Kei Truck Enthusiast

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I just assumed it was totally pointless but this person has ancestors from Canada who left even earlier than mine did and it worked!

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Me and my school administrator style keys are offended

It got my goat. Maybe my effortless bouffant looks good to me.

If the flirting angle, perhaps don’t do it on the main gate to an MA2. I have absolutely nothing better to do than call ol MA1 down at the precinct and complain. MA1 did it to me the first time, he gotta live with his example now.

Like okay sure I looked like someone’s wife or an O. That still doesn’t mean rub my nose in it. I’m a proud hen. Card carrying!

Still who is you, to rescind a ‘ma’am’? They don’t charge for those, you wont get a refund.

I might have to put on makeup if I keep looking this tired. I doubt I remember how, but perhaps a swipe of powder will help.

Me, with my fuck ass bob looking very 1960’s: *pulling up to the gate* Gate Guard: How goes it Ma’am? Me: Good evening. Gate Guard: your ID says E5, I rescind my ‘ma’am’. Me: Thank you for your time.

Dear Work Widower, I love you. Please be safe. Im counting on going to look for you when you get back. I expect to be bitched out for it.

Hey man, dress for the job you want

Naw she was business up top, party on bottom. I thought maybe she walked out the store without her skirt.

Blazer with spandex booty shorts is definitely a fashion choice.

“Just have some diet cola and a burger and shut the fuck up” it’s Lent, and its not like Catholics to opt out of suffering.

My buddy at work is probably gonna be like “why are you avoiding meeee” and Im gonna have to be like “because your wife is probably freaking out and you can’t have ALL the women in your life melting down.”

There are a lot of feelings and coping happening and Im really thankful Im doing it all on a day off

Trying a vegetarian chili cheese baked potato

Debating if a burger will fix me.

Vélo cargo Bullitt bleu stationné devant une pizzeria, fermée, aux volets du même bleu, dans une rue de Montmartre à Paris.

Mars 2021, Montmartre, Paris.
#Bullitt

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The alarm goes off at 4 am and I have to take advantage of the day off to do POAs and paperwork. I cannot find enough comfort to sleep though.

I’ll have to start a novena.

It’s a weird thing.

Im texting the family care plan guardians, going over the powers of attorney, making wee wishlists for extra pairs of underwear and laundry detergent. All the while holding back tears trying to pray for my friends.

I cant help but wish I had the strength to take my son out for ice cream, and savor one quiet hour in innocence. Instead he’s watching me count pairs of socks, shuffle papers, type god knows what into computers, and nesting.

He knew neither of my birth parents truly loved me. They didn’t have the capacity to. They, at most, viewed me as temporary entertainment. And while he perhaps thought I was annoying, he did understand fundamentally, I was a child.

Now as a grown up, as a mother, I can kind of see where his mind was going. He was an orphan. He’d lost his dad real young, his stepdad, and his mom. He had 0 rights to me, and in a few days or weeks I could have been whisked away forever.

Perhaps we didn’t know what the hell was going on, or what was going to happen. But we knew the chill of the ice, the saccharine sweetness of the artificial flavor, the wide open sky of Clovis, it’s all there with us.

I was pretty small. Maybe 9 or 10 years old. We sat on the curb outside this 7/11 in Clovis. We had our slurpees in a calm fear. We didn’t say much. Just “that’s real nice” or “I think I like the banana flavored ones better.”

A long time ago, back when my biomom was in the hospital for what could have been something life threatening, my stepdad (well before he was my stepdad) loaded me in the truck (the one I inherited) to get slurpees.