Tag Archives: deep thoughts with butt baby

Me in a men’s prison and this is not a porn

21 Jul

I walked into the liquor store down the street from my building and bought my usual six-pack of Harpoon IPA.

“How you doin’?” the smiling dude behind the counter asked.

“Good. Gonna be a lot better in a few minutes,” I told him.

He laughed. “Pop a couple cold ones and you’ll be all right.”

I walked out uneasy with the words I’d chosen, with the fact I really was about to “pop a couple cold ones”‘ to “feel a little better.” It’s true I need major unwinding tonight, but the fact I’m choosing a beer to speed up the process is pretty freaking ironic.

I’ve spent the last two days, 9am – 4pm, in the classroom of a men’s medium security prison, sitting in a circle with about 16 inmates and three ladies “from the outside” like myself. I’ve been listening to grown men talk about their important memories, about what goes on in their minds on a daily basis, about what they’d wish to buy if any thing were purchasable , what they’ve all most wanted to do at some point in their lives, how they feel about the people they are today. I’ve watched them struggle to find something about themselves of which they’re proud, I’ve heard them express gratitude to one another for creating this temporary community where they are comfortable and relaxed for a whole seven hours during their day, I’ve heard them talk about their insecurities, the crimes they committed, I’ve heard them reinforce to one another the importance of self-forgiveness, of patience, of compromise, of hard work, of considering consequences. I’ve heard them talk about their children, their wives, their girlfriends, their mothers, and oftentimes about the absence of their fathers. I shared too, I shared as much as they did. I cried today, and honest to god, I never imagined I might feel so comfortable letting a couple tears stream down my cheek in front of 16 ripped and tattooed, white t-shirt and blue jean-wearing strange men. “Jesus, I think I’m PMSing,” I blurted out loud. They laughed.

Some of these men have murdered, robbed, physically and emotionally damaged others. Many of them are alcoholics, crack-cocaine and heroin addicts, many of them have gotten out and back in and out and back into prison.

And yet I haven’t felt as connected to a group of people as I did in these couple days. Is that at all strange? Yea, sure, I realize how fucking weird it sounds.

I could say that I’m looking forward to making a commitment to this program because 7.3 million Americans are in jail, prison, on parole, or on probation and the great majority of them will get back on the streets, so shouldn’t we help them reinforce positive values, ways of thinking, and habits so that we can in turn better protect ourselves? I could say it’s because they might discover a thing or two that will help ease the strain in the relationships they have with their sons, daughters, wives, girlfriends, mothers, fathers, friends, which in turn may positively affect the lives of each of these people. I could say it’s because we need to reduce the number of incarcerated people so that our tax dollars aren’t sent to jail, so many of which are run by evil fucking corporations.

All of these are fantastic possible consequences of showing convicts an alternative to violence. But my mother said this to me on the phone today (and I’m so glad she did because, goddamn it, we all need a little encouragement and affirmation in our lives): “do it because you feel it’s the right thing to do, not because of statistics.”

I’ll say this: with the overwhelming negativity that permeates this world, I’d be a fool not grab an opportunity to help breed positivity. With all the sadness and regret that gets passed around in that classroom, has come more empathy, eagerness, effort, and honesty than I’ve experienced in months. I want to be present and cooperative in a group of people doing the same. It feels hopeful, honestly. I don’t care who or where we are; that’s the kind of stuff we should all live for.

And fuck it, where else would I get stories like this:

I was eating lunch next to Nick and Jay, when Nick said to me, “I can’t believe you’re eating state food, man. You can bring in your own lunch, you know that?” I told him, “Yeah, I know. But I didn’t today, and I’m hungry, and if you guys can eat it, then it’s no big deal.”

Nick then said, “I worked in the kitchen for a couple days, man, and that shit is nasty. Some of the people working in there are just crazy. You get used to stuff in here that you’d never consider out there. You know what, there was this one crazy dude in the kitchen once who put his own shit in the pancakes while he was cooking it.”

Jay nodded vehemently; he works in the kitchen and had just an orange for lunch that day.  I said, “Oh well. Chocolate chips!”


