Category Archives: Grown up stuff

Cube Super Star, or not. Whatevs.

I die a little every time I sit in my 4×6 work station. Life slips away every time I’m standing (because sitting is unfriendly) at my desk, which really isn’t mine but just a general space where everyone congregates and over zealous moms forget everything they know about personal space.

I’m lucky to have these two jobs. Without them I wouldn’t have money for medicine, gas, water, power, and even the occasional overpriced Starbucks iced coffee. But still, they are killing me.

I get yelled at ALL THE TIME.


The usual.

So the moral of this short piece kids of all ages is – do what you love.

Keep on writing, drawing, playing, building… Don’t stop. Don’t end up soul less in a no-chance-to-ever-advance position.

The end.


Scarlet letter X.

I’m going to make this short and sweet.

My future mother-in-law is kind of a bitch. And, I’m only adding the kind of because sometimes my fiance glances at my blog.

But how does this woman who is 1,432 miles away manage to make my life absolutely miserable, still?

I’ve read countless of articles and books and they all say to let go. Let go. Move on. That’s all sunshine and rainbows in theory. I’d love nothing more than to forget or forgive the insults and nasty actions taken upon me by her. I would love to somehow rationalize the way she blatantly manipulates my fiance because well, I’m your mother and so you’ll deal with my nastiness and I’ll disown you for leaving me at 30 years old and starting a family.

I’ll insult you and push you off to the side when you have no job. I won’t bother asking if you or your pregnant fiance need anything because I don’t give 2 shits that you two are under a lot of stress and have only enough money to eat .99 tacos at Jack in the Box every day. Nope. I’ll keep updating my status to show people that I practically live in Beverly Hills and that anything else is beneath me. After all, I am a lady of society.

I’ll keep partying and dressing like I’m 21 and then send you pictures of me in tight, leopard dresses so you can tell me I look better than the younger girls I’m clubbing with. I’ll criticizing you and make fun of you nonstop for being with that bitch because I need my rent paid and someone to babysit your brother while I’m out attending events. I need to interrupt you and call you through the wee AM hours to get your attention. I’ll send you texts saying game’s over and anything else I can think of to upset you.

I’ll make you ditch your fiance on Christmas Eve. I won’t go visit my granddaughter who lives 10 minutes away from me because she’ll be there. I’ll start acting like I give a fuck once I know you’re working again and my birthday or any holidays are coming up. I’ll finally want to get closer to Em because she’s a pretty, personality filled toddler who feeds my ego. Yes, she looks nothing like her mom. Thank god. She’s beautiful and all things great obviously because now, I’m her grandmother.

I would love to free myself from the hatred this woman has implanted in my heart. I would love to hug her, have lunch with her, go shopping. I would be smitten with her if she accepted Lo and treated her like another granddaughter. After all, my fiance and her younger son are also from two different dads. I’m no more a whore than she is. Let’s bond over our failed relationships.

She once told my fiance that I was a disrespectful, uneducated girl for not fawning all over her. She said that she would never kiss my ass. Well future mama-in-law, the feeling is mutual. I’ll never kiss your ass, either. I’ve seen it once while you were wearing a miniskirt and bending over and it’s not very appealing. Much like your personality.

Shit, I’m supposed to be letting go.


Mean is not a good look, on anyone.

I had to stop reading a certain daddy blog.

His latest post was a sarcastic one about well, if it’s ok to let kids see gay proposals why not let them watch abortions? Sarcastic of course but enough already.

I get it. You’re not a fan of abortion. I don’t think any woman that gets one is a fan either. It’s not a walk in the park and the consequences both physical and emotional are enough to deal with without assholes reminding you of what a shameless, heartless, irresponsible waste of a human shell you are, if they still consider you human.

Here’s the difference between letting a child view gay proposals vs letting them watch abortions being performed.

1. Gay couples from their proposals, to PDA, to advertisements, tv, radio, everything is out in the world. It’s no longer hidden or covert or under your great grandmother’s rock. Children 7 or 3 or any age see gay couples, interact with their children, have gay teachers, instructors… My daughter recently saw two women kissing. She giggled and told me she thought that was silly. I told her that they loved each other and that love is something spectacular and that we should respect everyone and the people they choose to love.

2. Abortion as out in the open as you may think it is, is still something shameful. Most of the open discussions end up with insults, threats, and all other sort of maliciousness towards the woman who has had an abortion or is sometimes only thinking about it. Yes, you get punished and apparently already have your spot reserved in hell for THINKING of having an abortion. Circumstances? Who gives a fuck? You are a whore.

