Now that I've slept, here's how I really feel.

I woke up this morning (Happy Halloween, by the way) reflecting on last night.

And then I read the blog I wrote.

And I realized, fuck. I'm not angry enough.

Now that the dust has settled and I'm no longer in shock, I can actually feel something.

So here it goes. 

Dear crazy nutjob who was driving that SUV that almost ran me over last night,

I was just wondering - do you drive with your eyes closed? Because you were at a read light and I had the go-ahead-innocent-pedestrian light.

Yet for some reason, you gunned your engine like Dale Earnhardt's blood was running in your veins.

So I need to know if your eyes were closed. It's not like I was dressed in all black with my face painted to match the street. I was VERY visible. 

But for some reason, you didn't see me or my friend.

In case you weren't aware, you were driving in Uptown Dallas. I'm pretty confident in saying that this neighborhood has the highest percentage/number/amount of pedestrians than ANYWHERE ELSE in Dallas.

Because we're all vain freaks who want to get laid. There, I said it.

So it's logical that you should be a little more aware of your surroundings. I mean, you know, since your car weighs enough to flatten bone and muscle.

I understand that every now and again, we all have a lapse of judgement behind the wheel. But you picked a really shitty time to be aloof. I mean, even after jumping backwards 2 or 3 times, I still ended up leaning over your hood! And my friend had yanked me away. Everyone on the restaurant patio across the street saw what happened.

I hope you remember this every single time you stop at a light and decide to turn on red.

Had you hit me, OH had you hit me and re-fucked up my knee (since that's the leg that was facing you), I might have killed you. That is if I weren't totally crippled and lodged under your wheeled death machine.

So lady who should really consider public transportation for the sake of everyone not surrounded by tons of metal, you should really go to the eye doctor or the regular doctor. You know, to make sure everything is alright. Tell you what, I'm getting my eyes checked. You can go with me.

I'm driving, though.

I'm glad I still have health insurance. I almost needed it.

I am an exerciser. More specifically, I walk. A lot.

Sometimes, I'm lucky enough to have someone to walk with. Usually it's my friend Christina. But we'll get to her later.

I walk because it's good for me. It makes my heart and muscles stronger. It increases my balance and endurance. And (most importantly) it makes me all slender and lean and sexified.

But tonight? Oh, tonight, it could've gotten real ugly.

Chris (she goes by Chris) and I were crossing the street. At a red light. Pedestrian crossing light glaring like an angry nun.

Being Sesame Street kids (I can't speak for Chris, but I was a pupil of Kermit & Friends' teachings) I know that looking both ways before crossing the street is vital. Otherwise, you could end up roadkill.

Look to the left. Assess. Look to the right. Check for cars. Then look to the left again. Assess again. If the coast is clear, if danger seems like a distant chance, feel free to cross.

Tonight, we looked left. There were standing cars at the red light. We looked to the right. Nothing - no one was turning into our path. We looked at the WALK sign. It still said walk. We looked to the left. Cars were still standing. All signs pointed to YES.

So we stepped into the street. Took about five steps.

Then Chris shouts something that I couldn't make out. Right before she grabs me around the waste and I'm pushing against some gold SUV.

Either I'm Superman and able to stop moving vehicles with my sheer might (thank you, walking muscles) or Chris's shriek made the woman aware that she was about to plow down two innocent pedestrians.

All she could do was mouth, "I'm sorry."

Perhaps I should've fallen to the ground. Or shouted. Or done anything. But I looked her in the eye and then finished crossing the street.

I'm going to stick to trails from now on.

The frequency of awesome blogs is about to triple.

The state of the economy is officially hitting a little to close to home.

As in actually hitting my home. MY home.

I, along with many other people, left my job today. Not necessarily by choice. But had we all stayed, we'd be working for free.

So with all of the free time between appointments with the pavement, consider me writing here.

That or eating chocolate ice cream and weeping to soap operas.*

If you vote in the upcoming election, think of your queen and people in her boat. Only one team really cares for people like us.

*Okay, maybe not soap operas. But repeats of "Living Single" were my life during the surgery recovery.

There are really nice people out there.

There wasn't anything particularly special about today.

I wrestled gravity and got out of bed. I drove to work in the average amount of traffic. I even ate lunch at one of my typical places.

But today, this day, I had coupons.

As I gleefully presented my thrifty tickets, very pleased at my money-saving ways, I was told by the cashier that the one coupon wasn't valid with this type of salad. And that soup coupon? Doesn't include this type of soup.

"Oh well," I said aloud. It's no big deal. At least I know now.

But then the cashier out of the kindness of her heart goes, "I'll give you your drink* for free to make up for it."

