another day another dollar

 

In the recent months when someone first learns that I am a Police Officer, one of their first questions is typically how I am handling my job in the current political climate. I mean, it's kind of a deep question for someone I just met, kind of like asking me what the worst case I have seen is (which is super insensitive if you think about it) so typically I respond by brushing it off. I tell them I ignore a lot of the climate and haters, and just do my job. Simple as that, I just tell them I keep trucking on through the mud for the paycheck, however, in all honesty, that is not what I do. 

The current climate is not something easily ignored. It is difficult as a human being to be lumped into a label that you cannot relate to at all. It is tormenting for someone to roll down their window and yell "FTP", when little do they know, you just attempted and failed to resuscitate a young girl who committed suicide. Its hard to go to riots, knowing you will have things thrown at you,  and be called terrible names. It is hard to know your friends, who are your family, may get hurt. Its hard to know that you might get hurt, and that your wife might be getting a call that she constantly is terrified of getting. It is hard to have all of those thoughts in your brain, and then be told by a stranger walking by you at that riot, that the world would be better off if I was dead.

The truth is, the majority of Officers in Law Enforcement, including myself, have varying levels of some type of PTSD, depression, and anxiety. It is difficult not to after you see the worst of the world and the saddest days of peoples lives. Those memories, the lifeless bodies, the gun shots, the battered wives, the blood/body parts smeared on the road, the fear.... It never goes away, no matter how much therapy you do, it is always a part of you. So seeing these things, dealing with these things, then coming home to your family and trying to not let it affect them or your relationship, its nearly impossible. It takes a lot of effort and concentration, which is exhausting on top of everything else.

So to be an Officer in this political climate is honestly pretty shitty to be frank. 

Today, I realized how I get through my shift though, and it was through a dark little girl who couldn't have been any older than my own daughter. The little girl who was walking home from school and lit up when she saw my police vehicle. The little girl who was not scared of me, but jumped in excitement, and waved ecstatically at me trying to get my attention. 

I realized that I get through this with my family, who loves me endlessly. Through my incredible therapist who responds whenever I text her or have a bad night. Through the rough looking teenager who rolled down her window at the stop light, and instead of giving me the finger, said "thank you for your service Officer". Through the knowledge that although the climate surrounding my career is scary and unknown at the moment, I am doing my job for the right reasons, and I do it with empathy when needed. I feel things immensely on different calls, and I am not embarrassed of that. In a profession filled with macho, I am proud to be the feminine touch on the call, but also the strong female figure who can beat your ass if you try to hurt me or someone else.

There are some really terrible Officers out there, but they are very few and far between. I have yet to find one, and I hope I never do. So support the good Officers, because they will make the difference in this crazy world. Tell them you like them, and wave at them on the road with all five fingers. Support policies that will make them better, not ones that will punish them for something one bad apple did. Help them get the tools and training they need, which require funds. I love the idea of trainings that make Officers uncomfortable. Offer trainings on racial bias, LGBT issues, Autism, domestic violence WITHIN the law enforcement profession. Help them help you, because unfortunately there isn't a lot of it right now.

Elephant In The Room

This has been a long time coming.

I have had an internal argument with myself for the last year about whether or not to write this all down. It has been an additional argument whether I should share my story. I am a very private person, I don't like to talk about my feelings and I don't like people knowing my business. I think it is mostly because, as much as I hate to admit it,  I am human like every one of you. I fear of being judged. I fear of people talking behind my back. I fear that people who used to love me, will no longer love me. That I will be alone. I have found through this difficult process, that the people who do judge me and talk behind my back, do not matter. The "friends" and acquaintances I have unfortunately lost, do not matter. But just because I am on a roll, let me clear the air...

I am sure most of you have witnessed a change in my life the last couple of years, some more than you would have liked. It has been a long, difficult journey for my family and close friends, who have stuck by me through this. But, it has been an even longer, more difficult journey for me, because I am gay.

