Open Letter to the Man in the Giant, Black SUV on North/West 101 Yesterday Afternoon
Dear Mr.,
Normally, I am not one to get agro on the road. I believe that live and let live is a great policy to employ while driving here in southern California where people routinely shoot each other for nothing more than 4 feet of asphalt. You can see why, then, I was the first person surprised when I found my temper flare at the silver jeep-ish vehicle to my right. When she started inching forward as we waited in the queue for the little light that tells us we are allowed to go, two-by-two, onto the great freeway of torture (moooooo), it was obvious to me that she wasn’t going to play nice and wait her turn as surely her mother taught her to. I’m positive her parents showed her that we merge together, each lane taking a spot in between the cars from the other lane, first that lane, then my lane, then that lane, and so on, and for her to blatantly disregard these rules of decorum and try to get in front of me, which would clearly be a violation since your car and hers would end up being next to each other instead of yours and mine and THEN hers, as nature intended it, which just unacceptable.
Her shiny silver vehicle revved and inched. My dirty, non-descript colored car tried to rev, died, restarted and inched forward. Our noses met, inch for inch as we got closer to the head of the queue. And my temper flared to the point of me hitting my horn for one brief ‘bleeet’ which was sad sounding even to my own ears. But that is not the point! I was totally in the right. Right?
And then, right when I thought to myself that maybe violence wasn’t the answer, make peace – not war, and who really cares anyway? I’ll get home eventually. Who cares that I have no air conditioning and it’s a freakin’ 100 degrees out here and my windows are rolled down and my hair is completely wind blown and I’m subjected to all kinds of loud, pumping music from other vehicles which are playing songs I would never listen to unless I was tied down and being tortured – who cares? – and then, her friend in the front passenger seat leaned back to the backseat and out the unrolled window on my side and yelled ‘EAT ME!’ after which they both laughed hysterically, their gum-smacking, pink, glossy smeared lips yucking it up in my face, which clearly you saw and thought ‘enough is enough’ and for which I will always be grateful, in a sick and demented ‘they deserved it’ kind of way. The dance that ensued was just lovely and the memory of the event will be kept in my Most Favorite Vindictive Moments box.
Thank you for swinging your giant-ass SUV over to block her and allow me to inch parallel with you. Thank you for moving forward even with me so she had no choice but to stay behind us (where she belonged – it was my turn!) and thank you for your deft weaving in and out of lanes which repeatedly kept her behind you and allowed me to pass you both, get in the right lane and exit one mile later onto the 405 North, where much to my delight, she was at least 500 yards behind me and unable to pass you, due to your mad skillz, and then got caught behind two semis which clearly gave no credence to her friend’s ‘eat me’ remark, even though they actually could have. Eaten them, I mean. They were huge.
In the past, Mr., I counted myself among those that would not be so kind to people driving around in giant-ass, gas-guzzling, environment-killing SUV vehicles and tomorrow I might put myself in that category again. (mom – don’t follow that link…) But today, right this second, I love you. And it has nothing to do with looks, as we both know that your 50+ extensively wrinkled face has no effect on me. No, it was your kindness. To me. And your cruelty to her. Wait a minute. That didn’t sound right…..
Anyway, my love for you runs deep, baby.
Thanks a mill,
lpc
No. Words.
as seen on go fug yourself and defamer….
Now They're Stealing Our Lakes
Our rep as Americans keeps getting better and better. It’s like the neightbor that you know sneaks in your home when you go out of the house for a few hours. They don’t exactly steal anything that you’d notice for a few days and then by the time you do notice, you just can’t be sure it was them. Or the neighbor that let’s their dog come and take a great big dump on your lawn and then walks away like it’s no big deal. Or the neighbor that has a huge party, because they can, invites everyone in the world and tells them to park in your driveway, because they can, hands them toilet paper and shaving cream, because they can, and then acts like it’s not their fault when your house is trashed the next morning. Because they can. Or the people that live a few cities over and decide to come and blow up your house because they don’t agree with the fake deer on the front lawn. That is how the rest of the world views us.
“MOSCOW (Reuters) – A Russian village was left baffled Thursday after its lake disappeared overnight. [ ] “I am thinking, well, America has finally got to us,” said one old woman, as she sat on the ground outside her house.”
Tag. You're It.
Joe passed the music baton to me.
Total size of music files on my computer: 820 files 3.1 GB, but it’s my work one. I know my home pc has about 5 times that.
