I AM THE OTHER

Today is January 21st, 2017. One day since that man became president, 12 hours since the White House website removed the LGBTQ, Climate Change, Civil Rights, and Healthcare pages, and only a few hours before women and men across the country join together in solidarity to protest the changes about to happen to this great nation. Because make no fucking mistake--America IS already great. Perfect? Of course not. But when I think about all of the wonderfully kind, accepting, intelligent, crazy talented people I know here, when I think about all of the loving families, and all of the grandmas and aunties and friends and people with fame and notoriety that are for the first time in their lives, finding their voices, I know we cant all be as bad as they say we are.

See, Trump and his flunkies, and the Republicans in congress, and the Alt Right Nazis all want you to believe that this place we live is unbearably broken. They want you to be simultaneously ragefully angry and paralyzed in fear. They want you to believe them when they tell you--sometimes directly and sometimes more subtly--that we are broken because of poor people. Because of brown and black people. Because of sex and hormone crazed women. Because of the gays. Because of the atheists. Because of  Muslims. Because of Immigrants. Because of the Native Peoples fighting endlessly for our planet. Because of Environmentalists. Because of Hippies/Hipsters/Freaks. Because your fear is money in their pockets, and they will do anything for more of it.

Once they've convinced you of these things, and more importantly, once they've convinced you that it's now ok to think these things and say these kinds of things outloud, it is easy to let your heart grow cold. To not even notice when that tiny flame of kindness and compassion quietly extinguishes itself. When the light that is the ability to truly see yourself in the face of another goes dark. And like a line of dominoes, everything else follows and comes crashing down. Now when you look, all your eyes see is OTHER, DIFFERENT, NOT LIKE ME. And you are afraid. Your fear can present as anger or disgust or arrogance or denial or indifference. But make no mistake, at your core, you are afraid.

I know there is nothing that I can say to make your fear/hate diminish. Like most good, true, important things, it unfortunately has to come 100% from inside of you. You need to notice your heart fire has gone out, and then you need to care enough to want to relight it.

But I want you to know this. Regardless of what the next four years bring, regardless of the things you do in the name of righteousness, regardless of the hurts you may cause us and our families and friends

WE ARE STILL HERE

WE ARE STILL HERE AND WE ARE NOT GOING ANYWHERE

WE ARE THE LORAX AND WE SPEAK FOR THE TREES

WE ARE DEFIANT POTATOES

WE ARE THE GRANDDAUGHTERS OF THE WITCHES YOU WERE NOT ABLE TO BURN

WE RESIST.  WE RESIST,  WE RESIST

We will not go down without a fight. We will not shut up. We will not allow hatred to be normalized. We will always fight for love and goodness and kindness.

So turn away if you must. Pretend nothing has changed. But know that there are so so so so so many multitudes of us. Some of us you wont even be able to recognize at a glance as Other, but we are there. We have infiltrated your churches and schools and grocery stores and coffee shops. We are all around you. We are America and we are living right next door and we will not go quietly into that good night. We are here. We are here. We are here.



Thank you to everyone marching today. I love you. I love what you stand for. I send you light and hope for your safe return. Thank you for representing the Others.


~Maria

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

Grocery Shopping in just 47 simple steps!

1) Decide to go grocery shopping

2) Put it off for 3 days

3) Wake up on morning of 4th day and say fuckkkk we have to go today for sure

4) Think about what we should have for dinner for the next 7 nights

5) Become too overwhelmed and decide to plan for 3 nights

6) Spend a cumulative total of 45 minutes looking for new recipes to try

7) Become too overwhelmed and decide to make 2 of the 5 go to meals that are on rotation every 9 days and focus on only one new meal 

8) Begin to make list on paper because every time you do a list in your phone you end up dropping the god damn thing while trying to juggle cart pushing and you are one screen crack away from Sudden Instant PhoneDeath Syndrome

9) Begin the 25-45 minute process of getting 2 small children and yourself ready to do anything outside your home

10) Go back upstairs 14 times for the things you forgot to bring down the other 13 times

11) Get everyone in the car

12) Go back inside for grocery list you left on counter

13) Go back inside for epipens you left on counter

14) Go back inside for kid snack you left on counter that's a necessity because its almost fucking noon and by the time you finally get backed out of the driveway they will both be yelling because they are hungry