I stood there puzzled. Free? Nothing is ever free. Did I hear her correctly? This was a very unnecessarily thoughtful thing to do! The coupon wouldn't even have saved me that much money.

"You don't have to do that," I said to her. "I should have read the coupon more thoroughly."

"It's the least I can do." She slid my items towards me. "And after all, no matter what happens today, you got that tea for free. So that should bring you some happiness later."

Her smile was so genuine that it glowed.

I thanked her and thanked her and thanked her some more. That bottle of tea was already causing my cheeks to be sore from grinning.

And later on today when I was bored, when I was a little frustrated, when I grew tired, I couldn't be upset. The cashier was right. I had a little moment of happiness because someone gave me a small token.

You know the old adage: A little kindness goes a long way? Believe it!

*Bottled mint green tea!

Objects in blog are much larger than they appear.

This is my latest attempt at humor.

April showers bring may powers. Part 6

To read the entire story, click here.

Little Lisa wasn't so little anymore.

She was wearing bras. She was kissing boys. And she was dealing with all of the traumas that high school life created.

"What's in that little vile around your neck," some snide boy asked her during a chemistry lab.

"Oh that? It's just some water from a the Pacific Ocean," she lied. "My grandma took me when I was seven."

Walking through the halls one day, a girl said to her, "You always have that freaky little bottle around your neck. Is it holy water?" she laughed. "Do you hunt vampires."

"Loopy Lisa's little vile of human plasma!"

"... that freaky girl with the monkey piss..."

"It's vodka. She's an alcoholic."

It was the taunting and the taunters that made Lisa want to open her little bottle the most. Release a tiny drop of rainwater onto her skin. Send her through the air to a much safer place like her bed.

But she only used her skill when it was absolutely necessary. That's what Grandma had taught her to do.

That vile kept Lisa from being tardy to school on several occasions. It saved her from a bad car wreck once. It even saved her mother money on airfare when they traveled.

Not everyone poked at Lisa for her little bottle. Most people thought it was cute. Bohemian even.



[The Queen was interrupted while typing the posting and was unable to finish.]

Do they make creams for this?

We were out of some things, so I went to the store. While in the dairy section, I slipped on something.

It was a quarter.

In the ethnic food aisle, I walked over a few pennies and dimes. Every now and again, a dollar.

I gathered my desired items and made my way to the checkout.

With every item scanned, I noticed a strange feeling. I gave the cashier my money, took my groceries and stepped off.

As coins rolled out of the bottom of my pants.

Two days later, I picked up my bike from the repair shop. That night when removing my clothing, I found crumpled dollar bills in my underwear.

The next day at work, a trip to the restroom led to the discovery of toilet bowls full of soggy bills and rusted coins.

The next day, I had an ache so I went to the doctor.

"Where does it hurt?" he asked me.

As I shifted on the examination table, the sound of metal on metal gave me away. "My gut," I replied. "And," my voice dropped to a whisper, "my ass."

The doctor was thoughtful. "I see," he said. "We've been seeing a lot of this lately. Especially with young adults."

"What is it, doc?" I moaned through the cramping.

"It's simple, really." He wrote a prescription on a sheet of paper and handed it my way. "You're hemorrhaging money."

Don't vote because I'm telling you to vote.

There's no perfect way to pick who you're voting for.

Because no two people will agree on every issue. And there are far too many issues for us common folk to wrap our heads around. Hell, there are too many issues for the professional legal people to wrap their heads around.

And that's just for the commander 'n' chief.

The problem is that the ballot has more than just our presidential choices on it. It might have senators, supreme court justices, district judges, sheriffs, county tax-assessor/collectors, etc.

Have you even heard of any of this stuff lately?

That's why we have this crazy, electoral college system of voting (at least for the president, not sure about everything else; it's been a while since I took a government class). Is it fool proof? Hell no. Is it necessary? I'm not sure. It was designed to protect the interests of everyone by letting the elite (meaning more politically educated) have the final say.

It means that your vote may or may not count in the end. But despite that, celebrities and annalists are doing everything but threatening your life (VOTE OR DIE!) if you don't fill out some scantron in the next 4 weeks.

So instead of telling you to vote, I'm asking you to think. If you feel very strongly about troops, abortion rights, gay rights, healthcare, and renter's insurance (hey, everything is an issue), then find out who best-matches your mindset, mark their name, and cross your fingers.

If you're undecided, completely in a deadlock, have no idea which candidate will do the best job, not sure who's the lesser of two evils - don't vote.

Don't vote.

It may sound unpatriotic, but it isn't. If you don't have anything to say, sometimes it's best to say nothing.

If you don't care, then continue on with your apathy. Skewing the curve with a careless bubble mark only puts us all into a position we shouldn't be in.


Let the hate mail arrive.