You know who you are, Mr. Bicycle Man. Weeks ago, you were changing your clothes at the bike locker in front of the Park N Ride, stripping off your bike suit, showing off that long, lean, muscled mass. Yes, you with that chiseled body and six-pack abs, and legs that could power turbines. Your well-muscled chest beckoned my tongue that yearned to lick off every bead of sweat dripping from each nipple.

Yes, you know who you are, Mr. Bicycle Man, with those broad shoulders perfect for resting my legs while your well-proportioned arms hold them up. You changed into your polo shirt, tucking it into those tight-fitting jeans, showing off your package neither UPS nor FedEx could deliver. Just when you rightly sensed someone was enjoying your impromptu peep show, you turned around and winked in my direction (!!!) right as my bus pulled off.

Luckily for me, I learned you and I work in the same department. You remembered seeing me watch you change clothes at the Park N Ride. I complimented you on your physique, and you just invited me out on a date ;)

xoxo The Green Lake Groupie

Do you need to get something off your chest? Submit an I, Anonymous and we'll illustrate it! Send your unsigned rant, love letter, confession, or accusation to Please remember to change the names of the innocent and guilty.

To the friendly bartenders at Gameworks, thank you for all the fun times over the years. I am sorry those corporate monsters fired you right before Christmas. I am happy I got to spend one last night with you and spend all the tickets I had accumulated in hopes of someday redeeming them for a PS5. The pile of cheap assorted toys put smiles on my nephew’s faces.

I’ve been going to Gameworks since I was a kid when my mom would drop me off with a loaded card to entertain myself while she shopped. I will truly miss it and your kindness made it even better. I hope you all get jobs at a friendlier arcade bar. Maybe I’ll see you at Add-A-Ball or Jupiter or Flip-Flip. Love you all.

Countless scooters and e-Bikes now litter our sidewalks and urban spaces! When can we see these share systems as their own kind of urban blight/hazard?

Recently at 7th and Olive, in front of the Federal Courthouse, Lime Scooters were set up spaced just one foot apart over half the block, over the entire bus drop-off and pick-up zone. Personally, as a bus driver in this city, I’ve had an ~ok~ experience with them, but what next? They were blocking all options of public transit. I was pissed.

My bus was in drop-off mode, and thankfully no one wanted to get on or off, but if someone there needed a bus ramp, there would have been nothing I could do. Except! Tossing over, even throwing, kicking those damned Lime Scooters out of the fucking way to allow people on or off of my bus. I radioed my dispatch of the blockage. Later on my PM shift, I found someone had removed all the scooters on the entire block. Nothing could have made me happier.

I am all for more urban mobility, but we need to properly regulate these fuckers! They cannot just be scattered about everywhere anymore!

Damn Right I Value E-scooter Regulations

I’m sick of entitled-ass people coming to the COVID testing sites and throwing a fit when they can’t be seen as a walk-up. Everyone and their fucking mother are getting tested right now, and I have even less sympathy if you’re trying to get tested because you want to go travel for frivolous reasons. Fork out the money and go pay for a different service because people who are sick or have been exposed aren’t able to get in and get tested since you twats are taking so many spots, which is what the free testing was meant for in the first place.

Also, can everyone coming to the testing sites understand that the people swabbing and registering you have no control over the website, hours, set up of the sites, etc. So many of you fuckers come in and act like I personally was responsible for whatever the complaint of the day is. I know someone who got spit on for turning a person away who didn’t have an appointment. I’ve been screamed at for the same thing. People are acting like fucking animals and I’m sick of it.

Y’all suck,

Just One Exhausted Healthcare Worker of Many

Why is it so goddamn hard to walk in this city? And I'm not even talking about the city's outskirts or some of the notorious clusterfucks like Aurora and Rainier Ave. It's not even easy to cross the street in the city's densest neighborhoods.

Take Olive Way between Broadway and Denny on Capitol Hill. You've got two choices to cross—at Summit, where you can wait what feels like a fucking eternity because of course we can't inconvenience cars for the 10 seconds it takes to cross the street; or you can cross at Boylston and flip a coin whether cars will stop for you. If you want some more exercise and a little adrenaline rush, you can try to scurry across at any of the "unmarked crosswalks"—legal but not remotely safe.

