Tuesday, July 27, 2010

Sign Language

First of all....Not impressed, buddy.
You know how tough it is to ride a bicycle? Ask my 5-year old cousin; we just took her training wheels off last weekend.


You want to impress me. Ride this down San Vicente.


And cut the shit. Don't shake your head at me you pretentious sonofabitch. I see your helmet bobbing back and forth in condescension as I try to pass you. Ride near the curb, not the middle of the road.

I don't need to be 20 minutes late to dinner just because you want to pretend you're athletic in that spandex suit you bought. You know what? I've ridden a bike too. And I did it in regular clothes. Do me a favor, Boy Wonder, hug the sidewalk and leave the tights at home.


Or so help me God I'll run you right off this road like you were Brand Walsh.

"I want my bike! I want my bike!"

Also, do you think we know what those signs mean?

Are you telling me you want to make a right turn? Then why is your left hand still out? I know it's not complicated but I haven't had my morning coffee or a refresher course on bike etiquette since third grade.

The only people who know what those hand signals actually mean are other bicyclists.

And the back-up dancers from the Vogue video.

Friday, July 23, 2010

F%CKERS, I'M BACK

Yes, I've been away far too long.
but trust me, it was a necessary break for two reasons...
1) It allowed me to put my creative energies into a far more important activity
2) It allowed a cloacal of rage, fury and hatred to build up like a hardened artery; a cistern of ignorance that has been blessed with a torrential monsoon after unseasonable drought.

IF I DONT KNOW YOU....DONT TALK TO ME.

Remember those videos we had to watch in 2nd grade? The ones that looked like they were filmed on the ends of 8mm film left from cutting snuff films?

About how it's important NOT to speak with strangers?

No? Well I do. And that's why I mind my own business. I don't get on an elevator and turn to the person CLEARLY TRYING TO MIND THEIR OWN BUSINESS next to me and with a twinkle in my eye, and a sickening shrug of my bony shoulders say, "At least it's Friday, RIGHT?"

WRONG ASSHOLE!

I don't do that for two reasons:
1) I respect people's privacy. Especially people I don't know.
2) I don't wash my face with douchebag cream every night.

But let's get down to what's REALLY bothering me this morning, that I had to interrupt my vacation for ranting and raving on this site like a lunatic and return to the forum.

I'm casually stopped at a light in my car. You know the one.

Right. Except, mine has Jersey plates. Because even though I live in Los Angeles, I refuse to accept the fact that I do and prefer to live with the pipe-dream that in the next few months I shall return to the east coast.

ANYWAY, I'm stopped at the light and this nice looking 40-year old or so woman coming the other way stops her car and starts talking to me through the window.

Now of course I don't hear her at first b/c i'm listening to some awesome tunes on the radio--

So I politely lower the volume and my window.

"Yes?"
"Are you lost?"
Strange question. I'm braked at a light. How can one look lost. But hey, she seems like she wants to help. And so I reply in kind.
"No."
"Well, you're in the wrong state. Get out!"
And she proceeds to then gun it and take off, making her escape with all the maturity and subtlety of a fifth grader who just TP'd his neighbor's house and saw an upstairs light come on.

What the fuck was that about?
What would possess a grown person to do that?
And how long had she been holding on to that gem to try out?
Was I the first to befall her vacuous wit? Or are there others out there like me. With Michigan plates. Texas. Florida.

Is there a support group out there for us. I need to coalesce my own feelings with other victims and maybe together we can find some answer that will help us move on.

Ma'am in the black sedan at the light on Wellworth and Westwood, you have turned my blogging vacation into a nightmare leave of absence Weekend at Bernie's style.

I guess I should say...thanks?