Sunday, May 27, 2018


Safe beyond the trees
Memories haunt tomorrow
You are songs whisper


One of the strongest women I know. Please take some time to read this story.

It’s rare that I post someone else’s work. That isn’t an accident. I’m selfish and self-centered. 

This story needs to be shared. This couples journey through loss and sorrow and their ability, through faith,  to persevere, is truly beautiful. 

Tuesday, May 22, 2018

Does this shade of "holy shit" make me look crazy?

Some shit I’ve learned the hard way not to ask:

If you could change one thing about me, what would it be?
Your assumption would be that your significant other would have the common sense to walk the fuck away from this. I know I can picture mine tucking his hands in his pockets, shaking his head (without speaking), doing an about-face, and never speaking of it again. Just because I can picture it though, doesn’t make it so – that’s another story for another time.

I can picture myself in size 4 jeans with 8% bodyfat, no cellulite and a solid C cup – doesn’t mean Captain Frumpy Sweats isn’t the reality I’m working with. Best to just accept things and make the best of a shitty situation.

Being a self-aware woman, I stray from wearing clothing that places adjectives (of any kind) on my ass. No “juicy” clothing line or anything “apple bottom” for this hoe.

Would you mind terribly if?
Imma just stop you there. The aforementioned query format ought not be utilized unless the object is to be let down, but you knew this. Think about that shit. If you must ask, “would you mind terribly,” you know for fuck-all that that’s some shit you wouldn’t want to do – why the hell would they?

 What, now you’re going to get all butthurt when they take too long to answer? Or perhaps you’d like to spend the next 40 mins (after you’ve told them you’re cool) haphazardly throwing guilt around your house like glitter at a drag show.

I’m getting a disco ball to accentuate my glitter. The handymen (I ordered 3 for shits and giggles) will be here next week. I needed time in the interim to guilt my boyfriend properly for not handling the ball hanging promptly when I asked, “would you mind terribly if?”

Would you still love me if I put on a little weight?
He gulped. I could see the wheels spinning and the smoke beginning to formulate just outside the auricle as he tried to guess how much weight was a little.
I had all the information I needed. Keep it right, keep it tight. Fucker.

Do you love me more than you loved your ex?
Whoa! Hold up! I know you guys are thinking that’s fucked up. That’s a loaded question. That’s completely uncalled for and uncomfortable. How do you expect someone to respond to something like that? Um…have you read any of my other questions? Of course, it’s uncomfortable and it’s preposterous. These are my questions. Go make up your own uncomfortable and inexcusable shit to ask someone. I’m proud of this one. I feel like this one truly captures the essence of my desperately low self-esteem and clawing neediness.

I’m also a total mindfuck and followed it up with, “I won’t get butthurt or anything, but remember she’s completely fuck nuts crazy,” thereby leaving him with only one viable answer: to put his hands in his pockets, shake his head, do an about-face, and walk the fuck away.

I have more I could add to this list, but my asshole co-workers are starting to look at me as though I should be doing something like working. What a bunch of pricks! It’s not as if they’re paying me. Fuck you, Tuesday. Don’t worry, Tim, I haven’t forgotten about you. I hate you the most!

Insanity timeline

4:00 am: Cat begins meowing in my face. I assume this is to awaken me so that I can feed his furry ass. Fuck that. I shoo him off the bed. Back to sleep

4:12 am: He’s back because apparently, he likes to be shoved.

4:20 am: And again. I swear to fuck, you do this again, Mugen, and I’ll cut you up and feed you to the other cat.


5:00 am: I’m dressed in my superhero spandex and out the door to do battle with the treadmill and spin bike.

6:20 am: My sports bra has fused to my torso permanently with sweat. I walk back through my front door to find the shitstain of a cat staring at me from the living room area rug with an odd look. It’s the look a baby gives when it farts for the first time or you catch your child masturbating. We cool, cat? Cool kitty…

Nope – not fucking cool!

6:21 am: Mugen pukes all over the tile floor (thank heavenly fuck) just next to the rug he was dragging his ass across like a dog with itchy ass. Tile I can handle, carpet is so much grosser. Fuck me! Did you just puke again and why is it coming out like water?! What the fuck is wrong with you? Why is there so much?

6:23 am: “I can hear you throwing up on my goddamn shoes in there you little shitbag! Get out of my closet you fucking bulimic flea bag!” My cat has relocated his purging party into my closet. Apparently, audiences are too much for him; he does his best work alone. Between him waking me at the unholy hour of 4 am and now cavomiting (new word) into my boots, I’m ready to skin him and send him back to the shelter as a message to all the other “would-be” adoptees.

7:00 am: I throw open the door to my kid’s room and resist the urge to yell “get up and don’t make me remind you to brush your teeth, I’m already pissed off about cat puke.

