Driver Education

There are many things that I aspire to be in my life if only I had the time and conviction. One such aspiration? Driving Instructor. I have been a motorist, a pedestrian and a bicyclette handler in several major cities in Canada and throughout Europe. Ahhhhh, Europe...I love those wine drinking, seafood swilling, dope smoking, syphilis soaked(that ones for Italy), brilliant bicycle riding genius's. They of all the places I've roamed, know how to work together in their travels. Cars and pedestrians live side by side in a world of peace and prosperity. Cyclists understand their role and cars abide by the rules of the road. Sometimes it seems as though there are no rules in place, but by golly it works! I despise the drivers in this country and now in this city. You are all moronic, self absorbed single celled organisms with too many toys to play with. You are operating a tonne of metal fury going speeds designed for those with attention spans. Please put down the eyelash curlers, the meat ball subs and the goddamned fucking Christ on a cracker CELL PHONES. You should have your eyes on the road, your mirrors and the other million people surrounding you. Multitasking is not something human beings are capable of. Seriously. Your brain stops functioning for a millisecond when you switch your attention and can return just as quickly but you cannot, contrary to popular belief, do more than one thing at a time...it's a scientific fact. Science also tells us that lack of focus+sonic speed+one thousand pounds of metal=badness. Wait, that's math. Anyways, I nearly got hit three times in one day, three times...and I mean nearly. When a few particles of your soul leave your body out your ass three times in one day, we have a problem. All three times were lack of driver concentration and understanding road rules. Who is training these people? They should be shot in the face and disallowed a funeral for all of the people they've maimed and killed over the years for granting these assholes a licence. Who does not understand the concept of "right of way"? Driving has to be one of the most pleasant and simple things in the world to grasp. If you cannot back up without hitting something, drive with both hands while watching your surroundings or your anxiety over the sheer act of motoring consumes you...give it up. Taxis, transit or your own two feet are my recommendation. This numbskullary has gone too far. The only reason I am still alive is because of my ability to pay attention. Shouldn't it be both our responsibilities though? If both of us were focused on the task at hand, wouldn't that avoid say, every single unwanted outcome? The next time my asshole parts and little pieces of me escape in fear of fatality, I will kick off a mirror screaming with reckless abandon, "It was you or me, motherfucker!!!"

It's Not Who But When

So it's been decided. No longer will I search, scour, sleuth out the "one" for me. No more Dream Man. No more Mr. Right. No more soul mate who will complete my very existence and make life forever enduring and bearable. Just one day, I may be walking down the street on a snowy afternoon or reading a book on a park bench watching puppies play with their negligent and baby ridden owners, and it'll happen. I will be ready to settle. I mean, settle down.
Whoops. Truly though, some dude will pass by when my brain and heart have met each other and decided to make friends and that will be that. No hunting, longing or failure. It'll just be timing and maybe that's the truth. Maybe it's not the perfect dream boat with the toned body, heart of gold, and wit to match his washboard abs that will catch my eye. I will just be ready for commitment, stability and love. I tend to skip steps. I skip because I don't believe those I skip with are worthy of anything more from me. That is somehow such an absurd and awful thing to admit for the skips I step are often the only ones that make any difference and matter the most. What's even worse is the value I place on odd things over my own body and safety. I was "obligated" into bringing this dude home the other night. His friends had ditched him and his only option was to come and crash(oh, there would only be sleeping) at my abode or...sleep on a stoop. It's funny I didn't see the third option at the time...I don't give a fuck where you rest your fatness cuz I'm going home to eat pizza in my awesome apartment and pass out with a smile and pepperoni on my lips...I was hungry. Sigh...so being the weaker sex in all the wrong fucking ways, I trudged him home with me. What I learned though was quite the valuable lesson...I place no standards on personal space. It was an odd lesson cuz I always felt that entering the Rhandi bubble took time, effort and lots of flowers. Not so. I was more traumatized by this fat and hairy backed beast sweating on my freshly washed blankets with his hippy swass and touching his mouth to my water bottle with his...gulp...mouth, than I was by his constant advances towards my tits and ass. His inept persuasions to remove apparel fell so short that I'm pretty sure I heard his penis retract into his body...not that it had far to go and that was the end of that. I sent him on his way the next day with "Well, you've annoyed me for long enough, time to go," and the lesson was indeed learned-Love and Respect Thy Self regardless of anyone else and their conception of my ebbing kindness. Also, I've seen porn stars, honest to goodness PORN STARS wear condoms and you're telling me that I don't have enough self respect and body consciousness over safety to allow you to perform(I'm sure) delightful moves you've learned from the Yukon on me sans rubber? WHO DOESN'T WEAR A CONDOM IN THIS DAY AND AGE? I mean seriously, you're a dude. You're whole existence stems from you're level of bonerdom and you don't just have them with you? This was only discussed by the way, as I was stalling and hoping for his brain to just shut down and leave me alone. I mean, no chub means minor brain function, correct? You know like amoebas in the split second their not consuming protein? It sounds like I hate men. I do not. I learn about myself by way of their stupidity. I am also coming to terms with the fact that they are all the same and that's ok cuz I don't need to be a part of it. After a sleepless night of hiding my valuables and thinking about hygiene, I woke with a profound appreciation for my physical self and soap. Surely invented by a woman.

