01.15.18

…and I apologize that now, I only write when something troubles me.

“Sticks and stones may break my bones, but words will never harm me.”  Christian Recorder 1862. 

The above statement (adage) may need revision, because we all know that words do hurt and can cause countless unseen wounds.  Today, I would like to revisit some words and statements.  Please be aware that foul language will ensue, so if you’re not okay with that, DO NOT CONTINUE! 

Some things are better left unsaid.

• Chill out.  Leave me alone and go to bed.
• I need a week away from your psychotic, lunatic self.
• I sacrifice my Saturday’s for you.
• I brought wood for your fire pit party.  OH!  Which 6 people were at. 
• Stop talking, I don’t want to hear anymore.
• That was a deliberate sigh.  Just reserve your judgements
• If we weren’t together would you be able to handle it?
• You’re a dick.  You’re a bitch.  You’re an asshole.
• It was good for a minute and then she got her fucking period.
• You’re so fucking toxic.
• Jesus Christ.  Stop whimpering and get a hold of yourself.
• You don’t understand.  I can do this alone.  Fuck you.  I see that you’re completely vacant now.  Thanks.
• What’s wrong?!  Huh.  If I were you I’d stay away from me for the next…oh…12 hours or so.
• NO!  HA!  I’m talking to my supportive imaginary girlfriend.
• Should we set your house on fire so you can feel how I feel?!!!
• Asshole.
• Shut up.  I don’t want to talk anymore.
• You can go to fucking hell.  Fucking with a capital FUCKING.  You’re a fucking dick.
• Stop talking at me.  You are the naggiest person I’ve ever met.  You’re fucking crazy.
• I can’t deal with you being manic.  You have the face of “I’m going to fight.”  Oh.  Great.  Now you’re crying.  
• What the fuck is wrong with you??!?!
• BLAH BLAH BLAH!!!!  
• You’re fucking crazy, psycho, psychotic.  Jesus CHRIST stop your sobbing.
• Please try and figure out your stories.  They're too long.  
• I don’t want to eat cold food.  Stop dancing.
• We’re just going in circles with this conversation.  (gets up and walks away)
• I don’t care about what you’re saying.  I don’t want to know.
• You have nothing.
• Don’t cry.  There’s no crying.  No fucking crying.
• Fuck you, you fucking piece of shit.
• I’m not going to share anything anymore.  I’m not giving anything.  I don’t need to know you and you don’t need to know me.
• You should burn all of those.  You know, for clarity.  (my photos)
• You can suck it.
• Go to hell.
• Seriously!!  FUCK OFF.

• I wish you didn’t even exist.  

These are excerpts from 2014-2018.  This is more than four years of my life.  There are bits and pieces that are not written out.  These are words that were said to my face.  This is something that no human should endure no matter how many times the other says, “I love you.”.

Ps.  I'm sorry it takes me so long to write stuff and things.  I'll get better at it (because I KNOW you're at the edge of your seat err'day waiting for soooooommmmething!)  ;)

11/10/16

Things I hate:

1. Your piss bottles
2. You.  Stealing from my change jar
3. You.  Stealing my cigarettes
4. You.  Eating my food
5. You.  Taking advantage of a free place to live.
6. You.  Not flushing the toilet after pissing or…….4 wads of toilet paper.
7. You.  Making my house stink.
8. You.  Not respecting anything.
9. You.  Needing to be treated as an adult, yet acting like your 14.
10. You.  Never offering to help with anything.
11. You.  Needing to be “reminded” to wash your sheets.
12. You.  Not even trying to get a job.
13. You.  Right now.

And……she needs help.  A little back up.  A little “I got your 6, love”.  A little…bit…of passion and care.  Because this isn’t her responsibility.  She just opened her house up.  Offered all of this…to be taken advantage of.  It.  Stops.  Now.  

Things I love:

1. Notes and/or flowers on my truck!!!!!!!
2. Cheese sticks…although, I seem to be out right now.  ACK!
3. So many [CRUSH](es)…forEVER!
4. Alone time.  (shhhhhhhh)…because she’s actually writing.
5. Snuggles.
6. Intelligent conversations in which you respect my opinions and actually listen to them and then respond accordingly without calling me names or completely ignore me.  
7. My pup…who may eat you, but loves me to the moon and back.
8. How humans light up when you smile at them.
9. How humans completely relax when you [CRUSH] them.
10. Trust.
11. Life.
12. New country music (alt-so……shhhhh!!!)

