Skip to content

Existential First World Problems Of A Worried Girl

November 10, 2018


Nero fiddled while Rome burned. Me? I’m Facebooking. It’s the middle of the night and television news is sparse. So it’s time for rampant speculation and misinformation. Because it is comforting. I’m culling through threads in my junior high school Facebook group. Looking at photos and clicking links to fire maps. The whole day has been spent with the local news playing in the background. The Poor Bastard and I drank wine while watching the local news team stand around burning structures speculating on where the fire will go next. It’s exhausting, compelling, and I need more Advil and Pepcid.

I’m safe. All the people I know are safe. Their animals are safe. They are in evacuation centers, the homes of friends and family, or in the case of my mother, ensconced in a Motel 6 near the airport. The important stuff, survival, is taken care of. It’s the other questions that remain unanswered. “Is my house still standing?” “Did my business survive?” “Fuck. I think I left without my favorite sweater. I hope it survives.”

The information coming out of my hometown is sparse. We’re taking to social media for clues. We’re reading Twitter feeds and following conversation threads on Facebook. Asking each other for updates. “Hey, anyone know if my parent’s place is still there?” Information is coming in fast, furious, and conflicted. “I heard the whole neighborhood is gone!” “Nah, you’re okay. It totally skipped that part of town, but remember the old Smith place? That’s rubble.” “Check the fire department’s Twitter.” “Anyone know what area is being evacuated now?” “Has anyone seen my parents? Cell service is shit and I can’t get a hold of them.”

We’re all using references for places that aren’t modernly relevant to help identify locations. It’s been 20 years since the Smith’s lived anywhere near that house, but calling it “the old Smith place” gives us a universal geographic landmark to work with. We don’t remember street addresses, just who lived where. That’s how you do geography as kids. That’s how you pull it up in the catalog of memory. We’re referencing the old names for businesses that have long changed hands. We’re calling the high school by its former name. We’re struggling to hold on to an identity for a town that has changed over the years and now will never be the same.

For many of us it’s been years since we lived there. Years even since we’ve last visited. But we’re all tense and grieving. We’re grieving not just for the loss of property. Not just for the displacement of people we know and love, or the displacement of total strangers. We’re grieving for the loss of our personal histories. Total first world problems to be sure. Greater crises have befallen man over the eons. But right now, this is the thing we’re focused on.

My hometown is an enclave for the wealthy, for movie stars and normal people. The storybook land of Hollywood and California dreams. Many people have their own mental and emotional stakes in what happens to this small coastal town, even if they’ve never set foot in it. People from all over the world are reaching out and asking about my home. They are, of course, worried about me and my family. But they are also experiencing their own sense of loss. This town is the place of legend and fable, and in some ways belongs to them as well.

For me, I’m waiting on news, not only to whether or not several of my family members have homes, cars, or favorite sweaters to return to. But also, to find out if the last vestiges of my childhood are still standing. The places that formed my sense of place – my notion of “home” have been slowly disappearing. The structures I have called home over the years have all been sold and re-developed into tract home developments or McMansions. Making it harder to identify my memories. When I drive by I’m often puzzled. It takes a minute to situate myself and grab on to the threads of memory. “There used to be a garden there where I played.” “Remember the dilapidated shack where we used to solve mysteries?” “That, over there, that’s where I lost my virginity.”

Those changes and losses were for the sake of “progress” and the inevitable change of times. Homes get sold. People move on. It’s LA, we tear shit down for the fuck of it. Tonight is different. This is not progress. It’s wholesale destruction. Not just of property, but of memory and identity. The fate of what we’ve always known, the familiar, the comforting, is at the mercy of the wind.

We’re all safe, sure. And that’s what’s important. We’re just unmoored.


I Offend; Therefore I am

October 27, 2017

Every so often I am reminded that I’m not everyone’s cup of tea. That I am an acquired taste. That I offend. You’ll not be surprised to know that the number of fucks I give about this is nil. Zero. Zilch. None.

