April 14 2017

What the Fuckery Friday: Astroglide

Astroglide fuckeryAstroglide is my best friend because she keeps me wet and sane and happy with her electrons flying hither and thither, bouncing into particle beams of sunlight and darkness in the wells of coochies and butts.

“Give ‘em hell, Glo-Glide!” I say.

She nods her oil-slicked head.

“Much obliged!”

Gotta keep the juices flowing, inside and out. Bring it on home in time for Sunday dinner. Can’t be waiting around for the priest to finish his rock-hard sermon about drugs and alcohol, hookers and blow. Get ‘er done and do it fast, I always say.

If it weren’t for Astroglide, where would those horny sphincters sphinct? Into the black holes of their souls, lost to the darkness and hurrying to find the light down the alimentary canal of joy. Almond Joy. Nutty goodness and tweaking ball sacs captured in radiant hues of gold with flakes of white like dandruff dropping down to the shoulder blades of hell, deep across the waters of the River Styx, ferried by the Psychopompous of gourds and reindeer and finger foods. Rejoice! Hallelujah! Our asshole king has come. Off he shoots, like a rocket seeking water on a forbidden planet littered with monkeys who eat only the rinds of dead lemons, sniffing their lemony asses for freshness they will never find.

When that winding path leads them to salvation on the dunes of Planet 10 where the Black and Red Lectroids roam, how will that swanky Astroglide fair? She’s got the swing down, bippity-boppity-boo with her jiggly hips and fair lips. Pussy lips, probably, but maybe a butt shank has a pair too. Never been close enough to notice, but my money’s on SCROTUS’s pucker to be sure. Unfair of ass, smelly of scent, incorrigible of bodily fluids wreaking destruction on various members of Parliament in their Tory and Whig headgear, flatulating, masturbating, complicating the science of the known universe and quelling fears of rogue seminars blaring tiny dollhouse wares. I don’t need another goddamn plate in that wee little kitchen. Give me an egg or at least a mighty waffle to dunk in this rebellious Grade B amber syrup, stolen from the veins of an ancient botanical orgasm.

Why would you ever feel the need to steal such thunder from a noble being of breast and highfalutin neck braces with Swarovski crystal collars? Because we’re greedy as fuck and can’t get our shit straight no matter how hard we try. The waters of Astroglide’s glorious bounty can’t even help this civilization find the path back home. We are truly lost, out of rocket fuel, a sun about to go supernova with no more solar power to spare once the dirty deed is complete. But Asssssstroglide pussies up for us when we need it most. You can bow to its awesome power or drink it for an after-midnight snack, but it ain’t gonna do nothin’ except give your trolleyway a sweet, slick home with a tacky aftertaste.

Lick the Astroglide well, for your very life may depend on it. Imbibe in the fruits of no-man’s land where only the welling tears of ass can fertilize your lost soul.

Praise Psychopompous and the gluttonous revenge of Charon!

April 11 2017

13 Reasons Why I Loved 13 Reasons Why

Some love the new Netflix sensation, 13 Reasons Why, based on the book of the same name by Jay Asher. Others feel it “legitimizes” teen suicide or focuses too much on the negative aspects of high school. As a parent of teens, I think it’s a story that needs to be shared. Below I’ll provide my 13 reasons why I loved the show and what it made me think about. (Mild spoilers ahead.)

DISCLAIMER: If you’re a parent of a teen who’s thinking about giving it a go, please consider viewing 13 Reasons Why on your own before letting your kid watch, or at the very least, watch it with them so you can talk about it.

Reason 1: Hannah. Her pain was mine. Her feeling of being lost, hopeless, subject to the whims of the sea of bitchiness and testosterone was mine. And it was yours. And my kids’. And everyone on the planet’s at some point or another. In a way, Hannah is all of us.

Reason 2: Clay. He was such a genuine, caring, beautiful character. He was kind and sweet, and even he found ways to blame himself for Hannah’s death. The difference was that though he didn’t see the signs along the way, he chose to do the right thing later. He might’ve been too late for this friend, but his experience has been forever changed because of the tragedy, and I would argue that he’ll be a better man for having faced it later.

Reason 3: Tony. Unhelpful Yoda. Jesus, I love this kid so much. He’s wise. He doesn’t push (though, he does gently nudge when nudging is required). He feels guilt, but he also sees the big picture and knows what he has to do to make things better for those Hannah left behind–Clay in particular.

Reason 4: Hannah’s parents. Their pain was my pain. They loved Hannah so much. They only wanted what was best for her. When they found her, I totally lost my shit. All I could think about was, “What if that was my child?” I love my kids like Hannah’s parents loved her. I could’ve been Hannah’s mom. The thought of that both devastated and lit a fire under me.

