Sharon Marie Wright

I am a professional photographer specializing in dolls.  

I picked up a couple Emmy awards for writing/producing short format movies, been acknowledged for my acting and even got an attendance award at school once. 

I live in Los Angeles, migrated here from my hometown of Grandview, MO.  (Go Bulldogs) 

I love footed pajamas, Lifesaver Pep-O-Mints and stupid cat videos.  I have a pet pig and no, they do not stay small and you do not want one.

As far as my personal blog goes, everyone has had some sort of shit in their lives, I'm just documenting mine.  If you like it, great.  If not, I don't give a shit.

Live Fearlessly

Eight Weeks in April (or, how a live feed is driving me insane)

Somehow, on February 22, 2017,  I stumbled on a live feed of April, the giraffe, who was about to give birth.
At any minute they said....

They fucking lied!

Every day I keep the feed up
and watch,
and wait...
shit I'm STILL waiting. 

This just documents my journey into giraffe hell.

**NOTE** - I'll update this daily until she finally gives birth or I end up on an episode of Dr. Phil. God, please don't let that happen. 

This is the shit that kills me. She straightens that tail - not arching - straightening! My heart starts pounding, I dig in, ready for my payday - then nope. It's like a perpetual game of PSYCH! I can't take much more of this. I need therapy.

The end is so fucking close I can taste it. (Not a reference to the posting above - that's all know what I mean.)

Seriously - the only way this will be okay if it goes on much longer - is if Ace Ventura drops out of her crotch and we find out it's been an animatronic giraffe this whole time and it's a publicity stunt for Ace Ventura 3. That would be epic and I could appreciate it. Right now - I'm not appreciating anything.


Dear Diary -
and then there were three....

The day finally arrived! 
We finally have a baby giraffe!

Yes, I know, 5 other zoos have had baby giraffes during the time I have waited for this one, but I didn't watch any of them. I was holding out for April. Of course, back in February I didn't know it would ACTUALLY be in April. I freaking worked hard for this one!

Thankfully my husband wakes up at stupid:thirty in the morning to go to the gym and he awoke to tons of messages telling him to get me up, lol. (It was about 4:20am here in Los Angeles) Amazingly, I had just woken up about 4am and checked the feed then went back to sleep - right before it happened (of course).

What a crazy journey it has been though. The ups and downs, sleepless nights and all the time spent watching and waiting. While it was indeed maddening, it was madness with a lot of love.

But, it's finally over. I can have my life back. I'm not really sure what life is like from here on out. How do I just go on now? One thing is for certain - I am done with live cams - no more of that shit!

Thank you to all of you who followed along with this mess I got myself into, looking back at Facebook a year from now will be entertaining at least.

As far as a name goes - if it's a girl she should be named Patience - because goddamn if we didn't all freaking need it!

Congrats to Animal Adventure Park, April, and all the #Aprilviewcrew - We did it! ;)

53 days
Signing off

Good Grief

NOTE - I never published this post, written two days after my real mothers death, as everything was so crazy and up in the air and changing every few hours, but as I reread it today I felt as though I needed to post it. At some point I will sit and write out my thoughts and feelings of the journey we took back and those final goodbyes to not only her but to much of the pain of the past.  Until then.... 

Well, I thought I was going to KC. I thought I was going to do this whole "closure" thing with my brother and 4 sisters. I thought I wanted/needed to do lots of things...but in the end, I think maybe I was wrong.

When I got the news that my birth mother had died I was so surprised at the emotions I had over it all.  I really didn't think I cared that much.

Link To The News Coverage KMBC

It seemed to be the same with my brother and 2 of my sisters. We were all a little taken aback I think. I honestly don't think any of us thought we would give a shit, but I've said all that in my previous post so I won't be redundant. Go read that rambling mess for yourself.

After much back and forth with my brother and sister #1 we all decided we needed some sort of closure. I was going to fly to St Louis and my brother and I would drive up to Kansas City and we would all get together to view her body and go to her apartment - just find some form of closure in whatever way we could.

The nice thing was that we had never all been in the same place at the same time. Not only that but sister #1 and sister #2 have never actually met in person, so it would be extra special. 

I scrambled to get a plane ticket, made the purchase, packed a bag and was ready to leave - nope. I was told not to come because the coroner wasn't going to release her body till maybe later in the week. No point in coming if it won't happen. 

I called the medical examiners office to find out the details and to get an idea of when we may be able to come by. I spoke to a couple people who told me that the body was ready to be released but there would be no way we were allowed to view her there.  Wait, what?

Apparently television shows and movies are complete fucking liars and there is absolutely nobody allowed to see, or identify, bodies in the morgue. No glass you can stand behind while they wheel the body over and fold down the sheet exposing the head of the deceased. Lies - all fucking lies. The first person I spoke to, btw, had me on speaker phone and I'm like 87% sure she was working on a body at the time - and probably eating a sandwich. I mean, movies can't be ALL lies, right? 

(side note - I have to admit I was just the slightest bit disappointed at that. I do tend to have a pretty morbid fascination. I know, I's totally inappropriate and wrong and I'm ashamed. This is the wrong situation to be thinking about going to the morgue and seeing all the lockers with bodies in them. Shame, Sharon, shame.)

I cancelled the flight, left my bag packed, and waited. Should have got trip insurance I guess, huh? But, you know, when the flight is leaving in less than 12 hours you pretty much, usually, know you are going to go. $200 penalty, yuk

There was not going to be a funeral because nobody was going to pay for it, so they (siblings 4 & 5, and maybe the estranged husband?) were going to donate her body to science. The coroners office told me that the only way to actually see her body was at a funeral home. The science people would take possession of the body via a funeral home and would then allow us to have a small viewing before they took her body away but it had to be done within 5 days of death, which would be Tuesday. I would need to fly out by Sunday to have Monday to get together.

Only, they wouldn't take her, because her tissue sample came back positive for Hep-B.  sigh....

So, we are back at square one.

But really, at this point, I'm not sure I need to do all that anymore.  I don't need to keep dragging it out. I can't keep putting my life, and work, on hold just waiting. And, honestly, I don't really know if laying my eyes upon her face is going to somehow make me feel better. I don't know if standing in her apartment among all of her things is going to really make me feel connected to her - and I need that? I didn't have it before and I was doing just fine....

Sibling #5 is, apparently, having a fairly hard time with all of this. Understandably. She was the one who had the closest relationship with her mom. Even though GeorgeAnne was a shitty mother, #5 still loved her. I get that, maybe more than anyone else can. Even through all of the things that happened with my grandfather, I loved him more than anything. He was all I had and I knew no better.  I was completely devastated when he died. I totally understand it.

I also understand that all of our experiences with her were vastly different. Some of us really had very little interaction with her during our lives. I think, besides siblings 4 & 5, I might have had the most interaction with her, and it was all mostly as I was coming into adulthood, so I was keenly aware of just how completely fucked up it all was. I mean, I had issues, but I looked like a saint next to her at that point.

Which is also probably why sibling #5 really hates my blog posts about it all. So, Sibling #5, I'm saying this directly to you - this is my life, these are my experiences and feelings. Yours may be different - and that is okay. You may tell your story how ever you'd like. And honestly, what a story you have to tell. I can only hope, that one day, you do tell it. I wish you nothing but peace and hope that you take all of those experiences and turn them into something positive. 

All I can do at this point is to reflect on the times I had with GeorgeAnne, but I swear to God, every single one of them was just really fucked up. I'm not even joking. But, this is not the time to tell those stories.

