So You Want a Pet Piggy

You know you do.

You want to name it Peaches or Tallulah and dress it up in little outfits and carry that fucker around in a purse with the first letter of its name on it. Right?

Then get a goddamn Chihuahua, because this shit is not for you.

Look up “pet pig” on any social media site and there will be tens of thousands of photos of pint-sized piggies in tutus. But where are the adult pigs?

I’ll tell you where they fucking are: the lucky ones are at pig rescues. Overcrowded, underfunded pig rescues. Know why?


These people are the scum of the earth. They’ll lie about the size your pig will grow to be. They’ll tell you to starve your pig in an effort to keep it small. If you ask to see the parents to try and see how big they are, they’ll show you another piglet and swear it’s their mother. Then they’ll be laughing all the way to the bank with the $2,000 you just gave them.

But if you dare to say to a new pig owner, “Please feed your pig the amount stated on the bag of pig food,” they’ll flip shit.

“The breeder said Petunia will only grow to be 40 pounds and I’m feeding her three kibbles a day just like they said! I know she’ll stay little because I saw her mom!”

Sure, bitch.

Ah, the reality of pet pigs.

The reality is much less glamorous, I can assure you.

First of all, let’s talk about pig sizes. This seems to be the major reason that pigs end up in rescues or worse. For the most part, females reach 100 lbs or more and males can get up to 250-ish.

“Holy crap I thought you said you had mini pigs!” This is a common response I get from people who see my pigs. Reality: these ARE mini pigs. Regular-sized pigs are 700 lbs, people. Compared to that, this is mini.

But people think that because the babies are all they ever see.

And then there are the tragedies. Malnutritioned pigs show up at sanctuaries with underdeveloped legs they can’t walk on because their owners fed them according to what the breeders told them. There are pigs who, due to bad breeding, end up with skeletons too small to accommodate their internal organs, and they only live a couple of years until their own ribcage suffocates them.

Enraging, right? These are animals that have 20 year lifespans, and some of them only get a couple of disabled years or they get to live for 20 years unable to walk.

So what DOES it take to successfully keep a pet pig?

A lot. If you’re here, you’re already doing the right thing because you’re researching before buying.

Pigs ARE NOT like dogs. I will slap the next person who says that. They’re not any more like a dog than a cat is like a dog. You can keep it as a pet. That’s about as far as their similarities go. Dogs want to please their owners while pigs don’t give a flying fuck how you feel about what they’re doing. They have an emotional warmth about them more like a dog, but their nature is much more cat-like in that it’s all about them.

It takes a while to get to read their body language and oinks too. Is he wagging his tail because he’s happy or because he’s about to rip my calf open with his tusks? Is he head slashing at me because he wants to kill me or because he thinks I have food for him? Is he squealing because he’s scared or is he asking for a bite of my spaghetti?

Have you ever fought a miniature tank with your bare hands? If you haven’t and you’re not willing to, a pig is not for you. Dominance battles fucking suck. You have to be ready to push and shove and stare them down and not flinch when they roar and gnash their tusks at you. You have to growl at them and chase them and they’re fast as shit, but you have to be the alpha pig. Be ready and willing to engage in this fuckery.

Also, people love to say that pigs are clean animals. Hah! Everything about them is a mess. They tear their bed to shreds, they dig huge craters in the yard, they make messes with their food and water on purpose, and their annual loss of their hair is one ungodly fucking disaster.

People like tout their intelligence too. Yes, pigs are very smart. Too damn smart. They can open cabinets and refrigerators and drawers. Their iron strength makes little plastic “baby proofing” things irrelevant. They’ll also learn words you’ll wish they didn’t know, like “goldfish” and “graham crackers” and the names of all the fruits and “Chipotle.”

Lastly, vets are fucking hard to find. Seriously. There are “farm animal” and horse vets who will see them, but they usually do housecalls only and require a billion dollars just to walk through the door. Or you can take them to a regular vet (if you call first and see if they’re willing) who has no fucking idea what they’re doing. I had an emergency where one of my pigs climbed up things to get a bag of fertilizer and ate it. She threw up literally everywhere. Panicked, we had to take her to an emergency vet who had never seen a pig before. These people didn’t even know pigs got as large as she was. They didn’t have needles long enough to give her an IV and she ended up with it in her ear. Never having worked with a pig before, they were shocked when they walked away for 30 seconds and she had eaten the line. Luckily she survived that shit on her own.

This may have seemed like a negative article, but it’s not really meant to be. I love my pigs and I wouldn’t trade them for anything. They’re hilarious and I wish more people had them. But the truth really needs to be out there. People need to know exactly what they’re going to have to do when bringing home a piglet.





