Red - the New Black-Out.

Anger was my Step mom's middle name.  

Actually no, scratch that... Rage - to the point of seeing red and having no memory afterward as to what went down...that was my Step Mom. 

No real outlet for an enormous amount of pent up rage. I suppose it had everything to do with probably feeling she had in many ways married elements of the monster that resided within her own father.  Her dad was a child molester. Grandpa did some serious damage in several towns over the course of many years.  He was, like most pedophiles, someone who positioned themselves smack-dab in the middle of children.  He held roles like Sunday school Superintendent and Phys Ed teacher.  

Grandma was a poor example of a happy marriage and divorce was out of the question. Ever the dutiful wife, she was raised conservative Baptist. It was understood that a woman's place should be unflinching, at her husband's side. By those standards, to question or criticize her husband was nothing short of unloving and did not represent the trust, respect and honor-driven support she had verbally committed to uphold within their marriage vows. So essentially, as the dutiful wife, Grandma became his every day enabler. Covering for his multitude of sins, regardless of the devastation that remained in their path.

Grandpa preferred little boys. Fear of discovery became a persistent motivator behind his frequent relocation urges. Each of his daughters bore the brunt of his unbridled rage and though they were safe from his sexual appetites, his grandson (my cousin) was not so fortunate in escaping the very same sickness as his own uncle's incestuous depravity, inflicted by on him by his uncle's father before him... and on down the line it went. 

Subsequent to the abuse, my cousin acted out in turn on his two younger sisters, molesting them repeatedly over the course of several years and had even made attempts to coerce me into his sexual curiosity. I recall being 5, 6 and 7 years of age and he, only a year younger than I, trying his utmost to convince me into taking off my clothes and performing girlfriend duties. When I refused to play his game he would threaten to go home unless I relented. Play times with my cousin often ended with tears on my part and his anger toward me for not 'allowing him to be my boyfriend' and everything he felt encompassed that role.

All four of my Aunties ended up marrying. My step mom, barely 21, married our dad, nearly 10 years her senior with demons of his own having just returned from ground combat in Vietnam, PTSD in hand and in the middle of divorcing our Mama diagnosed 'Schizophrenic' and declared "unfit" by the State. My sisters and I (four of us in tow) were dispersed to foster care at that time until dad could secure a proper home and regain custody.

Auntie H. just a year or 2 younger than our step mom had serial nightmares of her own, marrying another physically abusive man who drank incessantly and beat the living shit out of her often. They had 3 kids (the cousins - one that Grandpa molested and his two sisters I told you about). It wasn't long after she left him, he got himself shit-faced drunk and killed himself while cleaning one of his shot guns.  Auntie H. married again after that. And what a picker... that guy was also a pedophile, abusing both girls from the first marriage as well as two younger girls they'd had together.  

He's currently serving hard time in California.  After her 2nd failed marriage, Auntie H. moved to the Midwest with all her kids where they've been living for quite a number of years now... it's been more than 15 years though I've lost count.

My step mom met dad in one of those Christian Communes. It was Southern California in the midst of 'The Jesus People' movement.... bunch of hippies come to Jesus after Vietnam.  He was very persistent and aggressive in his pursuit of her. She only gave in and said yes to him after numerous proposals... he (like he is in everyday life) didn't take to the word 'no' very amicably. Respecting boundaries has always been a foreign concept to his psyche.

One of my earlier memories was my step mom taking a shower and dad barging into the bathroom to take advantage of her nakedness. I hated the sound of him laughing like they're just having fun and her awkward laughter turned to pleading, begging for him to leave her alone. In his mind, sexual advances by a spouse ought never to be refused. The concept of a healthy marriage eluded him. That a marriage license is not a means to facilitate free reign 'rights to indulge in sex 24/7' and within that to hound your spouse incessantly for sex and then force/rape them anytime you think their no should be a yes.  

Dad felt that as 'head of the household' his was the final say on everything, whatever that entailed. When we'd argue with mom or said something out of turn, he was sure quick to scold us "Don't you talk to MY WIFE that way." almost as though she were some kind of possession.  I think at times we all were... fetching stuff, doing all household chores, volunteering our time to others and even our personal belongings to anyone his generosity deemed appropriate.  