The world doesn’t deserve to have me as a mother

25 Jun

OK, so sure, I’m only 26, ehhh, 27, and there’s plenty of time to change my mind. But as it is, I truly can’t see myself being anyone’s mother. Let me rephrase: I can. I’d be a damn good mommy. I’m kind of awesome in that way. But I don’t think I want to. First, were I to be a mother, I’d want a husband to help me raise the little thing. I’m not quite sure I want a husband, so without step 1, I can’t really get to step 2. I’m not looking for eternal solitude; I’d enjoy a partner for sexy time, support, conversation, mutual nose picking, and the like, but marriage *scares* *me.*  I am *scared.*  [Shudders] I have this inexplicable, Catholic schooling residual fear of divorce that, coupled with my ever-growing doubt in man’s ability to remain faithful, makes me push the whole idea away. And there’s the important question: Why? Why get married? Why spend thousands of dollars doing something exactly like other people do, stressing yourself out for months, stressing yourself out on this Big Day that goes by so fast, you barely remember to breathe, where you have to promise to love and be faithful to someone FOREVER in front of A BUNCH OF PEOPLE who are there to eat the food you pay for and then complain about it later? No. I’m going to scream.

[pause for screaming]

I want to fall in love, respect, and admire someone, share a life with him, that is ours. That doesn’t need to come with a $10,000 price tag and outside scrutiny.

Back to motherhood. I remember quite well how I reacted in middle and high schools, when the Health teacher forced us to watch a video of a lady in labor. My breathing sped up, as did my heart beat (as they’re both doing now, as I think of it), I got dizzy, tears streamed down my face, and I had to leave the classroom.

[pause for screaming]

It looks painful, terrifying, evil, torturous, anxiety-inducing. Not to mention that your vagina will never look the same. Your body will never be the same, as it wouldn’t were you to get run over by a truck. Birthing a child = truck through vagina. Not good.

Babies sure are cute, and I kinda wanna chew on their fat little knees and cheeks, but that doesn’t mean I want one 24/7. What an amazing job it is, to raise a human being, to teach it all things about the world, to instill in it concepts like honesty, loyalty, humility, empathy, etc. It is a truly admirable, lifelong endeavor-accomplishment thing. But I can be so noble as to help those who are already living. I can make a commitment to making the world a better place. Without a child I have greater individual freedom; I’d like to think that I can accomplish a lot with that, and I rather believe I will.

I look at my parents, two people whom I greatly admire, and I wonder where they’d be and what they’d have accomplished had they chosen to not have children – I’m sure glad they didn’t, but still… I think their life would’ve been incredibly purposeful and exciting in many ways. I want that for myself, I think.

Though, to keep this bit truthful, I should also admit to my fears; my fears of not living up to my expectations of a great parent, of feeling pressured to choose between what I want and what’s best for my kid, and my fear of losing rationality and spending a good chunk of my life being the ‘overprotective’ type. I think all parents – as they are mere human beings – struggle with these thoughts.

If you don't love me, you have no heart

I’m a very loyal type; can’t nobody talk about my mamma, my daddy, my sister, my brother, my boyfriend, my good friends… I sure also get overprotective with my dog. She’s not ‘all there’ emotionally and probably gives off an insane vibe to other dogs, because calm ones tend to start barking and/or pick fights with her after a few seconds of sniffing. She’s uneasy around people and animals, at least until she’s established her status as alpha female. As such, when we go to the park every evening, I probably get as anxious as she does. She goes off leash and likes to circulate a perimeter around other pups; oftentimes they come over to her, give her a sniff, and she growls at them. If they become submissive, they’re immediate friends. If not, a short fight ensues. But sometimes, well adjusted dogs don’t pay her any attention. She walks around, tail wagging, watching from afar, and no one notices.

What the fuck, you stupid dogs? Why don’t you wanna say ‘hi’ to Tori? She wants to play. COME PLAY WITH MY DOG.

I don’t voice it nor do I act on it, but I think to myself; “If I have this ‘why won’t your kids play with my kids’ mentality with my dog, god forbid I ever have real kids of my own.”