Butter is Better

I've decided failure is my greatest fear. Duh.....but not even failure, but the fear of it which motivates me. I like to think that things happen decidedly and without my contribution. Sometimes though, I get these sinking suspicions that I have more control than previous thought led me to believe. For the first time in a very long time I was challenged. It's been some time so I was unsure of these new and dreadful churning's in my gut. I felt lost, and immediately angry. Why is the anger my one and only fallback position? I could be chased by bears and I believe that I would turn and glare at them as the smallest of the three mauled me as his play thing. Of course there'd be three, that's how bears operate. So, I get angry anyhow, all the while questioning why am I angry? Why am I allowing myself to get distracted by emotion and make careless and rudimentary mistakes? I use to be the best at what I did...at least in the locale I did it in. I was the go-to-girl. Everything and anything could be asked of me and I could and would deliver. Now, I am out of my element in a foreign land of talent and skill sets that surpass my existing abilities. Or perhaps I was just a little constipated that day...did feel pretty gassy. I knew in my heart though, that I was working my balls off and coming up short. Don't get me wrong, I wanted this. I longed for a test of my abilities. I just wanted to perform better. It's hard knowing you are the drowning mouse and not the one patiently making cream to butter. I wanna be the butter mouse, dammit. I want to climb out of that cream can, lick myself for hours(cuz butter is delicious) and stroll on ripped and confident. Like a mouse on roids. Will this challenge nourish me in ways never before experienced? Or will I hobble home one day with the realization that I am only as good as I am right now and that is all I will ever be. If it's the latter, whatever will I do? Drown and ruin the farmers butter, I suppose.

Two Weeks Later

Kinda like 28 Weeks later but with much less screaming and not nearly enough sprinting zombie attacks. It's an odd experience walking home and hoping that you reach it safely. I normally never worry bout that sort of thing...I desire that to diminish promptly. Other than some rather vicious and violent dreams, some suppressed and unexpressed anger, and mild crying fits (though I believe those to be unrelated), I am OK. I actually kinda feel like a Terminator...scanning every possible being for violent significance. It's as though I am in constant awareness of who is around me and deciding rather quickly if they pose a threat. Like my Terminator screen says, "Old, feeble man-Threat low" or "Two drunken dudes-Threat Moderate-pepper spray deployment pending." It's awful tiring living in this manner. So much energy expelled just to walk down a street to the safety of my sanctuary. I feel as though making eye contact was not the deterrent I had been led to believe but an invitation. Frankly, the opposite of what is desired. Like if you're in a bar and you accidentally look the way of some dude, he won't leave you alone for the rest of the night. Even if he doesn't have the balls to say hi, he will gawk and be intrusive til you leave. Perhaps that's man language everywhere...and perhaps that's what I did wrong. Speaking of drunken dudes...did you know that dudes drive up and down seventeenth ave trying to pick up chicks at three thirty in the am? Like has that actually worked for you before? Do girls really get that fucked that YOU are their only option? Also, who needs to get laid at that hour? Go to bed you fuck and leave me alone. Your drunken leers are not making my pants come off any faster...in fact, I may become celibate as a direct result of your comments. What happened to romance? Effort? Patience? Do these qualities exist in the 21st century male or have they gone the way of self respect and honesty? I miss those. My new favorite thing by the way...Policeman. I see one, and I want to hug them...regardless of how far up their own ass they've ventured.

Penis Wielding something, somethings...