7:15 am: Standing creepy-style over my sleeping boyfriend I wonder if he can feel the brain waves and malignant thoughts I’m burning into his skull. A little fucking help here? You gonna sleep through all this shit? Video games till 2 am again? Check. Snoring? Check. Zero assistance with anything? Check. Rad!

7:22 am: Boyfriend goes in for the kiss goodbye. ARE YOU FUCKING KIDDING ME RIGHT NOW? I know for a fact that you heard me cleaning up cat puke in the living room. I most certainly know that you heard the furry butthole come into the room then puke in my goddamn closet. I’m positive you heard me swearing through the whole ordeal. You aren’t fooling anyone when you shift in the bed and mumble softly, dickface. You’re looking at the queen. I invented that game. I know you’re not sleeping. Only bitches mumble in their sleep anyhow. No, of course I don’t need help cleaning the cat box or straightening the living room. Why would you think I would want help with anything? Did the goodbye kiss give it away? Maintaining eye contact during a limp-lipped kiss with my arms at my sides is kind of a telltale, isn’t it?

7:32 am: “Yo, Curran, are you ready? Please tell me you brushed your teeth.” Curran looks at me and asks for a pair of socks, telling me that he can’t find one solitary pair in his drawer. This is fucking unreal! I must be in the Twilight Zone. There is no possible way this child has not one pair of socks in the entirety of his room. It in unfathomable to me. I’m so close to snapping right now. I toss the kid a pair of mine. I almost handed him the pink ones, but I still love him. I just want to flick his ear right now.

I’d give anything to go back to just shoving the damn cat off the bed. Please save your “you can start your day over” bullshit for another time. I’m quite content living in the hot pink rage that is my Tuesday. With any luck I’ll get home and the cat will have shit on my comforter too. A final “fuck you, mom.”

-End rant

Friday, May 18, 2018

Rant: sick and fucking tired

Instead of roaring about gun reform when tragedies occur in our schools, how about we honor the lives that were lost and the families? I'd like to know what these lost souls were like when they were with us. Does that make it too personal for some of you to deal with? Good! It fucking should be. Human lives were lost! Show some goddamn respect for the families and shut the fuck up for 10 mins unless you have some honest to God condolences to share. Your good-for-nothing thoughts and prayers are paper ships in a rainstorm and are headed straight for the drainpipe where politicians are lying in wait. I'm tired of thinking of creative ways to spew the same useless rhetoric that has done nothing to ease the pain of parents, family members, and friends who continue to lose loved ones. Fuck this! Someone tell me about who these children were and what they loved. Someone please make this about humanity again. Honor these children and their families.

Thursday, May 17, 2018

R & R (Rants and Raves) - Product Review: Squat Magic

Here’s the deal…the first few reviews are actual reviews from Amazon (with witness protection in play because I didn’t ask first) and my response in the green. I have added my own little review at the end. There are so many ways that I could go with this, but time is short and so is your attention.

I would like to inquire about the auditions though. Were people turned away for being too enthusiastic? I mean, it must be creepy if you’re totally into getting down on this product, right? I guess not if your hot and a female. What kind of people are super stoked on doing infomercials for this product? Yes, please sign me up for the commercial that makes it look like I take it in the ass on the regular.

By Amazon Customer on February 5, 2018
The machine snapped in half. Made with small plastic parts inside and broke all apart. Sending me right to the floor.

          Bwhahahahahahahah! The visual here is too much for me on a Thursday at work.

By N Trevino on April 11, 2018
Its hard to exercise with this product I could not stay in place. the design is weird and you slip off

          I could be wrong, but if you can’t stay on this son of a bitch, that would make this piece of equipment particularly dangerous. It’s too close to my rectum for me to not feel comfortable with its structural integrity.

By faysker on February 26, 2018
This is the worst piece of exercise equipment I have ever purchased, and I have many! It is very unstable. I fell when it flipped out from under me during the first use. My advice is to not purchase this equipment. Use a chair or something that will catch you if you lose your balance. Not worth the price either.

          Betcha wish you’d stuck to that Ab Roller. I think you can still hook yourself up with a Thigh Master. I hear those things are versatile.

By J L on February 7, 2018
So far so good. I have seen small results by day 3. You will definitely feel in your legs. I don’t feel so much in the glutes so we shall see.... don’t give into the discomfort you’ll feel in your legs and follow the 30 day challenge.

          Really? In 3 days you see small results? Must be some slammin cocaine or ecstasy you’re on. Sorry, that’s not how shit works. I’ll let you get back to petting your imaginary cat now.

