Interview with Cecelia Gimenez

Good Morning People of the World! Ive been extremely absent for many months. Who knew that growing a fetus would make you tired and focus on other things. My good writer friend recently wrote about making yourself write through crappy times or busy times or just don't give a shit times, and I decided she has a point, I should probably write something soon before I forgot how to form basic sentences and start using LOL and BRB in everyday conversation, at which point I would need to just take myself out. Since I kind of enjoy living, I bit the bullet and here we are. We've come full circle. I feel majestic for some reason. Like Simba when Rafiki lifted him over that gorge in whatever form of baptism dirty heathen animals practice.

Ok so I recently read about some shit going down in Spain. Apparently some old broad there took it upon herself to restore some priceless religious artifact that was hanging up in some church slowly decaying and people are going completely insane over her lack of artist ability and destruction of a piece of religious history. She has basically been torn a new asshole for her layman's 'restoration' of this thing, and the country is up in arms over her defacement of the beautiful face of Jesus Christo.  This is what the fresco looked like before CeCe got her shriveled tiny mits on it:

As luck would have it, I was able to lock down an interview with this infamous woman before she is thrown from the cliffs of Castellfollit de la Roca by an angry mob of Catholics. So Id like to give a big Midwest Welcome to the feisty Cecelia Gimenez

M-"Good Morning Cecelia, first of all thanks for taking time out of your busy schedule to Skype with me this glorious day"

C-"Eh yes, that's fine, very good. Please be excused from my English. In Espana, the country, she dubs everything. We do not learn the English. I watch the 30 Rock in Spanish, its good, I like woman that eats food products all day"

M-"Oh right, Tina Fey, yeah shes great. So Cecelia, lets get right into it. It seems like you are in a bit of trouble right now with a good portion of your town."

C-"Eh yes. They all very much have the anger at me now. I do not know why."

M-"I think it may have something to do with that Jesus face you took some puff paint to a few days ago"

C-"I don't know what you are speaking about"

M-"Cecelia....... Cecelia, your PR rep agreed this would be a candid, honest interview, a chance for you to clear the air over here in America"

C-"Ok ok ok, keep your hat on your face, I talk I talk. So it happens in this direction. I help out at the church. The priest at the church say to me "CeCe, go fix that wall painting of Jesus Christo" and I say "ok Priest, whatever you say boss" so I take my nieta's Crayola colorwater painting tool, and I do the fixes. No biggie. I just fix the face of Jesus, because I am good Catholic and I do what the Priest he tells me. Now everybody mad mad mad"

M-"So the Priest asked you to do it.Why do you think the priest chose you to perform this special task? Do you have a background in fresco restoration or art history?"

C-"He pick me because he too lazy to do the thing on his own time. Also, I sell the painted leaves with angel faces, animals, whatever you ask for on them on Etsy. I'm thinking that maybe having something to do with this? I don't know, I'm not that Priest, I cant say"

M-"Alright, that makes sense, a Priest, someone you feel has religious superiority over you, tells you to restore a wall painting, and you being the good Catholic you are, do what he says, and make the fixes. Makes sense."

C-"Eh yes that's what happen. I do what he says. I don't need to go to hell for telling Priest 'No, do painting on your own time Priest!' I'm not the uncle of a monkey, I don't sassback to Priest"

M-"Thats understandable. They do carry those stick things sometimes. I imagine getting hit over the head with one would result in a sizeable knot. So how long did it take you to complete this restoration and how long until someone noticed it and the shit hit the fan?"

C-"Ehhhh it take about like 15-20 minutos. I said in other sentence that I paint leaves and sell them on internet. I have pretty good speed at painting now, so it no take that long. I finish painting on Jesus on Tuesday. I start getting phone calling on Friday. It take 3 whole days for people at my church to notice the nice work I do for them. They lack of the respect. Shame on they heads I wish it"

M-"Wow, only 15 minutes? Thats pretty impressive Cecelia. I cant even make myself finish coloring in one page in a coloring book, let alone complete an entire fresco restoration in a quarter of an hour. You got mad skills woman."

C-"Eh yes. I have the skills that are mad. I am good at painting the things. I make many Euros on internet. I no understand why people are having this anger towards myself. I do good work for Priest, for God, for church, for Jesus."

M-"I agree, you were just doing what you thought was right. Sometimes that backfires though unfortunately. So after having time to think this over, are you still convinced that your restoration is a good one? I actually have a copy of the faceJesus right here. I'm going to hold it up to the screen CeCe and then you tell me your thoughts on your work now after the fact, ok?"

C-"Eh yes, ok good, show me the photo picture copy"

M-"Can you see it ok?"

C-"Eh yes. I see it. I see the glowing beauty of the Lord of the Jews and Catholics, Jesus Christos."

M-"Alright, so you're saying that even now, you maintain this is a beautiful painting?"

C-"Eh yes, of course it is beauty. That is the face of a man that saves all of the worlds from the devil and the Mitt Romney"

M-"Oh haha I wasnt aware you were in tuned to the political situation going on over here, but yes, the devil and Romney have some similar qualities, I can understand that comparison. Well Cecelia, you seem like a very strong women, secure in her convictions. You say the Priest told you to do it, and you are somehow convinced that this baby lemur with a neckbeard that you painted is beautiful, so really, who am I to tell you its not"

C-"Eh yes, thank you for understanding the troubles I go through in this time. I do the work that I feel was right, and it makes me hurt in the feelings that the people of the church do not enjoy the glory I paint to the Lord."