Let me give you a quick overview of how I got here. I knew I was different as far back as I have memories, and at the time, I didn't feel different, I just felt like me. My poor mom didn't get the typical little girl that she so desperately wanted, though I know she loved me for me, which has been such a blessing in this journey of mine (luckily frilly cheetah girl Cassie came along and filled that void). I loved different things than other little girls loved, I wanted to play in the mud, throw ninja stars, and I tried my hand at collecting GI Joes. I asked for army play sets for my birthdays, and when I got a purse for my 6th birthday, I was immediately dissatisfied. I shopped in the boy's section for clothes, and got hand-me-down's from my cousin Jake, which I thought made me look super fly. My mom was such a good sport, and finally just let me dress myself. She took me to the boy sections, she got me the stupid ninja stars, and I got a flipping awesome Power Rangers bike that was way faster than the other girls pink frilly bikes.  I don't attribute me liking "boy things" to a girl being gay, but I think in my situation, it was something that contributed to my future identity.


In Kindergarten, all the girls in my class routinely talked about crushes they had, mostly on the same few popular boys. I honestly didn't see the big deal. They were boys, and I had never looked at boys that way. In fact I made it my mission to make those boys my friends so I could play with bugs with them at recess. I had a couple friends who were girls, but I hated being with them because they made me play dolls or Spice Girls or something. In first grade, I finally had my first crush on someone, but it wasn't on a boy, it was on a girl who was a year younger than me. I still remember her name, because this was the moment I realized how different I  really was. I couldn't put a label on this sudden crush I had on a girl, because I had no idea what it was. It seemed so natural and normal, I thought nothing of it. No one had told me that girls could  or couldn't have crushes on other girls and no one had told me that this was not normal. This was the beginning of a long struggle between me, myself and I, because I never told anyone. Somehow, I eventually realized that this was not actually "normal". Perhaps I heard something at my church or from other kids at school, that part I don't recall, but I somehow came to the conclusion that I was dirty and unworthy because of who I was.

I grew up in a fairly religious home, going to church every Sunday and doing everything I could do to follow the  guidelines my church set for me. I read my scriptures and I remember as a young child, praying veraciously every night that I would either stop liking girls, or I would wake up a boy one day, so that it would be normal to like girls.  I would pray and cry for hours before falling asleep. I remember it being so painful as a child, feeling like I couldn't tell anyone about the emotional turmoil I was going through. It was a complex moral dilemma that no adult should go through, yet alone a young child. I was always good at keeping it to myself aside from my prayers to God though.

In elementary school, I realized I needed to overcompensate by fixating myself on boys in class who everyone else thought were cute. I did everything the other girls in class would do, I would write notes confessing my undying love, and I told literally everyone who would listen that I had a mega crush on a boy so that I seemed "normal". Those poor boys, I was unrelenting. I seriously was basically a little stalker, because wanted so bad to fit in, but ended up being bullied for several reasons, one of them being the way I dressed (whatever, that's a different blog post that you can go over and read). I started to realize my clothing was causing me some problems, so I tried really hard to wear what the other girls were wearing, but I always felt so uncomfortable in my own skin because of it. I hated how I looked in dresses and high heels, I felt so self conscious, though I probably looked pretty damn good.

I struggled so long, and had so much pain. I contemplated ending my life as an adolescent just to stop the constant battle going on in my head. It never ended. How did I become gay you may ask? I never had any trauma, or bad experiences with men. I had some really shitty boyfriends,  who put me through some shitty things, but that was in my later teenage years. I have an incredible father who would do anything for me (and I knew it), and two amazing little brothers who loved me. The only way I can describe my reasoning for being gay, is simply that I was born this way. That is hard for some people to understand, because it is unfathomable because it seems like a choice. I can attest to you, I did not choose this.

In adolescence could not for the life of me understand why I had been this way, other than, this was a trial that I chose to have on this Earth. This made me hate myself more, because why the Hell did I choose this? To live in such anguish for the rest of my living days, to never have the chance at a fulfilled relationship, or to feel the love that I saw in movies or at my home between my parents. I never felt like I was fully "repentant" because I always had "what if's" in the back of my mind, but, I worked endlessly to shove anything "gay" to the back of my head. Throughout my teenage years, anything mentioned about homosexuality, I condemned and quickly changed the subject. I was against gay marriage and I openly expressed that it was unnatural. Somehow, this helped me numb the feelings inside of me. I took other peoples ideals and I pasted them over mine in hopes that those close to me would not figure out who and what I really was. There would be things that would trigger me, and I would fix it by going into the shower and crying for as long as the hot water would run.

