it's time to cut the cord.

hey iphone users, rather than constantly complaining about how quickly your battery dies, or tweet non-stop about the same thing, or asking others how long a charge should last, why don't you stop click, click, clicking on your goddamn phone and use a little common sense? as a non-iphone user, and someone who doesn't have a sick addiction to it, i'm going to break it down for you, okay?

^see the problem here? all phoning and no boning.

-stop tweeting about your battery dying, and i'd bet my husband's left nut you'd save some power and see an increased battery life.

-stop taking pictures of your bottle of water, your cup of coffee, your reflection every time you pass a mirror, your fingernails, or every other fucking thing you see in a day, and guess what? i bet you notice your battery lasts a little longer.

-stop spamming twitter and facebook with eight gazillion motherloving instagram pictures. seriously, ENOUGH ALREADY! no one cares to see your baby or anything else every hour on the hour, probably more, with some annoying vintage frame and color editing. NO ONE! again, can you guess what i'm about to say? less instagram = more battery.

-if you're at work, being paid to do an actual job, set your fucking phone down and get some work done, okay? the world will survive without your tweets, your instagrams pictures, your status updates, your blog posts, your pins, and whatever the hell else you're doing online because you can't function without it. breaking your addiction means saving your battery life.

-and for the love of everything holy, TURN THAT PIECE OF SHIT OFF WHEN I AM TRYING TO HAVE A REAL LIFE CONVERSATION WITH YOU!!!!! when it became socially acceptable to text someone else, play games, dive further into your phone/internet addiction when in the presence of anyone else, i don't know, but guess what? not only are you COMPLETELY RUINING your social skills, but you're also killing your battery.

now that the basics are covered, let me say that i do know some iphone users that should not be beat with a pipe for being so damn irritating, but for the rest of you, GET A FUCKING LIFE AND GET OFF OF YOUR PHONE! (and then the battery will last a little longer).

i hate it when i cry and don't mean to.

i won't say i cry all the time, and i'm definitely not one of those people who can remain dry-eyed at a funeral, for example, so i guess i'm somewhere in between. sometimes though, when something means a lot to me, or stirs up a lot of emotions, no matter how trivial it may be to someone else, i have no control over the tears that flow.

i've been working on a little project involving pencil & pen drawings and watercolor paints, but because my confidence is in the negative territory, i've kept it to myself. i've wanted to share with mr. shit, but i've been too scared.

and it's not just a drawing that i'm scared to share, it's something i've sewn, a piece of jewelry i've made, even some flowers i've arranged, anything that took some creativity and my own ideas.

i wasn't brought up in an artistic family. not at ALL. but they still accepted that i was the free spirit of the family, and in their own way, encouraged me to be unique. until the time my dad married my stepmom, i was excited to show people close to me what i'd made.

i remember the first time my stepmom made a comment about what i was drawing, and i brushed it off as her being a bitch. i was doing a rough sketch of a woman's face and her out-of-control hair. i didn't see anything wrong or unusual about it, but she stopped beside me, frowned, and asked, "who is that?" i told her i didn't know, it was just a sketch of a woman. she replied with, "well why are you drawing a woman?" "just because," i said. the conversation ended with her look of disgust, and then her walking away. the next time i was drawing a picture of an amish boy, having just returned from a trip to pennsylvania. again, she walked up to me, asked me why i was drawing a boy, and frowned. from then on it was the same, it didn't matter what i was drawing, a person, a tree frog or a flower, she would always ask me why i was drawing that, emphasis ALWAYS on that, as if it were a filthy parasite that no human eyes should ever see.

when mr. shit asked to see what i was working on, my stomach felt tight, my eyes widened, and i kind of wanted to just run and hide in the closet. before i could even show him, i had to give him the whole rundown, which i've done before, on why i'm downright terrified to show anyone anything, and i cried. i couldn't stop, and i couldn't put into words exactly what i was feeling or how i didn't realize just how strong those feelings were. i realized then just how much my stepmom hurt me. i hate it, and i hate it more that i can't just forget about it and let it go.

