Armageddon via Llama (or, finding contentment where you least expect it)

So, a movie exists called Llamageddon. Really. It’s real. It’s available for streaming on Prime right now. Yep. And it’s… something. I don’t even know if I recommend it. But…

I watched it the other night with my boyfriend. I love bad, B-horror movies. Killer Piñata, the one with the sofa, the zombie sheep movie… bring it on. Him, not so much. But, we ended up watching it. Shortly after it ended I was on Facebook (of course) looking at my memories and two years ago, on that day, a now former coworker of mine had posted on my timeline the trailer for Llamageddon.

I’m pretty sure 2 years ago you had to pay to watch it so I was like, “nah” and then in between the movie with the tire that kills people via telekinesis and “documentaries” about aliens, I lost track of Llamageddon. I have mostly been streaming cartoons, honestly. Shorter, mindless, content has been my pandemic default entertainment. But browsing on Prime brought Llamageddon squarely back into my thoughts and I latched on this time.

There is so much uncertainty right now. Am I, or a loved one, going to get sick? Will my workplace still even be open for business in a few weeks? What M. Night Shyamalan-esque plot twist(s) does this year still hold? It’s hard to tell if we’re coming or going, or where we are headed, at all. And with such profound unrest, I found a bizarre bubble of solace in my armageddon synchronicity. (The only fitting synchronicity for this year, truly)

730 days, 2 years, exactly, after someone told me about that movie, I just so happened to watch it. Not on any of the other 729 days. Not on day 731, when it wouldn’t have been in my online memories. No. On that day. I don’t always know where I fall in the predetermined fate vs. free will conversation but I do sometimes feel like there are signs, or coincidences, that hit just a little to correctly to be dismissed. Mine just so happened to be a low budget horror film.

I’ve been very on the fence with a lot of things recently. I’ve had so many forks in my road these past few weeks my life was looking like a cutlery drawer. And making any choice is hard. I get caught up in what-ifs, a lot. What if I had never met that person? What if I had taken that opportunity? And it’s so hard. We don’t get the cliche tv episode where we’re able to see/live out each path, usually coming to the heart warming conclusion that we are already exactly where we’re supposed to be.

But sometimes you have a really good day, that you find a really quirky synchronicity in, and you are able to have that feeling of contentment. You are able to breathe and assess, even if only for that evening, that you’ve made enough right choices to be kinda close to where you belong. And in these unprecedented times, that is a miracle. For me, it was a miracle with terrible CGI, a ridiculous storyline, and a llama from outer space with glowing red eyes, which sort of makes it feels that much more miraculous.

Thanksgiving 2020

So, my family never really did the whole, go round the table and say what you’re thankful for. We’re thankful for food and family, let’s eat.

My family still had that this year, but I know a lot didn’t. Travel is minimal, gatherings smaller, of happening at all and so it feels like it might be harder to come up with things to be thankful for. Even with my holiday feeling fairly normal, I’ve been extra grumbly about other shit recently so, here’s my moment of gratitude.

I’m thankful for dark eyeshadow that helps me feel like a badass bitch. I’m thankful for people feeling comfortable coming to me with their weirdness. For social media and all the interesting ways we have to connect, and the different platforms on which weirdness is presented to me. I’m profoundly thankful for hugs. I’m thankful that I haven’t broken my favorite coffee mug, after years and years and use, and several moves. I’m thankful for the right song, at the right moment. For people who share songs with me. For every karaoke singer in my town.

I’m thankful for notebooks and colorful pens that allow my written words to be as colorful as the thoughts are when they are in my head. For books – reading them, writing them, talking about them. For clean sheets and shaved legs. Forehead kisses that melt the troubles of the day away. For my work family, even when I hate my job. And customers that dance with us at 3 in the morning.

I’m thankful for the bad, for allowing me to more deeply relish the good. For my past, for allowing me to have my present. For tarot cards and cartoons and tattoos. I’m thankful for my artist friends, which is every one of them, even if they don’t know it. To cinnamon and ginger and rice krispie treats and wine and rainbow roses.

I’m thankful for the city of Las Vegas and the people who have allowed me to experience it. For my first boyfriend. For my current boyfriend. For all the loves and losses in between. For anyone who’s shared laughter or tears with me.

I’m thankful that in this mess there are still so many opportunities to see the good, from silly simple things to life altering interactions and on every level in between. I’m thankful for life, for love, for having the ability to pursue happiness and for feeling the fire of not taking any of that for granted.

