Go Om Yourself…Edgy Yoga-Zen Wear

As a rock and roll yogi gangster, it’s so hard to find cool edgy zen-wear that allows me to let my yogi-freak flag fly. Somehow a breezy t shirt imprinted with “Follow Your Bliss” just isn’t my flavor…so I did something about it!

Go Om Yourself Thug Wear is a line of yoga/mudra inspired tank tops. The collection consists of Mudra/Yogi inspired tanks that are sure to muscle up any slouchy beanie. The line injects a bit of humor, cheeky intention and the concept of cool spirituality into an otherwise saturated market of Sanskrit-based designs featuring Buddha, Om symbols and the “go-to” Namaste salutation. Go Om Yourself marries funny, smart, irreverent style with wellness, strength and serenity. It’s today’s answer to Zen wear for anyone who likes a little street cred with her spiritual insignia.

Visit www.goomyourself.com ….color up and throw down some spiritual insignia!

Stay super fine and always dance in the silvery light.

Thugs and Blisses,


A New Perspective On Taking A Selfie

I am suddenly nostalgic for the days of the Champagne-Supernova, when the Gallagher brothers were still brothers, and when the lyrics of “Black Hole Sun” didn’t take on such a literal meaning. Before social media and texting. When we had real phone conversations and real-life snapshots. Before the hipster, the whole foodie and the highly intellectualized Zen culture. Back when we were baby adults listening to Nirvana, Oasis and Soundgarden just testing the waters, trying to figure out what was bullshit, and what to do with it.

Years later I find myself in a different culture altogether. Through social media, our society has evolved (or devolved) into a civilization of obsessively groomed Facebook profiles (Facade Book?) and snarky Twitter feeds that exhibit (perfect) lifestyles. This is all served up by a generation that concedes such sophistication and intellect that “Snark” is their first language. It’s easy to feel a little “less than” in such a tough crowd, as it’s only natural to devalue our overall sense of self in comparison to these super smart, gorgeous souls living the ever-exclusive culture of cool.  In this climate how is it possible to maintain grace and an honest “sense of self” in the spray-tanned age of the selfie?

Start with surrendering. Just throw your hands in the air, wave a white flag, or crank up some Nirvana and roll down your windows as you drive through your nearest hipster haven shooting the bird. Recognize that it is okay not be like the rest of the herd. It’s okay to not be that polished evolved person who knows more than the Food and Drug Administration or the American Medical Association and the Center for Disease Control. Shit, it’s even okay to be a Republican. Do what you feel…not what you’re bullied into feeling. It’s okay to take a reprieve and separate. Be imperfect, embrace your insecurities and wear them well.

Here’s the thing, as modern women we rush to yoga and Pilates. We drink green drinks and lovingly massage our kale before feeding it to our macrobiotic bodies. This is good! Yes, be healthy. Make kale the new spinach in your life, just like everyone else. But don’t be afraid to color outside the lines of today’s idealistic boundaries. Seriously you don’t want to miss the whole point of your yoga practice by wondering how many chaturangas and camel poses you have to do to be absolved for immunizing your kids…and feeding them McDonalds. It’s all okay because what’s going to shine through is your courage and grace to be no one else but you…nothing else really matters.

Find some peace.Get rid of extraneous noise that comes from toxic chatter. Dump people that plant bad seeds in your psyche. It’s up to you cultivate healthy mind crops for yourself, and those lucky enough to harvest those crops with you. Listen more. Speak less, or just be silent. Perhaps experiment with a separation from the constant hum and pull of social media for a few days. Read a book, write something, call someone or cook for yourself. Consider this short separation a chance to enchant your “self.” Who knows, sparks could fly, and you may really like (love) the person you find there. Just think…if you can be content in your own head, what an attractive place that would seem for others.

Look at it like this, the selfie generation is out there pathologically snapping pictures in their bathroom mirror, because they NEED YOU TO SEE how _____ (thin, pretty, happy, rich…) they are. Meanwhile you’re romancing your sense of self by listening and learning. You are feeding your psyche and building energy that generates its fuel from within…no “likes” or outside validation needed. This “self-generated-light approach” kind of puts a whole new twist on the concept of “taking a selfie,” huh? Go with it…and maybe get some shades.

Be humble, kind and cordial.Twerking, texting, selfies and sexting are the norm, leaving conversation and real connection hanging somewhere between the cliz-ub, cyberspace and the nearest 4G tower. Don’t misunderstand, it’s fun and OMG who doesn’t love a good bootie-shaking session? Shit, I’m twerking right now! It’s all good, sexting, texting, all of it, just don’t forget to genuinely connect with people. Give the term “I feel ya Bro…” some real fucking depth, by making eye contact when speaking to someone. Reach out and call someone for a change, and let him or her know you wanted to hear their voice.

You’ll find its feels good to make others feel good and it’s really simple to do too. Just try to add to the light that already surrounds you. Make a daily decision to double the amount of good energy around you by slowing down, smiling and noticing people. Ask the barista how she’s doing. Pay someone a complement, or make a person’s day by leaving an anonymous note on a random parked car (careful, no creepy messages). Ralph Waldo Emerson said, “It is one of the most beautiful compensations in life, that no man can sincerely try to help another without helping himself.” He’s right. Try it and see.

Lastly, be real. Dump the ultra-posed selfie for the imperfect snapshot. Don’t be a freak show and walk around in full makeup ALL the time. That’s exhausting for everyone. Show your skin, and be kind to it. Speak the truth, and if that truth is not kind or necessary then…be silent. Find your passion and be true to it. Find your dream and make it real. Start a romance with your imagination. Take it out for date night often. Feed it good food (art, books, fear, love) to keep it nourished and hungry at the same time. Acknowledge your insecurities and let them go, by proving them false, as from now on, you only carry truth.

