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.”

Until the quiet comes.

Flying Lotus – Until The Quiet Comes [short film, dir. Kahlil Joseph]

Featured Songs (in order of appearance):
“See Thru To U” (feat. Erykah Badu)
“Hunger” (feat. Niki Randa)
“Getting There” (feat. Niki Randa)

What would you say to Ralston?

Today, I have something very special for you dirty crackas.  A regular of Milk & Honey ~ Geeks & Gangstas who goes by the moniker “Doodoomamajuju” has a sweet lullaby bedtime story for you. It’s Friday, and we want you all to start your weekend feeling warm and cozy inside, yet refreshed and intellectually stimulated. I think this contribution by Doodoomamajuju herself directly achieves these things.  Kisses! And enjoy.

Hi Doodoomamajuju*.

Bigfoot may have an upset stomach. He was trying to poop while our four were outside and it looked like he was having a hard time.

-Ralston*

Let me set up this scenario for you… I was getting out of work at noon and wanted to spend the day sitting in my back yard drinking heavily and doing some general plotting (revenge, murder, kidnap, etc). I decided that a day full of “plotting” required a nap, but this realization was shat upon by the incessant yapping of my neighbor’s 4 small dogs (yes, FOUR). If that wasn’t enough, my neighbor (the male of a weird unfortunate looking couple) sent me the message above on facebook. Now, mind you, I had not been able to take the nap I needed and was beyond livid at this point. So livid, in fact, that I was in my kitchen sharpening my knife collection and cleaning my gun(s) (at the same time, yep– that’s talent) preparing for the sheltie genocide that was quickly approaching. Let me also add that this is not the first time my Dahmer-esque neighbor exhibited an unhealthy infatuation with my dog. In the past, he has taken pictures of my dog in my backyard without my consent and gone as far as knocking on my door to let me know my dog “wanted to come inside” the house. So, that just adds to the utter creepiness of this whole situation… as you can imagine.

On a side note, I made a joke about having a stroke to my wonky-eyed neighbor and she informed me that she had just suffered a stroke a month earlier. Awkward.

Anyway, I had not seen this message until well after I had begun piecing together death threats using letters from old magazines and drops of my blood when my husband BEGGED me to restrain myself and resist the urge to respond in any way to the message. Fuck that. I love a good sheltie genocide and I love piecing together death threats using letters from old magazines, but I love my husband more than I’d love the look on my wonky-eyed neighbor’s face when she finds me standing in her backyard surrounded by the limp lifeless corpses of her “children”.

That being said, I know what you are thinking: “what the fuck is this guy doing with FOUR (4) muthafucking shelties? Why the fuck is he WATCHING a dog take a shit?” and “what the fuck is up with her wonky eye?” These are great questions and ones that I have asked myself countless times before this point, but there remains the pressing question of: “How do I respond?”

Here are a few ideas I’ve come up with:

-Taking a shit on his front porch along with a letter telling him my dog is “feeling a lot better now”

-Killing all four dogs and leaving their heads in the neighbor’s mailbox

-Calling the newspaper and reporting him for watching my dog defecate while masturbating in the presence of children (that didn’t happen but you can just imagine what would have transpired had I not stepped in)

-Reporting him for “animal hoarding” to the local authorities

-Slipping brochures on treating lazy eyes under his door in the middle of the night

-Calling in an anonymous tip about a man raping dogs in the neighborhood (I shit you not, there is a story about a man raping a dog…and it was caught on tape!)

Thank you, Doodoomamajuju, for sharing your awkward predicament with us. I believe our audience can help. I for one would have taken advantage of your neighbor’s inordinate love for dogs, and asked him to personally administer an enima on the dog. He clearly cares. I think he would have done it.

How would you all respond??  Perhaps you can think up some things during your weekend binge-drinking sessions.

*The name of the individual has been changed to protect their identity.

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.

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. 

The lost art of keeping your 4-year-old off the pole.

If you haven’t figured it out already, your role as a parent includes keeping your daughter off the pole, which requires setting standards of how she should expect to be treated by others, as well as explaining her anatomy to her.  As much of a free spirit as I am about sexuality and femininity, I found the latter to be one of the more difficult lessons for me to relay to my 4-year-old.  It all started when she was 3, and stopped wearing diapers. I was so proud of myself.  Potty-training– DONE. The next thing I know, we’re watching cartoons and I see her chubby little toddler fingers exploring her nether regions. I mean, you can’t blame her– she’d never had access to that part of her body back in diaper-land.  Undies offer a freedom that I had to teach her to respect.