And let me go on a tangent for a second to say FUCK whichever asshole decided to be lazy as fuck and rather than painting crosswalks (or installing any sort of traffic-calming measures—fuck that, right?) instead said fuck it, let's just say that every intersection in that area is a crosswalk. I mean just brilliant reasoning there. Let's just call things what they're not so that we don't have to think about them anymore. Just give this asshole the Fields Medal for the Third Incompleteness Theorem. But Jesus H Fucking Christ this city still considers "jaywalking" a crime—fucking jaywalking. As if this progressive city doesn't understand the history of jaywalking and has such little decency for human beings that it tells them to get the fuck off the roadway instead of building walkable infrastructure and inviting public spaces.

But if you're lucky enough to walk across Olive Way and make it to Denny alive, good for you because you get to witness one of the truly most fucked up traffic designs in the city: There is a green arrow for turning right from Olive Way onto Denny that briefly changes color to yellow and then just a solid green—just in time for the walk sign to turn on—so we have cars accelerating into an intersection and then turning across a pedestrian right-of-way—what could go wrong? It's like the traffic engineers know that leading pedestrian intervals save lives and they just said, you know what fuck them I-5 is just around the corner. Unless this problem is fixed, a pedestrian is going to fucking die at this intersection—and the state Senate's transportation chair Marko Liias will throw his hands up and blame distracted driving.

But it's cool to know that as our world is burning you can always get to I-5 just a little faster thanks to the city's traffic planners.

And P.S. to drivers: If you hit a pedestrian, just keep driving. SDOT and SPD don't seem to give a fuck.

Steven Weissman
I’ve worked retail for fifteen years and witnessed my share of things. A man punched a woman in the face for cutting on Black Friday. A mother slapped her small child across the face for backtalking. I’ve had objects thrown in my face when I informed someone I couldn’t return them. Dealt with the toilet paper shortage of 2020 (y’all lost your god damn minds and were rude af). Cleaned up pee in countless fitting rooms. Don’t even get me started on what people do with their poop in public bathrooms. Hint—it should go in the toilet, but it doesn’t always.

But I’d rather go through ALL FIFTEEN YEARS of that bullshit in ONE DAY than deal with working one shift at the door at my local Costco.

Yes, the person who has to check that you have your membership card and OFFER YOU A MASK. That’s required of them by STATE LAW, you pathetic whiners.

Do you think we care about you, personally? We don’t, but we have to offer you a mask. Instead of just walking past us like we aren’t there or saying, “no thank you,” you have to put your little two cents in. “Get fucked,” is what most of you disease spreading, backwoods degenerates respond with.

Would you say that to one of us off-the-clock in the parking lot? No, your chicken-shit ass would not. You say it to us when we are at work, so we have to remain professional. Well, I’m off the clock, and all I have to say is, how about YOU GET FUCKED! Maybe then you’d be less of a pathetic, spineless little sheep.

Why have we not lowered the voting age to 16?! They can work. Their labor is taxed, but they have no say in how the pricks in DC spend their money. They drive cars and trucks that weigh thousands of pounds which can kill or maim a biker or pedestrian, yet they cannot vote. What...the...hell!

They are born into the Anthropocene and must deal with climate destruction and species extinction (of which they are innocent) that their elders primarily caused through their voting habits. Yet the youth don’t get a vote to reverse this suicidal course?

Voting should be part of their educational process. Are we turning children into anti-citizens when they become voting adults by excluding our youth from decision-making in government by denying them the vote? Have they been politically castrated by the time they finally reach voting age? Maybe that’s the whole point.

If knowledge, experience, and understanding were criteria for voting, most American adults would not qualify. “Adult” voting since American inception leaves a bloody trail stained with misogyny, racism, and cruelty upon the working class. Patriarchy and oligarchy have ALWAYS encouraged the anti-citizen.

So I fucking challenge us to empower our children. Most adults keep voting like anti-citizens. Let the 16 and 17-year-olds vote! See how long Ann Davidson, Donald Trump, and the other servants of the violent ruling class would last under a barrage of 16-year-old voters.


