Douchebag of the week! Username: Maniwannakillyou

Ah the wide open road.  How I ever survived without two wheels before I have no idea.  Hell, with the way it is in LA, how I’m going to survive on two wheels isn’t far off either.

Enter the first of many scooter related car agressive behaviors.

Dear people who drive cars,

I know you’re too busy not paying attention and being completely oblivious to the world around you in your lovely protected bubble, but for the love of pete people!  While yes, I understand that while you are driving is the *perfect* time to do a myriad of activities you couldn’t possibly be bothered to do while you’re, oh, not driving (ie: shaving your legs, picking your nose in public, doing your makeup, disciplining your kid, frying pancakes- yes, ive actually seen someone do this in their car… it was actually my uncle…. yes, seriously) , I really would not like to die.

I know you’re in a hurry.  Hell this is LA.  Everyone is in a hurry to get that place down the street from them, 20 minutes away.  That’s part of the reason I’m on my bike.  Because frankly it sucks sitting in the gridlock waiting to go 2 feet.  I know you’re jealous of that.  It’s ok, I’d be jealous too.  I’m pretty jealous of those big rar bikes I see out there as well.  It’s ok.  I will totally girl it out and rock my scooter.

Dear cars,

You are not going to get ahead of me when I’m at the front of the line.  Deal with it.  But douchebags, remember that to hold up that bike at the stop light, I have to put my feet down.  Please refrain from trying to run over them because you’re pissed off that I get to go before you.

As if that weren’t bad enough, the winner of this weeks Douchebag of the week goes to…. asshole who wanted to turn left that slammed on their brakes for no apparent reason when I was 2 ft away from their bumper.

There was no one in front of him.  There wasn’t a small infant or animal or block of ice or a truck full of Haagen Daas dropping deliciousness out the back to merit any sudden braking.  It was completely open with no traffic.  I was behind said douchebag and going normal speed, when suddenly… wham.  And it was almost wham for me… in their back windshield.

They say that most accidents occur within 2 miles of your home.  It is the area where your guard is down and you are most comfortable.  This was down the street from me.  Thankfully it wasn’t the day I was getting a smoothie over there, because otherwise, it would have been even douchey-ier, though I’m sure I’d smell delectable covered in smoothie juice.

I’d really really not like to die on my bike due to someone being a pussy and breaking out of nowhere.  Here’s to you mr Maniwannakillyou.  Perhaps you should pay attention to the people behind you and learn how to drive you jerkface.

[untitled] things unsaid

it’s 830am.

ive slept too much hoping to wake up with answers.

i haven’t found anything has changed except the hour.

the only thing i do know is that i really shouldn’t want to go to potentially see you, but that may very well be a part of why i do.

Agenda, agenda

Potential/intended weekend lineup:


  • Angels game tonight (just found out so most likely won’t go)
  • Work
  • Grocery shopping
  • Comic book shop



  • Work.
  • Detox.
  • Take the train down to Claremont.
  • Family day.


  • Dmv appointment @ the asscrack of dawn.
  • catchup with a friend I haven’t seen in months.
  • Work.
  • PSK?

Apologies and aftermaths not quite closed

My take on apologies?
Well they speak volumes of your character.
Believe it or not-
Every one is gonna mess up.
He’s going to make a mistake.
She’s going to go the wrong way.
Someone is going to say something that hurt you.
One day you’re going to wish you never did something that is done already.

And it’s about the way you pick yourself up and acknowledge your error.

And can you apologize for it… no I mean sincerely, say you’re sorry in the most humble and honest way possible— with hope that you’re forgiven, but understanding if you’re not? Have you ever been taught how? Do you know what the premise of “I’m sorry” is?

It means I wish I hadn’t and I won’t do it again.

I found the above note on the tumblr of a girl I met at a party a few weeks ago.  She’s a wonderful girl that I spent a bit of time with at said party.