The last CD I bought was: I can’t count the Eric Lindell, Tragic Magic that Joe and I bought since he already listed it. So I’ll go back one to Imogene Heap, I Megaphone from Amazon (which still hasn’t arrived, incidentally…)
Song playing right now: Raphael Saadig: Still Ray
Five songs I listen to a lot, or that mean a lot to me:
Bjork: Army of Me
Fiona Apple: Not about Love, Better Version of Me
Frou Frou: Let Go, Breathe In
Gwen Stefani: Cool, Rich Girl
Buena Vista Social Club: B.V.S.C.
But I can’t leave out Iron & Wine, Keane, Zero 7, The Shins, and yes, I like the Robert Downey, Jr. album.
And now, I’m tagging
Heather, who won’t get around to reading this for days because of her mini-sized human with poor social skills.
Elise who may or may not read this site at all.
Charles, owner of the raddest hair ever.
And Chuck who’s Pongo might need him to go for a walk instead of write about music……
Yes. I have high expectations.
I Kept Saying I'd Do It……
Natalie Portman looks great with a shaved head. As does Nataleah.
UPDATE:
From Lauren: “It’s uncanny how much you look alike. Spooky, even. Are you sisters?”
Yes, Lauren. We are. Thank you for asking.
Jennifer Talks to Dumb People aka Moonves
Joan of Arcadia got cancelled. In it’s place, there will be a program called, Ghost Whisperer, with Jennifer Love Hewitt. David Bianculli of the New York Daily News, the king of the great questions, asked Moonves: “Why is it that you think a show with a 25-year-old who talks to ghosts is going to do well in the same time period where you had an 18-year-old talking to God?” Moonves paused, then shot back, “I think talking to ghosts may skew younger than talking to God.”
Dude. Everyone knows that JLH was the weak link on Party of Five. Her talking to ghosts in not going to be any better than her talking to alive people.
This man makes me want to be a therapist of some kind and figure out how to help people that can’t talk but have mad piano skills.
If you know me, you know I love Gwen. Here is she, in all her hotness, on the Ellen show I couldn’t go to because I’m all adult and everything and do things in the day like work. I still can’t believe I had to turn that invitation down…..
Did you know I lived in Germany? Well, I did. And I loved it. And this story cracked me up. Germans having 1.5 to 2.3 kids was a topic of some discussion among the military wives. Mostly since we all were young, married and had at least 2.6 to 3.9 and some (me) up to 4.0+ kids of our own. What was wrong with these German young people that didn’t want to have kids? Couldn’t they see that we, the bedraggled, overtired, creased-clothing, chain smoking, lonely, drunk women had it made?
Some days, I can understand what they are saying: “There is an increasing belief that not having children is the ideal way of life,” the authors of the study concluded. Now keep in mind that the government will pay the women to have kids and stay home and take care of them. It’s not like in the USA where so many women get knocked up, have 6 kids and stay on welfare and can’t make ends meet. Their government PAYS them if they will just please, have a kid or two.
And, why aren’t they having kids? Because they go to school. “Germans also tend to be students longer than in other countries, with many still enrolled at university and college until they are at least 30. This lengthy study period is “a reliable method of contraception,” said the minister responsible for families, Renate Schmidt. Remind me to keep my kids shackled to college until age 30.
But my favorite reason cited: “In Germany, having children isn’t sexy,” said Marie-Luise Lewicki,” whose name reeks of sexiness in itself.
Does anyone else think it’s kinda ironic that the race which was at one point held in such high regard by an insane dictator to the extent of millions of people dying for his sick idea of ‘preserving the race’ is now voluntarily not procreating?
Mother's Day 2005
This Mother’s Day marked the year that I’ve been a mother for half of my life. There is nothing I would rather do with my life than be their mother and everything else in my life creates an environment that makes that possible.
I had Devon at age 17 closely followed by Alexandra, Tyler and then Anthony. This year, at age 34, I can’t imagine my life any other way and I thank God for them every, single day.
Devon, 16, now rides around on a Harley. I try to ride around in my car behind him. He’s masculine. He’s sensitive. He’s a boy learning how to be a man. He’s good with sparks of mischief. He’s wise yet still blissfully naive. He writes large amounts of text full of angst with sizeable nuggets of insightful prose. He’s perfect.
Alexandra Gabrielle, 14 and very much a teen girl, is so beautiful inside and out. She deftly maneuvers the struggles of Becoming and Growing. I watch her and am so thankful to not be a teen girl. Her graciousness sprinkled with tinges of spicy femaleness are a wonderful combination. She worries about having braces and doesn’t wear too much makeup. She has all the normal body issues and struggles to accept herself. She is perfect.