Zero stars! I bought the unit thinking I would be able to use it while watching my episodes of The Bachelor. To my dismay, the unit was not assembled. I had to assemble everything from the hydraulic pump to fastening down the seat with allen wrenches; thankfully those were included. The resistance bands seemed rather cheap upon initial inspection as well. Once the unit was assembled I sat down and began to pump, pump, pump my way to a firmer rump.

The seat began to wobble underneath the weight of my 135lb frame. The shitty little resistance bands buckled under the pressure, shooting off the unit - one of them sailing across the room nailing my poor cat in the head. He’s never been the same since. With no resistance bands in play and inferior product materials, it took mere seconds for the seat to give way as well. The seat dislodged itself and I crashed to the floor with the unit still tucked firmly between my legs. The seat-less shaft penetrating my rectum required surgical extraction.

I just wanted firmer thighs and buns and now I have a retarded cat and a crippling fear of anything delivered to my doorstep. Thanks for absolutely nothing, Squat Magic! 

**This fucking thing costs $120 American dollars! What in the actual fuck??!! That's a lot of songs off iTunes I could have purchased instead or whatever you fuckers do with your cash. 


Sunday, May 6, 2018

Fuck your sombrero

Being sober is amazing. Then it isn’t.

My best friend, Jennifer, said it best: “You’re the only person I know dumb enough, being Hispanic, to choose to get sober the day before Cinco de Mayo.” Truth be told, I wasn’t certain what day it was as I was dry-heaving the contents of an empty stomach while on hands and knees in my bedroom at my dad’s house. Bile and Bacardi was surely going to be the last thing I’d remember. Cinco de Mayo wasn’t even in the periphery.

Margaritas weren’t really my jam anyhow. Not unless you made them with expensive tequila, just a splash of mixer and a shit ton of salt. If you even thought about putting that shit in a blender I would punch you on principal alone. That’s expensive tequila, jackass. Always serve that shit “neat” unless you’re with a bunch of assholes who can’t know you’re a hopeless drunk and they paid for it, and then do whatever the fuck you want with it.

Caucasians are really the only ones that fuck with this stupid holiday (yep, I just went there) with the exclusive purpose being the justification of drinking. I may have this all fucked up but here’s what I see: handfuls in the Asian communities get super excited and have a few parties. Denim, pouty lips, and cropped tops are standard issue uniforms for the ladies. Athletic gear and sideways ball caps for the guys. These parties aren’t raucous though and typically die down by midnight. 

I usually don’t see too many African Americans getting shit-faced. Maybe I’m wrong, but any time I ever went to the bar, and I spent a lot of time there, incidents caused were always initiated by emblazoned white women, angry that their man has been cheating (or at least thinks he is) or drunk white guys. I use the term “guys” loosely. They’re really just undisciplined, hurt little boys out past their bedtimes, who got into dad’s Jack Daniels stash. At least that’s how they act when they think they have something to prove.

Hispanics will drink whenever and wherever. We don’t give a single fuck. We’ll drink at your company holiday party in the parking lot before we go in, at your cousin’s funeral (also in the parking lot), on long car rides because we’re thirsty and it’s hot out, we’ll take one into the movie theater and crack it open in the middle of the film, or on our neighbors lawn while we’re talking (often without a shirt if male). We don’t care where and we don’t need your white holiday. Keep your shitty and offensive Chevy’s sombrero, you'll need it to throw up into it later, Debra. 

I’ve been sober since May 4, 2013. That’s a long time to go without a drink for a person like me. Not only do I not like many of you, but I also really don’t like me most of the time. My not liking myself is amplified when I can’t do simple tasks without wanting to kill one of you. Here’s the thing though: some of you are real self-absorbed, ass-faced robots and make me want to break things. I’m not exempt; I come fully loaded with my own factory setting fault enhancements. Being sober only makes me more aware of them.

Sobriety is great in that it gives you the opportunity to grow-the-fuck-up and see where you’ve been a jackass, but it in the same breath - it sucks dick. You have to look at your mistakes, where you’ve been less than adult and where you’ve been downright childish. Then you have to do some shit about it. What’s more is, it’s not a one-time thing. I have to continue to do this shit. I have to continue to look at where I’ve been a liar, or a cheat; where I’ve caused hurt and pain, and then I have to try to make it right. I’m not supposed to drink either, so now I’m super-duper fucked.

I still find myself prey to knee-jerk responses to emotionally charged situations. I’ll have to work on that. Not this week though.

Recently I got incredibly bent out of shape when I noticed that I had not been given the proverbial head nod from a friend of mine recognizing my anniversary. To my further chagrin, they made a point of giving kudos to someone else for the same accomplishment. What the actual fuck?!  I scanned my brain to think of what I had done to offend this person. What “friend crime” had I committed? I came up with nothing, so I’m taking all future celebrations for that person out of my calendar. I’ll be making those place holders the skull and cross bones emoji so I don’t forget. I’m such a people person.

