letters unsent

Part of our jobs as humans is to evolve.. I know, fucking shocker, right?! Well, there may be humans that think think “devolve”… but whatever. They can stew in their ignorance while the rest of us move forward with vengeance. Or something like it. Right now I’m thinking less of those things than of the evolution of self; how hard I have personally worked to evolve. So many turns, to take me from child to now. The labels are ridiculous. But that can be mother post… Tonight is a letter unsent. Because sometimes you need to tell peeps why for real, not for fakes…

I asked a family member if they would like to see a cover band at a local venue. I heard about the show and asked the same day. Covers of their favorite band. Now… I have built solid boundaries and put space between myself and the negativity that was my family life. But every once and a while….. this shit happens…


Saw this show, thought of you. Would you like to go?

Are you wanting to go. Hub says it sounds great. I don’t have money for tickets. Waiting on tax return.

Would love to go but you all ready spend way too much money on us. I appreciate it but please save your money. I love you for thinking about us but please dont

Um, It seems silly that you and your hub want to go but are arguing dollars. Does the show sound awesome?? Because your husband wants to go, you love the band being covered, and I’d like to do this. So… How about you call it happy birthday.


Here’s the part where I get frustrated and it becomes the unsent… because that was reallllllly nice.

Honestly, your false concern for my finances is tiring. You consistently complain about the ways you are “broke” or “behind” or “can’t afford” something. But you are being freely offered a gift and you say no, in a backhandedly nice way. Don’t do that. It’s like refusing a compliment you deserve. What concern is it of yours what I can afford to do?? It’s $50. You are acting like I spend thousands of dollars on you to make yourself a martyr. Save your concern for yourself and the ways you need to improve your own situation. If I would like to spend money I have worked hard to earn, on someone, anyone for that matter, it is up to me. If I offer something and you would like to do it… the expected, no, not expected, the polite response (the one ANYONE else would give) is ‘that sounds awesome! We would love that!’.

So… does that sound awesome?? Because your husband thinks so. He wants to go, you love the band being covered, and I’d like to do this. It’s time for you to stop policing me and what I do with my time and money. This kind of crap is why I don’t often bother. False concern for my finances is not winning you any points with me, it’s pissing me off. You playing like it bothers you on one hand, then complaining to everyone that will listen that I don’t do enough, to gain their sympathy and audience is tiresome and frustrating. No one likes someone falsely modest or seeking attention. You actually deserve it for what you do. You earn attention when you engage with people for real. So, if you want me to engage, act like it. Now, let’s start again and hopefully we can have a better result this time. Let’s try.


Saw this show, thought of you. Would you like to go?

Tom and Zack

Sometimes its just like that… You are sitting at your favorite place for potato juice then you realize you don’t even fucking drink that anymore. So you order some bourbon and start to relax when you just can’t. There is tension… so you do some social media bullshit. Then it hits you what a mistake that is because the world seems to be going to hell in a handbasket- oh wait just us.

After the bourbon settles and I stop looking at news, I am actually thankful. I force people to listen to whatever I want on the jukebox by using my phone to override the next pick. It’s the little things. It dawned on me as I usurped some slash-my-wrist 80’s emo bullshit with some Rage that holee shit! 25 years ago when you were doin whatever the fuck you were doin like oh ya trying to finish high school while navigating teenage motherhood-ish…oh wait, I didn’t have my own kids but I had some my parents made so that was just me. Anyway a pivotal moment in music happened. I can always count on this album to tap my feelings with all the intensity I feel. I don’t need to know the same exact things, that happened – I just need the Rage.

Killin’ in the name of

quarter century of lives lived through pain unheard of

Where was I when things goin down

Kickin’ it safe in my skinny albino alpaca town

Beat a girl to the ground or did you just fuck around

No idea what those boys been through

How those girls feel shamed

All the times we cause the pain

I’m a silly white girl with privilege

Such as it is today

I work for less pay than the pyramid’s top

but what the hell have I to say


I make myself sick

I want for nothing

Full belly


What more could I wish?

Who am I to complain?


Who am I to feel pain?

Who am I to be pissed, when much is denied to so many

and I am the one who took it away

My starting matters not




The skin I wore with luck galore

It kept me safe and whole nobody’s whore

but it couldn’t protect the rest

Ask my bro… he’ll protest.

His shape, His life

Mold my love and passion

His skin was no protection

Nor his gender from action and detection

Sad fact is we ARE human

Our race plays only plays a part

but our being our soul… it comes from the heart

Our drive


We have a choice each one

We are the metamorphosis of our choices

We choose what we become…

Do we become the forces?

