Crazy Bitch


She sat on her couch staring blankly at the muted television playing reruns of Seinfeld. She could hear waves of mania whispering in her ear, feel it piercing into her bloodstream, pulsing through her body like an oncoming freight train. Now, all she had to do was wait. It was coming…

She smirked at the TV as she thought about what it would be like to rub butter all over George’s bald head. The visual image of this caused her to laugh hysterically until tears rolled down her cheek and her stomach hurt. Her heart was starting to pound out of her chest. She had to get up and go do something. Sitting on the couch just wouldn’t do, not with this type of energy, she had to get out… she needed to explore.

Feeling pretty good about herself, she put on some bright Red lipstick and a short mini skirt then headed off to do some shopping at Holt Renfrew, somewhere she normally never shopped. She tried on a dozen outfits until she found the one that was just right. Without looking at the price she ripped the tags off and walked out wearing the new outfit, her old one sitting in a trash can outside the dressing room.

The store security chased her out onto the street.

“Ma’am STOP right there NOW!”

She turned around with a smoke dangling from her mouth and a raised eyebrow “What?”

“You didn’t pay for that.”

“Oh” she said unsurprised.

She walked back into the store and threw her credit card down onto the counter.

“That will be $345.”

“Sure. Whatev!”

Dressed to the nines she headed back to her car. She cranked Peaches “Fuck the Pain Away” so loud that the bass rattled her windows and sent vibrations through her body. Disgusted onlookers glared at her harshly when they heard the nasty lyrics proudly pouring from her Honda Civic.

People just weren’t driving fast enough. “A bunch of fucking slow motherfuckers” she whispered under her breath. She laid into her horn getting the finger from several drivers around her. She decided to turn down a one way street (going the opposite direction) to make things faster and pulled up directly outside of a pub with loud music and drunk chicks hanging over the patio balcony.

“Perfect” she said.

Illegally parked on the sidewalk she headed inside.

She opened the door and strutted her ass over to the bar, walking with the swagger of a porn star about to collect the award for Best Fuck. Men stared at her hypnotically as she slid her body from side to side smirking with her pouty Red lips.

A loud obnoxious corporate guy shouted “you’re fucking hot”. She stopped in front of him and grabbed his tie, pulling him close to her, then licked his lips and the tip of his nose. She laughed and turned away from him as he watched her walk away, bewildered and turned on, but a little scared.

She sat by herself at the end of the bar. “I’ll have a double shot of Jack Daniels on the rocks” she shouted to the bartender.

“Sure thing” he said

She sat there for an hour or so and drank 4 double shots of JD, turned down 3 offers to buy her a drink, got 6 dirty looks, and stole 1 wallet. A hot Blonde woman strolled up beside her and asked “this seat taken?”

She smirked “it is now”

“I’m Celeste” the girl said, extending her hand


She swayed back and forth to the music and watched Celeste bent over the bar ordering two drinks; one for each of them. Celeste was wearing impossibly tight jeans, a slinky tube top, and some very nice stilettos. After some small talk and a few more drinks the two girls headed to the dance floor and made heads spin when they began dancing provocatively with each other.

“Lets get out of here” said Celeste

They went back to Trix’s house. The TV was still on mute and all the lights in the house were on. The fridge door was slightly open and the phone was off the hook. They sat on the couch for a few minutes and discussed the art in Trix’s living room.

“Do you wanna do something crazy?” asked Trix


“Lets go downstairs and do some painting. I have this thing with being naked and rolling around in paint, then throwing myself at a canvas. It’s awesome and it makes for some pretty crazy art. You’ll love it. Come on.”

The next morning Trix woke up and looked beside her. Celeste was naked with crusty Red, Black and Pink paint covering most of her body. She looked down at her hands, they too were covered in paint.

Her bed was smeared with paint, the sheets would now be drop cloths.

She sat there with wide eyes surveying the carnage of her bed. “Sex, paint, and alcohol… That’s what happened” she thought to herself. Suddenly she burst out laughing waking Celeste, who opened her eyes smiling. She grabbed Trix and pulled her close “You’re a crazy bitch” she said kissing her on the forehead.

“I know” said Trix “I know.”


