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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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 don’t know man, fuck is on your biscuit?

When I was a kid, I was always sticking up for the underdog.  I don’t know why, that was just my deal.  I’ve always been outspoken and, as “the pastor’s daughter” at a small private school, I had influence. People just didn’t mess with me. Or if they did, my ADD caused me to be too spacey to notice the mockers, so their bullshit was wasted on my dumb ass.  I was often totally checked out, daydreaming…staring into space.  And since my parents treated me like a normal kid, I didn’t quite develop all the bullshit baggage that pastor’s kids are known for.  So, whenever someone was getting picked on by others, I’d get all up in the bully’s shit. I learned early that it doesn’t take much for me to get people to do what I want. Privilege aside, that was just my reality, and I was aware of it.

Today, I want to explain some aspects of bullying. Because what I learned was that bullies BRING OUT the bully in me.  And in all honesty, I don’t LIKE how that feels. I don’t like BECOMING the bully. It feels shitty to me. And once I’m in the mode, I want to DEFEAT the bully. And I’ll stop at nothing to defeat. I become what I hate.  Isn’t that how bullies are developed in the first place?

In everyday life, I don’t find myself encountering bullies in person very often.  I think there have been three or four people in the past ten years of my life where I remember thinking “this person is a bully, and they are making me want to bully”, so I very intentionally separated myself from them. Otherwise I’d just sink to their level. I’d make sure that I could do what I could to help the underdog but, at the end of the day, those people will always be bullies. I can’t change that. Especially by treating them in a way that probably turned them into that in the first place. I’m sure they were bullied as kids or whatever, by their parents or someone else, and they have this chip on their shoulder. I can’t fix that chip. I have some empathy, but I also have sought out counseling to help me change the parts of me that are hurtful to myself and others. If you aren’t doing that…. now is the time to man the fuck up.

Every once in a while…. I am made to feel like shit by a man.  It doesn’t happen to me as often as it might happen to other women… I often don’t give a shit about what people think anyway, and I surround myself by good men.  And don’t get me wrong—women can be extremely hurtful to one another. So I’m not trying to be a man-hating femi-nazi here.  But when it happens—when a man says something that leaves me feeling like trash simply because I have a beautiful ‘gine—I get Really. Fucking. Pissed.

Today I am done. I am fed up with people with penises who think that women live and breathe for men.  I am so over that.  I have learned that there is a certain population of men who literally think this. They think when I get dressed and do my hair and my makeup and put on cute clothes, that I am doing it to get THEIR attention.  The fucking audacity of this is mind-blowing to me.  I cannot imagine walking around this earth presuming that people are acting in such a way to get my attention—simply because I am a penis-bearing human. (If that were the case, which it is not. Mama has the lovely labias).

I was recently reminded of how fucking mental this makes me— a really cute picture was taken of a beautiful girl and posted on Facebook. There was nothing weird or inappropriate about the picture, she just happened to look crazy fucking hot, as per the usual.  And it inspired a couple of male friends to say something about it. And it wasn’t “hey girl, you look great, have fun, you’re awesome.”  The comments were more along the lines of “why are you dressed like that?” and how she clearly wants attention so why can’t they say whatever they want about it…. Bla bla bla. It saddens me that this even happens.  A girl is left feeling so diminished by the comments about her looks, that she decides it may be better to hide. To not show her beauty. To not shine…

I am infuriated. I apparently have friends that are bullies.  And I CAN’T FUCKING STAND THIS.

I am here today, friends, colleagues… to offer up some wisdom for you. And YES it is wisdom so listen real close. Because after this, bullies get deleted from my life.

She dressed that way because I asked her to. BECAUSE SHE LOOKED AMAZING in that outfit. So she did. She wore the outfit I liked. Now, ultimately I don’t really care what she wears.  But she had a few options of clothes that fit her style, and I told her which one I liked the best.  Lesson you should take away from this: NOBODY CARES WHAT YOU THINK. That night was all about us. Not you.