15) Drive to grocery store

16) Extract both kids from vehicle

17) Carry 50lbs of kid into store

18) Wait 3 minutes while oldest child picks out the right car cart to ride in

19) Strap baby into baby seat, make sure oldest put his seat belt on to prevent unplanned escapes

20) Obtain groceries, place into cart

21) Backtrack 7 times because even though you have a list you still manage to either:

a) forget to write things down that you think of in store

b) get distracted and miss items actually on the list because you never bring a pen to cross items off

22) Unload groceries onto conveyor belt

23) Pay for groceries

24) Pack up groceries into many small bags

25) Put small bags into cart

26) Argue with older child about why he cant eat a raw potato while leaving store

27) Push cart out to car

28) Unload children into car hopefully with as little reenactment of Fight Club scenes as possible

29) Unload groceries into car

30) Return cart to cart corral

31) Push all the other shittily put back carts all the way to the back of the corral because we are a god damn majestic species not a hovel full of crap slinging monkeys you garbagepeople so lets start acting like it FUCK

32) Get into vehicle

33) Take 25 second brain nap from sensory overload 

34) Drive back home

35) Begin to unload groceries from car with kids still strapped in--this is crucial. Leave them restrained or you will add 47 more steps to the list

36) Set all 15 bags on counter because you will gladly break fingers to not have to make multiple trips

37) Extract children from car

38) Remove outdoor clothing from children

39) Begin to hastily start throwing things on plates for lunch as children whine 

40) Turn on movie to lull them into a quiet stupor while eating before the milk spoils on the counter

41) Begin to unpack groceries

42) Realize the fridge and pantry need to be decluttered

43) Declutter them while putting away new items and stacking dirty tupperware on counter because the dishwasher is full of clean dishes 

44) Look around at the piles of shit everywhere and take 15 seconds to cry silently in the bathroom 

45) Get third wind 

46) Put away the last items with a triumphant gleam in eye

47) End Scene: Grocery level complete

Halloween Teal Pumpkin Pride

Food allergies are probably kind of a joke to you. Maybe in your mind it evokes a similar reaction to hearing someone say their kid gets gas from gluten. You nod and smile and internally roll your eyes. You then briefly wonder why food allergies seem to be becoming a parenting "fad" and don't remember even knowing one kid with a food allergy when you were young. You think these parents must be helicopter moms and dads or overreacting busybodies with nothing better to do than sit at a PTA meeting and plead for a peanut /treenut free classroom for their precious snowflake. And you think "Who the hell are you to ask my kid to forgo their PB&J? My kid LOVES PB&J its the only thing she eats and here you are saying she cant bring one to school? No. Nope sorry honey, not going to happen. How about you just watch your kids yourself huh? Why don't you just be an actual parent and explain to them that they cant eat things with peanuts?! So what if they cant read labels, you should be able to show them every single thing that may contain peanuts and train them to just not eat it! And Halloween? Are you stupid??? Its freaking Halloween for christs sake!! Why should I have to buy stickers or nilla wafers on the off chance your little tike decides to stop by my door?? He can get a snickers bar like everyone else and should know better to not eat it. If he cant handle that responsibility, then don't let him go trick or treating, duh! In fact, you probably should just home school him as well, or better yet, confine him to a bubble in your basement.


I want you to know I've tried writing this from a humble perspective and from a logical focus and from a pleading lens but its Oct 30th, we are one day away from Halloween and after reading enough stupid shit on the internet to make my head explode, I decided fuck it, I'm just going to be me and if this pisses you off or offends you or annoys you, I really don't care.

My youngest kid has one confirmed food allergy. We found out when he was 9 months old after his doctor told us to try giving him peanut butter for the first time. I went home that day and gave him less than a cm worth on an M&M sized piece of bread and he instantly went into what I later learned was the beginning of an anaphylactic reaction. It was terrifying and even more so because he didn't really look that bad, but I could tell something was very wrong. After being sent home from the ER without any medication administered or any testing done I realized that this shit, this having a food allergy business, if confirmed, was going to be a constant uphill battle with the rest of the nonallergy having world. Testing done the following day at his normal doctors office confirmed my fears a week later--he was highly allergic to peanuts and what he experienced was a serious reaction.