M-"Well Cecelia, after an interview like that, I think you should know, America is on your side. Dont let the haters bring you down. You were following orders, to the best of your ability, and most importantly, its a fucking painting on a wall. Nothing to have an aneurysm over considering the current state of the World. So hang in there little mama, things will be better soon."

C-"Ehhh my thanks to the people in the Americas for not getting the anger at me like the people of Espana. I send you some leaves with baby lambs on them in a way to show you my happiness at you."

M-"Sounds great CeCe. Keep on trucking, and have a good weekend"

Summer Fashion Tips

Well Hey there everybody! I hope this morning finds you well. The first official day of summer was yesterday, and that means the time has arrived for us to have the talk. And frankly, it probably doesn't even apply to 95% of the 4 of you that read this because I'm getting old as fuck, and I'm assuming most of you are also old as fuck, and the people that tend to need this talk are all young looking and junk. But I digress. We need to discuss some basic rules I came up with as a middle schooler about how to dress comfortably during  the warmer months without looking like a complete skank.

*Side Note* Its likely I have referenced this topic before in previous posts, but because Blogger's system for categorizing previous posts was developed by a partially stepped on potato bug, I cant find whatever the hell post I was looking for to verify, so if this is a repeat, pretend like Im a stand up comic and you like me so much you followed me to the next city over to see the same act you saw last month **Side Note to the Side Note** Holy shit do not go look up potato bug in google images. You will throw up. I was talking about the rolly polly looking things that are all flat and grey and segmented and that come out of cracks in the sidewalk or from under rocks.

So we all understand that early summer in the Midwest equals lots of blindingly pale skin showing through varying degrees of cotton and spandex and whatever they make swimsuit tops out of. And if you are anything like most of the perverts I know, then this fact may get you all wound up and eager to begin creeping around University bookstores and local popular lake hang out spots with a pair of dark sunglasses and a creatively hidden way to take pictures on your phone without looking like you are taking a picture with your phone.

 And you may be thinking "shut the F up Maria, we like our women and men loose and crazy looking, don't tell them anything that will make them second guess giving us free peep shows 3 months out of the year." I can only say to you, I'm sorry. Someone needs to pass on the torch of knowledge. I cant let this revelation die with me. It must be shared. 

The reason I give a crap if young, or middle aged or old people walk around with their butt cheeks hanging out of the bottom of their shorts or their nipples cresting over the tops of their size 2 tanks is simple. I feel like there is a fine line between sexy and tramptastic, and that more people need to understand that it's not that difficult to still look hot without showing everyone the side of your vulva whenever you bend down to tie your shoe. Or more importantly, that if you are going to let your lady bits fly in the wind in public, then for the love of Freddy Mercury, please don't show me your tits at the same time. And herein, lies my point, the secret to my success:

THE ONE AND ONLY RULE FOR NOT LOOKING LIKE A TRAMP DURING THE SUMMER, REGARDLESS OF AGE:

~Only feature one set of assets per outfit~

Thats it. Its that simple. Think of your body as divided into 3 sections, like so:

These 3 sections are your Fun Zones. These are the areas you can decide to either accentuate, ignore, or hide. I would advise you to take a hard and realistic look at yourself and understand what in fact is your best Fun Zone, and once that is established, remember that this area is the one where skin being shown will be the least offensive or most boner inducing to the general population. Once you've determined your feature Fun Zone, you can begin planning outfits accordingly.  Lets look at some examples of what not to do, and perhaps the mantra above will become clearer to you. 

Here we have Wendy, who seems to have just woken up and is now on the hunt for some Malox and Funyuns to help her start her 3pm off right. I notice first off, that Wendy has some very nice and shapely legs.  She can get away with wearing those daisy dukes, even if her butt cheek is peeking. So for Wendy, we would say her best Fun Zone, is the Lower. Unfortunately, Wendy decided to instead accentuate her Mid and Top Fun Zone by wearing the least supportive swimsuit top she could find behind the dryer and by then layering it with some type of device used to strain shrimp out of creeks. This is not doing Wendy any favors. Lets move on.

Here we have Fiona, who after consuming 12 Zima with Limes decided to take a quick nap in the bottom of an elevator shaft. Upon first glance, I would say that Fiona has some lovely tatas, and that her best Fun Zone is the Top. They seem to be of a nice shape and still full and perky. Fiona made a wise decision when she decided to feature her Top Fun Zone by wearing a very low cut, brightly colored tank. Where she went wrong is when she made the choice to pair that top with her 6 month old infant sister's jean dress, and a 3rd graders Oxford that she found on the bus after that group of private school kids got off at the Museum.