I was fully prepared to do this the rest of my life. To never tell anyone anything, the daily struggle I had 24/7 every single day. I dated so many boys, I can't even remember most of their names. I did things with them that I thought would change my brain. I thought, maybe the next one will fix me, maybe I will find someone that will make me straight. There has to be someone special out there.

One day, my mom decided to set me up with a boy who had just gotten off his LDS mission and was the son of a doctor who she worked with at the hospital. The moment I met Austin, we had an instant connection, it was a connection that we still continue to have to this day. He quickly became my best friend. I wanted to spend every day with him, because he made me happy. I had someone who filled some of a void that I had and I thought, wow, maybe this was how it is supposed to be. I felt so comfortable with him. Aust asked me to marry him and I did, in the Salt Lake  LDS temple. I thought for sure that doing this, maybe it would suppress my feelings. Maybe because I had done everything right and gotten to this point, God would somehow magically relieve me of this trial, but nothing changed.  Our marriage was different from the beginning, and we often talked about how we felt more like roommates than we did husband and wife. I wanted so bad to just be with Austin, because he literally is the most amazing man I have ever met.  I had to work extra hard to suppress my thoughts, and I begged and pleaded with God to make this marriage work, because  I was told that this is how it was supposed to be. Anyone who knows Austin can attest to the incredible man he is, but we grew more and more distant through the years. We still kept a strong friendship, but something was still missing. I thought that maybe having a baby would change me, maybe it would solidify our relationship and  we had the amazing blessing of having a daughter together.

After some time, I had finally mustered the courage to tell my sister Cassie that I was gay. She didn't seem that surprised. When I told her I had something I needed to tell her, she said "What? You are gay?" I felt relieved that she had an inkling and I didn't have to say it out loud.  After she found out, I wanted so bad to talk to her about it,  I wanted someone to help me, maybe if I talked about it, it would go away. She told me that she loved me no matter what, but I was so embarrassed after telling her, that we never talked about it again.

Five years into my marriage, I had become extremely depressed. I felt pain and numbness at the same time. One night, I felt broken, went out to my car and called my cousin, Emily.  I had no intention of telling her, but I immediately started uncontrollably crying. I repeatedly told her I didn't want her to know why I was crying because she would hate me. That of course was not the case. Emily has always been someone I entrusted my deepest darkest secrets in, and I felt a huge load lifted off my shoulders when I told her and she simply told me that I was not a bad person. She said there were lots of people like me, good people. The next day, I sat down with Austin and told him that I was gay. We cried for hours. The next day I told my mom that I was gay. We cried for hours. I was emotionally exhausted, and had no tears left in my body. The next day, I told my best friend of 17 years, Marissa, and she basically told me she knew I was gay. Finally I had a reaction that did not result in ruining someones life.

Austin, Haley, and Zoey

I became more and more comfortable telling people about myself, a secret I had kept for 25 years. I was terrified to tell my dad and my brother Zach, who had just returned from a mission in Chile. I knew he would be heartbroken to know I wouldn't be able to go into the LDS temple to see him married to his sweetheart. But I was continuously surprised to find, people still loved me. Zach calls me once a week and just talks with me, which makes me feel  loved and special. My little brother, Nick, jokes with me about how we wear the same clothes and he often steals my signature lesbian snap-back hats. My sister is constantly asking how my relationship is doing. My dad and mom continue to show unconditional love, even though they have lost the ideal of what my life may be like. I was petrified of what my grandparents would think of me, would they stop talking to me? We haven't spoken directly about my situation, but they have expressed to me their eternal love for me. I have an incredible family who have made me feel so loved. Austin was so supportive of me, even after the pain I caused him (remember how I said he is literally the most amazing man on this planet), and he continues to support me. Austin and I like to think that we were brought together for the most important reason of all, to have our little daughter who is so loved by both of us. We were meant to be together for a short time to give life to her, and I have no doubt of that. My family, has supported and loved me in ways I never thought they would, though it goes against everything they believe in. They have shown me unconditional love, something that so many others who have been in my situation have not received.  I have found who my true friends are, those that have stuck with me through this life change.

