I, Anonymous Blog

The views expressed in these submissions are from anonymous, unverified sources and do not necessarily represent those of the Portland Mercury.

The Making of Murderer

You startled me as I came out of the dumpster. Taking out bags of garbage really gets my adrenaline flowing so there's that. Also, I'm an emotional person, so there's that. I went back into my enclosure to get back into my building, after I locked the gate, and there you were, to my surprise. I simply asked, "who are you, how did you get in here?" Not thinking at that moment you got in when I had the gate open from taking out the dump. You responded loudly and aggressively with, "what it's to you, what business of it is yours." I said I work here and normally the gates are locked. You went on, "I don't know you, you didn't identify yourself." Now this is becoming a game. Provoked by garbage. "I asked you a simple question." You said, "you didn't answer my question." I'm thinking, WTF. I shouted other things but walked to check the other gate, knowing I had locked the one you came in from. Somehow, you yanked the thing open. To this moment, I don't know how you did that because it's a gate with a bolt. I followed you, called Clean And Safe, but now you're calm. I called you a dick. You have now done property damage. You went into your apt building. I followed still on with Security, but now the people at your front desk were there to talk to. I was still riled up and told the story. You in the most relaxed manner, said, "this guys is being aggressive." I laughed and said, that's not who you were out there. They later confirmed you have issues so they know about you. Later, I thought, how did this guy go from antagonist prick to really calm? Sociopath.

The BroHood

6 bros were walking on West Burnside. A beautiful, late, Sat, fall afternoon. I could tell there was a buzz and energy on the streets. You just know these things. I don't know why, but the crowd was out. Whatever.
I was waiting by the bus stop, for the bus, on my phone. Fuck me, if my arm was sticking out, the way it does when one talks on the phone. Fuck me that I didn't further get out of the way of the 6 bros, while I was already on the side of the sidewalk, and they were hogging it all up.
One bro bumped my arm. I turned to look back mostly instinctively. Last bro said, "Don't worry bro, he didn't mean to do it on purpose." I don't think he said bro, but they are bros, so... So I snapped back, "what?" As they kept walking, another bro said, "just stay on your phone bro." I kept looking at them.
Man. I hate these guys. I hate these guy guys. Frat boys. Straight Type A males with egos, and bigger egos when they're in their backslapping groups. Bullies. As if it's so hard to say sorry! No accountability as usual. The type to call someone a faggot then say they care for LGBT rights. The type to go girl hunting and want to "hit that," but don't call it what it is, rape.
Yeah, maybe next time, they'll be in a bar when a gun nut enters, then I wonder if they'll still be so bro-ish?


A decade and a half has passed, and we’ve both moved on. I’ve lost most of my hair and you’ve gained a bunch of weight. You remarried and I stayed married.
It was mistake from the get-go: Me a married man with four little kids, you a coworker and ending a busted relationship.
All the elements of a gigantic mistake yet we let it fester.
I told you I loved you, and I guess I did. You said the same, and I guess you did. We pretended we had some kind of future, with hand holding and secret lunches.
But I wasn’t willing to upend my life, and you weren’t willing to wait.
For sure you did some damage to me. My marriage suffered and so did my professional career, but not so much I haven’t recovered. I had it coming and have paid a price, but that punishment is over with. It never occurred to me that maybe I did some damage to you also.
One thing you said still lingers, 15 years later.
During the last battle, during the last ugly fight, you asked me “Did you ever think about my feelings?”
When I was unbuttoning your shirt and kissing your neck and calling you every night. When I spoke of getaways or birthdays or special events or how much I missed you. I enjoyed all that, and thought you did too.
But-“’Did you ever think about my feelings?’”
The answer is, no, I didn’t. And I still don’t.

Can we stop making every food Portland-y?

One of my absolute favorite thing about the food scene in Portland is our willingness to try new things. Whenever we hear about something good, we start finding it in restaurants and that's great. But, can we please stop trying to make every dish more Portland-y. We overdo it and betray the original purpose of the meal. I can easily buy a fourteen dollar po'boy in Portland. A fourteen dollar tab for a sandwich that was originally designed to feed striking streetcar workers. The bread might be really good in Portland, and the ingredients are also great, but can we stop pretending it's still a po'boy at his point. The target demographic for that sandwich should be obvious since it's built right in the name. What poor boy spends fourteen bucks on a sandwich? Nashville hot chicken is another hard find. We don't like food as spicy as they do in the south so, when you order hot chicken in Portland, you'll find something pretty tame. Is it really still hot chicken when I can eat spicier apples? Again, it's great that we're willing to try new things but if you insist on dressing the dish up for a Northwest palate, and you move so far away from the original intent of the dish, just come up with a new name for it. Stop riding the coattails of somebody else's reputation. Or how about just serving the dish the way it was intended? Hot chicken didn't become famous in Nashville for it's mildness.

