So, I had the po-po riding my ass the other night as I was headed to my friend's for band practice. My heart started to race a bit, as I had a pocketfull of x on me and my maryjane pipe, packed to the brim, in the glove box. (we play better high) A little sweat ran down my brow as I kept looking in my rearview mirror at this cop who seemed to have a death stare on my car. He was just looking right at me, not turning away for nothing. I told myself to breathe and make sure to use them signals in the appropriate way at the appropriate time. We passed one intersection, then two, then three and for the love of god this dude wouldn't get off my tail. I knew I was in for it and I panicked, pulled the x tabs out of my pocket and snuck them into my mouth. I didn't care about the pipe cuz the laws changed and I hear they're not prosticuting for it now. Swallowed the pills and not a minute later he turns right down a side street. In the clear, but a little panicked for downing so much x. In the end it all turned out ok, had the finest night of the year thus far and rocked like nobody's business. I stayed up for a day and a half and then crashed like a brick falling off a bridge. I even wrote a song about I titled "Like a brick falling off a bridge." It goes like this: "Driving down the road with the po-po on my ass, pocketfull of ecstasy, glovebox full of grass…
To the two shitbags in the Land Rover cruising through the Pearl District last night who thought it was cute/funny to blow through two stop signs and nearly hit a pedestrian and another vehicle:
If you continue to drive so unsafely you are going to get in an accident and hurt someone, possibly yourselves. Please drive better.
Oh, and I hope you and your girlfriend both go sterile!
"Information has been placed with our office. We need to receive a statement from you or your attorney if you have one today in order to resolve this issue quickly and release you from this matter. Your file number is 145-1155. You can reach us directly at 866-244-4238 thank you."
FUCK OFF, ROT IN HELL AND DIE, SCAM CALLERS!
I won't go into the details, but get straight to the point: I met a girl, we hit it off, went out a few times and then had sex. All caught up? Great. Here's the deal: she stayed the night at my house and we were in bed sleeping… well, she was sleeping because it takes awhile for me to fall asleep with someone new, so I just lay there with my eyes closed all night. Anyway, a few hours into her slumber, she rips a fart and not just any fart, but one that sounds like when you slowly let the air out of a balloon; that high pitched, sort of horn-like sound. It came it intermediate spurts and then the smell of stale broccoli filled the air. Hey, I get it, we all fart and I'm not one to judge too harshly when one slips out, but this was different. I just can't get that balloon sound out of my head… every time we talk, every time we meet, eat, drink… whatever, the sound just pops into my head. And then there's that association thing where I immediately start to smell stale broccoli. I'm getting turned off by this girl and it's not even her fault. I know it's my problem, but I just can't take it anymore. I really don't see a way out other than to call it off with her. Hell, I'd totally trade that IA's problem of a woman's light mustache over a balloon-sounding, stale broccoli-smelling fart. First world problems, amirite?
So many young people (and all the hipster girls on okcupid) are claiming that Bukowski is their favorite author.
Just so you know, Bukowski would rather suck the shit out of a pigs ass than spend 1 minute with any of you.
Dear Usher at the Arlene Schnitzer on Thursday night for the Bill Moyers speech,
I'm sorry that I yelled at you when you told me that I couldn't bring any food into the auditorium, but I was hungry and had just endured an hour long MAX ride due to the presidential motorcade disrupting traffic. I had just come from work in Fairview and didn't have enough time to eat dinner before the Moyers events started, so I thought I could sneak in my delicious Yumm Baby bowl from Cafe Yumm and eat it discretely like I have done in the past. I know you're just doing your job and you look like a sweet lady, so I apologize if I let my hunger and frustration with the commute cause you to be the scapegoat that night. Once I ate my meal, though, I was happy and felt guilty. You should apply for sainthood.
First off, fuck the managers of the Saturday PSU farmers market for sending the park police August last year to roust the 70-year-old disabled mariachi because “the sound of his trumpet is a disturbance”. For that matter, fuck those same park rangers for doing the managers’ dirty work and, even more, fuck me for not defending him more vigorously from their bullying.
And fuck all of us for not saying out loud that a badly played trumpet still sounds better than a well-played didgeridoo.
A coworker just compared the angelic voice of Mac to Edward. the comparison gave me bubble guts.
