My monkeys are getting soft… and they’re taking me down with them.

The fact that my girls could quote Star Wars at two and three years old didn’t surprise any of my friends and family. The shocker was they did it wearing pink.

“I thought you hated pink.”

Pink does indeed make my right eye twitch in many of its applications. The only proven documented cases of me donning pink are my sister’s wedding from Hell (think pink meets Carmen Miranda) and medicinally. I have the distinct pleasure of being allergic to mosquitoes and yet living in a place that jokes they are the state bird. Thanks to those lil bloodsucking bastards and Calamine lotion, every summer I turn into a pale pink spotted leper. My theory on the whole pink thing with my daughters is this- just because I have issues with the color doesn’t mean I’m gonna impose my view or distaste of it on them. I want them to be their own lil people and if that means them liking pink, so be it.

Alright, look, I was totally hoping they’d take after me. They had me pretty convinced I was in the clear for a while here too. Pink was a passing phase. Purple, red and black have replaced it.

But I am far from out of the woods.

I know my name has girlie in it. True to form, I am quirky with my girlie-ness. People have been known to receive surprise packages of homemade daisy sugar cookies lovingly decorated with M&Ms. But, eldest’s last birthday cake request turned out to be a life size Yoda. Which I blissfully tackled creating new cuss words as I built him. I’m almost always seen wearing lipstick. Yet the makeup and hair product department scares the complete shit out of me. Last year I am proud to say I learned how to put on eye shadow for the first time. Figured one day I may need to teach the monkeys that. Hairspray, however, is still a complete mystery to me beyond a fixative for charcoal drawings and a make shift self-defense device. You never know when an Aqua Net flame-thrower may come in handy ya know. I’m girlie on some levels, others not so much.

I had a close call last year when my phone rang at 7:15am on Black Friday. Panic ensued when a woman who is like a sister to me uttered ”Look bitch, my nieces are getting Barbies this year and that’s that. Suck it up.” And they did. It was less than a week later I got the joy of calling her and saying “Guess what hooker- your youngest niece just popped the head off her Barbie and chucked it at her sister. And she did the same back. That’s right, Barbie head fight all up in here.” Whew.

Still not out of the woods.

Last week during our drive home, eldest monkey was talking like 93mph about her day. Then gasps. “Oh my gosh mommy, I totally forgot to tell you- J CALLED ME HIS BFF TODAY!!” My brain so hadn’t processed yet and before I knew it I was all “Oh my gosh that is like way awesome.” And then she was all “Do you know what a BFF is? “ And I was all “Duh, it’s totally Best Friends Forever.” And then she was all “Wow. Mommy you are like so totally awesomesauce.” Then a voice of logic from within bitchslapped my neurons back into place. WHAAAA?? She’s only 5! I had visions of a 13 year old having body snatched my kid. And me for that matter!!! That night we had a “Goonies” intervention. Had to be done.

But it started to sink in. She’s growing up. They are growing up. And being exposed to BFF’s and lip gloss. I know girls will be girls. The dresses and skirts don’t bother me at all. I can even live with the fake plastic my first hooker heel dress up shoes they clomp around in. Well, until I step on a stray one. Them suckers hurt. The first rock star they met in person wasn’t someone from a Disney show, it was Maynard from Tool & Puscifer. They don’t want ballet lessons, they want to go to “Kung Fu School.” It’s been balancing out, but I’m scared of the scale tipping. Too soon! Not ready. There’s not nearly enough saved up in the therapy fund yet.

And then there was this Wednesday night. What started out like a normal Monkey Family Movie Night, quickly downward spiraled. Alvin and the Chipmunks the Squeakquel was harmless the first time we watched it. This time, it changed. While Simon is still their favorite, my safe lil balance was thrown way off. Thanks to those lil Chimpettes. Monkey Family Movie Night turned into me learning the words to some “you’re hot and your cold…. you’re yes and you’re no” song and Beyonce’s “Single Ladies.” Not just the words, oh no, we went further down the rabbit hole than that. To sum it up, a knock on the door from the neighbor girls later and I had a room full of lil girls and somehow I was choreographing our own routines to the songs.

I am not ashamed to say I had fun. Their giggling is infectious. And it’s my favorite sound in the world.

But, I’m scared. I’m scared of that scale getting tipped long term to all that is pink and plastic and Barbie. To stereotypes and living up to peers’ expectations instead of being true to themselves and who they really want to be. They are my daughters though. I have faith they will settle into their own quirky girlie-nesses. Proud to be girls. Knowing that being soft doesn’t mean you aren’t strong. That having boobs doesn’t mean you don’t have brains. That life is a continual learning process and someday their daughters may teach them as they continue to teach me.