500 Posts and Still Kickin’


For my 500th post, I’m gonna tell you some intimate and potentially embarrassing secrets about myself… Okay, maybe not totally intimate, but personal stuff none the less. And not anything too embarrassing… I mean, why would I write a post and do nothing but make fun of myself. That would just be stupid. Soooo yeah…

I can never eat a meal that is room temperature, luke, or stone fucking cold. If it ain’t hot, I ain’t eating it! Same goes for coffee, tea and any other hot beverage. There’s a reason why you serve it hot. And if it’s supposed to be cold, guess what?! I don’t want it tepid, warm, or in a sweaty glass.

When the weekend hits its time for Lingo to drink, and when I drink I like to smoke, and when I smoke I have to drink. Literally… I cannot smoke without a drink in hand for me to take sips from. I don’t like going for a smoke on it’s own with no drink to wash it down with.

When I am reading my daughters a bedtime story I go ape shit if they start not listening, interrupting, or checking out of the story. I don’t have to put on all these ridiculous fucking voices and act out every scene with the vigor of a broadway actress… But I do, because I like books, and I want them to fucking like books! So not reading, is not an option… And if they’re not gonna listen, then the book will be launched at the bookshelf and I will exit the room promptly.

I bought a huge honkin’, gas guzzling, pig of an SUV ON PURPOSE…. Because I had an accident on the highway in a MINI Cooper and suddenly felt tiny and vulnerable. My SUV gave me a sense of superiority on the road for a while, but now that I am comfortable driving again it makes me sick. I feel like slashing my own tires and writing “gas pig” on the back window in spray paint… but then, I guess no one would wanna buy it.

Many of my stories involve therapy and psychology type stuff because I happen to know a lot about that world. I go to therapy regularly and have had the same therapist for a year and a half. I’ve also been on a ton of meds (diagnosed with BiPolar disorder) but am no longer taking anything and am managing just fine on my own. Many brilliant minds suffer from madness and mental trauma. Truth be told, my BPD is not all that bad. Sure I’ve had some scary manic moments and some horrendous depressive states, but more often than not, I am just really FUN and SPONTANEOUS when I’m manic, and I just ignore the world for a few days when I’m depressive. I can deal with that.

I just got a new tattoo on Friday, so this has been on my mind. For 12 years (since getting my first tattoo) my mom has been telling me that tattoos are “just a fad” and that I’ll outgrow them and come to resent them all… Even though I haven’t stopped getting them and have never regretted a single one. Even the one I have near my pelvic area, that since having kids, has now been transformed from a small Welsh dragon, to a giant Red barbapapa! The reality is… I am going to be covered. When I am 60, I will probably have 60 tattoos! I will take my girls to get their first tattoo and get one with them!!! I will take my grandkids to get their first tattoo and again… Get one with them! I fucking love body art and I don’t care if that makes me a crazy bitch when I’m in my golden years! It’s more uncommon to NOT have a tattoo these days anyway. My body art is the story of my life, and that story doesn’t end until my life ends.

I host slam poetry events even though I am far from a slam poet. Sure I perform poetry and read my stuff to an audience sometimes, but I am not comfortable doing it and feel nervous every single time. I am only comfortable here, alone, with my computer and my words glowing back at me while a cursor flashes. I’m a writer, not a performer… My words are meant to be read and digested in your own voice. I don’t want to give that voice to you. I am very social online, but sometimes socially retarded in person. I get flustered and weird, and just generally awkward if all of the stars and planets aren’t in perfect alignment for me. People often think I’m weird… And, well, they’re not wrong. That’s why my license plate says “Quirky1”

The TV angers me. If I’m in the house and there’s two TV’s on and nobody watching either one, I will snap. I have to shut them off in about fifteen seconds before I experience total meltdown. The noise and chaos of the TV is incredibly annoying and something that I just hate. My parents used to have the TV on during dinner and it would be so loud and annoying. Nobody would talk because they’d be too busy watching the news, or Wheel of Fortune, or sometimes Jeopardy if it was a late dinner. Think about the act of watching television… I mean you’re sitting there staring at a box instead of talking to your loved one, going outside, or experiencing something different! I’d be perfectly happy without a TV at all. I really don’t watch a lot of TV, and if I do, it’s usually a movie or something that’s On Demand.