10/31/16

Hallows Eve.  Here are some talking points:

1. I’m sorry I couldn’t carry on the genes.  It’s just not in my blood (sic).  Not in my nature (nurture?).  The child would have been amazing and awesome and loving and kind and would have been able to destroy nations with it’s [CRUSH](es).  But, twas not meant to be.  Whoever has my child……..treat them well and make sure they understand love.
2. You taught me all of the things and I grew up to love working with my hands and not the cooking/cleaning/shopping/hum drum of an existence.  I don’t know how you did that or if you even love it.  Imma girl.  On the outside.  Human on the inside.  So, she loves Tonka trucks and gardening and wearing jeans and boots (f’ them heals)!!!  And cuddles and getting dinner made for her and flowers.  And getting dirty and hurting herself with tools and being…..her.
3. Your yarn is being auctioned off in the trees as homes for the squirrels and crows…I can’t knit.  You know(knew) this the minute you tore out 10 rows that I had meticulously knitted, because I had dropped a stitch.  So it’s………in the trees.  And they love you for it.  As do I.  Happy Hallows Eve.  I miss you.
   
   
   Our lineage dies with me.  And there’s no one to take my shit when I go, so that’s my (their) punishment.  All of this amazingness dies with me.  I would say (pictures to follow)—of the stuff, creepos, not my death!!!!  But…ain’t no one got time for that!
   
   
   I love you Margaret and Rene
   Blessed Be.
   
   
   ps.  This should have been WAY longer, but you get the gist…     

8/13/16

He gave me everything.  Everything that a father could give.  And of course, it was rocky at times.  Moments when you think as a small human, “Is this right?  Is this what family is?”  Moments when you realize that you’re the boy that he always wanted to teach.  Moments when you have Tonka trucks and a dirt pile and that makes you soooooooooo happy.  Moments when yes, you know what dad needs when he says, “gun”, “driver”, put your earmuffs on…and you hand them over and get in his way because you desperately need to see and learn about what he’s doing.  And then he looks at you and smiles and then explains (in SO MUCH detail) what’s happening.  You learn all the words (kind of, because your 10) Plate, joist, decking, sill, carrying beam, neutral, hot, ground, vent, chop saw, circulating saw, jig saw, sawz allllllllll…and for a time you take it for granted.  Until that day that you go to college and get a degree in Architecture and realize that he gave you that from the start.

And the hugs.  CRUSHING RIB breaking hugs.  That meant:  Even if I don’t say much or talk about emotions or know what the hell is going on in your life, I love you more than this hug will EVER express.  Because that nurse over there ———->  she will one day see you walk in to radiology before I go into a 2 hour surgery, and she will know that you are the one that I’ve been speaking of.  The one that I’m so proud of.  The one that I’m rather frightened of.  The one that I brought up to be strong and independent and loving and (sometimes) forgiving and who she needs to be.  Because that nurse knew me the moment I walked through those stupid couple 6’  wide doors. 

And to all the boys, ever.  Those guys that had a gun brandished before them, those guys who were told to go home and take a shower, those guys who were informed that they were no longer allowed in my parent’s house, those guys that my dad said weren't worth it/couldn’t understand me/wouldn’t let me be…….me.  I stand before you.  In front of my dad.  Because I am the stronger one (in body), because I NEVER imagined my father to be weak in human muscle form.  Because you can never envision that until that one day.  When it happens.  And you stand up and become all that you need to be.  To be that human who will reach over and cock that shotgun, sneer and reprimand you, tell you that you don’t respect me.  Step up, in front of my father and realize he taught me all that I know and that every moment he acted upon something, I cataloged it.  Because it would become me.  I am the one now.  I am the one that you should feel apprehensive about approaching, simply because I don’t have a daughter, but because I was a daughter.  And I am every daughter.

He taught me love.  There is history and it could be hours upon hours of my brothers and I discussing history, but I saw the transition.  The time when my mother made him who he is today.  And it’s been 41 years…because that’s how old I am(????)…and there is, “I’m scared, but I’m supposed to be this strong human who doesn't need anyone to help…so I can never.  Ever.  Ask for help.”  

My love of trucks.

My love of guns.

My love of the smell of cut wood.

My love of fighting.

My love of hugs.

My love of bedtime stories.

My love of the quiet.

My love of being with someone and just sitting.

