To Liberal White People: Now What?-Written by a fellow liberal white person that doesnt know shit but is trying

So.

Tuesday happened.

From here on out Tuesdays will just be a reminder of the 7th circle of insanity hell my mind went through Tuesday night into Wed morning as I sat on my couch alternating between ugly crying and utter disbelief and angry yelling at the tv. I waited until PBS called it around 1:40am because even though I started to have the anxious shits at 8pm that evening, and by 10pm I was seriously concerned, and by midnight I knew, but pretended I didnt, I still wanted to wait until it came directly out of someone's mouth:

Donald Trump has won the election for president of the United States.

 Weve already all done this rehashing of trauma a shitton the past week. It sucked, he sucks, America sucks, everyone sucks, Im going to go live in a remote mountain hill with my family and social circle and we will learn how to make our own spirits from hillside grown barley and bramble berries and we will all live in peace with everyone in the glorious sunshine. Glorious yes, but that aint happening.

This election has shaken people to their core, and maybe more than ever, it has shaken liberal whites to their core. We who have said this could never happen in our america, because how could the people of this country elect someone who is backed by the KKK??? That said he will support a platform to repeal gay marriages? Who wants us to build a literal fucking wall separating our country from mexico? Who will overturn Roe v Wade?? This is 2016 for fucks sake!!! And our gay, and Muslim, feminist, and POC friends just sadly smile and pat us on the head like the giant dumb puppies we are, because they knew, and have always known what the underbelly of America looks like. Because they are the ones for whom that underbelly sneaks out of dark corners to bare its fangs when no one else is looking. They who know that liberal white America's silence on matters of racist/sexist/xenophobic/homophobic injustice isnt a statement of hatred, but an outcry of apathy. We dont care, because we dont have to care. It stops being an issue for many of us when we turn off the tv, or set down our phones. It never stops for them.

I have seen white friends and acquaintances throughout the last week that save social media for only happy uplifting basic stuff, begin to tentatively dip their toes into the waters of dissent and speak up and as a fellow white person I have mentally shouted THANK YOU!!  and then have told them so. I also see the blowback from people saying that these gestures arent genuine, are an attempt to garner social media points, dont mean shit if you arent actually out there on the line. That perspective is valid, as it comes from a place of decades and decades of disappointment in how nice liberal white people dont seem to give a shit enough to actually do any of the real work for change. So I get it. As a white person, I think its my job to encourage those of us that are just beginning to be brave enough to get involved. Sure, dont expect a thank you from your black coworker for saying you think its wrong that Steve Bannon (RAGE STROKE skdjfaldskjfa) will be a white house adviser, but I can say thank you and talk to you about what else we can do to let our government know we dont accept this walking shit stain as a whisper in our new president's ear.

So what can you do?

*Continue to post article and videos and pictures on social media that show you dont support the kind of America Trump built his platform on. Dont be afraid to rile up your family. These are the conversations we need to start having and it CAN be done in a way that doesnt result in someone losing a limb (most of the time)

*Talk to the moderate people closest to you in person that dont agree with what you are saying. This will probably result in rage and shouting. Thats ok. Nothing worth doing is easy. Dont give up. Take breaks, come back to it at another time. These conversations are marathons not sprints. We are working on getting people to want to change whats in their hearts and that takes lots and lots of time and energy.

*If you have people in your life that are openly racist/sexist/homophobic because they have been embolden to be since the election, CUT THEM THE FUCK OUT. Your acceptance of their behavior is what perpetuates the cycle.  (I get the last two points seem contradictory, but you will know if someone is a lost cause or not)

*Contact your congress people!! Seems silly at first but this can be very effective in enacting them to take a side. Huffpost just did an article about this, which is better than what I could tell you.

http://www.huffingtonpost.com/entry/contacting-your-congressional-representative_us_582a0965e4b060adb56f8e95?zc5s5ozyi3eszia4i%3Futm_hp_ref=black-voices&ir=Black%2BVoices&section=black-voices&ncid=fcbklnkushpmg00000047

http://www.house.gov/representatives/find/

*Give your money to organizations that are helping to fight in a meaningful way. Ask people who know more than you who they give to. Thats what I do. The ACLU is a good place to start.
https://www.aclu.org/

*Show visibly that you dont support Trump's platform of hate. Pins, buttons, shirts, hats, bumper stickers, flags. Be a walking billboard for justice. IMO I find this especially important in conservative areas. My city went Trump all the way, it wasnt even close. It is more important for me to be brave enough to show people in my city that I dont agree with their indifference or hate than it is for someone on a college campus surrounded by like minded individuals.