3. Abortions are not performed out in the open. Even if you take a child with you inside a clinic they have no idea of what’s happening around them. My daughter will never come up to me and say, why was that lady in stirrups and why was there a doctor and nurses hovering over her? Was that some kind of jar? What was it for?

I don’t care what your opinion on abortion is, but stop being a god damn bully. No matter what god/deity/scientific factor you believe in respect is something we can all as a big, little, skinny, fat, chubby, fit, gay, straight, melting pot of a race can benefit from.

Thoughts on being old.

Once upon a time I was young.

Even when I started getting into my late twenties I still looked like a fresh faced school girl next door. But now, my reflection pains me. My dad says I look ugly. That my skin is disgusting and I look like a crackhead, he wonders, what happened to that pretty girl?

Oh daddy, well… It pains me too that my pores have gotten larger, that my rosacea is in a permanent flare up state, that my once full and luscious hair has been reduced to a thin and frail handful, that the once lean body of my former high school and college athlete self is now full of stretch marks and dimples. Oh daddy, I feel you. I also wonder each and every time I look at myself in the mirror.

I cry. I sigh. I curse the heavens. I sometimes go days without even looking.

As I get older every imperfection is magnified. My self-esteem goes further down and all the hope I had for looking good again disappeared about 2 years ago.

Today is different. I’m not happy about having my youth sucked right out of me, in fact the main reason is still latched on to me. Why let the pain consume me though? After all, even in a culture that praises and glorifies youth and beauty, the most kind and interesting people are the ones that embrace their imperfections. The happy souls that smile with crooked teeth and crows feet. The ones that walk proudly with their pointy ears, strong noses, and dull skin.

Smile always.

Youth will take your skin, your hair, your mobility but it can’t take your love for life.

Hey mama.

Hey mama,

Your kids are screaming and it’s all good. Mine are quiet right now but that doesn’t mean they weren’t turning my hair gray earlier. Never mind the stares, I get it.

Hey mama,

You’re out in pajamas on a Friday evening? I feel you, it’s my favorite look.

Hey mama,

You look amazing. I can’t believe you’ve ever given birth, I’m kinda jealous. Tell me your beauty and workout routines, I’m listening.

Hey mama,

Don’t keep tugging your shirt down every 2 seconds, I have stretch marks too. Battle scars don’t offend me.

Hey mama,

You’re beautiful and a hot mess. You’re imperfect, you make mistakes, but your love and irreplaceable patience are the building blocks of our future. You are amazing, no matter your size, shape, or quantity of hair on your head. You deserve to be loved and to love yourself.

Thank you, mama. You really are the universe.

Twins, people. Twins.

I’ve been a little quiet lately. Here’s why, enjoy.

Last Thursday my fiance and I decided to drive to an abortion clinic after a whole lot of puke and 2 positive pregnancy tests. Yes, I found out that I was pregnant with twins as I was scheduling my surgery. No, I’m not having the abortion after all. Before you start judging me understand that I’m thirty, not living in the best financial state, with two girls to care for, zero patience, no desire whatsoever to party, and an unsupportive family. Just 2 weeks ago my father called to accuse me of running a drug den and predicted that in 2 years I’d be living under a bridge with nothing but a grocery cart full of plastic bags, if I was lucky.

I guess you can say they won’t be thrilled to find out about my pregnancy which is exactly why I’m not telling them. In fact all they’ve told me since having my youngest is don’t have another child, don’t have another child, you can’t have another child, forget about us if you have another child. You can’t even handle or provide for the ones you have, DON’T HAVE ANOTHER CHILD.

With all due respect ‘rents, fuck you. And if you don’t want to be a part of their lives that’s fine with me. I’m tired of being treated like a 15 year old. I’m fucking fed up with people telling me what’s right for me or what I can or can’t handle. That’s why I’m not telling anyone. I plan on announcing our little blessings the day I give birth. I figure it won’t be too hard since all my acquaintances live in CA and no one I know has any idea of this blog.

So there. That’s my story. Please don’t tell me what a fucking cunt I was for considering abortion or how selfish or negligent or less of a human I am. I also don’t want to hear how these kids are a blessing because right now I have two running around, screaming, and driving me fucking crazy. I don’t want to hear how God has a plan or doesn’t give anyone more than they can handle type of religious bullshit. I don’t want anyone’s opinion. All I want is some fucking respect and a box full of donuts.

The end.