The next day eldest’s class went to the book fair they have going on at her school. She was given an envelope of money from me and told she could buy anything she wanted with that money. There was only one requirement- it had to be something SHE wanted. Not what she thought I would want, or her sister would want, or her BFF would want. What SHE wanted.

And this is what she came home with.

Obi-Wan, you are my hope.

Once upon a time there lived a little girl who believed that anything was possible. That just because something hadn’t been done yet did not mean that it couldn’t be done. That someday a Princess would slay a dragon. That someday what was on the inside would count more than what was on the outside. That someday people would come in so many colors, black and white would cease to exist. That someday the world would be a peaceful and happy place.

As she grew, she held tightly to this belief, this faith that anything could be accomplished. The harder life tried to beat it out of her, the more and more cemented in her belief she became. When things got really dark, she would close her eyes and picture the endless possibilities that lay ahead until it was safe to open them again. As the girl got older she saw many things no one should have to see and went through many things no one should have to go through. Each time, she closed her eyes and thought of a time when no one would. In fact a time when no one would go through worse either because she knew that there were many out there that not only faced worse in their lives, but did so on a daily basis.

That girl, not so much a girl anymore, also thought of a time when she could do more than small little things to ripple a very large pond. Very few things made her happier, and still do really, than proving the “you can’t” sayers wrong.

A couple of months ago, one of her pet peeves seemed to be everywhere. Like someone let it get into a bucket of chicken after midnight and it multiplied out of control. Just what was it that was eating that chicken? Grumpy, negative people. The kind that spew their negativity at everyone and prove that whole misery likes company schtick. The kind that constantly whine and bitch and moan about everything, yet do nothing about it. Perhaps that isn’t fair, sometimes they do go through the effort of raising a finger to point it at those whose fault they would like to blame for it. But, of course it is never THEIRS. And sometimes some of them may do so simply because they don’t know what else to do. But when it comes down to it, even when you don’t know what exactly to do, you aught to try something. Any effort is better than no effort at all. And that girl has always believed if you are not part of the solution, you are part of the problem. So that girl closed her eyes and she thought of a time when the positive would outweigh the negative. Then she tried to imagine just how she could make that happen.

It was around this time that a couple of other people she had grown to know quite well were facing the same negativity and about done with it as well. They realized that on the outside they were so very different, but on the inside, they all shared the common bond, the desire to make a difference. To make a change in this community, in this country, in this world. Together they also knew that they did not have the one right answer on how this would be done, but that was ok. The mere fact that they knew they had each other and knew there would be more like them who shared their goal was all they needed. The girl smiled happily, knowing she had found a way to make a much bigger ripple in that very large pond. And that girl’s smile got a whole lot bigger and a lil mischievous when she realized all the “you can’t” sayers they could prove wrong.

And so it began.

Once upon a time, Zebra Panel was born. And someday, it will make all kinds of things that haven’t happened, begin to happen.

To visit Zebra Panel online, click here.

To visit Zebra Panel on Facebook, click here.

To hang with Zebra Panel on Twitter, click here.

To visit some of the girl’s Partners in Change:

Her homie, The Bus Bandit, please to read is recent AMAZING blog post byclicking here.

Her soul sistah, Berni, click here.

Her Partner in Change and Crime, Carrie, click here.

Her sister from another mister and in dorkery, Sara, click here.

Her heart of gold havin’ BFF Stacy, click here.

Her newest partners and amazing group of people, Life After Hate, click here.

It amazes me how alike and yet how different my monkeys are. They are both undeniably my daughters in so very many ways. Personality-wise, there is almost nothing of their father in them. Trust me, that’s not a bad thing.

Both are strong and feisty in their own right. Lilest is my rebel, bold and proud of who she is and will defend herself and her sister in less than a heartbeat. Eldest monkey is equally proud of who she is, will womp an army if they even look at her sister cross-eyed, but will not stand up for herself. Both willing to bend, to change, to break for no one. Yet one remains silent when faced with someone who feels it is okay to diminish her feelings or bully her. She will merely stand silent and take it. I used to think she had inherited the trait from me. I will take a lot of shit from people before I finally say I’ve had enough and snap. Mess with someone I love though and it’s on like Donkey Kong. And over before you know it.

Yesterday, I realized I was wrong.

