Don't stare at me like I don't belong on your block! I was here before you, bitch! Don't think I don't notice you sneering over those fake Groucho Marx glasses and your bullish septum ring. You're like that CSS song "Art Bitch", you're not an artist, you're not unique. You're an art bitch. You look like every other Buffalo Exchange white girl on our block. Ugh. Grow the fuck up or GTFO.

So you'd think that if you were drilling and hammering industrial sized machines into the concrete you'd do it during the day time, but not in my case. This message goes out to those inconsiderate bastards that have been doing so starting at 7:30 pm. What the fuck is your problem! The steps to my house are literally no more than fifty feet away from a monster sized hammer that makes my fucking house shake. Then comes the shovel, then the yelling. You motherfuckers work on the street directly in front of my house, you start setting up at 7, begin making noise at 7:30, and go until 10:15! what ever happened to no loud noises after 10? Actually, what ever happened to at least knocking at my door and letting me know you are going to keep my family up all night on a weekday! At least let me know you're an asshole before you make me live through this shit for 2 fucking weeks. And those huge white lights that shine toward my house don't help much either.Fuck you, your job is dumb, your orange vest is dumb, your helmet is dumb, your clipboard, your clothes, I hate you.F.O.A.D.!

I came a year ago to see you. I just ended up sitting alone curled up in a ball listening to M Ward crying on my sibling's sofa. I wished you were next to me when I rode around on the streets that I didn't know. I wish you were hanging upside down on the jungle gym that I stopped at to let my blood rush to my broken head. All I have is a gap of sucking void now. I don't know how to fill it with my weeping pedal strokes. I leave a trail of tear drops behind me as I ride in the puddles longing for you by my side.
i, Anonymous...

You stepped onto the bus & i saw the lovely structure of your face. You were handsome, you were beautiful. You caught me looking at you, & we made eye contact, for a second. i was hot, sweaty, no make-up. Gross feeling & plain jane looking as i read my book & forgot all about the world around me.
You got off at the same stop. There was noone else around. We walked. You were about 3 feet behind me, the whole way. We didn't speak. i realized the situation was uncomfortable, for you. i turned & gave you a smile. Yes, it was awkward, that long walk, with someone right behind you & never saying a word. But, i didn't know how to diffuse it, & neither did you. But we both knew it.

So, thank you. Thank you for finally catching up with me & saying " i'm sorry if i made you uncomfortable". i told you that you didn't. i knew that we were headed for the same apartments. But thank you for acknowledging that. And thank you for the lovely words that you said to me. For telling me that i am gorgeous, when i am a sweaty mess. For saying, with absolute respect, that you find my style of big, black boots & pants & a skirt ~ very attractive. Even though, culturally we may be worlds away. Thank you. You made me smile, & you made me feel respected & beautiful, as a woman.

So I am in my late twenties, and I find it appropriate to go to local punk shows and drink a beer, especially at an anarchist book store out of all places. While I was enjoying a beer outside of a show I get interrupted by a young man visibly under the age of 21, and this man tells me I cant drink. At fist I am just like, "who are you?", and he states he is a volunteer at this particular place. Now I've been drinking at this book store ever since I can remember, due to myself being in the Portland punk scene. Drinking here has never been a problem, but after discussing this situation with my friends, I found out that 18 year olds literally started 'running' this place, and I love the fact that you are volunteering, but listen...dont you ever tell a person of age not to drink his fucking beer while you are under age. I wanted to shove my beer down your throat and tell you to quit walking around like you're fucking "in charge" when you're just ruining shows by having your baby kid band play here every weekend. Later I find out this book store is now a "sober" space due to cops popping by..some anarchist book store, posers.

Hey mom, I just want to remind you that you fucking suck. I'd tell you in person, but I never have any idea what rehab clinic you're living in, or whether or not you're dead. That is, until you call from some weird number and leave rambling messages or suddenly show up at my apartment looking for twenty dollars. Well, I'll never give you so much as a nickel as long as you want to go on pretending that giving birth makes you deserving of anyone's respect (especially mine). But I'll give a lot more than twenty dollars to Planned Parenthood. In fact, that's my new mother's day ritual. I'm aware that they're mostly in the business of pap smears, but if I can imagine that my money fills up the free condom bowl, or helps one fuck-up vacuum a fetus out of her uterus, saving someone from a life like mine, I can sleep just a little easier at night.

