Friday Night Video

WTF?!?!?! Who needs drugs with this kind of entertainment around?

The Adventures Of Angry Woman

Raise your hand if you thought I was going to write about the upholding of Prop 8.

Nope. Sorry to disappoint / happy to relieve – which ever the case may be.

No big surprise to long time followers of this blog, I have, for some time now, been living the Adventures of Angry Woman. I think we would all agree that this is much better than The Sad Little Tale of Victim Girl that used to be my life story, but – Halleluiah – it is time for these particular adventures to come to an end.

I have resisted heading in this direction with y’all because it involves a great deal of my own personal… I can hardly write the word… spirituality. Not that I have a hard time with my spirituality in my private life but publicly, here on this blog, I would be far more comfortable discussing my coochie than the inner workings of my soul. Not that I AM going to discuss my coochie mind you – it's just that, as humans, our spirituality is far more private than absolutely anything else. Even our sexuality. At least mine is.

When I had my religious melt down and wiped the slate clean, as I’ve said a hundred times, literally everything was thrown out and labeled bullshit. After a while I was aware that there were many things that would not accept (in fact, actively rejected) that label but were far off in the wings waiting lovingly, and oh so patiently, for me to be ready to look at them again.

To say that I hated God is a gross understatement. If anyone said the word I nearly started shaking with rage and, quite literally, had to breathe deeply in order to not cry or destroy furniture. Eventually I was willing to make the concession that IF there was a God that actually existed, it was NOT the God that I had beaten myself with like a bat and had “tested” and “tried” me into an emotional grave.

Roughly four years after the Tsunami hit I realized that I missed Spirituality – that I am, by nature, a deeply spiritual person but had no idea where to even put that. Then, one day I was talking with a good friend who said to me, “No, I don’t believe in God. But I am a very spiritual person.” My brain stroked out. One could have a spiritual life that didn’t include GOD??? It made no sense to me. I had never even considered such a thing. But consider it I did. And it made all the difference in the world.

I started dipping my little toes into my own little spiritual pool and it felt wonderful. Then, like becoming accustomed to a hot tub that is a few degrees higher than one is used to I very slowly and carefully lowered myself in. Then I started dog paddling. Then swimming. Then splashing and playing while I did my laps. It was glorious. Until I hit the Anger Wall.

Prop 8 happened. And in my personal life I was thrust into a battle that was vastly important but ugly and exhausting. I found myself in big time war mode and all spiritual life stopped. Things on the battle front calmed significantly but I was still hanging onto the battery acid-like fury in my gut. A few weeks ago I realized that Joy in my life was being held at bay by none other than my very own self and that I needed to let go of all the anger I’d been holding towards two specific individuals and one very specific church.

We know that underneath depression lies unexamined anger. And underneath anger lies unexamined grief and pain. The great illusion of life is that pain is something to be feared and avoided. Oh, it is sooo not. Pain is something to be embraced and breathed through and let go of and made better because of. Pain, anger and fear are three of our greatest teachers. And on the other side of moved through pain-anger-fear is the Land of Happy Happy Joy Joy.

Decades of being me have taught me how to do my, for lack of a better term, “Inner Work” and so I dove in and did it. I let go of, forgave, worked through and was instantly hit by a tidal wave of all things indescribably good. Now I find myself totally immersed back in a spiritual ocean in which I alternate between underwater ballet (Esther Williams style - complete with sparklers and a trapeze) and riding the waves a million miles an hour.

I’m still human and things will, without question, still piss me off. But, I think I'm done being Angry Woman. It ain’t no fun. I much prefer happiness and creativity to the emotional death of being a pitchfork throwing mob of one.

So, there you have it. Emily is spiritually alive. Very much so. Do I believe in God? With all my heart. Does that God remotely resemble the God I thought I knew all my life? Not even close. Am I totally and completely freaking that I am writing all this publicly? You have no idea.

Now, about my coochie…

Bravo

Marie Osmond on the Record

Christian Cage Fighting

Okay, for any of you Utahans that listen to X96 Radio From Hell in the mornings, how funny was that story about the two neighbors whose argument over whose church Jesus Christ really belongs to resulted in a fist fight that needed to be broken up by the police?