The second thing goes a little deeper for me.  The idea that you can say whatever the fuck you want because someone, in your mind, is INVITING it.  And this, ladies and gents, is part of the root philosophy of what has become known as “rape culture”.  There is an inherent disrespect for women at the core of this way of thinking.  Because, at the end of the day, if someone is “asking you” to treat them poorly… with less value than they really actually have as a person… so you’re going to do that shit???  And in this particular circumstance, how is looking nice for a night out with your girlfriends perceived as being asked to be treated poorly again?

What if we went ahead and reversed things.  I mean… a moderately chubby guy who goes out dressed “nerdy”, wearing Airwalks from Wal-Mart or some shit like that MUST be just ASKING to get rude and degrading comments, right? Otherwise he’d obviously work out, eat well, and get a fashion consultant.  At MINIMUM…. Shop at Target.  He clearly wants to be treated like shit. Duh…  It’s like this guy in a wheelchair who vandalized a church for loving gay people. IT DOESN’T MAKE ANY FUCKING SENSE.

So I will leave you with this:

  1. I’m sorry someone treated you poorly or disrespected you in life, inspiring you to do the same to others. That sucks for you and it sucks for the people around you.
  2. Deal with your shit, and start being a better person.

Underneath the skin there’s a human.

A beautiful, captivating woman said to me yesterday, “When you make yourself vulnerable, you are actually safer.”

…I would tend to agree.

I am sitting here on my grungy sofa, listening to my little people talk themselves to sleep through the monitor, with a chill YouTube playlist in my ear, and pinot grigio on my tongue. The FINALLY warm air is on my shoulders, and I smell the damp earth carried in through the window behind me.  For the first time in several days, I am letting down my guard, and I am letting my thoughts and ever stormy feelings melt through my fingers.

I have known “guarded”.  As much as I lay myself out there for the world to see, I tag on a little follow-up of “fuck you” to anyone who has a problem with it. I guard myself against those who will potentially hurt me with that threat.  How I decide they fit into this category is a messy, tainted process.  You will find things in there like racism, sexism, religious baggage, affiliations by the thousands that carry a poor vibe in my mind… past memories of hurt and resentment.  These are not your friend when it comes to the playground of my mind.

When you choose to live in a “life-long” partnership with a beautiful person… you damn them—your best friend and lover—into the jail of both predator and prey.  Those are roles they will play in your life. They will hurt you, you will hurt them.  It is no easy task for two broken people to care for each other to the degree that an ideal marriage/partnership demands.

So now what?

What are your options when there is such high risk of hurting and being hurt?  Why do people even do this? It can’t just be because of the babies. There’s more to it. I think we as humans want to feel vulnerable to another person. Protected, cared for, exposed. Naked.

Maybe we have to be exposed and vulnerable in the relationship, the personal connection, to really relate sexually. To be naked physically, and connect in a really authentic and meaningful way, there has to be some sort of meaningful exposure of the human spirit…  BOTH the beautiful and the dark and ugly parts of your humanity.  Otherwise it’s guarded. It’s closed up and wary, self-conscious. It almost feels violating.

“Guarded” has not worked for me in this relationship.  After ten years, I have found that it is only vulnerability that brings good things between us.  It ends up being a safer, happier place.  In the process of achieving that end, we take a risk. And we hurt each other. Pretty badly. We are broken people. We cannot possibly care for another person’s emotional or physical needs perfectly all the time.

The question I’m left with is—Is it worth it? The pain?  So far I’d say yes. But you know what, it’s a real fucking hassle.  And it gets really fucking old sometimes.  It’s fucking exhausting. To be so fucking vulnerable all the goddamn time, especially when that person is struggling through a place of hurt and insecurity, caused by you and a myriad of others from the past.  Who wants to open themselves up to that level of unpredictable volatility? It’s a huge risk.

I think it’s the only way to live.

~

Gunning, and other useful prison terms.