So now that you sparkle, and your solid “sense of self” is bumping and grinding with the universe, get out there and share what you got. Make the world a better place, shine on and go forth as you transmit the real meaning of “taking a selfie”



This article was picked up by RebelleSociety.com

I Never Looked Back

I didn’t really ever think things would be different when Mom got home. I mean I knew she and Dad were over long before she did. I also knew she wouldn’t move on, ever. How does a seven-year old stoner know these things? Anything? I knew I wouldn’t end up like her. I knew I wasn’t going to rot away swimming around the stagnant little fish bowl known as Corpus Christi. The stench of sub-mediocrity permeated the city, and looking back, the only thing I regret is not leaving sooner.

A lot happened by the time I turned nineteen and pulled my first geographic…thank Elvis for the simple moments of clarity at the bottom, no matter how quick, or slight.

We had been at the late-night happy hour. Gary was cocky…an idiot. Good looking, obviously dangerous and a drug dealer. My boyfriend…what a catch. He provided cocaine, meth and some even great prescriptives. Which was what had him going that night.

“Get in the fucking car! Do it NOW!” he screamed at me.

He looked crazy, his face grey, and his eyes cold and focused…like a reptile’s.

The sound of the blast left my ears ringing, and my hearing muffled. Gary’s still yelling at me, and belligerently cussing at the poor bastard he had just shot. My eyes were gritty from the gunpowder I suppose…all I knew is they hurt.  The air is thick, I can’t breathe. I look at my feet and there is blood flowing down the incline of the parking space. It’s running rich and fast over the toe box of my bright yellow pumps. The tremendous contrast of thick-dark blood, and fluorescent yellow, have me hypnotized. I feel sick. I’m afraid to look beyond my cheap pumps to see this stranger’s face, as he lies on the ground of a dusty parking lot in a lame tired town, fighting for his life. I knew this kid was not like us. He was rich…he was a spring breaker who was from a real city. He was someone who counted, someone who had a big future, some one who went to a real university. Someone who had people rooting for him, someone who would be missed. He was not like us.

The pressure in my eardrums subsided all at once. “POP!” Suddenly everything is so loud. I can hear sirens. Bouncers are running toward the scene, and Gary’s staring at me holding the weapon, waiting for me to make my move. I throw my hands in the air and back away from the car.

“I break up.” I say shaking my head. “No way, …I break up!”

Gary throws the rifle in the back seat of the car, jumps in and races away. I turn around and look at the kid. His arm wouldn’t survive, but he would. I was relieved. His friend who ran at the sight of the rifle, approaches with a couple of bouncers and what seems like the entire SAE frat house, as I slip away into the quickly forming crowd. Once away from all the chaos, I walk into the bar, tell the doorman, I had seen everything and ask him to keep me safe until the cops arrive.

The next time I saw Gary was about forty minutes after he made his getaway. He was in the back of a squad car. I ID’d Gary in the squad car. They shined a bright light in his eyes so he couldn’t see who was fingering him, but it didn’t matter. I made sure he heard me,

“Yeah that’s him.”

I didn’t look back. I left behind the orangey sunsets and muggy nights that made my hair curl. The stick-straight horizon, and the black storms that appeared in instant to reap havoc and further “hillbilly-fy” the landscape. I said good riddance to the good Christian souls who promised to pray for me, and my mother. I erased the memory of our over- grown yard, and our crumbling house that my mother burned to ground one night. And, I kissed goodbye the ones I would miss most; my meth-faced contemporaries, who picked at their sores, and stabbed each other in the back.  I didn’t look back.


This piece won an honOrable mention in the Writer’s digest 80th annual writing competition… “I didn’t look back” was awarded 53rd place…of 11,800 entries.

Dear Lynn Sanchez McClintock,

One of my most enjoyable tasks as editor of Writer’s Digest is passing along good news to writers. This is one of those fun occasions. It is my pleasure to tell you that your entry I Didn’t Look Back, has been awarded 53 place in Memoirs/Personal Essay category of the 80th Annual Writer’s Digest Writing Competition! We will mail your Certificate of Achievement which honors your accomplishment in mid-November. Finishing among the top 100 entries is an accomplishment you can be proud of (there were 11,800 entries!).

Your success in the face of such formidable competition speaks highly of your writing talent, and should be a source of great pride as you continue in your writing career. 

I congratulate you again on your accomplishment, and wish you the best of luck in your future writing.


Jessica Strawser, Editor

Writer’s Digest

The Vampire Says, “Mash Gooooood!”

People often ask, what does “Mashgood” mean…where did it come from?

Well it’s simple. Remember the old song, Monster Mash? At the end of the song the Vampire says, “mash gooooood!”

I liked it…so I kept it.

My save-all stolen mental artifact, “mashgood,” applies to more than just the memory of my maniac kids dancing in diapers to the Monster Mash. Although that’s where it started, with a beyond joyful moment; the site of those two crazed chubby faces really “feeling it.” Squealing and moshing to the beat. Completely unaffected by anything the world or life could put on them. No self-conscious weirdness, no judgement, just utter joy and adrenaline coming out of and off of my two perfect dancing little boys who couldn’t give a damn that they could barely speak yet…BECAUSE,  OMG THE MONSTER MASH WAS PLAYING!.

It’s easy to go back to that moment and capture the “good.” So “mashgood”  has become a mantra for me over the years.  I use it to remind myself to dump the trash in my head (fear, doubt, anger..),  and to  take all things (like that precious moment with my kids) and mash them up into the “good.”