You know, smite me if I'm wrong, but I'm thinking Christ doesn't attend the church of the stupid smack down OR the church of the pious poop fling.

Sheesh. Some people's kids...

Should I Feel Bad That This Makes Me Laugh As Hard As It Does?

Playtime

Saturday I had a book reading / signing for Ordinary Mary at the Salt Lake public library. I thought about mentioning it on here but had a feeling in my gut that it wouldn't necessarily be a party I'd be proud of hosting. I was right. My reading was at 11:00am. At 11:10 I was still the only person in the reading room. At 11:13 in walks a woman, completely off her rocker, pushing a stroller in which an 18 mo. - 2 year old baby sits eating a chocolate chip cookie the size of her head and drinking a can of Diet Coke with a straw. Koo Koo Ka Choo was immediately in my face with her cell phone snapping picture after picture of my nose while asking me how old I was and if I really wrote a book. She banged the phone into my eyeball asking me if I liked any of the pictures she had taken but before I could ask her to kindly delete them from her phone she whirled around and began to dialogue with her baby about me and my book and the library schedule and President Obama and the homeless problem and quantum physics and oatmeal.

Then, magically, at 11:17 about five children appeared and sat around me while I read to them. It was fine. There was actually one little brother and sister team that were so cute and polite and engaged. It was worth it for them. AND, it was totally worth seeing that building. I have heard forever about how amazing it is but hadn't yet taken the time to check it out. Wow. Now I know where I am taking my laptop when I need to work somewhere, anywhere, other than my bedroom.

Come to think of it, maybe I should have told you all about it. My screaming fans would have shown up and the three of us would have had an amazing time.

Change of subject. Sort of. In addressing the ongoing question of how to stay financially afloat while Book is selling and money for Film is being raised I decided that I simply cannot stomach anymore temp work. And I am tired of cleaning other people's houses. I have a few other irons in a few other fires and am still doing a bit of freelance writing but decided I needed something that would be fun, that I would kick ass at and would bring in a bit of steady money.

Long story short I am going to start throwing Passion Parties. That's right - Sister Pearson is gonna sell sex toys! I have friends that make a good chunk of money doing it and, surprisingly those parties are quite popular (and might I add, desperately needed) here in Utah. Probably for the same reason as the porn. Basically we're talking me and a room full of people and two hours of stand up comedy involving sex toys. Come on, you know you're dying to book me for your next Homemaking activity night!

Anyway, I signed up and just received my kit in the mail - a shockingly large, heavy box filled with sex toys. So now I'm thinking, screw working at all - Mommy's never leaving her bedroom again. If this is the last you ever hear from me, know that I died a very happy woman.

Happy Orgasm Day

Lest we forget, today is orgasm day. Again, not sure why Pamela Anderson gets to make up and name holidays - but, again, I ain't arguing with this one.

Orgasms totally deserve a holiday! Hell, they deserve a parade complete with fireworks and a ten thousand piece marching band. And giant floats covered with naked celebrities, of choice, showering in chocolate fountains. And strudel.

Celebrate away Internetland! You know what to do...

How Hard Do You Think This Makes Me Laugh? Yep... THAT Hard.

Welcome to my pain.

The Best Punchline I've Ever Heard Without Even Needing To Hear The Joke

"Then the octopus says, "Play it? I'll f*ck it if I can figure out how to take off it's pajamas!"

Ninja Tips For Healthy Living #11

Ninjas always ride shotgun. It’s good for their sense of self worth. If Ninjas are forced to sit in the back seat, remember they always carry garrotes.

Oh, The Damage

I'd like to introduce y'all to my baby brother, Aaron. One of his bands, Damage Incorporated - a Metallica tribute band, is performing right now in the Dominican Republic. Clearly, Aaron is shy and conservative. I'm trying to help him come out of his shell. He lives in a house overlooking Yosemite National Park in California and is the single father of two teenage girls. He manufactures racks for musicians in a converted barn on his property that he sells to music stores and he composes music - his own rock-n-roll as well as classical guitar.

Aaron is unbelievably talented. We were all given guitars for Christmas one year when I was 14 - 15ish and took lessons for a while. Aaron is the only one that really took it anywhere. He is also the one that took my gorgeous rose wood guitar on a camping trip, while I was away for my brief college stint, wherein it was crushed under the foot of a drunken friend. Were it not for that I would now totally be rockin' in a girl band. Thank God for therapy.

