Raise the flag and burn the baby!

People with gavels of San Francisco,

I write you today to inform you of a most dangerous imperfection in our fair town: the corner of Van Ness and Eddy in your most beloved Tenderloin district.  You see your Excecllencies (hope that's not outdated nor offensive), just this morning I wanted to walk across this gigantic intersection of spit and smog for a lady appointment I had across the street, when I noticed that there was no white man telling me to walk nor red hand telling me not to walk--just a green bulb, shining some sort of religious alien light on me.

Remembering back to more simple times when "Red Light, Green Light" was the peak of my afternoon, I decided to make a run for it, this time less worried about peeing myself and more concerned with getting hit  by one of those monstrous family SUV's that pretty much guarantees death with a mere tap on my generally "fit" young body.

By the time I passed the median, the light had now turned yellow.  Now, if I had been playing "R.L.G.L.",  I  would have to continue crossing the street verrrrrrrrrrry slowwwwwly to stay in the game, but since my life technically depended on it, I proceeded crossing the street in what probably resembled a Double-Arm-and-Leg-Nazi-March in which my "Heil Hitlers" permeated through both my left and right appendages.

Still not completely across the street, and the light now red, I feel defeated.  The cars are going to start racing through the intersection and I'm going to provide some sort of windshield ornament for one of them. So as my life starts flashing before my eyes and all my humiliating games of "Red Light, Green Light" start to replay in my head, I decide to leave this world in spite, and slow down my march.  In fact, I am now walking at the pace of an Applebee's server and disregarding anything not completely in front of my field of vision.

No less than four honks and a "Get out of the street, moron!" later, I am finally across the sea of grey, fully intact...but not fully satisfied.

So I write to you today to notify you of this horrible death-trap that is Van Ness and Eddy.  I hope you take the appropriate measures and fix this problem soon to avoid any sort of "Red Light" epidemic.

Oh, there's also a lot of young kids doing crack and heroin over there...
...so make sure not to disturb them when you're fixing the light.

Thank you, your majesties, for listening to a commoner like myself.

May we all play in a field of dahlias one day, hands interlaced and hearts reaching out for some greater power than ourselves.

-Ellie

If You Give a Mouse a Cookie...there will probably be cockroaches.

The first time I go online, I'm slightly taller than four feet, slightly smarter than a jar of margarine, and incredibly curious as to what will happen when this little yellow AOL man finishes running.  Finally, after a series of sounds akin only to those of an independent horror flick and an array of flashing lights that would put Aurora Borealis to shame, Jaundice Man qualifies for the semi-finals and I am taken to a "home page".  "Funny," I think to myself; "This looks nothing like my house!"  Desperate for some familiarity from my eight years of life-- most of which had been spent picking my nose and putting a mirror under my parents bedroom door in an attempt to find out how babies are made--I go up to the address bar and type the first thing that a little Rugrats-watching, fruit roll-up eating girl could think of: "www.girls.com", I peck with my pointer fingers.

And within seconds, i know what a pussy really is.

In all honesty, I'm glad that I got the "Birds and the Bees" as a high resolution 30-second clip from between the legs of some young woman who called herself "Jizmine".  Until then, the only sex talk I knew was the "It's okay to masturbate; just don't touch my daughter" speech I'd hear my mom give any time my older sister brought a boy home from junior high.

But how do you thank the internet for providing you with everything, short of breast milk, you need to grow?  This tool that helped you get (i.e. cheat) through high school, reacquainted you with all your old friends you meant to forget, and provided you with non-stop BDSM entertainment along the way deserves some cred.

I typed "Thank you!" in the search bar and hit "enter", but all google did was mock me.

So this is my thanks, World Wide Web.  In reparation for teaching me what a rim job is and letting me borrow your notes on "The Color Purple", I give you this: a shitty blog.

-Ellie