From Complain to Compassion (or,what autocorrect is teaching me about self care)

It’s been a while. Probably too long. And I want to talk shit about myself for being a slacker, but I’m gonna refrain. I’m going to show myself some compassion.

I was texting a dear friend the other day, swiping my words away and I tried to type “complain” (for context, I was generalizing my well being, “can’t really complain”) and legitimately at least 3 times my phone autocorrected to “compassion”. The first time I was annoyed, how dare my phone not 100% of the time know what I’m trying to say. The second time I was kind of amused. The third time though, I really kinda noticed and reflected.

Compassion is the sympathetic concern for the suffering or misfortune of others. It’s not pity. It’s not enabling a pity party. It’s sympathy. It’s concern. It’s meeting someone where they are and lending a friendly ear, holding a hand, offering a shoulder. How often do we do that to/ for ourselves?

Ask me how I’m doing and typically my response is either, “I’m okay” or “I’m good” followed up by inquiring about your state. If we’re close friends you might get a bit more (“I’m a little tired, but I’ll be fine” “little stressed about money with my job potentially shutting down in a few weeks, but I’ll figure it out”) but it still generally ends with a similar statement of being fine/ okay/ good. Which is what I was attempting to express to my friend that day, I was a little tired, but I was gonna nap so, couldn’t really complain. And that’s true, I can’t. I’m fucking lucky. Profoundly so. But sometimes shit still sucks. And I’m allowed to complain sometimes. And I need to show myself compassion.

There’s the quote about being kind to others because you don’t know what battles they are facing. Yes. But.. don’t forget to extend that kindness inward to. Kindness that does not include towards yourself is incomplete. And just because your battles may not be as tough or as bad as others, you’re still in them, fighting them, every day. You may have financial stability, but you may have a chronic illness or a chemical dependency. Or you may have an amazingly supportive family system, but struggle to keep food on the table. Or you might fall somewhere in between all that. I’m blessed in that, in my life and jobs, I’ve met so many people from various backgrounds and even the most solid, stable looking people I’ve known, they all have something, one area, that is not correct. And that’s okay. That’s humanness. And it’s beautiful. It gives us something to strive for. Improvements to be made. Goals to reach. I think being perfect sounds dreadfully boring. But.. whether your battle is against the snooze button in the morning or a potentially life threatening addiction, it’s there. And while you’re working on it, show yourself a little compassion. The world is hard enough, especially right now. Do not add yourself to your list of enemies. Give yourself a mental health day off from work (if you can afford it), eat a piece of ridiculously good chocolate (I’m a big fan of those Lindor ball thingies), cry to your best friend over a beer or four. And do not feel guilty. Please.

I know it’s wildly out of context but, like Otis Redding said, “try a little tenderness”


I’m seeing, “Tell me your favorite memory with me” making a rotation on Facebook currently. And especially right now when people are still not as able to get together in person, I think looking back and reflecting is super good. So, a buddy of mine posts it, and then replies start. And someone commented like.. an entire story, and how anytime he hears this one artist, he always thinks of the original poster. Which is so fucking cool, right? But it gets better, because the original poster replied something along the lines of, “I don’t really remember that, but cool.” And this whole interaction is just so perfect. The replier links the entire musical catalog of an artist to this brief interaction with this person, who doesn’t even remember it. And a part of me almost feels some kinda melancholy here, but not really. Like.. a part of me wants this moment to have been significant to both parties involved, but I think I like it more being uneven. Because it holds more potential this way. It shows how, at literally any moment, you could be having a massive impact on someone – for better or worse. And that really kind of makes me want to re-evaluate some of my behaviors and habits and patterns. I fully realize I have very little control over how others view me or interpret their interactions with me. Communication is so personal and being clear is difficult at times. But.. holy fuck, do I want to try my best to ensure that the interactions I have with people leave them better. I want someone to have a new favorite song or movie because of me. I want someone to have a memory of a perfect night, or a profound conversation because of me. I want someone to chuckle to themselves every time they hear a certain word. We all have that one liquor that when you smell it or even think of it, you get a little queasy. Yeah. I don’t want to be that for anyone. I don’t want to be your tequila. (I feel like I’ve said this before. I don’t update often. If I’m repetitive, clearly I haven’t fully learned or processed my thoughts, so forgive me). My first serious boyfriend ever told me how, after we broke up, he started talking to a girl who wore vanilla perfume, and how he couldn’t bear it, because it reminded him of me. Something as simple as what fragrance I most commonly wore had an impact. Like… fuck, you know? What else? So.. As always I have no point, really, no conclusion. Merely observations. I am feeling some kinda conviction to really up my mindfulness game. Like.. who knows what people will remember, you know?