God was a sex addicted communist and Adam was a pussy

27 May

I’m reading the Bible. OK, I’m reading the Book of Genesis. OK, I’m reading the Book of Genesis as illustrated by R. Crumb. It’s pretty awesome. I’d never read Genesis before, and had mostly skimmed through the assigned Bible pages from Religion class. Now as an adult, with proper illustrations, I feel I’m well-equipped to state a few opinions on the significance of the text.

1. God was a communist dictator but not a very bright one

In Fordian society – of the novel Brave New World – everyone has a job, food, is mostly disease free, has plenty of sexual partners, and a monthly allowance of hallucinogens that keeps them happy and provides a nice ‘holiday’ from any stress that may arise. How lucky!

Yet we learn, as the story unfolds, that all this is only possible because people don’t have much choice. They are told what to think, what to read, how to act, and what to like – and there is no access to anything that might contradict what they’re being fed. In this society, even the family unit is no more; babies are made in labs and raised in schools by nurses who don’t give them any “love” or preferential treatment – a crazy, super controlling totalitarian regime, right?

Then you have God; He created a beautiful planet Earth in six days, and offered it to man and woman to enjoy and control. Adam and Eve ate delicious meat, smoked quality herbs, and lived a wonderful, carefree existence, courtesy of God. How Benevolent!


He planted a tree of knowledge and told Adam and Eve they could have everything, except for a fruit from this one tree.

He gives no good reason as to why Adam and Eve can’t have a fruit from a tree that looks like any other. There’s no “if you eat this you’ll die because it’s poisonous,” or “if you eat this, you’ll kill others with your poisonous farts.” It’s just “no, because I said so, and I’ve given you everything you could possibly want so do as I say or I’ll fucking kill you.”  Sounds pretty totalitarian to me.

AND, it wasn’t until Adam and Eve ate the damn forbidden fruit that they found out God had made them stupid. They had no idea they were naked! The fruit opened their eyes to the world – it let them SEE that they were naked, and so they could then DECIDE for themselves if they wanted to run around like naked hippies or cover themselves up as decent folk. God didn’t even give them the OPTION. He made them dumb and scared them shitless to keep them simple (I’ll tell you why on point #2).

Sure He gave them lots of good stuff to enjoy. Fidel Castro provided excellent health care and primary schooling to his people, but he’s still a dirty commie in everyone’s eyes. God’s a dirty commie too.

But not a very smart one. He could create ANYTHING He wanted and erase anything He wanted. Instead of stressing himself out with having to come down and check on Earth every few days and make sure Adam and Eve weren’t eating anything forbidden, He should’ve just not planted the fucking tree. He should’ve created a really high, icy, stinky mountain of knowledge. Adam and Eve wouldn’t have tried to climb it; they had better shit to do. God may be omnipotent, but He sure wasn’t very bright.

2. God was a voyeur, into bestiality and incest

Initially, God was perfectly happy  to watch man wanking away day after day, in solitude.  But when his own hand stopped sufficing, Adam became lonely and depressed. God was quick to create a bunch of new animals (I’m sure each contained a line of ‘special interest’ in its DNA – whatever God was fantasizing about that week) and watch, as Adam and Creatures tried to “get along.” When they didn’t work, He finally gave man a woman.

Not just any woman, though. God gave Adam a sister.

God knocked him out, cut him up, and stole a rib. Out of ALL THINGS He could’ve made her from (ie, dirt, same stuff he used for Adam), God chose Adam’s rib. So unless Eve was some kind of Frankenstein creature, made up of all kinds of DNA, she was Adam’s twin sister. And they were inseparable – frolicking about in their nakedness. Now we’ve all watched Blue Lagoon; it may have started all innocent-like, but sooner or later they figured out that the plug fits into the outlet and the rest is history.

He started out just looking for a bit of distraction with man; like logging into pornhub.com once or twice a week. But the more He watched, the more God liked. Masturbation, bestiality, incest… By the time Adam and Eve broke up the party with proper clothing, God was so sex addicted that he cursed them and expelled them from the Garden of Eden, like the used up sex slaves they were.

3. Adam was a pussy, the serpent was honest, and God was a self-serving liar

Adam, like a typical man, was  perfectly content with having loads of sex, hunting some game, and smoking some weed. Eve, on the other hand, wanted to know more about the world in which she lived, so she made conversation with other creatures, including a serpent.