How I Prepare for the New Moon

I was asked this fantastic question on Instagram, and my answer is kind of long, so I figured I would answer it here.

New Moons are my shit. Full Moons are nice, but for me, they just don’t compare to those nights when you just can’t, um…see the moon.

The energy of the New Moon is deep and mysterious. It’s like a note played so low that it’s out of our range of hearing, but you can feel its vibration in your chest. This is the place after death and before birth, making it the perfect time to lay old things to rest and turn that energy to something new and more satisfying.


So how should one prepare for it?

By “prepare” I mean “start thinking about it.” What do you want to start directing more of your time and/or creativity to? What do you want to pay more attention to?

More time for yourself? A project? A healthier lifestyle? The quiet of the New Moon is the time to begin these things.

I usually take the day or so before the New Moon to start thinking about what I’d like to start working on. Sometimes, I even save shit I think of other times to start at the New Moon.

This is also a great way to procrastinate. Damn, I really need to get on top of these dishes. I know! I’ll start in…16 days.

Working with the New Moon (or really any magick for that matter) doesn’t need to be complicated or stressful. If you try to make too big of a deal of the shit, you’re going to get burned out and end up dreading it.

After I have my intention, I think about ways I can start implimenting it regularly. Am I trying to cut back on soda? Great, let’s scale it down to two sodas a week. Am I trying to have more patience with my kids? At least once a day, I’m going to let something go that I would normally bitch at them about.

Usually, on the day of the New Moon, I set up a little thing on my altar for it. If you have an altar or a sacred space, good. If you don’t, don’t fucking stress about it. By “little thing,” I mean this:


A black chime candle, my little obsidian sphere, and I like to use the New Moon card from the Arcana of Astrology. It’s not a big deal, so don’t make it one. And if you don’t have an altar or a sacred space, just carry a stone with you to remind you of the New Moon.


These are some stones I generally associate with the New Moon: black obsidian, labradorite, gray/black moonstone, black tourmaline, tektite, and iolite. Clear Quartz is always perfect too.

Or you could use a stone that corresponds to your intention. A green or golden stone would be great if you want to start saving more money. Or if you want to open the lines of communication a bit more with someone, grab something blue for your Throat Chakra.

Don’t have any stones? Good. You don’t really need them. Honestly, you just need your own thoughts for this shit.

Once I have my intention, how I’m going to go about actually making this change, and some sort of reminder throughout the day that this is the last day for my bullshit, a lot of times I just stop there. That’s it. You don’t have to do any more.

But if you want to…you could do some sort of ritual. I’m not one for fanfare, so if I do a ritual at all, I light some incense and a black candle and think about what I’m wanting to begin at this New Moon.

One thing I really like doing is a tarot spread. I don’t have a specific one, I normally get on Pinterest and search “new Moon tarot spread.” I’m serious. Then I fucking pick one and do that shit.

So…what do you do for the New Moon?

Who the Hell am I to Tell You About Chakras

If you’ve seen or if  you’re doing my Exploring Chakras Through Tarot challenge on Instagram, then the thought has probably crossed your mind: who the hell is she to tell me about chakras?

She’s only 28. She’s barely ventured out of the state of Colorado. She’s a stay-at-home mom. What the hell does she know about this shit?

Well, according to some papers I have, I’m a registered, certified 200 hour yoga teacher. To some, this may seem like a qualification. But the truth is that it’s irrelevant. The process to acquire these certifications revealed the yoga community (in Colorado, at least) to be cliquish, money-hungry, and competitive. Instead of “finding my tribe” I felt alienated. Just like everywhere else.

This was when I went to spend some time at the Shoshoni Yoga Ashram. And by Yoga Ashram, I mean temple at four am, study of the 8 limbs of Yoga (surprise! Physical poses are only 1/8th of yoga), and meditation on those dumbass little pillows.

My first day there, I chose to take a class instructed by the Ashram’s Swami, a white haired woman wearing saffron-dyed robes who had “reached enlightenment.” I could write pages and pages about the way she moved and the way she spoke, but I’ll refrain here.

As soon as I walked in, she gave me a sharp look and tapped on the carpet right in front of her. I unrolled my mat right where she’d directed me. I was embarrassed, worried, all that shit. There were no mirrors in the crooked little hut to check my alignment and, mere months after a c-section that left me with a separation of the muscles in my abdominal wall, my core strength was shit.

The class that she taught had little resemblance to classes that you can go to your local yoga studio and take. The movements were smaller, slower, and she didn’t even have names for the poses she instructed.