“Sometimes you will never know the value of a moment until it becomes a memory.” Dr. Suess

Well, what did you expect?

Expectation is such a funny thing. I have been soul level pissed at someone for not meeting my expectations before, which is wholly unfair to them, I fully realize that now. And I try not to have expectations, but I still do. I ran into this recently, actually, on Tinder.

I matched with some guy, didn’t really examine his profile, but matched with him. He sent me a message, asking if I use to work at a certain place. I confirmed that yes, I had, and he introduced himself as someone whom I knew back then (his company partnered with mine, so he was often in my office). I was genuinely excited. He is a good looking guy. But, the thing that always stood out about him, to me, always, was how polite he was. Everything was, “yes ma’am”, “yes sir”, he was always impeccable with his speech, very kind. And I was so brought in by that, when we worked together, his politeness was captivating. So… 2 years or whatever it has been later, we match on Tinder. And I’m stoked. And then I get the message.

“Is it bad if I want to show you how big my dick is?” Except he used the eggplant emoji. Maybe he was still, in his own way, trying to be polite. I think I would have almost preferred if he had just been more direct. But.. the one thing I expected, based off my of interactions with him, had been someone who was very polite. And now he’s like.. “let me show you my wang!” And it really bothered me. Not because he offered a dick pic. I don’t really care about that. Seen one, you’ve seen ’em all.. and I have access to internet porn, and guy friends so… I’m sure yours is great and all, but overall just sorta meh with that. But having my expectations not met, that really bothered me.

I have led a fairly underwhelming life, so I don’t often feel many people expect a lot out of me. Which I truly do appreciate it. But, one of my dearest, most lovely friends was chatting with me recently about how her father is… somewhat disappointed in her because she doesn’t have a career in the field she went to school for. I guess that’s maybe fair, if you were upset because you felt your child was unhappy, not pursuing their dreams. But.. my friend, at her current, “non-career”, makes over twice what I do per hour, and has insane benefits. She, at the age of 29, is more financially stable, with better health care coverage, than most people I know in their 40’s or 50’s. She is moving into a beautiful apartment, with a lakeview, by herself, no co-sign, no roommate, no partner, just her and her puppies. At 29. And yet, because she is not living up to her fathers expectations of what her life should look like, she is feeling all kinds of ways. And that’s fucking horrible.

I saw a quote attributed to Shakespeare (probably incorrectly, but whatever… the sentiment stands) – “Expectation is the root of all heartache”

The.root.of.all.heartache. Fuck. But really dive into that thought. I thought this boy was gonna love me forever, and now he decided he’d rather be back with his ex, who he swore to me he’d have to be crazy to go back to. Cool. Maybe I should have expected him to be crazy. He was dating me, after all. I expect my electronics to work, every time I hit the power button. You expect your car to start every morning. It’s not always parental disapproval or dumb dick pics, it’s ingrained in everything we do. I expect my job to not fire me. My water to be hot in the shower. My coffee to taste a certain way. And how pissed, or at least inconvenienced, would I be if those expectations were not met?

I’m not really sure how I want to try and resolve this, in my life, personally. A part of me is like.. lower my expectations. Which doesn’t really sound right, and also, then, if my even lower expectations aren’t met, I’ll be super fucking disappointed so… I think, for me at least, the thought is going to be to expect as little as possible. Not less. As little as possible. And then allow myself to be pleasantly surprised and grateful for everything. The water in my shower is super toasty, that’s fucking rad. Even though I hated every second of it, my job didn’t fire me, and that’s pretty cool. And the things that don’t work out.. well, meh. There are enough big, important, things in the world that are waiting to break our hearts every day right now. I refuse to allow some goober trying to show me his eggplant effect me, at all. I will not allow others expectations of me to sway me, or crush me, and I will not impose my expectations of others onto them. I will try my best. And I will allow you to be who and how you are. I may not want what your peddling, but I won’t be let down when you’re selling knock off Gucci (you know where, if you look really close, it actually says like.. Guggi), I just will chose not to buy, but thank you.