Up until then, Adam and Eve thought that eating from the “forbidden tree” would kill them. Along comes this honest little serpent and tells them:

Ye shall not surely die: For God doth know that in the day ye eat thereof, then your eyes shall be opened, and ye shall be as gods, knowing good and evil.

Eve not only eats it herself, but gives some to Adam. I bet it tasted the best ever.

And did they die? No. God lied.

The little serpent, who told Eve the truth, had its legs and speech taken away forever. That is harsh.

When God finally finds Adam and Eve (they were hiding from God behind some bushes, so it took a while), he asks them if they’d eaten from the forbidden tree. Adam, knowing God would find out anyway says:

The woman whom thou gavest to be with me, she gave me of the tree, and I did eat.

Fucking asshole. I mean, if God had tortured him for a little bit, I could understand turning in your sister-lover. But He merely asked if they’d eaten it – Adam could’ve said “yes, I did.” But no; right away he was pointing fingers, trying to save his own ass.

I’m sure some may argue that God knew it all along that Adam and Eve would eat the damn thing anyway, and in fact, secretly WANTED them to do it. If that’s the case, why did he get so angry? Why all the punishment? And why couldn’t God have taught Adam and Eve by example, as a good parent does, instead of dangling a fucking carrot in front of them and then pretending to be shocked when they ate it? What an Ass.

I don’t buy it anyway – he was mad that the party was over, and once Adam and Eve covered themselves up, he had no use for them. Furthermore, His true colors are shown here:

after cursing them to a long life of misery, He expelled Adam and Eve from the Garden of Eden lest [Adam] put forth his hand, and take also of the tree of life, and eat, and live for ever.

Basically, he just didn’t want competition. With their newfound  knowledge, it was only a matter of time till they figured out they could be like gods themselves – that wasn’t cool with God, of course, who wanted to rule everything and everyone on his own. Real nice, real nice.

22 Apr

Are you stupid? Do you see a ‘No Turn On Red’ sign anywhere? Fucking drive, you asshole. Oh no, you’re really old. I’m sorry, old man. You shouldn’t be driving, you know.

Hellooo? It’s fucking green, you idiot. Oh, you’re gonna slow down on purpose, I see what you’re doing. I’m gonna find your mother and piss on her, you son of a bitch.

I say these things – rather, scream them – at least once a day from the safety and anonymity of my moving vehicle. The windows are closed so no one actually hears my words, but they see my mouth moving and my hands banging the steering wheel. I wouldn’t blame them if they called me crazy because I’m sure I look it when my rage escalates so quickly, for barely a reason.

My family tells me when I was little – 3 or 4 – I would get very angry very quickly, to the point I’d find myself unable to respond in any way but by screaming: “I AM ANGRY!” as my veins attempted to break free from the skin on my neck. I would scream it as I raised my hands and curled my fingers into a tight semi-circle of hatred. Except I had a lisp and my own way of pronouncing certain words, so instead of saying “estou nervosa!” I’d yell “estou lervosa!” That, of course, was just one more reason for my brother and sister to make fun of me, at the height of my rage, forcing me to stomp outside and scream at the top of my lungs. I often relied on my dog to lick my face and calm me down, which she always did, reinforcing my conviction that my only chance at happiness would be to run away. Girl and dog, free from bullying siblings and parents who enjoyed watching the scene so much that by the time they ordered the elder children to stop, the young’n had already suffered irreparable damage.

I’ve gotten my self (and friends) in uncomfortable situations that could’ve been avoided had I simply ignored and walked away. But I couldn’t shut it, clearly, and when I encountered an asshole, I made sure to express my opinion in the least possible respectful manner. And I was ready to scrap if needed be.

It wasn’t always like this. Moving to the U.S. at age 12 and not speaking the language forced me to become a spectator and an imitator. I wasn’t barking orders at the boys, as I’d often do during Catholic school recess; I was now sitting on the sidelines, trying to pick out one word out of ten, and watching for clues of how and when I was to react. Eventually I overcame the “language barrier,” and my overt confidence was back in full force. The shy kid who’d spent many lunches at the library was now very vocal about the vapidness of 90% of the high school student body and my own intellectual superiority.