I will stay in Los Angeles and I will work through this in my own way. It's not really sadness that I feel. I guess it's remorse? I wish that we had had just a moment where it felt like she cared. Maybe I just wish I had had that one 'motherly' moment with her. Or a moment of her opening up and telling me she regretted things. Or missed me, or thought about me, or was proud that I turned out know, all that kind of stuff.  No more maybes, right?

My grandmother was not cuddly or motherly like that either so I think it's just a thing I yearn for. 


Fuck this sappy shit, damnit.

I hope we all find our own peace with it, I hope that GeorgeAnne finally finds peace. I honestly don't know if she was ever at peace on this Earth, or ever truly happy for that matter. I never got that impression from anyone I've ever spoken to about her. 

It's just really sad. I feel very sorry for her. Nobody should go through life like that. I wish she knew she had value and that she was worthy. 

I do always try to find the lesson in each situation - I really feel that the lesson here is that avoiding my real father is not the right choice to be making and that it would cause me to regret it later in life - I'm thankful to have this chance to build a relationship with him while I can. 


I did end up in Kansas City, we did end up having a funeral for her, and through it I think we may have found a bit of closure. The entire trip back was a "closing" of sorts.

My husband and I drove out from Los Angeles as we decided since we were going to KC we should  finally go empty out the storage space we had been paying for for 6 years. 

We visited Grandview, my house, my schools, my friends houses, the hangouts, the moments - it was all right there. My house was for sale. It was empty! I absolutely could not believe it. 

I sat on my steps, looked into the windows, and I cried. I cried a LOT! Hell, I'm crying about it right now. Everything in my world was tied to that house in one way or another, the good, the bad and the very very ugly. I was at ground fucking zero.

It was the beginning of a very emotional journey. One I will continue to tell about at another time.


Hardened Criminal - Part 3 - The Riot

So, I was back in county jail. And this time it looked to be for quite a while.

My deal for a reduced/misdemeanor sentence was revoked, I was a felon now and I was going to do 2 years.  

Happy Fucking New Year.

The jail was getting severely overcrowded at that point and many of the prisoners waiting for space at the county mental institution were bunking in our block.

Each small 5x8 cell was still maintained by one inmate (thankfully). There was one metal platform bolted into the floor to sleep on, there was a non-flammable mattress pad and a narrow metal writing desk, bolted to the floor. There was also a small metal shelf to store your toiletries. 

Those who were overflow inmates had mattress pads lined along the outer walls of the block. At the time there were about 8-10 people, all mentally unstable to some degree. 

Luckily I got a cell and wasn't forced to stay in the common area.

I was cell #1. What that meant was that I had to be the first one up and out of my cell in line for breakfast, and most everything else, but I was extra nervous about not being late to get in line as that caused quite a disruption among everyone. (That may be the reason I am chronically early to everything now)

Like usual, most days were spent playing spades and smoking hand rolled cigarettes. I much preferred to buy packs of smokes but those were super expensive and I didn't have a ton of commissary money, so I got pretty frugal. The one splurge I loved was getting the big bag of Koolaid. Not to make and drink, but to just lick it off my finger like one of those FunDip packages. It was cheap and it was sugar - all good things! 

I also occupied part of my time by having a little flirtmance with one of the dudes on the laundry crew. We would slip letters and food offerings back and forth during laundry exchange. It was nice to have something to focus on that didn't include ticking off days.

Unfortunately, this bothered CatGirl. 

CatGirl was one of the overflow women in our block. She was super thin and stalked around much like a cat on prey. She had really dark skin and would stand in the shadows just outside my cell at night and just stare in at me, it freaked the hell out of me.

Most days she just spent her time slinking around the outer walls of the block, she didn't really interact with anyone and when she did, it was usually fairly aggressive. I just tried to stay away from that shit - until the day that I couldn't.

I don't remember how it started, but I can tell you how it escalated and ended.

She came at me.

And, of course, my first reaction was to swing - hard. Unfortunately, I missed her face and punched the cinder block wall - hard.  There was some wrestling around, some scratching, punching and pulling, and then everyone else began getting involved. 

People were grabbing and yelling and hitting others and chaos was in full effect. There were way too many people in that block and too many unstable emotions mixing.

As I looked up I saw one of the ladies I hung around with coming towards us with the industrial sized hot water dispenser. I ducked away just as she proceeded to dump it on CatGirl.

There were screams of pain and guards rushing in yelling and then - 


We were punished by having our cells searched where they tossed every single thing in your room looking for contraband, we were strip searched and we were all in lockdown for 24 hours. My friend with the water was placed in solitary. CatGirl was placed in the infirmary.

My hand was swollen and hurt so fucking bad and my knuckles were scraped up and bleeding from the concrete but, you know what, I felt like a bad ass. I was in a motherfucking jail brawl y'all.  ;)

Achievement unlocked.

Now, of course, when my husband tells the story, It was a giant prison riot with shivs and gangs and I was the one who dumped the scalding hot water on her. Cuz, you know, I'm hard like that. LOL.

I really don't remember what happened after that, but somehow, after they factored in all the time I had already been in jail and all the shock time I did and the fact that they were severely overcrowded, I was only in there for 3 weeks and they let me go.

Just go,
walk away. 

Time served.

There was no probation, no restitution, no nothing. 


All the shit I went through and I could have just sat there for a few more weeks at the very beginning and not had to jump all those bullshit hoops of probation? 

Son Of A Bitch!

I returned home to my grandparents and went back to high school to finish off my senior year.  There were just a few months left till graduation. Of course, I was told I wouldn't graduate because I was half a credit short. I sure as hell wasn't going to take their stupid correspondence course to get it because if I wasn't going to get the pomp and circumstance of graduating with everyone else then who the fuck cared. I sure as hell didn't.

I was headed full steam ahead to Reckless Blvd with no chance of slowing down.

Hardened Criminal - part 2 - Self Destruction

13th and Cherry - the Jackson County jail

I knew that address, I knew many people that had been there. I, obviously, hung around the wrong crowd.

I had been to city jail a few times, all just stupid little crap but now I was moving up to the minor leagues and this time I got a uniform. Mine was dark blue. They didn't have any shoes for me so I was given socks and flip flops. Not the flip flops with the strap across the top of the foot, oh fuck no. NO, these were the ones that go between your toes - with fucking tube socks! It was pretty freaking miserable.

I was 17 and the youngest girl in the block.  It was night time when they brought me in. They took me to my cell via the large sets of locking doors. You entered into the hexagonal pod and the doors behind you locked, then the door to the cell block would open and you'd enter there as, again, the giant doors behind you slammed loudly and echoed throughout the entire cinder block and metal space.

The cell block was similar to the image above, once inside they took me upstairs and put me in my cell and - again - the doors locked behind me. Only this time I was alone. 

The light in the cell stayed on 24 hours a day. The loud sounds of the guards entering and exiting the block throughout the night kept me awake. The cold and emptiness kept me awake. The demons I wrestled with kept me awake. The other people in their cells crying, talking, singing to themselves, it all kept me awake. And when there wasn't any noise, the silence kept me awake.

Here I was, this scrawny girl with super low self esteem and a deer in the headlights look in with all these criminals. I was mortified. Since I was the youngest, and obviously the weakest of the pack in our cell block, I was very lucky to have had a few people take me under their wing. I had no money in my account so I couldn't afford cigarettes or snacks or even stamps and paper. There were a couple of people who would share with me, I was truly grateful for their kindness in a completely different world and social structure than I'd ever been in.