Also guys… if your cock seriously looks like an eggplant, y’all need some medical help. Again, not trying to hold expectations, but.. just floating this idea out there for you to consider… maybe the cucumber/pickle emoji, depending on how honest you’re being with yourself 🙂

Independence Day Resolution

Why do we only do resolutions on New Years? I mean… I get it’s significant but, other days are too. I tend to not love going with the crowd (I know y’all are shocked to hear that) so there is something so… almost cliche about new years resolutions. Everyone going to a gym for a month. Coupons and sales everywhere for Slim Fast and vitamins. I get it’s a fresh start. But every day is a fresh start. Every.. any moment… I can make a fresh start. Decide something is no longer going to bother me. Affirm that I am going to make a change. The opportunities are endless, every day. I personally have always preferred the idea of celebrating MY new year, with birthday resolutions and goals. Maybe I’m self centered but, deciding how I want the next year of my life to be, always felt more… intimate than jumping into a habit at the start of everyone’s year.

That ramble being said… I’m kicking around the idea of a 4th of July resolution. What do I want to free myself of? What do I want to allow myself to be free to do?

I want to free myself of unnecessary worry. I am not gonna go all crazy and be like.. Imma not worry about anything. That’s not real life. I will worry about paying bills on time, getting enough sleep, self-improvement, shit that matters. What I will not worry about will be things like the wrinkles on my forehead. The cellulite on the back of my thighs. My eyebrows being perfect all the time. I want to worry more about the beauty of my soul than my face. The world is ugly right now in so many ways and it needs compassion and kindness. My waistline is not the bottom line to my worth as a person.

I will not worry about people who repeatedly show they do not worry about me. I understand people being busy. I do not demand being a priority in many peoples lives, I truly don’t. But I am freeing myself from the silly worry of… will this guy text me back… will that guy swipe right… would I get a good morning message from him if I were twenty pounds lighter. Why is that girl randomly talking shit about me, when I know I handled myself correct. I declare myself free from unnecessary social bullshit.

I want to allow myself the freedom to dive in… full head, full heart, full ass. 😉 I want to not be afraid of all the what ifs. I want to be free to fucking go for it, whether it’s a new job, a new hobby, a new relationship. I want to feel free to fully embrace all the weird and wonderful opportunities I am continually granted. I am free to live and love and fuck up and learn and move on. I am freeing myself from past trauma that I sometimes feel chained to. I am allowing myself the freedom to scrape the scraps of shit I’ve been dealt this past year off my plate, into the trash. Fuck it.. I allow myself the freedom to throw away the whole fucking set of china, to fully remove any binding influence that part of my life still has. I am freeing myself from those past hurts and pains. They no longer serve me, at all.

Also, let’s get weird… er… let’s get weirder for a moment. It’s a full fucking moon, y’all. So.. let’s talk about transformation, inspired of course, by werewolves. I am free to change, to transform, to move and shake and be fire one day and storm clouds the next. I allow myself the freedom to be unpredictable, because as this year has shown us, things can change in a single moment, on a real, global level. I am free to adapt and revise myself, daily.. hourly, if need be. I am freeing myself from the weight of other peoples expectations of who and what and how I am supposed to be.

Land of the free, home of the brave…. I encourage you to be both.

Beers and Boots and Blue Jeans, oh my! (or, why I want a life and love like a country song)

Beers and Boots and Blue Jeans, oh my! (or, why I want a life and love like a country song)

Howdy y’all. (Insert smiley face wearing a cowboy hat emoji) Sorry. Couldn’t help it.

So at my most recent workplace, we listened to a lot of country. A lot. Not hating. Listen to what you want. Seriously. It’s just not my scene. While I was kinda.. outlining this post (me? organize my thoughts ahead of time? whaaaaa? – but I legit had to look up lyrics to country songs so, ya know) I was listening to Sigur Ros. For those unfamiliar, they are an “Icelandic post-rock band known for their ethereal sound” and incorporating “classical and minimal aesthetic elements.” So a bit removed from songs about your boo meeting your momma and having your lady meet your kinfolk.

But! In the brainwashing… I mean the very casual, not at all drilled into my head ten hours a day, six days a week at work, listening to the genre… it fucking broke me. I want a life and a love like a country song. And I’m not at all sorry.

If you’ve read previous posts here, you maybe might notice a theme of my ever tumultuous love life. I do the karaoke, right, and out of all the songs I’ve ever done, there’s this one I sing more authentically and with more like… raw vulnerability than any other. “You Wanted More” by Tonic… the line… the fucking line… gets me every time… “I don’t know when I got bitter, but love is surely better when it’s gone” …Right in the God damn feels…. Truer words have potentially never been sang by me, except if you gave me a calendar, I could give you the exact date my bitterness solidified me into the Ice Queen y’all know and love. Though, I have do a ridiculously wonderful (and brave!) guy currently attempting to court me. Yes. I know. Melting me. May need a smaller crown. May have to settle for being a Slushy Princess for a while….