And finally, we have Zeke and Marlon (left to right) I'd like to start out by saying that Marlon looks wonderful and I wouldn't change a thing. He knows that his best feature are his long legs, which he accentuates by wearing a lovely, dark colored skinny jean. Kudos Marlon, you know your shit. Zeke on the other hand, needs a little help. We notice that Zeke has a very nice Mid Fun Zone, which is generally the hardest one to pull off. It is slim, muscular, and has minimal hair growth; a perfect specimen for Mid Fun Zone showcasing. But Zeke went one step too far when he put on that child sized tiger striped hoodie. There's just too much Zeke skin showing, and I now have no desire to guess at whats under those suede pantaloons since I feel like Ive gotten the milk for free. A better choice could have been a simple cut off white tee, or a broken in brown leather vest, worn open without an undershirt.


And so now you know. Showcasing too many Fun Zones at once, or the wrong ones can be disastrous. The results can range from sexual crimes to loss of friendships to natural disasters. If you take one thing away from the post, let it be this: You don't have to show all the goodies all the time. Instead of wearing a dress 5 sizes too small that makes your boobs touch your chin and your bottom wink at passersby, try discussing the current political situation over in Egypt, or how black holes are formed while wearing a tube top and full coverage jeans. You may find that mental stimulation is a better lure for attracting a mate that isn't a douchebag than wearing a full Juicy Couture tracksuit any day.

Thanks for stopping by. Have a lovely day

~Maria

Up the Duff

Hey there lovers & friends! For the .5 of you that don't know me in real life, I recently announced that I am with child. Like the virgin mary. Except I didn't get impregnated by an angel on behalf of a deity. I'm pretty sure.

Anyway, a few of the 5 of you who read this asked me to write something about pregnancy. And so I figured, hey why not, lets go for it. If you hate children, and never plan on having any, and hate people who talk about kids, great, me too! This shouldn't be too terrible to read. Also, I promise that I wont get into too gross of details since I'm not getting paid to tell you this shit, and I'm not divulging the inner workings of my colon if I'm not getting any compensation for it.

So. A list of the things Ive learned so far being pregnant. Begin.


1) Morning Sickness feels like having a 4 week hangover

I was under the impression that this so called Morning Sickness meant that you wake up, puke, and go merrily about your day. This is inaccurate and movies and tv, per usual, lie to you regarding this symptom. For me, Morning Sickness felt like the time I was at Brothers and got real cocky and did about 8 shots of Ciclon and cranberry since they were like a dollar, and then had to be physically carried out of the bar by two very nice bouncers in red shirts as I was apparently passing out in the bathroom. *Side Note* I blame this on my youthful need to impress my boyfriend's friends, who were known for buying 60 of these shots at once and making everyone do them continuously until they were gone. My experience with Morning Sickness was 4 weeks of how I felt the morning after the Ciclon Disaster of 06.

2) The largest cup size Maternity Stores go up to is E. 


Before I began growing a fetus baby in my abdominal cavity, I was already cursed with giant knockers. You read that post, you know my struggles. After being knocked up, these warlocks decided it would be funny to grow even bigger, since apparently I don't look like enough of a freak show already. Fairly quickly into this pregnancy, I found myself becoming angrier and angrier while at work, and aside from the fact that work sucks because its work, I couldn't figure out why. One day I had an epiphany and realized it was because I was cramming something large into something small, much like trying to fit a water balloon into a baby stocking, and this was making me irritable. Like this poor, mentally deficient cat, with its head stuck in a soup can, I knew something had to be done immediately.

 So I went bra shopping, and this is what I found: normal clothing stores don't cater to women with giant boobs. They just don't. Target--DDs. Old Navy-Ds. Alright, maybe I need to try actual maternity stores. Pea in the Pod--Ds. I called Hot Mama--Cs. What in the fucking hell? My assumption for Cs being the largest cup they carry centers around the fact that most of the women who have enough money to shop there all fit into size zero pants before pregnancy, so their tiny bodies only expand to C-grade during full blown knocked-up-ness. To make this long story not that much shorter, I finally found Es at Motherhood Maternity, and I no longer want to murder people within a 3 foot radius.


3) Maternity Bras make you feel like an 89 year old 

There isn't much explaining needed on this one. I'm a bra snob in that I like my bras to be cute, ridiculously overpriced and sewn by tiny children in Indonesia chained to a floor. Maternity bras are not about the sexiness. They are about holding in a wall of cleve so that you don't accidentally give someone a black eye while reaching for a 6 pack of Shasta while at the grocery store. And as much as I may feel less desirable when wearing one of these, I am grateful for their support and military grade fabric.


4) 2 out of 5 co worker's reactions to finding out I'm pregnant have been "I thought you were just getting a fat stomach"


Now this may be the fact that I work in the public sector, and thus the type of people I work with care less than your average human being about not being assholes. I'm not sure if this is normal or not where you work. But after announcing that I am pregnant, I have had at least 6 people tell me they thought I was just letting myself go. I have also been told that a few knew I was pregnant because my face has gotten fatter, not chubby, not bigger, fatter. Lovely! I'm in no way disillusioned to the fact that I'm going to gain weight during pregnancy. But, really, when is it ever a good time to tell someone that they look bigger? Unless they were a Russian orphan in one of those terrible orphanages where the kids cant walk at like age 7 because no one ever interacted with them and they all weigh like 28 lbs. I think that's the only time it is socially acceptable to blatantly comment on someone's weight that you only have a professional relationship with.