I love Japanese Kawaii culture peppered with punk & ska. Tank Girl is one of my comic book idols. I sometimes dress like a comic book character or a post-apocalyptic punk princess. I am not sure I’ll ever really look like “a mom”… Even though I am a mom to two girls. I’m sure that the PTA is going to love me when they meet me in September. I don’t have an Ash blonde helmet, my girls aren’t in soccer, and I don’t drink coffee at the park while gossiping about all the other moms in the hood. And I call myself a mom!

And finally… I’m scared of being normal. Meaning, I never wanna get lame, boring, or settle into a mainstream routine and become a robotic product of society.

Out with a bang


Walter was an 85 year old perv who lived in a retirement community in Niagara on the Lake. His wife of 60 years (Pearl) passed away, giving him a new lease on life. When Pearl died, Walter took up drinking and drugs, gained an interest in prostitutes, began gambling at Casino Niagara (where he often got kicked out for pissing in the water fountain), and died his remaining hair Manic Panic Pillarbox Red.

The staff at the Casino rolled their eyes whenever Walter showed up, usually with some awful rented whore on his arm. He sold his Buick and bought a moped, so his dates didn’t always enjoy their ride… especially if Walter was naked, which sometimes he was. But they were usually high anyway. Walter also had this bad habit of taking his Viagra too early, so the staff at the casino sometimes had to kick him out for reasons other than peeing in the fountain.

One early morning Walter and Destiny (a 40 year old stripper with a nasty crack habit) emerged from the Casino whacked on the rock. Walter began having chest pains. Destiny, with a smoke dangling from her lips stopped dead in her tracks.

“Walter – baby are you okay?”

“I – I – I don’t know pudding pop… My chest… It’s tight… I… I may have had one too many blasts from the ol’ base pipe there”

“We gotta go then. We have to get you back to the motel.”

“Hold up just a minute there my beautiful bag bride, I need to catch my breath first. I have more miles on my odometer than you do, remember?”

Destiny stood there with the smoke in her mouth staring at Walter in absolute fear. She began taking drags of her cigarette without using either of her hands. “You know… Honey, if I get thrown in the slammer for posession again, I won’t be out for a while. I need you to pay me now cuz I gotta go sugar.”

Walter held up his hand “Listen now, don’t go gettin’ all greedy on me now. You know I’m good for it. The plan was that you come back to the motel with me and fuck me for the day.”

A security guard began approaching the odd pair. This must have been a trigger for Destiny who began twitching uncontrollably and talking to herself. Walter remained motionless, clutching his chest.

“Do we have a problem sir?”

“No we don’t have a fucking problem you wanna be, so take your pansy ass back over there with your little billy stick and leave us the fuck alone so we can get back to OUR MOTEL AND FUCK.”

Destiny laughed hysterically and squeezed Walters package, which was still solid.

The rent-a-cop shot them both a death stare and said “You two are a couple of nasty cracker jacks! Get out of here.”

Walter & Destiny put on their helmets and headed back to the Super 8 to get their freak on. Destiny’s ass hung out of her mini skirt, exposing her lumpy thighs and ass, much to the dismay of families and tourists. When they got back to the motel neither of them could locate the key, so the decided that breaking the glass was a better idea.

Destiny, who was missing teeth, smiled at Walter when she noticed a wad of cash on the nightstand. “I’ll take that… Then I’m all yours Honey.”

Walter threw the bills at her and said “here, take it all… I’m gonna go hook up with Pearl after this anyhow. I need some rest.”

About a Word

This is a story about a word…

One day I lost it over this word.
The word was controlling my life, and causing me some strife.
I remember thinking, if I hear this word one more time so help me OPRAH I’m gonna SNAP.

I’ll tell you what the word is, if you promise not to repeat it…
That is of course unless you’re under the age of 12 and then I can’t really blame you, because that’s what you people do! It consumes every fiber of your being!
But I can get mad at you.
And… hey, if you’re under the age of 12, what the fuck are you doing reading this anyway? Shouldn’t you be at school or in bed or something. What kind of parents…

I digress. Distress…. These words make such a mess.

