An open letter to the man who screamed at me (this time).

(Edited to add: This all went down last Thursday, and I gave myself a week to see if that would elicit a gentler, more forgiving response to the man in question. It didn’t.) *** Dear Sir, Not half an hour ago, you shouted at me with rage in your voice and disgust in your eyes. You- you– stepped in front of my (stopped!) van at the edge of my alley, steps from my garage. “Honk your EFFING* HORN.” (*You did not say “effing.”) {Read More}

What I know/what I have to believe/what I have to do

I almost posted this yesterday. I almost deleted it five times. I almost started it with a phrase like, “Okie doke, America, you wanted a non-politician? Congrats- you got one. Good luck landing that jet.” But I didn’t. Because a) it would seem like sour grapes and b) mixing metaphors is borderline inexcusable. (Although the bar for “borderline inexcusable” has been set real, real low. Hey-o!) No, but seriously, what the actual fuck. No, I didn’t mean to write that. Okay, {Read More}