Mom's rages and blackouts were very volatile and (like dad's road rages) frequent; she'd often shake us or just grab whatever was handy.. belt, metal ruler (dad's switch of choice) hair brush, Jokari paddle, high heel, the back of her hand (her rings cut and blistered my face) smacking us, throwing us against a wall, screaming at us... her tongue was quick and her words cut like a rusty kitchen knife. There were a few times her anger was so intense she's switch over to whipping her own leg or beating on herself just to calm the mad rage erupting from her past and the nightmare she continued to live. I used to make predictions of her moods based on what she chose to wear. Days she wore her Red dress or that one red shirt I knew to lay low and keep out of her sights. 

To this day Red is my least favorite color. 

Aside from Dad doing military combat in his sleep, (nearly killing our step mom in the night on more than one occasion....why she chose to continue sharing a bed with his untreated PTSD flair ups after all that is beyond me.) he also fostered serious road rage. En route to church on Sundays was particularly epic. Mom and Dad would often ask someone to join us for Sunday dinner hoping to "Feed a poor college kid".  

One occasion in particular; they'd invited a young man over, suggesting he follow them in his car which dad felt was the simplest way to 'offer directions' to our house. (before GPS and Map Quest were accessible.)  We were not half way home when mom pointed out that Peter was no longer joining us for dinner.  Dad had indulged in his usual bout of road rage and in the midst of speeding through intersections, managed to lose our dinner guest back there somewhere among the dust of his entitled driver ego.

Needless to say, we didn't have another guest over for several few weeks after that incident. Anytime dad would even suggest it, mom would smirk, questioning his ability to drive with enough sense to retain our guest from the church parking lot all the way home to our front door.  And when mom would smirk, that was our queue....we kids jumped right into a humorous re-enactment of "the Sunday meal that wasn't", giggling and snickering as we relayed the prospect of what must have been going through Peter's mind watching dad tear off out of sight.  Dad of course would get super butt hurt, nursing his pride all over again "For crying out loud, it was one time!" She'd continue teasing him while we girls enjoyed the rare spectacle of mom in the proverbial driver seat, giving him a taste of the medicine he loved to dish out. "Just forget it." he'd grumble. Then that would be the end of it. We'd all pile back in the car and head home.


It was a only a brief moment to let loose and now had past but even a small window of laughter for me was enough humor and realness to keep my spirits fed...I'd be replaying it over and over in my head in silence, chewing and savoring that sweet morsel of imperfect humanity for the rest of the afternoon.

Human Decency....are you out there?

I despise public restrooms. 

Porta Potty facilities too. For that matter, any bathroom that isn't mine. I'd rather pee in the the great outdoors.

As a kid I remember dad always choosing house rentals with 1 bathroom for the 6 of us (until my oldest sister was kicked out at the age of 14 for being 'promiscuous'. At the recommendation of church elders, they sent her to live with an aunt and uncle down in LA. Neither dad nor our step mom wanted to invest further in 'what trouble she was' with neither of them being her biological parents I guess any emotional investment they might have had was evidently pretty shot by that point.)

We were always broke, residing in cramped spaces.  I guess living in a 1 bath rental where we girls bunked up in shared rooms and beds was dad's way of saving some money.  Being frugal was not really dad's strong suit. He frequently overspent and then when mom would ride him about it, they'd get real heated, dad would sulk off, making himself scarce. Often it was work in the garage or the attic that occupied his time. Time spent in the attic none of us really understood. It was always a mystery what he actually did up there since the attic looked ever a hot mess of boxes resembling something out of an episode of hoarders. Who knows what was in all those boxes, dad never liked us up there plus it was hot as hell and had a musty smell. Itchy fiberglass and cobwebs gave extra incentive for us kids to avoid the attic altogether anyway.

