I was approached by a journalist from the Milwaukee Journal Tuesday regarding my submission to Common Pitch Milwaukee. This is the article she wrote wherein my quote is completely out of context and much of what I said was left out.

This post exists to set the context right.

As some of you may know, I was very excited to read about Common Pitch Milwaukee. As soon as I read on their site: “We’re on the hunt for eight promising startups working hard to redefine business in America. The best candidates will represent products or services that improve on (or completely reinvent) an existing American industry, helping to make it more sustainable, more profitable, more community oriented, more ethical – and maybe even more fun.” I knew I had to do it.

The cafe fits all of that. While the thought of getting on a stage scared the crap out of me, it’s for the dream. So, I went for it. Initially the due date was listed as the 18th. Then, all of a sudden, it got switched to the 13th. The application consisted of two small questions- 1. regarding what social impact our concept has 2. what environmental impact and then a mandatory video. I had clips of people talking about what the cafe would mean to them now or what it would have meant to them growing up. They were going to be at the end of me describing what the cafe was. With the switch in date, I had to just link the videos in separately in the “anything else you want us to know?” section and go with a video of me explaining the cafe. Here is the script I memorized for it:

“Hi, I’m Natali. Some people know me as UberDork Girlie and this is my pitch about UberDork Cafe. There will not be pie charts or a soundtrack or fancy graphics. Just a story. You see, once upon a time there was a single mom that struggled finding a place where her and her daughters could hang out. Looking for things to do during a Wisconsin winter turned depressing. Having crayons and chicken fingers doesn’t automatically make a place kid-friendly. Very few places offered classes and activities for kids and their parents to bond and those that did were outrageously expensive. So, she started thinking. What started out as creating a place for her and her daughters to hang out at ended up being the idea of a home for an entire community.

From the application, the video pitch was made out to be the main part.

Guess not. In fact, they would admit after they posted who made it through, that they never even bothered to watch the video pitches. That they had no intentions of doing so until after they had the “short list”, meaning the 8 picked.

THAT is where I became “very confused and disillusioned.”

Why would you ask for them and then not watch them? How are you going to pick from the answers of those simple questions?

I wanted to figure out what I had done wrong. What I could do differently next time. So, I went to look at the chosen 8.

First on the list- brighter12 An “online companion for working a 12 step process.” I have seen and heard of other resources for 12 steppers. I checked out the entire site to get a feel for what would make them different. Then I clicked on “our team” and there, plain as can be, under “Our Business Partners” – Spreenkler, Innovation in Milwaukee and Manifesto.

Who is presenting Common Pitch Milwaukee? Spreenkler and Innovation in Milwaukee.


Can you honestly say that you wouldn’t have thought “WTF?!?” too?

Absolutely nothing against the Rahms, at all. I applaud what they are doing. I am all for making a difficult journey easier. It did, however, answer my questions of “How is this different? Innovative? Revolutionary?”

The fact that they would pick their business honestly broke my heart a bit. These are groups that claim to exist to bring in, nurture and support people who want to open businesses that change Milwaukee for the better. Groups I was looking forward to working with in the future. Groups that involve people I had respected. Groups that didn’t even bother to watch the videos people made for their pitch. Groups that just picked their own.

That’s how it feels and it is certainly how it looks. No matter who picked the 8, (which I still have no clue, the rejection letter was from Art Milwaukee? They aren’t even on the Common Pitch Milwaukee site?) the moment that a business partner came up, something should have been said.

Then there is the fact that only 3 out of the 8 are from Milwaukee. I understand both sides of this coin. One is “Why have it here if it’s national?” One is “It gives Milwaukee more exposure.” I’m down the middle. Hell, one company is from Chile?? That certainly doesn’t fit in with “eight promising startups working hard to redefine business in America” and it’s concept is far from unique as well. But, I’m sure there is some sort of reason that it would be picked over all the entries they got. Right? Bottom line- there was a better way to achieve both.

I LOVE Milwaukee. I am all for anything that helps bring in new talent, that showcases the best we have to offer. I am far from some “MilTownHater.” (Seriously is that even a real phrase?) And I certainly did not set out to rock any sort of boat or piss anyone off.

You know what though? I know I’m not alone in this. I know there are many others that are mad as HELL about this and all that lies underneath. And let me tell you, this is all just the tip of the iceberg. There is some disturbingly dark stuff underneath all of this that just keeps going and going. Things I never wanted to know and would rather that I didn’t. But, somethings you can’t un-see or un-know. And all those people out there that are upset about this, that are feeling confused and disillusioned, they had great ideas too. Ideas that would help make Milwaukee even more awesome. But, where are they to turn now? It’s not just about not having the opportunity to pitch at this event. It’s about the whole week and the organizations involved and the feeling that this one event manages to put out there.