My love of being tucked in.

My love of people who can't sing.

My love of hugging.

My love of humans saying, “I love you.”

My love.  of.  Love.  

—this is unedited and I have sweat in my eyeballs, so…….real life.``

8/2/16

Today:  Sport DOCTOR (again), because my knee hurts sometimes and swells up to three times it’s normal knee size, and just randomly gives out, which hurts like hell, but is HILARIOUS to witness!!

I saw him the other week and he f’d with my knee SO MUCH that it was swollen by the time I got home.  He ordered an MRI…I brought home a pamphlet of exercises to do.  

I had my MRI four days ago, which is an amazing and terrifying experience!!  AMAZING because frackin’ MAGNETS man!!  Basically scanning your body and making multiple images of the things!!!!!  WHA?!?!  Terrifying because I work in construction and…….no(???), I don’t have any metal shards in my body that may be ripped out while I’m in this loud throbbing machine.  Sorry, can you turn up Blake and Eva because [THROMMMMM THROMMMMM THROMMMM].  …WAIT, why can I fell a vibration in my foot shooting up to my leg?!?!?

Fast forward to today when I went for a follow up.  It’s not strained or swollen or stretched or anything that those stupid exercises (that I couldn't even do) will fix.  My meniscus be torn.  That cushioning between the femur an tibia…yea, that’s rather important.  It’s a horizontal tear on the interior of my right knee.  And you know what the first thing that went through my mind was?  How am I supposed to keep up the Panda awesome walk with a FUCKED UP KNEE?!?!  SRSLY!  My walk is signature…and I can’t do it anymore…or work.

No ladders.

No carrying extreme loads.

Avoid stairs.

No crouching.

Wear this brace everyday.

Don’t live.

Waste away into nothingness.

And I know it’s just a knee and whatever, but it feels weird.  I’m the only female.  I have to prove myself every second.  This.  This is not HALPING!  She doesn’t want an office job.  She wants to make shit happen.  Yes, she’s 41 and working in a job that may be detrimental, but it’s what she loves; so please.  Please don’t take this away from me.  Please.  

The are two procedures.  One to remove the tear, one to repair it.  “Recuperation times vary greatly.  And then there is the matter of crutches.”  NO NO NO NO NO NO!!!!!!  How am I supposed to jump in every amazing rain puddle that happens while I’m on stupid crutches???  NO.  My parents need me right now.  Without crutches.  I need to work.  Without crutches.  I need to be able to get into my amazing truck.  Without crutches.  I need to drive my Jeep.  Without crutches.  I’ve never had crutches in my life and……..PANDA says, “this is not happening!!!”  

Venting.  I know what’s best.   

7/31/16........AGAIN?!?!

7/31/16

Can we talk about teenagers?  Just for a hot second?

Here’s some information on me:

AF Brat.  Went to 7 schools starting from Kindergarten to Senior.  I now have the most amazing friends EVER!!!  Father, as you know, was super protective:  guns shown (actual shotguns), insults made (go home and take a shower), bouncer like at the front door, etc.  I had a car at 16 which was a present from Deutschland (1973 convertible super beetle—Tabitha).  I learned how to drive her in Shippensburg, PA.  My first job was when I was 17.  At the Log Cabin on Bailey’s Island in Maine, when I was living in an efficiency apartment with my dad.  I was a dishwasher (and a full blown vegetarian) working in a fish restaurant.  I REEKED of fish when I came home.  after a few months I got “promoted” to server…and then that duchebag complained about me “forcing my views on him”…so back to dishwasher and prep-cook (err’one LOVES peeling those intestinal tracks from the shramps!!!).  Then on to working at McDonald’s where I got to use the card of “tell me who your Commanding Officer (CO) is” time and time again.  And trying to get through Senior year in a school where on the first day some dude said, “Jesus, you must be so hot in those clothes!”.  I didn’t realize that Bath, ME was just the same as Shippensburg, PA.  Here’s your gershdern frenchfries jerk face.  Then…Porches.  Brunswick Maine.  

Because at 18 (which I could not WAIT for), I moved out of the house that was loving and caring and meant the word to me, but I needed to “rebel”.  So I did.  And lost RSDI.  And lost EVERY scholarship I gained with that 3.8 (almost kicked out, almost didn’t graduate, said f’you to all the free monies).  I didn’t ask for anything from them.  I got sick.  And thought Menthol cigarettes would heal me.  My rat died because the garage we were living wasn’t warm enough.  My favorite cat (vampire reference, blah blah BLAH) ran away……..and I should have followed him into the woods.  