Reason 5: Drama. This show is proof that high school drama is a constant. The kinds of drama that unfolded on the show might not be exactly the same as what you or your kid experienced, but it probably follows similar veins. Self-centeredness. Dominance. Cliques. It’s all there, no matter where or when you live through it. As parents, we need to have meaningful discussions about those themes with our children.

Reason 6: Reality. People hurt. People can be mean. People can be thoughtless. That is a reality. Sometimes we take our hurt out on others, sometimes on ourselves, and sometimes, we just hold it in until it gets too big and there’s nowhere else for it to go but out into the universe in a massive, combustible form.

And sometimes the reality is realizing we made a mistake. Taking ownership of it. Making amends. A valuable takeaway from this show is remembering how to say, “I screwed up. I’m sorry.”

Reason 7: Fear. It’s easier to look away from something disturbing than it is to face it head-on. Humans are cowards. We’re afraid to deal in reality because the artificial is so much easier. If we don’t think about it or even look at it, it’ll go away. But it hasn’t always been like this, has it? We need to be better at standing up to bad shit when we see it happen or when we get the sense bad shit is on the horizon, but it hasn’t landed yet. Preventive measures aren’t always a cake walk, but they can be life-saving.

Reason 8: Selfishness. Like Hannah mentioned in an early episode, we’re so concerned with social media, with how we “look” to others, that many of us have forgotten how to be empathetic. We’re a nation of iGeneration (yes, even us older folks), self-centered citizens who can’t see beyond our own noses. We’ve lost our ability to connect with other humans on a humanistic level. If we paid attention to actual people rather than usernames and all the glitz and glamor that comes with them, our country–our world–would be so much kinder.

Reason 9: Truth. This show illustrates how relative the truth can be. Every character felt justified in their actions. Every character had her or his own truth to contend with, no matter how convoluted. Even Bryce’s truth was his own. Toward the end of the series, Tony said he knew Hannah’s truth, but he didn’t know Clay’s yet. That’s because Clay’s truth was still evolving. Truth has a sneaky way of doing that.

Reason 10: Second chances. There’s almost always an opportunity for a second chance. It may not be the one we hoped for, but it’s there in some form if you know where to look. Clay found his second chance. So did a lot of the other kids. But some of them didn’t, and maybe they never will. This show makes me want to look for second chances.

Reason 11: Life is messy. There is no universal way to deal with Bad Shit (TM) because life can go from being crystal clear in one moment, to so blurry, you can’t even make out shapes. Even black and white are a matter of perspective, aren’t they? Sometimes you have to shovel a lot of shit to get to the shit diamond underneath.

Reason 12: The need for genuine dialogue. Regardless of whether you liked 13 Reasons Why or not, I think it opens up an important dialogue. My son told me about the show. He’s fifteen. If ever there were a time to listen to a fifteen-year-old, it’s now. He hasn’t finished watching yet, but if he chooses to, I plan to discuss it with him. And even if he doesn’t, I’ll be having a talk with him about the issues presented. Who knows? This might be one of those second chances I mentioned above.

Reason 13. Depression is real. Hannah didn’t strike me as the “typical” depressed kid. She was a lot like I was in high school. She was the subject of rumors. She was called names, teased, labeled as something she wasn’t.

And she killed herself.

Depression is a malevolent beast, an expert at camouflage. I know because I live with it. And I hide it when it behooves me to do so. I’m not suicidal right now, but thoughts of ending my life have entered my mind many times. Would you have known that about me if I hadn’t typed it here for the world to see? Would you have guessed that just a few months ago, I contemplated ways to make myself disappear for good?

I’m a forty-seven-year-old woman who is depressed. I get help sometimes, but not always. Is this blog post my cry for help, or is it a plea for attention? How would you know if it were either?

Depression is real. It’s not something people make up. It’s not something you can see with your eyes. Yet, it thrives like cancer inside otherwise “healthy” bodies where you’d never expect it.

If you’re depressed, please tell someone. Talk to your partner, your friend, your family, a doctor–just tell someone. Depression can be treatable, but, as with Hannah, if no one knows you’re having problems (or how serious the problems are), it’s hard for others to help.

BONUS reason 14: Hope. Like depression, hope also exists, even though you can’t see it. Hope hides out in the open sometimes. In the face of debilitating darkness, it can be hard to take at face value. Can this be real?

Yes. It can be real. It is real.

When you find hope, grab it and don’t let go.

13 Reasons Why forced me to pay attention. It saddened and angered me. It woke me up.

One piece of advice I’d offer after having seen this show is to reconnect with those you haven’t heard from in a while, and even those you have. Tell someone if you’re hurting. Watch 13 Reasons Why to learn why we need to be talking about 13 Reasons Why.