Sobriety: I’ve gotten better, I’m far from well.  

Saturday, May 5, 2018

Final wishes

When I die, either by some terribly embarrassing freak accident, or in some pre-meditated shit carried out by someone I angered writing one of these blogs I wouldn’t line a hamster cage with, I want some basics at my funeral. Oh, wait, you may require a lubricant before I go in with four fingers. Allow me to backpedal a bit.

[Sets stage]

Yesterday I was talking to someone [internet conversation with a faceless stranger] about how when we self-diagnose on WebMD, other websites, or apps, [there are no others, that’s the only one in existence] we ought to just get a jumpstart on our funeral plans right then. To my delight, his response was that he’d already had his music playlist and t-shirt cannon picked out. Well, dammit, I can’t allow a total stranger to be more prepared and with better funeral plans than myself. Here, we find ourselves.

The most important thing for my funeral is that my physical body isn’t there. I’ve donated all my parts to science, because I’m fucking awesome. I’ve donated marrow, eyes, skin [I have great skin] and only kept a kidney on ice in case my mom needs it down the line. Love you, mom. I still got your back. The rest is about to get funky. I’m about to throw my ideas out there in random order and briefly elaborate. Judge if you must, it just makes you a dick.

I want music played. Specifically, I feel like Motown would be a good choice. The Commodores, The Marvelettes, Rick James, The Four Tops, Stevie Wonder, The Supremes; are you snapping your fingers or seat dancing yet? None of that bridge over troubled water bullshit for me. I want my guests to be happy. Actually, I don’t really give a fuck about you guys. I’m certain I’m still hanging around, checking things out. This would legit be the first party I’d be comfortable at knowing I’d not be said hello to. Plus, I want to try that whole “walking through people” thing you see in the movies. I could probably entertain myself that way for at least 20 mins. Good music is essential; I can’t walk through people listening to depressing ballads.

Appetizers must be shit that I would never be caught eating while alive. You know the kind of shit that tastes really good but that I’d always be concerned about sodium, fat, or how badly it’d wreck my ass later? That stuff. On the menu will be pizza rolls and Hawaiian Punch. They can’t be generic pizza rolls either; they have to be Totino’s pizza rolls. They’re the flakiest, crispiest, and the ones that burn the inside of your mouth with every fucking bite. The roof of my mouth has been resurfaced with pizza sauce since the combination accident of 1998.

At this time I’d like to add Bagel Bites to the menu. I don’t think they’re palatable at all; I’d just enjoy watching people lose teeth biting into them. Bagel Bites have a shelf-life. If you don’t eat them within 7.5 minutes of cooking them, you might as well chomp down, with full force, on a hockey puck. You will lose teeth eating these cardboard bastards if you haven’t already lost them from the sugar in the Hawaiian Punch I’m serving. Can you pass me a pizza roll? Never mind, I’ll get it *reaches through you*

Now, not to steal your idea, internet stranger, but the t-shirt cannon is genius and I want one too. I’m still working on the t-shirt specifics, but I was thinking that guests would get a teabag full of me when they leave. After donating all of my organs I was cremated; the logical endgame. It makes sense to offer guests a parting gift, kind of like a wedding favor, but you won’t find this on Etsy. It might also be hard finding friends - the living kind, willing to shove chunky “Tina dust” into little sash bags by the spoonful, tie it off with a string and paper strip, and label the flavor “Tina Grey” or “MintTina.”

Physical activity is important to me, so I’d like to leave my guests with another gift that will remind them of me and benefit their health. Under each guests’ chair they’ll find a Shake Weight. This is the gift that just keeps giving. I’m shaking my head as I’m writing this. You all should know that I firmly grasp the level of idiocy taking place here. You should also try living in my head for day; you’d have so much fun! You might find yourself involuntarily committed, but you’d also have so much fun.

Other Misc. Stuff
Pets are allowed but not if you’re going to whine about it being a service animal. You’re probably full of shit and I honestly don’t care. If your pet is a rescue or a stray that you’ve adopted, it is welcome at the head of my table and should eat before you do. Hell, I don’t care if you bring your goldfish; you just take responsibility for that shit and hold on to it. If someone else’s cat gets hungry that’s your problem. *sings ‘The Circle of Life’*

I’m still hashing out the rest of the details. I feel like this is a good start and my attention span won’t allow for more writing at this point. Don’t forget your complimentary “Tina Teabags” and Shake Weights on the way out. Please don’t throw the Bagel Bites as they are considered dangerous at this point. Thank you for your attendance.

 Image result for totino's pizza rolls