Tag Archives: mother

Oh, the places you will go… on caffeine.

The odd things that stick in your mind and come back to you at the weirdest of times.

I sat down to write and realized I didn’t have a solid topic picked out.

So I closed my eyes.

And the circus began.

Three things hit me almost at once at random.

And I realized that they were so different from each other, that I was done, I had my topic.

Or topics, plural. 3 of them, in fact.

  1. Just a fleeting memory. I was bicycle commuting (Which sounds better than “I was riding my bike” like I am 5 years old or something.) thru a somewhat more ghetto-ish section of town. (That sounds racist, but I am seriously trying for it not to be.)

I pass a car lot that has loud hip hop/rap playing. A salesman in a shirt and tie leads a couple to see a car at the front of the dealership, on the street. Husband and a wife with a lot of “Junk in that trunk” (This is an important fact.)

Just then, the song changed. A serious twerking song started. Without missing a beat, the wife bent over and started shaking that ass. Also without missing a beat, the salesman began miming smacking that ass.

And the husband’s smile never faltered for a second.

And my first thought was, what a salesman.

A sales mentor told me years ago, as long as your customer is right there with you, in congruence, you can say/do pretty much whatever you want.

Same goes for ass smacking.

  1. The second scene takes us to far away Venice beach. A beautiful local in Southern California, a massive vacation spot. There are sights to see, people vacationing, absolutely stunning weather….

And the homeless. Venice and Santa Monica, among all the beach communities, encourages the homeless. The police are handcuffed, to use an ironic comparison, and basically leave the homeless alone.

There is a beautiful outdoor cafe, right on the boardwalk, a third of the tables in the cafe are indoors, with the remaining two-thirds out on the covered patio. The view is the boardwalk, the sand and the ocean. Truly scenic.

Street performers are plying their trade about 10 yards away. I have been watching a truly gifted guitar player/singer make his way thru covering most of Simon and Garfunkel’s best hits.

For some reason, I happen to look behind me and see a homeless guy making his way up the alley next to the cafe. It is either a homeless guy or a shabbily dressed grizzly. The hair/fur has not been cut recently if ever, and I am thankful that I am upwind. For some reason, despite my love of live performance, something about the homeless guy catches my eye. He just cleared the building and stopped right next to the wrought iron railing of the cafe. There is a well-monied couple sitting just on the other side of the railing. These are important people, you can tell by their dress and comportment. I don’t mean actually important, I mean they feel they are important. The key giveaway is when the guy signals the waiter, he snaps his fingers. He is either from New York or Europe, because that is the only place that kind of shit is not considered rude.

And then, the show begins. The Important couple does not seem to see the homeless guy, or are at least ignoring him. But, the homeless guy decides it is time to take a shit.

So, with no hesitation for his surroundings, he drops trow, squats and begins to shit. I can hear at least one grunt, but my mind is perfectly capable of making that up in the effort to enhance the moment.

And then, the true magic begins. The homeless guy wobbles a bit, like he is losing his balance, and reaches out with his right hand, and grabs the rail of the cafe, along with the back of the Important guy’s lightweight jacket. It pulls him back slightly. He peers over his shoulder and sees what is going on behind him.

And loses his shit, figuratively, compared to the literal one going on behind him.

The Important guy yells and tries to stand, but can’t because he is kind of pinned to the rail by our unwashed, defecating minstrel. The Important woman begins screaming, and you really cannot blame her, she has the straight on view of what is landing on the pavement.

The entire scene is tailor made for a movie starring Jim Carrey.

Enjoy your meal.

Welcome to Southern California.

  1. The final scene is a quick one. The title of this scene is, When is a Victim Not a Victim?

A mother and daughter are in line at Starbucks. The daughter is looking at yogurt and fresh fruit parfaits. Mom is just scowling for an unknown reason. The daughter picks out her selection and turns back to mom just as the spot in front of the cashier.

“Eating those will make you fat.” Mom says in a monotone bitch voice.

“Tough taking advice from a fat woman.” Daughter says in that same monotone as she walks past her.

Suck it, you belittling hypocritical bitch.


So much for a random sampling of the caffeinated thoughts of a true addict.

But at least the coffee is hot.

Mmmmmm coffee…


Posted by on September 9, 2016 in Uncategorized


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Puppies and Rainbows

So I had someone whine at me that I am too negative.

A comment that I immediately derided and belittled.

And then, I read over the blogs for the last, oh say, all of them.

Maybe they have a point.

So I have decided to write a positive themed post today.

Tougher than I thought.

I am like a pressure cooker. Pressure builds and eventually it can’t hold it and steam escapes in the form of a post.

So, here is what I will do.

I will tell you about 3 things I have seen in the last week that made me smile.


The first was a young mother.

And I mean young.

18 at the most and pushing a stroller up to Starbucks when I arrived.

The stroller was configured so the baby faced her.

I held the door. (Chivalry is not dead, its just resting for the most part.)

Mom kept up a whole conversation with the baby all thru the line.

The baby was paying attention.

Once she had her coffee, she went and sat down with the stroller right there.

No cell phone to be seen, total focus on her child.

There is hope for the world.

This is the polar opposite of what you normally see with a mother and child in Starbucks.

When mom is older, late 30’s and 40’s, the kid is on his own.

