The sub-moronic ramblings of a semi-functioning illiterate

Posts tagged “cars

Welcome To My Desktop

Anyone who knows me knows that I am an extremely restless individual, and that every now and then I’ve got to switch things up. It could be something as easy as driving a different car for a while, or something as epic as painting my bedroom hot pink.

Since I’ve taken on more hours at work, the switching up has been happening at my desk, or more specifically, my desktop, to the amusement of my many co-workers. So for the amusement of you all, I share with you today a gallery of my ever-changing desktop wallpaper.

Ah…yes. The General Lee. My first love.

Mmm…The Metallicar. My present love.

Next we have two pics that are the perfect marriage of humor and music, Tenacious D. and Dethklok. If you don’t know who they are, I suggest hitting the Google immediately. If you don’t like them, well…we can’t be friends.

Now we have the two greatest bands I’ve ever had the good fortune of hanging out with backstage. Lit and Godsmack. Boys and their tattoos. Dreamy.

Why Lemmy? Because Lemmy is God, that’s why.

Next we have two of the greatest influences of my life: Roller Derby and Charles Bukowski. Bukowski touched me deeply on the inside, and Roller Derby smacked the crap out of me on the outside.

Because I can’t download porn.

Next are two pics of my seldom seen daughter, Babygirl. The one above was taken on Halloween when she was two years-old. Her father wanted her to be a princess, but she wanted to be a “basketball boy.” You see who won. (Yes, that is a regulation sized basketball. She was, and still is, very tiny). The one below was taken in our backyard with my nephew. I plan on writing a story just so I can use that pic as a book cover.

Last but not least, for reasons that I cannot begin to comprehend, my all time favorite desktop wallpaper pic ever!!!!!

Doesn’t this pic just say it all?

Dear Hellis – A Letter To My Fifteen Year-Old Self

I got this idea from fellow rockin’ chick Darlene at THE DAILY WOMAN. Make sure you check out her post which is witty and insightful as opposed to mine which is…well, you’ll see.

Dear Hellis,

You know how you are absolutely certain that you are going to take off to New York and become a dancer/artist/photographer after high school? Or how you are NEVER going to get married or have children, ever? Well here’s some advice I’d like to give you from the future to make your impending reality bearable.

1. Get off your high horse and date a nerd. Trust me on this.

2. Start studying for the S.A.T.s NOW.

3. Yeah, don’t get attached to all the awesome. Or to your ass, because in twenty years it is going to expand into epic proportions.

4. Your English Lit teacher is NOT correct. What you write will not forever be considered, “the sub-moronic ramblings of a semi-functioning illiterate.”

5. Teenaged boys lie. Even the nice ones.

6. Don’t listen to your father.

7. No, your hair does NOT look cool like that.

8. George Michael is gay. Don’t waste your time.

9. What makes you popular at fifteen doesn’t mean shit when you’re forty. Grow a personality now.


For more “Dear Me” letters visit CHATTING AT THE SKY.

Happy Blogiversary To Me!



So yeah, I wrote a book.

I must have been high when I wrote it because there’s no other explanation I can give for my 120,000 word upper YA novel where the only noun I used more than “boner” was “blood.” It goes without saying that I’m self-published. I didn’t even try to submit it traditionally. Can you just imagine the poor agent who gets my query letter?

“My novel, THE GODS OF ASPHALT is complete at 120,000 words and is the first in a series of five books that for some reason I’ve decided to write out-of-order. Each one is told from the point of view of a teenage male protagonist who has exactly zero supernatural powers (unless you consider perpetual erections a superpower). Oh, and it also has Spanish subtitles.”


On the good side, if you’re like me and are just a little too into music, motorcycles and all around badassery this is the book for you. If you’re not, I’m sure Jodi Picoult’s got a blog somewhere. You can find the opening to chapter one at the top of the page under the tab GOA REVIEWS and you can find my book on line at:



What Does Happy Taste Like?

I woke up this morning to a typical hangover text sent from my best friend, Quin. As usual, there came with it an attached picture that made her laugh at 3am the night before. I will share that pic/text with you all now:

This is a Carvel Ice Cream cake with the caption “It’s What Happy Tastes Like!” Quin, ever the existentialist, begged to ask the question, “What does happiness taste like? Wouldn’t it taste different for different people?” Then she went on to describe her taste of happy, and it looked something like this:

You see, Quin’s “Happy” tastes remarkably like Jared Padalecki. So that got me thinking, what would MY happiness taste like? I can think of quite a few men that I’d like to see wrapped in an ice cream loincloth. But I guess when it comes right down to it, my “Happy” would taste like this:

So, what does YOUR happy taste like?

Sidecar SPaM


Take one part modern-day bachelor, two parts savvy player, add a splash of Cointreau and you get THE LIBRA CHRONICLES; an unapologetic blog that asks the question, “Can a blog really make it when the writer does not try to make a blog that targets special key words, certain audiences, weight loss or fitness or celebrities or some certain NICHE?”

I didn’t know the answer to that question when I first stumbled onto Ronnie Libra’s blog, but all it took was one look at his tag cloud filled with words like SEDUCTION, KEY WEST and POLYSOMNOGRAPHY to know that I wouldn’t be bored finding out.

*** So Ronnie, you describe your blog in your WHAT IS ALL THIS INSOLENCE page as an “experiment” in finding your target audience without the use of buzz words. Has your experiment revealed the results of who your target audience is?

I bet, like my mind, my target will be “Kid in a Candy Shop.”  Or more appropriately, “Ronnie in a Bar.”  So many flavors, why just settle for the same one all the time?  

*** In your page THE SEDUCTION CHRONICLES you include stories that you describe as including the “rawness and reality” of seduction. What motivated you to include these stories?

Hundreds of posts on private seduction forums.  People who’ve read them always tell me they are very inspirational, so I figured, what the fuck…. I may as well share them with more people.  If I can reach out to that one person who get’s inspired then kick ass!  I have done my duty. 

*** In addition to dating advice you have posts that focus on philosophy and inspiration. What has inspired you recently that you’d like readers to take away from your blog?

