Notes To Self # 771

Upon being woken up in the early morning hours (5:30) because the old man can’t unscrew a pill bottle, try to remember yourself.

Feeling hatred and disgust towards a spoiled rotten, neurotic dog because, despite his almost 9 years of age, he still chooses to shit and piss inside the house while the door’s wide open probably takes years off your life.

Rear-ending a lifted truck with a trailer hitch, even a low speed, WILL total your Jeep.

People do not give two shits about other people.

Knowing your personal limitations doesn’t always mean you must heed this knowledge; sometimes it’s simply best to go against the grain and try anyway.

When you feel the effects of tiresome company, disappearing into your bedroom and refusing to answer the door isn’t always an option.

Dogs don’t comprehend egotism; stop getting mad when your dog knocks you over and drags you down the sidewalk to sniff a new tree.

If, after ripping you off for over a year by charging you for your dead mother’s line, your cell phone carrier is taking more of your money than the IRS, time to look into leaving Sprint for good. (FUCK YOU SPRINT!!!)

Notes to Self #420

Self-memo RE:cowl neck blouses and smoking weed:

Dear Self,

Yes, you’re still a pothead…puff – puff – pass.

Being of the branch in the pothead tree that is populated by less socially glorified potheads; as in: the kind who find smoking utensils and miscellaneous pothead paraphernalia to be (in the spirit of the good Miss Pross from Dickens’ Tale of Two Cities) absolute nonsense; it is now a recognized necessity to NOT combine the two elements if I plan to leave the house.


what the person thought when I leaned over to sign a document and spilled like a quarter ounce out of the folds in my neckline from hours before – when I rolled a joint (and apparently spilled a bunch down into my shirt, somehow…


Notes to Self: Note 325

Dear Self,

Yes, you are going to become one of “them”… you know who I refer to…you’re closer everyday to fitting the profile dashingly; just go out and get the 23 stray cats, already…get it over with.

Early morning, pre-coffee birthday wishes in the German language when you’ve forgotten it’s your birthday, as well as the fact that you live with a German, can be cause for it’s own follow-up therapy session; just sayin’.

The “word on the street” seems to be lazily conveying that it’s time to go home and put your jammies on.

“Going out” for your birthday isn’t supposed to entail a trip to CVS for laundry detergent.

Maybe this will be the year that you finally accept the reality that you don’t get carded anymore when you buy liquor or smokes.

Yes, you still live (and therefor, must drive) in the Silicon Valley; you can’t, or shouldn’t wonder why you always get home feeling like you just jumped out of a plane.

Try calming the fuck down, somehow – before your heart explodes; you’re not getting any younger.

Notes To Self #621 – Scraps.

Dear Self,

Yes. Your PTSD has officially destroyed you and left your “Life” in shambles. Everyone with whom you have had even the most casual of interaction with anytime within the passed few years thinks you’re either:

  1. Extraordinarily functioning for an insane person;
  2. A kidnapper who has somehow managed to hold your roommate for ransom while waiting on payment for him all these years;
  3. Deeply wounded;
  4. Deeply dangerous;
  5. or just flat-out pathetic.


Yes. You have at last worn your current wetsuit for the last time – stop being so damned cheap…(?)

Yes. That sensation you have been experiencing whenever your mind touches upon the Opportunist is DISGUST, I am almost decidedly certain of this.

4276898c6223f20e1de35a40845d92b7No. Your feet do not shrink as you get older. No, and that’s the dumbest thing anyone has ever told you and expected you to believe – find that person and put your (not shrinking with age) foot up an ass for such nonsense.


there’s something really “off” about “boneless” chicken…the very label BONELESS CHICKEN itself implies some sort of nightmarish science experiment at Foster Farms, headed up by MacGuyver, himself…bone in from now on, but you knew that.