Yes, I saw you sneaking around the tent when you knew its occupant would be out working. I’ve watched him take care of that tiny Belltown empty lot for weeks without problems. Since you wanted to destroy the tent in secret, I called out, "Hey, I see you!" When you ignored me to pull out a tent stake, I asked "What's wrong in your life that you need to mess with poor people?” You told me he should go be poor somewhere else, and I replied, “Hey, he’s our neighbor too. How'd he hurt you?"

Since you skulked away as you replied, "But it's the Guatemalan!" I'll let you know here that your casual bigotry didn't convince me that you were being right, just, or fair. Sneakily, passively-aggressively destroying the flimsiest of homes is not a better solution than settling things person to person. Sweeping people is not better than creating housing and non-congregate shelter.

When he returned to his tent, he packed up and left. Let’s hope it was because he found a better home than our corner, not because you scared him off to somewhere worse. It only took one day for the lot to fill with litter again.

I left Seattle 12 years ago but I recently moved back. I had to wait until COVID-19 was under control to start going back out to the gay bars. And these GAY BARS... What the hell happened? It’s like time has stopped, and not in a good way. The Cuff? They put a roof on the patio??? Wow... a roof on a patio in a rainy city, finally! LOL! Diesel? Meh. Queer Bar? It's Purr but with a new name. CC’s? New location, not a big difference. Pony is OK. Look, the DJs are always great in Seattle. Always. Same here at Pony. Great DJs at Pony. But that is all... Also, Union? Nice but boring design. Drinks are weak. I have not been to The Comeback. LOL.

What happened to ARO.Space? Or Easy? What about Kurrent? Blue?! I used to meet people all the time at those places. Sometimes I would meet people, date them for a while, then find out that my friends were also dating them. It was fun! Maybe I should blame cellphones. Things went downhill after cellphones. Grindr? Sniffies? Meh. It was nice just to go out and meet a guy. Also, did you know straight people know how to dress up nicely and have fun now? Unfortunately, the stereotype that gays have good taste is something we left in the past, too. What are we WEARING, GAYS?


I grew up on the East Coast and moved to Seattle in 2019. It wasn't until I finally started making friends here in 2021 (thanks Covid & Seattle Freeze!) that I learned about THE BIG ONE, and I haven't been able to stop thinking about it... mostly because y'all won't shut the hell up about it!

I have chronic anxiety and the thought of THE BIG ONE sends me spiraling. Even writing this is giving me the heebie-jeebies. But every time I hang out with people from the PNW, they LOVEEEEE to bring it up. "What's your emergency plan?" "Do you know where your nearest source of clean water is?" "Do you have a go-bag ready?" "What will you duck and cover under in your apartment in case of an earthquake?"

The only thing I can duck and cover under is a dingy Ikea coffee table I bought secondhand. And ya know what, I NEVER NEEDED TO KNOW WHAT A 'GO-BAG' WAS UNTIL NOW. Now, there is currently a dingy drawstring bag stuffed with water bottles, a deck of cards, and more cat food than human food sitting next to my front door (I have to prioritize my cat's well-being! I'm a lesbian, for context.)

I know it's better to be overprepared than underprepared, but unless you want to start paying for my Xanax, PLEASE STOP TALKING ABOUT THE BIG ONE.

This is directed at everyone in my apartment building. I thought this was a regular apartment building when I first moved here but there's something clearly weird going on here. I've tried not to be a prude about this, but it's gotten to a point where I need to say something: I have never. Ever. EVER lived in a place with such FOUL Wi-Fi names. When I noticed that someone named their network "PUSSY PALACE" after I moved in, I thought twice. Maybe this person was just a rando instigator, I thought. But no. A few months later, someone renamed their Wi-Fi to "DESTROY THIS PUSSY." DESTROY this pussy?! There are KIDS WHO LIVE HERE! (I don't have any kids, but I've seen a kid around.) A "bussy" name also popped up, as in—sigh—"boy pussy." It started as "Big Boi Bussy" then updated to "Bump My Bussy." (Why?) But it's not just p/bussy-related names. Others are just crude (such as: "I Can Hear You Pooping"), and some are sort of depressing (like: "I Hate It Here" or "This Rent Is Too Damn High"), but this ridiculous-WiFi-name thing is catching on and spreading throughout the building. When someone renamed their Wi-Fi "Putin's Princess" a few days ago, I just lost it. Have you all read the news? Jesus. Think of the people in Ukraine. Grow up.