Momentum…  Keep doing what you love… Make it happen.  Fuck failure and fuck the outcome.  Go for it anyway.  Even if you are failing, keep going because the more steps you take towards your goals the better your momentum will be to take those steps. Be cool with failing, dammit. ;)  Penicillin was a mistake. OOOOHhhhh and some kick ass music, Music is my life.  I recharge off of it.  I have a giant history in my mind of music I love and I feel that, most of my life, every day can have a theme song.   

*** Many of your posts include sometimes graphic descriptions of many of your sexual escapades. Do you find it difficult to share these experiences with your readers? And what do you hope you can pass on in the way of knowledge?

Not difficult at all.  If you read the book, “My Secret Garden” by Nancy Friday, which is a book on REAL women’s fantasies, my reports become rated PG.  😉  I’m trying to convey the process of Seduction with my writing.  Later, I may delve more into the actual sexuality and passion as well, I’m sure I will.

Here’s what I want.  I want people to be cool with seduction.  It’s not some taboo shit.  It’s everyday reality.  It’s happening all around us.  The girl that I just looked at, while thinking, that made eye contact and looked away.  It’s natural.

I want that guy or that girl who sees that sexy motherfucker they want to meet to go do it.  Go meet that person!

*** What would you like men to take away from your blog?

I haven’t really thought about this.  Maybe inspiration.  Maybe to get a little mad or inspired inside and say, “If this asshole can do this so can I!” ;)

*** What would you like women to take away from your blog?

Women readers seem to be the main readers so far in my blog.  I would almost want to ask them, “What do you hope to find here?  or Why are you coming back? or even, “Let’s say my blog was your dirty little secret that no one would ever find out about.  What would you want it to be like?”

*** What can we expect from THE LIBRA CHRONICLES in the future?

Utter Sexy Randomness.  Chocolate, Vanilla, Strawberry and sometimes Chicken Fried Rice.  Ya, it doesn’t have to make sense.  And music.  Lots and lots of music.


Have a blog, book or music to promote? Contact me for your own feature on SPaM at

School Bus Soapbox

I don’t normally use my blog to voice personal opinions, but today I need to address an issue that has been brought my attention. For those of you who may not know, real world Hellis drives a school bus. Lately I’ve been asked the question “Why don’t school buses have seat belts?” multiple, multiple, MULTIPLE times.

What some of you may not know is that statistically, school buses are the safest mode of transportation available, outweighing even airline travel. (for statistics click HERE). There is also information out there suggesting that school bus seat belts are the way to go (for those statistics click HERE). My post today isn’t meant to dispute either set of statistics, but to apply my real world experience to empirical information. I agree that in a perfect world every bus would have a seat belt and every student would be further protected from potential harm. Sadly, I drive a bus in the real world and this just isn’t how things work. I’ll begin by asking a few questions of my own:

1. Have you ever seen a seat belt?

If you haven’t let me describe it. It’s a long, thick vinyl strap with a heavy metal buckle at the end. Now imagine 84 of them. Now imagine 84 eight year-old boys. Now imagine a weapon that swings like a lasso and feels like a mace. Now imagine 84 black eyes and missing teeth. Now imagine being the only adult in charge of controlling that behavior. Behavior that is going on behind your back. While you are driving. And stopping. And driving. And stopping…

2. Who enforces this rule?

If a seat belt is to function properly it needs to be utilized. When was the last time you got a teenager to do anything you considered safe? Again, imagine 84 of them. How do you enforce that rule? Do you stop the bus every time a kid unbuckles themselves? As a driver is it your responsibility to buckle the seat belt around the student if he/she doesn’t comply?

Now imagine you’re a forty-something male bus driver faced with the challenge of buckling in a high school girl. I smell a lawsuit. What then? Do you exempt her from wearing it because you don’t want to appear inappropriate? You can bet that if she doesn’t comply, the other 83 surely won’t.

And what if the students don’t comply and there is an accident. Is the driver responsible for student injury because he/she failed in his/her duties to see that all 84 students not only buckled in but stayed buckled in for the duration of the trip? I am not speaking for the bus driving industry as a whole when I say the moment that scenario became policy, the bus driving industry would have one less bus driver.

3. Who pays for it?

People, the funds just aren’t there. Here’s the math:

My school district has 50 buses. Each school bus requires 84 mated seat belts. That’s 4200 seat belt units required for purchase should a policy be enforced. Each seat belt union cost $18.00 per unit.

Total increase to tax payers – $75,600.

This may not seem like much when you consider a school district budget as a whole, but if you take into consideration the 50 buses at a national average of $75,000 per bus, you are talking about adding $75,600 to an already required payout of $3,750,000.

Keep in mind also that because seat belts function as a safety measure, there is no policy or standard for repair. Every malfunctioning seat belt requires replacement. Who sets the standard for their daily functionality? Do we, as drivers, perform daily buckle inspections? Again, who pays for the time needed to inspect these buckles daily? You better believe my effort spent on buckle inspection will appear on my time card.

I realize that my opinions, and they are “opinions,” may not mesh well with the opinions of others. And I certainly mean no disrespect to anyone out there who has been harmed or had a loved one harmed on a school bus. All I can do is answer the question that has been posed to me many times over the last ten years the best way I know how.

Stay tuned tomorrow for our regularly scheduled blog nonsense.

Hawaiian SPaM

Break out the Sex Wax and Longboards because today’s featured SPaM is blogworld’s own personal Moondoggie. When he’s not waxing poetic about Harry Potter in Limerick form he’s listening to music or hanging ten down in NYC.

Make way for the very handsome…EL GUAPO!!!!


The interview was conducted with me wearing this shirt. And nothing else.

Interview’s Music: Ravel’s Bolero…


**** 1. Where does your love of music come from?


IrishPaul, Other Paul, Big Mike.

Irish Paul knows the entire discographies of some of the most obscure bands on earth.

OtherPaul listens to a lot of techno and industrial, that isn’t really my thing, but there are some gems in there.

Big Mike is an encyclopedia of classic and Southern rock.

Once went to a concert with Big Mike and IrishPaul. They got into a conversation that was like sitting in on a master class of music appreciation.

Because of them, I got to appreciate a lot of stuff you won’t hear on classic rock stations.

And now there is very little I won’t listen to.

As an aside – if you’re going to travel to see a show with IrishPaul, budget twice the drinking money you though t you needed, and at least one extra recovery day.