I was finishing high school by the time we to put two and two together; an old mattress stored among the upstairs clutter spread out across the attic floor offered direct visibility at the front end which coincidentally lay just above the bathroom's poorly patched up ceiling fan hole. I had my buried suspicions about Dad's frequent 'rest periods' he took up there. And the sickening realization that I was his flesh and blood... we were his daughters for fuck sake... and more than that, vulnerable prey to his peeping tom habits wasn't limited to family. Often we housed exchange students from Japan, Germany, Spain, etc. for a week or two, pregnant females on more than one occasion lived with us for the bulk of their pregnancy, not to mention church groups of girls visiting from other churches even some from Canada.... well as our own friends who stayed overnight on occasion. Dad was real big on "opening our homes and hosting these ladies as Christian families should." 

To this day I can't go anywhere without obsessing over the smallest shadow, dark hole or obscure gap in some restroom... my mind will always jump to the conclusion there's likely some pervert on the other side of that wall or ceiling jacking off to our vulnerability and nakedness.       

I'm always taken back by how many of the women I've known throughout my childhood who have been sexually abused in their youth. The numbers are staggering. It's like we live in a world of perverts. Especially when I think of the rampant Sex Trafficking across the globe. What gets me even more than the ones who sell these girls....it's the 'demand'. Is our humanity really so sick that we manage to not just keep this perversion afloat but thriving!  There are countless young women and boys all around us being trafficked right under our noses by males ready and willing to chew any victim up and spit them out without conscience?!

And so automatically my mind cuts straight to this...if the numbers are that high for these women (and we know they are) how many more sick males per victim are living among us, paying for sex, forcing themselves on a girl or guy who (even if the victim 'appears' to want it and 'enjoy' it' more likely than not have flipped the switch into 'survival mode' because ultimately they feel trapped or in danger and HAVE NO OUT) are forced to choose the lesser of two nightmares. 

Is there such a thing as a lesser hell?       

This is a huge part of why I can't bring myself to date right now...and haven't in about 8 years (the entirety of my daughter's existence and then some.) Remind me again why I chose to bring a child into this sickness that is life as we know it to be? 

Where are all the decent human beings?  Not perfect by any stretch... just persons with human decency and kindness... are you out there? 

If you are, beam me up.

Sexual Erruption

Until age 31,

I was a dormant volcano, surviving in 'cryonic freeze'.

I'd never lived before that day, nor had I ever found courage enough to produce thoughts, beliefs or will of my own, nor had I ever known what it was to face the nightmare around me - until the Summer of 2001. 

My younger sister, point-blank asks me a question as we're out having lunch. "But are you getting what YOU need?" Feeling angry, offended, frustrated and hurt... my own reaction erupted from my lips - 


"I'm FINE!" 

It woke me like the jolt from a defibrillator, I was not fine. 

I felt my pulse...pounding within my chest. That was it... for the first time in 31 years, I began exploring my own feelings and opinions, making choices regardless of any opposing views, such as those I had been ingrained with my whole life. That very moment became my paradigm shift. I was now 31 going on 18; exploring, experimenting and doing all those things most do in youth entering into adulthood. 

After returning from the East Coast in 2005, I hit my breaking point with organized church and all the memories it evoked from growing up at home with 'the biological one'. I began to have a knee-jerk reaction to being around church and around him, feelings that began surfacing because for the first time I was starting to seriously date… that’s when relationship triggers began showing up in spades. I pushed everyone and my own sensibilities back and began to swing to the far end of the pendulum.

I gave Culinary School a go but couldn’t afford to support myself and take the FT course load. I didn’t want to go back to my Admin job at the Hospital, I felt like to do so would be giving up on my pursuit of what dreams I had for all the things I was passionate about and could not stop pursuing what I love. 

Feeling disillusioned, frustrated and disappointed at how my life had unfolded, I began taking on a ‘fuck it all’ attitude. That next year or 2 that followed, I dove into a self-medicating, indulgent lifestyle of exploration, swinging to the other end of the spectrum and let all caution and restrictions to the wind, Experimenting in drugs, drinking, sex, partying.

Needless to say, by 2008 I had hit a wall in my town and I knew I needed to get out. 
I could see I'd made a bit of a mess of myself and now needed to get away from all people of negative influence (partners in crime, dealers, enablers) that I had come to know in the lifestyle I had crawled into. I seemed to keep running into them no matter how hard I tried to avoid them. Break ties and a start fresh was the only way to gain back my life careening out of control; 
I made the decision to move to LA. I wanted to see my Mama and to pursue music and other creative outlets while I was down there. 

