Facepalm Forever

Me: *frustration rage flailing* “Why are your still creeping on me? There is zero reason for you to be here creeping on me at this point in time.”

Creeper: “haha I’m not creeping on you. Get over yourself.”

Okay… well first of all, if you weren’t creeping (or having someone else creep on your behalf which is more likely) how the hell did you know I frustration raged in your general direction? Why did you feel the need to reply if it didn’t have anything to do with you? And why did my hacking problems, and other social media shenanigans magically disappear when you deactivated your creeping profile?

How do I know you have a creeping profile? Every time you activate/deactivate it it shows up in my FB page stats as a like/unlike from a deactivated profile.

SO… since we do this literally every year, I decided to give you the attention you were hunting for vs ignoring you. Whyyyyyyyy? Because last year when I ignored you, you grabbed your girl gang and decided to try to creep by my house. Try being the appropriate word since I caught you as I was leaving the neighborhood taking my boys to get an ice cream treat. It’s been almost a year to the date actually since that escapade.

Anyway… Believe whatever it is that you need to believe about my blogging. Yes, it is contributing to the cycle. I’m aware. If it keeps you away from my kids I’d rather have you obsessing over and bickering at me in cyberspace.

It is what it is.


He can be sweet on rare occasions, he’s smart, witty and cute with his fuzzy face, and pudgey dad bod. He *could* be an amazing partner if he took the time to address his mental health and take responsibility for his mistakes, but… he’d rather not. That’s all fine and dandy if it works for you, but I’d rather not have that brand of toxicity in my life anymore.

For the 800th Millionty time: I’ll always love him, BUT we simply aren’t compatible. Being cute, witty, smart, and sometimes sweet doesn’t change the fact that he raped me. It doesn’t magically make me forget that he broke into my apartment and terrified my kid. The fact that I can look behind his shitty ass behaviors and empathize with his TBI struggle only serves to curb my toxic anger and illicit some compassion. The point of “us” is moot. The ship has sailed. We’ve made our choices.

Now for the love of God, STAHP making this a thing every year and getting everyone wound up and pissed off due to your own insecurities. He doesn’t want to be with me. I don’t want to be with him. The only person in the universe that can’t seem to grasp that fact is you. Change your meds or something because I’m fucking tired.

I haven’t even written anything new about him or us for almost three years now. You read the damn book. That’s literally all she wrote on our relationship. There is nothing left to dissect, analyze, or throw in his face at a later date.

I took my pages offline for my English final. It had nothing to do with you, but by God I just knew it would get you in a kerfuffle and since in the time span since I last ranted about this until now, my garage was broken into, and my AppleID was hacked TWICE all around the same time you began publicly posting I’m taking my time to acknowledge you so you can gloat about “being the bigger person” until the next time we do this dance.

We washed, we rinsed, let’s skip the repeat huh?

If you were genuinely happy, that’s one thing and I’m the asshole for being annoyed. The thing is, you’re not. Your smiles are fake, and your posts are strategic. I’ve been sharing my life publicly since 2010. Ups, downs and everything in between. You drop your posts in to get a rise out of people. Mostly me, but not only me. The only time you ever post anything in public is to lash out at people, and your sprees directed at me always come on the heels of hacking/messaging/vandalism. You can’t have it both ways.

If you want to be genuine and share no one is stopping you, if you’re going to be a dickbag trying to get a reaction: here you go. Have the reaction you wanted, and stay away from my kids. ✌🏻

Right in the Childhood

It’s fairly widely known in the US that the North and East sides of Dayton, Ohio were pretty much destroyed by several tornadoes overnight May 27th. The damage was widespread and significant impacting most of the surrounding counties. Thankfully, my family was pretty much spared any significant damages, and very few people sustained critical injuries. As of this writing at 9ish pm May 28th there has only been one fatality reported which in itself is a miracle.

