Saturday, March 11, 2017

Nothing To Watch

When I was a little girl
I would lie awake alone
at night
afraid and lonely
battling with all of the thoughts
that said I was never good enough.
And I would wish for the time
when I would be grown up
and not have to think those thoughts
or at least have someone I chose there with me
to tell me it was okay.
Someone to be with.
If not that, then at least I could get up and watch TV.
But here I am.
All grown up.
With a house full of people I love,
but they are all asleep.
Even the puppy resting on my feet.
And I still feel so alone and lonely.
With nothing I want to watch on the

written: 3/11/17

Depression and Anxiety are really getting on my fucking nerves, y'all.

Thursday, January 19, 2017

#GAF Days 7 Through 19.

Y'all may have to turn up the volume a little. I was outside for catch up day.


Friday, January 6, 2017

#GAF Day 5 and Day 6

Let's combine these together. I may, after this week, just post a week of videos in one post.  But, since this isn't the end of the week yet ...

Day 5

Day 6


Wednesday, January 4, 2017

#GAF Day 4

Hot and fresh on-time fucks.


#GAF Day 3

A few out of focus fucks.


#GAF Day 2

Day 2

Where We Grow
     The smell in the air when she woke let her know it was time to plant. It was a big responsibility being the grower of fucks. And it was one that she loved. After her breakfast, she took the old wooden box that held the precious fuck seeds and opened it. From these tiny, blue seeds, so many fuck plants would grow and bloom and spread their fuck bounty over the world. The little fuck flowers were periwinkle, her favorite color. Once planted, they spread across the globe refilling the world with fuck. After the flowers faded, she walked the Earth gathering the little, blue fuck seeds and waited for the air to notify her of the next planting season. It was her who ensured there were always fucks to give when needed. It was how she helped people retain her humanity, with these little fuck flowers. Now it was time to get to work. It was time to sow the fucks. 

written: 1/3/17

I had a request to put my fucks in story form, so here's a try.

Monday, January 2, 2017

My Goal For 2017

I want to give all the fucks.

The video quality sucks big time because I ended up on my kindle because my desktop is frustrating, my laptop screen was eaten by my puppies and I forgot to charge the batteries to my camera. :( But that's okay. I don't have to give a fuck about that today because I already gave all the fucks!

Man, I look scary there. Let's see if my vanity will let me post this.

Happy New Year y'all!


Thursday, November 10, 2016

To My Protesting Friends, You're Doing it Wrong (A How-To From A White Ally)

So, y'all, after the clusterfuck that was Trump winning the election there have been protests across the nation because people are angry and because PROTESTING is one of the most American things that you can do. But ... according to my Facebook feed ... y'all are doing it wrong.

And you are upsetting white people!

So, I have researched and I have some pointers on how to protest
so that WHITE AMERICA (you know, America, like how the Evangelical vote was for Trump, except for the Black Evangelical vote, which is historically liberal.)

Let's start with our words.

Realize first that white people voted for Trump because of God, Economics, The Second Amendment and Our Children. (Did y'all even realize that white women had abortions?)

If a white person says or does or promotes or elects something that is:

Anti-Semitic or

Don't use those words to let them know. Actually ... Don't bring it up at all because those words are mean and white people are delicate with fragile feelings and letting us know that our behavior has a dangerous impact on people who are not white is bullying.

And white people are against bullying.

Unless you are a privileged, entitled, greedy, spoiled, braggy, white sexual predator ... and then, well,
that's just how men are, right ladies?

And if you are going to say anything about "Lives Mattering", then it needs to be ALL or BLUE.

Unless the person who killed the Blue Lives is a white, confederate-flag waving domestic terrorist. Then you need to concede that that guy is an aberration and a retard.

Speaking of which, if your child is participating in the protest, and they aren't normal, you know, they're special, then they need to be special in a way that doesn't make us uncomfortable or inconvenienced with their disability. I would recommend a verbal, attractive kid with Down Syndrome, like that girl that became a model, or that kid that got accepted to college. Maybe not so much the kids who the normal kids ask to prom. Because, they're okay when we want to admire our normal kids for giving up something important, but in person, we need a disability that we can see and feel good about ourselves for admiring that they can be almost like people, but not anything that we won't notice or will bring us down.