Notes to Self #445

Dear Self:
1) How many times have you actually carried the bag out your car before leaving, despite its precarious position on the inside of the door-knob to the front door? Time for a new reminder spot, dumbass…
2) While sleepwalking, try to somehow remember that you will be held accountable for the things you’re up to during the early morning hours in the man-cave, by the men who cave there…
3) Over dinner with the parents of a childhood friend (who is now, unfortunately, deceased), try to avoid talking about “death throes” – even in the intended context of the fish on your plate. Talk about awkward…
4) Not everyone feels the way that you feel about certain historical figures, including, but not limited to: Joan of Arc, Genghis Khan, Socrates, Moses and Josephus; sometimes it’s just best to let ignorance override a situation in order to avoid a five-hour marathon of “truth versus textbook”…
5) YOU ARE NO EXCEPTION…not to ANY rule, ANY time, or under ANY circumstances…
6) The VERY gradual tapering off of the use of the air horn you keep stashed under the passenger’s seat of your car DOES NOT truly count as “changing your ways” in regard to ‘Road Rage’…
7) Using only one hand to flip off the dude next you (who cut you off twice) instead of both doesn’t count, either…
8) Again, when you don’t pay your bills – you lose your shit…
9) “All-Day Wear Lipstick” should be illegal for what it ultimately does to your appearance, after only a partial day – you’d be better off smearing wild berry stain inside your mouth and all across your own front teeth…go back to Blistex…
10) Lastly, just because you’ve had luck in the past with training (notably trainable) finches, does not mean that you can start ‘Homing Pigeons’ in your spare time…

Notes to Self – Note # 41

Dear Self,
• How old are you, again?…
• Really, I mean c’mon…you:

a) behave like a two-year-old at an after-school daycare birthday party
b) be a bigger pothead than Spicoli ever was – and forget important shit
c) insist on impossible things – rendering yourself impossible to please

• If a guy has been in your company for 48 hours and only then says something along the lines of

“You know…? You’re fuckin’ hot…”

Time to go ahead and take another inventory of things
• If the same guy makes the seemingly random suggestion of “painting your bedroom” or “gardening” the instant he comes over for the first time, take another inventory of things
• If someone posing as a “poet” seems UNABLE to leave the topic of themselves for very long, they are likely full of horse shit
• When a man believes that he needs lifelong reaffirmation and/or reassurances as a result of being let down a few times by a parent, or being cheated on by his ex-wife – GAME OVER. GET OUT.
• The above described situation is what I refer to as a “Conflict of Reality”…nobody wins
• It’s really too bad it isn’t physically painful to be a fucking sniveler – I think there would be far fewer crybabies in the world, if it hurt
• Plotting to kill someone while you are doing yoga or jogging or swimming still totally counts as plotting to kill somebody; doing it while engaging in healthy activities DOES NOT change anything about that

Notes to Self #191

Dear Self,

  • Just let your almost eighteen year old daughter keep on thinking it is “cool” that she has “a totally super young Mom” in comparison to all of her peers; and enjoy it as long as you can.
  • Taking your daughter skydiving on her eighteenth birthday DOES indeed render you the Rebel of Motherhood, but only if you both land safely.

Triple Gear Checks all the way around on that day!

  • Behaving like an Corsican Air Traffic Controller on the curb every weekday out of sheer disgust for the parents who refuse to pick up their children in the designated elementary school parking lot is likely not very becoming of you, especially when you holler obscenities and spit on windshields sometimes. They have meetings for people like you – Google that shit!

  • Your cardio routine is lacking; try some uphill activities in the Mojave during the month of August this year.

Notes to Self – Note 492

Absolutely Molotoved.

Absolutely Molotoved.

Dear Self,

Not sure how many times we will have to go over these things… but here we are, again…

  • Once a snake, always a snake. This is the naturally embedded law of the Universe, you KNOW this. Why do you struggle so?
  • Moisturize! Moisturize! Moisturize! You’re lookin’ beat up.
  • Just because sea lions “play” with you in the water sometimes, doesn’t mean that they:
    • a) actually like you.
    • b) will remember you on land.
  • You need to look into what turns you into an instant asshole on the beach, it’s very unbecoming. Not everyone is at home in the water.
  • Continuing to hold on to the notion that you still look good in your swimsuit from over four seasons ago is doing you no justice.
  • You are paranoid; this is a fact; act accordingly.
  • You do not have to publish every piece of poetry that you pen.
  • Sometimes, it’s just better to eat the Gods’ damned casserole and then either retch or digest afterwards. You lost out on $50, dumbass.
  • Perception is key; the key to a door which you may or may not want to unlock and swing open, depending on the circumstance.
  • Fuck you. Yes, you are wearing the bridesmaid’s dress and cfmp’s…it’s your brother’s wedding for fuck sake. Suck it up and be a girl once in a while, “it’s good for you”, so they say…

Notes to Self – Note #99




 Dear Self,

Yes, you’re still an idiot.

We’ve gone over this before, Self – you need to master self-control a little – No, a lot – better in the days to come.

Your lack of any “Holiday Spirit” DOES NOT entitle you to destroy public (or private) property and get yourself arrested for a brief time, afterward.

Yes, you’re still an idiot.