Food service

If you don't tip food service people, you are just a shitty person. Just go make your own food.

Treachery at the Coffee Pot!!!

I took the gigantic bite out of each doughnut which our main industrial supplies vendor left you, then I re-boxed them neatly and left them next to the coffee pot for you to discover.
I spit the un-chewd bites into the trash next to the coffee pot, I'm glad you actually saw them!
You had an OCD fueled, managerial meltdown, the likes of which I've never seen! After days wasted on your maintenance staff inquisition, it’s a pitty your lengthy investigation process was so completely fruitless!
In the 10 months that have passed since this happened, you have not passed up an opportunity to express your rage about this, even when the opportunity had to be manufactured.
Your tales of treachery at the coffee pot sound like bitter tears of defeat to me, and they taste so sweet, even after 10 months!

We’re here!

Before you swing that door open on a busy narrow street, may I suggest looking in your mirror to see if that’s a good idea? That way, folks like me won’t have to swerve, honk, and call you a “goddamn asshole” before you take your family out to dinner.

To the Christian, Funk Bass Player

To the Christian, funk bass player that I fell for on Bumble. Next time, make sure you out yourself earlier than 3 months in. I should have known when on date 5 we made out for an hour at a lounge. It was obvious that when I asked you to come back to my place that I wanted to continue and have sex. Yes, I said it "sex." Yet, your inner turmoil got the best of you when I started unbuttoning your shirt and you called for an uber. It didn’t matter. I fell hard. You opened doors, had a Texas accent, and wore boots, and called me. The only person I know that loves Kendrick Lamar as much as I do. But, you landed a bomb. You were playing funk bass at this church. Then the light in the tunnel. You asked me over to binge watch “Insecure” the show, which I introduced you to, and I could crash there. How dare you get my hopes up and then tell me you are celibate after I straddled you. You have been going to church. WTF. Next time do us both a favor and write Christian, Funk Bass Player on your profile. I already bought you a Christmas Gift and planned our lives together. I have taught Middle School students, how much closer to Jesus can you get?

Blessings of Life

I recently saw an inspiring former President's daughter's lecture. Didn't matter what side her Dad was on, it mattered who she was and what she said. Her book would probably change views of the uniformed person who thinks here-say opinions are right over the diaries of actuality. She's a teacher in poor cities and lived in countries of simplicity and poverty. She's inspired so many she's taught. She's met so many hard working people. In her circles, I believe her. She left with a poem, "Tell me, what is it you plan to do, with your one wild and precious life?"
It resonated. I struggle financially, but work harder than most who don't have financial cares at all. In my circles downtown streets, and commutes, who works hard? I don't see it, or should say, I see a little. I certainly don't see anything inspiring on a daily basis. I see everyone just getting by, of the working class. Just do as little as possible to not get fired, but still enough to get a paycheck. Is that hard work? Something takes someone an hour to do takes another person the whole day, or to sit at a desk on the computer on Facebook, is that hard work? Don't get me started on the rest of life I see. These "living dead." "With your one wild and precious life?" There's a downtown homeless man, notorious with a blanket. Is that what his life has come to? How can I change what I see, when this is all I ever seem to see? Life is short so make the most of it when all I see is settling for a facile existence versus a grand one, then waiting around to die.

Toilet Talk

I'm on the other end. I cleaned 43 individual toilets and urinals in one day. It's grueling. It's work. It's real. I'm doing hard work that you don't have the audacity to do, is aloof to it, or to lazy to do, even in your own home. I get paid for it. I can be proud. I'm for the underdogs. I appreciate doing the work that you're too ashamed of or think you're above.
But what bothers me is KNOWING it's you. When I know it's you that doesn't flush the toilet of shit and TP because you were rushed or forgot, you are disgusting. When I know it's you that leaves the toilet seat covering on the seat, you're a complete loser for a human. When you miss the garbage can with paper towels then leave it on the ground, you're an ungrateful "adult" with "responsibilities." When your shits stains the inside of the bowl just after I've cleaned it, I say "my fucking god, what a fucking idiot." But okay, I don't expect you to clean it. But when your shit stains on top of the seat, I say, "how in the fucking hell are you a complete imbecile."
You may ask why I don't say hello, or why I don't smile? It's because I'm looking at you. I'm looking at you that's too ignorant to know what you're doing impacts someone other than your precious self. I'm looking at you that all I see is someone completely self absorbed.
Boy oh boy, if they weren't these bathrooms to use, your whole world would be in ruins because you use them 5 times a day. Boy oh boy, if there weren't all this free paper towel to use simply to dry your hands. Yeah, fuck the environment.