And speaking of broken, if you are going to have any veterans, they need to be maimed in some way.  And the more horrific, the better, because we need to look at them and imagine what they were like when they were normal. And we want to be able to point to them as examples of who we should be taking care of, if we had the money, because economics. And, of course the vet needs to be a man, because women aren't really veterans.

Speaking of men, let's address the biggest problem with these protests. They are too diverse. You need to gather healthy white men (25-40) who regularly make love to their guns. They need to take those guns to an overpass and threaten law enforcement. (Call Fox News, don't tell them that you are specifically protesting Trump.) Then, those white men and their friends and THEIR guns need to seize some sort of federal building. If they can damage property, even better! If that property is some sort of Native or minority artifact, you're gold! Entrench yourself there and promote sedition! But, whatever you do, do not take your snacks with you! That's sissy.  If you get peckish, demand your snacks like a man. Use this opportunity to lament the fact that we won't get taco trucks on every corner. We know this tactic works. America (you know, White America) approves of this method! Ask the Bundys.

(Some of you may wonder, could we use Native American men instead of white men? And I see your thinking there, as long as they didn't look too native or too white, but, no. White people will admire the mystic nobility of the Native American, but eh, seriously, they have casinos! AND they keep whining about mascots and won't let white people play with their pretty headdresses. As I have already discussed, that's bullying.)

There you go! Easy-peasy, right? I know you just needed a few little tips on how to protest so white people won't be uncomfortable. So, go fight the good fight, y'all!

written: 11/10/16

So at the deepest depths of my despair, there was, unsurprisingly, anger. And writing while angry results in satire, which y'all know makes me uncomfortable. The thing about satire is that you just can't call anything satire and it be okay. There is a line between art and oppression, and I don't quite trust myself on that line yet. All of that written so that you know that if you have any critiques, I am open. (Unless you actually complain that this is mean to white people.)

Friday, September 9, 2016


my kids to school

my son
started talking about
Chuck E. Cheese

and I remembered
sometimes on Wednesdays


would pick us up instead
of Mama
because Wednesday was one
of your days off.

The first time
I was surprised.
That's my Grampy!
And you took me to Krystals
because Mama was sick.

And then Chuck E. Cheese came
and you would take us there.

And here was Eli
in the backseat
on a Wednesday
on the way to school
talking about Chuck E. Cheese.

And I could see your face
with your smile
and your smooth

And I could hear your

And I could feel the
of seeing my

written: 9/9/16

Twenty-seven years and I still really miss my Grampy.

Saturday, August 20, 2016


So I need
to tell y'all something

but I want to preface it

I want to give all the reasons why
the following confession is a lie

but it's not.

I am a racist.

I am a 46 year old white woman who spent almost
my whole life


privilege and racism
run through me like blood.

I wish it weren't true.

I mean, it's not like I'm promoting white power
or telling racist jokes
or referring to the Them with the capital T
or giving the interview to Mary before Maria
or sharing the ugly meme
or asserting that, no, ALL lives matter
or doing the elbow sneak to lock my car door in the bad neighborhood.
I'm not even voting for Trump.

It's because I could not understand rioting until I read about Stonewall
 (and even then I only pictured white men).

It because I only want to go to the restaurants in those bad neighborhoods
 when I want really good Chinese food.

Because I forget that people who speak both AAVE and English
 are bilingual.

Because not so many years ago I would have been an all-lives-matter person.

Because I don't always speak up when I should because I don't want to hear the phrases
 I'm not racist but ...
 I don't mean to sound racist but ...
 Any of my black friends will tell you that I'm not a racist ...
 That's not racist, you're just

And there was probably some truth to the last one.

But I am not guilty anymore.

Because all my guilt ever did was make me deny my racism harder.

I can't change what I don't own.

And I own my racism.

written 8-20-16

I don't know if this one is done or not. I think it says what I want it to, but I'm not sure. It is one of those that makes me feel vulnerable, so it's hard to tell.

Also, since when CAN'T I think of a title for something? So obviously not finished.