stankshag

[stankshag]

What you want everyone to remember about your wedding vs what really goes down. Whiskey business.

[stankshag]

Existing

At some point in your life, you may be at a point where the only way you can survive (in the literal terms of surviving... just breathing and not being dead) depends wholly on the generosity of someone else - a stranger even. I feel as though those who were born to privilege (in the literal terms of privilege: having more without doing more) have never known the threat of the inability to survive and thus have never needed real help, generosity or understanding. I mean, if you're pretty, someone will notice you. If you speak English, someone will hear you. If you're white, someone will believe you. If you're healthy-looking, someone will touch you. And if you are not any of these things, you have a steep, crumbling mountain to climb, all alone, with no tools.

Innocent people are dying. Children, who have never done anything to deserve pain, are suffering.

Really let that sink in. People who haven't done anything bad, are dying, just because of where they happened to be born and live. Picture your favorite person in the world. Picture your most favorite kid in the world. Imagine that for reasons completely out of their hands, they are in danger of being hurt. Killed. Raped. Kidnapped. That they can't get food. They're alone. Separated from you or someone they need to survive.

Innocent people are trying to survive by traveling very long, dangerous routes to a place other than the hell they are in, accepting the high risk they will not make it, because where they are is already death. They will likely get separated from their kids. Their sister. Their wife. Their parent. All for the chance that they *might* make it somewhere. Not even "somewhere better" - just a place where they can try to survive... just breath and not be dead.

So for fuck’s sake, tell anyone you know who may need to hear it to stop talking about refugees like they aren't one of us. Stop saying "refugees" like it's a dirty word used to describe dirty people. Stop considering material, senseless things as an excuse to not help people who need help - because the only thing that's ever stood in my way of accomplishing goals, making money, getting healthcare or being safe in this country has actually only ever been the very privileged white men of this country who are trying to convince us that the danger is “out there.” 

[stankshag]

Rules and Drool

For the first time in about 7 years I'm working in a very corporate office environment. 

There's key cards to access the elevator.

Parking passes and valet instructions.

A water cooler and stacked kitchen.

My private office has a floor-to-cieling window with a view of the sunset strip.

There is a pistachio dispenser. 

It's weird. I've created my past office environment to be one of collaboration, fun and open communication. This new world is one of formal requests to hang up a whiteboard, conference calls with your neighboring office mate, and assistants to usher me away when my collaborator is on a call that I may endanger or interrupt with my entrance and pre-planned sabotage. I also have to find a dog sitter for my two little guys since they can't come with me for the first time in years.

Needless to say this was not my idea but rather a comforting set up for my client.

Side-note: I brought my Michael Jackson russian dolls and am blasting 90's jams. They can't make me stop.

Growing up is dumb.

[stankshag]

I've teamed up with MTV, big think media company SoulPancake and The Jed Foundation to find amazing individuals to be featured on the new mental health awareness project "Don't Give Up: There's Always Hope."

This docu-special will profile individuals who are back from the brink and whose stories demonstrate the power of fighting hopelessness and getting help.

We are currently seeking individuals nationwide who are at least the age of 18, and who have dealt with severe depression, hopelessness, self-harm or thoughts of suicide, and found the courage to face and overcome their challenges. Share your personal experiences on this important television special in hopes of reaching others who need the message. 

Email your name, age and contact info to AlwaysHope@epicjunction.com

More information on my website: www.epicjunction.com

#alwayshope 

[stankshag]

Babies that Grow into Little People

Friends of mine are having babies. 

Babies will grow into toddlers, teens, adults... 

It's weird, I mean, think about it. 

A cousin whose diapers I used to change is now 19 years old. He has opinions on world issues, talks about love and life, and disagrees with me when discussing simple societal issues. 

I'm like, hey bro, you used to shit your pants and barely knew how to chew your food... what can you possibly contribute to this conversation? 

You don't know about life!

I'm going to be a terrific, understanding mother some day.

[stankshag]

Dear Tumblr

Addressing my post to you, other social media, someone I hate or someone I don't know prior to an insult or rant is both ineffective and infuriating.

Were you to actually know the person you are addressing as "stranger hitting on me at a bar" or "woman taking forever at the post office" or "driver in front of me," chances are you would not be friends with them on Facebook. And if you were, you'd likely not so bravely denounce their competence in front of us, the unintentional audience.

Additionally, you are addressing me: One of your 857 facebook friends who are not to blame for your frustration with said targeted person in your post. 

And finally, the closing of your post need not include your signature and full name. I know who you are. I know everything about what you just wrote. In fact, I know more than I wanted to about your news-less news for the day and hope to never spend 5 seconds of my life (that I can never re-gain) on reading a letter that is not addressed to me in the first place.

Sincerely, Shaggy

[stankshag]

Skin Pickings

Is it a pimple? An ingrown hair? Let me pick at it and see what arises... Hmm, not reacting the way a zit would. Is it a mosquito bite I've now infected? A skin tag? Let me grab the tweezers and turn what was a tiny, almost invisible dot on my arm into a giant gaping gash so it can now draw attention from strangers as it seeps bodily fluids and appears infectious. 