Become me.  BA in Architecture, living alone, making shit happen.  Because…No one wants to disappoint their parents(?).  Because you never want to disappoint yourself.  EVER.  And at 18 I was making my way to $65,000/yr by placing stickers on CDs and tapes and an efficient manner!  …I had no idea.  

That’s all you need to know about me.

Here’s the other story:

18.  Didn't graduate because there was “too much pressure” from outside forces.  Got kicked out of one home.  Choices of….shelter……..or Panda’s home.  Haven't met the dog, so everything should be ohhhhhhkay!  I gave you a room and space to store your clothes (and a dog bite).  And towels. And said it was okay to “vape” OUTSIDE my house, even though you said you were 18 and you could do WHAT YOU WANT!!  I gave you everything and turned a blind eye.  You don’t have a job.  You don’t have any groceries (stop eating our food!!!).  You’re almost out of toiletries, and then there are the rules that were explained to you before you randomly moved into my guest room.

So here are the rules again:

You will make your bed.

You will buy your own groceries. (ADDENDUM: stop eating our food!!!!!!!!)

You will do your own dishes. 

You will wash your sheets every week.

You will do your own laundry.

Don’t touch my shit.  Ever.

Lock the doors when you leave.

And here’s my question.  Should I have been a part of this decision?  Should someone have sat down with me and said, “I know you never wanted kids, and there was a time that you wanted to foster a 15 yr. old boy, but is this what you really want….right now………..right.  now…..Now.  

And I’m alone tonight with Chris Isaak Pandora and writing stuff, so it seems ok right now.  Maybe.  If you eat ANY of my cheese sticks, Imma punch you in the throat neck.  SRSLY.  You’ve already gotten after my mayonnaise………..Girl got trained by mom who was possibly…nothing (tra-la-la)!!!!!!!!!    

I see you.  Get a job.  Live.  Life.  NOW!!!!!!

7/31/16

This is a venting post.  And you’ve heard it before from me, but SRSLY I need to do it again. 

I.  Am.  So.  Sick.  And.  Tired.  Of.  Your.  Phone.  All y’all.  (I’m included in this too, just in case you thought I was getting up on some horse that was way too tall for it’s own good).  I am tired of hanging out with you and realizing that the device in your hand is more important than the words that are coming out of my face.  I like to tell stories, just as EVERY SINGLE human being since the beginning of time did, and when I’m in the middle of one…you pick up your phone.  When I’m starting one, you pick up your phone.  Just as the story is about to end…f’ you, phone!!!  So, what is it?  What happened to actual human interaction?  Is there truly something so much more important on the other end of that interstellar bandwidth that takes you away from me every time?  Why is it when I explain a scenario that just happened, you have this massive, uncontrollable desire to look at that black rectangular magic maker?  Why is it that at the end of said narrative there is no reaction…because you haven’t honestly heard what I’ve said.  Silence.  And one is left alone in the parking lot, loading groceries, thinking, "Crap.  I was totes just talking to myself this whole time.”  And then you want to reach out and poke the other human in the gut just to make sure they’re real.  Because silence.  And nothingness.  And then frustration.  

No, I don’t need you to drop everything when I walk in the room (JK.  Give me a frackin’ hug, dammit).  No, I don’t need you to stop your business transactions.  No, I don’t need you to halt your life just for me.  But…….guys…..what happened?  Do you remember the website I told you about?  I thought you would really enjoy it…hehloo?  Do you remember the dresses I bought for summer the other day?  I thought you would be excited…hehloo?  Do you remember my tears when I was telling you a story about a child I met, because I thought it was inspirational…hehloo?  Do you remember…me?

Hello?

Irrelevant/Invisible Residence.  I’m sorry, she’s not available right now, may I take a message? 

…(Ps.  she’s prolly writing on a piece of PAPER right now!!!  WHA?!?!?).  Just leave a message.  (eye roll).

Perhaps it’s the fact that I’m 41 and I remember the times of the actual phone.  That one where you couldn’t stalk, stare at, fight with, debate with, “like”, “share”, flirt with, etc. from a box of “anonymity”.  Those times when you were taught that the most important number to know was -911-…BUT!!  Don’t ever dial it until the absolute disaster happens…yea.  Ok, mom.  You know I dialed that just to hear what happened on the other end, right???  …and then profusely apologized to the woman and explained (in a 7 year old way) exactly why I had dialed the emergency number: total mystery on the other side of this mustard colored pushbutton phone hanging on the wall that I can barely reach.  Side note:  first time I was called “hun”.  <3  

Regression.