Just because you have some mutant-esque allergy to alcohol (rendering you 110% unable to physically stomach the shit) doesn’t automatically slap you on top of some tall horse that stands over anyone else; telling one of your Mom’s sloppy, drunken, bartender ex-boyfriends that he “missed his calling in life” was probably a little much.

Yes, you’re still a mouthy bitch.

Notes to Self # 924

Dear Self,

Firstly, YES…You ARE indeed, a “bitch”.

Secondly, your efforts at being patient continue to be pathetically made in vain; the need to tackle this shortcoming of yours grows stronger everyday.

Next, you should look into a new type of daily human interaction, as you are currently in a perpetual board meeting in a stale conference room with Doom and Gloom, as of late.

Also, just because you are from a place where they don’t add fluoride to the tap water (due to communal poverty), don’t think that somehow gives you an upper hand these days – when fluoride in your tap water isn’t so “special” anymore, after all.

Your own combustible temper (in the context of the courtroom) does you the most severe of all injustices, every time without fail.

Last but NOT least: Lately, your face looks like a tired , scurvy-ridden and soiled pirate’s, after a long decade with the sharks. Moisturize. Moisturize. Moisturize.


Notes To self 901

Dear Self,

You don’t actually know everything, like you’ve always told your kid…

Sometimes, people will shock you with their ability to be shallow and cruel, inconsiderate and sociopathic – other times, you will be totally surprised by the Human ability to grow and learn, to open up and take that leap of faith into the darkness…

You are not a certified judge on a bench getting a paycheck to be a judge – check yourself with your self-projections and insecurities, it’s not respectable or becoming of you…

You can’t drive and think at the same time – that’s how you wind up out of gas in the middle of nowhere…

Being incorrect in regard to a mistake you thought you had made, but hadn’t: still counts as being wrong – grow up.


A Peasant’s Point of View



I mind my own business; and when I don’t, it’s almost unfailingly in an attempt to try and sway an opinion in the direction of something I consider to be a worthy cause. Otherwise, it’s totally my nature to keep my head down and work on my own shit – easily block out the presence of others around me. I have nearly perfected the art of this: buzzing a loud noise directly through and across the existence of anyone else around me, in attempt to blend them in with background noise of the world around me. I’ve done this since childhood, perhaps as a coping mechanism to guide a lone little girl through a world of her chauvinistic, harsh pack of male wolves, who knows?
Anyway, the older I become this ability fades away – despite my heightened need for its effects; forcing me to have to deal with the noise of these people – people who would undoubtedly be shut-out by my buzz in past times. I’ve been forced to listen to their mess, my ears and mind assailed by the menial bullshit that such people consider as “problems” in their sugar-coated lives. It’s really hard on me, and I guess that bothers me in itself because what does that say about the shallow depths of my heart, in my creature.
I live with two people who have been spoon fed goodness since the days they were each born into a shiny, happy world full of promise and sunshine. Each was the first born in his family; each has the proverbial, doting mother who’s clueless to the ways of the Real World, and they both also have the patriarchal, idiot father in whom the family only “respects” for his pocket-book. Neither of my roommates has ever had to be without. Ever.
Their moms call them daily, and talk about shit that is irrelevant to everyone involved, including loads of slander surrounding other siblings and family members; their dads agree to help them do their taxes for free (and then end up paying the taxes and the late fees because of “memory loss”). Their siblings look up to them and treat them as if they are Apollo or whatever, further enabling the facade of importance and worth in the Real World. In both cases, this particular type of sibling idolization stems from the lies the parents have told the children all along about each child’s worth in the world, naturally creating a losing power struggle for the younger ones. They both did the six year college plan – and Mommy and Daddy footed the bill (which was inarguably a fuckload of money in each case); neither one graduated with a degree (which summarizes well, what they spent their six consecutive college years doing). Never the less, the place I live in once belonged to the well-to-do parents of one of them, in the days prior to his return from college, with no diploma. Still, here we are – they gave him the house anyway – I guess they feel like he earned it after partying so hard all those years in college, I don’t know.
The other one who rents one of the other wings, er – um, I mean “rooms” here is just as spoiled rotten in lifestyle, if not more extreme. He is the one who’s fucking despicable bitch girlfriend just got out of Club Fed for white collar crime; need I say more? What kind of thing steals from a corporation to the extent of millions of dollars and actually thinks they’ve succeeded in this day and age, anyway?
I have been stuck playing Mommy to the bitch’s high-maintenance little rat dogs that bark constantly for over a year now – yeah, I said a year…that’s all that happens to you when you rob someone blind, as long as you have money to get yourself out of trouble with the law – even if it’s stolen money…as long as they can’t trace it – the bitch makes me want to vomit. Literally.
Once, I sat in my room and listened to my roommates as they visited with an old college buddy who had dropped in to visit. They were all comparing the value of the estates that they had to look forward to receiving upon the collective deaths of their parents…a conversation that still gives me goose bumps to think about. Would I do the same if I had parents with fuckloads of money? Would I have grown up to be that same variation of the human species? Does ease in life and lots of money really make that much a difference in the psychological realm of existence? I suppose the answer is yes. This reality disgusts me even more than being poor does.