5) Losing the ability to enjoy food put me into a mini depression


For the weeks of hungoverness, I was barely able to eat, and the idea of most if not all of my favorite foods made me want to puke all over myself. I wasn't prepared for this. No one ever told me that I may not want to eat certain foods for an extended period of time. And the shock of it turned to depression after the first week passed and the feelings hadn't gone away. I was honest to god depressed over this. If this is not a true testament to my Forever Fatkid status, I don't know what else is. Luckily, I'm rounding the bend, and am finally getting to a point where I can eat most of the things I used to enjoy.

5a) Puking up Hambuger is like puking up some of your soul


Except for burgers. Don't know if I can ever enjoy a delicious grease ball again. Worst vomit experience of my life.

6) I realized that I don't want my kid to be the only thing that bring me joy in life


My husband and I have a pretty great thing going currently. We do pretty much whatever we want in our free time, and live in a nice area with plenty of woods and fields to explore. We also watch a lot of documentaries and are constantly learning new things about the world. Do I understand that having a baby changes things? Absolutely. Do I think it means an end to enjoying the things you used to enjoy as just a couple? Only if you let it. I look at it this way: our dog literally goes everywhere with us, mainly because we don't go many places that would require him to not be there too. So why would that be any different with a baby? If anything, a baby is just another addition to the troop. We may need to carry a few more things to accommodate the newest member, but an addition of a kid to your family unit doesn't have to be like surviving a hurricane.


7) Napping is a lost art


The United States is built on the principal that you work as hard as you can for as long as you can, and that produces the best outcome. This is bullshit. Naps are glorious and should be nationally sanctioned into the workday for everyone. Pregnancy reminded me of this fact, as in my 1st trimester, I could have easily slept for 12-14 hours a day no problem. Ive always enjoyed sleeping, but there is something quite refreshing about napping away an hour in the afternoon, and waking up knowing you can still get some shit done that day.  If I wasn't so concerned about the possibility of contracting bedbugs from some of the furniture in this building, you can bet your ass I would be taking naps at work as well as on the weekends. *Side Note* For some reason, any time I wake up from a nap, I must eat within 5 minutes or I become extremely grumpy, and revert to a 3 year old. I do not know why. So remember Naps + Snack Time = a more productive day.

8) I don't know anything about Baby Stuff


Its not that I'm not the mothering type. In fact, if I see a baby squirrel that fell out of a nest, I cant even let nature take its course, and let the ants eat him. I once kept a baby squirrel in a shoebox in college for that very reason, and after work was planning on taking him to the wildlife rescue, but some asshole stole him from my yard, I'm assuming thinking I left a box of shoes sitting on my steps. What I'm talking about is I literally know nothing about what I need to buy, when my baby should be walking, whats ok to feed them when. I cant even tell how old babies are in real life, and when someone tells me their kid is 37 months, my only reaction is to get angry that they are making me try and remember how to do long division in my head. Does this general lack of knowledge scare me? Not really. Because really we humans are hearty creatures, and if a baby can be born addicted to crack, and still survive long enough to produce its own crack baby, I'm pretty sure my baby will be ok. *Side Note* Its not the crack babies fault.

So there you have it. Pregnancy wisdom. Not much different than regular wisdom. Except there is a tiny parasite feeding off of your internal organs while you are learning it. Fun!


Have a nice weekend. Go outside.


~Maria

Real Talk 101: Racism in America Today

Alright so I've been MIA for a while, and it's not even 100% due to my eternal battle with being a lazy pile of crap.

It's mostly because I keep trying to write something, and then stop myself because I feel like there are more important things I should be talking about than my love of Fruit by the Foot. And there are. And you may not give a crap or be sick of hearing about it or want to tell me to shut up and draw more pictures of mice tap dancing on bread. And as always, my response to you is this:

Lately, I have been becoming increasingly disheartened, and sickened with how the majority culture behaves, thinks, and acts. And by majority, I mean White People. And by White People I mean, knock it off you honkie mother fuckers, you are embarrassing me. Let the record show that I am, in fact, a honkie mother fucker. But due to my complexion, and curly hair, have been confused as a Person of Color for most of my teenage and adult life. I have had many a discussion with friends on how upon meeting me for the first time, 1 out of 5 people will think its somehow appropriate to ask 'what are you?'......and inevitably, these same people, upon finding out I'm just a boring mixture of European Italian and Slovakian gypsy, will turn away with a look of disappointment on their faces, their fetish for the exotic remaining unfulfilled for the day.