Stop using playgrounds as off-leash dog parks! Please! I'm specifically talking to all the people at TT Minor Playfield.

This small grassy area is the only outdoor space available for the teenage refugee and immigrant students who attend school there. Just like dogs, human youth enjoy playing, walking, and basking in the sun. Unfortunately, the students cannot do any relaxing activities in the playfield because of your dogs' prolific shit, piss, and holes (the ones they dig). They are reduced to passing a soccer ball between the cars in the parking lot. I do not need to describe how annoying it is to retrieve a soccer ball from under a parked car.

Moreover, did you know that some Muslim communities consider dogs very taboo? Students who study at this school did not all grow up around dogs, and some are very afraid of interacting with them. Imagine what it's like when they have to pass by a field of unleashed dogs on the way to their school bus. Spring is nearly here. These students have seen and suffered a lot in their short lives. They deserve to sit in the sun and take a mental break at lunchtime without concerns about tracking feces back into their classrooms.

So, if you love your Muslim neighbor like the sign in your yard says you do, let these kids have one tiny space where life is not literally or figuratively shitty, and take your dog to an actual off-leash dog park.

This is to all the asshole bicyclists who insist on riding on walking trails in our parks and natural areas. Y'all are some of the most entitled folks I've ever met. Almost every time I go for a peaceful walk on walking trails, I come across one of you.

There are signs that explicitly say "no bikes allowed on trails." Do you really think they're there for no reason? Newsflash: biking is bad for natural areas. The speed and weight of bikes do so much more damage than footsteps. Bikes accelerate erosion, leave v-shaped ruts in the trail, kill small plants and wildlife on and alongside trails, drive wildlife out of the area, and set an example that it's okay to disrespect the environment.

In addition, bikes are dangerous to pedestrians, especially folks who are walking with headphones in and can't hear your stupid little shout of "on your left!" or "incoming!" You actively choosing to bicycle in these spaces is a selfish decision.

There are trails in Seattle that are designed and meant for bicycles. Please stick to those. If you want to enjoy the pedestrian-only areas, here's an idea: take a fucking walk!

Dear Seattle,

It seems we have taken this 50 Shades of Gray thing a bit too far. Everywhere around me, every single new condo built or repainted in this last building boom is now a complete array of grays—all anemic variations of black and white. We desperately need a breakup with this kind of non-consensual sensory deprivation.

I suspect somewhere in the Architectural Digest reality, someone insisted this 50 Shades of Gray was sexy for sales. But as I look out at the latest bland addition to my “hot” neighborhood, it not only looks more drab than the usual Seattle gray sky, it looks feverishly diseased.

I’m not alone in being bothered by this bland grayscale look infecting Seattle’s neighborhoods. I’ve had conversations with neighbors where we fantasize pelting these pallid places with paintball ammo. Anything for a splash of color! Even pastels would be an improvement! Sun-deprived Seattleites don’t just need more light; we need more refracted light in the form of color—not less of it.

So maybe to celebrate this spring, while the cherry blossoms are doing their part by carpeting the sidewalks with pink blossoms, let’s start celebrating by splashing some color on all those drab structures.

Hey, show-talkers… please shut the fuck up!

We've waited a long time to see live music regularly again. I recently went to see Vanishing Twin at the Clock Out Lounge, who traveled from the UK, and was supposed to be here in March of 2020, so it was long overdue. It was a short one-hour set, yet half the crowd seemed to think it was the perfect time for a conversation.

No matter where I stood, people were chatting so loud that I could hear all about their brunch plans on the right, their opinions of the beer they chose on the left, or "hey, how's your fern doing?" behind me. I took it upon myself to move away from that spot, just to hear people gabbing at every turn. Even ten feet from the stage, standing under the PA speakers.

I realize some go to shows as a social gathering and are excited to see friends. Then please go outside to have your conversation. Or at least to the back of the room! Or, even better, talk before and after the band's performance.