We were told to remove all peanut products and possible peanut products from our home. That meant any product made in a facility that also processes peanuts isn't safe due to the possibility of cross contamination. We were to always carry two epipen injectors with the baby at all times, where ever he goes, even if its just across the street. Epipens are a lifesaving way to quickly inject a person with epinephrine, a drug that helps halt a serious allergic reaction in its tracks. The faster one is used, the better chance the person has of preventing the life threatening stages of anaphylaxis. We were to avoid ice cream shops, Asian restaurants, and bakeries as they are the most common places to have accidental ingestion of peanuts. We were going to have to get used to telling friends and relatives no you cant just feed our kid without checking with us first. We were going to have to eagle eye every playground, playplace, splashhpad for signs of kids eating peanut butter, or peanuts, or candy with peanut filling and then pray to all the gods that we neutralized the threat before our allergic kid accidentally toddled over and picked up that Reeses wrapper and shoved it down his throat.

We were told to basically be on terror level red at all times for the rest of his life, unless we are one of the lucky families, and hes one of the 20% of kids that outgrows it. So, there's an 80% chance this is our and his new normal for the rest of his life. The rest of his life. Let that sink in. My kid may have to be constantly on alert for signs that he may die from simply doing something he has to do every single day to survive--eat. You convince a teenage boy to carry an epipen with him at all times. You try to get a grade schooler to truly understand why she cant eat the rice krispie treats all her friends are eating at the birthday party. You explain to a toddler who loves eating everything that isn't nailed down why his world is actually a minefield. This isn't just about fear for parents, its about having to literally teach your own child to be afraid of food enough to take their allergy seriously, but equally empower them so that they can function in a relatively normal way at the same time. Because parenting is all sunshine and rainbow farts without that on top of it.

You look me in the eye and tell me now that its ridiculous for parents of food allergy kids to ask other adults to please take simple steps every once in a while to try and keep their food allergy kids safe. 1 in 13 kids in the US has a confirmed food allergy, a diagnosis that has steadily risen over the past years. These kids aren't 1 in a million, they are in your neighborhoods, your churches, your sports leagues, your schools. If the trend continues, and the numbers continue to rise, it is only a matter of time until your own family or friend's family is impacted as well. Before my son's diagnosis, I didn't get it either--you never really do until its your own kid.

So for anyone out there that thinks this is whats wrong with our country today and that everyone is too sensitive and that want me to bow my head and feel embarrassed for asking for help in keeping my kid and other kids safe:

For everyone else that is offering toys instead of candy or painting a pumpkin teal or simply not being a judgey POS regarding food allergies, a giant thank you very much, you do not know how much you are appreciated by these kids and parents.

For more information on food allergies visit http://www.foodallergy.org/


Happy Halloween to all y'all out there big and small

Year 7

Its taken this long for me to allow myself to realize that I have no fucking clue how to grieve you. There are stages and the last once is supposed to be accompanied with this literal physical release that is a kind of giving up of all the pain and hurt and sadness to the universe. I havent done that yet. I havent even come close. I can feel it all inside wanting to be free, wanting to be released from the cage Ive made with cement blocks and mortar and heavy heavy chains. But Ive forgotten where I put the key. My hands dont remember the pathways of tearing down this house I built myself to contain you. And so it sits, heavy in my chest. Full of all my incredibly intense fears of truly having to let you go.

For the first few years I couldnt even talk about you with family. Your death was an invisible pink elephant crying in the corner, anguishing from lonliness. Someone look at me!! Dont you see me?? Im still here!! But I refused to look. Your death was a faraway thing, like someone discussing the pyramids who'd never actually been to Eygpt. I was told how strong I was, how well I was doing. I couldnt cry with people about you. And to watch others cry about you to me? The rage!! The horror! NONONO STOP. You dont get to be sad. You dont get to cry. I am the one who should not ever have to get out of bed again and here I am comforting you? Too much. Too much. I block things out. I dont want to feel them again, I dont want these memories of these people telling me these things about you that I already know. How could I not know? I lived in you. We shared the same blood. You were my home.

This year there is an acknowledgement for the first time of how much anger is there. Thats a step, maybe I am moving forward? But slowly so slowly. Dragging my feet and shouting the entire way. So much anger. How could you leave me???? You were all I had !!! Just you and me for forever and now forever is gone because you left. You left me.
You
       left
             me
                  here

You went somewhere I cant follow. So Here I am. Here I sit. Here I lay. Here I eat. Here I sleep. All the while trying to continue wanting to do it without you. I am trying. I try.