my stepmom made me lose all confidence in any sort of artistic ability i may have had. to this day, i feel physically ill when i have to show someone something i've made or worked on, because i always expect the same type of response my stepmom would have given me. although no one else has ever acted the way she did, the negativity seems to stay with me and shape the way i feel about myself and my art.

i haven't lived with my dad and stepmom for nearly 12 years, but the wounds she left are still fresh. i often wonder if her comments, both about art and everything else, will ever lose their strength, power, and ultimate control over my inability to finally gain self-esteem.

one day, when i'm a parent, i'll make it my mission to raise a self-assured and confident child. i'll be sure to compliment them so that they feel comfortable being who they are and never feel they have to apologize for it.

the birthday shit.

anytime things are running smoothly, and mr. shit and i are so happy we should be running slow motion through a field of wildflowers with a gentle breeze in our hair, his parents have to go and fuck it up; from wildflowers to knives through pig hearts lying on your pillow.

yesterday was mr. shit's birthday, and we were both excited about it because his aunt so graciously gave him two train tickets to a very fun city because she just wanted for us to have fun, and have fun we did! it was so enjoyable being able to spend the day together in a city we both love, doing things we both love, eating food we both love. once we got home, i had a present for mr. shit as well as a cheesecake he didn't know i made for him the day before, but (insert debbie downer "wah wah wah" music), the fun couldn't last. i got the mail on our way in and there were no cards from either of his parents, he checked the answering machine which had no messages from his parents, and because he so desperately hoped they would remember him on his birthday, he looked at the caller ID to see if they'd called him, only to find they didn't.

this is where i want to seriously kick through walls... or kick his parent's faces. mr. shit is not without his flaws, but i know that he is a man most anyone would be proud to call their son. and i'm not just saying that, but people tell him the same thing often. the problem is that his parents are too wrapped up in their stupid shit and his welfare sister's stupid shit to even acknowledge the fact that they have a son. it makes my heart break for him, because i know that no matter how much love, attention, or respect you may receive from everyone else, it's never quite the same as receiving it from your own parents.

so i want to say thank you to mr. shit's miserable-sorry-excuse-for-a-human-being father for never, EVER acknowledging his son, be it a birthday, holiday, or just regular day, and for being consistent in his absenteeism. without such consistency we may get confused as to his real feelings. and i want to thank mr. shit's fat ass pathetic mother for always reminding everyone of how wonderful a mother she is, but not actually ever showing any real warmth, concern, or even borderline interest in her own son. can we say guilt complex? i believe we can. parents of mr. shit, you have once again been successful in taking a fun and carefree day and making it end with anger, feelings of abandonment, and overall sadness. my hat's off to you, you fucking idiots.

are you kidding me with this shit?!

fucking hell. i'm still completely amazed at people sometimes, and i'm not talking good amazed, i'm talking amazed as in it makes me want to smack myself in the face just to be sure this shit's real. i'm not sure if it's the anonymity of the internet or just a complete lack of sense, but sometimes shit makes my head spin. because i'm a secret shit-talking blogger, i can't give the exact details of this story, but let's say i make polished turd dolls with curly synthetic hair. this is how it went:

the dumbass: "i love your polished turd dolls SO MUCH :)~ where do you get your supplies to make them???!!!"

me: *silence*

after a few hours of no response, seeing as how i, as a handmade turd doll maker, would be foolish to share my secrets, she contacts me through another social media.

the dumbass: "i don't know if you saw my question the first time, but i want to know where you get your turds and your curly synthetic hair! how to you polish them? do you do it yourself? i'm bored and i want to start making polished turd dolls, too. please tell me where you buy your supplies so i can get some, too!!!!!"

me: "i appreciate your interest in my curly-haired polished turd dolls, but since my income is directly earned from sales of my turds, i don't share my techniques or list of suppliers. i'm sure you can understand."