And that kind of shit got me thinking. How White People have the luxury of being able to be entranced and disdainful of People of Color all at the same time. And make no mistake, it is a luxury. In college, I was introduced to the concept of White Privilege. This term is something that makes a lot of White People go fucking ape shit. They hate it, don't understand it, and become instantly defensive about it. The most common response to any conversation with uneducated  honkies about White Privilege is "BUT IM NOT RACIST!!!!!!" Let me clarify here, and say that by uneducated, I mean someone who hasn't ever fully grasped the big picture of White Privilege, and instead clings to the self absorbed notion that it is somehow an attack on an individual's personal character. It's not. Truly understanding White Privilege means being able to comprehend how 200+ years of Institutionalized Racism puts White People at a distinct advantage in nearly every aspect of life. Its acknowledging that yes, as a White Person, I have had clear advantages that a Person of Color has not, and that many of these advantages are so subtle, I have never even thought about them before. Why is that so difficult for some White People to accept? I'll tell you why. Because it means this:

Most people want to believe that they are 100% where they are in life because of their own character or merit. The all too tired and familiar Bootstraps Analogy comes to mind. "I have a nice house/car/job/family/life because I worked my ass off my entire life, and I deserve it god damn it, don't tell me its because of some other reason I cant control like how I look!!"

But acknowledging White Privilege exists doesn't automatically negate hard work or gumption or success. Its a simple acceptance of the fact that being part of a majority culture that actively worked/is still working to dehumanize People of Color for hundreds of years may give way to some advantages. Does that seem so incredibly unreasonable to accept? Being able to let go of the Ego of "I AM SOMEBODY SPECIAL, LOOK WHAT I DID" is the first step in evolving as a human being anyway. And who doesn't want to evolve? I know I do. I'm super pumped to eventually turn into a sparkly ball of floating energy.

And it goes the other way as well. Some White People want to solely blame People of Color for the current disparities in household income, imprisonment, education, and family stability because it's easier to shift blame than accept truths. "YOU ARE THE WAY YOU ARE BECAUSE OF HOW YOU LOOK. IF YOU WERE MORE LIKE ME, THINGS WOULD BE BETTER FOR YOU" But accepting truths leads to a burden of responsibility to then do something to change these truths. And like my very good friend said to me, "Most white people don't want to let go of their privilege, even if they understand it exists" Why? Because Privilege is comfortable. It's easier. Its worked for so long, why mess with it? And if you are on the  receiving end of something good, why would you want it to stop?

Why am I talking about this? The recent events in Sanford Florida, and the Trayvon Martin killing has unleashed a torrent of unacknowledged racism from White People all across the Internet. The arguments range in variety from the defense of George Zimmerman's actions, to the absurdly backwards statement that black people should be marching against other societal problems instead of focusing on a single death. Where that logic comes from scares the shit out of me, and truly makes me believe in testing people's emotional intelligence before allowing them to reproduce.

 The simple fact of the matter is, a young unarmed teenager was shot to death on the way home from the convenient store, and the man that shot him is walking free, with no charges currently pending. **As of 4/11/12, charges appear to be currently pending!! As of 4/12/12, 2nd degree murder charges, and Zimmerman is in custody** In any country, on any planet, this kind of injustice is inexcusable. No matter what race or nationality, no parent should have to worry that their unarmed child will be killed while walking home from the store because of how they look. There really isn't anything more to debate. The evidence against George Zimmerman continues to pile up, and as it does, Trayvon's character comes more into question. But why? Do we believe that a young black man who wears baggy clothes, allegedly smokes weed, and has tattoos must be inherently bad, and thus deserves to die unarmed and afraid on the sidewalk?

Which brings us back to White Privilege. Would my husband have to worry about being shot by a self proclaimed Neighborhood Watch member while walking back from the gas station if he were wearing a hoodie? No. The chances are slim to none. Being able to dress and look a certain way without creating an immediate fear reaction in other people is a privilege White People have. It's something we don't have to think about. That's a privilege, whether you want to acknowledge it or not.


Trayvon's murder has increased my desire to learn more about the types of injustices People of Color deal with on a daily basis. Things I don't have to worry about, things that Ive never even dreamed of dealing with because I was born the correct color of the current dominant culture. Because in case you've forgotten,  it's 2012. 60 years past the beginning of the Civil Rights Movement. How have we progressed so little in this amount of time? Don't say to me that we have a black president. Was that in and of itself a triumph for society as a whole, with special significance for People of Color? Absolutely. But has Obama not been one of the most disrespected presidents ever in terms of his fellow politicians and representatives, even while being one of the most well qualified, intelligent, and well educated Presidents of all time? Without a doubt. To say that his race doesn't play a part in that disrespect means you aren't paying attention, or would rather pretend Racism is a thing of the past.
http://newsone.com/1507575/obama-disrespected-president/
http://videos.nola.com/times-picayune/2011/10/obama_the_most_disrespected_pr.html
http://newsone.com/1826025/continued-gop-disrespect-of-obama-is-unacceptable/
http://voices.kansascity.com/entries/obama-presidency-brings-out-worst-many-white-people/


But it's not. 17 stories of unarmed black men killed by forces that are supposed to serve and protect the people of this country in case you would like some more current proof.

http://www.theroot.com/multimedia/beyond-trayvon-black-and-unarmed

Trayvon isn't alone. This isn't just a fluke story making national headlines. This is real. It happens to real people, and real families, and entire communities suffer. And for what? I realized many years ago, we, everyone, all want the same things. Those things boil down to contentedness, safety, peace, being loved by someone and having all of our bodily needs met-food/shelter/clothing/water. We are all looking for that, in different ways, no matter who we are. How can those so very basic and yet universal needs not be enough to stop us from focusing on all of the differences all of the time? We are entering an age when we cant afford to continue to cling to the archaic prejudices of past peoples. Its now or never. The majority of the population in the US is over 55, and that means in a few decades, the majority of the population will be gone. Let their prejudices and hatreds go with them. I don't want that shit around anymore.