I am not here to tell you what you want to hear. I am not here to provide you with a safe space because you’re too precious to hear what I have to say, or how I say it. I am too old to be told that my behaviour or language is not ladylike. I’m over 50 and no longer have to answer to my great-grandmother’s Victorian rules of etiquette, or my cotillion teacher’s rules for the deportment of young ladies. I don’t cross my legs at the ankles, I don’t keep my opinions to myself, and I don’t curb my tongue.

I am outspoken and brash. I will respond to most situations, even the bleakest, with snark. I use profanity. Effusively. I like the word “fuck” very much. I will use it when, where, and how I want. I will say it in front of your children and will not put money in the swear jar. Frankly you should tip me for teaching your offspring proper English in an era where they are learning to use emojis instead of words, and that it’s rude to complete a sentence in a text with a period. Fuck that.

I give the finger. I give it for all kinds of reasons and for no reason at all. If you want to take my photo you’re agreeing to me flipping you off as it is rare that I will pose for one where I’m not. Not even my own wedding photos.


I don’t know “my place” and I won’t be put in it by anyone. I’m a grown ass adult with a lifetime of experiences, ideas and opinions. I will not change to make you feel better. The issues you may have with me are yours, not mine, and you will need to find a way to come to terms with them. So, if I’m not your cup of tea, don’t drink me.

Slow Your Roll

February 20, 2017

Bitch, please. If y’all are gonna survive you need to slow your roll.

Bitch, Please

Sweet Mother of Cheezits, anyone else exhausted yet? Cabinet nominations, travel bans, Russian spies, imaginary terrorist attacks ,and campaign rallies… CAMPAIGN RALLIES? We’re one month in and I’ve already blown my annual bourbon budget. People, please, slow your roll.


Since day one of what may well be the Last American Presidency both sides of the aisle have been on the offensive. The left has been taking offense to everything. The right has been demanding supplication, and the media has been trying to keep it all straight in the face of accusations of being “fake news.”  It’s fucking exhausting to be everyone.

Basic fact is that no matter what side of the chasm you’re on, you’re not gonna make it through the first 4 years of the rest of America’s life, if you don’t slow your roll. This isn’t high school kids, you can’t get off and go again, better than…

View original post 610 more words


February 7, 2017



It’s time to speak up. See something, say something.

Take the Bitch,Please pledge with me.

A Platform of Common Sense and Common Courtesy

Source: #imwithbitch

Tonight Imma Angry White Girl

January 31, 2017

I have never been so ashamed of my race, my fellow citizens, or my country’s leadership than I am tonight. I don’t normally spend a lot of my time worrying about race and ethnicity. I’m not gonna be some lying PC liberal who tells you I don’t see colour, but honest to God I just don’t tend to give a shit about it. But tonight, I’m one angry white girl, and I’m angry at the racist fuckmuppets that are dismantling this country in the name of “nationalism.” Shit by any other name smells just as bad. This is racism in its purest form.

I was waiting in line at Target this afternoon and casually giving the other patrons the once over. Scoping out who was buying what – harshly judging the woman who bought the new Chocolate Strawberry Oreos because that’s just not right – and it dawned on me that I was the only white person in sight. I can imagine that this would have inflamed or horrified an Alt-Right white girl, but it actually made me smile. I listened to people speaking a couple of different languages,  and I thought to myself “This is what America really looks like. This is what MY America looks like.”  My America is open, welcoming, and inclusive. It may not be perfect, but until today I’d take it over most places on the planet. Today not so much.

I’m about as purebred white American girl as you can get.  Not quite the Heir of Slytherin pureblood, but I’ve got a pedigree that would make a white supremacist ejaculate prematurely. My people came over on the Mayflower. They were white, Christian, and carried diseases. My ancestors fought in the Revolutionary and Civil Wars.  My people have been here for nearly 400 years. They built the foundation, government and industries that make up the history of this country. Sure, they weren’t perfect. They owned slaves. They treated Native Americans like vermin. Not gonna lie and make them sound flawless. We can’t take a time machine back and fix their wrongs. But, what they did do is come here as immigrants, work their asses off and build the foundations of a country that has in the intervening centuries been defined by philosophical, cultural and ethnic diversity. This was, and always has been, a country of opportunity for people from all over the world. I think, despite their inherent flaws and the prejudices of their times, our Founding Fathers would actually be pretty fucking proud of the way this country has turned out. Until today.