What isn't seen in the image above is the open toilet/shower facilities. I was always too embarrassed to dress out for gym in school - let alone fucking shower in front of someone else. Jesus Christ, I had to now take a shit in front of them too! Fuck that!!! And I didn't -  for about 8 days. I was so sick and in so much pain by the time I did it was 10 times more embarrassing than anything I could have imagined. 

I learned to play spades and roll my own cigarettes from other peoples tossed out cigarette butts. I learned that maxi pads are the best thing to clean stainless steel toilets and metal mirrors as they do not leave any dust or lint. I learned how to accurately pass notes and cigarettes between our cell block and the one next door. Sadly we had no trained roaches to do it for us.

 I learned that county jail wasn't really that bad and the criminals in there were mainly just people that made stupid mistakes like I did - and a few that were really scary and weird.

We made the best of killing time, one day we even made up a rap song giving the majority of us a part and then we performed it one night for the guards before lock down, lol. That was probably the highlight of my time there. I'm certain it looked like something from that classic 1985 blockbuster Rappin' or some shit. It was epic - in my head at least.  
(You totally have to watch the trailer for Rappin' - I haven't laughed that hard in a long time!!! There are a lot of people in that film that wish they weren't)

The day finally came for my sentencing. My wrists were handcuffed and shackled to my waist, my ankles were shackled together and I was wearing flipflops with socks. 

As they escorted me into the room to talk to the public defender, I tripped out of my flipflop and nearly face planted into the dude. Those damn socks.

Anyway, the public defender and DA agreed to 6 weeks in county with 2 years probation and restitution. Meaning that I would serve my time (I'd been in for 2 weeks already) and then get out and have to pay back all the money and check in with someone once in a while. If I fucked up I would go back and serve the full 2 years. Dude, sure, whatever the fuck you say - just get me the hell out of there!

I go in front of the judge and plead my case. Hey, I'm just a stupid kid making stupid mistakes, right?  The judge turns to my grandmother and says, "Mrs. Hobbs, do you have anything to say?"


My grandmother stands up and, I swear to God, she says "My daughter is an alcoholic and a drug addict and she's trying to kill us."


I wasn't even either of those things! (yet) 

The judge throws down his gavel and says 6 months! SIX FREAKING MONTHS! Plus all the other bullshit.

Now, I realize that isn't very long at all, I also realize that in jail time terms that really only equates to about 3-4 months in actual jail - but when we had agreed to 6 weeks, and I'd already done 2 weeks and could have been out in just a couple more - WHAT THE ACTUAL FUCK WOMAN!

I was defeated. I resigned myself to my situation and tried to make the best of it. I got used to the loud doors banging all night, I got used to sleeping with the lights on and I got really good at playing spades.

There was this one particular sergeant at the jail. He was older, probably late 50s. He had a giant oversized belly and sweated a lot. He was particularly kind to me. Kind, in that really awkward "I expect something in return" kind of way. A way that I was all too familiar with.

This sergeant would come by my cell and give me Snickers bars, cigarettes, one time I even got a piece of pizza. He would sit on the edge of my bed and talk to me. It was very uncomfortable. But, I knew to just keep my cool and play along.

I never returned any favors to him, btw. 

Surprisingly, he went to the judge on my behalf. Apparently they were friends, little did I know.

About a week after court my sentence was reversed and I was allowed to go home. Holy shit was I happy as hell!

I returned home and began my probation but, the probation they had me on was completely set up for me to fail. 

The rules were:
I had to reside in my parents house
I had to attend school every day (It was my Senior year)
I had to get a job and begin paying restitution
I had to be home by 9pm every night (seriously)
I had to go to a psychologist once a week
I had to see my Probation officer once a week
I had to drop a urine test every week

Again, I was 17. At 17 nobody is home by 9pm! And they would call to check - a lot!!! And, along with all the bullshit appointments to visit all those freaking people AND be home by 9pm how the hell did they expect me to get a job too? 

I fucked up a lot. SURPRISE! I would get busted for missing curfew, and for association violations all the time. See, when you are on probation you are not allowed to associate with other people on probation or parole. Well, that meant I couldn't be around the dude I was dating at the time. I might have also showed up to my therapist appointment drunk a couple of times - but it's their word against mine ;) See, I wasn't an alcoholic - but I might as well try, right? That's what they thought I was, wouldn't want to let them down. Basically I was self destructing and everything was coming to a head.

I got picked up for shoplifting at Kmart and my PO decided that that was enough and had me taken back to county. It was "shock time". They'd toss me in there for a week to remind me that it was awful. Which it was, but at the same time, by the 2nd round of shock time it was familiar and I wasn't afraid of it any more. Hell, I now had friends there.

On Christmas night, well, technically the day after Christmas, I was driving home from my boyfriends house. It was 5am, there were patches of ice along 71 highway and I was beyond tired. 

I recall flashes of the construction wall on the left side of the road coming at me, I recall rolling for what seemed like an eternity. I remember waking up and realizing that the car was upside down in a ditch. I was wedged between the front and back seats and the radio was on - though I don't remember what song was playing. 

I got the passenger side window down and made my way out of the car and just started walking. I recall turning to look at the car and just thinking I needed to walk home.

It all happened between Blue Ridge and the Main Street exit in Grandview, MO, right by our house and the police station. It didn't take long for them all to arrive.

I was in the ambulance and could see out the back of it. My grandfather pulls up in his truck. Gets out and walks over to the car, then gets back in his truck and drives away.


At the hospital my grandmother comes in and says that my grandfather wanted to come in and see me and I was like "Hell no! He didn't want to see me on the highway or know if I was okay, why the fuck does he care now?"

I spent a few days in the hospital. I had hit my throat on the steering wheel and messed up my neck pretty bad, among all the cuts and bruises and stuff. My little Mustang was totaled, of course.

As soon as I got out though - the shit had hit the fan.

There was no more shock time. My probation had been revoked and I was sent back to jail to serve out my full 2 year sentence. 

This time I went in without fear but totally devastated that I would spend two freaking years in there.  Everyone else was planning prom and senior pictures and graduating. I'd be over here spit shining a metal toilet. Fucking great.

Stay tuned for Part 3 - The Riot

Hardened Criminal

Beginning of my junior year. I was rocking a bad perm and an impressive mullet. 

Beginning of my junior year. I was rocking a bad perm and an impressive mullet. 

When I was in high school things had been really strained at home. I had been acting out - a lot. The previous couple years had seen me go to a foster home and my grandfather looking at a long time in jail - everything happening at home had completely blown up.  (another story, of course) But, we were stuck together and we just didn't talk about anything and pretended nothing ever happened. Life went on.

I finally got my own car, a shitty little black VW Rabbit. I put red pinstripes on it and installed a cool new stereo with a cassette player  - it was awesome, at least to me it was. I was free to finally get out and explore the world on my own, hook up with friends, and guys, and get into trouble.

 My grandparents found out I was dating a black guy. Holy fucking hell - they freaked the fuck out!  I never really saw people in colors. It never really occurred to me that they were different or should be treated different, I just saw everyone for who they were - weird, right?  In fact, most of my friends were black, didn't matter to me one bit. 

I loved art, it was really the only class in school I was good at. I always struggled in classes. By high school I barely made over a C in any class. Thankfully it was the last year before changing the requirements before graduation - even though it didn't matter. I didn't have enough credits to graduate anyway.  In the end, I was 1/2 a credit away from being able to. Half a fucking credit. I should have gotten half a credit for self preservation and survival skills at that point.