“What are you doing, pumpkin?” “I’m touching my privacy,” she says matter-of-factly in her high-pitched little voice. (That’s what she called her private parts at the time.)  I had no idea what to do. How was I supposed to teach her that it’s not socially acceptable to finger herself in the presence of others without making her feel ashamed? Knowing your body and the eventual art of masturbation are healthy parts of life, but not in front of your Mom. NOT IN FRONT OF YOUR MOM. Luckily, my fellow mom-boss Holly was there, and she’d already traversed this scary frontier with her two boys. “Bathroom or bedroom, bathroom or bedroom,” she whispered to me hurriedly, so that the madness would end.  It was at that point that I realized I needed to have some answers ready… coming up with them in the moment was not an option.

And she’s going to have a lot of questions, your daughter… and you better have the answers ready that you want settled into the little “sex corner” of her mind.  Otherwise, our fucked up world has answers ready and waiting, and they’re not the answers that will give your daughter a long and happy life with a satisfying and self-respecting relationship with her body, or with other people’s bodies.  Like these “pole-dancing parties”. And I’m not talking about for adults, I’m talking about the ones that 12-year-olds are currently doing for their birthdays.  Or the “rainbow parties” that involve junior highers, a line of girls with different colors of lipstick on, and a line of little dudes who, in my opinion, have years of work to do to earn that kind of love from a woman.

Mark my words: My. Daughters. Aren’t. Gonna. Do. That. Shit.

So here is what I’ve learned. It’s okay to shake your booty with your daughter while you listen to LMFAO’s “Sexy and I Know It”. It’s NOT okay to let them watch the video, and not just because it is not attractive when a guy can only lift ten pounds, or when groups of guys have penis-wiggling contests in bars. Also, it is not okay to let her say “shake my hot booty” (because she should not at the age of 4 know what “hot” means in that context). And when the word “sexy” pops up in the verse, tell her she can’t sing that word because, while sexy is not a bad word, it is a grown-up word.

When you explain her lady parts, don’t use words that have negative connotations that might invoke a sense of shame for having a vagina.   Like “naughty” or “no-no”. Because the world is telling her that it’s a dirty, wicked thing. And it is NOT. The world is also telling her that, if she has a vagina, that she is dumber than her penis-bearing counterparts, and that she shouldn’t hold positions of power, authority, decision-making, strategizing, or influence.   I find it’s simplest to use the technical term, but then apply a nice little word for her everyday use. Like “bottom”, or “private parts.”  A nice little analogy to help your daughter understand what private means can be found in Where the Wild Things Grow, where the kid has a private boat. The boat is JUST HIS. And people have to ask nicely before they can ride in the boat, and he’s allowed to say no to anyone who wants to ride in the boat if he doesn’t want them to. And if people insist on riding in the boat after he says no, then it is more than acceptable to kick that person’s ass so they think twice the next time they feel like riding in whatever boat they fucking want to.

Also, try to avoid using the following terms to refer to her vagina:

Penis glove, cock sock, cock pocket, cum dumpster, sperm bottle, goop chute, love rug, poontang, poonanie, cooch, vertical bacon sandwich, bearded clam, meat curtains, hatchet wound, fur burger, front bottom, kebab, minge, snapper, catfish, love canal, the cum dump, chocha, black hole, sperm sucker, fish sandwich, cock warmer, whisker biscuit, deep socket, cum craver, cock squeezer, slice of heaven, flesh cavern, glory hole, man in the boat, DNA dumpster, tuna town, split dick, bikini bizkit, cock holster, cockpit, snooch, poody tat, cold cut combo, furry furnace, slop hole, nether lips, serpent socket, hairy doughnut, fun hatch, spasm chasm, bacon hole, belly entrance, sugar basin, sweet briar, breakfast of champions, wookie, fish mitten, fuck pocket, hump hole, Republic of Labia, fetus flaps, sausage wallet, Yo Yo Smuggler, Ninja Boot, Chia Hole, Furrogi (Poland), Fortune Nookie, Calamari Cockring, Displabia, Bluntfrunt, moneymaker, The Helmut Hide-A-Way, toolshed, snake charmer, Furby, Enchilada of love, queef quarters, cream canal, punash, salami garage, slurpee machine, pink cookie, penalty box, meat crease, pole hole, one-eyed python trail, bubble gum by the bum, horn of plenty, the indoor picnic, hamper of goodies, the welcome opponent,  devil’s hole, pooswaa, south mouth, Lawrence of A Labia, ponchita,The Notorious V.A.G., baby oven, penis parking, cooter muffin, the promised land, cha cha, the virginator, scrumpter, cucumber canal, dick dungeon, cock curator, nice slice, weiner wrap, pachinko, fuck donut, the unmentionable, jaws of life, love cave, Indiana bones and the temple of poon, or pushin cushion.

If she, upon maturing, and from a place of self-awareness and long-established self-respect, decides to adopt any of those terms (really more because some of them are funny) then so be it.

UPDATE:

A good one: Holie of Holies. Brought to you by the man who explained to me that, if a man wasn’t crazy about me, then he wasn’t fucking worth it. And that’s truth, people.