The same that burn crosses

Let them cause holes in our spirits

Causing tears and fears

Are we inferior

am I in fear of years

Does skin matter so much

Or does our heart determine us

Do we let the established tell us

Or do we



Tell them who we are

Do we stand up and testify

Do we take the power back

Take the Power Back


Sports are a funny thing. Sports, in my opinion, have the power to bring people together- they can be the great unifier. Sports as a rule, doesn’t differentiate- rich, poor, young, old, impaired, sober, it matters not. Sports wants you. You can have a biker, a priest and a CEO jumping up and down screaming and smiling because their team just scored the winning run in the 11th inning of game two to tie up the world series. I’m sitting here watching the World Series right now. There are people around me who could give a fuck about sportsball, they just want a cocktail. But they are watching. They are watching because it’s on and because it is exciting. It’s not exciting because it’s on, but because the people around them that give a fuck are excited! They are invested in whether the guy who made it to second with two outs will be stranded or if the young kid at the plate will come through and rope a hit long enough to bring him in and tie it up. It’s not about what’s happening on the field it’s about the energy around them… the people around them. Sports does that. Even more so championship sports does that. But sports is also the great equalizer. I sat there and watched a prissy socialite smack her hands against the bar “GO TEAM GO!” Over and over… until she frenzied the rest of the bar into her cause and into her corner thereby wooing her prey (in this case) into submission. That’s the thing, sports demands attention. It takes it. So why not use it.

Sportsball can transform people too… you have Mamoo and Nana (who by day have many grandchildren!) and lead normal lives. Maybe even boring to most. Not so much at their yearly Seattle vs whomever NFL game, trying to check another stadium off their list. Yep, they have a bucket list of stadiums to visit. And Mamoo is FIERCE. Don’t get between that bitch and her Seahawks. But call her a bitch and you’ll find yourself hitin the deck. (I’ll be first in line to punch you). You’ll find these amazing (did I mention tiny) ladies are mostly drunk, (not gonna lie, I fucking love that!) swearin’ like I do (love that too!) and havin’ the time of their lives. No men tellin them how to be fans, just two friends who have raised families and loved and lost and live life day to day- on their terms… they sports it up on their terms too. And they love the sport they may or may not have been introduced to by their husbands, but it is theirs now. Maybe this was always their sport. Maybe they loved all the sports. But now is not the time to get into politics.. whether they wanted to like football, whether they wanted to like this team, whether they are still fans… all we know is they are women, in a mans world and they FUCKING REPRESENT… LIKE BOSSES. Well Fuck Yeah Mamoo!

Lets be real… there many sports to watch. Football and Futbal- soccer… incidentally the most popular sport in the world. All. of. it. Not just the US or Europe you elitist bitches, but the whole fucking thing. I could give a shit less about a bunch of people running for 90+ minutes for 2 or 3 whole points but whatevs, I am not gonna judge (in this case). Enjoy a sport, be inspired to play. But don’t be fooled into thinking those players are role models for your life. They are not. There’s this idea that athletes- check that professional athletes- are gods. That they are these people we should teach our children to emulate. WHY?? Because they play sports on TV? Because they have a big salary? Guess what?!? Money and sports prowess does not a role model make. Sure I can get behind workin out everyday but that’s it. Running fast and kicking far and being strong does not mean you are a good example for kids. Making the world a better place by taking some of the multi-millions of dollars you earn being bigger,faster,stronger… that does. Believing in something and standing behind isn’t on top… that’s good stuff.

So whether or not you like sports is okay with me. I don’t like them all. But I appreciate the way they bring people together in a world that likes to be divided. So cheer on sports fans. YAY SPORTSBALL!!

Update! RDCV

Sometimes it’s just like that… one day you are entering the 300th invoice of the day for the crazy lady who thinks you suck because you didn’t enter 301 and you wonder what you did to karma. Then you realize you are smarter, more capable and oh yeah, way better looking than she is, thus you threaten her. Time to roll bitches! So you do. Possibly landing face first onto the asphlat (I will neither confirm nor deny how many times). So… dusty dusty shaky shaky and rolling forward. I landed myself a new career. And gusdammit if I’m not pretty good at it to boot.