I loved art, it was really the only class in school I was good at. I always struggled in classes. By high school I barely made over a C in any class. Thankfully it was the last year before changing the requirements before graduation - even though it didn't matter. I didn't have enough credits to graduate anyway.  In the end, I was 1/2 a credit away from being able to. Half a fucking credit. I should have gotten half a credit for self preservation and survival skills at that point.

I didn't ever really realize they were racist until I brought my friend Andrea home after school one day when I was a sophmore. I don't remember the conversation but it was one of shock and surprise. Mainly on my grandfathers part. Of course, my grandmother and Andrea's mom went on to be great friends and my grandfather grew to like Andrea too. It was pretty hard not to though, she was one of those people who had personality for days. 

Anyway, even though they accepted Andrea, they absolutely forbid me to date a black guy. So, of know how that goes. 

When they found out, they took away my car and sent me to live with my aunt in Michigan for the summer. They even sold my car and bought a new tv, a vcr, and a satellite dish.  You know, those gigantic ass monstrosities that they were in the very beginning? Yup - they got one of those.  Which really made no sense since they only watched like 5 shows on regular tv, but whatever.

It wasn't long after I got back that I began to fall into my old routine. I started smoking again and hanging out with the wrong people again, and a few right people, who liked to do the wrong things. 

It wasn't more than a month into the start of my senior year that shit began imploding (again). I was getting into trouble all the time, having to lie all the time, dating guys who were abusive to me and I was not going to change any of it.  So, my parents kicked me out of the house.

I really had no place to go. I was sleeping in the laundry room of some apartments near a park. There were a bank of big storage boxes where people could store laundry baskets and detergent and stuff. A number of them were empty so I would sleep there at night because it was warm and safe. A few times, a good friend of mine would let me sneak into his house during the day after his parents were at work and they were at school. Obviously, school for me was a bit difficult.

I got really good at stealing everything, because I had no money. I had to adapt. 

Senior year. I was there at the beginning, got my picture taken. Never did get that Senior portrait session everyone else got to do.  I was also there at the end of the year, by court order. Never got a year book, got to watch everyone excited to graduate, excited for the parties, excited for college. I was half a credit away from being able to join them all. God I was stupid. 

Senior year. I was there at the beginning, got my picture taken. Never did get that Senior portrait session everyone else got to do.  I was also there at the end of the year, by court order. Never got a year book, got to watch everyone excited to graduate, excited for the parties, excited for college. I was half a credit away from being able to join them all. God I was stupid. 

One night, my friends came and all crawled in different laundry boxes with me. I will never forget that night, it may have been the most meaningful thing anyone had ever done for me at that time. Nobody had ever cared about me that much. But Trish did. She became my family.

She let me move in with her family. Well, her mom let me move in, but it was all because of Trish. She was this super strong, independent, beautiful girl with an attitude that you did not want to fuck with. Man, I admired that. I wanted to be 'tough' but I was so far from it. I was insecure and damaged but I learned a lot from her. She made me strong when I was with her. I was confident for maybe the first time ever. 

Since I had no clothes or any of my stuff, I decided to go home and get some things while my grandparents were out.  Only one small problem. They had changed the fucking locks on me. THEY CHANGED THE FUCKING LOCKS! 

I was pissed. I mean what kind of "Tough Love" bullshit was this? 

I decided to break the window in the door to the garage and go in to get stuff. While I was there, I also decided that they owed me a little so I took 3 or 4 of my grandmothers credit cards. Bitch had a master collectors set of credit cards, one for every store that was available. She wouldn't even know they were gone.

You know what happened spree, bitches!

I hit Macys, JC Penny, Dillards. I took my friends to have lunch at the fancy Dillards restaurant, multiple times, I bought everything and anything I remotely liked - and even some shit I didn't. I didn't think twice about anything - fuck them for kicking me out, fuck them for making me the dysfunctional human I was, fuck their bank accounts,  just fuck it all. I didn't give two shits about it any more.

I had a great time living with Trish and her family. It was party central in her house, for real. Her mom would spend many nights a week at her boyfriends house so we could basically do whatever the hell we wanted. It was awesome. 

Most days I'd take her to school, I'd skip most of the time, and I'd go to the mall and steal shit and come back and sell it in the parking lot after school got out. I was the queen of Swatch watches, Trish and I would have arm fulls of them and sold them for $10 a piece. "Wanna buy a Swatch?"  

Shortly after one little stunt, a "Vacation from Carbonation" we called it, I had to move back home. See one day Trish and I woke up and decided to just get in the car and drive. No destination planned, no money in our pockets, just go. And what an adventure it was. I look forward to telling that one, but it's a full post on it's own.

Of course things were tense. I was home as little as possible. I'd go away and stay wherever I could.

Some time passed, I don't remember where I was living or with who, but and I had gotten a job at a Sizzler or some crap-ass place like that.  One night, I see a couple police officers come in, probably to feast on some of that high quality gourmet steak, only they didn't. They went to talk to the manager who then turned and pointed at me.  I must have looked like a deer in the headlights standing there with dirty dishes in my hands. They escorted me to an empty banquet room where they placed me under arrest and walked me out in cuffs. My career as a professional slop waitress was crushed in an instant.

My past was catching up to me. 

The credit cards I had taken the previous year from my grandmother had been reported as stolen. Somehow I guess I had just expected my grandparents to pay for all that crap.  Looking back, I was so fucking stupid, of course. But at the time I thought I was doing damage to them, not myself. 

I was charged with felony theft and placed in county jail. Now, I had been to many city jails throughout Kansas City, even saw my name in the Grandview jail cell written by an ex-boyfriend. But going to county....fuck. This shit was real and I was scared to death.  

They processed me, strip searched me, humiliated me, and finally took me to a cell and locked the door behind me. I damn near pissed myself.


No more maybes

My mother died.
My real mother,
the one who didn't abort me,
not the one who raised me. 

It's funny how you assume you know exactly how you will feel or what you will think about when you find out someone you don't care about dies. 

You actually find out that all along you truly did care. And what you thought wouldn't effect you - actually does.  

And, ouch.

For those familiar with my story, in particular the "It Begins With a Baby on a Bus" post, then you are aware of the strained, or rather non-existent relationships I have with my birth parents. 

I actually haven't talked to GeorgeAnne in about 17 years, and when I saw her she had no recognition of who I was.  It was at the time when I met my brother for the very first time. Then, my brother introduced me to my other sister that I never met before. Finally, for the first time in my life - I knew who all my siblings were. There were 6 of us total. By 5 different fathers. She got around. She only managed to keep two of them and both by the same dad, so that was a bonus. But, she was no mother of the year to them either. That does sound rather harsh, to M & J, it was all they knew so I'm sure their feelings over her death are quite different than they are for the majority of us.

Today I got the message from one of my sisters that she had died this morning. Apparently she either fell asleep while smoking or she died while smoking, we aren't really sure. The autopsy is tomorrow. 

The irony is that 3 years ago today I stopped smoking. 

It was a small fire and I guess her body wasn't burned bad. But it must have been a slow news day because the local Fox station carried the story.

My immediate reaction was sadness.
Then I was mad that I was saddened by the news.

Like, why the fuck should I care? She never gave two shits about me, not ever. Even when I was 18 and living with her up in New Hampshire and she kicked me out of their apartment overnight, in the snow, with no car and nowhere to go, and I got pneumonia. I laid in bed for days with 105 fever and had to ask her to please take me to the ER. They literally just dropped me off and left. 