**** 2. Name four songs that you’d include in a soundtrack of your life.

This song is next to impossible to answer. The songs change from moment to moment.

But I would include

Eric Clapton: Layla – It’s the primal scream of rock n roll

They Might Be Giants: Birdhouse in your soul. It’s the song for me and my girl.

John Coltrane: Favorite Things. If this doesn’t move you, you’re already dead.

Jimmy Buffett:: Landfall. It’s a great song, and has the line “If I had it all to do over again/I’d just get myself drunk and I’d jump right back in.

But seriously, as soon as I hit send, the answers will change.

**** 3. Does living in NYC affect your surfing?

The best part of being a surfer with a board living in NYC is the conversations I’ve struck up at 7am with passersby when I’m trapping the board to the roof.

And driving through neighborhoods where no one has ever heard of surfing with a board strapped to my car.

**** 4. Which one of your “toys” is your favorite and why?


My Takamine Jasmine acoustic cutaway guitar.

I was telling my girl (the most wonderful girl in the universe) that I would love a cutaway, but couldn’t justify spending the money on it.

So she went out and bought me one. And the sound of it with light strings is perfect!

**** 5. Best and worst concert ever.

Worst is easy. The only concert I ever walked out on was Damien Rice.

He told great stories between the songs, but the songs were too depressing.

Then he starts singing about his Eskimo friend.

And 3000 hipster yuppies start holding up their lighters and chanting.

My girl and I looked at each other, then ran out before we exploded with laughter.

Pretty sure we’d have been lynched if we did it in our seats…


This is kind of a cop-out, but best concert is any of them when the act is into what they’re doing, and brings the crowd along.

As opposed to Blues Traveller, who were really into what they were doing, which was mostly jerking each other off.


An example of a fun show – Hootie and The Blowfish, years ago in a 500 person SRO room. during the world series. They’re a great pop-rock bar band.

Every so often one of them would wander offstage, and come back with a bottle of  SoCo to share with the band, and the updated score. I think if no one showed up for that gig, they’d have played anyway and had just as good a time.

**** 6. Dead musician you’d resurrect.

Toss up between Miles Davis and Jimi Hendrix.

If they played together, I would commit Class A felonies to get a ticket to that.


But since I’m just resurrecting willy-nilly, throw Mel Blanc in there too.

What? He sang “Barber of Seville” as Elmer Fudd. That’s gotta be worth something.

**** 7. How long does it take for you to come up with your limericks?


There’s no rhyme or reason to the limericks.

The first one was for The Fountainhead, in response to a conversation on twitter. That just appeared, whole.

The one for your book ( was hard, because I wanted it to actually work.

Fortunately, I don’t use vast parts of my brain, so once I figure out what it should say, I just let it stew around in the mental abscesses  until something fits.

(I can’t believe you want to know about the limericks)

**** 8. You mention activities like skydiving, hangliding and scuba diving. Is there anything you won’t do?

Ice Climbing. Seriously, those guys are way off the crazy scale.

In a bad way.

**** 9. Where do you come up with the idea for Friday Foolishness?


The first poll I ever did was titled “A Poll For Y’Oll”. (, which (believe it or not) was not the most inane poll ever.

In the post, I said I thought it might be fun to have a theme, and call it Friday Foolishness.

The comments (both of them) were very supportive.
But how I come up with each poll? I swear to you, I have no idea.

Usually, if there’s something going on in the world, I’ll say to my girl, hey, how about this.

Then I’ll just bounce ideas off her until I get the right expression of appalled. That’s when I know I’ve hit my mark.


About the foolishness, I’ve gotten a few comments that people look forward to them, but the best was one on a Friday at 7 am, before the post went up, from Kayjai that said

“Uh, hello?? It’s Friday??? Have you forgotten the foolishness?? *sigh* Okay…I’ll wait………………………………………………………………………………..”

One of the best comments ever.

**** 10. Every music lovin’ surfer needs an epic automobile. Your dream car is….?


1964 ½ flat black convertible standard transmission Mustang.

Sorry, was I supposed to think about that for a minute?

Oh, and I’d upgrade the stereo from stock.


For more fun in the sun follow EL GUAPO

For your own featured SPaM contact me at

Happy Birthday H.R. Nightmare!!!

Smug Bastard

Yes ladies and gentlemen, today is the infamous H.R. Nightmare’s birthday. Celebrating H.R.’s birthday is a big deal because anyone who knows him personally cannot believe this man is still alive. The list of things he’s done is crazy enough to fill a book (You need to write one, HR. I’ll help).

In honor of this special occasion I have decided to create a quiz to test how much you know about H.R. Nightmare. Scoring is as follows:

A=1 point

B=2 points

C=3 points

D=4 points

Correct answers when added together will equal HR’s age. Tally your points and then read the answers at the bottom of the post. Now onto…


1. HR is of ___________ descent:

A) Romanian

B) Swedish

C) Native American

D) All of the above

2. HR’s bedroom in high school contained:

A) An entire wall covered with names of girls he’d slept with including how many times each

B) A Rickenbacker bass guitar signed by Lemmy Kilmeister

C) A 1972 Triumph Bonneville Chopper motorcycle

D) All of the above

3. HR has earned money as:

A) A fitness model

B) A male escort

C) Underground fight club champ

D) All of the above

4. HR has been arrested for:

A) Riding a motorcycle down the hall of his high school

B) Burning down a barn while making an apple bong

C) Stealing a squad car while drunk at the age of twelve

D) All of the above

5. HR got away with:

A) Smuggling illegal immigrants to and from job sites in box vans

B) Boosting Indy 500 winner Jim Rathmann’s Ferrari as a prank

C) Hitchhiking home from Vegas after stealing and then abandoning his dad’s tractor trailer

D) All of the above

6. HR has been injured by:

A) Being stabbed and shot

B) Severing his hand nearly in two on a table saw

C) Being thrown by his father through the rear windshield of a Ford LTD

D) All of the above

7. HR saved the day when he:

A) Rescued a school bus full of children trapped under downed power lines

B) Was the only EMT willing to drive an ambulance through the ice storm of 2008

C) Rebuilt the entire brake system in a stretch hummer limo in a single night as a gift to competition bound cheerleaders

D) All of the above

8. The stupidest thing HR has ever done:

A) Got a speeding ticket while riding a go-cart built out of a bed frame and lawn tractor

B) Let his stoned buddy “pierce” his ear with a pneumatic staple gun

C) Let H.E. drive his Corvette

D) All of the above

9. The most unbelievable thing about HR is:

A) He was an extra in a major motion picture

B) He does not have a tattoo

C) Trained as an amateur power lifter by Kieran Kidder

D) All of the above


D) All of the above

Seriously dude, write a book.