The fact that someone can become an Instagram star/model or famous on YouTube, and whatever else site that I don't give a damn about it, is the most fucking stupid ridiculous thing that this world has come to. They get awards for it too. No wonder I don't know who any of these people are because I don't pay attention to any of these things. It sure has made anything truly phenomenal and astounding fall victim to mediocrity and plain seeking attention. Get over yourself and try to really do something great. Also, you are who you are because that's what you do, and not because someone is watching you.

Takin' Photos

My favorite past-time is to take a picture of "distressed" properties if I happen to come across one. I drive a lot during my work shift and I see a lot of houses that obviously don't have garbage service, or are vacant and overgrown, or just simply unsightly. I organize my photos in folders according to areas... NE, SE, North, and so on.

I'll hold onto the photos indefinitely, for my desire is to eventually see the property fixed up and sold. That's when I go into action. Whenever I see one of these properties sold or cleaned up, I'll pull up the appropriate photo and get my pen ready.

I'll print a copy of the photo of, say, bags of garbage on the driveway and write the new owners a letter. The letter will say something like: "Forgive my intrusion, but I just wanted you to know what your house used to look like. I know you weren't responsible for the bags of garbage on the driveway in the included photo, but it's always nice to have some perspective. Look at the photo of the bags of garbage and just think about what once was, and what might be again if you're not careful. I wish you the very best in your new home. Sincerely, A Concerned Citizen"

I never provide a return address, just a letter with a photo. I like to think that it offers some joy to the new owners, like they're having a part in making our city better. Some donate money to charities, other volunteer their time at shelters or food banks. Me? I send complete strangers years-old photos that show how their new home used to be a nuisance property.

It's My Deal, I Know

You know what I wish I could do? Ask potential dates about their bowel movements. I hate to admit it, but I'm turned off by massive and/or smelly poops.

Whenever I look at a dating profile, or even see someone attractive on the street, I always imagine what their poops must be like. If I see a photo of someone eating a taco or something, I immediately think to myself, "Oh no, I can't date them... I'm certain their poops must really stink."

It doesn't matter how attractive they are, sometimes there are things about them that make me think they have bad poops. I know I have to get over this, because, I mean, my poops aren't the friendliest and why do I judge others for things that I do, right?

When I was younger, I dated a person who was really attractive and the sex was great. I used their bathroom one time after sex and was totally grossed out. They had sprayed the back rim of the toilet bowl with diarrhea and apparently didn't see it to clean it up. It really grossed me out. I actually had a hard time performing oral sex on them after that. We broke up a couple of months later... coincidence? I think not.

I think seeing that mess at such a young age scarred me and to this day I always think about what one's poop must look like. If I think it'll gross me out, I won't date them.

I guess I'll be living the rest of my life alone...

In response to “ENJOY YOUR FREEDOM"

If you decide to have children, that’s cool. But we who don’t feel it’s our dream to have children should be entitled to our choice, and thus spend our remaining years in yes, a bar, or a museum, or traveling for work or recreation, or educating ourselves, or literally sitting our asses atop of our tight little buttholes doing nothing. How dare anyone, child bearer, impotent, or refuser of reproduction be degraded for the choices we have made. It is a choice. And this is the time in which we should be open to everyone’s path of life. So FUCK YOU if you’re going to live a life of hate towards those whom you have never met but chose to attack specifically. That’s silly, and ridiculous. Be happy for what you have and who you are shaping to be a confident member of the human race. We’re happy for you. Teach your children tolerance and acceptance. Please stop focusing on the people who don’t want kids. We’ll be fine. We’re actually worried about YOU!

Sidewalks in Portland

It would be nice to walk 10 blocks in this city and not have to switch sides of the street.
For those who want sidewalks in their neighborhood, this is what you can look forward to if you get them.

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