the dumbass: *mean face* *probably calling me a turd eating bitch*

seriously, WHAT THE FUCK?! why for the love of french fries would you go to someone who earns a living from their craft, be it polished turn dolls or organic flavored condoms, and ask to know all of their secrets because you've decided you want to copy them? i seriously can't believe this shit. not that i haven't been asked before, but i have been tracked down to different locations and asked multiple times by the same person. here's your information, dumbass: fuck off!

when shit gets rude.

i'm certainly not one for etiquette, and this shouldn't surprise you. not at all. BUT i think manners are a whole other matter. i mean, i know i'm sometimes inappropriate (translation, i'm often inappropriate, but i fear my brain is missing some key element that tells me what is acceptable and what is not), but when it comes to being polite, i think i have that covered. maybe i'm just being a bitch, but i'm a little pissed off about the way a friend acted yesterday.

the scene: at a friend's house for her birthday party. there are about 25 people, so since all of the attention is on her, she's not acting like herself which makes it weird from the very beginning. after about an hour, she sneaks away to open her birthday gifts. she came to stand beside me and said, "thanks for the card." i asked her if she opened the gift that was with the card, thinking that they may have been separated since the box was small. she said she did open the gift, but she didn't say anything about it or thank me. i gave her a pair of earrings, but as luck would have it, she doesn't have pierced ears. i feel bad about it, but she just kind of waived her hand in the air and said, "whatever" as she rolled her eyes. i wasn't sure if i wanted to cry or punch her in the face, but it really hurt my feelings. when did we start thanking people based on how well we like the gift as opposed to thanking them for the thought and for getting us a gift, whether that gift is a new car or a broken pencil.

shit like that bothers me. while my mouth may be vulgar, i like to think that my heart is kind, and i could never imagine acting so spoiled about getting a gift. i mean, FUCK, it was a NO GIFTS party, and i still brought something. yeah, that's the last time i buy a gift for that person.

equality in accountability

i'm not sure where exactly to start with this one, so i'll just go ahead and dive right in. fair enough? and there isn't even a picture for this post, so you know shit is real!

my childhood was anything but sunshine and rainbows - in fact, it wasn't much like a childhood at all - it was more like storm clouds and battle scars. BUT, even though my parents made constant mistakes and did things that will fuck with my brother and i for the rest of our lives, they still taught us a few important things that made us grown into members of society rather than becoming skid marks on the face of society. i think we all know people that, for whatever reason, are never held accountable or made responsible for anything; the people who have excuses for everything and reasons for nothing. it's like these people, with their woe is me stories and empty excuses, over time have the rest of us realize that we can't hold them to the same standards; that we can't expect anything from them unless they're willing to give it; and that we can't blame them for not meeting expectations or dropping the ball on nearly everything. why is that? why am i held to different standards? why is it that i am expected to follow rules, meet deadlines, and take the blame when the blame really is all mine?

there's someone in particular that i've lost a lot of respect for over the last few years in part because of the message she's sending out into the universe that basically says, "pity me. pity me for everything i can and can't control, even if these are things you yourself receive no pity for. don't expect me to be responsible or accomplish tasks set forth for me by my boss or the world in general. let me whine and say nothing, and when i fail, accept that i will throw someone else under the bus and take no credit for my repeated fuck ups." well, in a nutshell, that's the message i'm getting!

i'm on the verge of... well, homicide, maybe? i kid. but i'm not above screaming fuck over and over at the top of my lungs and telling the dirty secrets of lies and laziness just to get it off my chest. after all these words, my question is still the same, and it's probably one that will never be answered, but really, how do these people not only get by with this behavior, but make it so everyone expects and accepts it? why is there no equality in accountability?

shit got weird with socks.