I was terrified of fucking up two feet from her, so of course I fucked up constantly. If she noticed, nothing about her showed it.

In a very Luna Lovegood sort of way, she spoke quietly and had meandering conversations with the spaces in between students. This was where it got weird. She was prattling about “enlightenment.” Different cultures have different names for it, but it’s all the same thing.

“What you’re doing right now,” she had said, “Has nothing to do with enlightenment.  Maybe that’s why you’re here. Maybe it’s not. Maybe you haven’t thought about it. Maybe you’re working to attain it. Maybe,” and here she gave me a very slow wink, “You’ve already encountered it.”

I remember the next thing she told us to do was to put out arms above our heads, shoulders down and back, and motion like we were climbing a rope. I felt like the teacher had just caught me passing a note and she’d intercepted it and read it to the class. I knew exactly what she was talking about.

I went on to fuck up the last pair of half-lotus chaturanga of the class and I ran to put my blocks and straps away. But I was farthest from the bins in the back of the room and everyone was bigger than I was, and I was one of the last people to toss my props in the bin.

My escape foiled, I walked back to the Swami’s mat. “When you were talking about enlightenment,” I said, “How did you know?”

She didn’t smile, but she wasn’t unpleasant when she said, “There’s just a stillness.”

Satisfied, I left.

So what the fuck was she talking about?

Let’s take a moment to talk about enlightenment. Enlightened people aren’t walking around in an enlightened state all the time. You can’t. Your physical body is unconscious. People who have reached enlightenment can meditate themselves into this state at will.

I didn’t do mine on purpose. At all.

From my research afterward, I accidentally reached an enlightened stage one evening through a Kundalini Awakening. This is a Hindu theory that a snake waits coiled at the base of the spine and, if everything energetically aligns just right, it travels up the spine, opening each chakra by blasting through it, and results in an “enlightenment.”

At the time that I achieved this, I knew practically nothing about chakras. I knew that they existed and that was it. I started linking the chakras to my “moment” during my chakra classes during yoga teacher training.

I’ve since realized that I should be very excited about it, because this shit is the kind of shit I must have been working on for fucking lifetimes.

Although I had no “training” in this life, I was obviously doing something right.

So, how did I do it?

I unthought myself.

Sometimes, the tapestry of reality has little frays. When you think too hard about reality, you’ll notice them. One evening, lying in bed, I found one. So I grabbed that sucker and pulled it. Most people, I think, notice that they’re unravelling the sweater and stop pulling, but this one time, I decided not to. I pulled until the whole sweater came apart. I pulled until it was the sheep’s wool, and I pulled some more until it was an egg in a sheep’s ovary. I pulled until the sheep weren’t sheep yet. I pulled until the planet was lifeless and then until the planet hadn’t existed yet. And then I pulled some more.

What was at the end of it?


And I was the nothing.

I can’t really describe the nothing. People talk about interconnectedness and all of that. People know it makes sense. People know it’s true. But this was like KNOWING vs knowing. It’s not even something to be talked about because IT JUST IS. I can’t convey it to you and I wish I could. The words I’m trying to use have been cheapened by excessive use from parroting lips.

But I haven’t been the same since.

That was a long story. But I offer you this: I’m doing something right.






Welcome and Some FAQ Bullshit

Welcome to the Tarot Readings from a Bitch blog!


Here are some answers to some questions you might have about me, the blog, and Tarot Readings from a Bitch:

Why do you approach the tarot this way?

Because I’m an asshole. Also, because too much of this “love and light” crap is causing…just weirdness. When people ask for a reading, or even when I read for myself, I’m not looking for some flimsy comfort. If everything is always just sunshine and baby hedgehogs, what the hell is the point of a tarot reading at all? I’m not afraid of dishing out some bad fucking news.

Will you do a reading for me?

Yes. I’m currently in the process of setting up a lil’ shop to do just that. I really don’t want to have to do goddamn videos, though.

Are there any books you recommend for learning the tarot?

Whatever guidebook comes with your deck.Other than that, none of them. Scan through some tarot-learning sites for free on Google. Look at several different site’s descriptions for each card. Get a general feel for the card’s meaning and then put that shit away. I’m serious. There’s no fucking point in learning to read tarot cards if all you are going to do is regurgitate what you’ve read somewhere.

Who are you to have a blog to talk about and interpret tarot cards?

Nobody. I’m not “certified” or any of that bullshit. Certification for intuition is ridiculous. I practice. I observe. I listen. I absorb. I contemplate.

If you have another question you think I should answer here, comment that shit.