Me Says

It’s been several years since I’ve had to check in with a man. Now, I answer to no one, save a person I call Me. Me says I can spend my free time any way I please, without apologies, without explanation. Me says I have the right to my silence whenever I feel emotionally overloaded; I don’t have to be the caretaker of everyone else–and it’s not my fault they require constant validation. Me says I can still love others totally, while addressing my own needs first; after all, what good am I to the ones I love if I’m no good to myself?

Me says you’re a child for being so demanding. Me says you might get an answer you don’t want. But Me also says that you don’t mean to be a dick–so don’t prove Me wrong.

 

Take “Dishonesty” and Shove it

You had an emotional crisis, and I went to you despite my poor physical health because I love you endlessly. I slept on a blow up mattress for seven days straight, and pretended every morning that my Fibromyalgia was under control; I pretended that my right hip, so fucked up from Rheumatoid arthritis didn’t bother me that bad because you needed me, your best friend, to help you through this dark time in your life.

And now, you have the solid gold balls to tell me I’m not a good friend because you had to read online that I was publishing my novel; you think I should have told you beforehand. I tried to tell you beforehand, but you wouldn’t answer my phone calls, or acknowledge my text messages because you were too busy being pissed off that I didn’t need your advice. Funny, right? I could have used your advice, but you wouldn’t answer my calls. You’re the cause of this shit.

And I’m fucking pissed! I’m pissed you had the nerve to call me DISHONEST. Me. Dishonest. Have you met me? Are you motherfucking new here?

I’m not fucking sorry. Even if it means our friendship is over, I’m not fucking sorry. Because taking the blame would be dishonest.

 

 

Happy Father’s Day

I’m estranged from my maternal side of the family, save my Great Aunt Ellen, and Great Uncle Bill, who are two of the sweetest people anyone could ever hope to meet, even though they are Jehovah’s Witnesses. Uncle Bill kills me, he’s so fucking funny. And Aunt Ellen, she’s so kind and soft spoken. I asked my mother recently what the fuck had happened to her mother, because Grandma is so cold. Grandma truly was cut from an entirely different cloth. When my mother was a child, she wished Aunt Ellen was her mother; and Aunt Ellen told mother recently that had she know how bad my mother’s life was growing up, she would have taken my mother away from her sister–my grandma. I don’t feel badly that my daughter doesn’t know her Great-Grandma and Great-Grandpa Standen. They were shit parents to my mother, and my uncles (but mostly my mother), and utter shit human beings. I could wake up tomorrow and learn that one, or both of maternal grandparents have died, and not feel a single sting of sadness.

Sometimes my mother reminds me that I was close to them while I was growing up; they used to take me on vacations to the U.P., and we’d be gone for days. But I was a child then, who didn’t know the whole story of the abuse my mother lived through at their hands–and their religion. For awhile, as a child, I attended services with my grandparents at their Kingdom Hall. Now, I cannot think of a good reason why my mother (and father) allowed these people to influence me with their cultist faith for so fucking long; I was at least ten years old before my parents had put an end to the attempted brainwashing. My baby sister (five years younger than me), thank whoever, or whatever-the-fuck, never had to suffer the religion.

I think my dad, for a while, was like, “This is my wife’s shit, and I’ll let her handle it.” And my mother thought, “If I let them have Kindra, they will forgive me.” At some point, my parents actually talked to another, and amicably decided that I was in danger.

Around the time my parents decided to cut me off from all Jehovah’s Witness activity, my mother’s baby brother and his girlfriend came to stay with us. At first it was convenient, given my mother and dad’s work schedules. Tara and I were left home at night with Uncle Keith and Dawn. Uncle Keith was abusive; he would beat Dawn, but it wasn’t Uncle Keith who would ask me to keep quiet. Dawn always begged me and Tara to not tell our parents. Keeping secrets made me and my sister ill. We quit eating properly; we became withdrawn. I suppose a lot of people would think that a mother and father who worked ridiculous hours would never notice something was wrong with their children. My parents were extraordinary. After months of fuck uppery, my dad insisted Uncle Keith and Dawn get the fuck out his house.

Funny, this post was supposed to be about me and Grandma DeMott. I stopped to Grandma on my way to Dad’s; I brought her a copy of my novel. I thought I was bringing her a surprise, but in the middle of our bear hug she asked, “That’s my book, isn’t it?”