At the very least, you can say that this was handled REALLY poorly.

And if that pisses people off, than so be it. Ms. Gallagher already put my name out there connected to this mess, I’m gonna own up to my thoughts on it. Thoughts that may not be popular. Thoughts that have already upset people that matter far more than I do in this city.

But, just like this city that I love, they are mine.

I wish nothing but the best for all of those pitching tonight. And to the organizations that are attached to this mess. Hopefully they will find their way back to their mission statements someday. The first cup of coffee for them at the cafe is on me.

Update: “‘Our event is designed to bring attention to entrepreneurs, to celebrate entrepreneurialism and to involve the community in bringing support to people that desperately need it,’ said Carmel Hagen, Common’s chief marketing officer.”

Whether anyone wants to come forward and say it or not, this one event has done A LOT of harm to the very community this week was to be about. No matter what the groups involved and their friends will say.

For as long as I can remember, I have always taken mass amounts of crap from someone before I stand up for myself. Don’t get me wrong, I’ll stand up for those I care about in a heartbeat. Yet, I’ve always seemed to subconsciously deem myself unworthy of the same thing.

I’ve long given people chance after chance and had a hard time cutting ties. It’s always seemed like giving up on someone. I don’t like to give up on people.

But, the flipside is not doing so is giving up on me. So, I’ve gotten better at voicing my feelings when they’ve been smacked around a bit. And today I took that one step further.

It’s going to seem ridiculously silly I’m sure, but it was a breakthrough to me. I’ve never actually “unfriended” or “deleted” or “unfollowed” someone I’ve known. I’ve blocked some crazies here and there but never someone I once deemed a friend (or more.)

Until now.

Facebook is different for me than anywhere else online. The monkeys have names. People on there have known me my whole life. Seen me naked. Gave me tissue when I’ve cried. Hell watched me give birth. There’s an intimacy the exists there that doesn’t anywhere else.

I realized that if someone is okay with being a complete and utter douchebag to me, than they do not have the right to that intimacy.

So, one click of the button has solved that. And it feels pretty damn good. 🙂 It also kinda sucks.

Allow me to help you wipe it off.

I’m pretty sure you’ve heard, Amy Winehouse died yesterday at the age of 27. Now, I will be the first to admit that it wasn’t a huge shock. What was though was the level of disrespect that I witnessed surrounding it. It broke my heart and made me sick.

I’m the last person to have anything resembling celebrity worship in me. (Okay, I totally squee’d when I met Wil Wheaton, but common, it’s Wil Wheaton.) I went on a HUGE rant when I woke up the morning after the earthquakes in Haiti that affected the lives of nearly 3 million people and Lady GaGa was the top trending item on Twitter. Why? Because she was exhausted. Eat a sammich! I tell you what though, if she had died (so very much not wishing that upon her or anyone else for that matter), I would have understood why that would be everywhere.

No matter what your opinion of her, you can not deny the talent she had. She was brave and groundbreaking. She had an insanely powerful voice that was belted from a fragile, haggard looking young woman. And she had such soul. Lyrics don’t get written like hers unless you’ve been there. Songs sung from the gut like that have a trail of pain behind them. Pain that is relived every time you sing it. Sing them all back to back and it’s no wonder she had issues. Some called her a tortured soul, others a train wreck. I’d always just wanted to give her a hug and hoped she’d figure it all out.

But, she didn’t. At a mere 27 years old, she has left this world. While the reports are still out, we’re all expecting cause of death is alcohol and/or drug related. It doesn’t mean she deserved it though. It doesn’t mean that it’s okay to say horrible things.

SHE WAS A HUMAN BEING.

I saw someone ask when the news first broke if it was wrong that they secretly kind of hoped the rumors were true. ABSOFUCKINGLUTELY. Others made snide comments about Amy Winehouse’s death and how now we won’t have to be burdened by watching more about what happened in Norway. (Yes, I know they were being snarky.) Really? Do you seriously believe that Amy woke up Saturday morning and said “Fuck the Norwegians, I’m gonna one up them everywhere”?!!? Joke after joke after sick joke. Bitching upon bitching at having to see Amy Winehouse “shit everywhere.”

Everyone that dies is a loss to someone. Who are we to judge that it’s otherwise?