Tyler, 12, most recently famous for eating a small amount of sodium chemical compound in chemistry which awarded him detention and a slight stomach ache, exudes loving. Love drips out of every single pore, but as soon as he notices or worries he might not be well received, he sends out rivulets of teasing to balance the universe. His ‘jolly rancher’ comments turned into ‘your mom’ comments which turned into ‘Tyler Scott Peterson’ and then ‘bacon’, as in: ‘your mom goes to college’ or ‘what do you want to do this afternoon? – bacon/Tyler Scott Peterson.’ Completely nonsensical. He’s perfect.
Anthony, 10, entertainer and magician extraordinaire, sometimes carries red sponge balls around in his pocket. Once, during a waiting-on-AAA-to-unlock-the-car-because-mom-left-the-keys-in-the-
ignition-and-the-car-runing episode, he pulled out the red balls and juggled. On Mother’s Day, he made balloon animals while I waited in bed for the other kids to get something completed. He made me a hat, giraffe, sword and shield.
He is trying to learn how to feel his feelings and still be ok when his feelings hurt a little or a lot. He’s perfect.
It’s all perfect.
Dude. Breakage.
It was just brought to my attention that the blog has been broken in IE for the past few days. That is The Sad. But it’s fixed now thanx to Joe. (thanx, joe)
My Desktop
Tony is notorious for closing his eyes right when the shutter closes.
I have at least 2 closed-eye versions for every 1 open-eye.
Man, that kid is cute.
New Interview: Jeannette Walls
Jeannette Walls, gossip columnist for MSNBC.com, has exposed her soul in her recent memoir, The Glass Castle, which has spent weeks on the New York Times Best Seller’s List. The details of her growing up years with her two sisters, brother, alcoholic father and emotionally unavailable mother are harrowing in places, comical in others and sometimes so sad you have to remember to have the tissues around.
Once I started reading this book, I literally couldn’t put it down. I carried it with me in my purse and snuck reading time in between everything. Right from the start you know this book is going to be a little different than the usual when on the first few pages you sit in the taxi with Walls, dressed in her finest, trying to decide what to do while watching her mother root through the dumpster.
Star Wars, Polygamists, Butterflies and Loh
Link dump:
Star Wars Insight from Defective Yeti
Darth playing the harmonica? My kinda guy.
Polygamists on Utah-Arizona Border Under Scrutiny
The FLDS Church, as it is known, has long dominated twin towns on the Utah-Arizona border and now has a new settlement outside a rural town in Texas. Part 2 includes a gem of a song named the Plural Girl Blues by local Texas insurance adjuster, John Cartwright. Lyrics include, ‘Anniversary today and I can’t remember who’s’.
Study Sheds Light on Butterfly Migration This year’s flock of Monarchs was massive.
Sandra Tsing Loh tells me what’s up with the local scene on 89.3, (SPCR) a local NPR station. Right now it’s all about the high cost of education, kindergarten aged education, around Los Angeles. She makes me snort while driving.
Not Otherwise Specified
My book is now available. Click here.
Reviews:
Not Otherwise Specified, a memoir of one woman’s struggle with multiple personalities goes beyond the conventional story-telling of one’s life, of detailing one’s family and one’s hardships and the lessons learned along the way. This retelling of the fascinating yet heartbreaking journey into the many minds of mental illness will grip you instantly and leave you wondering how someone could have survived to tell the story.
I read this book as a daughter and as a mother, as someone who grew up under some of the same paternalistic religious standards that when abused can wreck the lives of those whom it is supposed to help the most. Here Leah shows the circle of being a daughter and then becoming a mother herself, the intricacies of those relationships and how laying blame is not the way to move forward or to become healithier. She beautifully illustrates that half of the cure for illnesses whether physical or mental is to take them seriously, to recognize that the illness does exist, and no one can come away from this story without seeing straight into the demon of a impaired mind.
Having experienced a mental illness myself I think the fact that she tells this story with such clarity speaks to her ability as a writer. There is so much confusion and doubt and frustration that accompanies the daily ritual of dealing with depression and anxiety, even more so with eating disorders. That she is able to detail those experiences from the perspective of separate personalities, that the descriptions are so exact and recognizable is profoundly astounding. I could not put the book down because I had become almost emotionally attached to each person in her body, feeling the pain of one personality and the joy of another.
This memoir will do nothing but provide a better, more sympathetic, more compelling face to the mysteries of multiple personalities and should help eliminate the stigma of mental illness in general. Here is the human side of a seemingly unimaginable tale, one that left me
looking at every person I meet with a little more sympathy. If only every book could leave me feeling that way.
Heather Armstrong, www.dooce.com
My first session with Leah felt a little bit rushed to me. She announced that she was “multiple”, told me some about her inner world (i.e., names, ages, and functions), and told me she/they were ready to integrate. I must admit that my past experience working with people with DID followed a somewhat different pattern. Usually, after a couple or more years of therapy, testing (of me), trust building, catastrophe and catharsis, the decision to integrate was finally broached, then negotiated, and finally completed. To have someone walk into a first session and say they just wanted a little help integrating was a shocker. But, Leah meant it. And, of course, for her it was not a quick decision. She had worked for years with another therapist in California, she had written a good portion of this book and she had used her art for years as an integral part of her therapy.