There is a backstory to the following apology below.  Although it has already been discussed with the person involved, I was moved by her post to add more to it here in the public space.  The rabbit hole goes deep with this tale in which I view the experience to truly be something that I will smile about and forever treasure in my mind, regardless of what happens in the aftermath.

And to you “my” dear sir so & so…

I’m truly sorry I reacted the way that I did.  Hopefully someday you may see to the sincerity.. of moments so pure and beautiful that in the aftermath (I hope it’s a see you later, rather than a goodbye)in my heart of something magical in its own right rather than the tainted disdain it may very well likely (doubtfully) have become.

I realize that if I’ve waited this long for 1 legendary moment, regardless if there’s more after, what a great moment to have to look back at.  Here’s hoping that you will not only remain there.  Here’s hoping you visit me in the realm of… whatever way you desire, if only for another moment once again.


I oftentimes find myself having both the best and worst timing imaginable.  Why it seems to happen, I’m unsure.  But I wouldn’t give it up any of it.

All those moments…

the rise and fall of passion and levity to see-you-laters and goodbyes…

Life is about the experiences.

They’re about discovery.

What’s real.

And what’s going to make you more real…

however surreal and dreamlike they may be.

I’m so grateful I found you.







If only for a moment.

If only for this moment.

however surreal and dreamlike it may be.


That’s it, I’ve finally realized that I’m old.  I’ve hit milf status.  I’ve hit… the first steps towards the end of the line.  It’s only a matter of time before I have to invest in wrinkle creams and Depends.

When I visited my family this weekend I saw the following sign on my son’s door:

except for Mom, this means you... for now.

except for Mom, this means you... for now.

My oldest son lives with my dad right now.  He’s six.  I don’t remember getting so private when I was his age.  Hell, the exact opposite seems to be the case as I’ve gotten older.

My son still calls me Mommy.  But he’s growing up.  They grow up far too fast.

This should not be a shock to me, yet it is.  I like to focus on teaching my son to be independent and encourage him with space and activities to help built that foundation while also balancing the value of outside relationships.

In suburbia, having grown up in a small town in IL about the same distance from the city as my son does, so much is lost in translation.  I find myself having to correct my son’s clouded vision of where Mommy lives and works as being negative.

I’ve found there is more babying done within a suburban community, whereas city kids are forced to learn real world applications sooner weather they like it or not.  Sink or swim.  No one is going to give a shit about you except you.  Harsh, but real.

I’m a very proud mother today.   It makes me smile a bit to see that my son is learning this lesson earlier on his own.  It appears to be coming primarily from him.

So if he wants someone to knock before entering his room, I’ll gladly do it.  Even if I’m not one of the ones he’s referring to.  Because later, when he could be potentially getting into more trouble than a little childish bickering over who gets to play Sonic or who gets the blue mouse in Mousetrap, he will be more open and willing to share it with me.  Respecting your child’s privacy to encourage openness…  sometimes a little common decency and reverse psychology goes a long way.

And now a tale of a “preacher’s” daughter

Ah Easter Sunday… or in atheist and pop culture, Zombie Jesus Day.  So whichever way you prefer, happy ___ to you.

This weekend has been a bit of a rollercoaster.  I come from a very conservative Roman Catholic background.  My family is very devout with their faith.  They uphold traditions of ritual and wholesome values.  I have the utmost respect for their commitment to the cross, but… well I know that I’m far from it.

I am the sterotypical cliche of a Catholic school girl gone wrong.  I drink, I smoke, I delight in things that are both volatile and scandalous.  I’m an atheist, outspoken, liberal girl who loves rock and roll, fast cars, motorcycles, piercings, tattoos and deviants.  I revel in the throws of passion.

My idea of kneeling down to worship is on my knees in front of that certain someone (or someones).  I am devoted to my work and play- but, well it just isn’t what my family would agree with.    Oh how far the apple falls from the tree.

What daddy doesnt know...

What daddy doesn't know... won't hurt him.