*Attend meetings and rallies in your area that promote social justice. Go to a protest. Does that seem daunting and scary? It feels that way to me too. But push that fear aside, tell it to fuck off, and go anyway. If you dont have anything going on in your area, talk to people and figure out how to start something.

*ASK QUESTIONS to other people that are actively involved in social justice movements and who know what they are doing. I dont consider myself one of those people, but I am talking to those people to figure out my place in all of this and how to help.


If you made it this far, thank you. Know that I wrote this from the best place in my heart, and that I am open to being told what I got wrong, or any sources you think I should add, remove. Know that I appreciate and echo your anger for your POC, Muslim, gay, female friends and want us all to cultivate it into something powerful in a way the majority of liberal white people in this country have never done before. Now is the time to stand up and take action, even if you've been too scared in the past. Now is the time to be on the right side of history.

Etsy--SHUT UP AND TAKE MY MONEY

I don't know at which point one of my asshole friends told me that the money pit called Etsy exists, but Id venture to bet its been a good 8 years that Ive been gracing people all over the world with my hard earned and now my husbands hard earned nickles and dimes. It began as a way for me to support my artist friends but then quickly steamrolled into my current status which Id call a bi-monthly fix. My relationship with this site borders on abusive in that it does things to me that cause me to scream at it, and throw my phone, but then theres this grace period where I cuddle back up to it, and present it with a fresh bouquet of roses and things are sweet and lovely for a while.

Etsy is the Target of the Internet because 100% of its inventory is shit I in no way actually need, but that my heart will tell me I cant live without and before I know it that tiny orange cart in the corner says 3 next to it when all I was trying to do was look up what time TGI Fridays closes on Tuesday nights.

No, Etsy Ap on my phone, ( whats wrong with me ) I do NOT need a "here's more shit we recommend you buy so that your husband flips a table when the credit card bills comes" section. Its not necessary. Knock it off. I already have a problem without you giving me the crack for free.


My main areas of concern:

1) Rings. I have so many silver Etsy rings that Ive run out of fingers to put them on and soon will need to start wearing them on my toes in case I want to look even more like a  Gypsie than I already do.

2) Pendant necklaces that I feel represent me as a person to the extent that if I was forced in a hostage situation to be identified by the jewelry I was wearing anyone who knows me would instantly says "yes, yes they have Maria, that's so something she'd wear".

3) ALL THE WALL ART. PUT IT ALL OVER ME. IF I WAS A STRIPPER ID ASK PEOPLE TO MAKE IT RAIN WITH WALL ART.

4) Tiny animal statues made of anything. I have 2 kids under 5 I cant have nice tiny things, what is wrong with me? I need a room just filled with animal statues I can go meditate in forever.

5)  A kintsugi cup I'm not supposed to actually use. Again, where do I display this without fear of it being destroyed or someone spitting a mouthful of chewed bacon into it (a thing that actually happened in my house)

6) GRAPHIC TEES because I refuse to dress like an actual human adult and I need these shirts to let everyone know how I feel about GoT or Duck Duck Grey Duck.

7) Moscow Mule cups so I can pretend I'm in a Renaissance storyline when I'm drinking ice water

8) Tarot cards to become a fortune teller when I grow up

9) Enough Ceramic/Pottery to open up my own Etsy shop selling other peoples Ceramic//Pottery Ive collected

10) Front back earrings that I will inevitably lose the back to and then have to spend the next 3-4 days frantically searching for and hoping not to find it in my baby's diaper.

11) Hooded sweatshirts with mythical creatures printed on them

12) A spoon with a saying embossed on the scoop that truly serves no purpose whatsoever other than being able to say, hey did you see this cool spoon I own that has words on it?

13) A mermaid tail blanket. I shouldn't have to explain this to you if you don't get it, get on this level.

14) 8 small Japanese glass terrariums that I will for sure end up killing because I never read the directions

15) This fucking sweet lamp made out of a gourd

16) A custom pet portrait

17) A rhino or reindeer mounted head made out of corrugated cardboard that my husband and I will never agree upon a place to hang it so it will sit in my closet sadly for 4 years.