Seeing the devastation on the news and hearing about so many places I spent the majority of my young adulthood and a significant portion of my childhood growing up in being leveled or damaged was exceptionally difficult. My relationship with my childhood is a tricky one after growing up in an abusive home. I cling hard and tight to even the most minute happy memories from growing up. A lot of the places associated with many of those memories are now in ruins which makes my emotions complicated to say the least.

Additionally, several of the hardest hit places are where I spent many happy moments of my young adulthood. I met/knew many people from the area through my ex, however after we split up I never took the time to foster any of those acquaintances into friendships. One because it was too emotionally hard on me. Two, there was the obvious distance factor after I moved to Indiana, and three my ex immediately set about turning all of his friends against me. I chose not to maintain contact with just about everyone from my past trying to avoid drama. It didn’t work, but hey… I gave it my best effort. The very few people I did keep in touch with ended up stabbing me in the back and giving personal information about me directly to my already pissed off ex. It was a mess, so I eventually cut all my ties and simply left everyone behind.

I was never super close to most of them anyway, but we did share many happy moments laughing together, hanging out, and getting into/out of stupid trouble that young adults get themselves into. My ex had a horrible habit of taking me places; then disappearing for hours engrossed in his own activities/conversations with other people. I got to know a lot of people beyond how he introduced his own relationship with them. I didn’t take the initiative to foster relationships with them but I do think fondly of them and I DO care that their neighborhoods and/or homes and/or jobs have been destroyed.

It puts me in another weird emotional limbo. I care about these people, but I haven’t spoken to any of them in over a decade. I can’t just randomly look them up and call to see if they’re okay. I doubt they would even remember the awkward quiet girl I used to be anyway. And yet, I’m still concerned for those distant ghosts in my past.

It’s not just people from my past either. A coworker of mine has a nephew stationed at the Wright-Patterson Air Force Base. He was on assignment elsewhere and they flew him home to be with his wife and kids immediately. They lost their home, with at least 100 other people living in base housing. When the military says: “Forget this assignment. Go home.” to an enlisted rank Airman… it’s not a great indication things are going very well.

Of course the entire extent of the damage to the base hasn’t and probably won’t be released to the public for obvious reasons, but it’s pretty messed up for a whole lot of people right now. Even townships and cities in the metro area not directly affected by the funnel clouds themselves are under water boil advisories, stuck without natural gas services and many are without electricity. The entire Dayton area is a big fucking mess and my heart just hurts.

After moving to Indiana I slowly realized that Dayton was the place I associated the most with the feeling of home. The majority of my happy childhood memories took place there and while physically I’m miles away this storm system still hit me right in the childhood.

Toddler Interview

I saw this come across my Facebook feed and had to give it a try. My baby boys are turning 3 1/2 in just a few weeks and on the cusp of exiting toddlerhood. It’s a happy sad moment really, saying goodbye to the toddler years. I’m thrilled to be done with diapers and infancy but toddlerhood holds a special place in my heart. I’m going to miss their gusto and innocence as the real world takes hold. This is a good way to remember them at their purest form of humanity.

What’s your name? Old MacDonald (Champ)

How old are you? Five or Three or Two

What’s your favorite color? Green

What’s your favorite food to eat? Dinner

Who’s your best friend? Crash

What’s your favorite song? Dance Party (???)

What do you like to watch on tv? Octonauts

What’s your favorite animal? Bear (a lion)

Where’s your favorite place to go? To Underwear

What do you want to be when you grow up? Fly Airplanes

How old is mommy? 3

What does mommy do all day? You have to teach me to fly airplanes

What do you love most? Airplanes!!!

Champ has a plan. He is going to fly airplanes if it’s the last thing he does, and apparently I’m the one who’s going to teach him. He’s not entirely wrong. Every time he does something reckless or dangerous I’ve been scolding him by explaining that he can’t fly airplanes if he loses an eye or breaks a leg. So I guess I kind of am teaching him what he needs to become a pilot someday.

What’s your name? Gigi (Crash)

How old are you? Crash!