All I ask of you is this. If you are white, take the time to learn these stories. Fight any anger or defensiveness or instant reaction that pops up when you hear terms like White Privilege, or hear news stories that raise your hackles. Reverse racism is not real--in the sense that things like Affirmative Action are not in any way racism against Caucasians. You have been told by other White People that it is a form of racism in order to make you feel justified in lesser treatment of People of Color, and to redirect your attention from the real problems. If that's hard for you to understand, if it incites an emotional reaction in you, explore what that is about. Education and a willingness to understand is the key to breaking down these walls. I used to get defensive too. But that's only because I didn't understand. You have to be willing to be an Advocate. If you agree with what you just read, act on it. Be ok with calling people out when they say or do something you know is openly or covertly racist. Dont let shit slide because someone was 'joking'. Grow a pair and tell your friends/coworkers/strangers to STFU.

Find People of Color that are educated in the history of their struggles--Native American, African American, Asian, African, Latino, Jewish, Middle Eastern--and listen to what they tell you. Try to picture what it would be like if you weren't born white. If you had to worry daily about the possibility of your children being targeted and feared because of the tone of their skin. Imagine your 87 year old grandmother being called a racial slur while on a trip to the grocery store next week. Think about coming from a group of people that were almost exterminated by the insanity of one man. And after all of that, if you are still a closet or open racist piece of crap:

Go play with a plastic bag on the Freeway. Because you are taking up my precious Natural Resources.

Thanks for Reading POC and Honkies

Have a Good Weekend

~Maria

Knock that shit off

Good Morrow to you fine ladies and gentleman of the world. I haven't truly bitched about anything in a while, due to the fact that I feared I was starting to sound like an asshole too frequently, and because whenever I bitch about something, I generally offend at least 5 people I know. The fallout from these occurrences wears on my fragile constitution. But today I said to hell with whoever takes the nonsense I spew seriously. See, even Jesus agrees with me.

Alright so I often discuss my issues with social media and how I believe it's collectively lowering the IQ of the planet. Today Id like to focus in on a specific aspect of social media: Relationships. I don't care if you like boys or girls or girls that used to be boys. No one is exempt from the type of shit that consistently piles up in my newsfeed or twitterbox-- I made that up, I like it better than saying tweets.

What I'm referring to is the frequency of how many people--mainly women--find the need to gush about the love they share with their significant other on a regular basis in the very public setting of social media. And by gush I mean heavily over exaggerate the level of happiness and fun they share with their partners in their day to day lives. And by heavily over exaggerate I mean, gross misrepresentations of the truth. And by gross misrepresentations I mean you're fucking lying.

Now, just because I'm a jaded piece of crap, doesn't mean the rest of the world is. I understand that. I get it. It makes sense to me. But--and herein lies the key to the issue--no one, in any relationship that has ever happened in the history of the world, is 100% in puppy love with their significant other, 100% of the time. It's just not possible. We are humans, ergo, we fuck up and do annoying shit on a pretty reliable schedule. And let me clarify here, I'm not saying that by not being 100% in puppy love it means that you are in any way unhappy or that you want to end the relationship--in fact making it past the puppy love stage and still wanting to be with your partner is an accomplishment.  It just means that you are not constantly looking at each other with googley eyes while you sit on a beach under a sky full of stars and rainbows and butterflies while writing poetry about how your souls are entwined on a level beyond comprehension in every plane of existence. That's not reality. But its something we have been conditioned to believe is the necessary recipe for conjugal bliss because of things like this:

 For those of you thinking, "stop being a bitch Maria, people are happy, and its not their fault that you don't feel the same things for your partner that they do" I say to you firstly, go fuck yourself, and secondly, that's the thing though. I DO feel all the things they talk about and post and say. In fact, I may even be more of a loser when it comes to liking your sig other in that I tell my husband on a daily basis how handsome he is--hes real man-pretty in the facial area. I also love how his BO smells. And I let him pop zits on my face because it brings him joy. The difference is--aside from the last 3 sentences--I don't broadcast the really personal shit we do across the social media world. Why?

I do not want to know your personal relationship details. Its called personal because its supposed to stay between you and your life partner. **Side Note**Lets not overlook that initial stage of actual puppy love, where even I can admit to posting some truly inappropriate and annoying shit via social media. See below via 2005. Thanks Timeline! **Edit** For some reason, the text is insanely small now--it wasn't before I swear it. If its worth it to you, copy it to your desktop and then zoom in. If not, know that I sound like a douchehole.

Aside from that, if you have been in a relationship for over a year, and are a person who feels the urge to have daily social media updates about how wonderful your relationship is, how much in love you are, the kinds of things you do for each other, and if you feel the need to write in a way that you don't normally speak, using words like "unstoppable,  forever, amazing, unconditional, magical, mind blowing, wonderful, soul mate", you should know, I automatically red flag your relationship as "troubled". Because most people who feel the need to always wear the mask, and do the old song and dance routine, are covering up an ugly face , or are trying to distract you from the fact that they are homeless and sad and dancing for pennies in the gutter. Did that make sense? It did in my head. You get it, you're smart people.