Anyway, country music. Like… man… there is something so kinda simple and pure about a lot of the lyrics. It’s not artsy fartsy or deep or bogged down with obscure references or heavy metaphors. It’s not even violent or offensive or explicit most the time. It’s… there ain’t nothing that a beer can’t fix, let’s slow dance in a Walmart parking lot, I’m chasin’ you like a shot of whiskey, I only meant to hold this drink now I’m tryna hold your hand, beer never broke my heart, straightforwardness. Songs praising women with their hair a mess, wearing an old pair of jeans. Songs about taking back roads, and that being literal, and not a thinly veiled anal sex reference.

I’m a city girl at best. A suburbanite at worst. The country factors nowhere into my life landscape. I don’t go swimming in the crick. I don’t have parties in barns. I’ve never driven a truck. And I’m not sure I need to incorporate those things into my life but… the energy of them… that like… just simple, (I keep using that word, and I know it might read condescending but I have ultimate respect for simplicity) like.. living. I want that. I don’t want stuffy. I don’t want impressive. I don’t want cool. I want a beer and a bonfire and people I love. I don’t want a five star hotel or a hundred dollar meal or a thousand dollar purse. I want a little bitty house and a little bitty yard, a la Alan Jackson. I want to wear outta season, marked down clearance lingerie (you know I’ll be rockin some “ho ho ho” panties on the 4th of July) and be made to feel like a Victoria Secret Angel.

I’m not traditionally religious, and country songs do a lot of giving thanks to God, but even that like… man.. I want to see the blessings in the day to day. I want to have that faith and endure the struggles with the grit and grace I find in those songs. And I maybe do legit want some boots..

You aren’t going to find me at a honky tonk (I wouldn’t even know where to go), doing the boot scootin boogie (I wouldn’t even know how) anytime soon. You’ll find me at an average bar, probably in a strip mall, singing along with whoever is on stage for karaoke. But maybe you’ll find me in beat up old jeans and a boring t shirt, instead of being decked out – trying to impress. Maybe you’ll find me being completely content with a cheap beer, instead of a complicated cocktail. And you’ll definitely hear me say, “y’all.”

To the boy…

To the boy who made a point of telling me I’m not drop dead gorgeous…

Maybe it’s because I wear glasses, but eyes like mine, that have seen some shit and still choose to see the good, are beautiful.

Maybe it’s because my arms are a little flabby, but they are always open to hug, embrace and accept a friend in need.

Maybe it’s my slightly lopsided breasts, that had a cancer scare a few years ago…

Maybe it’s my teeth, stained from years of drinking coffee, to assist me in working 2 or 3 jobs.

Maybe it’s the grey in my hair, well earned in my lifetime.

Maybe it’s the thickness of my thighs, which left plenty of room for the mantra tattooed there.

To the boy who made a point of telling me I’m not drop dead gorgeous, I don’t need your validation. I’m not a super model but I am a God damn super hero, and you can’t take my strength, or inner beauty away from me.

To the boy who made a point of telling me I’m not drop dead gorgeous, fuck off.

Find Your Bunny!

Merry Easter, y’all!

I know, I know. Covid this, quarantine that. I get it. Kinda. I’m “essential”, and still kinda business as usual. But I understand the world is beyond topsy turvy for a lot of people right now. Which is why I want to encourage everyone to find their bunny.

I’m not exclusively talking about a romantic partner, though I get rabbits do have a certain reputation for being a bit.. uh… amorous… I’m talking about that person that you can wholly go down that rabbit hole (not a sexual innuendo, I swear) with. With physical contact limited, this level of mental and emotional connection becomes that much more important.

So, everyone has gone down a wiki rabbit hole, yes? I’ll play now, just to see what happens. I started with the band I’m currently listening, The Dead South, and after a brief stop at “throat singing”, I ended up at “Quasiperiodicity”. Now, this was not a fully wiki rabbit hole exploration, it was more of a quick 6 degrees of wiki separation game, but you get my point. You end up in some weird and remote places. So.. I’m screaming… find someone who will go to those places with you. Your bunny. For life rabbit hole explorations.