Growing up with a bedroom adjacent to his, I was far too familiar with both the sounds of early VanHalen and inhuman snoring. And then there was the Metallica. One would think that I would not be a fan. Wrong. I have to be in the mood for it, but when I am - oh, Baby do I love it. When Damage Incorporated comes gigging through Salt Lake I am happy as a head banging clam. Secret: Aaron and I have the same hair. When I wash it and do nothing but shake dry we are twins. So, at his shows he is onstage banging and screaming and his lame-ass 4o year old big sister look alike is doing Tequila shots and seizing in the mosh pit. Totally worth the headache and stiff neck! If my kids were old enough to be there they would be mortified and would instantly vote me off the island. Of course if my kids were there there would be no Tequila in Mama. Another secret: I don't need alcohol to dork around in a mosh pit. Welcome to me.

The funny thing is that if I didn't know him, I would have him and his co-band members all figured out. And they would not be people that I would ever imagine wanting to hang out with. Which, I admit, makes me a bit-o-bitch. We humans are just so quick to judge and self protect ourselves from one another. But, I have hung out with these guys after shows. We have eaten pancakes. They are among the nicest and most polite guys I have ever met. Gentlemen pirates.

Below are two videos of their recent shows. The sound ain't great but you get the visual. And, anyone who knows me knows that I have a thing for men with long hair. Check out the base player in Master of Puppets. Don't think for a second that when he sets his head to banging and twirling it doesn't give me fireworks of happygasms!

Ahh, simple pleasures...

Damage Inc. - Master Of Puppets

Damage Inc. - For Whom The Bell Tolls

The Best Worst Email I Have Ever Received

"My friends Chihuahua puppy just bit me hard right on my coochie... I'm out of commission for a while."

WTF?!?!?!?!

The Best Mother's Day EVER

Yesterday, my teenage son and almost teenage daughter gave me the best gift I could ever have hoped for. For over two whole hours they gave me my babies back. My daughter will still cuddle with me but my son? Yeah, right. And that's how it should be. He is a young man - there are definite boundaries now. He hugs me, but cuddling? Yeah, good luck with that. I have said before how monumentally unfair it is that we mothers are given these beautiful babies and that our job, from day one, is to teach them to not need us. They still need me in many, many ways but not in some of the ways I want them to still need me. Not in some of the ways I still need them.

But yesterday... I woke up to them yelling private jokes at me and singing while giving me breakfast in bed. They made me an omelet, turkey bacon, bagels, juice... and beside all that on the tray - one of my favorite memories. Years ago, when they were 4&6 they gave me breakfast in bed (family tradition) for either my birthday or Mother's Day. They didn't know how to cook and so they dug through the cupboards and gave me a warm can of Classic Coke (which I HATE) on a plate surrounded by sunflowers seeds and gumballs. So, yesterday I got the same treat next to my real food. Have I told you how funny my babies are? They are, both of them, hysterical.

Then they proceeded to wrestle and tease and joke and burrow in my covers and stand on my head and accidentally hit me while they were trying to hit one another. Their body slams hurt far more now than when they were little but their fights when things went too far made me laugh more than they used to.

We played forever and then they treated me to a movie. X-men. They opened doors for me, held my hands, told me they loved me. It was an entire day spent in heaven. What more could a mother ask for?

Not much.

Have I Told You Lately How Much I Love Him?

Robert Kirby needs to be my next door neighbor. End of discussion.

Excommunication for the dead. Talk about a service I would LOVE to offer on this site. For I, too, am an expert at having impure thoughts. In fact, I have a sneaking suspicion that I am an impure thought. Huh.

Butts McCracken

Okay Internetland, time to be twelve years old again. I think these people got married just to entertain me. Bless 'em!






























Anybody know a guy with the last name of Nipple that I can marry?

She's A Whole Lot Of Rock-N-Roll

Marie Osmond has a gay daughter. Right on. Totally makes up for Donny.

Welcome Back Buttars

Check out this blog/article on Buttars and Waddoups - the cutest couple EVER. And then, oh sweet humor, check out the comments left on said blog/article. I'm still chuckling.