18) Gifts for others...?? Right that's why I logged in the first place



Etsy--I hate you I love you I hate that I love you.

Etsy Sellers--Stop being so creative and beautiful and glorious and way over charging me for something that literally cost you 1/10th of what I bought it for without question.

Husband--I'm sorry. It could be worse, I could be addicted to meth or Kate Spade bags (are those a thing, I think so?) Thanks for working so hard and being so smart that we have expendable income for me to be selfish with.


In conclusion, my Etsy life motto:

Hey NRA....FUCK YOU

So here we are again. At this place that doesn't seem to be going away no matter how many times we rage against it internally, out loud, on social media, while holding a sign at a protest, in an impassioned email or voicemail left for a political representative. Here we are again.
And here we continue to be.

It doesn't seem to matter who we are. We can be a friend or relative of a victim, or a famous person, or an average citizen that's just tired, so so tired of this continuing to happen over and over and over and OVER without any actual changes being made. We are the collective Sisyphus but instead of at least getting to enjoy the accomplishment of getting the boulder up the hill in the first place, our fucking boulder doesn't even budge. Its immovable. Its cemented to the fucking earth with iron pylons a mile deep. We have dug deep trenches and grooves with our feet because even though we know this boulder is stuck, we are driven to at least keep trying because we know that our errand is right. It is just. Something has to change; we must keep trying until our feet wear away and all the muscles in our back break from the strain. But here we are. Here we continue to be.

I am not saying I have the answer locked away in my head. I do not claim to be a magician. In fact, I am aware enough to know that this problem, this disease, this implanted parasite needs a solution far more detailed than a group of people in a tiny room could come up with given the time and money and resources. I get that its become a part of the social structure of America and that dissecting it and cutting away the bad parts and making it new again will take more social momentum than I can imagine right now. But that doesn't mean we don't try. It doesn't mean we simply give up and walk away because the solution to the problem is too hard.

Let me make this very clear--We are fighting against an enemy that does not care about you or your family or me and mine.  Even though they may claim otherwise, they do not see the importance and need for unity and community on any level within our country. They do not understand why being a collective of different kinds of people working together is always better than an individual working alone and against. Their culture is a breeding ground for the very people they say they are trying to stop. The ideology of the NRA has more in common with the ideology of ISIS than it does with whatever moral code you live by, I promise you that. Fear mongering, emphasis on only looking out for yourself, absolute devotion without question, irrationality when presented with logic and facts, incalculable stubbornness, an overall psychological need to be RIGHT, and most importantly, money. Money money money, bitch. They control the money, so they control the laws. The cycle of power and wealth that loops and never ends. Any change to the system means a loss of control or income or both, so they will continue to be immovable and irrational and unyielding until their last breath in order to protect the fortress they have created for themselves. Their fucking motto is "From my cold dead hands" and you can bet your ass they mean that. Because to lose their power is akin to death.

THAT is what we are up against. That is why we are sitting here today, 2 days after a man walked into a nightclub at 2am and killed 50 people just trying to have a good time in a place they felt accepted and comfortable. Because a school full of babies wasn't enough. Because a room full of people peacefully discussing their religion together wasn't enough. Because a movie theater full of families wasn't enough. Because nothing will ever be enough to make the human garbage juice running the NRA ever want to relinquish their death grip of power and money on this country.

 We don't need AR-15s available to the public. We just fucking don't. Seriously, stop it, shut up, we don't. There are 3 million of these guns (MILLION!! ) lose in the united states right now. 3 MILLION. What the fuck. This is a gun the NRA continually fights to keep around, and after every mass shooting,this is a gun that more people go out and buy. Tell me again how more guns make us more safe? Go ahead tell me. I want you to say it to me with a straight face. But first take a look at these images and tell me how these people all died if there are 3 million AR-15s in this country keeping them safe?