Ah, shit.  Is THIS why you don’t listen anymore?!?!

Stupid bogs and my rules of not deleting anything that’s not relevant…[HRMPH].

What were we talking about???  Here.  Let me toss in some joke about how stupid I am in order to make you laugh…

Hehloo?

Oh.  That’s right.

The things and stuff happen where plans fall through, people go their separate ways, others get “tired”, dinner fails, drinks out-fizzle, movie dates become single dates, talking…subsides.  Conversation ceases. 

…and I spoke with someone once, in a restaurant and said, “I never want to be that couple over there, not speaking to each other, so thank you!!”  

Life has a weird way of punching you in the face.  Because YOU’RE NOT SPEAKING TO EACH OTHER ANYMORE!!!!!  

Guys!  WTF.  HAPPENED?!?!

6/22/16

Overheard in Portland, Maine (that may be copyrighted and stuff...sawreeee!!):

"I was really looking forward to seven days.  Seven days of happiness.  Seven days of not fighting, no exasperated sighs, no walking out, no slamming doors, no angry silence, no eye rolling, no glances at other women, no feeling judged, no(thing).  Just happy.  Just fun.  

It’s been three.  On the fourth there shall be all of the above."  

And why does she look forward to just seven?!?!  Why not 50 days?  Why not 10 years?!?!  What makes her need at least seven?  Is it because she’s only had a few in the past years?  Is it because she feels inadequate and unwanted?  Is it because she feels like her jokes aren’t funny, her hair isn’t perfect, her nails are dirty, she dresses “like a boy”, she has no conversation to give?  Why?!  

Just tell her why. 

I’ll be over here at the bar…sitting quietly and listening.    

6/22/16

I met a small human today (last week, and the week before).  She’s ADORABLE.  With ATTITUDE.  Attitude that is taught and actually concerns me.  Alt-so!  OMG!!!  HAI!!!  I missed you blog thingy.  

-What are you doing?!?!

-Working, babes!  Why?

-No you’re not!!!

-Yes, I am.

-No you’re not

-Yes……………I am!

-You don’t look like you’re working.

-That’s because I’m talking to you right now.

(tongue stick out).  By her, not ME!!!

-You’re stupid

(Panda has sad…)

-Why do you have that thing on your leg?  (knee brace)

-Because it hurts and this makes it feel better.

-How did you hurt it?

-I don’t know!  It just happens sometimes.

——fast forward from a ton of back and forth——

-I like it that you’re hurt, so I can make fun of you.

(Panda has sad…again)

So, she’s smart and engaging.  She’s beautiful in every way…except the interaction part.  And a part of me wants to steal her away.  To bring her home and teach her that, YES!!!  Voice your opinions!  YES!!!  Say what you want!!  YES!!  Be who you are!!!  …but I feel that who she is at this point is a parrot.  She is somehow mimicking what is said to her and she feels that it’s ok(?), expected(?), condoned(?), natural(?), socially acceptable(?), to speak to other humans as such.  Dear Tiny Human,  It’s NOT OKAY.  I know you need attention.  I know you need a hug.  I know you need someone to recognize that you are extremely smart and witty, but I can’t be that human for you.  I will slightly engage you each and every day.  I will tell you that I love your hair style/dress/socks/attitude/etc., but I CAN NOT do any more.  I wish I could, love.  I wish I could. 

11/18/14

Wanted:  Roommate

STAT.

$1000/month includes:

—ALL OF THIS AWESOME STUFFS!!!—

1. Roof over your head.
2. Heat
3. Hot water
4. Gas
5. Laundry
6. Electricity
7. Internets, which includes the World Wide Web!!!
8. Maybe a shared phone plan?
9. Yard
10. Fire pit
11. Storage
12. So.  Many.  CDs.  (Don’t f’n scratch them, man!!)
13. iPod dock for those other tunes
14. Your very own room!!!  With a full size bed (if needed)
15. Roaming freedom of the entire house.  That’s like 1250 sq. ft. (not including the dimly lit basement…where the washer and dryer are.)
16. Parking for 1-3 cars (outside…you shovel ‘em out though!)
17. Fully stocked kitchen.  By this I mean equipment and tools…I ain’t got much food, but you are welcome to eat my food because it’ll prolly go bad anyway.  Disclaimer:  Don’t.  Touch.  The.  Cheese Sticks.  EVER.  