Eldest came home from school Monday and told me one of her classmates (I’m gonna refer to him as Eddie, cuz I swear he’s the bastard son of Eddie Haskel) pushed her at recess. Huge step for her. I asked to her tell me what happened. Turns out Eddie kept telling her to kiss another male classmate (Eldest’s BFF actually) and she refused to. So the little shit pushed her. Each time she said no to giving BFF a smooch, Eddie would push her down. When I asked her what she did, she replied “I just kept getting up.” When I asked her why she didn’t go get one of the teachers at recess, she said she didn’t want to be a “tattle tale.” Grrr… the guidance counselor had talked to them last week about “tattle tales.” One of the guidelines to when you should tell was only if someone was getting hurt. In Eldest’s head, she wasn’t physically hurt from the push, therefore she shouldn’t tell. Good job guidance counselor.

So we had a chat. I explained right off the bat that NO ONE has the right to hurt or to push her. That just because the push wasn’t physically hurting her, it still hurt her feelings and her feelings were even more important than her body to some extent. A scraped knee heals quicker sometimes.

We formulated a plan.

First push- she points at him and in the biggest voice she has says “NO! Eddie that is NOT OKAY! You do NOT have the right to push me!” Even if he stops, she tells her teacher what happened.

Second push- she goes to get a teacher.

If he tries to push her or stop her in any way from getting a teacher, I told her to push his ass back. That’s right. This is a point I would end up fighting with her teacher on. My point, bottom line- my children will know that if ANYONE tries to physically restrain them from getting help, they have the RIGHT to physically defend themselves. Period. Cuz one day it may not be lil Eddie. It may be someone bigger and far more dangerous. So, yeah, kick his lil ass monkey.

Tuesday she comes home. And yup, Eddie pushed her again. She stuck her finger out and she stated her case. Then he pushed her again. Then she forgot what number two was. So, we went over it again. I also made it clear that while I wanted her to address this with her teacher and would giver her the opportunity to do so, that I as going to step in if it happened again. On the way to school Wednesday, we went through the steps again. This time at recess she forgot all of them. So, yesterday morning I stepped in.

And then it hit me. It wasn’t that Eldest had inherited this trait from me. She had LEARNED it from me. It was all my fault.

This week there has been a situation going on in my life that has echoed some things that have happened to me in the past. Wednesday night I had made the realization that I was allowing myself to react to them in a similar way as I had and it bothered me. I had made a plan to change that. While writing Eldest’s teacher, the realization beat me over the head that some of her earliest memories of me are what has caused her to be the way she is right now.

While Eldest monkey was only two and a half when I finally got the courage to end my marriage, she was a very smart two and a half. And she remembers it quite clearly. In fact, no one is allowed to use the word stupid around me because of that. You see I say my ex was an asshole of epic proportions. What I have yet to mention is that he was a huge bully and incredibly abusive. One of his favorite things to do was invent new ways to call me stupid. “What did you eat a big fucking bowl of stupid for breakfast?” Despite that fact that I worked full time and did literally everything around the house, “useless bitch” was one of his favorite pet names. He couldn’t even wake up for work on his own, I was his “alarm clock” and he was a mean man in the morning. If he was late, it was my fault. Everything was my fault. I will spare you all the gory details.

He was constantly yelling and screaming at me and in my defensive mode, I kept thinking “don’t fight back.” At the time, in my head, I didn’t want the girls to see us fighting. I thought if I just stood there and took it, it would end quicker. And it chipped away at me day by day. Little by little I began to lose who I was. Something I’d swore I’d never do. Then one day Eldest came into the kitchen and says “Mommy, what’s that noise?” I say “It’s daddy, he’s home and outside snowblowing the driveway.” She FREAKED. Eldest became hysterical and yelled “I DON’T WANT DADDY TO BE HOME!! I HATE IT WHEN HE’S HOME MOMMY!!” And that was it. It took a couple more weeks for me to formulate a safe “escape plan” and get him out of the house.
But in my attempt to shield them from giant, ugly and potentially very frightening , violent fights, I had taught Eldest that it was okay to take that. It was okay to allow someone to treat her that way. To bully her. To not stand up for herself.

And you have no idea how much it hurts to know I have done that.

So, I have a brand new plan. It is up to me to lead by example. To be the change. To end the cycle. To stand up for myself. To acknowledge when people are treating me in a way I do not deserve and to vocalize it and back it up with actions. To cut ties with those that feel it is okay to bully me. To diminish my feelings. Or use me as an ego boost when no one else is paying them attention. Those that are used to getting away with things because I allow them to.

One of our Monkey Family Rules is “If you’re having a bad day, you can still turn it around. You can take a deep breath, a step back and yell ‘FLIP IT!’ And start it over and do it right.”

I am using my “FLIP IT!”

