Category Archives: minor rebellion

Minor Rebellion ~ THE DARK LORD

I once had a conversation with someone about creationism versus evolution.  We were friends, and a group of us got into this discussion, about how God created the world and everything in the extended universes in one week.  And how evolution was a made up theory to disprove God.  But my question was:  we don’t know for sure that God didn’t CREATE evolution.  What if he wound the clock and set things in motion – sure in your one week – and then let things evolve from there.  Why can’t BOTH realities be reality.  This caused quite a stir in my group, for it was a group of Christian friends, and I quickly became aware of what time it was and a forgotten hair appointment I suddenly needed to keep.

But what I didn’t argue with them about was my secret opinion that God didn’t actually create EVERYTHING in existence.  Sorry, everyone is entitled to their own opinions, and this is mine:

There are some things that I definitely attribute to Satan, and a few that can be found on the list are as follows:

  • Zits in weird places.  OK, maybe God invented zits – for some sort of weird, ugly, painful purification process.  But zits in the EAR?  Definitely a design of Satan
  • Any city in the world that is without a Taco Bell or Jimmy John’s.  These are favorite locations of Old Scratch and possibly demon controlled by the under lord himself, or one of his many minions
  • Hyenas.  Do I really need to go into this?  Scarrrry!
  • LOTTO tickets that have your winning numbers inverted, like a winning “24” instead of your chosen and meaningful 42, which represents the number of times you have broken a small appliance when you got a mixed up LOTTO ticket.  I guess maybe if God was having a bad week this could be attributed to Him as some practical joke, but usually this kind of thing is straight out of the think tank in Hell
  • Facebook’s add column.  This is way too creepy to be from God.  As soon as you search anything on the net, you suddenly have 75% off adds from THESE VERY PLACES, listed right there on the side of your very admirable trouncing of other competitors who think they can beat you in Candy Crush Saga
of the Devil??

of the Devil??

other Satanic creations will follow eventually…

i WILL hit you. because you are stupid, and i am late…

running late on my way to work today i encountered a stupid person, slowly ambling across the street, both jaywalking AND crossing in the middle of the block.  (i think.  i could just be exaggerating.  you never know)

i am, in point of fact, running late.  and it’s the end of the world tomorrow.  so it’s not like anyone is going to be able to hunt me down and lock me up for manslaughter.

if you are so stupid as to walk casually in front of a crazy, red-headed, female driver who is late for work and hasn’t had enough caffeine…good luck to you!

two cents

i’m in America; the elections are over, and after arguments, debates and ballots have been cast, i still feel the wake of it all.    i’ve read a lot of comments on gay issues on people’s ‘social media’ sites recently – twitter, facebook, etc.  – as well as doom and gloom from people who are unhappy about the outcome of the election.  i feel the need to press my two cents into cyber space, for some reason i can never explain.

this is mostly about gay issues, prompted by conversations and opinions from various people on a friend’s wall;

i am a liberal Democrat, if you must know, and voted accordingly.  i support same sex marriage, as well as a woman’s right to choose abortion.  having said that, i also support opposite sex marriage, and a woman’s right to choose NOT to abort.

America isn’t about homosexuality, or religion, or health care for everyone, or abortion.  America is about FREEDOM.

a few years back i stopped going to a restaurant i consider to have excellent quality foods and service, and completely delicious dishes.  why?  well the owners are Christians. but that isn’t WHY.  i stopped going because the owners blatantly promote their religion.  there is a huge electric sign that stands in front of the restaurant glaring at me and quoting me Bible verses that are supposed to make me want to convert or confess.  there are Bible verses on the menu, and a cardboard box on the counter for prayer requests.

i don’t have anything against all of these things in particular; praying for others is awesome, and having a guideline to follow in life is both helpful and respectable.   i DO have a problem with trying to come in for a meal and being bombarded with someone else’s religious leanings.  if i wanted to get a good dose of guilting i could go to church; what i really want is the big summer salad with extra cheese and nuts, and a side of that Amish bread please.

but all this is true on the OTHER side of the coin.  if i go into a coffee shop for a latte, i want a latte.  i don’t want someone to shove their views of gay marriage down my throat.  i am FOR gay marriage, but the appropriate place for this kind of discussion is NOT in a coffee shop through signs, or clothing messages, or cupcakes named after famous gay people.

i’d like to see things swing back to center slightly.  i’d like for people to remember what respect and freedom are about.  my right to support gay marriage is as equal as someone else’s right to OPPOSE gay marriage.  my decision to be a liberal is no better than someone else’s decision to be conservative.  we should have the FREEDOM to choose certain things in our lifetimes, but that necessitates that others have the SAME freedom to choose oppositely.  we all just need to grow up, stop name calling, and accept the fact that we will always have differing opinions; that is what makes us great; that is what makes us interesting; and the freedom to have these differing opinions is far more important than what the actual opinions boil down to.