Here’s a thought- turn off your TV, step away from your computer and take a moment to call some one you love and tell them so. Make sure they know you really mean it. No matter if we lead the life of a saint, or that of an addict, none of us are guaranteed a specific amount of time on this earth. Use it well.

I choose to use mine to see the good and worth in people. To spend time reminding the people in my life they are important to me and genuinely so in their own unique way. To try to do my best to be a good person and a decent mother.

I am by no means a saint either. I am highly flawed and a continual work in progress.

But I can look myself in the mirror.

Feb 28, 2011

Dear Mr. Hipster in MiniVan That Decided Stop Signs STILL Don’t Apply to Him,

It’s very sweet that you clearly have a desire to ram your large vehicle into me. Most men would start with dinner, but not you. You go the extra 30 mph, throw caution to the wind and laugh in the face of traffic signs just to get to me. As we begun our usual dance of me blaring my horn at you and you lifting your Starbucks Venti Whatever to salute me, don’t think I didn’t notice that this time you added a wink. And the smirk when lilest rolled down the window and screamed “I KNOW HOW TO SPELL CREEP NOW YOU BIG ILLITERATE JERK!!” was oh so charming. Well until it turned to confusion when eldest rolled hers down and said “YOU DON’T EVEN NEED TO BE ABLE TO READ!! THE SHAPE AND COLOR IS UNIVERSAL FOR A REASON!! YOU MUST HAVE CHEATED ON THE TEST!!!”

But, my favorite look of yours was the sweet look of slight terror when we followed you to your house and all honked, smiled and waved. Yes, we now know exactly where you live. So, I’ll stop by and say hi when I want to see you again. No one likes a pushy guy. Play a little hard to get from now on please.

Or else. My YOU KNOW WHY is soooooo ready.

<3,
Me

P.S. Your stupid soul patch is still crooked. Only now in the other direction. That takes talent.

I know I’m a neurotic mom. I try to hide it well. Sometimes I’m really good at that, other times not so much. Now, I’m not saying if I ran with every neurotic thought that runs screaming into my noggin that my monkeys would end up living in plastic bubbles. Even I will admit I’m not THAT bad. Besides, I couldn’t really fit those in my highest safety rating family vehicle.

The monkeys are now 6 and almost 5 and rather bright lil girls. I know they need the room to start exhibiting some independence and I’ve been working on that. I’m all about it at home and in controlled environments and had been really proud about branching out. Over the summer I began to allow them to go into public bathrooms on their own. Meaning, I stand right outside the main bathroom door and they go in together, do what they need to do and come out. Until this past Tuesday, I thought this was a great way for them to feel like big girls and still remain safe.

I think it will be a long time before I do that again.

It started with a text from my sister shortly after 6:00pm. She’d ventured to Hobby Lobby and was texting me pictures of all the Christmas stuff they had up. When my alert went off again, expected to see a giant fur-trimmed, bright pink leopard prin stocking. Instead I received franticness. One of those brief moments that occurs that makes you question humanity. Or am I making too much out of it?

Here are the details:

She walked into the clearly labelled ladies room. Straight ahead was the open door to the handicapped stall, so she went in. Standing in the stall was a man peeing. If it were me, I’d have probably gasped and started apologizing. She just quietly backed out (thinking “oh shit I walked in the mens room!”) and went to find a male employee to tell him about the incident.
Now, there are some understandable reasons this may occur. Say, if it were a bar or there was a mental/cognitive handicap of some sort. Unfortunately neither of these were true. In fact this man actually worked for Hobby Lobby in loss prevention. Not only that, it’s his moonlighting job so-to-speak. His real job? Local law enforcement.

So…

A sober, male law enforcement agent walks into a clearly labelled women’s bathroom in a very family-orientated craft store in which he actually works IN LOSS PREVENTION (read he needs to know that store inside and out) and proceeds to leave the door completely open while he whips it out to pee. My almost 5 and 6 year old know the difference between the mens and womens bathrooms. They also know to close and lock the door when they are in a stall.

His response when confronted by my sister and the male employee “I thought I heard someone walk in.” That’s it. No “omg, I’m so sorry, I have no idea how that happened.” No remorse. No apology.

There is nothing in this that tells me this was just an accident. And it beyond creeps me out. I know that if I had been there and the girls had to tinkle, I would have let them go in while I stood outside the door. They would have gone straight to that stall because they could both go in it together. And they would have seen a grown man with his penis in his hand. They would have screamed, I would have run in and that guy would have been knocked the truck out by me. Forget the junkpunch. I would have been in full on mama bear mode. It would not have been pretty.