I now have a big, weird, blended family with my co-parent, his wife and my daughter. Holidays are a little awkward,  and are bound to be awkward in the future, but we somehow all come together for what is important. People think we are weird, the fact that we have this family woven with different colors, but my daughter has so many people who love and care for her. Austin gets asked often, how he can continue being my friend (which to me seems a little petty), but he somehow does. We somehow make this work, because we know what is important. I love my blended family. It is unconventional and rubs some people the wrong way, but to them, I would advise that they remember we are all imperfect humans, on our own separate journeys.


Through this, I have broken free of so many chains. I know I am not the only one who has struggled with this, I am writing this down in hopes that this can help someone else in some weird gay way. You are not alone in this world and it truly does get better. If you feel you have no one to talk to, you have a friend in me.

12 reasons you should not come into the ER for

I thought I would dedicate my post this week to my second family, my emergency room crew. This list is not going to be any surprise to them, but it may be to you. Since starting my position in the ER 4 years ago, I have learned so much. I have mostly learned that a lot of crazy people visit the ER regularly, and rarely pay for their lovely encounters with us (which means you are paying for their lovely encounters with us). I have also learned that people stick things in all orifices of their body and also actually eat used tampons. That is not just in the movies.

Anyways, the following is a list of ACTUAL chief complaints people have come into our ER for. Seriously. I am not joking. So please, please, please don't come in if you are going to ask "What does my hands smell like? Will you smell me?", or if you are going to ask your nurse if they need a urine sample from you, and when they say that we do, you reply "good, cause I just peed my pants", and for heavens sake, please don't come in for the following 12 reasons:

1. An "arthropod assault". This is also known as a spider bite. Extra points for trying to make it sound like you were actually wildly ravaged by the man eating spider on Harry Potter.

2. You felt like you needed to poop, but ten minutes later, you didn't. Oh good, cause I was scared that you were one of those people who pooped and brought it in a shoe box for us to "examine".

3. You catch yourself staring into no where. You mean, kinda like the feeling I get when I stare into your eyes?

4. Your brain is working very slow. You are either a 21 year old having a stroke, or you just done got the stoopid bug.

5. You have a "nervous energy". Hold on, let me go get our in house healer. It might take a minute for us to warm up our crystals though, so let me rub some lavender oil on your temples in the mean time.

6. You talk/shout in your sleep, which are joined with terrible nightmares. I used to get those too, back when I was in 'Nam.

7. You have a fear of authority figures and men. That moment you only have male nurses/doctors on staff. Awkward.

8. You have "dizzy eyeballs". I literally have no come back for this one, only a face palm.

9. Your toothpaste left a residue on your gums. Now might be the right time to switch to a name brand toothpaste...  I know it is a dollar more, but I think it will save you an $800 ER bill next time.

10. Your belly button stinks. Don't worry dude, we've got you covered. This is what modern medicine was made for!

11. There are "bubbles" popping in your abdomen. Hold on, I couldn't understand you with that adult binky in your mouth... Oh, actually I did hear you correctly, well, tripping on acid will do that to yuh...

12. You fear you have gotten tetanus from smoking pot from a tin can. Unless you put that tin can in your bag of Funyuns or brownies, I think you may be safe to keep smoking the reefer after your chicken noodle soup binge.

Lastly, please don't yell "keep your grubby forceps out of my nuts!" from your room. It is super impolite.

I dated an amputee and a rapist

My little black diary:

I know how this sounds. I dated an amputee and a rapist? Like really, how desperate am I to get reads from people. I knew you were bound to click on it just to find out how I ended up dating a rapist... However, I totally, dead serious did (without my knowledge).

As a young L.D.S. female living in Utah, I felt the pressure straight out of high school to find a husband. The community sets up steps for us youngins, because we can't possibly understand what is best for us. The steps are as follows:

1. You better not touch, glance or look at another boy/girl until you are to the rightful age of 16. 

2. Once you are 16, you better stay in a group, or you WILL get pregnant. 

3. Go to BYU. 

4. Oh you are 18 now? GET MARRIED! 

5. Now that you are married, everyone you know is going to ask you over and over and over and over again if you are pregnant yet. Don't forget, your eggs are going to shrivel up at age 20.