what if?

what if this life isn’t what i think it is?  what if it IS more like a Twilight Zone than people want to believe?  what if it is just a scripted experiment, and i’m just a body running the maze, with an already decided outcome and a short time in which to determine the path i choose.  which may lead to the same outcome the other path leads to.

so why am i stalling?  why am i afraid of my own power?  my own magic?  my own voice?

time to live like this crazy life might actually change itself around my actions.  time to live like i’m in a dystopian novel, but I’M the writer of the ending.

time to fully be me, and let all of the magic strands of me do what they will…

to be continued…

}^( this guy

Saturday the beautiful people  of Lansing marched the streets in a Gay Pride Parade.  Rainbow socks, roller derby babes, and interesting, colorful people roamed the streets.

Unfortunately my sister and I missed the whole thing.  oooops.  This is what comes of sleeping in on a Saturday.  We were busy trying to caffeinize ourselves into some semblance of human being while the crowds waved their flags and danced on the square.  Well, we’ve gone before, so what’s two less people this year?

We did get a chance to boogie down to the Capital and see the very tail end of things: people leaving holding hands or drinking iced beverages; dogs pulling their owners away from the scene, excited to finally get that walk in; and of course the Religious Right with many signs waving in the air.  Interestingly it was the nay-saying-sign-wavers that were the last to leave the party.  And as my SISTER and I walk the streets, a clump of nay-sayers walk by, and one man sticks his Bible in my face and says something about God sending me to hell.

ummmm…dude, I’m the LEAST gay woman you’ll ever meet.  I love men so much, it’s become unquantifiable.  I have the sex drive of a man, sure, but it’s all directed to the OPPOSITE sex, not my own.  So if God is in the mood to send homosexuals to hell, well I’m not on that bus.  I’d be on the cursing-pill-popping-liberal bus.

I can’t really understand why Christians want to go to a Gay Pride festival.  But more on that later…

So as the sign-wavers cheered me on to hell, we took the street toward the Comic Book Shop!  (hell bound for sure)  On the way there we did happen across a few straggling homos who posed for the camera with enthusiasm.  I got shots of these cute chicks who were very adorable.

I’m pretty sure they were early college age, but once you’re as old as I am, everyone starts to blend together.  They could have been in high school.






I’m not sure if they are paying her for kisses, or for her fabulous vagina, or because she loves vagina.  But any way, she’s pretty damn cute and worth spending a few bucks on, as the cute hat girl is clearly seeming to do.  This rainbow smoking vagina loving sign holder must have run into the same Bible-wielding-send-you-off-to-hell guy that I ran into, cause check out her hand:

she rocks.

It’s ok if I go to hell, though I’m planning on re-incarnating myself.  I’d like to be a courtesan in a next life.  Or an assassin.

fattest day of the week

it’s Fat Tuesday!  yay, time to suck down some sugar and lard in order to get ready for some serious self sacrifice!

the history of Fat Tuesday is shrouded in mystery:  did it originate with the Polish, who made too many Panczis one day, and decided on a random Tuesday to have a blow out sale?  was it initiated by the Pagan-cum-Christians, who were eager to fit into the church (so as not to be burned) but reluctant to set aside their partying ways?  or did it all really begin in New Orleans, spear-headed by some crafty politician that knew shiny beads, alcohol and sugary treats meant debauchery, drunkenness and increased tourism capital.

any way you look at it, kafillions of people observe Fat Tuesday before buckling down for the more strenuous Lent.  eat, drink and be merry today, for tomorrow we must not have chocolate.  or soda.  or smoking.  whatever your vice is.

i don’t think this is a bad thing.  i’m not against it in any way.  i’m also not a Christian (any longer) so i can choose to observe or not observe this time of year.  the thing that is interesting to me is the giving up of something for Lent.  i’ve heard of people giving up red meat, sugar, junk food and alcohol.  i’ve heard people say they are going to give up Facebook for Lent.  how is this really honoring Christ’s sacrifice?  i mean, if he goes for a month without food or water, he’s delusional and dehydrated, malnourished and exhausted, then crucified on a cross for not doing anything wrong, how does giving up french fries equate to that sacrifice?  is it really on the same playing field?  – hypothetical question, that.