M3 Writer’s Spotlight

Today I was lucky enough to score a book interview with the one and only Red from Momma’s Money Matters; a blog about, “Money, parenting, blogging, psychology…good advice delivered with a bit of snark and humor.”

In addition to Red being a blogging powerhouse and gracious post host; she managed to do what almost no one in the world has been able to do. Yes, Red convinced me to tell a dirty little secret about myself.


The Hellis 100 (61-70)

By now most of you have figured out that my three favorite things in life (behind New England sports teams) are music, cars and men. While those three things are fine individually, when I combine them I find myself in trouble. So for the next installment of The Hellis 100 I give you:


I’ve decided to divide this list into three categories; accidents ending in hospital transports, angry boyfriend induced recklessness (get used to seeing the letters “HR” here) and sheer stupidity. I’ll start the list with “accidents ending in hospital transports.”


Yes, I really hung a Pinto in a tree while drag racing my boyfriend. But to be honest, it was one of those south Florida scrubby trees so I didn’t catch the epic air you may be thinking I did. I’ll say this for Ford; they did a hell of a job on the ’76 Pinto. That sucker drove away once the Ft. Lauderdale road crews pulled it down. That’s what my boyfriend told me since at the time I was in the hospital getting checked out from the fall I took as I climbed out of the tree. The accident itself didn’t leave a scratch on me. Here’s the song that was playing at the time:


At first I wasn’t sure if I should include this incident as I wasn’t the one driving, but I decided it qualifies because: A) a boy most DEFINITELY was involved and: B) so was a song; a song that to this day I refuse to listen to while in a car. This highway wipe-out lead to an ER visit and a free pass for my friends and I to screw around in the high school elevator for weeks following. The song involved was:


Ladies, listen up. When your boyfriend tells you that there’s a difference between riding a classic bike and a crotch rocket, listen to him. No matter how bad you want to punch him straight in his cocky face. That’s right, HR. I went there. And while there was no music playing when I dumped this bike, every time I hear this song I think of that night, and remember wondering if the ambulance was going to find me in the middle of nowhere.

Now we’ll move onto “angry boyfriend induced recklessness” with:


By now you may have noticed that I don’t like admitting when I don’t know how to do something a boy can do; so you can imagine how I handled my boyfriend telling me that men drive stick better than women. For the record, the boyfriend in question wasn’t HR (don’t believe what HR says; I taught him to drive standard). No, this boyfriend was a good ole boy from Tallahassee who just may have been the world’s biggest Hank Williams III fan. Sadly, he was also a Tampa Bay fan (sorry, Dayton). I’ll spare you the gory details of my “didn’t know what he meant by downshift” reaction as I drove straight into the swamp and instead I’ll just say this: I blame Hank.


Look away, HR. This was before you but after number seven up there. By the time I had the opportunity to drive my then boyfriend Rick’s Carmen Ghia I had learned to drive a standard properly. However, the stick I was handling at the time belonged to his best friend, Raphael. What can I say? Rick pissed me off. I get warm, fuzzy feelings every time I hear this song, as does the Broward County highway patrol; helicopter division.


Alright, so this one may need some explanation. More than anything I love taking big motors and cramming them into small cars (paging Dr. Freud). So for my birthday my then boyfriend (yes, this is you HR) took a Toyota inline six motor normally found in the 4-Runner and dropped it into a 1984 Toyota Celica. For those of you who may not know this equals a whole lot of awesome, considering that my Celica was a rear-wheel drive five speed manual. Talk about a racer’s wet dream. That is until I blew a piston out the side of the engine block. I’ll defer to HR in the comments as to how I managed to do this. I’ll just say he and his boys pissed me off enough to take my anger out while listening to this song. You do the math.


After my Toyota debacle HR wouldn’t let me near any car he owned, especially his 1978 Silver Anniversary Edition Corvette. It took all of my feminine charms to persuade him to hand over the keys to his beloved Corvette. Alright, the truth is he was passed out cold and I stole them from his back pocket. TomAto, tomato. Needless to say I blew that car to smithereens as well and was offered a ride home from a trucker who I later found out was a wanted murderer. For the whole sordid story, go here. Pantera was the soundtrack to that night:

Now onto “sheer stupidity” with:


Since the statute of limitations has not yet run out on this particular evening, I’ve decided not to tempt the Gods of “dodging a bullet” by declaring how motherf’in awesome that night was. I’ll just state for the record that I was not stoned nor was I driving. What happened to the party bus that night is God’s own personal mystery. I’ll let your imagination wander while you listen to my favorite Godsmack song of all time and the signature song of the evening:


Did you ever do something so stupid that even while it was happening you were sure you were going to die? Well I did, and I have assigned that night of stupidity number two on this list. My brother’s best friend Rick (yes, that would be Carmen Ghia Rick) was not yet my boyfriend, but I sure wanted him to be. At the time Rick and my brother lived in Saratoga, New York which is a town with many winding mountain roads including the featured road of the evening, Bald Mountain. So when Rick called from a bar and asked me to drive my drunk ass brother’s car home I jumped at the chance to make time with my future boyfriend.

Then came the dare. The dare to follow Rick home while driving my brother’s Monte Carlo SS.

At 3:00 a.m.

With no headlights.

Yes, the whole “dare” was to see if I could keep up with Rick’s Carmen Ghia while I drove my brother’s Monte Carlo without the headlights on.  Now Bald Mountain is a road that my brother described as knowing “better than the skin of his dick,” so I believed him when he said he’d be able to alert me to every corner and turn before they appeared. This sounded perfectly reasonable, until he passed out five minutes down the mountain. Obviously I made it through the whole winding nightmare with only Rick’s tail lights to guide me and yes, impressed the hell out of him enough to ask me out once we got home. At the time this was my brother’s favorite song, and the memory of that night is one of the happiest and scariest moments of my life.