I am tired of growing weary of death. I am tired of seeing the families and friends and communities destroyed by bullets that shouldn't have been there in the first place. I am tired of people dying. I do not give a solution because I don't know what it is. All I know is this--there are more good people in our country than bad. There is more love than hate. There is more positive than negative. The NRA wants you to forget that. Be your better self. Rise above your fears and get to know people. Build your community up so that you look out for each other. Be your own villages instead of heavily armed islands. They want you afraid and distrusting and unwelcoming to anyone that looks or sounds or dresses or acts or prays different than you. Don't you fucking give them that. Not anymore.


https://www.gofundme.com/PulseVictimsFund

https://www.oneblood.org/

http://www.preventioninstitute.org/focus-areas/preventing-violence-and-reducing-injury/preventing-violence-advocacy.html

Escaping the Bonds---a tour of random shit piles in my home

This is me sitting in a childsized wagon with my two children in an attempt to keep them away from the sandbox which happens to be under the deck where a nice but not bright robin couple decided to begin a family. The robin couple are frantically running around my yard in a panic and are refusing to get back in the god damn nest even though they continued to make the fucking thing a few weeks ago while my children ran amok among them and shouted things at the sky. I can only do so much robin family. This is why natural selection happens.

As I was sitting in this wagon I began to contemplate my own home and the various nest like collections strewn about roughly 80% of the time. I should begin by stating that I was raised in a family that was undiagnosed obsessive compulsive in terms of many things, with cleanliness being at the top of that list. It honestly took me 25 years to accept that the way I grew up was abnormal and that everyone elses's homes were not in fact the pig sty hovels I was taught to think they were. I could talk to you forever about the extent of the madness, but one of the best examples I can recall was not being allowed to hug a brand new stuffed animal I was given as a gift for fear that it may get lint on my outfit before church. I instead smushed that stuffed turtle with the red baseball cap as hard up against my face as I could and spun around to get out the love aggression since I was being denied the pleasure of hugging him properly. Lint. Lint was somehow a sin. Do you understand how this can warp a child's mind? Sweet baby jesus, the insanity.

You'll be happy to know that in the act of creating and then caring for children, I have overcome my learned terror of messes and dirtiness. By overcome I mean that I allow life to happen without stopping my kids and dog and husband from just being living breathing beings that naturally make messes. The anxiety it gives me is still very real, but I override my urge to control it 75% of the time and for that I give myself a giant high five. Well done, you. You will only fuck your children up marginally in this regard!

With that being said, if my mother were still alive, and if my gram wasnt fighting dementia, the state of my home on a daily basis would put them both in comas that they may never awake from. Part of me is horrified at this fact of my life and the other gets incredibly gleeful that Im an adult and that this is my home and that I can do whatever I want with it so fuck all yall. I share this with you now in the hopes that if this is familiar to you, you dont feel so alone, and that if this disgusts you, you are able to feel better about yourself because of me. Ride that high horse, baby.

 First I bring you to the dining room table, which is covered in toys, playdoh, playdoh toys, and the remains of lunch which we ate around the toys, playdoh and playdoh toys. Im actually impressed as the table isnt completely covered in half chewed, smushed food, so this must mean this was taken on a day I actually used cleaner to clean it that morning instead of just pushing a damp paper towel around it and creating Impressionist-like murals from old avocado and over easy egg yolks.

Ahhh we now travel downwards to the floor. The glorious floor which remains glorious for exactly 37 seconds after it is cleaned before milk is spilled on it 4 times in a row, and the dog throws up on it for some reason. Here you'll see it is sporting a lovely mixture of dog hair, playdoh crumbs, playdoh toys, old milk stains, and an orange plastic plate which I can guarantee will remain underneath there for several days until I get annoyed enough to crawl on my knees and pick up.

Here we have the playroom which by all means should always look like this. If your kids bedroom or playroom doesnt looked played in, as a survivor of childhood cleaning trauma whose room always had to look magazine perfect, I implore you to knock that shit off. Give them this. Let them at least have this.

We now make our way up the stairs, past the random dirty pee diaper on the landing, to this stop at the humidifier table in the hallway where a fun collection of items seems to be having some kind of random things convention. You'll notice many toys and pieces of toys and games, as well as a large 5 ft long cardboard tube that came with the outdoor rug that we bought for the porch and that has somehow traveled from the garage into our 2nd floor living space. Yes, what you are seeing there IS a big ass plastic stripper shoe that fell from the top shelf in my closet and didnt mange to brain anyone to death when it took its mighty leap, and that I am now letting my kids play with because I think its funny as hell to see them try to walk in it or use it as a vehicle for their figurines to travel in.