When I was 21 and pregnant with my son, again, I had to live with her because my grandparents had (again) kicked me out of the house. (Sort of a theme, right?) Anyway, I went into labor and like a good mother - she literally dropped me off and left.  Like, I'm about to give birth, I'm alone and fucking terrified and hey, you're about to be a grandma....fuck you.  Ultimately my grandparents came over, took one look at my son and immediately told me to get my shit and get out of there and took me back home. 

We even went to jail together one time, for shoplifting. Even though I'd been to jail before, this time I actually hadn't even done anything.

You get the idea of how it was. 

The news hit me hard. I just wasn't sure how to process it. How to feel and why I was so emotional over the whole thing. 

My husband pointed out that maybe it was because the door was now closed.  That there could never be that "one day..." moment. None of the 'maybe she'll realize...maybe she'll have regrets and contact us....maybe, maybe, maybe. There are no more maybes.

I'm now scrambling to get a ticket back to the midwest, I'm still questioning why the fuck I'm doing this. After talking to my brother and one of my sisters we all seem to feel the same about it. And, for some weird reason, we all just want to look at her. We want to see her shitty apartment. To be in her environment to maybe try to grasp a sense of who she was. To somehow find some closure to these gaps in our lives.

The good thing, well one of them, is that I connected with my siblings again. I'm awful at communication with others. I'm great at posting things on my Facebook, I'm great at liking and reacting to others posts but actually having a conversation? Oh fuck that.  But, we talked and it was nice.

The other good thing is it made me realize that as shitty as my relationship is with my real father, I actually have more of a relationship with him than I did with GeorgeAnne. And if her death hit me - then I can assume I will have some regrets with my real father.

I dialed. He cried. I cried. Things were said. Not ALL the things, but a start of some things. Having him in my life is not the worst thing.  I have enough regrets in my life, I don't need any more. 

I am off to Kansas City in the next day or so.

Not to say goodbye to her,
but to say goodbye to my anger towards her. 

Chasing Shadows

I would consider myself a fairly smart girl.  The problem is that I over analyze.  Constantly.

I weigh each and every situation and the probability of failure.  Because, I'm pretty sure something will go wrong.  

Now, I'm not nearly as pessimistic as I used to be.  My glass was always half empty until a few years ago. But I do tend to find myself expecting failure quite often.  By setting my sights low then I am sure to not be disappointed, right?

There seems to be something inside of me that just wants to self destruct every few years.  I get too comfortable and things are good and I know something horrible must be around the corner.  I cut and run.  My friends who have known me for a long time all know.  I've done a lot of damage over the years.  Hurt a lot of people.  I'm not proud.

The first sign of trouble and it's fight or flight.  

From "Times Up, Eve" directed by Patrick Rea

From "Times Up, Eve" directed by Patrick Rea

It's hard to break old habits.  My insecurities still creep to the surface and I see myself as I was when I was much younger - and for no fucking reason at all.  It's like subconsciously I am always waiting and searching for some clue as to who's going to screw me over next so I can beat them to the punch.  

My past taught me that nobody is to be trusted, everyone will fuck you over and there is no such thing as true love.  Throughout my many years and shitty relationships I had never been shown otherwise.  I got what I expected to get.  

Now everything is so different.  When I began to expect more, I got more.  And when I expected to be happy, I was happy. When I stopped trying to force things, I found real love.  There is tremendous truth in the power of positive thinking.  That is no bullshit and I practice it daily. It will completely change your life, trust me on that.

I still have my shadows that haunt me, sometimes they even win and I become an idiot and do idiotic things and jump to idiotic conclusions.  But I just keep trying to do better next time.  I think the thing is to acknowledge my faults.  To understand the WHY of it all.  Why do I react the way I do? Why do I think the way I do? Why does something get to me the way it does?  Maybe, by finding answers to those questions I can eventually take the power out of the problem.

I've come a LONG way but the road is long.  There will always be shadows around me, but it's getting brighter and brighter.  ;) 


From "Times Up, Eve" directed by Patrick Rea

From "Times Up, Eve" directed by Patrick Rea

Like A Virgin

NOTE: Names have been changed to, well, I don't know who I'm protecting....but I know I should.  So, there. 

Ahhh, that first time....

You always remember it, hopefully fondly.  

Mine was the summer between 8th and 9th grade.  (Yes, I was 14.  All the parents reading this just cringed at the thought - trust me, as a parent myself it terrified me, lol!)

All the popular kids lived on my street.  Two football players and the top cheerleaders (twins).  I never stood a chance.  They hated me.  One time, when I was about 9, they thought it would be funny to put me in a trash can and roll me down the steep driveway into the street.  They weren't very nice to me.

The next block over, however, lived 6 kids, younger than me by a couple years, but a much better alternative than hanging around my street.  There was Jack and Jill, Moose and his little brother, and Dick and his little brother.

I would go hang out with Jill every chance I could get, since she was the only girl.  Really, I wanted to hang out with the guys - but their parents didn't approve of that so much.  And, if we REALLY get down to it, I just wanted to hang out with Dick.

I had the biggest crush on him for years.  And the fact that he never really gave two shits about me just made me like him even more.  

One summer it changed.  Dick finally caught onto the fact that girls were awesome.  We would hang out secretly and I'd stay out past dark.  I remember my first kiss.  I was certain it was love.

One day he invited me over to his house.  It was summer so both his parents were at work.  I was SOO excited.  The thought that he and I would hang out, was too much!

I showed up and when I got inside I saw Jack and Moose there.  Everything was fine for about a minute.  They grabbed my legs and my arms and dropped me to the ground.  I kicked and tried to get away as much as I could.  I wasn't scared at that point, it was more like we were wrestling and stuff and I was losing badly.  They were all still laughing as though it was a game.  It was a game alright.  Just not the kind I wanted to play. 

They stripped me down naked and tied my hands and feet.  After congratulating themselves in total domination, Dick kicked everyone out.

Once we were alone things changed.  I wasn't untied, but at that point it wasn't completely involuntary.  He was kissing me and saying nice things.  I liked the attention.  It was all I'd wanted for so long.  We were alone, he was paying attention to me.  Nevermind that I was tied up...I'd seen it in movies and it was what adults do and they like it.  Right?

He finally untied me so we could go into his bedroom.  I was so freaking nervous.  He didn't know I was a virgin.  I'd been building up that I was cool for weeks, virgins were lame....but I did know he was. (he was 13 btw).  

We are on his bed making out.  I was terrified.  I mean, yes, I'd been in some fucked up adult situations for most of my life, but this was a boy I thought I was in love with.  It was going to be my FIRST TIME.  I could have thrown up....but I have an irrational fear of puking.

We fumbled through it, of course it didn't take long.  It wasn't fireworks and angels singing.  It was painful and sad.  I didn't get all the hype about it.  But, it had happened, and with Dick, I loved Dick, and I knew that Dick loved me now.  Because that is how you show love and how you get love.  That's what I had been taught.  Right?  RIGHT?

He got off me, got out of bed and started gathering my clothes.  

He walked to the back door, opened it, and threw my stuff as far out there as he could.

He looked at me and said, "Thanks for the use of your body.  Get out."


Did I mention he had two dogs.  They were not nice dogs.  

As he pushed me out the door I knew I only had a moment to grab stuff and get over the fence as fast as possible.  