Now that I am older and wiser (in other words, legally able to be tried as an adult) I make somewhat better choices where music, cars and men are concerned. For instance, I take full advantage of Prince Charming’s fire department scanner to let me know where the police are responding before I pick a road on the other side of town to catch air on. I’ve also found that my taste in music has begun leaning more toward classic than angry rock.

But the biggest change I made was my decision to replace men with cars; namely my 1968 Chevy Impala which I named Frank Stallone with…well, every man out there. Frank’s the perfect man for me; solid, dependable, quiet when I want him to be. Roars when I make him. Most days Frank and I are happy just to tool around town lost in our daydreams. And while his fantasies involve a certain Metallicar, my focus is more on the two boys inside it and my fantasy of being the center of a Jensen Ackles – Jared Padalecki sandwich.


If I were smart I’d end my post here and get to work on the writing I had planned for the weekend, but the phone call I got while writing this post pounded the hell out of my rebellion button. Yup, Jeb just called and told me to pack my shit because we’re off on an adventure to Connecticut to catch LIT in concert. Sadly, minus the party bus. I AM my own worst enemy.

Shawarma SPaM

This week’s SPaM features a blogger who brings new meaning to the phrase, “It’s a small world.” He describes himself as, “a 19 year old Civil Engineering student at …..a random college in THE most crowded subcontinent on the planet. I grew up in the Middle East around shawarma and KFC with massive portions. Naturally I have a thing for food.”

In addition to his appetite for food this Indian boy wonder is a prolific blogger, reader and ranter. Just don’t ask him for a ride. Welcome to SPaM our very own…RANTONIT.


**** 1.What is an Indian Mechanism?

Contrary to popular belief, Indians are not inherently nuts. (Completely irrevocably nuts). No, they arrive at that end result as a result of being tagged Indian. I mean, that and reading self help books which tell you to be different.

Let me explain. Every day the whole country gets up and asks this question: How on earth do you distinguish yourself between 1.2 billion people? Quite hard you’d assume.

So with everyone trying to be different and everyone having quite the same DNA (I swear India got started with two people with the libidos of rabbits (which clearly has been passed down the ages = 1.2 billion)) results in, wouldn’t you believe it, exactly the same twat-like behavior.

Thus what you call Indian Mechanisms, mostly literally, how we operate.

**** 2.What inspired you to pursue an education in Civil Engineering?

How I got around to civil engineering eh? Well, it started in 3rd grade when I wanted, more than anything in the world to be a pilot. That then changed to being an aeronautical engineer (oh yeah), then I wanted to become a computer science engineer (see a pattern?) and hence in 11th grade I took comp sci. in school which involved C++ and in no time I decided I wanted to be an Architect which, now that I think about it, is where I should have stopped. Then I wanted to do mech. Engineering and finally got civil. So there, the lifecycle till 19, of an average Indian.

**** 3. What inspired your latest hair, er…lack of hair style?

Dandruff problem was the official line because it was brilliant. Really, Indians all over are happy if they’ve judged you just a little each day, even if it was over you having had dandruff (an apparent failing on your part). That and a Dandruff problem’ was a two word answer I could shout out to passing people who asked me the question, or even to those open palms lifted in the same question. Really, that happened a lot.

However, I had an actual reason; the hair meant a lot and cutting it, even more so. It is something I’d make a post of, but in plain simple words, I shaved my head everyday because, hey, I looked so damn good that way ……and it was there to remind me that I frankly don’t give a rats ass about people judging me. ALSO to remind me to stay in the present, firmly. Not to get happy about things that might or might not happen in the future because that’s a lesson that seems to rush me by how many ever times I have it stapled onto my forehead. So there’s an honest answer.

**** 4. Tell us about the notorious drivers in India.

Well, let’s put it this way, I wasn’t born with un-descended testicles and seeing as I haven’t been driving in India for a month or so now, I’m expecting them down any day now.

**** 5. What is the biggest misconception people have about India?

I wouldn’t know, see. I grew up in the Middle East, in Muscat. Been there since age 6 and all of a sudden, in March of 2010, I find myself in India. How do you think I liked that? Blew my mind completely. Honestly, I’m not the Indian to be asking this question, growing up in the Middle East and being Indian, I had a very mixed up bunch of views on India. Bollywood movies weren’t the most reliable yardsticks either as I have painfully learned. But one thing I can tell you, if you’re here for anything other than a holiday and maybe even in that case, it is not a mystical nice place with friendly wisdom-ous people. It will almost kill you and as the Joker said, “Whatever doesn’t kill you only makes you stronger.”

**** 6. Many of your blog posts focus on your love of food. What is your favorite traditional Indian dish and your favorite international dish?

Erm, favorite food? U mad bro? Do you not remember, in every post, how I stress my consumption of everything consumable and some not? I’m the man who invented the post dessert snack. I do love all Indian food, really I do and all other food for that matter. The unhealthier the better.

**** 7. What are your favorite book, movie and song?

My favorite book of ALL time would have to be ‘The Fountainhead’ by Ayn Rand and she is my favorite author. I won’t ruin it by talking about it and another book of hers, Atlas Shrugged shows a lot of promise as well, 1/4th the way through it atm.

My favorite song would have to be Let it be by John Lennon, and Bitter Sweet Symphony by The Verve aaaand Save Tonight by Eagle Eye Cherry aaand Elbow’s Grounds for Divorce instrumental ….but no, I actually love a lot of music; I absolutely love alt rock, Bach, country and mostly everything in between. Play rap, hip hop and any of that rubbish and I swear, Imma stuff bacon in your ears till you overheat your tiny little brain explodes. Absolutely love the Matrix trilogy, Inception, and a lot of sappy movies as well like…. No, I won’t live that one down.

**** 8. Where do you see yourself in five years?

I will have, by then eaten 1/5th of the world’s beef, up from 1/8th by the end of this year. My growth follows an elliptical curve.



For more Indian Mechanisms follow RANTONIT

Next week’s SPaM features novelist Skinnywhitewoman

For your own SPaM contact me at


Why The Seventies Were “F*in” Awesome

There are so many reasons why the seventies were awesome that I needed to narrow it down to just one letter, and that letter is F. First, we begin with the obvious choice, FASHION. Or better yet, FAIL.