Am I overreacting? Is the neurotic in me running amuck? Do you think this was just some accident?

HELP! 🙂

For this last week and a half or so I have been pretty sick. After finally getting antibiotics for it, I ended up breaking out in hives from head to toe from them. My hives had hives. Soooo not attractive. Soooo not comfortable. I had hit the brick wall of burnt out.

Until last night.

I’m still wiped and still dealing with health issues, but it’s time to pick up the #truthbat again. This time, surprisingly, for the cafe. For everyone that believes in it.

You see, I have a weekly conference call every Tuesday night for the UberDork Cafe. I look forward to them for many reasons. What I learned last night floored me. Saddened me. When the shock of it all wore off, it downright pissed me off.

I’ve always proudly embraced the titles geek, nerd, dork. One of the many amazing lessons that I have learned on this incredible journey of UberDork Cafe is that us gnorks still tend to hide who we are. Stay in our lil corners of the online world and don’t tend to venture beyond that. Part of the whole goal of the cafe has been to give us a place to go to. To branch out from those corners. To give our future gnorks a place to go to meet others and to actually be able to comfortably be themselves in a place within the community, the real life community. To teach them and us that we don’t need to hide who we are. There is no shame in being geeks, nerds, dorks.

Last night I realized I might be wrong.

It might not be a fluke that there is nothing really like the UberDork Cafe out there. The fact that we tend to hide may not really be our fault. It seems others are more comfortable when we are contained to online. We may come out if we must, but we shall not refer to ourselves as dorks, or geeks or nerds. It makes others uncomfortable it seems.

Last night I was informed that major corporate sponsors of the first auction completely backed out. Why? Well, during initial contact the full name UberDork Cafe was used. From that point on it was shortened to UDC or “the cafe.” Then they got the press kit yesterday. These major corporations then stated that I would need to change the name of the cafe for them to follow through with sponsoring. Yup. They don’t like “dork.” And yeah, don’t try to replace it with nerd or geek either. Those simply won’t do as well. One of these major corporations makes a great deal of money off of us gnorks as well.

My response? (Ok, well the edited version, I won’t lie, there was A LOT of cussing on my behalf initially.)

Dear Giant Corporate People,

Shame on you. Shame on you for so very many reasons. For thinking you could just buy a name. For thinking you have that sort of power over people still. For thinking that us dorks, us nerds, us geeks are that weak that we would hide who we are, change who we are to suit your comfort. For being more than willing to take our money as long as we remain safely tucked away from view and deny who we are. For thinking that you somehow own us. For thinking that in this day and age discrimination is ok, as long as it has a price tag on it. For thinking that I am the type of person that is going to just roll over, change my entire character and teach my children that it is acceptable to allow a company, or even a person, to force you to change your name, your character, or who you are for them.

Allow me to enlighten you. Dork, nerd, geek… in your feeble minds may be words that show weakness or less than desirable characteristics. I hate to break this to you, but the term “corporate” invokes far worse feelings amongst a vastly wider population of people. People that span all age levels, races, income brackets, you name it. Do you know why that is? Because of things like this. Because you still live under the antiquated notion that bigger is always better. That money will buy you anything, anyone. I hate to break it to you, but it really doesn’t. In fact, it won’t even buy you one lil ole dork.

I’m not for sale. My children’s dream is not for sale. My friends, my family, the people that support this dream, that support the UberDork Cafe are not for sale.

And we certainly aren’t going anywhere. If anything, you’ve just made us a bit louder. A bit more present.

Thanks so much for reinforcing the need for the UberDork Cafe. Your shameful behavior has made my mission that much stronger.

Have a wonderful day!

Sincerely,
Natali
Proudly known as UberDork Girlie

So, I had me a lil moment on Twitter Friday morning. Ok, it was more like a Falling Down moment. I was Michael Douglas and I’d had enough. Now I know #twitterisalotlikehighschool, but my faith in humanity felt like it was being flipped off. And I snapped… just a touch.

You see, I logged in that morning and the number two trending topic was #getwellgaga. #Haiti was barely clinging to the bottom of the list. Admittedly, that was enough to bother me. Then I pulled up my faithful buddy Google to find out what exactly the well wishes were for. For a number two slot, I expected to find a diagnosis of cancer or, at the very least, a car accident or shot by a crazy stalker fan. I’d have MAYBE settled for a trip to rehab. Not that I’m wishing any of these on her. Instead I read “Lady Gaga cancels performance due to exhaustion.” You’re kidding me- right? Exhausted from cancer treatments? Exhausted from running from crazy knife/gun-wielding stalker fan? Exhausted from saving the world from certain doom? Jeebus give me something here!! Nope, just “exhausted.”