I guess what I'm trying to say is, be real B's. You don't have to always give the impression that you are the happiest person on the planet because you woke up to the delightful smells of a fart trapped under the covers emanating from your lovers ass. Life is life, relationships are part of life, and they sometimes suck, and sometimes they are just as wonderfully amazingly unconditionally mind blowing as you say they are, but most of the time they are just normal. And that's ok.

Throw me a bone once in a while. If you are someone who likes to share your love life with the world, also let me know if your lover left a wet towel on your side of  the bed this morning or if he/she forgot to take out the trash before you left on vacation and you came home to a house full of cockroaches and vagrant opossums. Those are the kind of things that bring me joy. That's the kind of stuff I want to hear about. The dirty dirty. That's what makes life interesting. So go forth in your social media daily routines, but for the love of Ray Jay, remember to be real.

Thank you for your cooperation. I hope you have a enjoyable weekend

~Maria

Twitter-Pated...I hate this title, but it works, so go with it

Happy Monday! Hope you are enjoying the beginning of your week. I was about to go outside and pick up a winter's-worth of dog shit from my backyard, but decided to write instead, thus delaying the inevitable for another 2 hours.

So I recently joined Twitter. And I did it because I was peer pressured into it by a couple of friends,

whom after a series of 4 email exchanges, convinced me that the benefits of being able to talk shit to each other through it outweighed all the reasons I hate it. So I set up an account. And there were some unintended and unforeseen consequences. I had forgotten that Twitter is unique in its ability to make you feel connected to all the famous people you are obsessed with. Unlike crapfest FB, which only allows for Liking of actors/actresses/bands/writers/comedians/politicians without any meaningful interaction on their part-- famous people have minions to manage most of their social media profiles,--Twitter is  unique in that it is in real time, and offers a chance to actually interact with famous people since all they have to do is come up with brief cool shit to say every 20 minutes via their iPhones. Its also a safe way for the Terminally Famous to interact with fans since everything happens in the internets, and thus they are not forced to sign your body part or napkin or take pictures with you and your fat Uncle Francis.

So I created my account and immediately started getting recommendations of people I should Follow. I began by Following people I actually know in real life. That got me to about 17. Then I remember oh hey wait, I can Follow famous people too. Suddenly I'm Following a handful of bands, a few news outlets, and pretty much anyone who has ever appeared on Comedy Central in the past 5 years, including the entire Workaholics Cast. **Side Note**: If you've never seen Workaholics, try an episode. If you don't think its funny, we probably wouldn't get along in real life, which is fine, I have enough people I have to keep track of anyways.

Prior to this post, only a select few people know of my obsession with the Workaholics Cast,

 specifically Adam and Ders. I have giant, middle school crushes, and would do terrible things to have a chance to Eiffel Tower them. I love Blake too, but think that if we ever made out, our respective curly hair would get horribly tangled and we would never escape. Plus any product of that consummation would literally just be a ball of hair with legs, and that's not fair to do to a child.


So I start Following these people. And something took a hold of me, something I haven't experienced since 6th grade. A feeling that has been dormant since JTT grew up and stopped being a super sexy 8th grader, and turned into a short, semi-feminine used car salesman.

For the next few hours, I get caught up in this nostalgia, the objects of my desire now grown ass men who act in a TV show based in a city I've never been to. BUT! The magic of Twitter will bring us together. I will somehow impress them, out of the tens of thousands of Followers, I will make myself stand out. They will know I exist. And then will love me. Because I am the shit. How could they not?

Time passes. I realize that Ive just spent too many moments of my life thinking about this. Reality set in and I am reminded of a letter I penned to Jonathan Taylor Thomas in 6th grade. At the time, I would have bet my left nut that this letter was not only going to get a response, but it was going to make JTT fall in love with me, no question. I really really wish my mom would have taken a  picture of it before it was sent if only to show to future boyfriends or to take with me on job interviews. I cant remember the exact phrasing, but it basically challenged JTT and his friends to a basketball game against me and my friends...... which in my middle school mind, was a brilliant scheme, because no other girls were going to be writing to him about sports. They would be writing to him telling him how cute he was and how they wanted to marry him and make out and stuff. But I was going to engage his interests, show him what an awesome baller I was, and that sporty girls could be cute and fun and awesome too. Proof--Icebox from Little Giants, 10 years later... possible nose job. Bam.

The recollection of that letter and the subsequent disappointment in not being called within a week to fly out to California to meet my new boyfriend brought me back to earth, thus ending my 120 minute Twitter-obsession. And now I'm back to simply sending my Boos links to funny shit I find on Reddit and posting pictures of my dog, and Ive stopped trying to think of ways to engage with Famous People because for one, I'm not fast enough. They send out a request for cool new songs, or show ideas or finish this sentence Tweets, and I wake up at 6am, think of an awesome response, and realize that that Tweet was from 19 hours and 45 Tweets prior. Famous People live a life of luxury and boredom. They have time to update their crap every 10 minutes. People who are about to spend 50 minutes picking up dog shit do not have that kind of time. And that's alright with me. My life is actually pretty great. I may write a book about it some day, and entitle it "My Life". I'll be sure to keep my 16 Twitter Followers updated on it's progress.