And what post about the seventies would be complete without FARRAH HAIR. When I was a little dark haired girl all I had to look up to for a media role model was a blonde beach bunny named Farrah. My Italian boy cousins however, got to have a television icon and Guido Extraordinaire, FONZIE. Seriously not fair.

Next we have FOGHAT, FRAMPTON AND FREDDIE. I’d like to think there’s a special place in music heaven for Freddie Mercury.

I’d also like to think there’s a special place in automotive hell for whatever sadist “revamped” the 1974 Mustang in order to better handle the rising costs of gasoline thanks to the imposed FUEL EMBARGO. Pure Sacrilege.

For some reason, interior designers of the seventies were all about the concept of designing for the FUTURE. Apparently, the world will exist on nothing but shag carpeting, paneling, polished chrome and FORMICA.



One of the biggest events of the seventies was the advent of FREE AGENCY in sports. No longer “owned” by teams, a player could broker his own deal, essentially selling himself to the highest bidder (Confused? Watch Jerry Maguire). Pete Rose was one of the first to leverage his talent for the best deal. I’m sure he did great things with that extra cash.



Now a nod toward Pop Culture; namely FADS, FEVER and FRANK-N-FURTER.







My Secret Admirer – Five

It’s time for this week’s LOVE LETTERS GONE WRONG secret admirer big reveal! This week we did have a winner, and that blogger along with the secret admirer wins a free copy of my ebook. Since the first two correct guesses already have copies of my ebook, I’ve decided to pass along a copy to the third correct guess. Find out who that is by clicking on the trophy to your right.

Here’s a recap of Friday’s post as well as my response at the bottom. If you’d like a free copy of my ebook taken a guess or send a love letter gone wrong to


Dear H.E.,

I am your biggest fan. What I mean when I say biggest is that there is no one that adores you more than I do. I print out every blog post that you put up, and I have them put together in a folder with a drawing I’ve done of what I imagine you to look like. I’ve read Gods of Asphalt 17 times, and I can tell by your writing style and the things that you say on your blog that we are meant to be together.

I’m sure that sounds crazy to you, but if you would be willing to let me take you out on a date, I’m sure that you will feel it too. I thought you were a man at first, and that had me questioning my sexuality, because I never thought I was gay before, but your words just SPOKE to me, and I couldn’t stop thinking about you. When I found out you were actually a woman, I felt relieved, because now I know that we can be together the way we were meant to be, and I don’t have to worry about taking it up the butt.

I have to tell you something that really bothers me though. It really upsets me when you are flirty with that Glitterbutt girl on your blog. Wait… that’s not right. I meant that Sparklebumps whore. I know that she’s trying to steal you away from me, and what you can’t see is that she’s a manipulative little bitch. When I see how you respond to her in your comments, it makes me soooo upset; I’ve started having panic attacks when I see her comments on your blog. The only way I can feel better is by masturbating with shampoo while imagining you are here with me, caressing me and whispering that everything will be alright. I had to start using salon-grade shampoo though, because Herbal Essences was giving me a weird rash. What I’m saying, H.E., is that I am begging you to stop this relationship you have with that slut, because if you don’t, I’m going to have to take more desperate measures. I don’t like that Savor person either.

I imagine every day what our life will be like together; you will write your books, and I will spend all my time worshiping you the way you deserve. I can help you give your kids cereal in the morning, and I will even be the one to call and order pizzas for them and their friends. When Prince Charming gets married to one of the many girls that adore him, I will hold your head and lick your tears away for you.

I can’t wait until you realize the closeness that we share. I’ve never had anyone make me feel the way that you do. My Aunt says it’s because I live in her basement, and I need to get out and find a nice girl, but I know that you are the only one for me, and so I’m saving myself for you. I know that you will appreciate my dedication, and it will be worth the wait when our love can finally be consummated. Until then, if you would do me a favor and send me a high-definition picture of your boobs for me to hang on the ceiling above my bed, then I can fantasize about what it would be like to have you here with me.

This is the 7th letter that I’ve sent you, and I need to let you know that if you don’t respond promptly to this, my last letter, I will have to ride my scooter to New Hampshire and find you, to show you how much I care. I thought that my letters spoke for themselves, but maybe I am not a great writer like you are, and I will just have to prove myself to you in person. Please, give me a chance, because without you I’m lost.

With all the love in my heart, and all the lust in my drawers,


P.S. I’m serious about the Sparklebumps issue. If you can’t be completely committed to me because of her, I will rid you of her manipulations.


Dear Kevin,

Thank you once again for volunteering to be the administrator for THE GODS OF ASPHALT fan site.  While I am glad that you are honored to accept the challenge, please understand that delivering a daily podcast dressed as Gus and lining the set with life sized cardboard versions of the characters as you see them wasn’t part of your assigned duties. Nor was the creation of a livejournal fan-fiction site which I would like you to disable at once. I have received many complaints about the RAPHAEL/RIVER/SAWYER fan page. At the very least you should have displayed a disclaimer before readers entered the site and encountered…well, you know.

Please also understand that my blog supports my book promotion and therefore the fan site you’ve agreed to run. Fellow blogger and GOA fan Sparklebumps is a longtime friend and supporter of our efforts. She is not a “Sex-crazed Usurper” as you have referred to her on several occasions. I have also been informed that you have submitted receipts for the purchase of a pallet-sized amount of Herbal Essences shampoo. Accounting has no intention of paying this or any other debt you have incurred based on your deviant sexual proclivities. This includes the recently purchased squeeze horn and silver handlebar tassels for one 1993 Yamaha scooter. Let me state finally that at no point will you and I “get it on like Donkey Kong” in this or in any lifetime. EVER.

All the best in your future basement driven endeavors,

H.E. Ellis





Sparkle’s Rockin’ New Year

Whenever I think about New Years Eve specific images spring to mind; social gatherings, alcoholic beverages, fireworks…..kissing. So I thought to myself, what better way to showcase all that is magical about New Years Eve than with a feature post about the sparkliest woman I know? That’s right ladies and gentleman, I give you the one, the only….


Thank you, my future wife! (If my Rockstar doesn’t marry me, that is.)