I am super lucky. I have several bunnies. A fleet of fuzzies. If I wanna chat tarot cards and spells and energy, I have my guy for that. Metal music and movies and milkshakes? Got a dude. Again, connection and community. I get we’re all social distancing, but I also get we all have the internet and you can find one, if not a million, bunnies, down most holes you tumble down, a la Alice in Quarantine Land.

I don’t even know why I’m writing really. This post is… I don’t know. Even with my amazing flock of bunnies, I still struggle with feeling disconnected sometimes and I think that’s feeling… unconnected from myself. So, I write. Words for me. Maybe for you. General vibe reminders. If you’re disconnected, dive deeply into whatever weird (but legal!) shit you’re into, and look around, see who else is there. And if you somehow are unable to find anyone, dig in that much deeper and then shine out your beautiful beacon. Be the bunny that others find when they finally get there. And don’t discredit taking time to dive in, inwards. Shine your light on and into yourself, too.

I could get into an #alonetogether moment, but.. find people who are more than just that. Really take the time people have right now to figure out your passion, yourself, your community. Again, being in “lockdown” is physical, it does not have to be mental or emotional. I think people are searching, now more than ever, more earnestly and more openly than ever, for people they resonate with. But you gotta be singing to see who you harmonize with, you know?

The world is weird. So are you. So am I. We’ll get through this. But it’ll be easier as a band of bunnies checking up on each other. … happy Easter!

Multifaceted Bitch

So… this me…

(I am not posting this to be cool… I know it’s not. I’m not sharing this to show off, I don’t care. Keep reading, you’ll see it’s not a ludicrous attempt at an American Idol audition, I promise)

What you read on here, is also me. I love Shakespeare’s sonnets. I use to work 90 hours a week, between 3 jobs. I pull a tarot card every day to help my mindset.

I can happily, healthily and humorously go from having unavoidable cleavage, singing a tremendously inappropriate song, in front of a fairly crowded bar, to sitting in a quiet corner somewhere, wearing an oversized hoodie, holding space for you while you recount your past traumas. I am she. She is me.

Don’t be afraid of your sexuality. Don’t deny your sexuality. But also, and just as strongly, don’t be defined by your sexuality. Please, please, please note I’m possibly meaning to use the word sexual-ness here or… sexousity or… something. I’m 100% not talking about sexual preference or identity (though you should not deny that either!). I’m talking about being and feeling sexy and presenting yourself in a sexual nature. Embodying sexiness. Or not. Or both, on the same day at different times, or when around different people. That’s a super valid, amazing option too, if you prefer. But with that, if you like being more lowkey, less va-va-voomy, you can (and should) still thoroughly enjoy sexuality in whatever (law abiding) way you prefer.

I usually look like a librarian or an elementary school teacher. Most days I don’t wear makeup. I’ve posted many pics on Facebook because my hair was so fucked up and I simply had to share. And then I have moments in corsets and collars and flawless, dramatic makeup. Again, I’m not saying you have to do either or both, but I’m saying don’t be afraid to be the brilliant, multifaceted bitch you are!

Some people at the bar that night probably thought I was a hussy or harlot or slut or airhead or bimbo or whatever generic, ultimately meaningless, usually misogynistic, term you wanna pick. And while that’s not right – for me, personally, it’s okay. I can usually tell by how people approach me and speak to me throughout the night, if that was their impression and it makes it easier for me to weed them out. If you cannot accept that a person can fearlessly flaunt tits and ass, and still fucking own an episode of Jeopardy, you can 100% fuck off. If you think a modestly dressed, more shy person, can’t in a second be the most wicked dom, or the best God damn lay of your life, you can 100% fuck off.

Be a huge video game nerd, who is a star athlete. Be the smartest, sluttiest broad in the whole bar. Defy boring people’s expectations of what you should, or should not, be based on one shard in your stunning personality kaleidoscope. I’m sort of at a point in my life where, people can think what they want. For real. Think I’m a ho? Okay, enjoy your blue balls later while I’m not going home with you. Think I’m a prude? Hold my beer while I pull up some pics.. and vids… I’ll get you some personal references too, if you want. Because I’m all of those things at times and about a bajillion other things too, just like everyone I know. Don’t make yourself small to avoid crowding narrow minded people. Don’t use your inside voice when the moment is in a wide open space, just because it may annoy someone. Crowd ’em. Annoy ’em. There are other places they can go and ear plugs they can buy while you are enjoying every single layer of your sexy onion self.

Karate chops and kisses y’all,
Yours truly,
Tina Motherfucking K.