Here we find an upside down laundry basket with a collection of pajama tops and bottoms I got too overwhelmed to actually find matches for, fold and put away. Thats like 7 steps for one chore, I said GOOD DAY SIR. So here they will sit for the next 3-5 days until I feel up to finishing that specific task. Note the random book poking out from under the closet and my toes which I was too lazy to crop out.

This is the guest bedroom that theoretically should be in mint condition as we havent had guests in it in over two months. Youll see that it, in fact, is not! Empty diaper box and bunny tail from an old Halloween costume withstanding, Id enjoy sleeping in here were it not for the fact that a tiny localized tornado clearly took out that train yard and no one has given any thought to helping the community rebuild. Thanks again for nothing FEMA.

This is the sink in the laundry room and my favorite shit pile nest in the house because I have zero clue how any of this stuff got here, and because of that I am allowing it to stay. Paw Patrol Zuma hovercraft toy, tampon, cap to laundry detergent, tiny book called Chicken Soup with Rice, large piece of fool's gold sitting on the book--which I found out the hard way that my baby with a death wish can fit entirely into his mouth, kill me, empty bottle of infant tylenol, $6 in cash, roll of duct tape, small garden stone, and wooden nut to child toolbox that I havent seen in 6 months. If these items had a high school yearbook, Id sign it "Love you guys!! Youre hilarious, Never change!!"

We return to the mainfloor for a glimpse at the mudroom, where because we live in a Northern state that has bipolar weather conditions, I am unable to fully put away our winter boots, hat, and coats, even though I have already taken out our summer sandals, rain jackets and sunscreen. That lovely carpet remnant we use to wipe our feet on is from the day we moved in two years ago, and that striped mitten is one of approximately 5 pairs who no longer have matches and just get thrown together based on whatever is available and hasnt been placed into the dogs water bowl by the baby. I can see you wondering, and Yes we have been invited to show in the Parade of Homes based on this photo alone.

A little jaunt from the mudroom we have the ever present Random Shit Pile of Eternity that has always been and always will be until the sun explodes and the oceans turn to dust. There are so many fun things here but some of my favorites include--giant garden rock, tube of pink party hats, hammer, jewelry cleaner, plastic popcorn container that is filled with all my jewelry I take off immediately upon entering my home, happy face stickers, a book that my husband keeps forgetting to return to his coworker, a broken camera from 2008 that made it through 2 moves, and the Grand Poobah of them all--a purple felt box containing my mothers ashes so she can see the shitshow of my life and laugh with me and be a part of it on the daily. Also that Galileo thermometer I got 3 Xmases ago has somehow managed to survive being hit with a mini basketball over 35 times. We only have the highest quality imports around here. folks.

And finally, mainly because I'm getting bored and not because there aren't any more shit pile nests to show you, nothing compliments a scenic view like many spray bottles of household cleaners, a pair of reading glasses that no one has ever come back for, potted plants that will probably never grow, and an antique statue used as a place to dry the nose frida.


Thank You for coming on this tour with me. Have a wonderful weekend fart knockers.

Love,

Maria

Sometimes it Snows in April

Last Thursday April 21st, Earth was rocked by the news of Prince Rogers Nelson's passing. Being a native Minnesotan who has lived here my entire life, the revelation was doubly heartbreaking, as we have always felt an intense amount of pride that someone larger than life in the way Prince was has never become too big for his Northern roots. He didn't up and leave to LA or NYC like everyone else does once they make it. He embraced the city and state that bore him into this world, and we equally embraced him back. He was one of us, wasn't embarrassed about it, and like everything else he did, didn't feel the need to explain it to anyone, because he was the living, breathing embodiment of

Its none of yo business

As details emerge about his passing, I realized that I do not give a fuck about the specific reasons behind his death. Words like suicide, overdose, addiction, opiate get thrown around and truly, whether or not those words make it into the final autopsy report doesn't mean shit. None of those words define him or can take away his shine and light and all the good energy and deeds he put into the world while he was a part of it.

 I woke up this morning with something close to embarrassment that I still feel so sad that hes gone. I mean, Ive never met him, I wasn't distantly related to him, I've never seen him live in concert, I cant be considered a Super Fan. By all estimations this should be a 1-2 day sadness at best. But it's not. I think for a lot of Minnesotans it's not. We are collectively heart broken over the loss of a person that impacted the world on such a grandiose level but who was still down to earth enough to buy music at Electric Fetus on the weekends like any other musically inclined Minnesotan would do.