April 7 2017

What the Fuckery Friday: Bigfoot

Bigfoot fuckeryBigfoot. She’s a dirty old girl, slumming through the forest city, chomping on bits of foliage and twigs with the best of the creatures. She swings her bigfoot titties and sways her long, swanky bigfoot arms, trolling for a hairy beast of a man to quench her healthy, if somewhat sickening desires of the flesh. Trollin’ and swollen, she is.

Once Bigfoot sets her sights on something, she won’t relent until she attains its glory. If it’s a trophy in the form of a man’s head, she’ll hang it on her tree wall. If it’s a bunghole cut from the anus of a stripy zebra, she might eat it for dinner or savor its delicacy for a special time later. If it’s the remnants of a shit toboggan gone off the Colorado rails, she’ll rub her face in it to mask her scent from other bigfoots who might try to prey on her feminine wiles. She’s full of candor, and she’s not afraid to use it, especially with those big testosteroney males looking for a poo-well to dip their wicks into. Fire! Fire! My candle’s on fire with flaming shit and bird nests and seagrass and worms! Blow it out, big Bigfoot with your staunchly republican values and your emaciated testicles, hungry for the man-fuels of your forebears.

If the violence doesn’t get them, the tsunami will. It washes the shores of Bigfoot country, snuffing out their scent, rendering copulation virtually impossible because those sperm need a place to swim. Upstream like a salmon on its way to die. Death is the great beginning for those Bigfoots of the forest. Like her, they wear their tits on their sleeves, shaking them at foreigners with their strange currency and ideas.

“Don’t bring those horribly tasteless pants into this country, mister! You’ll never live those things down with your balls dipping out the cuffs of the too-tight shorts.”

The least they could do under the circumstances is share their languages with the Bigfoot people, who are inherently brilliant with languages. Those linguists can curse with the best of world leaders and the worst of priests and cardinals and blue jays, mocking the “normals” for their loose ideas on women and guns and profiteering. Get back in your cave and sort things out. One day, your ship will come, and Bigfoot Queenie will captain that bitch. She will pitch the wide sails high and ride the seas until they mount the dike, all the while wearing their favorite death clogs, painted blue and white for posterity.

And when the curtain falls on the darkest night, Bigfoot will rally against the light and drag some bitches into hell, screaming like meddling kids on their way to solve a mystery. Those bitches will melt with ice and snow, fire beaming from their eyes, and they will lament their coarse lives as men who wished they could be as good as Bigfoot. She who has the biggest feet blows the biggest farts.

Amen, sister Bigfoot. Amen.

January 1 2017

2017: My Year of Peace

My New Year’s resolution is not to have a New Year’s resolution. My 2017 will be all about flow and finding peace in a physical and mental place where it often feels like there is none.

For me, flow means following my heart and doing what I want, not what anyone else wants. In 2016, I vowed to write a minimum of five hundred words every day of the year because I wanted to publish more books. It was kinda fun for a while until I got to September, ran out of steam, and writing lost its shine. It became a task. Writing shouldn’t be a task. I managed to make good on my goal and knock out 303,512 words in 2016, but they weren’t necessarily good or useful or publishable words. They were often venomous and tear-inducing. Thankfully, I kept the mean and ugly words to myself in my journal, which hogged over 90,000 of the 300k+ total. A little introspection is healthy, but it doesn’t move one’s career forward.

I published three books in 2016. None of them sold well. I lost a lot of money. #MakeArtNotHousePayments is a great mantra to ohm by, and I’m lucky enough to have a wonderful husband who always has my back where finances are concerned. But a business is still a business, and this one has been creeping toward its final resting place six feet under for a couple years now. The shit officially hit the fan in 2016.

As a sufferer of wicked bouts of depression, I came this close to a complete mental breakdown a few weeks ago. In hindsight, I think it was a culmination of many things: total lack of self-confidence, a crippling and very real belief that I hold the title of THE Worst Writer in the World, and seeing everyone else’s publishing victories and feeling like the lonely kid kicking rocks on the playground. The precipitous state of American politics and a haunting, debilitating fear of the future didn’t help matters. It was a perfect shit storm of fuckery.

Going off my crazy pills might not have been the best course of action, but Celexa wasn’t doing me any more favors than donning a beat-up suit of emotional body armor and going it alone would have, so I ditched the bitch. Several times in November and December, I wasn’t sure I’d wake up the next day and would have been perfectly content not to. I’m better now, but I still have a long way to go to regain my lost happiness.

Here’s what I learned from my descent into darkness: I don’t need writing to make me happy. Because it doesn’t make me happy. It makes me cry and rage and hurt. It stabs me with jealousy and self-loathing. It makes me hate myself.