On the days when I am not herding cats I’m pretty sure I am actually just the ringmaster of the shitshow. (No that isn’t mine… thanks BlueQ!) I ended up stumbling my way into what may the most misogynistic industry ever… Okay, maybe not the most, but for sure top 5 or 3, yeah 3. I would say commercial fishing or oil-rigs have fewer women, but I can’t think of many industries less welcoming to women than trucking, yet here I am. Not that it’s been all shits and giggles. (See what I did there?? You missed me you know you did!)

I started at what I thought was the worst place ever. Not the job, the dude. An under-cover woman hater. Boy-next-door good looks, all-american with the wife and volleyball team of crotch-fruit. Can’t be bad right? He hired me and I’m a loud opinionated bitch! Oh wait, not always… loud. So I endured that because the work was fun. It was a lot like babysitting and being a big sister and playing tetris. Only with big-ass men and 53′ trucks loaded at 40 tons. Plus there was some juicy shit happening with the wife and the bff. Popcorn worthy. Then one day I find myself sold off like so much cargo. He sold the trucks and threw in the humans too. So not the worst place ever… it was about to get worse real quick like.

There I was in my new work nightmare home with my new work overlords family. I am going to skip this for another time because frankly I could spend hours on it. New boss man made boy next door look like a girl. He didn’t hide his contempt for me and the fact that I had ‘no place in trucking’. It didn’t matter that I was bringing in new customers on reputation or making insane margins. All that mattered was what was missing between my legs. Oh well, his loss. Within an hour of leaving the office that last day I had 4 job offers from customers. And I’ve made it my passion to contact all the customers I had and offer them service at better rates than they had before. Because newsflash motherfucker… they are too big to fit between my legs, I have to strap them to my chest.

In the end I pushed past all that shit and end-rounded the stereo types. I escaped the super sexist assholes at the places I worked- where I went from an under-cover, nice to your face, guy next door misogynist… to an overt, balls-out -or you lack the proper equipment to play in my sandbox- women hater. But now… Life is amazing. I have a bad-ass bitch of a boss (she’s not even a bitch at all… more of a dick really. Again, another post entirely.) and an epic owner who wants me to succeed. So I am.

Ridin’ the Scales

The BiPolar Express game board has an update. I figured it was more a game and less a ride when I found out about the judgmental motherfuckers judges but we’ll get there later. It is definitely still an analog board so at least I can play along, I can keep up and my rose colored glasses are firmly mostly secure. Right now I can’t find the name of this updated addition but it has hills and scales and some other junk… I can’t really tell what sort of hell attraction this is but I’m scared excited.

There are many judges and they are disguised in several forms to keep you on your toes, never knowing when you will be under their scrutiny. They also have the ability to go from regular person to judge at any moment without warning – effectively shapeshifting without changing shape. You get scenarios and have to navigate through, coming out unscathed by the judges. I know you are excited about this and ready to play along- even though you don’t know the rules. But since I don’t know either… boom! Ready?

Here is the caveat… judges are not given training and they are not pre screened for mental defect. Also, judgment is on a gradient scale with many factors to the scale. I don’t know how the scale is formed but here is what I know… it can be ass. You think you are good and you are suddenly hit with a ration of shit. But whatever, it’s BPE2.0 Lets go…

First up- the units have been trudging along their merry life. They are miserable and try to suck you into their life but you resist. For this you are judged- you are not a good child… But you do give. You replace electronics and with one of your sibs pay bills and fix things as needed. For this you are judged- you are a good child… But you don’t come around. You don’t call and you don’t like them. How dare you not come around and be sucked into the vortex of grump? How dare you work hard and earn a living and better yourself and your situation while allowing them to stay stifled in their own…. You are continuously judged because you have neither done well enough by them nor for them. By bettering yourself, you now “think you are better than us”. ?!? But if you deny something they have requested you must not be doing well enough because you can’t even spare a few dollars but you can spend $500 here or whatever there…. You should not spend your money how you like. Judgement: Fail

Next up: Wait… I think I found an exit door. Maybe it will get me to pizza and they will have beer. I will investigate. Because I’m pretty sure I will lose the game if I don’t go medicate.


It’s All About Me

It seems lately I don’t want to do much of anything. Obviously I haven’t been writing, or I wouldn’t have that awful lag time between this and my last post. And that old adage that depression breeds creativity may have been real at one point but right now it feels like bullshit. Right now I want to create… a nest of blankets and take a nap. I want to go to sleep and catch up on what feels like 3 years of deprivation. I want to create a mind that doesn’t feel the stress and frustration of actual adulting. I want to create a bridge between how I used to create and now, so I can go back and drag its ass to the present.