Take one part Dorothy Parker, one part Jessica Rabbit and two parts Dolly Parton *snicker.* Mix together and serve in a pair of five inch pink stiletto heels and you have my girl Sparklebumps.

Whether she’s swooning over her own personal Rockstar or daydreaming of giving Chris Meloni the boobie-squishing of a lifetime, this larger than life– “Umm, excuse me, did you just imply that I’m fat?” bombshell– “Oh, you are forgiven. XOXO” makes everyone she meets instantly fall in love with her. “Except that one guy that one time, but I think he might have been gay…” And since no one blog post can come close to encapsulating the woman in all her glittering glory, I’ve decided to ask what advice Sparklebumps might give us in the hopes of bringing a little sparkle to our own New Years Eve holiday.

****1. What does a typical Sparklebumps New Years Eve look like?

Well, H.E., sadly I have never created a New Year’s tradition. However, last year I spent the night putting together two beauteous red red bookshelves to hold all of my books. The night ended with me on the verge of wanting to stab myself in the eye with a screwdriver. NOT the alcoholic kind.

****2. You have been described as, “oozing sex appeal.” Is this a natural ability or a cleverly executed skill? What can women do to channel their own inner Sparklebumps?

Honestly, I have no idea what they’re talking about. I find myself to be the complete opposite of sexy. The best advice I can give is buy a pair of really tall heels, and agree with your significant other that “Hell, yeah, that chic is hot.” when his eyes wander. If you are jealous of other women (or men) it makes you very beautifically-impaired.

****3. It’s no secret that men, and quite a few women, find you utterly desirable. What advice would you give women about how to harness the awesome power that is raw sex appeal?

Well, no one can be me, but I guess the best thing to do would be to just emulate me as much as possible. 😉

****4. Tell us about the moment during your childhood when you discovered you were sparklier than the other little girls.

Technically, my sparklyness came much later. But I DO remember a time when I was about 4 years old and I imagined that I was a lion lording over a field of Cabbage Patch Children (my friends). I guess my imagination gets a little carried away sometimes….

****5. In addition to your bombshell persona you are an avid reader with a passion for books. If you were free to write your own novel right now, what would it be about?

I AM free to write whatever I want whenever I want. (well, almost.) Really, this tends to be my biggest problem. My brain has so many different stories and ideas that it is almost completely impossible for me to sit down and concentrate on one thing long enough to write a book. This is why I’ve several started and none completed. However, Love is the thing, you know, so anything that I write will most definitely have a love angle in it.

The only way I know how to write is by taking from personal experience. That and having read many many books and realizing what I do and don’t like in the way an author writes. I know my writing is very raw (or so I’ve been told) and I don’t know if that’s a good thing, but if the comments on my blog are any indication, I guess I’m doing ok.

The first chapter of the book I have most completed is featured in my post, “First Chapter.”

****6. Tell us about your Rockstar. What first attracted you to him, and what do you do to keep the fires burning?

My Rockstar is just a little bit awesome. (That’s an understatement there, in case anyone missed it.) Honestly, the first thing that attracted me to him was the fact that he played guitar. Maybe it was because I haven’t known many musicians, who knows. He was also just extremely NICE. Which is funny, since in the beginning of our relationship, the names “cunt” and “asshole” were thrown around quite a bit. One of the things I appreciate though, is that he is a single father who is there for his daughter. (Even if it DOES take the attention away from me. 😉 )

Hmmm, to keep the fires burning? I give plenty of blowjobs,(sometimes while watching porn) I sometimes send nudey texts, (which don’t receive much in the way of applause, Understandably), I try to cook for him, (the way to a man’s heart, yes?) and I buy him beer. (because that’s just common sense.) Also, giving a man his space works wonders.

****7. How will you be spending this New Years Eve, and what is the one wish you’ll make when the clock strikes midnight?

I will be spending the night with my Rockstar and his Daughter, (which sounds boring, but really isn’t.) I may be wearing a pair of new heels to celebrate, and when the clock strikes midnight? It depends.

If he and I are in the midst of red-hot sex (after his daughter goes to sleep), I may just be wishing that we will always and forever have awesome sex, even when we are old. (with the help of Viagra, if necessary.) If all three of us are still awake, mayhap I will just be wishing we will be a lovely little family forever. Also, I will be wishing this is the year I get my Boss Mustang. 🙂 XOXO

There you have it, ladies and gentlemen. Beauty, Boobs, and Brains. Sparklebumps is the whole package. What more could you wish for? I for one will be wishing that this time next year Santa will have found a way to stuff a hot pink Mustang down Sparkle’s chimney.

That sounded oddly naughty….

That’s ok, H.E. Most of my thoughts are pretty naughty, too….

Why I Love New Hampshire


This is a scarlet maple tree in my front yard. And before any of you car enthusiasts/purists mention it; yes, I am aware that my 1968 Impala has a 1969 Biscayne rear bumper. Trust me, this will be rectified come spring.

Top Ten Reasons Why Even People Who Know Me Think I’m A Man

It’s somewhat of a mystery to me as to why most people in the blog world assume I’m a man even though I’m not. Don’t worry if you are one of them; we’re still pals. Recently I made the mistake of mentioning this to my oldest son who replied, “Why are you surprised? Even people who know you think you’re a man.”


So because I’m some sort of masochist I asked my kids to elaborate. Here’s the conclusion they’ve drawn for why people who know me think I’m a man:


I argued that there are plenty of female mechanics out there who know more about motors than I do but they stood their ground, insisting that the fact that I’m not a mechanic makes knowing this specific information about my car’s engine something only a man would “traditionally” know. I’m betting their insistence on using the word “traditionally” was to spare them a feminist slap upside the head.

*** 9. “SOLDIER UP” or “WALK IT OFF”

Apparently these are the only two statements I give anyone when they are faced with a “crisis” and make the mistake of whining to me about it. I’m careful not to use these phrases at moments when they are dealing with real emotional issues, I’m talking about the day-to-day nonsense that for some reason teen boys and young girls need to add unnecessary drama to. (God help you if you’re an adult coming to me with nonsense). I like to think of it as my own personal advice on “fight” or “flight.” Either way, make a choice already. I got shit to do.


My boys are right, but what I didn’t have the courage to tell them is that when I speak to a man this way, it’s to remind him that he is firmly planted in the “friend zone,” so there’s no chance of mixed signals. And to spare my boys therapy, I didn’t bother to elaborate.