$1000/month includes:

—ALL OF THIS…(ehem)…OTHER STUFFS!!—

1. Golden Retriever/Chow Chow mix that may or may not eat your face off.

2. Gangsta rap blasting at 9am or 1am…or Fleetwood Mac…or Bikini Kill…or Nickelback

3. Keeping all of your personal shiz in your room

4. Not touching any of my stuff unless otherwise authorized to.  

5. Quiet hours: 10-1(ish) depending on the day and my work schedule…because I may need a nap

6. Sharing these chores: mowing the lawn, raking, shoveling, etc.

7. Knowing that I will look in your room and be disappointed by the state of it.

8. Notes left by me to you accompanied by fun sparkly stickers!!!!  These may be passive aggressive or they may just be amazing notes to you!!!  …you’ll never know!!!!

9. Did I mention the dog?

10. Knowledge that on Saturday night there may be a lot of noise in the kitchen because we hoop and do headstands in the kitchen.  You’re welcome to join…otherwise get a white-noise machine.

11. I smoke, drink, and rabble rouse in the house.  Thassa mines!  I DO WHAT I WANT!!  As a side note, I’m also a wee bit OCD, so it’s clean and (usually) smells awesome…aka not of whiskey and cigarettes.

There might be something that I’ve forgotten…stay tuned.

7/18/14

(sigh)  It's July 18th and I just found out that Abraham has appealed the verdict from June 24th concerning the incident of harassment from May 3rd.  Sooooooooooo...yea.

We'll just keep fighting.  We got this!  #yellowcab

6/24/14

Annnnnnnnnnnd...WE WON!  

Portland suspends taxicab company's license

05/15/14

This is more information concerning the case against Yellow Cab and Abraham Lembarra:

City seeks suspension, fine for taxi driver accused of verbally abusing women.

And yes, this has been ongoing for 10 days now...if you're keeping track.

There's also this post on iHollaback.org, which is an amazing forum to stop street harassment!

Amber's story

05/08/14

As a follow up to the experience I, and as we have found out many others, have gone through this amazing man and his friend did some research and have since posted this:

Meet Yellow Cab, the company (and its owner) behind the harassment claims

Again, I cannot express how much I appreciate all of the support, re-posting, linking, research, and positive comments that we all have received...I love you.

05/03/14

I worked brunch today.  It’s been a rough week, but the time has come to have a talk with my best friend.  One on one.  So grab yourself a drink and let’s sit outside so I can explain to you how it made me feel…for realz.  And yea, there were tears and real words and apologies and tough love talk and finally, in the end, a hug.  

But this isn’t a story of that, because well, you know I share a lot, but sometimes you just have to keep that inside…this is a story of what happened to both of us after we hugged.  After we had worked things out.  After we had shared a moment in life that made us both understand that we still love each other.  

This is a story of that time when a cab driver pulled up to the curb right in front of where we were standing outside of the restaurant.  That part isn’t odd, because it’s a restaurant and a ton of people get dropped off at the front door.  The “odd” part was…careful, there are a lot of swear words and inappropriate connotations that will now happen, so if you have issues with that STOP READING THIS!  Right MEOW!!  …the driver of said taxi cab (Yellow Cab:  http://www.maineyellowcab.com/home.html) rolled down the passenger side window and yelled out to us, “Hey ladies!”.  We both looked over assuming he was going to ask us a question…maybe he’s lost?  Maybe he needs to know if said restaurant is still serving food?  Maybe.  But nope.  Here is what he said:  “Ladies!  So, this guy (points to the passenger), it’s his birthday today and I told him I would find him some nice girls for his birthday!”  My best friend, being who she is responds immediately with, “Well, too bad for him.  We’re not nice.”  Meanwhile, Amber has immediately been thrust into the ear ringing, adrenaline pumping, red rage and stands there staring…dumbfounded.  He laughs and says, “All the better!  Come on!  It’s his birthday!!”  Of course the passenger and his two friends in the back laugh and clap…so, I say, “Drive on.  Now.”  He doesn’t and proceeds to say, “WHAT?!  What’s wrong with you?  Just get in.  Have some fun!”  
And that is when I slowly walk to the cab trying desperately to set it on fire with my mind.  My first thought is, well, I do have this lit cigarette in my hand and I could very easily just toss it into the cab…hopefully right onto someone’s lap…so it would burn…through…his pants…his crotch…because obviously this guy should not be allowed to own his man parts.  Instead I lean over into the window, real close to “birthday boy” and say in the tone my mum uses the statement “I’m very disappointed in you”, “Drive on now before it gets ugly.  You’re on dangerous ground right now.”  The driver laughs and says to me, “Ooooooo!  Do that again!  Your angry face is f*cking hot!”  WHAT??!!  
“Drive NOW.”  
“Oh, baby!  Yea!  Do it again!!!”  
“Right.”  I pull out my phone and record the phone number to Yellow Cab (207-518-3563) and calmly ask him his name.
“Why you need my name?  You gonna call me?  Just get in!”
“Name.  Now.”
“John.  HAHAHAHAHA!  It’s John you miserable c*nt”  Good luck with being awful to everyone in your life.  I’m sure it’ll get you far in life, b*tch.”

