachelorhood to his fellow adolescent friends.  Several years later he sees a sexy bitch, fights a ho to win her over, wins the girl, bangs that girl, and pops out a couple little baby deer of his own. The movie ends with Bambi (who should really consider changing his name now that he’s an adult) winning the approval of his father.

I’m sorry, I almost fell asleep typing that.  The only thing I found slightly intriguing in the story was the fact that Bambi learned about sex from the crazy old owl in the neighborhood. Does anyone else find that creepy?  I guess life was different in the 1940’s.  All the “older brother” types were off fighting World War II.  But lucky for me, I no longer need to have the sex talk with my 4-year-old. Done. I’ve got no problem with my kid learning about sex from a crazy old man.  Along with the invaluable lesson that sex is the answer to your depressing moments in life. Like when your mom dies.

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.