Sitting down to write used to be fun. I wanted to spend more time at the keys than most other things. I thought of shit to say all the time. And I didn’t give a shit about who read it. If I was talking about you, oh well. You probably earned it. Chances are you earned worse than what I said, but I was being kind-ish. Okay, maybe that’s a stretch but its relative. Then people sorted out who I really was. In my actual life. My anonymous outlet ceased to be an outlet but a chore. It became an exercise in ways to disguise my truth. I don’t want to disguise my truth.

My truth isn’t always kind. My truth is that I get legitimately hurt by people in my life and my efforts to sort that out include writing about how painful it is. If seeing your actions hurts, maybe you shouldn’t take those actions. My truth is sometimes judgmental because as much as we try, sometimes we are judgmental. Sometimes its okay and sometimes its not. But its my truth. I am okay with it. Because sometimes I learn when I bear it.

So I don’t want to shroud my truth in bullshit. If you can’t read it, then don’t. I am not going to apologize for my truth. No, I am not going to start calling out names and using places and telling people where I live. But if you already know, fine. Suck it up and understand that sometimes it is about you. Sometimes it is not. Either way, this is my truth.

i don’t want to talk about politics

I don’t want to talk about politics.

I don’t want to talk about politics.

No, I don’t want to talk about politics.

I didn’t see the article on whatever about not dictator and his new regime. 


No, Really.

Fucking Really… I’m a woman, my opinion doesn’t matter right? I am just a vessel, a container. I am just an incubator for the seed you germinate within me right? You don’t need my brain… or do you? 

Do you? Oh, yeah, you need my brain and my womb… the 23 pairs that make the other half of your spawn. Because it takes two pair to make a human. You can’t do it with one pair. 

So maybe you don’t care about me. Maybe you don’t like my opinion. Maybe you think I’m a useless piece of waste. But you and your politics should pay attention. Because my womb, and my pair are important. We are a part of one another. We are written on each other’s DNA. You can’t separate me from that which I create. Take me from my home, take me from my family, take away my ability to choose… that will be your downfall.

Letters Unsent… But maybe they should be

I often struggle between my inner dialog and the one that goes through my lengthy filtering process. When friends ask for my opinion or advice, which happens way more often than I care to say, I often ask myself repeatedly ‘should I really give it??’ ‘do they really want it, or are they just asking so I will reassure them that their decision is perfect and I am their minion?’ ‘Don’t they know by now I’m gonna be honest??’ ‘Why the fuck are they asking me??’ Then I give a kindly worded, much pondered, answer that may not be what they wanted to hear. But oh well, you asked. However, there have been a few things since my last post that I haven’t addressed. Frankly, this shit is tiring. Buddha (or whoever writes cool quotes and says they are from Buddha- either way, I like it) said that carrying around anger (or resentment or frustration or unaddressed hurt- those mine) is like holding a burning coal in your hands and expecting the other person to get burned. Smart guy this Buddha. So I’m gonna drop some hot rocks. Prepare yourselves bitches…


Dearest Friend,

Please stop apologizing for the things that happened almost ten years ago. We both made mistakes and we both did stupid things. We let pride and ego and self come between us and now… We don’t. We’ve grown, we’ve changed, we’ve suffer losses without each other to wipe tears. We’ve had wins without each other to celebrate. We’ve seen the people that we drifted toward drift from us and we’ve made our way back to each other. Yes it’s different. No, we are not the inseparable pair we were then… But we wouldn’t have the amazing men in each of our lives. Now we are friends. Not just friends, but true friends. Friends with history and shared heartache and shared love and shared laughs and shared jokes that no one else understands. We can be three but cycle and the other one will always get it. So move forward, because we can’t finish the movie if we keep rewatching in the last scene.

I love you princess. More than my shoes… Even the ones I don’t wear anymore.  

Less than three.


Dear Friend (are we still?),

Thank you for finally articulating your feelings after simply dropping off my radar for three weeks. I really thought we had the kind of friendship where you could drop by and say ‘hey friend, we need to hash something out’, but I guess we don’t. To be honest, it wasn’t so much the content of what you said texted that hurt most, but that you couldn’t talk to me… That you still can’t talk to me. Don’t get me wrong, what you said affected me too… In a what the actual fuck? Am I really reading this right now? Noooo, really?? Kind of way. I have been the same person since well, always. I think what’s really changed is the message. You don’t like what you are hearing now. A few years ago the message was supportive, because that was my truth to you then. Now the message isn’t as supportive, it’s more questioning, more of a devils advocate. It’s still given with kindness and in my voice, but I am not towing your party line. I’m not sorry. I think you are making some horrible decisions. But maybe I’m wrong. Maybe the decisions you are making are good and I’m wrong. Or maybe I’m the enabler. Maybe these couple months without hangin out with me have been good. No one is helping you spend time self destructing. If it took my “hurting your feelings” to get you to pull your shit together then I’m not sorry, not that I was anyway. I don’t hold on to those coals. It doesn’t help anyone, least of all me.