Back in the early 90's and in certain circles, I was once considered to be the next Leonardo Dicaprio. I was young, beautiful and extremely talented; I'm not bragging, this is just how it was. I had a few roles in a couple of sitcoms and did one commercial for a well-known pizza chain. I was on the fast track to stardom, or so it seemed. At a certain point, I decided to pursue my education and put my acting on the back burner. Well, it turned out that the field in which I was studying fanned the flame inside my soul and I eventually gave up acting to pursue it. I look back on that time and there are no regrets. I see Leo now, all old and bloated and I'm glad I didn't take that path. Sure, he's wealthy and famous, but I'm not doing so badly myself; I have a good income, PLUS I can go wherever I want and not be bothered by paparazzi and fans. I actually have more freedom than Leo does and by all accounts, I'm also much happier. As the Grail Knight in The Temple of Dooms says, "You have chosen wisely."
I just don't want to date you. I refuse to be called a bigot because I found your facial hair unattractive. Your photos showed you without it (not that I put that much focus on it) and yes, you're a woman. When we met you had the mustache of a 13 year old boy; it sorta caught me off guard. Since I'm not a rude SOB, I acted as if nothing was there; we had drinks, we talked, hell, we even laughed and then we said goodnight. You wrote asking for another date and I politely declined. You pushed and kept emailing. I kept declining. Then, you got all weird and forced the issue, so I came clean: I'm not into facial hair on a woman. Talk about a freak-out! You basically accused me of being this aggressive bigot who is superficial and sexist. I was taken aback, to be honest. I don't see why I can't have a preference without being called a bigot? I don't like facial hair on a woman, does this mean that I'm some sexist, woman-hating asshole? I don't see it. Do I have to like everything and everyone? If you met a man who was bald, but his photos didn't show him as being bald... and say you weren't attracted to bald men... does that make you a man-hating woman? No, it wouldn't. Listen, I "identify" as being straight (or "cis-gendered" for all you PC people) if you want to get down to the brass tacks and I'm attracted to women and all things feminine. I don't like facial hair on a woman, OK? This doesn't make me a bigot; get over it.
Today I had a hankering for a burrito at my friendly neighborhood taqueria. Upon entering, I was expecting the familiar scent of sweet faux pork and warm flour tortillas, but I did not expect to have those delicious smells mingled with the foul odor exuding from two patrons' flip-flopped feet. There they were, drunkenly cackling away with their normal shoe-clad friends, not realizing and/or not caring that everyone else in the establishment could taste the make and model of their probably decade-old flip flops with each bite of food. Now, folks, I can understand being drunk and yelling at 2pm on a Monday, but when it impairs judgment of your own body odor and makes my burrito taste like foot cheese, I just can't excuse that. I encourage those who insist on wearing this ridiculous excuse for footwear to give themselves a quick sniff check before heading out the door next time. Portland thanks you.
Just back from a week in New York, where people are reputedly the rudest on the planet. Guess what? All I saw were good-natured people who smiled at each other and even talked and joked. I didn't meet a single rude person until waiting with all the Oregonians to return to Portland:
The couple talking on a speaker phone who yelled at the people speaking privately around them to shut up. The people in the reclining seats banging into the people behind them and then complaining because they dared to press the buttons on the monitor screen in the back of the seat. The woman who stood texting and keeping people from getting off the plane, including one guy who said more than once that he had to pee, and then got irate when he finally pushed past her. Children running out of control and almost knocking an old woman over. I saw lots of kids in NYC who had actually been taught how to behave in public. Actually that's true of almost everywhere else.
That's enough. I could go on and on. Portland — you're ruder than New Yorkers and not half as smart or interesting.
As a society we have failed by letting these assholes get away with it. I'm talking about those folks who picked up the guitar, learned some jack johnson songs then realized that style of music is shit and try to become credible by now playing "the blues". Most recent example is white Jewish guy from an affluent family in SW who thinks he's a sharecropper turned musician in 1905. Dude, you suck and your lyrics make no sense. You even went so far as to do a cigarette break on your latest track in the middle the fucking song. Click, light, exhale. It is literally one of the stupidest things I've ever heard. AND THERE ARE A MILLION PEOPLE LIKE YOU PLAYING LIVE! Please, people, don't support crap like this anymore.
On Friday, I saw a man swing his fist at his girlfriend's face through her car window. I saw the woman peel out in her car with her baby in the back. But, she threw the car in reverse and aimed to hit the man several times. The man picked up a cinder block and held it over his head aiming for the back of the car. I saw their baby screaming and looking up at the father through the glass. I jumped out of my girlfriend’s car and yelled at them to stop. They kept fighting like sick animals. I am insulting animals. So wrapped up in their own bullshit they thought nothing about the damage they were doing to their kid. But my favorite part is the two fucking enabling women who ran up to my girlfriend and me and attacked us for trying to stop them. They pounded on our car and screamed at my girlfriend. “She can advocate for herself! You are making it worse by calling the cops!” The other woman came yelling at me and tried to stop me from telling the 911 dispatcher what street we were on. I believed that woman when she said the mother could advocate for herself. Something about the way she wielded her shit box KIA at her asshole boyfriend convinced me of that. No, we weren't advocating for the mother at that point. We were advocating for the child, because no one else in that situation was, and it was abuse. So here’s my advice to all the psychos out there: If you’re gonna fight, leave the kids somewhere else. Don't make their life as fucked up as your own.