…So.  Yea.  You guys know me well enough that with those words spewing out of his mouth I wanted to rip the roof off the cab, grab him by the throat and hurl him into oncoming traffic…unfortunately, I have not perfected my superpowers (yet).  He drove.  This is also why I am not allowed to own any form of firearm, because I would have taken care of this leech on society.  Instead I said, “F*ck you, you misogynistic pig.”

That’s when I dialed the number for the cab company in order to file a complaint, because that’s what adults do!  In my younger days I prolly would have chased after the cab punched it and/or kicked it resulting in only hurting myself in the process…so, I make a phone call.  

“Yellow Cab.”
“Hi, I would like to file a formal complaint against one of your drivers please.”  …see??  All nice and professional!
“Sure!  Hold on a minute, let me get a pen.  Can you tell me his name?”
“Yes, John.”
“Oh!  John!  Yes, I know him!  Can you give me the fleet number and license plate number?”
“No, unfortunately I can’t, but he’s heading towards St. John street on Congress with 3 male passengers.”
“Hmmmm…well if you don’t have a taxi number or plate number there isn’t much I can do.”
“Uhm.  Ok.  I would still like to file the complaint.”
“OH!  SURE!  Tell me what happened! …and why you’re so angry!”

As a side note, this should have been the first hint that something was off…well that and the fact that the “dispatcher” sounded oddly like the cab driver.  

So, I proceed to tell him the story.

“Oh, that’s a very good story!  No wonder you’re so upset!  Because you’re a miserable bitch and you want to make everyone around you just as miserable so you can make yourself feel better.  You skinny whore.  No wonder you don’t have a boyfriend!  You know I would date you, but I don’t like skinny ass c*nts!  You know what you should do??  You should drive to the grocery store right now.  No seriously, right now and buy a zucchini because that’s the only way you’re ever gonna get any!”

“Okay.  Wow.  I need your name now, I guess.”

“F*ck off c*nt.  Go to the store.  Get a zucchini and make sure it’s the smallest one you can find, because your p*ssy is small.”

NOTE:  I almost started laughing because a. The situation was too ridiculous to be happening and b. Uhmmmmm…wait…isn’t that a good thing?!  ANYWAY…

“Alright.  I just want you to know that I will make sure everyone I know is privy to this situation and not to use Yellow Cab ever.”

“Ok whore.  Wait.  You have a television show??  What are you a rich white b*tch with connections?!  How are you going to do that??  Yellow Cab is EVERYWHERE!  We’re viral c*nt!  You can’t do anything about this!!  Go f*ck yourself with that zucchini!!”

“And now I am going to call the police on you.  Thank you.”

“Yea.  Go call the cops b*tch!  You can’t do anything about this you angry, miserable b*tch!!”

[CLICK]
…dial cops.
The rest of the story is rather uneventful.  I ran inside to let my boss know what happened and that the cops were going to show up, but that I would ask them to pull around the corner to speak with them because, hey, it’s his restaurant.  I spoke with the police and they said they would try and find this guy and “give him a talkin’ to”…whatever that means.

So this is me filing my formal complaint against Yellow Cab.  You can share this with everyone.  Please.  No one needs this scumbag driving around.  And yes, I do remember what you look like, so you should proceed with caution because I will now make sure I have mace on me at all times.