Not too long ago Relevant Magazine published an article called “Is Masturbation Sin?”  by Jesse Eubanks. My first thought was, “your face is a sin.” But then my second thought, the more mature one (which is always second or possibly third in the lineup), was “maybe I should read this bullshit.” So I did.  And so did Sugardaddy, who had some interesting insights. (Thank you, my sexy little homersexual).  We will share these with you here.  The article is from a man’s point of view. He didn’t seem to elicit the perspectives of a woman when espousing his ideas, so I will do that for him here. I’m not going to be one of those people who stands around and complains that someone else didn’t do something helpful. No one likes those people.

The main issue Sugardaddy took with the article was that “disconnectedness” was being blamed on stroking the salami.  And as a man and woman who have been married for ten years and have experienced the gamut of “marital issues”, we can attest with the strength of a thousand suns that arm wrestling the one-armed champ is NOT the culprit for disconnection between us. Not even close.  I can expand on that at a later, more drunken, date.  And then on top of that, a female’s perspective on masturbation was no where to be found.  Here women are still struggling after FOREVER to understand their bodies, their sexuality, their needs and desires… much of this achieved through the exploration that is masturbation, and this goes straight up ignored during his belittling of the act.  That and– Sugardaddy just likes to watch me masturbate, so Eubanks can just go suck a cock.  With that being said…

In prison, masturbation goes by the term “gunning”. Therefore, in order to accurately relate to you as the prison bitch that you are, I will henceforth refer to it as gunning for the remainder of our time together here on this blog. Maybe by reading it, the chances of your gunning session being interrupted by a large greasy 55 year old white biker inserting his super-nast rod in your brown star… will increase.

What I don’t think people understand is that… gunning is one of the keys to world peace.  If everyone would just take a moment and partake in a little anal play while applying a vibrator to sensitive areas, mass conflicts would be resolved!  Babies would be reunited with mothers, mothers would stop getting acid thrown on their faces, chemical weaponry would cease to be used against your friend and neighbor.  It’s when dictators or mothers begin using butter or the blood of Jews as lube that we need to stop and say to ourselves “maybe something is wrong here.”

45387908714429798_7DvJ8hS6_fIn the article Eubanks states, “When we attempt to find fulfillment outside of God’s design, we may find temporary enjoyment, but ultimately it leads to pain, disconnection and death. It’s like donuts. They are delicious and when I eat them, a smile emerges from ear to ear. But they do not bring a lasting fulfillment and when my life is littered with donuts, it ultimately leads to pain, disconnection, death and husky jeans.” What I can gather from this is that 1) Eubanks has never actually gunned (or maybe he did it wrong?); and 2) is under the (false) impression that he can do a better job of flicking the bean than a woman can. Does he even know what a bean is, when I use that term? Tell us Eubanks, are you a master of the clitoris, so much so that you and your crusty donut must be the only one who touches it, and no one else?! PPBBFFFFTT! Holy shit, that’s funny to me.

He goes on to ask, “How can a spouse in the real world ever compete with the on-demand response of our fantasies that masturbation encourages? …In real life, people don’t want to have sex at the drop of a hat all of the time. People have emotional and spiritual needs that often must be met before they are ready for physical intimacy. There are no issues of love and forgiveness and struggle in the world of fantasy. There is no deep connection.”  I don’t know, maybe he never gets turned down by his wife. Let me tell you when Sugardaddy gets rejected: when the baby is crying, when I haven’t slept in days because the baby won’t sleep, when the 4 year-old won’t stay in her bed, when I have morning mouth, when I’m bleeding heavily, when I’m on a business trip, when I’m bloated, when either of us is sick sick, when one of our kids is in the hospital for months on end, when we’re stressed…. oh wait that’s potentially a lot.  Far be it for me to deny him a little cum in the bucket when I just don’t feel like giving it up.  And I’ll be damned if I’m seen as some sex slave who has to pleasure my man every time he gets a little wood. Which is a lot. Fuck that shit. If he wants to lead Pedro down the road of bulimia, he has my blessing.

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.

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)

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?

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!!!!