I listened to a woman speak about Death. She said we choose our paths in life, that before we are born we plan it all out like blueprints, and every heartache, every loss, we signed up for. We chose to experience it. She said there is a heaven but its more like here than we imagine. She said I will see you again, that you are around, that you can let me know youre with me. I get a brief mental image of you in a garden in this heaven she described, which is funny because you never were really into outside and plants like me and gram are. But I see you clear as day, with a little rake and you look up like you just remember you had somewhere you were planning to be, but that you got too immersed in your work. These things swirl around in my head like leaves caught in a tidepool and the undercurrent that pulls at me without fail is the wanting. These are things I want to believe. I want so bad for these things she said to be true. Equally as hard, I feel the weight of my cement house, tethering me in disbelief, unwilling to let me feel this hope, this joy.

The grief of you wont let me feel things. Childlike wonder still gets through probably because thats something Ive never given up. I can still feel the stars and a beautiful sunset or sunrise or a giant flock of birds fully. But other things, very important life altering things? They are grey around the edges. My wedding, the births of my children, building a new home with my husband, all have these little grey edges. Like photographs forgotten and left too long in damp basements.

 I want to be fully happy again. I want to see the true joy in all things. Ive just forgotten how. I still laugh. My husband makes me laugh. My kids make me laugh. I love watching them. I stare at them for culminations of hours and hours upon hours. Watching them play. Watching their little minds figure things out, make up stories. In them I see me and I want to protect them from these hurts I harbor within. I want them to grow up feeling secure and free and light. Lightness. All childhoods should be made of lightness. Heaviness is an adult thing.

Every passing year it becomes more clear to me how much I dont know. I do not know if this is the correct way to lament another souls passing. Is it supposed to take this long? Shouldnt I feel patched up by now? Why cant I remember how to remove these chains and bricks from around you? I dont know. I dont know. Im trying. I try.

But time passes. It moves on. I wonder what you think of me, what you think of what Im doing, what Ive done. Are you proud?  Do you wish you could hold your grandchildren upon your lap? I tell them about you. I will never stop telling them. Jack has your fiestiness. Mookie has your eyes. He really does. They are hazel. I hope they stay that way. I mourn a bit for the baby girl that I couldve named after you. Is that wrong? I dont know. I think I just wanted to be able to see something alive that was part you and carried your name. Something I could see and hold and touch and love. But Mookie has your eyes. And Jack has your spirit. You are in there, just as you are in me.

Today I will go to your grave. I will clean it and put up some yellow and organge flowers. And I will hold my head up to the sky and wait for the sunshine to fall across my face and pretend its your hand there. My children will be with me. We will go and sit to honor you. We have not forgotten you Holly Marie.

And yet, this story isnt one of hopelessness. Grief, Im learning, takes time. Grief, isnt what we are told it will be, its a russian doll with 55 inner pieces. What we are told equates to the cheerful smiling face painted on the outermost doll. I am working my way through these dolls, and when I get to the tiniest one I think at last I will be free. Free to fully feel again. Free to throw this hurt to the universe and to only smile when I think of you.
Im trying.
I try.

In memory of Holly Marie Stadnik

June 12th 1957-Oct 22nd 2008

#LetGo

Being a human person on this planet in the last 300 years, and more so being a woman human person on this planet, we are told from the time we are very small that looks are the most important quality we posses. The way we look, our physical attractiveness and how fuckable we are/ how long we can hold that title trump all other qualities we have. A woman's kindness, strength, intelligence, athletic ability, humor, wit, ingenuity, leadership, empathy, and artistic talent don't mean shit if she isn't also conventionally physically attractive. And we've swallowed this crap and bought into it and put it up on a pedestal as Gospel truth mostly because our mothers did, as their mothers had before them. A cycle of inter-generational self abuse. Decades of negative inner monologues, of missed social gatherings, of crying in dressing rooms and hiding under layers of makeup or clothing or both.

As a 31 year old woman, I'm finally fucking sick of it. I'm done.

By done I don't mean that I have the mental willpower to never have a negative thought about myself again. I mean that when I do think something negative about my physical appearance, when I begin the "I cant/I shouldn't/I'm not ___enough" I am actively pumping the brain brakes and shouting "NO!!!" super loud in my brain face like you would when the dog starts to pee on the carpeting. I'm over telling myself what not to wear, what not to eat, how not to act. I'm just fucking done with it. I'm tired of fighting who I am and who I have the potential to become. I'm sick of trying to make myself fit into the box of what is acceptable for a woman to be. Have you ever seen I Heart Huckabees? If not, get that shit on amazon video or something. One of the stories in the movie involves a swimsuit model realizing that she just wants to eat a fucking brownie without wanting to kill herself for it and wear 18th century bonnets and overalls all day because that's who she really is inside. 