Everyone I met said I should get a dog. Out to dinner and sitting on the patio, most of my friends had their furry friends with them. I saw people walking them, playing with them and petting them... so I thought, "why not?". Jesus Fucking Christ, how I wish I could go back to being the dog-less friend. This dog of mine, he is as dumb as a fucking brick. This fucker barks ALL night long and when I put him outside so I can get some sleep, I have neighbors complaining. His shits, dear lord let me tell you about his shits: Not only are they twice the size of mine, but picking them up is absolute torture. I've vomited once, when scooping and scraping a warm pile of pudding-like shit he took on a lawn. People yell at me for not having him on a leash, he chews up the house when I leave him alone to go to work or out with friends. There is hair everywhere! And the saddest thing about it? The fucker is microchipped, which means I can't set him free out in the woods or let him loose somewhere in the city, old school style. No, I'm afraid that I'm stuck with this fucker forever. I fell into the Portland lifestyle and got a dog without really thinking it through and I blame no one but myself. I am fucking stuck with this mentally challenged, shit producing, incessantly barking, chewing up the house, fur shedding dog. Fucking great.

I get it. You're getting boned six ways to Sunday. You're screaming O My God like you're in a puddle of pregasm awaiting the rapture. Part of me says, "just imagine it's that Leonard Cohen song.. about the paper thin walls of this motel"... But after Captain America did his victory lap for about three hours (3 hours?? What are you trying out for?? The cock push-up olympics?!), I felt compelled to blare R&B on the pandora til 6 am. And my work suffered. My personal interactions suffered. YOU FUCKING LOUD FUCKERS! Put a sock monkey in it or get a room inside a room inside a bunker.

You were at the Tube last Friday looking the part of a bad-ass. All tatted up, mean muggin, scabs etc.
You guys tried to talk some shit with my group outside. You got up in my friends face and had me scared for him.
You pushed him and then all hell broke loose. He went to town on your face and proceeded to beat you down.
I went into shock and started laughing. My buddy, who is small and kinda slower, taking you apart as you swung wildly like a little boy. We had to pull him off you.
Your face was a mess and your carabiner poke a hole in your hip when you fell on it. Tough guy? Hmmmph!

I am the new streetcar track on Grand Ave and that is just a taste of the street vengeance I plan to unleash on all you unwary bikers.

Thank you for not driving over her after she fell off her bike on Grand Street! She had a concussion, but is going to be all right. You stopped your car and helped, and called 911 on your phone. You are a hero.

To the hero who saw my wife falling off her bike in traffic after her tire stuck in the trolley tracks on Grand: thank you for paying attention. Thank you for stopping in time to not hit her. Thank you for getting out, seeing that she'd hit her head and was badly dazed, and helping her sit up. Thank you for calling an ambulance. It turns out she had a concussion and needed that hospital visit pretty badly. Thank you for staying with her until the ambulance arrived. Because you are a good human being, my wonderful wife is alive and healing quickly.

If I knew who you were I would be your best friend forever.

On Monday, I was riding my bike on Grand St. when my tire got stuck in the streetcar track and I crashed and banged my head on the ground. You were behind me in your car, but did not run me over. Not only that, but while I was passed out, you called 911 and made sure I was safe until the ambulance got there. I barely even saw you— I think you were a dude with bleached blond hair— and didn't get to say "thank you" before they whisked me away. I got a concussion and sprained my neck and wrist, but all my brains are in place and nothing's leaking or broken. I'm going to be fine, and this is partially because of you. Thank you.

And yet another afternoon where I witness an asshole bicyclist running a stop sign. I'm sick of you people. I walk wherever I go, since I live pretty close to my work. I don't own a car or a bike, I own my fucking feet. I've had bicyclists cut me off, whiz by me at the speed of light and almost hit me and at one time or another, put my safety at risk. Plus, these fools are one arrogant bunch, preaching about how we all should live like them. I hate arrogant people, car drivers, bicyclists... whoever, they're just fucking annoying. Let's get down to the brass tax here bicyclists: The POLLUTION you create is more than me. I create none. I grow most of what I eat and what I buy is in compostable packaging, free trade, organic... all that jazz. The shoes I wear are made from tree rubber and renewable corkwood. YOU on the other hand, with your synthetically made gear and OIL-BASED tires and brake pads. That's right! Where does the worn off rubber go, dear bicyclists? Into the environment, of course! So, if I use your philosophy, I am BETTER than all of you. YOU people are destroying the earth in a small, but NOT insignificant way. Quit polluting, you arrogant assholes, and try to fucking obey traffic laws for once in your measly lives.
That's what I'm talkin' 'bout.
Now for a change of pace, all the arrogant little commentors:

I was trying to enjoy a nice dinner with my boyfriend and his parents the other night, but you and your picnic table of goons insisted on staring at us and making catty faces, rolling eyes and snide comments to each other. I'm sorry we aren't the sun-bleached White twinks you seem to prefer. Lose the attitude, you're over 30. It's time to grow up. And you must wonder why you're all a bunch of old, single queens!