I was naked, scared and standing in someone elses yard - devastated.

It was the longest walk of shame I've ever done to get back home.

The saddest part is that, somewhere, in the back of my mind, I STILL thought that we might "go together".  That he really did like me and he just didn't want his friends to know.  That, somehow we were connected, I literally believed there was still a chance, I just hadn't done something right and I needed to try harder.

That's where it began.  Well, it began way before that.  But that was the moment it materialized.  Of course, I didn't see it till MUCH later in life.  

Children who are abused seek others to abuse them.  I deserved it.  Right?

My days of hanging out over on their block were over, I was shunned from the group like a dirty whore.  School started back and since he was in 7th grade now, we were in the same school together.  I'd see him and Jack and Moose in the halls.  He was one of the popular jock guys.  He'd make fun of me and they'd all laugh.  But why not, everyone else did back then anyway.

I still had a crush on him.  For years I did.  It never really sunk in to my head what exactly had transpired.  How completely fucked up that entire situation had been. Good Lord I was stupid! 

Father Of The Year

At some point my grandmother decided that maybe it would make me feel better if they went ahead and adopted me.  By this point I was 13, maybe 14...I'm not completely certain - but it was around that time.

Now, why, after 13 years would you decide that adopting me would make any difference, I have no idea.  They'd had legal custody of me since I was 5 months old.  It's not like anyone else wanted me, so I have no clue.  But - that is what she decided they should do.

I recall arguing with her because I wanted to change my name.  I hated the name Sharon.  It was boring and weird and nobody else was named Sharon.  I also hated my last name "Hobbs".  The kids would always sing the Mickey Mouse song spelling my name. S-H-A -- R-O-N -- H-O-B-B-S 

She did not approve of that.  I even tried to just get her to let me change the spelling of my name.  Had I known I could have become just a symbol, then maybe I could have chosen that.  I could have been a square, seems fitting for the time.  "The kid formerly known as Sharon"  It was not to be though.  I remained me, Sharon.  Which in Hebrew means "plain"  I guess it was perfect.

So, the adoption is complete, still don't know why.  But now my real father is my brother, my mother becomes my sister-in-law.  My cousins are my nieces and my aunt and uncle are now my sisters and brothers.  Confused yet?  Ya, try jumping down that rabbit hole when you're stoned.  Speaking of which...

My real dad, having gotten divorced from the Latino wife and her 5 kids, was now working over off Main in KC.   He was coming around the house a few times.  He tells me he's working at a strip club and lives in the building.  That strip club was the iconic and notorious Ray's Playpen.

Ok, I'm like 14 years old - of course I find this fascinating.  Did I want to go check it out?  Well, sure!  What a great idea!  Every father wants to take their little girl to a strip club, right?  

I had a friend staying over that night, and for the life of me I can not remember who it was.  But he said she could come but we needed to try to dress "older".  You had to be 18 to get in.  I was all like "Ya, we got this"  Me, being a scrawny, flat chested, pimple faced the hell did I seriously think I was gonna look 18? 

I don't recall all the details, but I do remember walking into the place and seeing larger than life dildos hanging all over the walls, videos with graphic images, magazines and everything else you can imagine, and an older giant man my real dad jokingly called "Tiny", of course.  

We went upstairs to his place.  I recall it being dark and I don't remember much about it but I did have my first Yoohoo there.  It was delicious!  As we left we had to stop by and say hello to a couple of the stripper chicks.

Ok, who the fuck takes a kid to a strip club?  I mean seriously?  WTF!  At the time I thought it was fucking awesome, but as a parent I'm completely horrified.

Later that same week, my real dad comes by and we are sitting outside talking.  He decides to smoke some weed and tells me to go get my grandad's pipe.  (He smoked a pipe ALL the time, because cigarettes were bad for him, lol)  

He loads the pipe up and lights it and hands it to me.  First time getting stoned and it is with my real dad...

At some point I injured myself, probably fell down laughing or something so I got the brilliant idea to make an ice pack by putting ice in a ziplock bag and melting the bag edges to seal it. 

The next morning my grandfather woke up to find his pipe sitting on the kitchen table in a puddle of water from a leaky melted mess of a plastic bag.  All with a lovely note saying "I hope you enjoy this as much as I did"

I didn't really see my real dad again for quite a while.  He didn't resurface till the shit really blew up a year later.  

But, of course, that's another story.

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The Mechanics Of Love

NOTE - There are explicit details contained in this post that may be emotionally difficult for some people.  

PLEASE do not go there if you are not ready.  


This is written to document my own personal journey.  


I don't remember when it began.  I've racked my brain so many times.  It had just always happened.  Maybe it started before the incident with the cousin.  Maybe not.  There is no beginning.  It just was...

As a very young child I was taught that nothing was given for free.  There was a price for everything.  If I wanted to go to a friends house, if I wanted someone to come over, if I wanted a new toy, if I whatever...I just had to be there to give in order to get.

Love was not based on emotion, it was just a word.  "Love" was what you did to get what you wanted.  It was even thrown around almost as a way to kill the silence.  I love you. 

My grandmother would say it a thousand times a day.  I know, I'm so lucky, that's such a wonderful thing... You know what, I don't ever remember sitting on her lap.  I don't ever remember her comforting me.  And, when I needed her the most, when I was at the end of my emotional and psychological rope, at 15 years old...she turned her back on me.  Refused to protect me.  This thing she "loved" so much.  This child she took as hers, she believed that I was the monster.  I was a fucking CHILD!

I'm getting ahead of myself....please pause as I recompose...

Sorry, some of this stuff is still really hard to wade through...

I was super close with my grandfather.  He did stuff.  My grandmother just sat and read and watched shows or talked on the phone.  My grandfather cut wood, seined the ponds for fish, worked on the truck,  he built stuff.  I was a total tomboy, getting dirty was my favorite thing.

I had a few friends that lived nearby.  My best friends when I was little were Jan and Angie.  We'd play Charlies Angels all the time but I'd always get stuck being Sabrina.  Jan was the prettiest, and blonde, so she was ALWAYS Farrah and Angie always got to be Jacklyn Smith cuz she was, well, I don't know why...I had to be Sabrina cuz I had short brown hair.  I hated Sabrina.

After they moved it was Julie, she moved across the street (Read the Door To Door post) then it became Sandy.  She had a pool and her mom was everything I had always wanted.  She was beautiful and could play piano and did these cool crafts and cooked super cool fancy foods.  She'd brush my hair and make me pretty.  Sigh.  I'll tell the story about them another time. 

My grandmother worked as a teacher, then the librarian, at a school in Belton and she'd stay after classes ended doing stuff, so it was me and my grandfather most of the time.  

If I wanted to go somewhere after school I knew there was a price.  And I did it.  I didn't think anything about it as a child.  It was what it was, I thought it was perfectly normal.  Everybodys daddy was like that, right?  

He'd lay on the floor in the living room, or on the bed, or in his truck...I'd unzip his pants and masterbate him.  Sometimes he'd put me on top of the freezer in the basement or lay me down and put it between my thighs till he got off.  He never penetrated me. Not that it makes it any better, lol. 

It was the price you paid to get what you wanted.  It was how you showed love. It was how you earned love.  It was just that thing you do.

We had a farm, my grandfather loved going there for the weekends, I think because my grandmother didn't like it.  There was a shitty single wide trailer there with no air conditioning.  It smelled of old people and rotten vegetables. 