It's rude to the musicians and those trying to immerse into the music, and it's embarrassing as an audience member. I can see it on the musicians' faces and know it's upsetting to them. Show some basic respect.

This is certainly not a Clock Out Lounge or Seattle problem alone, as I have experienced this at concerts in cities all over the US, but that is no excuse.

Maybe venues can address this by playing a PSA before the set like they do in boutique movie theaters. No need to threaten to kick people out, just make the talkers feel a bit ashamed. Until something like that happens, please join me in shushing and glaring at show talkers, so we can collectively solve this problem and enjoy the music chatter-free!

Several years ago, you called into a salon that I worked at and demanded that I cancel someone else's appointment. You wanted to get in for a haircut from our curly hair specialist the next day at a specific time because you were being interviewed for something. I was so polite, so calm, so accommodating to you. After offering you several reasonable alternatives, you threw the most intense Karen entitlement fit and accused me of being incompetent because the schedule was full, and I could not simply cancel someone else's appointment to get you in. You even had the nerve to yell, "Do you know who I am"? Actually, yes.

I knew exactly who you were because I had read your books and had looked up to you for years. I am a student working towards becoming a couples and family therapist. You were so cruel to me over something out of my control, and now I have to sit through classes through a curriculum you wrote the book on. Do you know how difficult it is to respect you when I really know who you are and how you behave when you don't have a camera on you? When you were screaming at me over the phone, I was taking care of my dying husband. Anytime a therapist or instructor mentions being certified by your institute, I have to be conscious about not rolling my eyes. How does someone so emotionally unintelligent become the face of couples' communication? You know who you are, and I sincerely hope that you know how to regulate your own emotions now. Also, an apology would really help me get through the remainder of my schooling without feeling sick every time your name comes up.

I had the best date with the cutest guy until the end of the night. We went to Ballard, had dinner & drinks at King’s Hardware. We both had chicken sandwiches—they were divine! Brava, Linda! Then, we proceeded to go to Gas Works where our cute little skyline gleamed in the distance at our aggressive snogging. He had only just moved here and had never been to thee iconic park where Heath Ledger & Julia Stiles once threw paint balloons at one another.

I brought him home to mine, naturally. An hour of hot foreplay goes by, and I asked him if I could eat his ass. He obliged, gladly. A minute in, it began to feel wet. I didn’t think it was him. Maybe I was salivating, or maybe I was suffering from this bipolar weather and it was just a runny nose. Oh wait. No. I look up and I see a decent puddle of blood smeared between his immaculate cheeks. It was a bloody nose.

I asked him not to move while I carefully and sheepishly exited the bed and tried not to leak blood over my peach sheets from Bed Threads. It killed the mood, naturally. As I let my nose dry out with a sexy tissue plugging the bleed, we laughed and held each other. He insisted the nosebleed didn’t ruin the night.

Time will tell if we see one another again. I hope so. He’s a dream. No matter what, I will forever be mortified that I had a bloody nose all over this beautiful man’s ass.

Steven Weissman

Last week, when I told you that my daughter confessed to me that you have emotionally abused her as a coach for the past seven years, you were stunned. The first question you asked, in a shaky voice: "Are you going to tell the other parents?"

It was my turn to be stunned. My first thought as a mother was to be so sad about my traumatized daughter. I hadn't thought of the other parents. But you were, since they are your clients. You have been milking them for 40 years. You have been billing me for seven years, for me to drop off my child at your place of business so that you can thoroughly break her down and emotionally abuse her.

You told parents you were doing "leadership development training" with our kids. You didn't tell us you would be making the children call you "god" and tell them not to look you in the eye. You didn't tell us you would call them "shit" and "lazy" and ignore them if they didn't do exactly as you asked. You didn't tell us that you laughed as you told the children that former parents accused you of running a "concentration camp for kids," that's how infamous you are.

"It's not abuse," you still insist. "It's teaching children how difficult the world is and how to succeed at a high level." You, a gnarled and crooked 75-year-old woman, I do not know how to explain to you that disrespecting and terrorizing children is not good coaching. It's abusive. This letter is just the beginning. The buck stops here.