Over 3 MILLION people have just been severely affected in a nation that was already struggling with some pretty serious issues and people are more focused on sending get well wishes (that she’s never even going to see, let alone respond to!) to some goofy bitch that just needs to eat a sandwich and take a night off from partying?? Yeah, I went from bothered, squealed right on past pissed and landed firmly in Superfly TNT.

As I’d already blipped my morning love song to my coffee my second tweet of the day was:

“What the fuck kind of world do we live in that get well wishes for some obnoxious wannabe who is merely ‘exhausted’ out trends #haiti?!!??”

Followed by:

“Seriously. You know who is EXHAUSTED? The 3MILLION people affected by Tuesday’s quake and all the volunteers in #haiti trying to help.”

And I hit the ground running from there. I also refused to call Lady Gaga by her name as to avoid adding anything to the already trending hash tag. Then I went after the number one hash tag #OMGfacts. I kept it there so any of the people looking for their tweets may actually end up receiving a bit of education. I tweeted several facts regarding the issues facing those in Haiti. I am happy to report that MANY of my tweeps backed me. With comments, with RT’s, with DM’s, they supported my anger. My disappointment. My sadness.

I think people’s obsession with celebrity worship is disgusting. Believe me, I’ve met more than my fair share of celebrities and they are assholes just like the rest of us. In many cases, even worse. What have they truly done to earn such admiration and blind lust? What value does that worship truly add to one’s life? Actors and actresses may have done a performance that moved you. Ok, but that performance was written by someone else. That character is not THEM nor their creation. Furthermore, most of the time, that character isn’t even REAL. Musicians may be talented, but their music often isn’t written by them and they aren’t singing that song to you. Really, I hate to break it to you, but they aren’t. There are hundreds of thousands of wonderful, highly musically talented people in this world that will never be noticed. Are they just as worthy? Is it for the sole purpose of looks? There are beautiful people everywhere on this planet. Most of which are beautiful INSIDE AND out. Do they not beckon the same then? Don’t even get me started on the Paris Hiltons of this world. I think you’re getting my point.

Now, don’t get me wrong, I am not shunning all you fanboy and fangirls out there. I get digging a show, a character, a game, a movie and collecting stuff that goes along with it. Hell here in monkeyland we have a tank with a fish named Wonder Woman, a frog named Princess Leia and a snail named Chauncey The Wonder Snail. I’m not picking on you. Not at all my dearies. It’s the chicks that get the vapors and bawl for weeks on end because their favorite so and so is engaged. It’s the guys that wallpaper their room with posters of their favorite so and so and name their designated self love hand after them. It’s the people that all went suicidal when Michael Jackson died. It’s the people that take it to that whole other level. Like sending get well wishes to Lady freakin’ Googoo on Twitter.

< / rant>

Just like life, Twitter doth take away and it doth also give. While it flipped off my sense of humanity on Friday, this week it gave it a big ole wet smoochie. And it did so in #geekswithheart. Power to my geeks! Two of my absolute favoritest sexy ass sisters in geekhood @GeekGirls and @GeekyClean have come together to form Geeks With Heart, a fundraising effort to help Haiti. And yup, I just wanna hug ‘em.

All proceeds raised go to Mercy Corps. Mercy Corps mission: “Mercy Corps exists to alleviate suffering, poverty and oppression by helping people build secure, productive and just communities.” Their motto: “Be The Change.” I LOVE that! Just some of their efforts to help survivors in Haiti to recover include “ ‘Comfort for Kids,’ a trauma-counseling methodology for children that (they) co-developed and deployed after 9/11, Hurricane Katrina, the Sichuan Earthquake and other disasters.” Currently, they are “focused on immediate humanitarian needs: water and sanitation, trauma support and job creation.”

For those in doubt, while Geeks With Heart is small (for now!), Mercy Corps is big. This is what they do and they are good at it. They will know how to properly handle and disperse all funds raised to assure that they meet the greatest needs first. They’re pros y’all.

So, please, show some support. Show some geek love. Show some nongeek love. Just show the love. To do so…

Visit Geeks With Heart here.

Visit The Geek Girls Network here.

Visit Geeky Clean here.

Follow @geekgirls

Follow @geekyclean

Add a Twibbon here

Do me proud folks! This is the kind of moment I LIKE having!