What’s your favorite color? Blue Airplanes

What’s your favorite food to eat? Dinner

Who’s your best friend? Daddy

What’s your favorite song? Dance Party (???)

What do you like to watch on tv? Octonauts

What’s your favorite animal? Gigi (alligator)

Where’s your favorite place to go? Underwear (giggle)

What do you want to be when you grow up? Old MacDonald

How old is mommy? You Old.

What does mommy do all day? Dinner

What do you love most? Dinner!!

Crash… well I think Crash was just hungry lol or he really loves my cooking… one of the two. 💕

It’s been such a wonderful adventure raising my kiddos. I love watching them grow into their personalities and develop their individuality. I’m so blessed with these tiny humans in my life. I don’t know what I would do without them.


I’ve thought long and hard on this post, as well as my feelings on the recent hot button issue of abortion rights in the United States.

Back in the day I was pro-life 10000% percent with no exceptions. I still believe that life begins at conception and there are many very effective ways to avoid conception. The best and most effective way is to abstain from sexual activity all together. It’s not a popular alternative, but it is always effective without unwanted side effects.

That being said… as I’ve began to ponder the issue in recent weeks and months I’ve taken time to really listen to women who have chosen abortion for a million different reasons and it really has started to change my mind.

As a Christian I had to also consider it from a biblical standpoint, and while I do believe that conception is God’s will in all circumstances I also believe that he can use the act of abortion to fulfill His will. The important factor in it all swaying my decision toward a conservative pro-choice was the act of free will. If you believe as I do that humanity began with Adam and Eve in the Garden of Eden, you also know that God gifted humanity with free will to make choices as we see fit. God knew from day one that humanity wouldn’t always make the right choices, but that’s where Jesus and salvation comes in.

People are going to have abortions. People were having them before medical science caught up to make them a relatively safe procedure, and even if the safe procedures are made illegal people will continue to have abortions. It’s not an issue of legislation, it’s an issue of the heart. I think in the midst of all of the political upheaval since the controversial Roe v Wade the Pro-Life movement has gotten lost along the way.

It’s not up to us as Christians to judge one another; that’s God’s job. It’s our job to love, forgive, and share Christ with others in hopes that their eyes and hearts will open. That means that instead of condemning people for choosing to have an abortion, we need to be on the other side supporting them and encouraging them regardless of their final choice and trust that God’s Will be done. If God gave humanity free will, we have no grounds to take it away.

Lettuce in Bowls

Pull up a chair. Let’s chat. This idea so many people have that restaurant work is somehow beneath other professions annoys the ever living ef out of me.

Much like any other industry restaurants pay on a sliding scale based on experience. Yes, I put lettuce in bowls for a living, BUT I also have seven years of industry experience and the majority of those years I’ve spent in management. I make significantly above the industry average. In fact, I’m right on par with any local factory, warehouse, CNA, or LPN and I’m only required to work an 8hr shift to earn the exact same salary. When my kids all start school and I can open up my availability, my employer will pay for whatever I have left as far as school goes to achieve my degree PLUS my salary PLUS retirement and health benefits for me to continue putting lettuce in bowls full time.

Of course putting lettuce in bowls isn’t the most emotionally fulfilling work in the world, but that’s why I write and volunteer with all the extra time my 8hr (often less) shifts afford me. Restaurant work isn’t easy, and it takes a long time in the industry to really make a decent living. There are also infinite opportunities that many people never take advantage of simply due to their ego. They want instant gratification vs hard work and perseverance.

When I started my food career I was making less than minimum wage (I was a minor) but now I have all the perks of any other local industry all for the simple task of putting lettuce in bowls. It’s a pretty sweet deal really. I love my coworkers, and I enjoy the extra time I have available to spend with my family.

It’s also not particularly glamorous, putting lettuce in bowls, but neither is storing pallets on racks, working an assembly line, changing bed pans or checking vitals on otherwise healthy patients day in and day out.

Success is how you feel at the end of the work day. What you do to achieve that feeling is entirely up to you.