So there you have it kiddos... Your Utah life in a nut shell. So you can imagine my disappointment that I basically flunked high school (because I spent most my days skipping every single class I had) and had to go to the reject school, UVU. Crap, I was going to have to lower my sights to a hippy, skateboard punk who was majoring in smoking weed. Now back to this "pressure" I was feeling to get married. I didn't even feel this from my parents (who had more of a right to be crazy worried about my salvation and future life than anyone else). This "pressure" was from completely random people, who I barely knew. I dated EVERYONE. No really, I was a dating machine. A lot of them were complete douche bags, some of them turned out to be total creepers, and not to be prissy or anything, but I was out of their league in most cases.

Now, lets get down to the gnitty gritty. One of these crazy guys I had dated, had multiple red flags, which I chose to ignore. Uhhhhhh... My bad. It was fall time, when we started dating... Lets name him Ampy. He seemed nice, a University of Utah fan, but nice. Ampy had come home early from an LDS (Latter Day Saint or Mormon) mission due to "stress".

First off, he begged me to take him to Lagoon (Utah ghetto theme park) on my dads dime, and was too scared to go on ANY of the rides, not even the carousel. What a dope!

Second off, Halloween is my absolute favorite holiday (and no this is not off subject).  I really wanted to go to a haunted house with Ampy a couple months into our relationship, but Ampy absolutely refused. After asking him several times, he wrote me a long text about how he had been chased around by some random guy with a knife when he was a kid and was stabbed several times. That's it. That was his story for why he wouldn't go to a fake haunted house. I kinda called his bull crap (just a gut feeling, also, where are these stab wounds fool?) and dismissed it.

Third off (and most important), Ampy totally flashed me his junk (you know, his thunder down under). In my parents house. Right before family dinner. Hello sex offender status. YOU GUYS!  I finally broke up with this weirdo, who probably is now flashing ladies in the aisles of Target and sporting a womens trench coat.

But, it doesn't end there. Ampy texted and called me NON-STOP, to which I never replied. A couple months later, this guy texts me and to let me know he had been in a near death car accident, almost died, and they had to cut off both his legs. This was for sure a fabrication for me to feel bad, go out with him and for him to ultimately rape and kill me. I know it. Luckily I saw him at a University of Utah basketball game a couple weeks later, both legs intact.

The other guy I will speak about, kind of camouflaged his creepiness. He was actually a pretty cool guy, was also a University of Utah fan, also came home from his mission early (which brings no judgement from me) and I totally wish him the best (given that he doesn't rape anyone else). Ya he was a rapist. Lets name him Timmy. Timmy and I dated for a few months, during that time I got to know him and totally liked him. For our first date, he took me to the roof top restaurant in Salt Lake City (a 30 dollar a person dinner), then for ice cream, then bowling... He easily dropped a hundred bucks on that date. I know, I suspected he was a pimp too, but for that delicious food, I was willing to overlook his weirdness.

Fast forward a few months later, we are on our way to Las Vegas for me to meet his family. We are driving at 11 pm, in the middle of the desert, alone. Timmy, totally out of no where confesses that when he came home early from his mission he had raped an underage girl at a party and was arrested for statutory rape. Uhhhhhh... Not sure what you are supposed to say to that. I immediately realized my life was coming to an end. I was going to end up in his trunk and dumped out for the coyotes. But here I am, alive and healthy. So you can safely assume that I totally dropped that dude as fast as he entrusted his personal information with me, which I am now posting on my blog for all to see. I actually had to spend the rest of the weekend and the drive home with him.

It is safe to say, I have dated a lot of creepo sticks. But don't get me wrong, I have also dated some awesome guys who I owe a lot to, they made me a better person, and they all brought me closer to be the person I am today. Super awesome.

Eventually, after I was DONE dating and I wanted nothing to do with it, my lovely mother ignored my wishes and set me up with a strapping young man. Luckily, he didn't have a fetish with showing people his wang-time while they were off guard and he didn't even rape anyone (what a plus!). He was just a normal, awesome guy, who allots me one free haunted house visit every October (even if he hates going to them), and I am really happy with normal. Best of all, he wasn't a University of Utah fan.