I was lucky enough to have been a part of the all night dance party First Ave threw on the day he died. My friend Rachel and I waited in the giant crowd for almost 2 hours with only a sliver of hope that we'd actually make it inside the building. But we had to try. And by the grace of the Purple One we made it in and onto the dance floor where we proceeded to shake our shit for the next 2 hours in honor of a man that made that club famous. Rachel said how crazy it was to watch the projected image of Prince singing Purple Rain on a screen that was literally where he was standing when he the video was recorded. At times during the night watching him dance up there on that screen truly felt like we were watching him live, and everyone would cheer at his splits or crazy footwork like he could hear us. And really, what more fitting of a way to explain what he means to Minnesota and humanity in general in that a recorded video presence causes people to scream and cheer? He truly was a special energy and humanity is better for having been the recipient of all he had to offer musically, socially, and on a humanitarian level.

Thank you Prince for being you, 100%, all the time, without a second thought. Your confidence in being true to yourself is something all of us should be inspired to try whether we are 3 or 93. As time passes and more of your inner circle reveals the true scope of your generosity towards the poor, people of color, and other forgotten communities, it underscores the feeling we all had, all just inherently knew about you--that at your core, you were just a wonderful human being that happened to communicate best through the language of music. Thank you for it all, we are all better having had the chance to share this space and time with you. And as Corvette so fittingly said,

RIP Prince Rogers Nelson June 7th, 1985--April 21st, 2016

Behind the Pup Tag---Paw Patrol Expose

My 3 year old recently started watching Paw Patrol, and can I just say that the pups and all of Adventure Bay can seriously just fuck right off. After watching literal hours of this mind excrement, I have come up with my own theories on what I think the reality is behind every one of these imaginary animals and their human companion.

**WARNING** This may offend you. I dont care, this is just your trigger warning so I cant get sued.

CHASE

From his over-eagerness to use his SWAT vehicle, to his beloved Spy Drone, it's not too difficult to surmise that Chase, one of the most called upon and rule abiding members of the Paw Patrol, is actually at his core, an undercover NSA operative and Nazi sympathizer. It is rumored that his great great grandfather was a patrol dog along the Polish/Germany border back during WW II, so its safe to say he grew up hearing a lot of fucked up pro Aryan brotherhood propaganda. He is unable to sleep without the lights on, although no one has ever been able to get him to open up about this. Why he is allowed to remain in the Paw Patrol is still a mystery but its telling that he is frequently left out of group facebook event invites and was the only pup not present at Zuma's daughter's Quinceanera. 

SKY

While undergoing basic training at the air force academy, Sky was injured in a freak accident when a propeller broke off a grounded plane and landed on her back as she was passing underneath. She underwent months of physical therapy and in the interim period became seriously addicted to prescription pain medication. Knowing she was unable to kick her habit and being unable to keep her on the roster as an addicted cadet, her commanding officer wrote her a letter of recommendation for the Paw Patrol as he recognized her immense talent and knew that flying was the only thing holding her together mentally. Ryder is aware of Sky's addiction problems but as long as she doesn't do anything illegal in public while wearing her Pup Tag, and makes sure to keep her nose clean during flight, he allows her her vices. She is often seen smoking lonely cigarettes behind Everest's cabin. She says the cold is one of the only things that makes her feel alive anymore.

EVEREST

Pictured here in her hometown village of Voskresenskoye, Russia, Everest is a former KGB operative who went AWOL after her 179th kill. She grew up a simple girl, who dreamed of one day owning her own bakery in Moscow. No one really knows what led her down the path of trained assassin, but one thing is clear--she was god damn brilliant at her job. She wanted to get as far away from that lifestyle as possible, so she ended up in Adventure Bay USA, a hardened woman looking for whatever kind of redemption there can be for murderers. Being unable to relate to any of the other pups and their trivial problems, she lives in an isolated log cabin, with her lover, Luke. Luke is probably the only other person in Adventure Bay that's experienced even close to what Everest has in terms of general life tragedy and violence, as he was raised as a part of a missionary family in Sierra Leon. He was forced to watch his entire family's brutal murder at the tender age of 9 and then was recruited into a child solider army for the next 5 years until he was rescued by a Red Cross volunteer group who stumbled upon his camp. Everest is his shining light in an otherwise bleak existence. They spend most of their time smoking fat joints and eating brick fire pizza to numb the pain. We dare not judge those who hath witnessed so much. 

