‘Stay safe’

October 6th, 2016, 5:07 PM by Goddess

What does that mean, exactly? There’s a Category 4 — possibly 5 — arriving in three hours. You’d think there was something more appropriate to say or hear. 

It’s like when you someone dies (only not among my friends, who will just ignore you), you say “I’m sorry.” Sorry for what? How does that improve matters?
It doesn’t. I know that. It’s just something you say, hopefully with the intent of making someone feel less alone. 

It’s a lonely life.  It really is. My governor is all over TV, saying that Hurricane Matthew is a “bonding time.” So check on your neighbors and get through this together. 

Of course, this is also the guy saying people are gonna die and his family is safe. Reminds me of someone. 

In any event, I took a walk today. Tried to speak to everyone. Not one person said hello back. Well except for the ducks. I had food and they were thrilled. 

I often carry on rhetorical conversations with these assholes. After I say hi and they ignore me, I fill in for them. 


“Hi!” *silence*

“I’m great thanks. How are you?” 

“Good, good! You all ready for this storm?”

“Well let me know if you need anything. Stay safe and enjoy your day.”


Yeah. That comes out too. 

I don’t want to wish that every one of these deplorables gets washed off the coastline. 

But my friend’s husband got the call that FEMA is sending him here to rescue us, and I asked if I can pick and choose who gets saved first. 

Because if these fuckers can’t fvdn say hi, what makes anyone think they’d say thank you for keeping them safe?

And you thought Matthew was a miserable MFer

October 5th, 2016, 4:35 PM by Goddess

There are people who annoy the crap out of me. To the point where all I need to do is hear a breath or some suck-ass comment out of them, and I want to stroke them lovingly with a shovel. 

Then there are the assholes who I choose to be around and they still disappoint me. You give them condolences on a death and they totally miss a passing that’s destroying you. But go on, keep posting political memes. 

Or now, with a hurricane the size of Arizona just 400 miles from my spindly house, by all means send me stupid shit or crack jokes if you even think of me at all. When I’m barely holding it together and having to step up/step in for people who can’t or won’t help me. 

I had no idea I had any friends left to lose at this point. I was wrong. 

Basically I need to hire friends and put them on my payroll so they are forced to choke down their ambivalence and shit out something helpful every now and then to prove they aren’t dead inside. Money talks, even if it’s full of it more often than not. And that’s ok enough. 

Pillar of salt

September 21st, 2016, 2:34 PM by Goddess

So basically with five lunch breaks left in the town I love, and about 47 restaurants I assumed before Monday that I’d still have time to try, I gots some eatin’ to do.

I ordered a salad from a place where Sia and I celebrated a happy hour or two. They decorate in Steeler everything for the fall season. So, feelin’ the love, right?


I could tell the gal wasn’t listening to me. I even said I’ll wait till she has time to focus to order. She insisted I order anyway while she cashed out someone else and made another person a cocktail.

But she did repeat my order back to me. So I waited.

Lucky me, a guy sits right next to me. There are maybe four people in the whole joint that seats 120. And he lights up cigarette after cigarette.

Now, we used to go there because we could smoke … in our smoking days. But it’s been a long time since I’ve had the urge. To go there OR to smoke.

Well naturally my order comes out fucked up. I mean, FUCKED. UP.

The server took it back to the kitchen. I ran after her to tell her I didn’t even want it. I mean, I had exactly 20 minutes for lunch because it’s a busy day. And I’d just spent the last 10 huffing secondhand Marlboro.

I could hear the kitchen guys yelling at her to LISTEN when a customer orders. They read the ticket right.

(Insert: I took Mom out for her birthday. We said absolutely no onions. The server showed us her pad where she underlined NO ONIONS. We got fucking double onions. I kid you not. The cooks only SAW the word onions. And I didn’t order the $25 dessert they were pushing since they’d probably put onions in that too.)

I’ve had quite enough of having to wait and pay and smile and be a good sport.