Go back to Starky's and rot there, you assholes.

I'm really sorry for almost causing you bodily harm. I pulled up to the red light and saw you sitting at the bus stop. I saw you get up but assumed the bus was about to come...but then...you tried to open my (luckily LOCKED) back car door. This was on West Burnside downtown at 10-something at night. My first thought was that you were about to carjack me, so I gunned it as far as I could without being t-boned. When you threw your hands up and asked, "You're not gonna let me in, man?" I saw the money in your hand. Shit. Really sorry about that...you likely won't remember it tomorrow anyway. Sorry for the foul language flowing from my mouth...I thought you were carjacking me, after all! My car is an older white Honda. I can't imagine how drunk you had to have been to confuse me with a cab! I hope you don't try that shit with someone who has weapons in their car, my friend.

In the drum circle I lost the beat again. Goddammit, really does this has to happen again. I was kicked out before the dancing naked guy went on a frenzy. My counselor says I have to keep digging inside for what's good. If I go and look deep inside, and not be afraid of what is wrong with me, maybe I can change. The time I broke the skin of the big beating drum because I was hitting it with a table fork it was entirely my fault. I shouldn't have done that. It's just common sense men. There is where I have to reflect and see where my head is headed. Be honest with yourself and you can get out of this funk too I heard. Where did that came from, I don't know, but am glad I fucked it up extreme because that means I can change big time everything that's wrong with me. But always remember they bend not to get fucked again by some stupid senseless drumming rampage. We all know X-Factor (not the tv show). Keep up the beat in time, but at least practice first. Go into the woods and meditate. It is unpleasant to give "wedgies" around like some fucking wrestling match over the stupidest things other people commit.

No, you cannot return items you bought at my garage sale.

Do not threaten my reputation with "the community" cause your wife bought something you didn't approve of.

She is an adult and if she wishes to buy $100.00 worth of knick knacks, I believe she can.

Go away, shut up and put it on Craigs list!

I see you all around, and you must be robots. You must be, because I'll see you in Se and an hour later, you're in Ne and then there you are again, in St. Johns. You're all simply fucking creepy. You're old men with grey beards and baseball caps, you ride your bikes wearing old faded jeans, black leather coats and all of you have those dilapidated kiddie trailers straggling behind you. Sometimes, you're smoking cigarettes while you're speeding off to some faraway location where the empty bottles and cans are aplenty. You should be someone's dear old grandpa, but no, you're just some creepy old clone. You're everywhere, and you fucking creep me out. You all look exactly the same, like there's some hidden clothing store you all steal from. It can't be a coincidence that you all choose to wear those fake leather coats. You must be issued them, by the Clone Father who sends you out on your can collecting missions. Orders to keep peddling, never stop peddling and to make your way through our neighborhoods. Too busy to inflate your bike tires properly, or to take a fucking bath. I wish I could see you all when you leave your cave in the early hours of the morning, an army of old clones in mass, cigarette smoke billowing out of your battalion like that old steam engine coming around the bend in Stand By Me. None of you smiling, just hiding behind your beards with that dead look in your eyes and peddling, always peddling. What a terrifying sight that would be.

I do it everytime I want. Its that easy. I saw in Geo Nat Channel that one super human that was being filmed for having the same ability as me given bucks for it. So I went and started to eat the foam of my sofa. Its half empty now (like your soul). Then I got in my head the idea of trying metal, because apparently food didnt appealed to me, so I went and tried some of it. I could only lick it. I am not ashamed of my behavior (it has a medical name but who gives a shit) and am proud of bringing my bag of different supplies to every vegan meal. Razors, small bottles of vicodin, small bits of floor carpet, coins, and my favorite, those small plastic soldiers. They are very chewable. My friends have all come to terms with my eating array and call me lovingly cookie monster. My doctor says its better than my previous TAB and Hot Pockets breakfast regime. Am happy eating my alternative trash food lifestyle and I might peruse into other materials. This I,A is intended to find other enthusiasts of this alternative eating tasteÈ and like I said, to expand my palette of eating materials. I Am open to suggestions. It is not ok to contact me for other purposes. I like cans too.