I remained that way for years, encouraged by the fact my family and I have a serious problem discussing “feelings.” In fact, I don’t think it’s possible to mention the word in my house without hearing: For fuck’s sake, what kind of esoteric shit are you reading? Quit the stoner talk. My brother was the worst – unless I was going through a truly upsetting situation, he’d greet me with Hello, giant whale. Such greetings invariably resulted in mini fights when I was younger because, like most girls, I desperately wanted to shed the unnoticeable extra 5lbs I perpetually carried around my waist.

Most of the time, what irritated me greatly deserved no more than a mental note of its occurrence. When a friend annoys me, I don’t go into a diatribe about his extensive disregard for my friendship; it’s exhausting. It creates weirdness. It leaves both of us very upset. Instead, I curl my fingers, as I did at age 3, and tell him through mock-clenched teeth, “You anger me!” This prompts him to call me crazy, and laugh at my ridiculousness. I laugh too, and then explain what it is exactly that he did to offend me. And when I overreact, my friends tell me, “hey lunatic, you’re overreacting.” I find it very hard not to smile and simmer down after that.

At the end of the day, I want to be disgustingly happy. I want to smile and shed tears of joy at the drop of a pin, without fear of being ridiculed, underestimated, misunderstood, or whatever else. I want to be a source of positivity for others. It doesn’t mean I’m reaching for people-pleaser status – I don’t think that’s possible for me, actually. I’m simply looking to remain honest yet respectful of my surroundings. I strongly believe that in most cases, anger is a shield for my ignorance or insecurity. I prefer to make note of my reaction and ask “why.”  Why does X all of a sudden anger me? More often than not, it’s due to my own shortcomings. And that, friends, is how lessons are learned. I’m not perfect, and I don’t operate this way all of time. But I try, and I find myself happier each day, I know I’m succeeding.

Except when I’m in the car. There is no excuse for your fuckery, and I will make it known loud and clear. And if you’re not elderly, with child, or driving one, the finger I display as far out my window as I possibly can, will deliver the message.


9 Apr

I dated a father of two children. I was pretty sure we’d get married and live a nice suburban life together. It actually turned out that we broke up and I’m back to being single in the city.

I vowed to stop spending money on unnecessary crap that has little chance of survival, given my dog’s penchant for destruction and my inability to stay organized for longer than three weeks. Well, what do you know, I just exchanged $75 for this piece of awesome:

love me

Last night, with a disillusioned heart, I agreed with the voices in my head that we’d all scurry home to write an inspired piece on humanity’s dire need for communication – how ironic it is that, with all of the mediums at our disposal, we continue to talk AT one another. Perhaps it is too easy to get a word out, and so words are spoken with little care for their weight or validity.

Of course, by the time I got home, my disillusionment took a back seat to the prospect of cuddling with my furry friend and watching a movie. For reasons I’ve yet to analyze, lately there have been many conversations about drugs in my bubble of existence. Online, television shows, a debate with my boss… not shockingly, the predominant opinion is “drugs are bad.. mmkaaaay.”  These circumstances led me to choose Fear and Loathing in Las Vegas for last night’s viewing.

The act of engaging in futile conversation (the kind you know will lead to nothing but accelerated carpal tunnel syndrome and missed chuckles on 9gag.com) was ruled out by the Good Juliana in my head.  Except I just closed my eyes and shifted them to the top right corner of their sockets and got a glimpse of the poor girl, bound and gagged and asleep on a chair; Bad Juliana had done it again, and now… my words are forever registered on the internets,  foolishly fighting a lose-lose battle, intertwined nonsensically with the other regurgitations that will be altogether avoided by the wiser.

Action plans are important; we are wired to set and achieve goals. Life is an overwhelming bottomless ocean without some purpose. But expectations – I like to chuck ’em. When they infiltrate my thoughts, Bad and Good Julianas unite and vomit all over them, forcing them to retreat in shame and disgust.

You know why? Because I learned so much about relationships and my needs from dating the Dad. In fact, I believe some of my happiest moments wouldn’t have occurred had I not learned those lessons.

I like wearing pretty things. Dresses and colorful watches make me happy. I’ll stick to home-cooked meals and blog only from home next week and my bank account won’t know the difference. I can adjust.

