Breaking Amish: Illustrated

I've always had issues with the Amish and Mennonite ways of life, ever since I was a teenager and spent a week with a Mennonite family and I was all like, "Your shit is ridiculous!" They fascinate me in an infuriating way. Don't get me wrong, I have issues with pretty much all organized religion, mostly for all the same reasoning: hypocrisy. Anyway, since the first time I saw that there was going to be a show called Breaking Amish, I absolutely knew that I would have to watch every episode. With the controversy that it's mostly "staged" (aren't all "reality" shows staged?), I take it with a grain of salt, but there are some core conflicts about the Amish way of life that have been addressed -- ones that drive me to literally eat my hair (I do that when I'm stressed; I realize it's disgusting, let's move on, shall we?). I thought instead of streaming a list of complaints, I made some illustrations for your viewing pleasure . . .

And that's all I really have to say about that.

Smurfs & Mormons Beware

It was a full moon this weekend; no big deal. It was also a BLUE moon, which is kind of a big deal, so I'm sure somewhere some Smurf enthusiasts are all soaking their little tighty whities. The fucking Smurfs. Have you seeeeen that movie? Anyways, I have always found it fascinating that the lunar cycle has the ability to affect us one way or another... especially us ladies, uterinally speaking, of course... because this happened...

I don't know if it was a combination of all things lunar, or because I've been playing way too much Words With Friends with Brandon, or even whether it was just a simple case of eating an unnatural amount of pistachios on Saturday night, but whatever the reason, I had a seriously fucked up dream that I need to share with you:

I was 19. I was at a gas station that looked like somewhere right out of 1980's middle America. It was dusty and dry. There was a young teen girl in a bland cotton dress being mildly harassed by the gas station attendant, and even though I couldn't quite make out their argument, I briskly walked over to defend the girl since she appeared to be on the verge of crying. The misunderstanding wasn't explained but I went into the service booth with the scruffy attendant that was wearing a jumpsuit that hadn't looked like it had been washed in a month.

We didn't even talk about the girl. He whipped out a huge water bong and asked me if I wanted a hit. I was impressed at the contraption and said, "Sure." So we were there, the two of us, hot boxing the booth while the girl stood on the curb stared at me with her admiring doe eyes, which were slightly glazed over and puffy from stress and fighting back tears.

Then, the guy told me to take the bong, which transformed into an electric scooter! He quickly showed me how I could ride it and then dismount to take a hit, and then continue riding again.

I left with my new scooter bong and the girl was relieved to see me, as if I had saved her from something I still wasn't quite sure of. She invited me to come stay with her family, and being curious and a little stoned, I agreed. When we arrived at her house, it was made very obvious to me that it was a polygamist Mormon family compound... and there were many, many, many children. Most of them all carried a strong family resemblance, particularly in their noses and chins.

There were about 16 that immediately and overly-enthusiastically came up to greet me, kind of like the end scene in Temple of Doom when all the kids are running towards their parents. Without even thinking, I transformed my scooter and taught all these kids how to smoke weed from the water bong.

Every sibling over the age of 14 was now high. I didn't give any to the younger ones, because apparently, even in my dreams, my anti-morals have limitations. Then the father rang some kind of obnoxious bell to round up everyone for a teaching session. Giggling, we all stumbled in, myself included. We entered a fairly large classroom full of desks and chairs. The room quickly filled with both boys and girls of all ages; the girls were dressed like Mennonites and the boys like a stereotypical Missionaries with black pants and white shirts. At every work-space sat a very sleek computer. After some brief introductions and minimal instructions from their father, he left the room. I then spoke out and asked about the "bullshit parental controls" on these computers. They said it was protect their innocence.

I said, "Well, just Google key image words like 'pretty holly' and 'sweet candy' to get around those filters and they could check out some fairly good boob shots; maybe even some bush!"

I was sitting in the far back row beside one of the eldest sons, who looked to be about 22 and was one of the better looking of the brothers. We flirted instantly and while the two of us were testing out different words to surf for online porn, I unzipped his black pleated cotton trousers and gave him a hand job.

What the fuck is wrong with me?

And all this is why I cannot be trusted, even in a subconscious world far, far away.

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And since I mentioned The Suniverse today, her and The Bearded Iris are having an awesome contest called Craft Whores.

Intrigued yet? 

Damn right, you should be! Click on one of their links for the details. I'm too much of a lazy bitch to steal re-write all their hard work. Basically, make crafty shit that is good n' whorish & then link up to win. YAY!!

Mommy Dearest - Revisited

I wrote this last year and in honor of Mother's Day, I would like to air it out one more time...

I'm finding it difficult finding the words to pay tribute to such an amazing woman:
My mother.
I think what astounds me the most is although she has taught me so much, I struggle every day to be like her; to be a better person.

She is forgiving; I am not.
There have been some atrocities that have been done to my mother in the past and I know about them and who did them. She has forgiven them and yet I detest them. I will never forgive them and I have zero intentions to rectify those relationships.

She has over-come so much. Many (who have gone through much less) use their pasts as crutches as to why or how the world has done them wrong and it's at the root of all their current misfortune, poor choices, and short-comings. I often fail to empathize with these people because I think "If my mother could have done it, why couldn't you?"

She is able to move forward; I cannot forget the past.
I hold on to both good and bad things that have happened so tightly and I really cannot understand why I'm always so terrified to let go. I often feel that they make up a part of me and if I forget them, move on or let go, that I will be losing those parts of myself forever.