Roller derby can leave the weirdest scrapes and bruises. Just let them be.

[stankshag]

Roller derby gets dirty sometimes. Me as a "damsel in distress" at Angel City Derby Girls annual Eat Your Art Out auction. iBruised.

Photo by Jacky "Shunami Bomb" Shu. 

[stankshag]

Baby on Board

I don't get the Baby on Board bumper stickers or window decals on automobiles. It seems more like a desperate attempt at passive offense rather than a warning that should be heeded. Many questions are raised:

Why is a passenger under the age of 5 considered a danger zone of some sort? Who is this baby you speak of and is his or her life of a higher value than that of the parental unit who is driving the vehicle? Is the baby a human? Is the baby a baby or more of a toddler? Is it a nice baby? Why is a sign needed to be warned about how a fellow driver should proceed? What does this sign imply about how I should proceed? What if I don't like babies? Aren't adults' lives as important (or more important) and deserving of a sign? Wouldn't a decal reading Mother of 3 Babies on Board be more impactful? Or Human on Board? 

All these thoughts and more led me to a very abrupt stop at a red light that almost led to an accident, thus nullifying the entire purpose of the hazardous warning. 

I find the whole conspiracy quite suspect.

[stankshag]

Nice Package

When you go buy scissors because you need to use them to cut something, but they are bound by zip ties and plastic that require scissors with which to get to them... Scissors you don't have.

If you had these scissors, required to access your newly-purchased scissors, you would not have gone to the store to purchase said scissors in the first place. 

[stankshag]

Team Flags Attached to Car Windows

I don't get it.

One's desire and ability to roll down his or her back window at a whim should outweigh the need to express gratitude or fandom via fabric for a team that has a never-ending flow of  marketing, promotions and merch-addiction-feeding representation already.

It gets warm in L.A. . A breeze can do you good. More good than it's doing to your tattered poly-blend rectangle with remnants of an outdated team logo. 

[stankshag]

Mr. Shaggy

"I'm getting old." 

All my friends say it. In fact, I feel like they always have. Since being a teen, everyone is afraid of getting older. Wrinkles! Saggy tits! Cottage cheese thighs! Cottage cheese vaginas! Losing your eggs! Losing your mind! Losing your boyfriend or girlfriend to someone younger and hotter!

But my issue with age is a little different. I tend to get attacked for being younger than many I work with, for, or above. Especially when working with a female client who is seemingly older than I, I tend to get an attack disguised as a compliment about my apparently shocking level of success at my young age, followed by the hugely inappropriate "HOW OLD ARE YOU ANYWAY?!"

This is where it gets sticky. If I say my real age, I run the risk of my client losing faith in my ability or experience, not to mention the typical strong hint of jealousy veiled by a backhanded compliment about my success. If I say I'm older, I may complicate their already confused feelings towards my youthful appearance (my casual style of dress, blunt attitude and general zeal for life that is not yet totally sucked out of my soul).

Lose - lose is right. And trust, I always lose this battle. The road I prefer is that of avoiding any face to face contact. My gender-neutral (and very strange) nick name that I use as my real name can fool many into thinking I'm a man. This is actually the most preferable of all acknowledgments. Being called "sir," or "Mr. Shaggy," if even on the phone (yes, this happens more than I'd like to mention), shields me from the ill-fated battle of the battle-axes. 

I'd like to end this post by noting it's my birthday next week. The last of my 20's. 

I'm getting old. 

[stankshag]

Pissing Post Haste

I have an irrational fear that I battle every day at the office.

Busy days often lead me to forgetting to partake in basic human functions like hydrating, general normative behavior, breathing regularly and using the restroom. 

Often times, I wait so long to pee that I have to hastily shuffle to the restroom down the hall, quickly fumble with the door code to get inside, burst through the door (God forbid any one is ever on their way out as I'm running in, they'd be flatlined) and rush into the closest stall. 

It is at this piss-holding peak that I consistently have a vision of me dancing wildly, trying not to pre-leak, undoing my belt, unbuttoning, and, in one smooth motion, pulling down my pants while sitting on the toilet seat only to realize I've unleashed the goods allover the toilet seat cover that I didn't notice was shut. 

It hasn't happened in the 29 years I've been pissing, and remarkably never while intoxicated, but still... I get scared. There's only so much control I can wield over my nearly-bursting bladder. And I have the process down packed! I can't possibly add another step to the already jam-packed restroom rush, even if it is just a glance. Busy is busy, dammit.

Big girl problems.

[stankshag]

A simple ven diagram can keep you alive.

Heed this warning.

[stankshag]

Was the Michael Jackson Thriller jacket replica that I just commissioned a necessary purchase? Unlikely.

Was the money spent worth it? Debatable.

Will I rock the fuck out of it, with pride of equal or greater value to my banana suit and party shirt “outfit”? Unarguable.

I am an adult with a successful business and I make responsible decisions on a daily basis.

[stankshag]

Schwasted Town, U.S.A. looks the same in any era. 

[stankshag]

Mama in the 70's.