I was downtown yesterday while the so-called "Portland BeardsMEN" were handing out flowers to all the presumed mothers. When I say mothers, I mean the preconceived notion of what a woman should be, and what she should look like. Me? Well, I'm a transgendered woman who is also a mother, but guess what? I don't look like what most of society says a woman should. So, as I approached some idiot in a tutu handing out flowers, I was preparing to politely decline, for I'm not one to accept such gifts. But! I wasn't even given the chance, as this moron passed me on by. So, let's get this straight: here are men so craving attention that they dress up in what they feel will be shocking attire. Why is is shocking to them? Because a bearded MAN dressed in a rainbow tutu is shocking for most of society's perception and these dumb asses play into and feed off of it. They use antiquated notions of gender identity to define themselves and get the most looks, the most whispers...plain and simple. And they're closeted bigoted minds also look for what THEY DEEM to be a mother or a woman. I was very offended by this attention-seeking idiot, not because he was seeking his much-needed attention, but because he was discriminating while doing so. Yet another reason why I'm beginning to hate this hypocritical "Liberal" city.
I was depressed for a long time that "insert dude's name" didn't want me anymore and left me for you. Rejection sucks and sometimes I take rejection with a shot of self torture. I let my curiosity get the best of me and put your name into a search engine. Then I found something that seemed like it could have been written for The Onion, but it was Your Blog: with over 20 pages of different entries and updates about your white dreadlocks, comments about how you didn't realize some people might take offense at them as an act of cultural appropriation (seriously?) and the cream of the crop: birthday celebrations for them. You've inspired me to start my next blog, which will be about the journey of my armpit hair. It's going to be a bit hard to get both my face and an armpit into the number of selfies required to keep up with your blog's standards, but thank you for setting the bar so high.
Yes, I saW you throw your trash on the ground. I'm sure you thought some plebeian would pick it up. I was disgusted by your laziness and entitlement. BTW the trashy Stevie Nicks wannabe outfit is pretty tired. I started to yell at you to pick your crap up off the ground, but was shushed by the wife. I kept shit cool, but you are the cancer, you are the problem. Please move back to whatever part of California that you made into your personal litter-box. Sincerely, St. Johns. PS Please kill yourself.
In the past, when I have acquired certain consumables that some might deem indecent and illegal, I have always been accused of being a cop.
These inaccurate accusations of my association or employment with various law enforcement agencies have made the acquisition of said so-called "illegal" substances quite difficult.
Once this trend became accepted and expected, I would often dress in certain attire to ease the suspicions of the merchants of the products I sought.
I would dishevel my hair, rub my eyes to make them bloodshot, wear ragged clothing (gardening clothes), and consume several light alcoholic beverages to ease the tension, and give myself the appearance of an authentic, motivated and slightly intoxicated customer of devious entertainment.
I not only had to use my artificially created appearance, but I also had to use my wit and charm, as well as my well researched and practiced knowledge of the current street 'slang'.
Nothing I ever did made these peddlers of chemical joy disengage from their adamant suspicion that I was the "Man," but sometimes, my ruse did work and I was successful in my endeavor to view the world from the clouds above and touch the hand of God. Other times, I came home only to find myself alone and in the company of an impostor.
I don't partake in these dark delicacies very often, but when I do, I give it my all.
So, if you think I am a cop... I can assure you, I am not.
I'm so sick and tired of the fake mustache photos, the yoga pose photos, the rock-climbing photos, the face painted Oregon Duck photos, the legs that look like hot dogs in front of some vacation scene photos, the "Portland is Weird" photos, the bathroom mirror photos, and the intentionally trying to gross people out by making a stupid, squishy face photos. You're not that unique if there are COUNTLESS PEOPLE JUST LIKE YOU. You people bore the hell out of me and that would be OK if you didn't prance around yelling to the world how much of an individual you are. Look around, you're just another follower who is unable to think for yourself.