He grew nightcrawlers in the bathtub, right next to the toilet where his mom died, lol.  (I vaguely remember it, I was really young but I do remember driving out there late at night cuz she'd called him and wasn't feeling well.)

He loved the farm.  He loved to take me too.  Maybe that's why I liked to fish so much.  I'd spend all my time running the 10 acres and 4 different big ponds.  I'd make mud slides into the water, sit for hours in the minnow pond and let them nibble on me, catch crawdads...

He'd get the entire weekend to fuck with me.  

I loved it when my cousins came down.  Not only did I love being with them because they were older and so much cooler than I was, but I could relax and not have to worry about anything while they were there. 

Here's the thing though.  Until I got older I didn't realize it was bad.  I knew it was a secret but I didn't understand why.  And I loved my grandfather.  He was my dad.  I knew I didn't like it, but I also didn't like green beans or liver - I still had to eat that shit.

By the time I was about 12 I knew.  I knew it was wrong, I knew I hated it, I knew I wanted it to stop.  I knew I was fucked up.  I was dirty.  I tried to avoid situations, I tried to stay away, but what could I do?  

I was having severe stomach pains, like doubling over intense stabbing pains.  Doctors said it was stress.  I got shingles, again due to stress.  My grandmother put me in therapy.  I didn't say anything...I couldn't do it.

I didn't want my grandfather to go to jail.  I didn't want to go away and live with my real mother - though I tried to reach out to her.  I found out where she was in some shitty hotel but she was too doped up to even answer the door.  The unknowns were a far greater risk than continuing to live the way I was.

When I was 13, my uncle and his wife were in town visiting us for about a week.  At one point he invited me to come along as he went to some market to get stuff.  During the ride he asked if I would like to drive.  Well, duh!  I was 13, of course I wanted to drive!  

The trick was that I had to sit on his lap, just in he could still control the car.  As we got going he reached between my legs and began to rub me and grind against me.  I told him to stop but he said he just wanted to show me what the boys were gonna be doing to me soon.

I broke down.  I told my grandmother and grandfather about it.  

My grandmother's response, I swear to God....."DJ wouldn't do that, he'd never do that" and that was the end of that. It was never to be brought up again.

I knew right then that I was completely alone.  Nobody was going to save me.  I just buckled to it I guess.  This was what it was and it was not going to change and I just had to make myself accept it.  I did sneak into the bedroom and stole his $300 in cash though.  Motherfucker.  Funny that he never said anything about that.

That was really the tipping point for me.  I think that was the point I really started to act out.  It was also when I first started cutting myself, though that didn't peak till later.  I hid my pain well, kept my secrets and moved through as best I could.  Little did I know what laid ahead.  

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Life After Beige

I used to be depressed.  I fought depression for years.  Actually even as a child I had depression.  I also had stomach problems, shingles, bladder infections, and a whole lot of UTIs. 

My grandmother would take me to the doctor all the time, nobody could "fix" me.  I was a stressed out kid who became a stressed out adult. 

Initially, I was a cutter. I didn't know that was even a "thing" back then.  I just wanted a release.  To feel actual, physical pain as a way to express some of the emotional shit that was inside me.   Somehow, seeing the blood would make me feel just a tiny bit better.  I wouldn't cut deep, just enough to see the drops of blood.  The after pain of the cut was sort of therapeutic. A constant reminder that the pain I was feeling was real.  That I was still there - I could still feel.  And the thing is - I had control of that pain.  I could decide how much to cut, when to do it, where on my body and when it would stop.  It was the only thing in my life I had control over.  It was my goto drug for many, many years.  

I tried alcohol, though I'm a really bad drunk.  Now that's not to say that I don't tie one on, occasionally.  Back in the day - I tried to keep it perpetually tied for quite a while.  But alcohol didn't work.  I wasn't a "fun" drunk back then, I was a sad drunk and I hate hangovers and to this day, I will "will" myself not to throw up.  I mean, seriously.  I will do anything in the world to not puke.  Even though I know I will feel better - I just can't....I can't.  It's the worst thing in the world to me, lol.  You'd think I'd get flu shots and things - but I'm too afraid it will backfire and I'd get the flu....seriously, I can't throw up. 

In high school I used to get stoned.  We'd get high all the fucking time.  I'd laugh and laugh.  This one time my friend Trish, her brother, and I were sitting at the top of her stairs one day and swore we were on a boat.  We'd feel it rocking and just laugh our fucking asses off - at nothing.  Actually, that was after smoking some hash.  Still.  I got high, it was fun but it wasn't the release I was looking for.  Btw, I tried getting high again - just cuz, you know, it's legal here - now it makes me sick as shit.  No joke.

We tripped acid, once.  That was enough.  Luckily it was a good trip.  Actually it was a fucking hysterical trip.  Holy shit - I gotta tell this one!  

I was 17, living with Trish and her family.  She had THE perpetual party house.  It was movie quality legendary.  No lie.  Anyway, at some point she had the bright idea that we should do it.  (See, I'm not the only crazy one)

So, there was a keg in the basement (it was also our bedroom).  Ice leaking all over the carpet - it was fucking soaked.  Some how I got it in my head that if I touched the ground I was going to melt into it.  Of course, I got Trish on board with this because, she was my best friend and dammit I wasn't gonna let her melt.  

We used Kleenexs and paper towels as our floatation devices.  Kleenex +waterlogged carpet = mess

We had wet paper clumps everywhere in the house, all over our legs.  It was awful.  Her sister came home and was fucking PISSED!!! (oh, and did I mention it was her bedroom too....?)

I recall the toilet paper breathing heavily in the bathroom.  Oh, at one point I was sitting in the living room looking into the kitchen as everyone was playing poker or quarters...I don't know.  But, anyway, I swore I was watching tv.  Every once in a while one of them would get up and act out a commercial even.  It was cool till someone actually walked out of the kitchen and I freaked the fuck out!  You can't come OUT!  WTF!

It was funny and I never did it again.  I was too afraid of getting a bad trip.

The next step in my life was moving to cocaine.  I'll get to the Jeff story eventually, but when I met him, he was a ya.

I was a quick addict.  Snorted, never needles.  Morning till, well, morning usually.  Bloody noses and sores, didn't matter.  The numbness in my teeth and the bitterness down the back of my throat was the sweetest thing I knew. 

There were many times I was convinced I was having a heart attack.  One time I nearly died and too many others when I had wanted to.

I saw many of my friends that became so addicted they became completely different people, did things that I'm sure they regret - hell, I am sure I did too.

I was knee deep in cocaine and drinking when I got the most sobering news.  I was pregnant.  Not only was a I pregnant, I was 16 weeks pregnant.  You know - another's a good one too.

I got away from all that after that little wake up, but sought the legal solution for my depression.  I got antidepressants.  I tried them all.  Most would make me sick to my stomach (see irrational fear of puking above), but then I'd find one that would work.  I'd be an emotionless zombie.  I'd know I was sad but couldn't cry no matter how hard I tried.  I also couldn't get "happy", I was level.  

Better yet, I was beige.  Actually, I surrounded myself in beige.  My house, my walls, my furniture...everything.  I wore beige.  My shoes were beige.  My sheets were beige.  My fucking dishes were beige.  Neutral.  I was emotionally stuck in neutral.

Inside I was dying to FEEL something.  I'd spent so many years trying to numb it, to escape it, to change it and now - I had.  

The chaos of my life was still surrounding me.  There was no lack of drama, for sure.  But as I finally started to get my shit together and stand up for myself and begin to grow my own set of balls I was also completely incapable of finding REAL emotions that I could grab hold of.  Everything was in auto pilot.  