I like it when my phone dings. Just the tone makes me smile. It means I have a text, which means someone is thinking of me. Whether it’s “Good morning, Sunshine”, “Call me hooker”, or the kind of rare but treasured “I love you”- I smile. It’s a good noise. Usually.

This last week, ok make that two, has been emotional for me. You may not be able to tell, I hide it well. In fact, you need to be pretty fluent in Natali to know when something is really up. Most people aren’t brave enough to master Natali. But, yeah, a lot going on inside lately. Don’t start Googling local crisis hotline numbers yet, it’s not all been bad, some of it really good. That and it’s certainly nothing I can’t handle and eventually figure out. Either way, it’s left me feeling a little raw, definitely drained and I still have some emotions to sort out.

The drained part caught up with me last night. Once Operation Monkey Wrestle Down takes place for the night, when they’ve been tucked in, read to, lullabyed and smooched a million times, I need to remain fairly quiet until the snores are heard. Tonight was another creative stalling tactics night. While practicing the art of ninja stealth like quietness, I managed to fall asleep on the couch. Ninja fail there, that’ll get ya caught. At 10:46 the sound that makes me smile so jostled me awake. I sat there, smile still on face, eyebrow furrowed, staring down at a number I didn’t recognize and a cryptic message. A couple of weeks ago I purged quite a few people from my contacts, so the furrowed brow got furroweder as I attempted to wrap my mind around it all. The text read “I would like 2 talk 2 u soon. let me know if that is ok. I jst want 2 make peace w all those that mtr 2 me b 4 its 2 late. Pleze let me know eithr way.” I figured it was the wrong number and sent a “Who is this?”. I sure as fuck wasn’t expecting the answer I got.

There are two women in my life I have referred to as my adopted sister for decades. Our bond has transcended that of mere friendship. It is a true sisterhood. One, C, is the only person that knows every single thing I have been through in my life. The text was from her ex husband, G, who was like a brother to me. I was the only woman he could never charm his way out of an argument with. I was his greatest opponent in a battle of the wits (and we had some knock down, drag out ones). I was the only one that called him on his bullshit. Eventually when I met my ex (which is another thing I can blame him for), he and G became best friends. The four of us were a dysfunctional little family.

Then it all started to change. There is a barrage of players and events within this, but I’m going to try to keep this simple for once and stick to us four. The change was only noticed by me. It’s amazing how at times I can pick up the tiniest detail and see how the hand will play out. G hurt his back and what started as Vicodin, turned to Percocet and eventually to Heroin. Using turned to dealing. I watched him like a bullet train speeding toward those dead ends you see in the RoadRunner cartoons that lead Wil E. right off a cliff. I tried talking to all three of them. Really, I did. But, no one would listen. C & my ex popped open a can of denial and guzzled it daily. G was already a demi god in his own mind and his thick skulled lil head would hear nothing that indicated otherwise. I felt like fucking Cassndara. (For those of you not hip to the Greek stories, for which I so don’t blame you, she was given the gift of prophecy. She could see the future in all its clarity. Girl wouldn’t put out for Apollo though so he got pissed and cursed her with the tragedy that while she could forsee the future, no one would believe her. I think it was Apollo. I’m too tired to look it up and you all get the point anyway.) All I could do was stand there and watch. I braced myself and did my best to prepare to clean up a mess. No one makes a mess quite like G. Lying, cheating, stealing and when all was said and done, he was behind bars and I had a sister and a fiance that were completely gutted.

G knew my terms. Everyone who truly knows me knows that you can treat me like utter shit and I will take what I can of it until I get to the point where I just walk away. But, when you hurt someone I love, claws and fangs come out and I’m wiping the blood from your jugular off my face before you know what hit you. I am fiercely protective of those I love. I also know what will hurt you most. Went I went with C to go see him in jail after he was arrested, I completely ignored him. Not in that refusing to make eye contact and just keep looking everywhere but at him kind of way. In a staring through the glass, through him like he no longer existed kind of way. The only acknowledgment he got from me was when he told C that he would be out in two weeks and was going to make everything all right. That’s when I looked him in the eyes and laughed my ass off.

He served far more than two weeks. C and him were divorced while he was in prison. She continued to visit him. I never judged her for doing so, I just supported her the best I could. When she made claims of him changing, I replied “only time will tell.” I knew he hadn’t really at that point. After a few years, he made it out. I saw him once while he was at C’s shortly after I had kicked the ex out. She asked me to see him and for her, I complied. C asked me to forgive him. When I managed to see some resemblance to the man that was once my brother of sorts, I did.