That's pretty much where I am at. Bonnet and overalls and a big ass bag of Mickeys donuts. Sitting in my driveway barefoot, watching the birds fly around.

Look, I'm not telling you to stop caring about how you look, or to stop setting fitness goals or to stop lifting small vehicles at Crossfit or writing meal plans or redoing your makeup on your lunch break or making sure your shoes match your work blouse. If those things bring you joy and DO NOT BRING YOU STRESS/DO NOT MAKE YOU THINK NEGATIVE THINGS ABOUT YOURSELF, by all means, you keep on rocking in the free world sister. I just want you to make sure that anything you do that somehow involves your appearance, you are doing 159% because it makes you feel good and not because someone/the world told you to.

You do not need to change who you are for other people.

I repeat: YOU DO NOT NEED TO CHANGE WHO YOU ARE FOR OTHER PEOPLE.

On the left is me 5 years ago at my wedding. I P90X'd and ate chicken and green beans for a month to get to that level. On the right is me a week ago. 5 years have past, two big ass baby boys, and shit looks differently. Here in the States, it is no longer socially acceptable for me to wear a two piece. I'm supposed to fucking throw in the towel and hide my stretch marks and skin saggage  and extra fat from the delicate eyes of the masses. I'm supposed to feel ashamed. I'm supposed to feel lazy. I'm supposed to feel unhealthy. I'm supposed to do whatever it takes to fix this or hide this from the world. Buy a big ass box of Spanx and pretend this isn't what my body looks like now after growing and birthing two lives. But guess what? This is reality folks. I look like this now. I'm not going to hide it or cover it up or pretend its not there. Maybe Ill get super motivated next month and bust my ass doing some fitness program and my body will look close to what it did at my wedding. Maybe I'll start mainlining liquefied donut holes and gain the 75 preggo lbs back. Maybe I'll do neither and this is how I look from now until the end of my days.

The point is this: how I physically look truly impacts the rest of the human population exactly zero percent. Am I a decent human being? Yes. Do I try to be kind and do no harm as much as possible? Absolutely. Do I go out of my way to help people? Yes sir. Am I funny? Your mom sure thinks so. Can I still rollerblade and ride my bike like I did in my 20s? You bet your sweet ass I can. Do I know my great grandmas meatball recipe that came over with her from Italy? Yup. Am I  trying to be the best parent I know how to be? Every single day. Can I read faster than lightening? Indubitably. Am I a tiger in the bedroom? Ask my husband, but duh, yes.

Are you starting to see a pattern? Are you catching my drift? These are the things that matter in life. Who you are and how you act and what you do and how well you do it. How you look is but one tiny facet in the jewel that makes up YOU. YOU have the power to stop kneeling before the alter of the False God of Womanly Perfection, you just have to take a mental step back and let go.

I went to the beach over the 4th with my family and I wore a bikini and it was weirdly one of the most freeing moments of my entire life. Not even when I looked like an extra for the Victoria Secret fashion show did I ever feel this liberated in a swimsuit. It was like I finally exhaled after two and a half decades of holding my breath.

I want for you to exhale too.



I love you you beautiful majestic stallions

Have a wonderful day

~Maria

Angel Food Cake-a-thon

Greetings!

Today I decided to try and make an angel food cake out of a box--don't get it twisted--because I'm having friends and kids over and its approximately 765 degrees out so eating brownies or heavy pie would kick you directly into Type 2 Diabetes. When its hot you must eat light feeling desserts because you cant just not eat a dessert when you have guests over. Its one of the commandments.

At the store I picked the only angel food box mix that was available.

I didn't look at the back because I was more concerned with the fact that my two and a half year old just decided its super great to slam the tiny baby shopping cart he was pushing into the back of my knee--after he put 3 bags of cheese popcorn into it. After getting it home, and after doing 75 other things, I was finally able to take a gander at this beast. I was instantly like oh fuck this noise. This is a box mix. I am used to maybe 3 or 4 simple instructions. Its why I enjoy baking. Its simple, its easy, once its in the oven your only job is to make sure you don't forget to set a timer. Not so with angel food, my friends, not so.

Lets start out with a general overview of the instructions, shall we?

There are 14 items in bold print and one sentence that is in bold print and CAPS LOCK.

THIS CAKE IS NOT FUCKING AROUND. 