I didn’t write my speech-post, but now I’m writing this one. I watched Fear and Loathing in Las Vegas. It’s heavily sprinkled with brilliant quotes and imagery, and never ceases to make me laugh.  Tori and I cuddled throughout the film and that made both of us very happy. It probably added 7 minutes to her lifetime.

As far as the online forum participation goes… it hasn’t stopped. I conducted a little experiment. And what do you know, the lesson I learned is entirely different and more useful than what I imagined I might get out of it.

Turning the page

1 Apr

I attended Catholic school as a child. My teachers were nuns and behind school grounds was the convent where they lived and worshiped. My school friends were God-fearing children and though I never voiced it, I always felt a bit like a scratch-and-sniff among regular stickers for not having a religious family.

I did pray to God every night when I was little, but as I grew older, I steered away from Him and closer to Freddy Mercury. That’s when I started down my cycle of darkness. What followed were years of unshamefacedness and revelry. I’ve consumed alcohol, tobacco, marijuana and other illicit substances, I’ve lied, worn whorish clothing, danced to provocative music, and supported abortion. All offensive activities that have been proven to lead to one thing only: porneia.

Foolishly thinking that I could make myself happy on my own, I failed to see that without lighting the divine spark in my heart, without letting Jesus in, I could never find quietude. I’ve been eager to speak when I should be silent. I’ve raised my head in defiance when I should’ve bowed in servitude. I’ve read extensively on politics and other subjects that simply don’t concern a woman. It’s been exhausting to try wearing pants fit for a man when I should actually put on a simple conservative dress and bake cookies.

My lifestyle has warranted me years of loneliness; I have no husband to provide for me and no children to bring meaning to my life.  When I look at  pictures of my past, I’m ashamed of the  self-absorbed, sexually suggestive exuberance that permeates the photos.

exposing flesh

simulating fellatio

being a slut

passing out with alcohol & loud music

These are photos of a whore who has lost the righteous path of the Lord. I don’t need to wait until January 1st to change my life around. God will accept me today. I have done some research (not a lot, because I understand that too much thinking leads to confusion) and am ready to wash my hands with the blood of Christ . To show the Holy Spirit how committed I am, I found some things I can do until I get a proper blessing at Church. These include:

– disposing of all my non-cotton clothing.
Thou shalt not wear clothes of mixed fibers. (Leviticus 19:19)

– hitting Tori when she’s a bad girl.
Thou shalt inflict corporal punishment on your children. (Proverbs 13-29)

– going vegetarian all the way. If Jesus wants it, so it shall be.
Thou shalt not eat pork, shrimp, lobster, or any shellfish. (Leviticus 11:7-12)

– of course, no sex while on my period.
If a man lies with a woman during her sickness and uncovers her nakedness, he has exposed her flow, and she has uncovered the flow of her blood. Both of them shall be cut off from their people. (Leviticus 20:18)

– oh wait, no sex at all!
Put to death, therefore, whatever belongs to your earthly nature: sexual immorality, impurity, lust, evil desires and greed, which is idolatry. (Colossians 3:5)

– practicing silence. this will be hard. can i still blog, though?
“Let the women learn in silence with all subjection. But I suffer not a woman to teach, nor to usurp authority over the man, but to be in silence.”

– being sad.
“Unto the woman he said, I will greatly multiply thy sorrow and thy conception; in sorrow thou shalt bring forth children; and thy desire shall be to thy husband, and he shall rule over thee.”

– smoking weed
And God said, Behold, I have given you every herb bearing seed, which is upon the face of all the earth, and every tree, in the which is the fruit of a tree yielding seed; to you it shall be for meat. (Genesis 1:29)

It may seem like a lot at first, but I’m confident that the more things I have to follow, the less thinking I’ll have to do and the more devoted I’ll be. See how easy it is to finally find happiness?

Deep Thoughts with Butt Baby

22 Mar

women are naturally inclined to be attentive and forgiving. care takers.
men tend to be direct and singularly focused. providers.

men can be quicker decision makers.
women tend to seek more data before reaching a decision.

what men can neglect in their haste,
women might salvage with their thoroughness.

no one is better than the other.
but together, they’re a pretty solid entity.