Then his dumb ass ended up back in. There’s another series of events I will spare you, but the arrest is epic. It’s been over a year now since it happened. My ex’s roommate when I met him was a cop. He stood up in our wedding. It was him that busted G this time around. Karma does know how to give one hell of a bitchslap. It really was brilliant.

The kicker to all this is he has cancer now. He’s dying. C won’t bring him up to me unless I ask and I don’t ask. Part of me is really pissed she didn’t warn me he was out again. Seriously, that’s totally gotta break some sort of chick rule. There must be a “hey he got paroled” clause somewhere. My answer to his text was that I would talk to him, tomorrow. Which is technically today now. He continued to let me know that A. He still loves me and B. He’s sorry. And now I’m left wondering what to say to him.

I come bearing my own irony to this as well. I was just discussing a very, very dear friend of mine, B, who passed away four years ago. I miss him so much. He is also one of my very few regrets in life. HE was going to be my next post. G and him actually grew up in the same town and went to the same school at the same time, but they were never friends. My regret with B was my failure to see him bullet training toward his own dead end. My life at that time was really busy, I was pregnant with lilest monkey when he died. I just wish I could hug him and tell him I’m sorry. I know that doing so with G won’t change my regret with B. Maybe I’m wrong. Maybe this is the powers that be giving me another shot. A do over. I will not apologize to G though. I don’t feel a need to. No matter what, I have no clue what to really say. I know he wants validation that I still love him. I don’t know that I do and I am not one to just say I love you for the sake of it. Then again, he is dying. So, if this eases his conscience(though I’m not entirely certain he deserves it), does it matter?

I’m feeling pretty damned by that ding now.

The choice to move back to a town I swore I never would was a very hard pill to swallow. Actually, it was more like the seemingly gallons of penicillin I guzzled as a kid growing up during my 3-4 times a year battles with strep throat and whatever other ailment that came along for the ride. I don’t care what anyone says, that shit does NOT taste like strawberry. It’s just vile. Yet, it was the easiest choice I made because it was done so through the eyes of a mother. I rarely refer to myself as that. Typically, it’s mommy. But, this was a very motherly thing to do.

So why so vile? There are many reasons I suppose. But, none are the seemingly obvious ones. I’m not one of those people that thinks they are “too cool” for the suburbs. I’m about the furthest one can get from cool. I’m not one of those people that fear it will change me. I change me. On my own terms. For my own reasons. They failed before, it would be futile for them to even try now. Put me anywhere and I can hold my own.

I guess, in the simplest terms, it may be that I just know too much. Towns, like people, have skeletons in their closets as well. They vary, just like ours, in size and stature. When you spend your whole life in a town and do so with open eyes you see them. Sometimes you crack open the door and peek. Sometimes they are blatantly waving from an attic window. Sometimes you kick down the door and bravely stare them in the eye sockets. No matter the way, once you’ve met them, they’re damn near impossible to forget.

Yes, people change. Yes, towns change. But when generation after generation remain or return- how much change is really made? To change would mean that they’d have to have opened their minds to new ideologies, new people. Embrace that change and then bring it back and cultivate it. That just doesn’t happen around here. At all. I so wish it did too. And the more gruesome the skeletons, the smaller the benefit of the doubt one can muster. And we’re talking pretty gnarly here. The following is where I dig deep and lay it on the line. It’s not pretty and the pacing is pretty odd for me. I have no problem babbling on about things. Trust me. So, yup, it is odd that I rush through them. If you venture on, at the end, I think you may understand why. If not, you are always welcome to ask. Ok kiddies, disclaimer/excuse/stalling over.

It all starts with my parents and how they met….

The biggest suburban fairytale of yore was high school sweethearts getting married, building the ole white picket fence and popping out 2.5 offspring. My parents fall under the next biggest one- my mother ended up marrying her best friend’s older brother. Out of high school my mom and my aunt Diane (my dad’s sister) got a place with another girl. After going through the loss of several of her friends from deaths due to drunk driving accidents (most the other driver’s fault), my mom had no desire to get her license. So, aunt Diane would drop her off and pick her up everyday for work.