How to survive postpartum depression

A year ago, I watched a news report of a woman who had shaken her baby to death. I thought to myself, how in the heck could this mother have gotten to that point where she would kill her freaking baby? 3 months ago, I was imagining different ways to just have a moment of silence, no matter what it took. I was no longer the person I was before I got pregnant. I was an empty shell, a robot, doing the same thing day after day and ultimately I was in this woman's shoes, as sad as it sounds.

When I had my daughter, it was all so surreal because life changes so quickly at that moment. I went from having this little alien breaking my ribs from within my own body, to holding this random child after an immense amount of pain. Where did this freaking child come from? Did I really just push this thing out of my Vagina, and now I am supposed to hug and kiss it?! I had heard many things about child-birth, most of them being happy feel goods, because now you have your perfect little baby that you couldn't wait to meet. Truth is, I hadn't looked forward to having this baby. I hated being pregnant. I didn't like feeling her kick inside of me. I didn't feel like I had a "glow" or anything special. Instead I had insomnia, regret and fear. Her boxing match with my uterus was a constant reminder that my life was not about me anymore, and that it never would be ever again. That feeling didn't change when I held her in my arms at the hospital. I tried to hide it, and did pretty good, but I felt absolutely no connection to this little human whatsoever. I would later find out how crazy it would really make me.

Believe me, I realize how horrible this sounds, you may even be judging me, but you can never know quite how it feels until it happens to you. I contemplated many times, telling myself to wait just another week, it takes time to connect with your child, perhaps I will feel better. I thought, I have all kinds of hormones, once they are done being wacky, I will be OK. That never really happened and I felt I was destined for a life time of babysitting.

It wasn't until one early morning, waking up with her, seeing her round little innocent face in the dim light, that I saw the deep love she had for me. This cute baby, that I had absent-mindedly been caring for, actually loved me and it clicked in my mind,that this little girl was not getting the love from me that she deserved. I have had so many close friends who had lost their babies before birth, when they were born, or  just flat out weren't able to have children of their own. I had this little miracle right in front of me, and I had not even thought about how selfish I was. But it just didn't process in my head, and I realized that I needed to find some help.

The problem with post-partum depression, is that it can happen to anyone. Personally, I have suffered with depression for most of my life, but I have a good friend who had no symptoms before having her little girl and ended up with raging PPD. I was prescribed some anti-depressants which did nothing. I felt no difference in my mood at all. I was expecting an easy fix happy pill that would make all my thoughts and problems go away. The mind is quite a silly, awesome, complicated thing, because it turned out that I had a pretty bad vitamin D deficiency. Such a small thing that seemed to be causing so much sickness in my head. So, I was put on a prescription strength vitamin D pill (which helped a little).

I can tell you now, there is only one thing that has saved me, that is exercise. I can testify, right here and now, to the power of a good old run outside in the sun. It has done something that medicine could not do, given me the confidence to be me  and that it is okay not to be perfect (because I am far from it). Because I have taken time to take that little baby out on a run through nature, I look forward to the life time I have with this sweet little child of mine, and as she grows, I grow too. I have learned so much about myself, and how strong I am through this trial. In reality, my mind fixed my brain. It still wasn't a quick fix, and I still to this day have spouts of heavy depression,  but it is completely worth the work for those good days.

The moral of the story obviously is, don't shake your baby.

Also, don't give up. It really does get better. 

I was beat up by a kid named Rusty

Here we are.

You and I.

I can basically feel your hot breath on my forehead.

Now, before this turns into another porno  and I make a trajillion dollars, I will just straight up say, I have no idea why you are here. I am not famous, trendy, a hipster, or fashionable in any way, shape or form. So why are you still here? Maybe you are one of my childhood friends, come to see how stale my life is. Are you one of my Facebook friends that I don't even know, but your name sounded kind of familiar, so I accepted your request? Oh wait, you may be a family member, then this all makes sense to you, because you know I am sooooooo painfully awkward.

For you to understand my mind (and you still probably won't) you must go back to the beginning...