I hope the last couple months have been really good for you. I hope the kids are well and if they ever want to come over for Mac n cheese and minions, I always have time for them. And when you are ready to have a conversation, with words… Through your mouth, I’ll be here. Same as always. Because unconditional is the only way I know how.



Fucking figure it out because we didn’t choose, you did. So fucking act like it. Act like you give a shit, because frankly, I don’t. Others do, but I don’t. And do you have any idea how much it takes for someone like me to stop caring??? Ask around, ask my friends, ask other people that know me, ask people on the street. It is known. But I am done and over it. The fucks are gone, the shits have done been given. The love that remains falls under the obligation category but the like… There is no requirement for like that in the handbook. I checked. For fuck sake. This isn’t even about me, it’s about them, the ones that still have something left to give.

I can’t even. Words are failing me and words are what I do. I just can’t.



You have put the knees on my bees. You are the grammar nazi to my writers journal. I have had best friends that are forever friends (you have met the princess) but you are somehow a part of me I didn’t know I needed. You give voice to things I can’t and help me rein in the compassion that seems to flow unimpeded when you aren’t around. At the same time, I think I lend a chisel to your edge and a filter to your outer voice that you may have been looking for… The chisel and filter that have been sitting there in their pretty boxes just waiting for their home. Plus, you get the parts of my favorites that I don’t, and you eat the centers of my cinnamon rolls and you smoke when you aren’t on fire giving me a chance to take a break when I need it. 

I love you too, more than my shoes… enough to let you borrow them and give them to you if you want them. Or find a better pair made by ALDO and send them to you as a gift.


Dear Country,

I knew some of you were not that bright. I knew some of you would believe anything the channel you watch most told you. I even knew some of you were such fucking sheep that you would listen to the loudest one in the room even if he was telling you that you were on fire, while you were wading in a swimming pool. I did not think enough of you were were so blind and ignorant that you would allow such an obvious piece of shit to leave his mark on your door. I did not think you would lay back and open your legs to what is obviously the smallest dick of them all, while he tells you how huge it is… And then tell him how huge his centimeter feels. Haven’t you had enough of this nonsense? Haven’t you felt sufficiently reemed? Must you allow this to continue so the rest of us have to endure your shame? Once again I find myself struggling to find words to properly describe the disgust I feel at the people I have to share citizenship with.

Wake the fuck up! You think we have issues with “terrorists” now? What the fuck do you think will happen if you right wing nut jobs succeed at putting this idiot in office? You know, the guy that has insulted every race, creed and culture I can think of. Do you think we’ll be fine? Do you think it will be okay, that his GIANT centimeter cock will protect you?? Think again motherfuckers… All the “terrorists” that hate each other may stop for a minute and get together to decide- hey, wait… We need to go show the giant, entitled, overinflated, American wack-job that he fucked with too many of us. You can fuck with the people that guy hates, or the guy over there, but not everyone, that’s just greed. Terrorists hate American greed. And who is a bigger poster boy for American greed than our Republi-cock candidate? NO ONE.

So sort yourselves out. This has gone way past funny to, again ridiculous.For fuck sake people.

For. Fuck. Sake.

I can’t even. Again the words are failing me and words are what I do. I just can’t.

So I will let someone else… (It’s not new… But it will work)


Our lives are like treasure chests, each one different, much like we are. Each life, each collection of treasures, is as amazing as the person who collected it.  Some of those chests look like they have been pulled out of the deep dark. There are some serious battle wounds on those bitches but their owners are the most amazing, beautiful, loving, caring humans. They are the people you hope will cross your path and teach you some thread of knowledge they keep inside that vault.  On the other hand, some of those owners are as black as the scars that mar the exterior of the burdens they bear. Life affects us all differently. As humans we get to choose how. We can decide whether we take life’s beating or if life’s beating takes us. Unfortunately we don’t get to choose who gives it. And the beating will always hurt, but learning usually does. Because, no really good lesson has ever come easily or at little cost. If we are lucky we learn this lesson young, but luck (like so many things) is a tiny spec in the sky that we grasp at.