Butterfly Girl

As much as my Little struggled at the beginning of the school year, she has flourished in the last half.

She can read. She can write. She can draw. She’s even obsessing over her first trend, and challenging her peer’s social cliques. She’s standing up for herself and she’s standing up for others. She wanted to be a doctor when the school year began, and now she’s expanded her desire to become a doctor at a university hospital so she can teach other people how to be good doctors too. She’s lost six teeth, and gained many friends.

She’s also a little bit scared as the school year comes to a close. Her teacher is transferring to another school and the anticipation of starting all over again next year with out the security of a familiar face is weighing heavy on her sensitive soul. She knew she wouldn’t be in her teacher’s class beyond this year, but she was looking forward to seeing her down the hall anyway.

She also (FINALLY) over came her fear of the Bad Man in recent weeks. I was worried with the anniversary of the break in and the change in the weather that she might relapse into her night terrors, but she sailed through unfazed this year which helped keep me calm as well.

We’ve also reconnected over the past month or so. I felt like we were growing apart since my schedule changed and Hubs took over most of the evening responsibilities. I hardly ever get to see Little during the week aside from sending her off to the bus, and she runs to her Daddy for everything. The past two weeks or so we’ve had the opportunity to go shopping together and just do fun Girl Time activities. She’s enjoyed it. So much in fact that she couldn’t wait to give me this wonderful Mother’s Day card:

That’s right. As much as I’ve struggled with this momming thing, and as much as I doubt myself my Little still thinks I’m the “bestst” all the naysayers be damned. 🥰💕🥰


My comments have gone off the chain this year in regards to my Sexual Assault Awareness Month posts. Which is weird since I haven’t really posted as much as I have in years passed and instead focused on promoting my books elsewhere.

One in particular got my attention more than others. A lot of them were the standard victim blaming. “What happened to me was my fault.” “I’m just making everything up for attention.” “You just regret sleeping with him” “He never abused you” blah blah blah. Typical victim blaming that often appears with Mens Rights Activists, or others who disagree with the so called “feminist agenda.” I’ve heard it all before. I’m used to it. Everyone has a right to their opinion, as well as the ability to disagree with mine. It’s whatever.

The one that stood out among the rest was the one accusing me of participating in continuing advocacy as some sort of diabolical revenge plot directed at my rapist. It didn’t upset me so much as it just really, really, REALLY confused me. Now if they had said something along the lines of: “your book is an act of revenge” okay. It’s not true, but books have been published in anger before so I get that logic and how people may feel that way. Again, difference of opinion, it’s whatever.

But that’s not what the accusation was. The accusation was that somehow by transcending from the victim mentality to that of a survivor, and using my gift as an author and experience in recovery to advocate and support fellow victims/survivors of sexually based crimes that I’m some how making my rapist’s life miserable and it’s all because I want some sort of revenge. Even typing that out made my brain ache because it doesn’t make any sense.

Okay… first of all, if I was out for revenge when I published my memoir I would have used his real name. That’s the difference between an autobiography and a memoir. Autobiographies have to be iron clad, and 110% factual a+b=c with no room for interpretation. Memoirs are personal stories, anecdotes, experiences and opinions. Legally speaking I could publish his name and there wouldn’t be shit he could do about it. Much in the same way that reporting the crime so long after the fact I was unable to receive any sort of justice being my word against his, if he chose to bring a law suit against me it wouldn’t get anywhere. I still could have used his name if I wanted revenge.

Even here. My blog, is protected by the 1st Amendment. I can publish names if I wanted to, but I don’t. It’s childish, petty, and ridiculous. Yes, in my younger days I’ve been guilty of calling people out, but I’ve grown past that. I have way better things to write about than using this space to call people out by name. I’d much rather focus on concepts, ideas, and my own feelings than the specifics of who’s to blame for my trauma at this point in my life. It really doesn’t matter what my rapist’s name is, what matters is that he raped me and has since caused a whole host of bullshit in my life allowing me the opportunities to publish my books and advocate on behalf of others. Which I will continue to do for as long as I’m able, despite his best efforts to stop me.