My confidence in the ease of securing another job was a driving factor in foolishly giving in to the advice "just come on down". So completely oblivious was I to the disaster ahead. The economy crashed at that very time coupled with an even worse environment to the very situation I sought to get away from . I found myself again trying to escape an unhealthy environment but with no other back up plan was leaning toward drastic measures.... measures that scared the hell out of me, but going to a homeless shelter seemed the only real way out until I was offered help from a friend. Little did I know what his 'help' really entailed and the nightmare which awaited me.

After two unimaginably horrific years of my life spent homeless in LA due to ugly addictions around me that had begun spiraling beyond my control... (I'll share more on that as I blog)

As a Skeptical Idealist, I've spent all those childhood and teenage years on autopilot; watching, journaling, reading books, studying and observing behavior and what not to do... I've learned that observing doesn't always mean 'seeing'. I can honestly say because of the shit I've gotten myself into by poor choices or just plain being naive, and the holes I've crawled out of... people are to me, the most unpredictable element. 

No one and nothing is for certain. Not even ourselves...that's human nature for ya. I've seen myself do things and take certain roads, make choices I would never in a million years have thought or expected to have made. So much change in values can occur - between life and death, a rock and a hard place, prosperity and poverty, good intentions and human nature, denial and sobriety. victim, abuser, revenge and forgiveness.

People in history are great not because they did what everyone thought was attainable but because they chose to go after the impossible. If others can overcome the odds, why not me??!! Thomas Edison 'failed' how many times before he invented the light bulb... don't know about you, but I'm glad he kept at it. 

Someday I hope people will say it about me too.

Still Sexy After All These Years...

I've been off the dating scene for nearly 8 years now though certainly not dormant...I still get easily sprung on the smooth sounds of Leon Bridges, Miles Davis and Jodeci.

 What can I say? I'm a single mama with blues in her heart and soul on her lips.   I've got a 7 year old baby girl. Gotta train her right cause she knows what's up. She tells me "Mama, you need to get you somebody." " I need a dad and a sister... let's get on that."   "You got it sweet pea." I nod my chin upward in agreement.

I never signed up to do this alone but then again, I never signed up not to either. I'm 44 for fuck sake. How did I end up here? No great love, no best friend walking through life beside me.  Always thought I had so much to offer but somehow it has eluded me and remains locked up pretty tight. So tight in fact, I'm not even sure I know how to let it out anymore.

The euphoria of sex, drugs and rock & roll, man do I miss that but life's not about me anymore...it's about my little girl. No looking back to what might have been and more than that, absolutely no regrets.

It's been over 8 years since I've gotten laid. My damn hormones are giving me what for and I'll be honest with you, it fucking sucks balls...and not in a good way. There's only so much you can do with a a vibrator or shower head attachment. Make no mistake, I'll see myself off however I have to but anyone who's been there knows, going solo is not the same high.

"Once you go black, you never go back."  I'd say that's pretty much the case for any female leaving the V-boat behind and embracing that long-anticipated "Ohhh" plunge on into the sea of humanity, if you catch my drift, but I think that expression could apply for any guy within that body who even remotely knows what he's doing, black or not.

Returning to sea I'm pretty resistant, at least now that I have to be hyper watchful for any potential sex fiends with strategic intent to lure naive, unsuspecting females with young kids. As the sole protector and provider, my daughter's safety is paramount and so is my responsibility to her which has become more prominent as every minute goes by.

I'm a bit toasted at the moment so no, there wont be a 'big reveal' on my dime tonight and any current plans to explore the sexy mom-jean cougar affect are now off the table.  'Plenty of Fish' you're off the hook cause I'm not going anywhere like this. No drinking and driving from me as long as I continue to care about those among us on this planet besides myself (so yeah, that'd be a "NEVER" driving drunk or even remotely 'buzzed'. Not now, not ever.)


Sticking around my apartment the rest of the night in some comfy sweats with a glass (or 3) of a rather tasty Merlot if I do say so myself, and enjoy the umpteenth showing of 'Chef' which is quickly becoming one of my favorite cinematic indulgences of late.

As for possible future life strategies, they can wait 'til tomorrow.