To the family of "high fivers" that insist on standing outside the school each morning to high five each and every single student that walks through the doors....Stop it, Stop it now! For the past 7 months you (Grandma, Mother, Father, and yes, even baby brother) have slowed down the process of getting inside the school, because you insist on slapping every single little unwashed hand that passes through the threshold. I was hoping that at the least you would come down with a virus or two, but no you all have the immune systems of champions....which makes me dislike you even more. Every morning while I am standing in the rain, getting wet and sick because if your compulsion to "touch" children (waiting for my daughter to pass by (and yes, I hate to admit it she even high fives you all and I, everyday, shake my head in disappointment). I repeat Stop it, Stop it Now!!!!

Dear Junkie Bitch at the nail salon today: You harshed the FUCK out of my mellow. Yeah my adrenaline was going when I was staring you in the face telling you how disrespectful you were being.

I have been going to that place for 2 years. It's my one fancy vice and I enjoy the fuck out of it. The ladies there are hard working, kind, and just plain rad. Not to mention savvy business women.

You made racial slurs, threw things on the ground, disrespected and swore at at a polite woman in her 60s who is trying to run an establishment. She was treating you respectfully even though you were at Defcon 1 bitch level.
And last but not least- wearing pink leggings as pants...I almost beat your ass.
Your're lucky I didn't because I know every single one of the ladies working there are deeply religious and it would have upset them greatly.
Stay the fuck out.

Oh. And they're Vietnamese, not Chinese, you shit-talking dumb racist bitch.

Something is bugging me and it's bugged me for a long time. Contrary to what some people will believe after reading this: I'm no bigot. Here it comes: BUT, I really don't get this whole 'telling the world you're gay, trans, bisexual, insert any other sexual identities here". I mean, I really don't get it. Why do people have to make known their sexual orientation at every opportunity? I'm straight and some non-straight people have said it's because straight people are free. I get that. I'm straight and I am accepted by society. Got it. But, I don't walk around telling the world that I'm straight. And I don't think my straightness shows, so it's not like I'm assuming people know. I don't go around, making every move simply because I'm straight. "I think I'll go to Fred Meyer's later, because I'M STRAIGHT", "Hmm, a movie sound good tonight, maybe I'll go, because I'M STRAIGHT", "Burgers sound delicious for lunch, I think I'll have one, because I'M STRAIGHT!" I don't live my life solely based on my sexuality and I certainly don't make it known at every opportunity. I like to think that I'm much more just than my sexuality. I just want to understand why non-straight people have to shove their sexuality down everyone's throat. Is it just me?

On the outside I guess I look pretty ok. Relatively successful, lots of friends, outgoing and happy. On the inside I'm hollow and miserable. Yes, when I was standing over the kitchen sink with the knife I was thinking about using it to go up the road (not across the street, remember kids.)

You told me you thought I was too strong to do it. I guess I am. Or am too cowardly to really end it. I don't know. But what would have made it better is if you would have come to me, knowing I was unhappy.You left me alone.

What kind of person does that? I feel like I spend my life trying to make other people happy, to make them feel special and wanted. But when it comes down to it and I need someone, everyone just assumes I'll be ok. Guess what? I'm not. I'm really, really not. The meds aren't enough anymore.

And I'm really not. My mother hates me and screams at me about things that aren't my fault when we're alone. My sister hasn't spoken with me in a year after she threw a massive tantrum on a day that was supposed to be special for me. She says it's because she doesn't know what to say. I'm sorry, from both of them, would do. But they won't. I'm the bad person. And maybe I am. So here I am, motherless on Mother's Day. Mourning the loss of my best friend. Left alone by the person that's supposed to love me the most. Cut off by the sister I wanted to connect with.

I'm tired. And you know what, I don't feel strong. Have fun trolling me I,A. At least someone will be happy.

I was giddy seeing the Weird Bar on 37th and Division obliterated by dozers in mere seconds. It had been a poorly-executed eyesore for losers, barely open for a year. I hadn't thought anything could have out-skeezed The Egyptian. The Weird Bar proved me wrong. Now, Urban Development Partners is proving me wrong again. Dropping 82 apartments on a SE neighborhood without providing a single off-street parking spot is like boarding a full airplane with a rugby team. Don't NW-23rd our hood! Parking sucks as it is. Oh, how I long for the Egyptian... How those ladies could parallel park.