If that’s making his life miserable in some way, it’s only because he can’t control me anymore not because I’m hellbent on something as shallow as revenge. I am hellbent, but I’m hellbent on standing up for change and making the world a better place for my children. And you know what? It’s working. Advocacy on behalf of victims of sexually based crimes IS working. I’m watching the fruits of our labors come to fruition right now as my niece is taking on the system in regards to her own assault and actually seeing results. She will have her day in court. Whether she actually sees justice is yet to be determined, but she will have her day in court. That’s a lot farther than many other women could even hope to get before the rise of MeToo and TimesUp.

I’m not vain enough to believe it was my specific story that inspired this local tide of change. Hell, the family didn’t even tell me because they were worried about me having a PTSD episode so I know it’s not my specific story that’s contributed to any of this. I’m only one of millions and those millions are making progress. Slow, often painful, but progress. That’s why I continue to participate in Sexual Assault Awareness Month, RedMyLips, DenimDay, and other opportunities. That’s why I continue to promote my books, and do all the PR bullshit. It’s working. Me as an individual, hell, I’m just a tiny ripple in an ocean. But eventually when we get enough ripples, we’ll have a Tsunami.


A few years ago I wrote about why I didn’t report the rape and sexual abuse that defined my young adulthood until much later. A big part of it was because my rapist’s father was a high ranking military official at a local base and I was terrified that he might use his political connections to make my life hell.

I compared myself to Emily Doe and Brock Turner in reference to Mr. Turner’s (Brock’s father) involvement with the case and the infamous letter he wrote to the judge on his son’s behalf. I mentioned that I wasn’t sure if my rapist’s father had any involvement in our particular case, but I hoped that he possessed more integrity than Mr. Turner.

This year in the midst of digging around in other military records I pulled up the public information on my rapist’s father as well to satisfy my own curiosity. A big part of the entire fiasco of entering a relationship with my rapist after the fact was his consistent dishonesty. As I’ve spent time fact checking various stories he shared with me during the publication process of my memoir, I’ve found that 90% of everything my rapist ever told me was complete bullshit. Which isn’t entirely surprising considering the level of abuse I endured at his hands during our short lived relationship. His lies were a simple, yet effective way to control me. He held me emotionally hostage for many years even after our relationship ended. Both with fear that he would harm himself in retaliation for me speaking out about the abuse or that he would “teach me a lesson” and come after me.

Now all I really have to judge his father’s integrity are military service records, awards, achievements etc. versus the word of his son who has proven himself to be a pathological liar. I never interacted with his father enough to really make a solid assessment of his character. Up until recently I based most of my presumptions on what his son told me.

Bah HA HA HA HA! Thank God for the military recording every time you breathe, because what his son told me conflicts with everything he has ever done in his public military career. Of course I can’t speak for his home life, but given the fact that he never really pursued the more political ranks, never spoke of his various (damn impressive) achievements, and pretty much keeps to himself like every other Average Joe, I’m going to say that aside from the same love and loyalty to his children he has boat loads more integrity than Mr. Turner ever will.

Would he help his son out of various legal debacles? Sure. He’s a loving father. He would certainly offer any legal resources he has to give his son the best chance to survive the circus of the legal system.

Would he manipulate the system, play politics, bribe, blackmail, etc etc etc as his son lead me to believe? No. I sincerely don’t believe he would now or really ever has. I think in instances where his son needed “help from his dad” it was merely a convenient cover story for his son to go find less than legal means (or another woman) to bail his own ass out.

Coming to that conclusion makes me a little sad that I didn’t think to research more before publishing my memoir. Not that Dad really plays a large part in it all, but the way I wrote him was written through the false pretenses his son filled my head with. Thankfully I took the time to change all the major identifying details so only a handful of people know who he really is, but… I still feel foolish anyway. Sorry, Dad! My bad. 🤷🏻‍♀️