In fact, in my little notebook today, I wrote that it feels everyone’s job in corporate America is to be a good sport. First and foremost. The rest is so very secondary.

So I said no thanks. I only had so much time and I don’t have another 10 minutes. Gotta run.

And I did.

Went to one of the other 47 places I will miss. At this point I should have just gone to an event I had to skip because of how much there is to do today. The food was wonderful. Service left a lot to be desired. But getting what I wanted was glorious.

It’s too bad about the first place. The food looked BEAUTIFUL. Minus the dressing and the GALLON OF ONIONS on it. That I guarantee they would have just picked off. 

I notice when I’m leaving a city, everything starts to go wrong. Like it’s the universe putting its foot up your ass, Red Foreman-style, to make you not look back.

I will look back. I will pillar-of-salt look back. I will pine and do everything I can to come back. Just, not to these places that insist on shoving their onions in my face.

Stewie’s not-so-good day

August 21st, 2016, 7:58 PM by Goddess

Was sitting at a red light here in Braddock Beach. Minding my own business. When BAM!

A VW rear-ends me. 

Mom was with me, and all her aches and pains. 

I was calm. Looked in my mirror and thought very long and hard about throwing Stewie in reverse and flooring it. 

Of course, my car is made of plastic and held together with gum bands and dreams. No match for that tank. So I threw it in park and stomped back to this fool. 

Horns honking. The light was green. Good for them. 

This dumbass didn’t even bother reversing. Or getting out of the car. Or reacting other than to say, “Are you really doing this?”

I said an apology would have been nice. But you’re no real man. So yes, we are doing this. 

He insisted his foot slipped off the brake. I said, “Onto the gas? Why the hell were you so close to me that it would matter?”

Long story short, Stewie is fine. Mom is fine. I got his plate and told him not to be in people’s back seats. 

This reminded me of being 19 and getting bounced in Wilkinsburg, Pa. The guy got out of his car and screamed at me to get back in mine. He was no doubt armed. I complied. 

Not this time.

This guy trailed me by a good mile after I drove away. Hope he thinks next time. I bet he will. He’d better. 

I was truly not looking for more reasons to hate it here. But they sure do seem to keep finding me. 

Another reason why I love my momma 

August 9th, 2016, 11:15 PM by Goddess

Because every time some fool who can’t be bothered to:

  • like any of my photos, 
  • say something nice in my time of grieving, 
  • send a thank-you card or 
  • otherwise give a shit that I’m still alive 

But who can jump down my throat at the merest insinuation that Donald Trump is not our savior …

And not even on my wall but rather in someone else’s feed which was where I was playing with the smart people …


Sorry not sorry, but I have to defriend ya. 

Mom is pissed. This happens often. Last week it was someone destroying me because I was thinking about all the nice girls I met at a rally eight years ago … And I hoped they are happy and well. 

But sure. If that’s anti-Trump and you’re offended, bring back my friend and go take her place on the other side. Please. 


Momma is like, these fuckers aren’t your fathers. And even if they were, fuck them for crapping on things that are important to you. 

It happens off Facebook too. I get to hear opinions I didn’t invite because I wasn’t offering my own. I can only smile so much in a damn day, you know. 

I asked mom if I were wrong in offering a thoughtful opinion like, say, Trump rallying his fans to perchance use their second amendment rights to justify, oh, violence against his opponent is not funny. 

Literally. That was my comment. I don’t find it funny. 

Burn me at the stake, why don’t ya. Maybe that was the era that America was so great. 

In any event, mom tells me I’m smart and well-read and have my own mind and I use it. Oh, and did she mention fuck them? Because, fuck them. 

I wish my mom were healthy and could live forever. Because the world needs more of her and fewer non-friends who treat my very neutral comments as a reason to crap on me like I’m their personal litterbox. 

Don’t mess with my momma, fuckers. Because then I will really be about to throw down. 

Peace out, losers.