Of all the books I’ve sold–of all I’ve given away to friends and family, nothing beats giving a book to my Grandma DeMott. The way she held it in her hands today…like something precious. And what’s the most important, she said, “I’m so happy you found your niche in life.”

Growing up, Grandma (and Grandpa) DeMott always made me feel like I was the most mostest. And at nearly 39 years old, my grandma still makes me feel like a kid with all the potential in the world. She’s sharp as gourmet knife at 81. She’s beautiful and as sweet as sixteen year old girl. I love her endlessly..

So I left Grandma’s and went to my dad’s. I gave him a book, too…

My dad is not one to say outright that he is proud of me. (I think he always wanted boys) I only know in his hugs, and the way he looks at me…the way he’s always looked at me…

My dad is proud…

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

My First Book Signing

19055170_665477723644228_2412619868069419839_oToday was epic–my first book signing. Preparing, I was nervous. I’ve never been one who seeks to be the center of attention; that shit comes naturally, if I’m being honest. And it’s odd; for a person who can from 0-fuck you in half a second, I thrive under pressure when it really counts. Somehow I manage to digest the anxious butterflies beating against the walls of my stomach. I must say, it was a relief that the first person who came in to see me is one of my dearest friends; I had a good fifteen minutes to relax my nerves. Plus, there were doughnuts, cookies, and iced tea. I tend to eat my feelings, so…

The Broad Street Pharmacy, where my daughter works as a pharmacy technician, has such a lovely staff, they are all like extended family, especially Nicole’s boss, Beth, and my friend, Johanna. They all took such good care of me; there was table set up for me, books displayed, and refreshments for visitors (and me, ha-ha!).

It was awesome to have my family and friends (all who were able to attend) rally around me. And the new people I met today–my heart swelled! I truly do live in a warm, supportive community. The experience raised my spirits, and was incredibly humbling.

There was one person missing who deserves recognition: Allane. My dear friend, I spoke of you ALL day. People were in love with your cover. No one left the table without hearing about the amazing Allane Sinclair.

It is a great gift to be able to share my work. One of the clerks–a sunny, good-hearted young woman–told me she knew she needed to read Magpie in August when she read the synopsis on the back cover, because her mother, too, is an alcoholic. And that’s what it’s all about for me, folks. Touching hearts, making connections, letting others know they are not alone.

Today, is a beautiful day. I am so thankful.

The “Smize”

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This is my look today. I had to have a photo snapped at the local paper to accompany a brief write-up about me and my novel, and my upcoming book signing. The editor did not like my hair. Or my face. She kept trying to fluff up my fine hair. Jesus, fuck. Like, sorry I don’t have wicked thick bouncy fucking hair. (#stoptouchingme #wherehaveyourhandsbeen #iwillknockyouthefuckout) Regarding my face, specifically my mouth, she said, “It IS okay to smile.” Bitch, I smile with my eyes. Haven’t you ever seen America’s Next Top Model??? Hey, Tyra, hey, girl. Anyway, I started cheezin’ it big time because I wanted out of there, like yesterday. So what if my bunny teeth smile is crooked. She fucking asked for it.

The “List” Top 21

Norman Reedus is so top, he doesn’t require a number. He is Gaaaahhhh! And just so you all know, I’ve loved him long before THE WALKING DEAD. Boondock Saints, anyone?!

  1. Eva Green
  2. Joaquin Phoenix
  3. Tom Hiddleston
  4. Hugh Laurie
  5. Ruby Rose
  6. Gwen Stefani
  7. “The Edge”
  8. Mary Lambert
  9. Bruno Mars
  10. Lindsey Buckingham (1977 version)
  11. Danny Masterson (as Hyde from That 70’s Show)
  12. Val Kilmer (as Doc Holliday)
  13. Kurt Russell (as Wyatt Earp)
  14. Ron Swanson (Parks and Recreation)
  15. Dwight (The Office)
  16. Denzel Washington
  17. Al Pacino (even all old wrinkly and shit)
  18. Orlando Bloom (as Legolas)
  19. Johnny Depp
  20. Elijah Wood
  21. Robert Downey Jr.