I have a couple more projects in the works with cowriters for 2017, but once those are published, I will probably be out for good. I’m not angry about it. Sad, maybe, but I can’t force people to buy, read, or enjoy my books. The publishing landscape is what it is. Readers want what they want. I can’t bend to the whims of the market any longer. My time as an author has come and gone. Now I must step out of the way and stop blocking traffic for others who are far better at this gig than me.

They say if you love something, set it free.

Goodbye, words. Fly away, little writing bird! Be free!

That actually feels pretty fucking good.

No regrets. No looking back, only looking forward.

Hello, 2017.

For My Year of Peace, I will try to …

  1. Be a better wife, mother, and friend.
  2. Wear my glasses more and squint less.
  3. Beat my treadmill into submission.
  4. Venture into the world of cooking.
  5. Invest in better fire insurance.
  6. Read and review more books.
  7. Leave my house at least three times a week.
  8. Protest shit that needs protesting.
  9. Avoid things that hurt me (social media, I’m looking at you).
  10. Listen more, talk less, judge less.
  11. Eat more vegetables.
  12. Hang more pictures. Hang ALL the pictures.
  13. Listen to myself. Even when it hurts.
  14. Sew lots of baby quilts.
  15. Be kinder to myself.
  16. Expand my musical horizons (Hey, I started listening to twenty one pilots this year–totally not my usual jam, but I’m kind of in love).
  17. Write. But only if it makes me happy.

I hope you have a wonderful 2017. I hope the whole world becomes a better place for all of us this year. I hope light outshines darkness.

Happy New Year.

October 18 2016

Why the World Needs Alpha Prez

alpha-prez_cover_200x300“Hillary lied about her emails!”

“Trump bragged about grabbing pussy!”

“Johnson doesn’t know what Aleppo is!”

“Stein is one of those anti-vaccine people!”

I don’t know about you, but I’m sick to death of this fucking election. Everyone’s mad at each other. People are unfriending pals they’ve known for years over differences of opinion. In two words, THIS SUCKS.

When the idea for a totally over-the-top vigilante president came to me, I couldn’t help but take the bait. The world needs some FICTION right about now. Some really crazy, goofy, funny, wacky FICTION to stave off the anger so many of us feel about the election process. THAT is why I wrote ALPHA PREZ AND THE FIRST LADY’S SECRET WEAPON. To entertain you. And me. And anyone who just needs a laugh. Because like the blurb says, laughing is better than crying.

alpha-prez-debra-anastasiaSo, today I present Jake Hammer, American Badass. He’s about to become President of the Motherfucking United States of Motherfucking America, and he’s gonna rock the shit out of the executive branch. Jake is a loose cannon, a total fuckwit, but above all, he’s an alpha who gets shit done.

Whatever it takes.

BOOM.

And his wife? Ah, she’s a pistol, that Setta! Wait till you find out what she can do. :-)

Alpha male. Alpha female. Alpha awesome.

If you’re ready to escape from the realms of Fox News, CNN, MSNBC, and all the other talking heads trying to get you to vote this way or that, take a deep breath, turn off the telly, and hit one of the links below. ALPHA PREZ will be like Calgon taking you away from this bullshit, if only for a few hours.

I hope you enjoy the ride. Thanks for listening, and best of luck on November 8. We’re all going to need it.


 

With guns like these, who needs the Second Amendment?

Terrorism. Corruption. Lawlessness.

Criminals are literally getting away with murder while career congressmen sit in their ivory towers, wringing their hands, calling each other names, and pointing fingers.

alpha-prez-madeline-sheehanThe American people are fed up with the same old empty promises from politicians. It’s time to elect a president who will kick some ass.

Enter Jake Hammer, the sexy-as-hell senator and presidential hopeful from Massachusetts. His stance on combating terrorism is as hard as his abs. His commitment to pound purveyors of corruption into submission makes his constituents swoon. His vow to nail criminals leaves female citizens breathless.

With a landslide sweep of the Electoral College, Jake and his mysterious new bride Setta are heading to the White House, but neither the president nor the first lady are what they seem. When a dangerous enemy from his past returns, their marriage may not be the only thing under fire. The country he worked so hard to save could go up in smoke.

Now, more than ever, the United States needs a hero.

Alpha Prez to the rescue.

————–

* This action/adventure story contains adult language, a sizzling side of hot sex, and lots of law breaking. It is not appropriate for readers under the age of 18.

** No politicians, political parties, or feelings (I hope!) were harmed during the making of this novel. This story was written in good fun and is not intended to push any political agenda.

*** Laugh! It’s better than crying. :-)


alpha-prez-tarryn-fisherYou can pick up ALPHA PREZ AND THE FIRST LADY’S SECRET WEAPON at these retailers:

Amazon US

Amazon UK

Amazon CA

Amazon AU

iTunes

Barnes & Noble

Kobo

Google Play

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