MARSHALL

Continually the butt of the pup's jokes and known for his eternal clumsiness, Marshall actually suffers from a genetic disorder called Dyspraxia. His bumbling and tumbling isn't just for comic relief--he literally can not control his body movements as there is a disruption in the way his brain sends signals to his body . He has yet to let the other pups know about this, and instead prefers to allow them to think he enjoys being the class clown. He joined the Paw Patrol to help inspire others with this disease into pursuing jobs and hobbies that involve movement and athleticism. His catch phrase "My highly trained paws are at your service" is his own version of dark humor. He and Sky have had an on again off again relationship that he has been working hard to make more serious if Sky is able to buck her addiction. "I cant fully love her until she fully loves herself" he was overheard saying to Rocky after having one too many Bud Lights at the local tavern. 

ROCKY

Rocky is the only pup that is court mandated to be a member of the team as a requirement of a plea bargain deal. He suffers from an extreme case of hoarding that has landed him in several treatment centers and jail. He has lost 3 homes and most of his family to this debilitating condition. He is making progress living with the team, but we are privy to glimpses of his internal struggles like when he gave Farmer Al shit that one time for trying to throw away a rusted bucket full of holes--it's in these moments that we truly feel his pain. The pups are aware of his issues and are not allowed to keep trash of any kind on the premises for more than 48 hours. Almost everyone is supportive in helping Rocky come back to some semblance of normalcy, only Chase finds this disorder to be a "total crock of shit". 

ZUMA

Zuma is of Central American descent and made his way north to Adventure Bay after having successfully jumped the fence somewhere on the Texan/Mexican border. He had a cousin working for cash in a town outside Adventure Bay and decided to try his luck there in the hopes that he would one day raise enough money to get his wife and 2 children into the US through legal channels. Ryder's parents found him outside a home depot and hired him to be their gardener. After several days it became apparent that Zuma's talents far outweighed simple horticulture, and Ryder's parents suggested he apply for the open position with Paw Patrol. Ryder liked him immediately and after hearing Zuma's story, assigned him to the water position as being near the water reminds Zuma of the small fishing village he left in search of a better life for himself and his family. Ryder has been helping him with paperwork in becoming a legit citizen of the United States.  Sky was able to pull some strings with her air force connections, and Zuma was reunited with his wife and two daughters late last March. They live in a modest apartment on the shore of Adventure Bay and Zuma commutes to work daily on his hovercraft. 

RUBBLE

As the only openly gay member of the Paw Patrol, Rubble works hard to promote GLBTQ acceptance in the areas in and around Adventure Bay. It was slow going at first, but as people have gotten to know Rubble and seen the result of his tireless efforts to save people, there has been some real positive momentum, with Mayor Goodway instating a yearly GLBTQ appreciation parade that was like a toned down version of PRIDE. During a recent bodybuilder competition, Rubble was charged with doping allegations which he vehemently denies. The scandal was a big one but word on the street is that people are favoring Rubble's side of the story that Mayor Humdinger and the Catastrophe Crew may have been behind the syringes found in Rubble's gym bag. It is known that Chase and Rubble are lovers, but Rubble is understanding in Chase's reluctance to come out given his insanely conservative upbringing. Rubble's dream is to one day leave the Paw Patrol. marry Chase, and open a small gym somewhere in Arizona. 

RYDER

Ryder has been institutionalized for the past 17 months in a maximum security mental hospital at the request of his grieving parents for an inability to connect with objects and people in the real world and an obsession with an imaginary town called 'Adventure Bay' with the accompanying delusion that he is the leader of a rescue team of talking, vehicle driving puppies that never age. His parents were forced to make this heart wrenching decision after several of the neighborhood dogs went missing and  Ryder was found by police with the dogs holed up in an abandon water tower. It was documented that during his arrest Ryder kept shouting "If you're in trouble, just yelp for help!!" to anyone that would listen. Charges in the dog abductions are currently pending. 

I may be going to hell. Probably, I'm probably going to hell.

Have a lovely day you sexy mini muffins

Love,

Maria