I am Whitney. I have been told against my will that I was conceived on a cruise ship some 25 years ago (GROSSSSSSSSS!!). You can ask anyone who knows me, and truly KNOWS me, that I was never that normal. My beautiful mother being pregnant with her first child (bless her heart), was hoping for a little girl, but instead she received a man-girl (and no, I am not a literal man-girl, so this may not be the story of transformation you are looking for). I was just totally and completely a little tomboy. My mom tried her best to make me frilly with little dresses, and get me to wear any kind of pink. I quickly took power from her and started dressing myself in the boys section at clothing stores. Most of my friends were boys. We played with bugs and dirt, you know, "boy stuff". For my 6th birthday, I asked my grandma for a ninja set, solely for the ninja stars it contained. She obliged. I became that cool kid with the ninja stars.

I am there on the right, with the sweet boots

I went to a stereotypical white-trashy elementary school in the trashy part of town. My principal was a farmer, as it should be in a town like mine. We had big bullies who had names like BUTCH and RUSTY. I wouldn't even believe that someone actually named their kid Butch, if I hadn't have actually met the actual Butch (and yes he fit the stereotype). One time a kid in my kindergarten class pushed me on the ground and sat on my face yelling "dumb ass" over and over. (I am still searching for you Boddy, you little turd face!) I was punched in the face in 2nd grade, for no reason that I can remember, resulting in my front tooth chipping, similar to Lloyd Christmas from Dumb and Dumber (I am also searching for you Sam, you big bully! Just kidding, I found her... She was my waitress at I hop once, and that was revenge enough.) Then there was good ol' rusty who insisted on calling me a dyke in 1st grade. 1st grade people! Obviously I didn't really know what that was, but it sounded mean so it made me cry.

I didn't really think about it being "bullying". So much so, I never really told my parents about it, because I didn't know it was a problem. I knew I was just kind of different, I knew that, and to be honest I really liked it. I liked not being a cookie cutter. I am in no way condoning bullying, because those kids were total ASSHOLES. They probably had asshole parents, who taught them to do asshole things, to kids who were different than them. It made me stronger and more confident in who I am today. I know that people who attack other human beings are uncomfortable in their own skin and with their actions.

Third, fourth and fifth graders at this dumpy school were all lumped together in classes. I was obviously the brunt of, again, more teasing from older kids (this is when you make goopy faces and hold up picket signs that say 'stop bullying').  Whatever. I was way cooler than them anyways. I still didn't pay much attention to them because I was too busy choreographing a dance to N'sync songs for me to perform during show and tell every Friday. (Every Friday. Same song, different moves.) I also had some sweet cowboy boots that I wore everywhere (including bed). No one can argue against that.

I later moved from the ghetto (ghetto being lower middle class) part of town to where all the rich kids lived (rich being middle class). I was in this whole [kind of] new environment without people trying to wipe boogers all over my sweatshirt. Now, I am absolutely sure I was called names behind my back by probably those darn popular kids (I called them the Gap hoodie gang, because they all seemed to wear the expensive Gap sweaters that my parents couldn't afford) but it was behind my back, and it was better than being punched in the front. These kids brought cookies to class for their birthday! WHAT THE?!

This is where my life became pretty fun and complicated. I found some awesome friends who are still to this day, some of my bestest friends. The complicated part? They had gotten me addicted to Neopets in 4th grade. Does anyone remember Neopets? Mine always died because I never had enough Neopoints to feed my poor starving Neopets. Off topic.

They didn't punch me, shove my face in the dirt, call me dyke (although I still hadn't grown out of wearing my cousin Jakes hand me down baggy corduroy shorts.) To them, I am forever grateful that they embraced me and invited me to be who I wanted to be. Kind of nice having friends who don't mind if you look like a little man-girl.

Cool hat Shwhit!

Through the years I have developed quite the personality. I have grown into a loud, outspoken adult. I can't help but think, all of my experiences contributed to these traits. If you ask my family, they will straight up tell you that I have an opinion on EVERYTHING. Every single thing.  Sometimes they embrace it, sometimes I MAKE THEM EMBRACE IT (bwahahahaha). I suppose there is not much more to describe me with, other than RADical. I am sure no one stuck through this, so at this point I am inevitably talking to myself, however, if you are out there... Welcome to my mind.