I met you out with friends and I don't know where you get off calling me a mess. Your not even from here! I told you that I'm in a poly relationship with one partner and going through a separation/divorce with the spouse and am in a transitional period. I also divulged that I'm looking for peeps to go out with, casual date-ships (this does NOT mean just casual sex) with physically attractive, poly and switchy types who enjoy attending sex positive/bdsm and poly friendly parties and events fairly often with possibility for a more longer term, committed relationship. THIS DOES NOT MEAN I'M A MESS! Seriously, I don't know where you transplants get the nerve. This is Poly-Porrtland you know, and this is how we live. Get over it!
All i want to say is to the fuckwad that roofied my girlfriend at over and out the other night..if i could find you i would fucking destroy you.And if you work there i will find you.I will take a bat to the back of your knees.Thanks for fucking up a nice night out with people i care about. There is always karma.
Saturday: how does a director, editor of movies let go all these inaudible words? I can't understand half of the words in these movies some actors are saying.
Sunday: why aren't there any pigeons in outer SE? How did these flies get in the house with my doors and windows closed all day?
Monday: there's always one or two hysterical cars that need to run a yellow light, pretty much a red light. Got to get somewhere. Life is short. Busy, busy, busy. No time to get stoned and stall at a green light for a second without getting honked at.
Tuesday: How in the hell do these neighbors own 6 cars that are driven everyday by someone living in a 3 bedroom house?
Wednesday: control your dog! Please don't let him bark at me while I walk by. What the fuck is wrong with you?
Thursday: these future geniuses get out of school at 1pm. Rough dude! We are preparing them to party balls and date hookers. And also end up like the mom with a double baby carriage who can't enter single doorways and block the sidewalk.
Friday: the new American dream. Have babies that you can't afford. and get other people to pay for it.
I have a friend who puts down every singer at the karaoke night. It is such a downer. He is such a downer. He never sings. I tell him don't talk trash if you aren't going to tell them yourself that they suck or if you aren't going to go sing and prove how great you are. He would suck worse than swamp ass anyway. Every now and then there are a few who just have to put people down. They have nothing better to do but put people down. My motto is I have no right to put anyone down especially if they aren't there to defend themselves. They could be in another country, and like, "oh that guy, he sucks." What the fuck? He isn't even here. Like it's a competition. It could be an open mic for music or comedy. There's always someone who's above the talents of the rest. It's kind of like these comments. All these I'A's suck, so start writing some. We don't give a shit about your comments. You're the only ones reading them. Internet comments think they are making a change, and of importance , but it's really the people in the world and on the ground who are truly affecting things, and improving lives. Don't read the comments. You will hate them. And we know that's how you feel about yourself. Sorry if you never had the feeling of encouragement and support in your life!
The checkout is awkward and complicated. sun comes out, we become stupid. forgot the coupons? where's my cash? where's my debit card? where's my foodstamps card? Is that the right price? I thought it was on sale?
Meanwhile line is growing. checkout is in progress for a couple with baby. The cart is behind them blocking me from moving forward. The cashier asks for cart. "Huh?"
It's time to pay now. I maybe get not paying attention and not getting your form of payment ready ahead of time if you are checking that the prices are correct. But otherwise why don't you have your form of payment ready to go? instead of standing there like a moron. "Are you serious?" "honey, where's my card." "did you forget the card in the car?" "i have to come back."
Cashier starts to call manager to pause the cause. The man says, "did you hear me, she'll be right back, she went to the car." The line is a hard on now. I say, I gotta catch the bus people. Cashier gets offended, "I'm doing it." I say "you're doing your job, You're not the one inconveniencing anyone." Man with baby likes he's done nothing wrong, and maybe he hasn't, is standing there in confidence telling me to go to the other lane. I say, "go take my stuff over there, all it takes is saying sorry." Nope. too much to expect from people without manners. I've seen bums with more courtesy. you're never wrong or accountable for your actions when you're on foodstamps. We owe you
"Welfare: millions of Americans are depending on you."
Last summer, a friend at the gym suggested I join the neighborhood email list. She said it had helpful information on happenings on this part of town. Fast forward 10 months and I feel like a young woman innocently lured into a secretary job only to find out I'm really stuck in a seedy, dark room giving hand jobs to strangers. Almost every day several emails are ejaculated into my accountl, most of which are written by neighborhood crime watch vigilantes (see suspicious person postings about people who aren't like me), questions that could be answered by doing a Google search such as how to get rid of mold, and fifty posts from the same person, each with a different garage sale item (see I don't know how to attach more than one picture). It's too painful to separate the occasional wheat from the chaff. I know it's a free service but for the love of all that is holy, leave neighborhood watch to people trained by McGruff and take a free computer class at the public library.
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