It took a long time to find my colors.  And, you know what, as I look around right now - the only thing beige in my house is the carpet.  It's a rental house. 

Me, some random stripper, and Trish.  No, those are not my panties he's holding.  He did have an impressive mullet though.  This was taken at Joshuas in Grandview, MO.  It was a club in a crappy hotel that we went to ALL the time.  I was 21, I think Trish was still 20 - not even legal ;)  Course, we did lots of things that weren't legal then LOL!  I loved her dearly, one of my eternally EPIC BFFs

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Door To Door

My friend, LeeAnne, reminded me today after reading the "Clown" post, that it was that same summer that her and I, dressed in our clown gear, and went door to door in her neighborhood trick-or-treating.

In the middle of summer.

I also recall being about 8, maybe.  My friend across the street, Julie and I put on our Girl Scout uniforms and decided to go door-to-door collecting for "Unicef".  Cuz we wanted money to buy something stupid that I don't even remember. 

We got so mad when people would give us checks.  How the hell were we going to cash checks!  We dumped that shit in the creek.

We were raking in the dough though.  Many trips to 7-11 were made and we were on a sugar fucking high!

Then her mom started questioning it.  My friend was not as skilled at acting (i.e. lying) as I was.....damnit.


Holy shit balls!  Our fucking parents were pissed!  We had to dig the checks out of the slimy water, we were made to go back to everyones houses and apologize in person.  We had to work for weeks and do chores and pay the money to Unicef....OMG....we had no idea what we were doing but we knew we weren't going to do it again.

At least not without clown makeup! 

What stupid shit did you do as a kid?  Time to fess up!

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Loss of Innocence

When you are young, you don't see people as different races, you don't see rich vs poor.  People aren't born evil, racist, hateful, abusive, etc.  They are taught that.  Children learn from those they are surrounded by.  Children trust their caregivers unconditionally.

They trust.  


Devious little shit, wasn't I?

The definition of trust, according to Merriam-Webster is the belief that someone or something is reliable, good, honest, effective, etc. 

I've always said I don't trust anyone, but really...if we go by the definition, I do trust some people - but never unconditionally.  I never have.  I've come close.  I trust Gary in as much as I've ever trusted anyone, maybe even a little more.  But I know, without a doubt that everyone will fuck you.  Every One.  I don't care who you are.  

That's not to say that I am always waiting for it - because I am a hard believer in the power of positive thinking.  Positive energy works miracles.  No bullshit.  

What you believe you can achieve. 

Trust is a hard thing.  I have faith and hope when it comes to people, not trust.

Christmas, obviously.  My new doll is up on the couch.  I loved her.

It's funny how certain things take you right back to a moment.  I recall I had this doll, she was tall, one of those walk-with-me types.  She wore the same size clothes as me basically.  So, that would put me at about 4 yrs old maybe.

I had this shorts set on.  It was white with these tiny little green flowers on it.  My doll could wear it too, though it was a little big on her.  It was my favorite.  

I remember being called into my mom's bedroom, I remember sitting on the edge of the bed.  I remember the sound of his zipper.  The shadows on the wall in the late afternoon sun.  I can still hear him tell me to be quiet.  To touch it.  To kiss it.  

She watched from a safe distance.  

My doll.  

She never told.

Neither did I.

It was a "cousin".  Everyone was somehow family but I never understood who came from where and how we were all connected.  His name was Willie, or Bill.  

Thankfully I didn't see him very often.  Thankfully it never happened again.  He was just the first.

One little fucked up footnote to this story.  When i was about 12, Willie came to visit.  He had married a Vietnamese woman and they were getting ready to have a baby.  They named her Sharon.  I swear to fucking God.  I wished so badly that I would have spoken up.  But, in the grand scheme of everything else at that point, it wouldn't have mattered.

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and this one time, at Clown Camp....

wait, what?  

I figured since it's almost Halloween, I'd share this lovely nugget with you.  When I was about 14, my goal in life was to be a clown in the circus.  For realsies. 

Obviously, I was one of the "cool" kids, right?  

Btw, that was my autographed Shel Silverstein...I'd kill to have it back

(Now, since we are new here and I haven't posted enough to tell you about my fucked up life, we will start slow and easy.)

I grew up with my Grandparents, I called them Mom and Dad (that whole story another time)...what I'm getting at is that they were old.  Old as fuck. They were 55 when they got me as a baby, so to me they were fucking ancient!   Course, the closer I get to that age the younger it seems, but seriously they were fucking old.

ya, it was like that

So old, that they had no desire to play (deal) with me.  We had nothing in common, two generations between us and a cigarette smoked haze of "Go Away" permanently lingered in the air.  

They loved nothing more than to get me involved in anything that would occupy me or get me out of the house.  I did Brownies/Girl Scouts, baton twirling (sucked), guitar lessons (learned one song, badly), played the flute (was pretty good at that one, but never as good as Tasha Kovich - she was the bomb).  I took horseback riding lessons, swimming lessons, went to Sunday School (but skipped a lot to go to 7-11 and get candy), even went to a "finishing school" kind of thing (the only thing I took away from that is that you look like a cow when you chew gum) get the idea.   

Yes, my love of footed jammies is legendary.  I'm actually wearing some right this very minute.  Go ahead, it's ok to be jealous.  It's also okay to be jealous of that lovely couch.  Oh, and notice behind me, my Dad's homemade slippers that he crafted himself from the hide of a sheep or some shit.  Ugliest fucking slippers ever, and I swear I think he wore those till he died. 

Ok, so it was getting close to Halloween and I needed a costume for school.  I got a pattern to make a clown costume and found a giant metal ring that I was trying to sew into the waist.  Me, being the klutz that i am managed to sew through my freaking finger.  LITERALLY!

I damned near passed out from the pain while trying to get the needle out!

Not my image - but the same damned thing - Geezus Fucking Christ!!!!  I still get knots in my tummy looking at it.

After a few days, I did manage to finish my costume, albeit by hand sewing.  (that trauma lasted for years!)  I had a big, oversized red and wide ruffle collar, a red nose and big red floppy shoes.  Topped off with a giant rainbow striped afro and a foam lizard on a stick as a pet.  I was Silly The Clown.  (not very creative, but it's what I had)

Shortly after, I found out that there was a clown camp happening through our church.  Hell ya people!  I already had a costume and everything!  (apparently clowns must have been all the rage back then, I mean really...a clown camp?  WTF?)

My first brush with fame

I learned everything I possibly could that week.  I was now a professional!  We went to a hospital and a mall, I made balloon animals and the whole nine yards!

I got a couple birthday party gigs and even got hired by the local Chamber of Commerce to work a trade show.  Made $100 and thought I had officially hit the big time!

I spent tons of time learning magic tricks and even got a unicycle.  Yes, I had a unicycle.  No, I was not very good at it.  Hell, I could barely ride a bicycle.

There is still some argument about whether this is me or my bestie LeeAnne.  We were two peas in a pod back then so who knows, it's all the same.  Although, i was better at riding it than her ;p  

I was so convinced that clowning was what I wanted to do, I made my parents take me to the Ringling Bros. and Barnum & Bailey Clown College when we went to Florida for vacation.  I was going to join the circus!

FYI, it's actually a VERY difficult school to get in to. 

Course, that never happened.  Instead, I got into boys, Madonna and all the wrong things.  But that's another story for another time.

Ok, well, some things never change ;) 

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