My mother has let go of many things and yet she remains whole. I see her lead by example and yet I cannot take that leap of faith.

Faith.
After everything, she still has her faith. I lose mine on a daily basis. I see my faith more like genetic trait. I will not fight it and I will surely pass it down to my children, but I have no passion about it. 


I do believe, but I am often angry with God.

My mother may be divine, but she is no saint. She has a fantastic sense of humor and whether she wants to admit it or not, it's one of the few qualities I did manage to get from her. Don't try to fight it, Ma, you're good and warped... and that is why you are so incredible to me.

You are my hero, my best friend and I love you. 

Easter is a Blast'phemous

I don't feel like Christians are self-deprecating enough, so I thought I would take it upon myself to level the playing field. Here's the thing you may (or may not) need to know about me - and that's although I do not go to Church, and I "apparently" partake in many less-than-God-like activities (however, I'm a firm believer that if he didn't want us to feel that good, he wouldn't have built us this way, but I digress.) I do, in fact, believe in God and that there was such a man as Jesus. I'm not afraid of what will happen to me for saying dumb things about him - I believe he's got a wicked sense of humor... I mean, just look at the platypus.*

I have always been good at history and mythology and after one full year of going to Church, I had learned all the stories down to the letter, so when it started over again, I was like, "Whoa. What's this... RE-RUNS?!" And it really annoyed me that the priest had to use a book to read from when I could recite it. Every year after just continually re-affirmed my boredom. Dude! I've heard this one!

I should also mention the whole hypocrisy of organized religion and the disgusting and ignorant things that are carried out 'in the name of religion', but that's a whole different beast. Just watch Dogma, really - and I'll put my giant ditto quotes around the entire underlying message of that movie.

Aaaaaanyhow, after a few of my special Holy Week tweets, I received this:

Really? I have no idea how someone could POSSIBLY make that assumption...

And it's totally true. Not only did my vibrator completely break (I do have back-up but if it were equally as efficient as my main one, it wouldn't be 'just' the back-up, now would it?) BUT ALSO, we spent 3 1/2 hours in the hospital on Easter Sunday getting a staple put in my son's head. 

I know there's some ironic comparison between getting stapled and the fact that it's Easter, but I'm so fucking tired that I'm hoping that merely suggesting it is sufficient enough.  

Sorrrrrrrrrrrrrrry, Jesus.

I realize it's not easy being holey. 

I mean holy.

Amen, bitches!

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* totally stole that from Kevin Smith. Whatever.

Owe, My Blasphemer

I am a Catholic; I inherited it and sometimes like race or culture, it's not always what you may have chosen for yourself, but you embrace it with a certain amount of pride, often in spite of yourself. That's me and my religion, in a nutshell - we're very love/hate. There are a lot of things I think are VERY hypocritical about the Christian faith - but then again, I find equal amounts of hypocrisy in other religions as well. It's all ridiculous at times.

If I were to proclaim my true beliefs, it would be pretty much word-for-word based on the movie Dogma. "Do you believe?" "No. But I have a pretty good idea." Exactly, Kevin Smith, exactly indeed.

So, grade 8 was the last year that I attended Catholic school. During the final preparation Confessional for our Confirmation (which is kind of like a Bat Mitzvah, but way less celebrated and hardly any, if not no money or presents are received, dammit). I was sitting beside my best friend and due to extreme boredom, her mind started wandering.

My friend leaned over to whisper to me, "Jesus is kinda sexy."

I smiled. "Stop it."

"No. Seriously. Imagine if he actually looked like that? I'd do him."

I'm trying so fucking hard to contain myself. "Shhhhh. STOP."

"He's kinda got the tortured rock star thing happening - but with real torture. That's hot." And then she purred.

I was physically biting my tongue at this point. "Oh my God, please shut up. I'm going to piss myself, seriously!" I could tell she was in it for gold; she wanted me to lose it.

We get an evil glare from one of the teachers and a loudly whispered, "LADIES, SHHHHHH!"

She rolled her eyes back at the teacher and when the coast was clear, she continued, "I wonder how big his dick was. Do you think he ever masturbated?"

Now, I'm getting a headache from trying so hard to hold in my laughter. "I hate you."

"Deep Thoughts by Jack Handey: If you were having sex with Jesus and you yelled out, 'Oh, God' would that be like calling out his father's name during sex, or because of the whole Holy Trinity thing, would it just be like calling out his own name?"

The pressure was too much, but before I laughed, a fart escaped.
One single loud fart.

Then I laughed even louder, mostly to cover up the fart. My voice echoed through the whole church and everyone stopped to look at us. My friend was watching with euphoric delight at the spectacle I made of myself; I completely lost control. My head ached and my stomach hurt from tensing up my muscles for so long.

Of course, it was just me that got punished, as that same teacher pointed to only me with her long, bony finger and said one word: "OUT!"

I managed to make it through my actual Confirmation both laugh and fart free, but since that day, I could never look Jesus in the eyes - even if they were rolled back in his head.

On another note: I haven't been to Confession since that day - when I was still a virgin. Holy mutha fucking shit, I've got a lot of 'splainin' to do! Maybe I'll just give my priest a copy of my book and say, "Here - read this. I'll be back in 2 weeks to discuss. Thanks."