hello, friends! well, the mother's day ordeal is over, and if i had a bottle of champagne in the fridge, i'd drink a mimosa to that, but all i have is a bottle of cheap wine. and come to think of it, i might just enjoy a glass whilst i sit here eating my salad. i have one of those 20 pound bags of real bacon bits from sam's club and they're delicious on salads. side note, yes, i just admitted i eat meat, which i hear is an offense punishable by death in some blogging circles. well, bring on the guillotine because this bitch is tasty. but back to the point. as i sit here eating my salad with meat in my completely un-chic, squeaky, and old-but-not-in-a-good-way desk chair, i feel i need to do a public service announcement, blog service announcement, whatever. i am not a fashion expert, nor am i designing a collection for the house of danish. no, i'm just a blogger with common sense. there are a lot of "trends" i don't understand, for example: lady gaga anything, girls with bowl cuts, harem pants (i mean, come on, am i the only one who remembers how ridiculous m.c. hammer looked?), and most importantly and offensively, SOCKS WITH SANDALS.

and don't think that walking a llama on a leash exempts you, because it doesn't...you still look ridiculous! just because the socks cost $50 and the open toed super high fashion wedges cost $300 doesn't mean you look any less like an idiot than the stereotypical older male tourist who wears black socks with his flat sandals; the principle is still the same - you defeat the purpose of wearing sandals by putting on socks, and you look like a fucking idiot. not only that, but is my mind in the gutter or is this style a little disturbing on a whole other level? when i see colorful or lacy socks folded over, it reminds me of the kind little girls wear. so in addition to the rest of the ridiculousness, this style, to me, screams, "HEY OLDER MAN, I'M LOOKING FOR PEDOPHILE LOVIN' BUT I'M TOTALLY LEGAL...BARELY!" and that's just nasty.

i'm not without a few skeletons in my trend closet, but i can swear on angel feathers that you will never, EVER catch me wearing socks with sandals. no way, no how. the end.

mother's day shit got real

mother's day, a day of cards, lunches and shopping with mom, right? today shit got real when mr. danish called his mom to wish her a happy mother's day and make an appointment to see her. now, you may be thinking, "make an appointment? what?" yes, an appointment. with his own mother. being a good and loving son, mr. danish left her a voicemail and waited patiently for her to call back. after a few hours of not hearing from her, mr. danish tried again. apparently she got his message, but was ignoring him. what? here's how it went:

mr. "did you get my message about us wanting to see you and having a gift?"
mom "yes, and i went up to mama's."
mr. "but you did get my message?"
mom "yeah." and then some jibber jabber basically saying that there weren't any appointments left.

hey dumbass, this is how you make your son feel, except it's more like a dagger and heart, not a cat and a dog, but i'm keeping it cute, okay? think about that next time.

here's my real theory: the good parents don't talk about how great they are at being a parent, and they don't trash talk other parents. why? because there's no need to, they don't feel guilty about doing anything wrong. the parents who are seriously lacking any sort of parental skillz (yeah, i just used a z to make it seem more legit) are the ones who feel the constant need to remind people that they're good parents and that they love their kids. case in point, my mother-in-law making shit get real on mother's day.

but that's okay. well, i mean, actually it isn't okay. but here's what's going to happen: mr. danish will be pissed for a little while, but i'll make jokes and play around with him to get him laughing a little, and if all goes well, we'll bone make sweet love that will make him forget the negative things he was previously feeling. see bitch mother-in-law, it's zero for you, one for me! i win! (insert evil laugh)

the introductory shit.

hey, you. for the sake of having a name to associate with me, you can call me danish. that's not my real name, but we'll get to that in a minute. my brother started calling me danish when we were young, and since he keeps his shit real, i figure it's as good a pen name as any.

i have another blog, with less real shit, but sometimes it's just cathartic to let it out, you know? it doesn't always have to be bad shit, although sometimes it is, but there are things i want to share than i'm just not sure some of the readers of my other blog would appreciate or understand. for example, "yo mama so greasy she sweats crisco." obviously i'm not talking about YO mama, just a mama in general. or, why do i have to pay taxes so welfare mamas can have babies for free? see how this works?

i've got some real shit to talk about, but for now, my stomach is growling like a werewolf during a full moon, and you can't fight that shit.