What an interesting evening I endured. Interesting, or an experiment in the twenty-first century male? The night began innocently enough with delightful beers at my boss' place. The right company can make all the difference. Then we proceeded to take a stroll to some new-to-me night spots frequented by seemingly, my kind o peeps. We began in a house turned hotspot which was inviting and full of delicious dudes to gaze upon. Had some convo that would have inevitably changed the world for the better had anyone in power been eaves dropping...beers bring out my best ideas of course. Once our buzz was brimming, I was led to a sweet dance locale void of people but bursting with some serious block rockin beats. Still, the night had a light feel and I was having a grand time. Once we danced and engaged in some Red Stripe action...a pleasant surprise by the way...we were off to our next adventure. Half Irish pub which opened to a banging club, the meat market began. I was introduced first to this humongous douche who felt the need to tell me "I use to be fat but check out my biceps. Also, I own this, drive this, and make this." Sorry douche, but you're still pretty pudgy, your arms are only defined when you're flexing and turning red in the face from the effort cuz obvious your cardio levels are not up to par and I DON'T GIVE A FUCK BOUT THE REST. Needless to say he was unintelligent and putting on a front that could be seen from space. As the night progressed, I ending up meeting this darling man who seemed down to earth, clever, and had some super moves on the floor. We exchanged some words for a time, until the douche decided to be a cock blocking son of a bitch and intervene. He pushes a beer in front of my face on the dance floor and then just stands there waiting for me to react. The poor darling guy figures this bald fat dude is my boyfriend and scurries off without a word. I don't do well with ownership, entitlement, vapidity or cock blocking, so I told the ass face exactly this, "I imagine that when you were fat, at least you were nice." He didn't take that so well and for the rest of the night made digs at me and attempted to undercut me at every turn. I believe his "game" which learnt from Maxim or some other brilliant bite of what a "woman truly needs" or "how to get hot chicks out of your league to notice your fat, angry, and empty ass", was to insult me til I realized his clearly awesomeness and jump on his guaranteed minuscule genitals. Ugh. As the night progressed, I was introduced to a Kiwi. He was athletic, articulate but he continued to spit on my face every time he spoke. Yet somehow, he grossed me out less than fat boy. What kind of a world have I entered into when "not as disgusting as the other dude" becomes enough to stick my tongue in someone? Part of that was also to stick it to fatty cuz his shocked, insulted face and constant swearing became my goal for the rest of the evening...it was a slow night. We ended the night at the Ship, still playing my suck it you grotesque piece of shit game. On our approach to the bar, mcfatty decided his genius tactics were failing and flicked my breast. It was on. I remained calm-ish as I pulled my keys from my purse, slowly put one of each between my knuckles and said rather sedately, "Do that again you fuck." He was present during my key arrangement, looked at my face and gritted teeth and backed the fuck up. I also had the Kiwi behind me, so I felt pretty confident. He wouldn't look at me for the rest of the night so the game unfortunately came to an end. Drinks were had, tongues were touched and I walked home, alone. Kiwi tried to push it, I remembered his saliva hitting me in the face on every syllable...the decision was an easy one. On my walk to find pizza, I stumbled on a policeman(and a voice bordering stern and frightening), question a man resembling the description I gave to the detective the other day regarding last Friday's events. I wanted to stop by and tell the cop, he's not the guy, but it seemed a pretty intense interrogation so I let it be. The guy was squirming something fierce and being one of those dastardly penis wielders, he probably deserved a little roughing. As I strolled along thinking of pepperoni and cheese, I came across yet another blond, 5'10", mid-thirties dude stopped by police and I shit you not...as I walked further, twice more did this occur. It was troubling because I had a bit of a reliving, seeing all these dudes who indeed looked like the description but none fitting the bill. It was also relieving to see the effort and the serious nature that the city had invariably adopted regarding this matter. I felt as though I was receiving retribution of sort and it...felt pretty good. After passing this nearly absurd sight, some dude, very sweet who spoke of his new found lady friend, bought me a slice, we munched in between his enamored speak and I stumbled home, passing out on my floor. So all in all, the night started out great, took a slight down turn and possible eye gouging, and ended on a high note. There are decent dudes out there and I am grateful I had a chance to spot a few...if only the virtuous ones could keep their dick from doubling as the question...and the answer.

My mom is not going to like this one...