Even so, we did work fast and effectively. Introductions were made, fears were laid to rest and integration proceeded smoothly. While our relationship was brief and her final integration unusual ( in that I was very new to her life and system); her story in many ways was not unusual at all. At the heart of it was a deep sense of shame. A shame of such monumental proportions that it must be hidden. Secrets of shameful events were guarded and kept under wraps. Whenever the mind resorts to such creative but extreme measures as the making of alter-personalities, one finds secrets so shameful that the rage naturally engendered by such events is disguised and displaced. In every case you will find a “Samson” or a father (or some other powerful, significant adult) who does “things” to a child that simply cannot be talked about. These things must be hidden or denied or distorted.
I felt honored and privileged to be among of the first to read Leah’s manuscript. It is a work of great integrity and honesty. It takes one to that private place where you see all the confusion and desires and complexities of the human condition in the raw. It was started, I believe, to serve Leah in the very difficult task of facing herself (we should all be so brave!). I hope now it will serve others in their own journey to health and integrity.
Steve Clancy
Ruined for Life
If I wanted to steal a scanner, I don’t think I could get away with it. I could try and plan how to get the checker-person distracted enough so that I could furtively sneak the hand-held scanner into my purse but could you get out of the store? Wouldn’t the alarms go off screaming that you had stolen not just merchandise but the implement of purchasing the merchandise?
And yet, when I got home on Saturday after getting some gardening supplies, I found in the bottom of one of the bags, the scanner used at the checkout station. And now I’m faced with the dilemma of whether I’m really an honest person or not. I don’t already have my own scanner. It could come in handy. I could use it for — scanning things. Do they have any way of tracking who has it based on the last items purchased with it? Do I care? Couldn’t I just feign innocence by claiming I thought it was a toy gun for one of the boys?
Alright! Rest easy, mom. I’ll be giving it back. You’ve ruined me for life. I can’t even keep one penny more than I am due when they give me change, let alone a scanner.
Dude.
Weekend with Friends = Fun
The weekend was fun.
We had a birthday dinner party for Meg. Food was great, conversation fantastic.
The busser, a very tall and lanky boy and I use the word boy because even at 7 feet tall, it was obvious that he was still breaking his 18-year-old-molars, was so ‘on it.’ Every time we paused in the conversation, there he was asking if he could take away the plates. Are you done now? Now? How about now? To the point where I had to exclaim to him that he was the most ‘on it’ bus-guy I’d ever encountered. As he was talking, I noticed that he had a small smear of a tomato-based product on the right side of his cheek, very near his mouth and briefly wondered, but not out loud, if he sampled people’s food on the way in or out of the kitchen. He exuberantly asked if we would mind telling his supervisor that he was doing such a great job, to which I replied, no problem. He just needed to point out who she was and I was all over it. He went into a long and lengthy description. Towards the end of it, he pointed and said, ‘Look. There she is.’ to which I asked, ‘You mean, our waitress?’ and he said, ‘Oh. Ya. She’s your waitress.’
In a few moments, she came over.
‘Hey. The tall guy? The busser? Really doing a great job. Really right on it.’
‘The busser?’
‘Yes. He’s really just been great.’
Pause
‘Really?’
Meg starts to giggle across the table.
‘Yes. He has just really been fabulous.’
Meg is still giggling.
‘Are you being serious?’
She looks at me. ‘Serious?’
‘Yes!’ and now I’m trying not to laugh. ‘Really! He’s been great.’
‘Ok. Thanks.’
I don’t think she believed me. In fact, I think we might have hurt his career of dish-stacking. He came back a few minutes later, I think to see if I had actually delivered on my promise. He turned to me and there, next to the red smear, was now a chocolate smear. Now, I’m not saying it was the remnants of the dessert he had just cleared from our table. I’m just noticing it as a coincidence. He is awfully tall. Maybe he’s always hungry and can’t help himself from eating leftovers to support his frame size. Or maybe he’s forced to eat scraps because the mean supervisor lady won’t give him any portion of the tips since she obviously doesn’t think he’s very good at his job. I don’t know. But that guy could stack deep. On the last trip, he had about 12 different plates, lots of flatware and a tall stack of glasses, all sizes, along with quite a few wine stems with his fingers laced through. He blew into the top glass as he walked away, slowly, so as not to let the wine, still in some of the stems, drip out.
Toot.
Toot.
