the second essay of my column, I Don’t Drink Nearly As Much As I Should is live on HuffingtonPost. Excerpt below…
Around this time last year, I was in excruciating pain, and thought, either my womb is going to explode like a volcano or rush through my flange at warp speed. I ran — like a dawg — to my fabulous OB/GYN. We had only begun smear dating a few months earlier. He’s a brilliant, funny and unbelievably kind doctor/person, especially considering I’m no snatch picnic. [Click me for more]
Thanks for reading and sharing, peach cobblers
My new column, I Don’t Drink Nearly As Much As I Should debuted yesterday on HuffPo Comedy, “Oh, Daegu.”
[EXCERPT] I’ve driven across country numerous times. Nebraska’s a blast! Ginormous signs everywhere spewing vitriol, “Abortion Equals Murder,” “Baby Killer” and my personal favorite “Get Your Abortion Somewhere Else.” Right, because schlepping to one of the reddest states in the U.S. for an abortion, served with a side of shotgun wounds, topped my “To Do” list. (…)
In advance, thank you for reading. Here are some pics, yo!
Looking forward to your feedback. Thanks for taking a peek.
See the below post from: (NAME) International Spiritual Teacher and Healer
HEALING TIP: Arthritis: Arthritis on the Spiritual and Emotional levels is the fear of moving forward in life typically caused by lack of self-esteem. In order words, those with arthritis will be afraid to make changes, big changes as they lack confidence in themselves, and fear they will make a huge mistake, so it is easier, emotionally, to just stay where they are. They know the change will be the best thing to do, but are afraid to take the chance, take the leap for fear of looking stupid or or making the wrong choice, and looking foolish. To heal this, work on your self esteem, and change the fear of looking stupid or foolish into seeing that may be another opportunity for great change…..learn to adapt and move freely within the circumstances, move freely in life, and thus move freely within and with your body.
Found it on Facebook this morning. Shit like this pisses me off more than you can imagine. How many sick people listen to frigidiots (friggin’ idiots) like this and actually believe they can heal themselves being more emotionally/spiritually available? To me, this is so destructive.
I’ve read a lot about spiritual healers. From everything I’ve read, they invoke fear and blame. They make damn sure YOU know that you created your disease. Guess what?! For 5-10K, they can help YOU heal yourself of your disease through a steady (nonsensical) diet of spirituality!
FUCK YOU for being just as bad and dangerous as really shitty doctors.
FUCK YOU for believing that people create disease.
FUCK YOU for thinking that people can heal disease through emotional/spiritual behavior modification. There is no scientific evidence to substantiate that claim.
However, there is scientific evidence rooted in Western/Eastern medicines and behind nutrition, among other things.
I think these people are unbelievably dangerous. I’m done with my morning vent fest.
*Image courtesy of Glogster.com
Killer review of “You’re Thinking of Someone Else” by, Dan Berry. Thanks, Dan, Ariel and Koldcast!
Check out more from YTOSE on Koldcast
Check out more webseries and shorts on That Girl, Katie Schwartz
I watched Barbara Walter’s special, “Bringing up Baby,” about the Royal loin-fruit-to-be because I was curious to see how over the top it would be, and it- superty was.
As I understood it, each royal vagina is assigned a royal gynecologist. I kept wondering about the introduction, exam and outcome. Did he bow? Was there chit-chat? Was security inside the room? Is a heated 24K gold, diamond studded speculum inserted into a royal vagina? is the royal flange doctor nervous about diagnosing a royal twat with a yeast infection? What if a royal vagina got royal herpes, what does that look like (from a diagnostic perspective)? If her highness farts, is it discussed? What about the finger-bang portion of the exam, when the OB fondles a broad’s innerds and ovaries to make sure one’s lady parts are in order, do royal hands wear standard issue surgical gloves, or…? Does she fly transvaginental like the rest of her subjects?
Does she sit on a chair like this?
Topped off with crunchy white paper or silk linens? Non-sequitur… I wonder if royal vaginas use royal plugs or pads?
Moving the story along… Let’s assume, after pleasantries, her royal posture is like this?
Before I write my imaginary conversation, how do you think it plays out?
Apparently, I wrote this essay in 2004 because I just got notification that someone left a comment on BlogCritics.org. How it got there, I can’t say. An abridged version made its way to Six Sentences (thanks, 6S).
I am so fucking over people who rescue dogs. I swear, they treat pure breed owners like it’s a crime to buy versus save. Hello, ALLERGIES – Oh, and fuck me for not wanting some neurotic, skittish, was tied to a tree for a month, canine, that pees on you every time you pet him and shits on the floor when you make eye contact.
What does the mongrel do for an encore?
Bite himself until he bleeds, or bang his head against the wall, but only the wall in the foyer. The one right across from the front door with a gaping imprint of his jacked head so your friends think you’re a dog beater.
The conversations rescuers engage in with other rescuers are even more offensive than the act of adoption. “We don’t know how old she is, but she’s missing an eye and has cataracts in her good eye, poor thing. She’s deaf and she can’t bark because someone severed her vocal chords. Isn’t that so awful?”
Just what I always wanted, the Helen Keller of Canines!
Hearing this, of course, sets the other rescuer into, “I’m about to trump your rescue”, mode.
“We got ours a year ago. So sad, the tumors jutting out of her mouth can’t be removed. She’s missing several teeth because of it, and her hind legs are lame. But how cute is she in her mini wheelchair?! She’s also got arthritis in her front legs and suffers from mange. But we love her.”
Are you fucking kidding me?! The Elephant Canine – A dog that scares small children and makes adults lose their appetite. What a great addition to the family. Can’t wait to see your annual holiday photo, featuring, CREEPY –
It’s as if rescuing the most impaled looking creature you can find has become a status symbol. What’s next, a black market for severely inbred, retarded canines? Or will Pounds only accept bastards with disease, shock therapy treatment under their collar and, or, but not limited to, noticeable scarring, lesions and bulbous protrusions?
I don’t see these seemingly philanthropic rescuers apply this to dating. When was the last time you saw a personal ad that read, “SWF seeks blind diabetic with a lisp and one testicle. Those with sleep apnea, conspicuous neurosis and adjunct disorders preferred.” Or, “SWM seeks frumpy, grossly obese, diseased woman with rancid smelling feet?”
When rescuers learn that your dog is a pure breed, they go all sullen and judgmental. Repeating THEIR dog is a RESCUE at least 50 fucking times wanting you to walk away cloaked in shame and guilt for slaughtering hundreds of perfectly loving dogs. Loving?!
I’ve arrived at the conclusion that these heroes for hounds are just fad whores. After adopting Chinese babies became passé, something had to replace it – Fortunately, the hopeless hound is conveniently located in every town USA, and free. I can’t help but wonder what’s next? Maybe some reproductive enthusiast will come up with a new breed, SNATS – Snakes breed with cats, or Aliots – Alligators with parrots. What could possibly top a scaly, flying loud mouth? Besides me, of course.
For publishing my pro-choice, non-fiction essay, “Homesick Abortion.” Told from the POV of an ethereal aberration whose deepest desire is to exist in Pheerknot and be aborted.