Today a snotty entitled greedy child took another stab at defiling the Constitution – a document and set of guiding principles that thousands of men and women died to see come to fruition and thousands more have fought to defend. The laws of this country, the checks and balances of our government’s design, aren’t and shouldn’t be treated like quaint notions that don’t apply because a white nationalist and a guy with a bad hair piece are running the Executive Branch.  The Constitution of the United States of America isn’t a fucking substitute for toilet paper for the bathroom of the West Wing.

You cannot ethnically cleanse America. You cannot, as the Alt-Right kids like to suggest, send everyone back from where they came from.  You cannot send all the African-Americans back to Africa.  You cannot send all the Asian Americans back to Asia. You cannot send all the Muslim Americans back. The White Wonderland they envision isn’t even remotely feasible without bombing ALL OF US back to the mother-fucking stone age. This is not how you “make America great again.”  This is how you make a mockery of our history, embarrass us in front of the world, and end up getting more Americans killed.

This is how you make America ashamed again.




Presidential Grudge Fuck

January 28, 2017

A grudge fuck is really the only way I can describe how this past week has felt. Every morning has brought more news out of the White House that makes me feel an overwhelming sense of dread and shame. I’m ashamed of my country’s leadership and of my fellow Americans.

The tone and tenor of the first week of 45’s occupation of highest office in the land has been one of aggression and self-aggrandizement. Executive orders aimed at inflaming the liberal left, stripping millions of people of their healthcare, locking out of the country people who were legally admitted to this country and who contribute to our economy,  flipping off a neighbouring country, telling indigenous people that we don’t care if they are displaced or die so long as the entitled class can have more. Cabinet appointments that are paybacks for money donated whether they are actually to the benefit of the people they are appointed to serve.  And payback against the people who dared to have a different opinion from the current leadership. Just a dirty, nasty, lubeless grudge fuck.


The rhetoric has been that of anger and loathing for the majority of people who make up this country – people who want to live their lives in peace, genuinely want to love their neighbour, feel safe, raise their children and rely on the notion that their government has their backs. Instead of sending out positive messages to the country that emphasize that we’re going to move forward together to make this country live up to it’s potential, we’ve had to listen to 45 keep measuring his dick. It’s not possible that everything about him and his presidency is “the greatest” or “the biggest” or always historic. Not every speech he gives is in the same class as the Gettysburg address. It’s just not feasible for that to happen. And the sycophants around him need to stop telling him that it is and stop telling the American people that they are too stupid or misguided to know the difference between truth and fiction. They aren’t making it better.

We want a president who speaks to all of us and for all us. Not one who panders to a specific demographic that represents a true minority in this country. We’re not all angry white people who think they are owed retribution and restitution for their state of existence. Most of us want a president who can, at least, pretend to understand what it’s like to be an “average American”. To understand when you can’t afford to make your house payment, pay the medical bills for your spouse’s cancer treatment, send your kids to college, afford bus fare to get to work at your minimum wage job, be a single parent who is trying to balance work and child rearing or just getting through the fucking day.

We want a president that recognizes that half of the country’s population are women and that women have all kinds of special healthcare needs that men do not. Men do not have to spread their legs and have a speculum shoved up their twat so it can be scraped to make sure they don’t have cancer. Men don’t have the discomfort and some times debilitating pain that comes with having your uterus rip it’s own lining out every month.  Men don’t bear the burden of birth control to make sure they don’t have an unwanted pregnancy ,or have to deal with the ramifications and side effects of birth control. Men don’t have their twats ripped at the seams forcing a child out of their bodies and into the world.  The most men find themselves worrying about for the bulk of their life is whether or not their dick can get hard at will. We have an president who thinks of women as objects whose pussies are up for grabs and isn’t ashamed to admit that.