Notes to Self #93


Dear Self,

* There is no such thing as driving “by Brail”; you’re passengers hate you, the other drivers on the road think you’re under the influence, and it might be bad for your tires.

* When the lady up the road with the shopping cart filled with bags of oranges that she undoubtedly sells for a “living” by the freeway asks you to watch her cart while she runs inside the gas station to use the bathroom – and you agree, don’t act all surprised when she does not find your “orange launcher” the least bit amusing upon her return.

* Orange is NOT tan.

* Hoping to die is the same as being suicidal.

* When you don’t pay your bills, you lose your shit.

* You’re roommate’s bitchy, judgmental and vulpine ex-girlfriend  (whose TWO HIGH MAINTENANCE ASS little yapper, drop-kick style dogs have been fostered by your own hand for the past year and a half while she was away in prison) does NOT deserve your energy or time – She suffers from the Princess Syndrome = she’s been lied to her whole life about her actual worth in the world by over-reactive, under-responsive, superficial and greedy parents who over-protected her for too long – LET IT GO.

Note to Self #7 – Things NOT to do




Go willingly into the courtroom – it might make for a bad impression on the presiding judge, but it sure makes you newsworthy.

Misspell the word ‘misspell’.

Confuse the words ‘straight’ and ‘forward’ while getting directions from a passenger when driving your obnoxious 4×4; there is a big difference between the two.

Cut away from “the Chase”.

Swing in super-fast circular motion while holding a giant hammer with both hands out in front of you to balance your quickly gaining momentum – in a small garage – with your brother kneeling in a mechanic’s crouch nearby.

Date a guy from a machine shop.

Repeatedly, and in quite bad humor, joke with your ancient maternal great grandmother (who is full-blooded Shawnee and literally once lived in a shanty made out of tree trunks and animal skins) about cutting her hair (which would touch the floor if she were able to stand anymore).

Flip out one day after allowing years of disgust at your co-worker’s eating habits to build up inside you and yell, “Is there something wrong with your swallowing mechanism?! You must have gotten that from your mother, she should’ve worked harder at swallowing your load!” – as funny as your boss may think it is, he will still be forced to fire you on the spot.

* And remember ALWAYS

when life gives you lemons, dip those mother fuckers in concrete and pot shot them at cars passing you by in the carpool lane during rush hour gridlock.

Note to Self # 271

cut throatNote 271: Conspirator

Dear Self,

Not everyone (or anyone for that matter) is on board with your paranoid conspiracy theories about the US government; actually, you’ve likely made more enemies than friends that way.

…maybe time to try biting back the urges to point out “chemtrails” in the sky or undiagnosed tick bites that you see here and there…

People want CORRECTION people NEED to believe that their government is the good guy at work day and night to ensure the safety of everyone’s family, especially babies…people can be so miserably pathetic and sheep-esque that way in my opinion. Because the truth behind the United States government and its founding motivations runs deep in my own blood, as a Shawnee native (well, 50% at least). There’s no way anyone can tell me truthfully that our nation’s executives have not been crooked, shady and bloodthirsty from the beginning; anyone who believes in the good of such a display is blind and deserves to believe such utter bullshit.

There’s no use in trying to convince this type of person that they are a sheep.

Note to Self: Note #301

Dear Self,

Why is that every time you are on the WordPress Reader, you end up in tears while reading some total stranger’s post?

What does this fact say about your current mental stability, and state of mind?

Why is it that you have such an inclination to fly into the “light” that you repeatedly get yourself burned by it’s sizzling heat?

You lick the wounds from exposure that was too close in proximity and destiny for weeks afterward, wondering how you got them; but you know where they came from…


They DID NOT SURVIVE with you…they are gone. You tried.

Dear Self,

You are NOT like Mother Teresa; you aren’t built that way.

Dear Self,

Just do YOU, and invest in those who like it when you’re doing YOU, without resentment at you for self-healing in whatever ways you need to – be it, they are healthy enough ways…

Dear Self,

Forgive. Forgive. But NEVER forget.