instead of trying to make myself feel better for having indulgences and vices by ignoring them for a stretch of days, i’d rather try to incorporate new things in my life.  if, as Christians proclaim, Jesus came to give us life, and free us from sin, why are we spending all this time sacrificing something that won’t help anyone?  Jesus doesn’t need my soda.  or my damn good Taco flavored Doritos.  me offering them to him isn’t going to do him any good, or me.  it would just make me super cranky to not have my caffeine.  instead of focusing on what is bad in us and what should be expunged,  what if we all embraced life?  what if instead of focusing on my eating habits, i helped feed the poor?  what if instead of giving up time on the internet, i worked with Habitat for Humanity to get someone a new home?  what if i bought someone a cup of coffee instead of giving up my own?

it seems to me the world might be a brighter place if we spent more time helping one another – at ANY time of the year – rather than beating ourselves on the head for eating yummy foodstuffs.

minor rebellion ~ #7

i just ate an entire chocolate chip/oatmeal cookie BEFORE dinner.


minor rebellion ~ #6

Today my computer yelled at me.

Well, more accurately, Facebook yelled at me.  Funny how guilty you can feel after a scolding from an inanimate object run by electrical impulses sent through a system of mysterious, invisible, mathematical equations.  (is the internet alien-based?  hmmm….that’s a blog for another day)

I play a stupid, addicting cooking game on Facebook, and we used to be able to add friends willy-nilly.  Which is great, because this game is ridiculous and you have to bug everyone you’ve ever met in your life to advance at all.  Complete strangers are helpful in these quests; they don’t know you from Adam, but don’t care –  they’ll send whatever parts you need so long as it helps them down the line.

But Facebook has changed a ‘friending’ policy, so that you can’t send friend requests to people you don’t already know, or know friends of.  (this blog is getting confusing; are you with me here?)  Which is great, really, because I feel more hopeful about the stalker I tried to block, and the chance that he might not be a bother again.  (although technically I still work with him, so I guess this won’t help overall)

Well I failed to read all the fine print of the updated ‘friend/not friend’ prviacy policy, and I got a note that the Facebook gods were scornful of me and needed some kind of blood sacrifice, or a gigabyte of cheese pizza or something.  Yeesh… make me feel guilty for playing your damn game, why don’t you!  So, I’m sorry person I upset by sending you a note that you could have easily just said “NO” to.  And I’m sorry Facebook, that I upset your delicate structure and offended your new and improved policies.

Whew…getting in trouble by strangers and the World Wide controller of all thoughts is hard work, and tiring.  I better go lie down.

Minor Rebellion # 5: ‘children playing’

this kid doesn't look all that slow to me...

The end of summer is drawing near, and while the sky is a beautiful clear blue, I have selected a short sleeved sweatshirt top and shorts for my outfitting.  Despite what people think of Southern California, there is fog in the morning, bursts of rain in the fall, and an occassional blustery wind sweeping through from a blazing forest fire somewhere in the hills.  It’s best to be prepared for sudden chills at the beginning of fall.

Plus, the area I am playing in today is shady with trees and the sun hasn’t found its way in through the foliage cover.  But that is fine with me.  I’m feeling a little secretive today anyway.  My friend – Mary – has asked me over for a long last day of freedom before our new school year begins, and we have to start worrying about geography, vocabulary and math issues.  And so, having dined on egg-salad sandwiches and lemonade, we now find ourselves lumbering around the street a few blocks from Mary’s house.

The street is quiet.

Must be all the old people are still at work.

Mary and I sit on the sidewalk and talk about important, life changing issues, like that cute boy Paul Mayasich, whom I am almost in love with.  We find sticks to fling at the bushes and make kazoos out of blades of grass.  The thrilling days of summer wind to an end and we are solemn in our longing for more vacation time.  Suddenly I am struck with a lightning bolt of brilliance, convinced I have found a way to give us both that last boost of adrenaline we will desperately need to start another boring, confining and exhausting school year.

I lead Mary to the middle of the road and sit with her in the street.  It’s a residential street, not a busy highway.  There aren’t six lanes of traffic, or even a Tastee-Freeze at the corner.  It’s just a neighborhood block.  Still, cars come down the street, drivers eager to reach their homes after a long and annoying work day.  But before they arrive home for the night, they encounter us, sitting Indian style in the shade of the trees.

It takes them a minute to notice us…they weren’t really expecting anything out of the ordinary, and we are in the shade after all.  They slow down, of course, these aren’t homicidal maniacs here – just average working class folk, on their way home and irritated at two stupid children playing in the middle of the street.  But they slow down, instead of mowing us over, and honk their horns with a stern, scolding look that tells me they have children of their own.

Slowly, with great effort and much drama, Mary and I get up off the asphalt.  We look them dead in the eyes.  We let our jaws drop slack, and roll our eyes in the back of our heads.  We flail our arms and make strange gargling noises, heads lolling around like they are not at all attached in any way.  We lumber toward the cars with our outstretched arms, our intentions unclear, but perhaps an afternoon snack is on the agenda.