Alright, this I one did. Although I’m not sure how this makes me a man, and my argument about being/coaching cheerleading didn’t sway their opinion in the least.

Now technically I’m left-handed, but there ARE certain situations in the sports world where using one hand instead of the other gains you an advantage. For instance:

BATTING – I switch hit. I prefer to bat right-handed, as my dominant left arm has more power on the pull through, but on occasion I do switch hit. It’s a technique Mickey Mantle perfected. Now I know what you’re thinking, “But wait…wasn’t Mickey Mantle a YANKEE?” Yes, he was. But even I can’t deny the fact that the man could swing.

PITCHING – Left. Most pitchers are right-handed, so most batters are used to having a pitch come at them from the right. ADVANTAGE!

BASKETBALL – Dribble left, shoot right. I actually make a point of switching from hand to hand before I shoot to disorient defense. If you want to see a master of this technique, type the name STEVE NASH anywhere. I’m NOWHERE near as good as him, though.

BOWLING – Left. Ten pin lanes have a thin coating of oil layered over the lane, so unless the guy who bowled before you was “Earl Anthony good” your ball is going to naturally follow the path his ball made in the oil. For all you know that dude could have been a total spaz. Left-handers have the advantage of sending their ball down a less traveled path.

FOOTBALL – Left. I’m too small to play but I throw a mean spiral.

TENNIS – Left. It’s just easier for me. Not really sure if there’s an advantage in it.

GOLF – Right. Left-handed clubs are just too damn expensive.

TRACK – I just wanted to see if you were paying attention.


Let me explain. I’m very competitive. Insanely competitive. I’m so off the wall competitive it’s almost embarrassing. I ALWAYS have to win. Even if I lose I will find some shred of success within the loss to hang my hat on. Again, not sure what makes this a man trait, but my boys were pretty emphatic on this one.

*** 5. I DON’T CRY. EVER.

Not really sure what to say about this other than I just don’t cry. I also think my sons have been spending too much time with teenage girls, most of whom will cry at the drop of a hat. I’m thinking it skews their judgment.


What can I say? Chuck gets me.


Wait, wait, before you click away in fear let me explain. It’s not like I wander the countryside with a sling full of knives, randomly entering contests. New England in the fall is a wonderland of town fairs, and every one of them has some sort of knife throwing contest. I’m not sure why or how I can do this, but I’m awesome at it. I think the fact that so far only men have entered the contests I’ve won leads my boys to believe this is something only men do. If there’s a woman out there who can throw knives, please let me know. I’d love to prove my boys wrong.


Don’t get me wrong, I can’t take down a grown man but I can give him a run for his money, despite the fact that I’m not terribly strong. I think because the length of my arm from shoulder to fingertips is only something like 28 inches long (71 cm for you fans of the metric system). I’m guessing it gives me some kind of advantage.


The number one reason why people who know me think I’m a man is:


I’m telling you people, stitches don’t hurt anywhere near as bad as you think they do. Even if you’ve already gotten them and you thought they hurt, I’ll bet it had more to do with being freaked out over the fact that you needed them at all. Seriously, burning yourself taking a pan out of the oven hurts more than giving yourself stitches. But you’re probably used to that particular pain sensation so you’ve grown accustomed to it. I, on the other hand, am a lousy cook but a very good Roller Derby Girl, so I’ve grown accustomed to the pain of giving myself stitches instead.

I’m not talking about stitching up a huge gash or anything, I’m talking five or six stitches at most. Since my ex is a Paramedic/Firefighter I have access to the actual equipment needed to stitch myself up, so it’s not like I run my arm under the sewing machine. All you need is a field medic’s needle and some medium weight fishing line (heavy duty’s too thick and the thin stuff tears). A bottle of cheap tequila doesn’t hurt either. Taking them out is even easier. It feels something like taking earrings out. I’m not suggesting that people go out and start giving themselves stitches, I’m just saying if I made a trip to the ER every time I needed them nothing else in my life would get done.

So there you have it: The top ten reasons why people who know me think I’m a man. And on that note I will leave you all with some “manly” parting advice:

Duct tape fixes EVERYTHING.

I Named My Car Frank Stallone

Every self-respecting car enthusiast has a dream vehicle. Mine is the 1967 Chevy Impala. But not just any Impala; I’m talking the SS model that came with the limited edition “Turbo Jet” 427 motor and Z24 chrome-plated intakes built right into the hood. My dream Impala makes old ladies in Buicks lock their doors when I roll up at stop lights and prompts less than savory characters to ask how many bodies I can fit in the trunk. I get hot just thinking about it.

But that’s not the car I drive. What I drive is a 1968 Chevy Impala coupe with a stock 307 motor and four speed automatic transmission. A car, that if it weren’t for its more successful and popular older brother, would be considered totally awesome in its own right. A car that reminds me of Frank Stallone.

Frank, like my car, is totally awesome too (if you don’t believe me just check out his seriously catchy-ass tune below). So I wonder…would Frank have been more popular and successful if he wasn’t forced to live in Sylvester’s Rambo sized shadow? Or is the fact that Sylvester brought attention to the Stallone name at all what brought Frank his fifteen minutes of fame? It’s not like the guy doesn’t have talent (if that were the case I’d have named my car Jim Belushi) and even though he’s old enough to be my dad he’s still super cute (anyone who knows me knows I have a soft spot in my heart for Italian street boys. Do you hear that Sully? I’m talking to you). So I’m asking everyone who reads this post a question:

Do you think a person has more to gain by stepping out of the shadows of what is popular or should they conform in order to fit into the light at all?

I ask because recently THE CANARY REVIEW invited me to write a guest post for their “Best and Worst read” series. While my choice for best read was a breeze my choice for worst read nearly gave me a panic attack (let’s just say I voiced some disparaging remarks about a certain beloved protagonist). I absolutely agonized over whether or not to give my true opinion and risk inciting the wrath of literary minds greater than my own, so much so that I went as far as writing two separate guest posts. In the end I stepped out of the shadows, hit send and Frank Stalloned all over the place.

So stop by THE CANARY REVIEW this Wednesday and comment on whether or not you think I made the right decision. In the meantime enjoy the other Italian Stallion.