Mom is busy, usually texting or on the phone.

Lord of the Flies time, people.

There is a reason why your body is able to have a child in your teens.

Because you are supposed to.

Just because modern science has made it possible to have a child in your 50’s, doesn’t mean you should.

To paraphrase Chris Rock, you COULD drive your car with just your feet if you want to, but that doesn’t make it a good fucking idea.

I wish mother and child all the best.


Four construction workers were having lunch at a burger place I like.

3 were obviously experienced guys, with a new guy, kid really, sitting off to the side and trying to be included.

It was like watching a puppy desperately trying to play with someone ignoring him.

And then, things shifted.

The oldest of the 3, lets call him Big John, looked over at NKOTB. (New Kid On The Block)

“After lunch, I am going to have you work with me on the entry.”

NKOTB’s head snapped up and a smile spread on his face. Someone noticed the puppy existed.


One of the other guys, lets call him Mullet, (No judgement here. God loves you and your trailer.) shook his head and leaned towards Big John.

“He’s digging the utility trench, only half done.” He says this almost with regret, its just too bad.

Big John is casual about it and doesn’t miss a beat.

“Finish the trench, I want him to work on the entry with me.”

I will give him this, Big John runs a tight ship. Mullet didn’t even make a face. “Ok.”

Lesson: There is a reason they call them Alpha Dogs.


Third and final positive thing.

Thelma and Louise.

That is the title of a God-awful feminist movie from the 80’s that was the biggest piece of self indulgent crap ever forced on the public.

It is also the nickname I have given to two apparently bat-shit crazy homeless crones I see everyday during my afternoon bicycle commute.

They are anywhere from 60-100, but street aged to the point that it no longer matters.

They are OLD.

They are also 2 different types of bat-shit crazy.

Thelma always looks really pissed and never stops chewing out someone imaginary nearby.

Louise looks like a carbon copy of her partner and never says a word.

However, she is always wearing several layers of clothes, even on a hot day, and has a shopping cart piled high with more clothes.

I see them heading down the street together in a really crappy part of town.

Yesterday, they were crossing the street. I was waiting for the light.

The street had a slight incline from the curb to the middle of the street.

Thelma walked a little ahead, keeping up her constant stream of obscenities at the ghosts around her.

Louise fell behind, struggling to pull her shopping cart piled high up the slight incline.

It was a sad little scene, mainly because she was failing.

The cart would not leave the gutter.

I began to lean my bike against a pole to go help, I am an asshole, but not a heartless asshole.

And stopped.

Thelma looked back, saw her companion struggling, and shut her mouth for the first time I had ever seen.

She went back to help.

Even crazy needs a friend.

The two of them pulled the cart to the middle of the street and over the hump.

They made it to the curb and went past me, down the sidewalk.

I realised I had tears on my cheeks.


There is hope for this world.

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Posted by on August 7, 2015 in Uncategorized


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Post Mother’s day angst.

It was Mother’s Day on Sunday.

Despite the ridiculous hype Oprah wants to spout, it really is a hard job.

At least, it CAN be a hard job.

It can also be one that is not taken seriously.

Depends on the mom.

Getting the job is easy enough.

Lay prone…your Hired!

And there are also those who bust their ass and spend a lot of time trying to get the job.

They are the ones who tend to take it serious.

Here is why its just called life instead of a job.

Nobody hired you, there are no consistent standards, and its really hard to get fired.

Plus, if it were REALLY hard? Not everyone who could lay prone would do it.

If it required a college education, more than half the population would be shit out of luck.

Me? I got lucky.

My mom, as I have mentioned before, is a force of nature.

The kind of mom they should all be.

I also married well.

My ex, despite our differences, is a really good mother.

My kids are awesome.

That is the true way of judging how good a job you did.

Kids make their own decisions, true.

But the thought process they have is the one they are given.

My parents sent me out into the world with a thought process that borders on omnipotent.

Humble was never mentioned.

I always wonder what was wrong with the parents when I meet someone who is unable to apply logic or basic commonsense to their life.

And when they don’t, I am usually the only one who notices.

And like an ass, I blog about it.

This blog started out to be all about happenings in a Starbucks near my work, and has morphed over the years into being a tell all of either my opinions about people, usually when they are behaving badly.

In a nutshell, low-end bitching and whining.

And I am ok with that.

However, the best thing about writing this blog is that I get to be an unholy tyrant and write only what I feel like, no matter how twitchy the subject.

Back to Mother’s Day.

I am not sure how the hell my mom raised my brother’s and me without killing one of us or one of us ending up in prison.

Maybe thats the true secret to being a successful mother, to not just raise a kid, but to raise a kid that can take care of himself and stand on his own two feet. (Without the prison part.)

And then there is the other side of mothering.

Using the process of elimination, somewhere out there is the world’s worst mother.

And someone just gave her a card and maybe some flowers.

Its not a question of being good at it, maybe its just a question of doing it, surviving the act of being pregnant, giving birth, and then raising your kidlets until they leave the nest.

So to all the mothers out there, good luck and nice job, good or bad.

Much like surviving a war, it has probably left you with some baggage and maybe some scars.

But at least you did it.

And look, you got a card out of the deal.

Good for you.

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Posted by on May 12, 2014 in Uncategorized


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