My parents are separated (ie: happier and divorced) and are both entering their second marriages.  Mom still lives back home in Chicago suburbia with her husband that looks like John Denver.  My dad, finally on the path to marrying the one girlfriend he’s had over the years that I get along with best… most of the time.

She’s not Catholic however.  My father is very strict about this.  Ah conversion… this is how I know for sure it’s a cult.  He will not marry her until she completes the process of being one so that they can get married in a church ceremony.  This weekend she was confirmed and got a few other sacraments.  I was invited to go but unfortunately (fortunately) had work to do so I had to postpone until later today.

Ironically as it were, this season I found myself writing copy for a site for singles of all forms… sites to help you meet the millionaire of your dreams, to one night stands to… someone who shares the same faith.   I found myself searching for answers.  Anything to help assist me to write about something I had no connection to.  I found this gem of a website (NSFW):

Pegging is not a sin if you do it with your significant other

Pegging is not a sin if you do it with your significant other

For someone as far from those tracks as I am,  despite the ease of my current project, I found the latter the most difficult piece to write.  Also, since I am currently without a laptop, I can’t exactly just go to my dad’s and ask him to borrow the family PC to write smut copy.  Regardless if I tell him that it’s work (which it genuinely is thankfully), he will tell me its crap.  He doesn’t even need to know what it is to say that either- just that it requires me to be on the internet, and therefore it is evil.

I elected to stay in for a majority of my weekend to work on it, as my soft deadline is Monday morning.  I will be committing a majority of today to family activities far away from this horrible place we call “teh interwebz.”  Friday night was quiet.  I saw the oo shiny of parties and event goings on, but wanted to get some work done.  I took company with a longtime friend from Bakersfield across a screen.

“I sucked as a Christian that’s why i chose Atheism.” I told Tino.

This of course, led to even more ridiculous chats as the first initial reactions as to what to write didn’t exactly make it to print (there at least).

Here’s a few lines from the more… interesting form of copy, in prayer format:

Whenever I go to pray, I ask for a companion.

Oh dearest God… all I want more than anything is…

for someone to fuck me up the ass proper.

I mean!

Dearest Lord please grant me the serenity to accept the things I cannot change and the wisdom to…

know just which guy is not going to need an instruction book to pleasure me in all the ways the devil would…

No!  I mean!

I just want a close friend that I can tell anything…

like don’t be afraid to be man enough to pull my hair and yank on…

And if I could get a really great… ” girl blowjob” that would be awesome too.

I ask this through Jesus Zombie.


Ah prayer.. it seems I cannot escape it, even when I’m writing ad copy.  It’s… amazing.  Religion seeps into most everything weather we like it or not.  If you don’t have a sense of humor about it, you will always be set up for heartache.

Yesterday was my “kick butt” class.  It’s my monthly self defense class.  The instructor gives encouraging talks throughout the seminar about real life applications to better enhance what you take out of the class.  It’s one commitment that I have been doing for a few months now.

This month’s class was about pushing your limitations.  We learned just how much you need to push yourself to get what you want.  Hard work and determination will pay off… but only with a commitment to practice and focus.  That said I can now both mentally and physically take your ass down if you mess with me.  Beware LA dating scene or I’m going to fuck you up.

At the end of the class, the instructor wanted us to pay our respects with a very old bow and prayer.  It was not a religious affair, and yet, it seemed as if it were.  The act didn’t bother me though.  I have the utmost respect for the ritualistic nature of religion, even if I don’t practice it.  As long as it’s not shoved down my throat, I can observe in moderation.  Despite being a really bad Catholic by practice (or lack thereof) for my father’s sake, in the right circumstances, I can shine with my knowledge about the faith when sequestered.

So there you have it.   Another lesson from yesterday’s class… you can’t escape your past.  Sometimes you have to embrace it and deal with it head on.  I have a few more pieces to finish and then I’ll be making my way to suburbia to visit the family and have Jesus cake.  Maybe I’ll even wear a dress.  Because well later tonight, there may be a dirty boy in my future.   Papa won’t know any better than to preach.