And one after the other, each driver looks at us with wide, unbelieving eyes.  You might think they are just shaking their heads, rolling their eyes because we are stupid kids being stupid kids.  Personally, I think they are fear stricken and headed home in terror, because they have quietly wet themselves in the car.  Another successful Zombie attack to write down in my diary…

minor rebellion – speeeed

It’s warm in here.  The hot summer sun beats down on my world and gives my arms a farmer’s tan while I drive.  I honk my horn and curse at the people around me.  Stupid idiots; where did they learn to drive,  the school for the blind?  I curse again, because it’s cool, and because I can get away with it since my dad doesn’t know I’m here.  No one knows I’m here.  No one except my cohort in crime, Colleen, who sits to my right commenting on various oddities.  Clearly I’m the better driver of the two, and thus I’m in the driver’s seat.  My life has given me lightening quick reflexes and suspicious eyes, which means I can see danger up ahead on the road, from a hundred paces out.  I love sounding like an old western. 

Except today I’m not riding horseback.  And I’m not in a sweet Steve McQueen ride either.  I’m driving a bus.  School bus, city charter bus, it doesn’t really matter; I’m the driver, which means I’m in charge.  And none of my occupants are complaining that I’m only 11 years old.  I look years beyond my age anyway, I’m sure they wouldn’t even notice.  Except there are no occupants.  It’s just me and Colleen, and our flourishing imaginations.  We drive this bus 100 miles an hour.  I’m sure it can go that fast in real life, because I live in LA, and everything in LA can go 100 miles an hour.  And despite the fact that this bus is abandoned for some unknown reason in a back parking lot at a five and dime store by my house, it seems perfectly functional to me and Colleen.

True, we had to sneak in through the little side window by the driver’s side.  Colleen is skinny, so I made her stick her long, lean body half through the window until she could pull the lever that would open the passenger door.  And then I was able to come in, and simulate dropping money in the money box, and wave at all the make believe passengers that know me because we all take this bus every day.  Except we don’t.  Because this day is the first time I’ve ever seen the bus here. 

Why aren’t there forty other kids playing in this bus?  Are they crazy?  This is the treasure hunt of a lifetime!  Hot sun baking the insides of the bus a nice toasty 400°.  Loud obnoxious horn to honk, though we try not to do it too often, so as not to draw attention to us.  I don’t want some other smart ass punk forcing his way into our pleasure center.  Especially since it took us a good hour to get in here.  Or half hour.  Telling time is tricky when you are eleven. 

I turn the wheel madly, because some idiot on the road can’t seem to see my huge looming frame careening down the highway.  Time for some glasses, you old geezer.  Geesh.  Had the movie “Speed” been invented yet, I would doubtless be pretending I had a bomb under my bus’ carriage, but I’m light years ahead of that movie.  I don’t know, perhaps Sandra Bullock isn’t even born yet.  Or maybe she is off somewhere making out with some pimply boy for the first time ever.  I can’t worry about boys right now; I have a huge damn bus to drive. 

This breaking into a bus business makes me feel like one of the Bowery Boys, and I imagine myself as a New York/Jersey type Italian mob kid, off for a joy ride in a stolen vehicle.  Yeah, see?  Or maybe I’m in a Hitchcockian short, and play the part of a murderer, desperately running from the law after brutally murdering an inconsiderate boss who overlooked me for a promotion.  Better yet, I might be one of the detectives in Hitchcock’s “The Three Detectives” series, which I LOVE.  Though of course they are all young boys my age.  But maybe my daring acts, quick thinking and stupendous sleuthing skills would convince Hitchcock to write stories about a GIRL detective.  Hmmm….I wonder if he is even still alive; maybe I could write him and pitch him the idea.

I have all day to come up with these fabulous ideas, and force Colleen into playing the sidekick to my hero.  My fertile imagination is rippling like a frothy sea, eager to come up with a thousand scenarios for this bus ride…until the evil old man down the alley spies us in our luxury vehicle, and threatens to call the cops on us.  On us?  On eleven year olds?  We didn’t leave this stupid bus here.  And sure I’ve been wiggling the gear shift around all over the place, but it’s not like the keys are in here and we’re gunna take the bus to the beach.  Like no one would notice on the road that they can’t actually see the driver of the big bus, because the head of the driver isn’t visible over the dashboard?  Hello?  Old man, are you serious? 

Oh.  Shit.  Yes you are, and here you come wagging your old saggy arm at me!  Guess this early minor rebellion of mine is over for now, but hopefully it can be continued later in life…