Have a good rest of your week Boo-Diddlies

~Maria

Cornitos

I realize Ive been gone for months. Its not because I don't like you, its more because I just stopped caring. But don't take that personally, I started working out in the wee hours of the morning, and an unintended consequence of this action was a complete loss of motivation to write. But, never fear! today I'm writing.

So a good friend of mine was recently selected to be a judge in a 7th grade ESL short story contest, and because she is the shiat, she sent me the entries she received and I was immeasurably jealous that she was participating in something so awesome. The stories I read were fantastic and featured such lines as "he was as handsome as a newborn chick" which made me almost pee myself with glee. *Side Note* If you aren't aware, ESL students are ones whose first language is not English, and because of this, the stories were both extremely intricate, and creative. *Other Side Note* 'Merican kids have forgotten the lost art of creativity. I like to think "Sweet Life on Deck" and Totino's pizza rolls are partially to blame for this.  As I read all of the entries, I realized that I really miss creative writing, and short stories and just being able to write nonsense without having to worry about fact checking and making sure what I'm saying isn't complete bullshit and all of that. So today's entry is going to be whatever happens to come to my mind.  I hope you enjoy it.

Cornitos

You may not know it by looking at me, but I have a very famous Uncle. He is a successful Cuban-born, American rapper, singer-song writer, and record producer, and his name happens to be Pitbull. He is my mother's brother, and he is someone I have looked up to since I was a tiny baby waddling around in diapers. Now, I know a lot of you may have differing opinions on whether or not my Uncle is actually talented, but let me just clear up any confusion for you by saying this: My Uncle Pitbull  is both a saint and a scholar. He is a giant among men, and is one of the nicest people you could ever meet. Here look at this picture of him, he sent it to me when he was on tour in Brazil with Ne-Yo.

If you still aren't convinced of my Uncle's wonderfulness, check this out:

Thats my pet miniature piglet, Cornitos. Pitbull sent him to me for my birthday last month, and I can honestly say he's the best present Ive ever received, hands down. This is Cornitos after I gave him a bath yesterday--hes loves baths. And that blue thing in the front of the photo is Cornitos' favorite sweater vest, even though it looks like a ball. Its a sweater vest, I can assure you. Don't question me, I took the picture.

Cornitos lives in an Addias shoebox that rests on top of my dresser, and so far this arrangement has worked out pretty well. He enjoys walking back and forth across the dresser parading around in that sweater vest I was telling you about. Hes so proud of that damn thing, I should probably get him another one soon. Or maybe a tiny track suit and a mini boom box. I think he'd like that.

I've never had a pet miniature piglet before so I wasn't really sure what to feed one. I don't know if this is normal for this species or what, but Cornitos is obsessed with Jujubes and malt liquor. He goes through like 1 40 oz a week, I don't know if I should be worried or impressed. But he classes it up by using his tuxedo coozy, and he refuses to drink without his monocle, so you see why I have a hard time scolding him, I mean he looks like hes enjoying himself so much, I don't really have the heart to tell him to knock it off and eat beans and corn and tortilla like normal pigs do.

I found out recently that Cornitos' life expectancy 12-20 years, and I'm pretty excited about that. Although I don't know if his binge drinking will have any impact on this estimate, I'm glad to say that I let my mini pig friend enjoy his life to the fullest. And he seems pretty happy in his shoebox. I mean, he doesn't seem distressed or scared or anything, and hes eating his jujubes, and having regular colorful bowel movements, so I think its safe to say he is happy.

Yesterday, we got a postcard in the mail from one of Cornitos' brothers, Richard. Apparently hes living in a coffee mug over on the West Cost, and is understandably upset about his current living situation.

 Cornitos asked me to write Richard back and invite him to live with us, seeing as we have another perfectly good shoebox available for rent on the dresser, but I'm not sure if Richard will accept or not. Apparently hes kind of a drama queen and Cornitos thinks hes happier in his coffee mug than he lets on, but because hes a middle child, he often feels the need to act out for attention. Cornitos receives postcards like this every few months. I'm fine with it either way, as long as Richard knows that he has to contribute to the household if he does in fact decide to live here.  Cornitos helps out around the house by vacuuming every other day. I just got him a new Dyson, and he was so excited, I wish I would have caught his reaction on tape.

Well I should probably go now, I hear Cornitos calling me in the bathroom. He probably fell into the toilet again. Hes having kind of a hard time figuring out how to flush without falling in. But don't worry, I make sure he puts on his life jacket every time he enters the bathroom. Its hanging on a little peg next to the baseboard, and he figured out how to fasten it himself, so he should be fine. Oh and one more thing, Cornitos just yelled that he wanted me to tell you to "stop being a pussy and call that Asian chick you met at Tires Plus last week because if you dont, hes going to call her and show her a good time, if you know what he means "... and now hes cracking up, and I think he just fell into the toilet again from laughing too hard. God hes such a perv, sorry about that. Hes probably been drinking.