On the evening of Thursday, November 3rd, 1966, my aunt was uncharacteristically late to pick her up. Worried, she called my aunt’s other brother (my uncle). He picked her up and they went by my aunt’s job to see if she was still there. No one’s lives would ever be the same again in our family. They still aren’t. There is simply no bracing one for what they saw. The coroner estimated her time of death around 5:10pm. Cause? She was stabbed to death. While the local news toned it down for the public, she suffered over 100 (no, the second 0 is not a typo) stab wounds. Most of which were to the chest, neck and face. Psych 101 will tell you that leaves a high probability that she knew her murderer. Despite the fact that there was a rather large amount of blood, tissue and hair samples found under her fingernails (she put up a fight) and that’s a hell of a lot of DNA for today’s technology- her killer remains unknown. The case is still open. There is no way to describe the weight, the hole, the heavy hurt that this has had on our entire family. I can tell you that growing up in the same town where the mere mention of your last name brings up a story about it, another reminder, another lump in your throat, another case of the hair on the back of your neck standing up takes its toll. The police, despite it still being an open case, have obviously just given up. Leaving a family, still mourning, abandoned. I could write an entire post just about this story, the journey and my encounters with those over the years that came across my name in a phone book or somewhere online and came crawling out of the woodwork with questions and theories and occasional drunken babblings, but that will be for another time. This, my friends, is gnarly skeleton number one.

Number two sits without a date. I recall being young and think perhaps around 1st grade or so. The first “official African American” family moved in to our town. They lived in the subdivision in front of ours. The kids were my sister’s age, so I didn’t know them. But, I remember the entire family being so nice. I also remember the morning I found out that the night before someone had placed a cross on their front lawn and lit it ablaze. Seriously.We’re talking the 80’s here. I had on a yellow Strawberry Shortcake nightgown. At the time I wasn’t sure why it happened. It didn’t make any sense to me. While it still doesn’t, I clearly know now what the significance was and it makes my stomach turn. Roughly a decade later “we” received our first African American faculty member. Mr. Mr. (my nickname for him hee hee and he called me Nata ata li) was a guidance counselor and he freakin’ rocked. He lasted a year and a half before the death threats and people calling the police claiming he was breaking in to his own home chased him out of town. I have NO tolerance for that. I have even less for the cowardly masses that allowed him to leave instead of standing up and screaming “bullshit!”. Gnarly ass skeleton.

Skeleton number 3 still brings a tear to my eye. Throughout elementary school we had a Teaching Assistant that was amazing. Those of us in gifted & talented knew her best, with me knowing her the most. She was in charge of the art supply room, so I used to volunteer to help her out whenever needed. I really loved Miss L. Flash to 4th grade, It was late fall, early winter. I remember it being the time of year it got dark early. It was a Saturday evening and my mom sent me downstairs to get something out of the basement freezer she needed for dinner. My sister just got home from some Forensics thing up at the high school. I was walking up the stairs, in fact I was 3 stairs from the top when I heard the conversation. Miss L hung herself. I would learn on Monday that it was my home room teacher that had found her. It was in the basement, the athletic supply room, with a jump rope. Christ that sounds like a bad game of Clue. Rumor is she left a note. My teacher then has since passed on. So, any remaining hopes of answering the haunting question of “why?” seems small. It just doesn’t seem right. It never did. She would have known there was a possibility of a student finding her and I truly believe she would never, ever do that to any of us. No matter what the reason was she felt her only way out was suicide, she loved her students and was proud of what she did. Am I saying there is some deep, dark murderous plot here? No. Am I saying it’s less than Kosher? Perhaps. All I know is it just doesn’t make sense. Something is blaringly wrong with it.

So, by age 11 I had confirmation this town was full of ugliness and shit. It likes to appear all wonderful and happy. Such a lovely place to raise your family. In reality, it was a Stepford town where football was almost a religion (though we sucked) and nonlocals and those even remotely “different” were completely unwelcome. If they couldn’t chase them out, they would harass them until they masterfully donned the mask of the fake smile. It’s one thing if you are dealing with a town full of arrogant, unkind people. This was an entirely different ballgame (football of course). They were all of that, just plain wrong and (I know this seems like an exaggeration) somewhat topped with a bow of evil.

I learned how to fake the mask when needed. Oh the absurdity of faking a fake smile. It wasn’t easy and there was a price to be paid at times. I managed to dance around it all and even grew to stand firm and speak up when I felt things were wrong. Fuck, growing up is hard enough as it is without having to learn how to float like a butterfly and sting like a bee for what feels like is just to save your soul. In the end, I escaped this town, soul intact, non Stepfordized. Truthfully, I never even went back to pick up the hard copy of my diploma. I hit the ground running and swore I’d never be back.

Yes, I do have happy memories of growing up here. I really do. Sometimes they fight to cloak the skeletons.

And here I am. And here I stay. And heaven help this town.