2016 Liberation of Boobs

I’m walking Quinn and we had to sprint past a very angry sprinkler for the length of one house and in that short burst, My bra decided it’d had enough of this gd shit (didn’t sign up for this level of jiggling, etc) and starting with the left strap, began to shimmy it’s way off of my body.

And until 2016 I was willing to take one for the team and sign on to my responsibility for making America “decent”; before then protecting the world from my nipple (or period blood or any normal thing that occurs that isn’t indecent at all just part of my body you stupid shaming shit) was just doing my part to protect society from my personal freak show. But after being called names, told to “hand in my woman card” and other variations by Dem women and men for supporting Bernie then going on to vote for Hillary/corporate Dem and still having to swallow a racist, inheritance-sucking, sexually-assaulting asshole as president, the ship loudly crashed into the shore of upholding patriarchy’s delicate sensibilities about my bod.

Because at that point I realized that if the world wanted me to be decent, it wouldn’t reward my former conformity with this huge pile of leveled-up bullshit. Where it says it wants to be decent (and I’m quickly sold some dignity) when what it really wants is control.

And after that, my new rule was that no one gets to make my rules and I released myself from the idea that my body was a walking public health crisis.
So if you’re prone to freak out at such things as I head down 4th Ave wearing contempt, a nip slip and some spider veins, then look away.

For my body isn’t your business at all and excuse you but maybe a little privacy while I tuck my boob back in and also give me a few extra secs because my bra is kinda pissed.

Quinn doesn’t judge and neither should anyone else. WWQD.

Spider veins like a samurai

Spider veins: one of the lesser-known signs of the apocalypse.

A moment of gratitude for joining me on this journey especially if you’re here without judgment and aren’t either full of shit or full of yourself which are actually exactly the same thing. I personally hope I am neither of them yet could also entertain the notion that I’m both but at the very least, my spider veins and inability to currently feel the societally-approved requisite amount of shame about them are doing their best to keep me humble. I’m body-positive today, bitches. Flexing all the way to fuck it; next stop: fully-loaded samurai.

Flamingo Go-Pool, Vegas, during EDC weekend 2019

Go Pool Flamingo Hotel/Porn Hub Auditions during Julia’s 21st birthday trip to Vegas. Those butt cheeks teased him backwards, turned around added some facing him, then clueless to the fact that people were pointing and laughing in shock—communing on our mutual disbelief, shaking our knowing heads at one another over their brazenness—covered themselves up with a towel and finished up. Yes; yes they did. Didn’t think they would but I was wrong and now I can cross “she got off him; she got back on; it escalated; they’re doing it” texting narration to my children (who were up in the room and missed the whole thing) off my bucket list.

Oh and, PornHub, if you’re interested, I got other videos. Message me.


Lady at the Costco eye center counter last week when I was ordering: “Are you sure? They’re too big for your face.”

Me (inner eye roll, like she thinks it’s amateur hour): “No problem. Been wearing broken ones for 15 months; lost two other pairs in one year. I’m not even gonna have these long. It’ll be okay.”

[Sees them on my face; they’re too big; but they’re not broken and I can see and shits imperfectly perfect and it’s gonna be okay].

The rundown on dead glasses are as follows: lost a brand new pair in 2016 by dropping them from the Sundance ski lift during their final fall Full Moon run, lost an almost brand new pair in 2017 (dropped them in a rental truck) during our move to the Logan Avenue house, dropped/stepped on a pair of year-old glasses on New Years Day 2018 which I still wore lopsided as fuck for a year plus, and then these too-big ones which I think brings us all up to speed on why contacts are such a good choice for some people


If you told me as I was snapping these pictures of my girls all those years ago that our world would crash and burn—that we’d be Navigating waters of hardship and heartbreak—and become so vulnerable we’d feel buried under the suffocating ruins of our own lives, I might have given up. And yet had I done so, I would not have arrived to their adulthood so to see the humor and empathy of two humans unquestioningly relying on their shared strength, holding space for each others’ tenderness, and wearing one another for warmth during cold times.

It’s incredibly powerful and I’m blessed to have endured hardship that I could witness such love.


*This video is me yesterday, in one of the events that made the day so weird. I’m talking in my best Disney princess voice and yes, it’s embarrassing but this is what I am: an embarrassing mess who talks to birds in sing song through the open screen of her bedroom window. Coincidentally, a month before, another hummingbird had flown right up to me as I was on the porch of a sit house—no h. feeder nearby—and hovered, looking at me. I wasn’t sure what it was going to do and said something like “be careful” not wanting it to fly into my face or anything but then it just fluttered for another second and flew off.

Yesterday was a weird day.

One of those days when animals look you in the face, hold your gaze and you tingle because some “thing” speaks between you. The kind of day when as part of the wordless world of Nature, you become bonded to realms of the unspoken, handfasting to life givers that exhale our sustenance as a light that seems to freeze Time.

Because in silence there is love and acceptance; in silence there is Ginger the senior cat asking to be petted after a year of avoiding you; in silence, there is Delilah the dog staring at you with a joy that grabs your cells after you made time to rehab her wading pool. And that is a “thing”.

And it’s hard to understand from a human mind for we are taken with words and certainty. But in the zone of wordless experience these moments are like the universe is speaking to you.

For in the gift of silence, every “thing” is a voice, and in the quiet wondering during magic moments its as if we’re telling the universe “I’m awake, and I can hear everything” and the universe is responding with “I know.”



And then sometimes it’s nighttime and you’re going for “funny and irreverent” and Life pumps those brakes hard when your kid texts to say she just caught a homeless man going through her car in a darkened parking lot, and when she asks him to stop, he does, and when she tells him to give back her stuff, he hands it to her, and apologizes saying, “I’m sorry. I’m a shitty person. I’ve been on drugs.”

I’m filled with gratitude and sorrow: grateful he didn’t scare or hurt her but sorrowful that he lives with the constant burden of feeling guilty for his own pain.

I pray he gets the help he needs. I pray I can someday/somehow reciprocate so that maybe he could see what he did with the eye of a self reclaimed from such sorrow.

Thank you dear man, for not harming her and for, instead, being decent to her in spite of your own pain. I’m so sorry that life is so hard. I wish for us all that it were not so and that your gracious actions in the midst of your own suffering becomes the light by which you’re both soothed and able to see.



I’m hiking with Oscar and Pica—two dogs I sit for—up Emigration Canyon on a deserted trail I’ve never known.

And surrounding us is rustling from bushes and in my latent hesitation, the thoughts start whistling. Is the sound large or small? advancing or fleeing? Will this be that mountain lion up the canyon they warned about, or like that time I walked right past a coyote in a front yard and only saw it once I glanced back and it was silhouetted against the front porch light?

And ahead, a lone howl where there are no houses calls out the better of pushing through on this trail I don’t know, and as we walk out of desolation, in my mind is what I’d do if something (moose, cougar, coyote…) tried to hurt the dogs. I have the will to live, my daughters, pets, a life; yet as the sun becomes a predator, I already know what I’d do if something attacked the dogs. I’d do whatever it took to save them.

And it might seem a grand gesture hollowly-filled by hypotheticals but it eased my mind to push through acceptance of death in exchange for an honorable life.

And as we make our way down the trail back towards the road, Oscar looks back to make sure I’m okay like he’s already done a dozen times and in that one gesture suddenly I’m awake enough to realize that he’d actually do the same for me.