We are already off to a bad start. The top right corner has a sentence That Feels The Need To Have Every Word In It Capitalized. Do Not Eat Raw Cake Batter. Ha! Ok. I'll also not eat an entire tub of noosa in one sitting. STFU Box. You don't dictate my life. Raw cake batter is not the equivalent to pure Colombian grade heroin, so just settle down. 

Ok first step: Move Oven rack to lowest position or middle position. Not sure why move needs to be in bold. You're already yelling at me. We are literally on step one. I look at my oven, think meh, there are 3 racks in there, I'll just put it on the middle because if there is one thing I absolutely will not tolerate its being yelled at by a box of fucking cake batter. I refuse to move the rack out of defiance. *This decision will come back to haunt me later.

Alright step two: Beat Cake mix and water in extra large bowl on low speed for 30 seconds, and then medium speed for one minute. Ok, that's oddly specific. I get out the stopwatch on my phone and prepare to follow these directions because I'm afraid if I don't the box will grow a tiny cardboard hand and slap me. I should mention before actually mixing at these precise timed intervals, I neglected to fasten the mixer attachments completely because I had to run upstairs to give a hug to a half asleep toddler who somehow managed to hit his head while sleeping in a crib. Naturally, I lost one spinner to the batter during my episode, at which point I grabbed it from what was becoming an increasingly frothy liquid and threw it into the sink. Onward we go--things are going so well!

You may recall from 2 paragraphs ago that I was warned NOT to eat the raw cake batter. Again, for no reason other than to show an inanimate object it cant control me, after mixing I dip my finger in and have a taste. It tastes like if you poured pop into a solution of watered down vinegar and sugar. Unpleasant. How will this turn into a delicious cake? I have no idea, clearly.

Next I'm told to pour this nasty vinegar/pop batter into some pans. There are differing instructions for all the different pan options and at this point Ive just stopped caring, and grab the first two pans in my cupboard, which happen to be acceptable. Success!

I pop these babies in the oven on the middle rack and set the timer for 40 minutes because the terrifying CAPS LOCK and bold sentence screams at me to DO NOT UNDERBAKE or you will unleash the fires of hell upon you and your children's children until the end of times. In my haste and apathy at these bitch ass instructions, I ignore the side note about batter overflowing if you use a certain type of pan because I'm all like I don't even know what that pan is, this doesn't apply to me--NEXT. 

Cue 20 minutes later, and while I'm doing my best to eat an entire container of hummus without coming up for air, I decide to stroll past the oven and see how my special little cake friends are doing. To my horror quickly turned apathy, I realize why there was so much fuss about the location of the god damn racks. One of my cakes has decided to grow through the rack above it like one of those poor trees that grows around a bike chained to it from the 18th century or something. In my haste to fix this situation I neglected to take an oven picture, but once having extracted the top rack, I did get a photo of the damage still clinging to it. So professional!

Lucky for me, I obviously didn't divide the batter evenly, so only one cake was seriously disfigured because of my hubris. I decide to go back and reread the rest of the directions to prevent another catastrophe, because at this point I'm guessing that this cake is going to require me to stand on my head while reciting the Sri Lankan National Anthem while removing it from the oven because it is the most high maintenance dessert ever. 

And look at that! The final explanation of what should be the easiest thing about baking--taking the already baked thing out of the fucking oven--is the longest paragraph in the instructions! I am told I must IMMEDIATELY turn pan upside down or on its side depending on the type of pan and am told to look on the side of the box for picture examples on how to not fuck up setting a pan down. This box couldn't fit all its bullshit onto the back, it requires an extra side with actual illustrations. 

Jesus take the wheel. It also reminds me to only set the pans on a heatproof surface to cool, which is good because I was planning on balancing them on my baby's head until I read that. 

The edges and tops are crispy as hell because I was so scared after messing up the rack thing that I was determined I would not underbake the entire thing as well. My brain is a constant mix of caring a lot and not giving a fuck at all, so this process was a roller coaster of emotions for me. 

The results:

One angel food cake that looks like it was run over by a child on a bike 

and 

One angel food cake that is pretty and gets to sit on a fancy platter as a reward for not being a mess like its brother. 

What have I learned from this experience? Angel food cake is a fussy bitch and even though I learned the hard way that the instructions do serve a purpose, in the future I will be buying this shit from the grocery store premade. 

Thank you for your time. Have a great HumpDay my Sex Kittens

~Maria