Delivering a bleak, dystopian Inaugural Address doesn’t speak to making America great or even better. It makes America sound like Escape from New York or The Purge. Listening to it I wanted to peek out my front door and make sure there weren’t gangs of armed lunatics marching down my street, cars on fire, and small children abandoned by dead parents in the “American Carnage” that seems to define our nation. He didn’t talk about real hope, real healing, being a country of inclusion rather than exclusion. About making life better for your fellow man. About admitting that we’re part of the global community. That the universe is bigger than his own prick. He made it sound like we were so fucked and on the verge of an imminent apocalypse  and only he could save us. One half expected him to rip open his shirt and expose his superhero Underoos with a giant T emblazoned across the front.


But he’s not a super hero. He’s not even close to it. He’s a man who can’t stop congratulating himself on being so “tremendous”. He’s a man who can’t stop trying to convince us that he’s really the most popular guy who has ever lived. He’s a man who believes he knows everything about everything and can’t possibly be wrong or shortsighted – but who doesn’t actually possess any actual knowledge and eschews the advice and knowledge sharing of people whose education and experience inform them. He sounds just like the petulant child that is running North Korea, not like a well balanced, well meaning American president.

I keep hearing that “Trump won. Stop being a sore loser.” Like the role of every good American is to accept defeat and let the “winner” run roughshod over their lives. That’s not the way America was designed. Winning an election isn’t, and shouldn’t be, about conquering your own country – forcing the people to bow down to your will – while you rape and pillage to fill your own coffers or those of your generals. That’s pretty much the complete opposite of why this country was established. Knowing and understanding that this isn’t what America stands should compel every American to work to move America forward constructively. Not destructively. Not in anger. Not in hate. And not without lube.


Dear Fuckmuppet-Elect

January 16, 2017


Dear Fuckmuppet-Elect;

I know it’s not like you give a shit what I, or really any American, thinks now that you’ve “won” the election, but that’s really not going to stop me from expressing my opinion. It’s that pesky 1st Amendment shit again. We’re just days away from what is going to be known to future generations as one of the darkest days in American history. The day you are sworn in as Fuckmuppet-in-Chief.  I refuse to call you “President” because you’re truly not a legitimate president.  John Lewis is right to question your legitimacy, you’re just too much of a narcissist to admit he’s right.

I’m not saying “Not my President” in the same way that the delusional birthers and racists did with Obama, but rather from the reality that 1) you didn’t win the popular vote  (which means you’re not the most popular kid in school, again) and 2) the fucking Russians, and 3) (most importantly) there’s not one fucking thing that is presidential about you.   I will also not be watching the inauguration. I will turn every TV set in my house to low rent porn stations rather than give your inauguration the ratings you so desperately crave.

For much of my adult life I worked for a certified con-artist, and that gave me the skill-set to be able to spot a grifter/confidence man/snake oil salesman like you from 30 paces. You ran a campaign based on conning naive people into believing you had their best interests at heart when the reality is you could give a flying fuck about anyone other than yourself. It’s going to be a crying shame when they finally realize you picked their pockets while you shook their hands. Every one of them will regret not having doused themselves in Purell immediately after voting for you. Big Pharma is going to make a fortune when the demand for anti-depressants sky rockets during your tenure.

Every morning this country wakes up to another stupid fucking comment you’ve made on Twitter. It’s amazing that a grown ass man spends as much time tweeting like a teenage girl with an inferiority complex. That you worry more about the mocking you get from a comedy show, than the risk analysis of the Intelligence Community on the ongoing threats to American safety. What’s it like inside your head? Is there room for real rational thought in there? Or is all the space taken up by self-aggrandizement, penis envy, urolagnia, and an obsession with fucking your own daughter? How can you justify uttering the Oath of Office on Friday if you don’t really intend to or know how to honor the commitment?

I do solemnly swear (or affirm) that I will faithfully execute the Office of President of the United States, and will to the best of my ability, preserve, protect and defend the Constitution of the United States

The best of your ability will leave us wanting, that’s for sure.

“My friend, you’re weighed in the balance and found wanting
Your kingdom is divided, it can’t stand
You’re weighed in the balance and found wanting
Your houses are built upon the sand”

Sweet Mother of Cheezits I hope someone saves us from you and that it doesn’t turn out to be Mike Pence,