So I am wasted. absolutely....the most I've been in a looong time. Why? Well, I needed some release. Not a positive form of said action...here we are. I became inebriated beyond reproach for my travels up the hillery...specific reason... TBA. I will admit at this point and time that I am still far more sober than most of my age and range...I am typing after all and I apologize for any spelling errors that may incur. I destroyed my liver this evening for a reason...revenge. Sounds ridiculous to me even now. I am torn between lying down and getting this the fuck out. I want this fucker destroyed. Wrong? NO. I purposefully made myself a victim this evening to appeal to the sick fuck who should have been available. I mean really...where are you? Do you seriously have better things to do? I planned it. I planned my level of intoxication...as I planned my level of preparedness. The ringing in my ears and the fact that I need to keep one foot on the floor...indicates to me that I am more far gone than I thought. I did indeed meet a man on my travels up the hill with pizza and napkin in hand...not the one I had in mind but he would do in a pinch I figured. I explicitly told him about ten feet away: "I am going to pepper spray you if you don't cross the road right fucking now." He complied. Nice to see all men aren't what I've experienced as of late. You can be subservient for once and scurry 'cross the road in fear of being attacked, maimed, blinded or royally fucked. I expected fully to get drunk tonight and kill someone...or, see previous. Instead i am home, safe and sound...which I am indeed grateful for and yet somehow disappointed. Not about the safe part but I could have done with a little more carnage. Sorry mom...don't worry, but this was my intent. I will sleep soundly until the realization creeps back in. I met a lot of people this night. They were all relatively friendly but not very bright. Do the smart ones not go out and partake in the savage dance of drunken retardation, late night pizza, and spinning rooms with mascara clinging desperately to eye lashes even after you've scrubbed vigorously? Or is it just the ones who engage me? Does being stupid give you more courage? Or are they friendly cuz they don't have anything else to offer. Regardless, I had a pretty good time and realized as a second to my mission of destruction that maybe not all hope is lost. I was quite rude to a few men who thought it would be in their best interest to converse with me in futility. It felt really good. I probably wasn't even rude compared to most standards but it was rude for me. It is not necessary for a lone girl sitting at the bar, obviously not looking remotely friendly to respond to inane and useless questions thrown at her across the surprisingly comfortable wooden oval by drunken forty year olds seeking company and encouragement. They were let known to this fact abruptly. It was pretty fun. Being hated is easy. It takes such little effort to insult other people and keep them moving on to someone who gives a shit. That being said, everyone got home safe and with their eyes, so males may rest with ease...for at least another night. I feel like a super hero: "The Amazing Raging Pink Pepper Sprayer!" Faster than the freaks who stalk and smarter than the ones who don't. My not so veiled attempt at getting some power back. My ego is still awfully pissed at me and needs a little TLC. If getting wasted and fighting nobodies in a bar is going to accomplish that...well, I guess I am like every other scorned chick that ever was. I think for now, I can be ok with that.

An Open Letter to the Monster in the Shorts at 3am

There are so many words to describe how I am feeling at this moment and not a one of them possessing positivity or the magnitude with which I am feeling them. I am irate. Livid. Disgusted. Appalled. Morose. Slightly traumatized...only slightly. I think the slightly part is what bothers me most. I have always maintained a certain level of naivete' about other people. "People are inherently good. People when put into certain situations will always do the right thing. People who are sick in the head had it rough and need help." I have been proven wrong time and time again and yet this unwavering faith in humanity has given me strength. Now my strength comes from somewhere else...someplace dark and sinister and somehow I knew this day would come and somehow...I am not surprised. I have never maliciously done anything to another human being. Do unto others and what not. I was raised by a powerful and independent woman who taught me the ways of the world and that you don't need to harbor a bitter and destructive attitude just because wrong has been done to you. At this moment, all I want is for the man who I had the unfortunate "run-in" with last night, (yes you, you weak, sick, tiny dicked fuck who feels good about what he did or else why the fuck in any sense would you do it), to become some big and bad mans girlfriend for the rest of his diseased and tormented life. I hope you live forever you cocksucker with holes in you that shouldn't be and the feeling of fear at every flash of movement or wink of an eye. What right do you have? Who or what gave you the right to do that to someone else? If you're deranged, clearly, you should be executed from the first inception of your heartless and fucked soul. I don't care about your childhood. I don't care that you can't get laid. I don't care that not even your personality will inspire someone to relate to you. I don't hate and I don't wish evil deeds to be done, but you...you are something else. The worst part is that you'll never know the effect you had. You bolt, pleased as pie with your actions, not concerning yourself with how you've wrecked another human being. How do you live with that? How do you live with yourself? Who raised you and why is she allowed to exist? Why are you? I wouldn't wish this experience on anyone ever and if there is anything else I could do to make sure you feel responsible for what you've done and that this never happens to anyone again...I will do it. There is so much to do in the world and you spend your days affecting woman negatively, and for what? You selfish, maniacal piece of worthless trash. You disgust me in a way I have never felt disgust. My lesson? I have yet to know. I do know that you don't deserve life if you attempt to destroy that of another. I despise humanity because of your actions and that is the unfairest part of it all. How do you slip under the radar so? How has no one pulverized you into oblivion? Why could I not? I am bred to be gentle, loving, and generous. How dare you attempt to take that from me? This is how you spend your days? I want more so much more than I will probably ever have and this, THIS is what your hours consist of? You don't deserve my thoughts or time and yet I can't shake these images of your horrid, abominable actions. I hope you are caught and the police do as I requested with your carcass. You are a shell of everything that is wrong with our society and I hope you perish without anyone ever loving you. The images of what I Should have done or been able to do will haunt me, but you, You Will Not Be Remembered.