This particular word that I hate, could be something really great. But because I hear it so often and by two people that are only four, and they don’t use it casually or sprinkle it like pepper… they’re FUCKING hardcore. I can’t take it anymore!

The word that I am talking about is “WANT”

Now, I know you might not get it. You might think “Selina you have issues” and you’re not entirely wrong, but your missing the point of my song.

I hear this word 50, 65, 86, 100 times a day. And not by one deafening high pitched little diva of a voice, but by two… because I don’t have a daughter, I have daughters and they gang up on me, they talk continuously, and tell me things to nauseating degrees of repetition and the only time they stop to breathe is when one of them passes the baton to the other sister… while I am left spinning my head, my ears about to explode, my eyes glazed over as I hear “and I want… and I want… want want want want fucking want” until the word WANT becomes like my mortal enemy.

I hate WANT now.
WANT and me are at odds,
in fact I want to KICK WANT’S ASS!

If I was walking down the street and saw WANT, I’d probably throw my purse to the floor and kick it in the balls. Because I don’t know if you know this, but WANT has BIG BALLS. Big hairy ones.

I knew the only thing I could do to beat WANT at it’s own game was to turn my girls against WANT. Make them think WANT was a loser… like the kid in class that eats paste and always gets stuck with the brown crayon.

And so started the classical conditioning. Yes I’m a bad mother.

Day One went a little something like this:

“Mommy I want – ”
“Did you know that little girls that say WANT sometimes spontaneously explode into a flaming ring of fire. Yep, it’s true. Santa was telling me.”


Day Two
“Mommy I want – ”
“Hey – Did you know that the word WANT actually means DON’T WANT. Who knew.”

(Confused Silence)

Day Three
“Guess what I want -”
“WANT was just declared the most disgusting word of the year, did you know that? Ask your teacher, she’ll tell you.”

Day Four
A little hesitant now, but still with the whining…
“Mommy – I want -”

Day Five
First comes the glare, then the tug on my shirt, then a faint whisper “Mommy, I want -”

And I can tell I am winning. WANT is getting weak. WANT is losing!! WANT is becoming my little bitch and I’m FEELING GOOD ABOUT IT.

Honey – whenever you are about to use the word WANT, stop yourself. Remember that WANT is greedy, WANT is ugly, Beautiful princesses like you don’t need to be saying things like “I WANT I WANT”

The phrase “I WANT” can be replaced with much nicer phrases like “I HOPE FOR”, “I WOULD APPRECIATE”, and “I WOULD LIKE”…

There was a long silence while my daughter studied the Littlest Pet Shop commercial for the entire 28 seconds it graced our television. She looked at me questionably while pointing to the TV and said “Mommy… I really NEED to have one of those”.

And that was the day, that I fucking missed WANT.

My Friday Variety Show

Today’s Friday. It’s a good “shoot the shit” kind of day. So I thought I’d outline some of my opinions, which I just LOVE to do being the opinionated super bitch I am. 😉

My viewpoints aren’t always as obscure as people think, but then my opinion doesn’t really count when it comes to analyzing how normal or obscure my own opinions are…does it?

So here are some random opinions, beliefs, and viewpoints I have on various things in life.

Eating: Must eat. No time for taste.
Sex: Just take your pants off
Work: As little as possible
Drink: My fucking face off
Smoke: In one breath
Gym: 30 Min circuit
Wake: Pop tart out of bed
Sleep: Not now
Parenting: Sucks when bribes don’t work
Weight: Fat or thin… no such thing as “healthy”
My art: Never meets my expectations
My writing: Not published… not worthy
Men: Easier to deal with than women, but too horny
Women: Complicated, beautiful, powerful bitches
Religion: Causes too much war, therefore evil
Spirituality: God is within yourself, so stop looking up
Our World: Thanks Bush. You’re a god damn rocket scientist!
The Environment: Recycling… it’s a very simple concept!
Humans: More community… less tanning
Politics: Aren’t always bad…
Race: Need not be identified
Meat: Why don’t you google where your food comes from
Love: The most frustrating thing we do
The Office: Breeding ground for passive aggressiveness
Technology: Making us relate more to a machine… and less to a person
Television: Is going to be extinct one day (replaced)… Bye bye Seinfeld reruns ((shudder))
Vanity: Is going to become disgusting… So get in that botox while you still can
Drugs: Open your mind, as long as you don’t stay on them
Family: People who teach you the value of differing opinions
Reading: Keeps your mind alert, stops you from having a panic attack
Anxiety: Far too prevalent in today’s society… too much choice, pressure, and stress
Pets: Should never watch you have sex… it’s just weird okay.

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A Grave Diagnosis

I was watching (yet another) film about 9-11 while looking up symptoms on the internet in an attempt to self-diagnose my illness. Of course by the time I finished looking up my symptoms, my prognosis wasn’t good and possibly terminal. Sadly, I suspected it was a severe case of Botulism.

The further I read about it, the tighter my chest became. I was like a slow trainwreck in perpetual motion becoming sicker by the sentence. The bacteria, Clostridium Botulinum are among the most poisonous toxins known to exist. The fact that the illness is extremely rare, didn’t seem to affect my diagnosis.

I jumped up and ran for the kitchen to grab a paper bag. I sat in a chair with my head between my legs blowing into the bag saying “it’s okay… it’s okay… I’ll get help”.

Around this time AJ walked in the door from a poker game he had been at. He looked at me with a worried sideways look and said “Are you okay? What have you been doing? I thought you were in bed.”

“I was in bed. I was watching a 9-11 movie, but then I started looking up my symptoms to-”

“WHAT?? I told you not to do that anymore! Babe you’re making it worse. You’re catastrophizing your illness”

“Maybe that might have happened in the past, but not this time. I am sure I have it right. I have all of the symptoms. Muscle weakness, blurred vision, trouble swallowing… It’s all here, look I printed it out.”

“You don’t have botulism…”

“Oh and what are you a fucking doctor now?”

“Are you?”

“No but I know how I feel”

“You can’t diagnose yourself on the internet… You just can’t! You haven’t taken into account things like blood pressure, heart rate, temperature… all of those things matter.”

“So what are you calling me a liar now?”

“No… I’m not saying that at all… You just. Well you just have a vivid imagination and sometimes when you read things it makes you believe them. Just like why I tell you not to watch movies like the one you were watching before bed, because you wake up thinking your dying.”

“Well I need to know if I have Botulism.”

So we went to the emergency room and checked in at the triage. AJ whispered to me while we were waiting that I shouldn’t mention the Botulism and let them draw their own conclusions. I disagreed and promptly declared “I have Botulism” when the nurse asked me why I was there.

She looked like she was trying not to laugh, which angered me, so I presented her with the information I had printed out with the highlighted symptoms I had been experiencing. She took my vitals and asked me to sit in the waiting room until I was called.

“What the fuck? This disease could kill me, and she wants me to go wait patiently in the waiting room”

“Babe you don’t know what it is yet, you just think it’s Botulism”

“Well I think I know my body better than that whore.”

“Don’t get mad. That won’t help. Let’s just wait until we’re called”

Two hours, a broken leg, a bleeding head, an old bird, and a stomach wound later… we were called in. We went into another room, where we waited another 45 minutes for a doctor to come in.

The doctor walked in smiling and said “so… I hear we have a case of Botulism here.”

I glared at him and said “very funny doctor. nice to see you’re so compassionate.”

He asked me some questions and checked me out and gave me the diagnosis of STOMACH FLU!!

We left with some antibiotics, but I still wasn’t impressed. I didn’t believe that it was the stomach flu. AJ was just happy to be leaving the hospital, it was 4AM.

The next morning AJ woke me up and brought me some toast with jam and tea to wash down my antibiotics with. I told him that I didn’t think I should have to take these pills for a diagnosis that was wrong.

“Just take the pills… They’re antibiotics, they’ll help you even if it’s not the stomach flu”

“They’re too big… they’re like horse pills. They’re just gonna get lodged in my throat, then I’ll choke and die, which I guess is better than a Botulism death.”

So I took the pills. And eventually I did get better, and didn’t die.