I like it when my phone dings. Just the tone makes me smile. It means I have a text, which means someone is thinking of me. Whether it’s “Good morning, Sunshine”, “Call me hooker”, or the kind of rare but treasured “I love you”- I smile. It’s a good noise. Usually.

This last week, ok make that two, has been emotional for me. You may not be able to tell, I hide it well. In fact, you need to be pretty fluent in Natali to know when something is really up. Most people aren’t brave enough to master Natali. But, yeah, a lot going on inside lately. Don’t start Googling local crisis hotline numbers yet, it’s not all been bad, some of it really good. That and it’s certainly nothing I can’t handle and eventually figure out. Either way, it’s left me feeling a little raw, definitely drained and I still have some emotions to sort out.

The drained part caught up with me last night. Once Operation Monkey Wrestle Down takes place for the night, when they’ve been tucked in, read to, lullabyed and smooched a million times, I need to remain fairly quiet until the snores are heard. Tonight was another creative stalling tactics night. While practicing the art of ninja stealth like quietness, I managed to fall asleep on the couch. Ninja fail there, that’ll get ya caught. At 10:46 the sound that makes me smile so jostled me awake. I sat there, smile still on face, eyebrow furrowed, staring down at a number I didn’t recognize and a cryptic message. A couple of weeks ago I purged quite a few people from my contacts, so the furrowed brow got furroweder as I attempted to wrap my mind around it all. The text read “I would like 2 talk 2 u soon. let me know if that is ok. I jst want 2 make peace w all those that mtr 2 me b 4 its 2 late. Pleze let me know eithr way.” I figured it was the wrong number and sent a “Who is this?”. I sure as fuck wasn’t expecting the answer I got.

There are two women in my life I have referred to as my adopted sister for decades. Our bond has transcended that of mere friendship. It is a true sisterhood. One, C, is the only person that knows every single thing I have been through in my life. The text was from her ex husband, G, who was like a brother to me. I was the only woman he could never charm his way out of an argument with. I was his greatest opponent in a battle of the wits (and we had some knock down, drag out ones). I was the only one that called him on his bullshit. Eventually when I met my ex (which is another thing I can blame him for), he and G became best friends. The four of us were a dysfunctional little family.

Then it all started to change. There is a barrage of players and events within this, but I’m going to try to keep this simple for once and stick to us four. The change was only noticed by me. It’s amazing how at times I can pick up the tiniest detail and see how the hand will play out. G hurt his back and what started as Vicodin, turned to Percocet and eventually to Heroin. Using turned to dealing. I watched him like a bullet train speeding toward those dead ends you see in the RoadRunner cartoons that lead Wil E. right off a cliff. I tried talking to all three of them. Really, I did. But, no one would listen. C & my ex popped open a can of denial and guzzled it daily. G was already a demi god in his own mind and his thick skulled lil head would hear nothing that indicated otherwise. I felt like fucking Cassndara. (For those of you not hip to the Greek stories, for which I so don’t blame you, she was given the gift of prophecy. She could see the future in all its clarity. Girl wouldn’t put out for Apollo though so he got pissed and cursed her with the tragedy that while she could forsee the future, no one would believe her. I think it was Apollo. I’m too tired to look it up and you all get the point anyway.) All I could do was stand there and watch. I braced myself and did my best to prepare to clean up a mess. No one makes a mess quite like G. Lying, cheating, stealing and when all was said and done, he was behind bars and I had a sister and a fiance that were completely gutted.

G knew my terms. Everyone who truly knows me knows that you can treat me like utter shit and I will take what I can of it until I get to the point where I just walk away. But, when you hurt someone I love, claws and fangs come out and I’m wiping the blood from your jugular off my face before you know what hit you. I am fiercely protective of those I love. I also know what will hurt you most. Went I went with C to go see him in jail after he was arrested, I completely ignored him. Not in that refusing to make eye contact and just keep looking everywhere but at him kind of way. In a staring through the glass, through him like he no longer existed kind of way. The only acknowledgment he got from me was when he told C that he would be out in two weeks and was going to make everything all right. That’s when I looked him in the eyes and laughed my ass off.

He served far more than two weeks. C and him were divorced while he was in prison. She continued to visit him. I never judged her for doing so, I just supported her the best I could. When she made claims of him changing, I replied “only time will tell.” I knew he hadn’t really at that point. After a few years, he made it out. I saw him once while he was at C’s shortly after I had kicked the ex out. She asked me to see him and for her, I complied. C asked me to forgive him. When I managed to see some resemblance to the man that was once my brother of sorts, I did.

Then his dumb ass ended up back in. There’s another series of events I will spare you, but the arrest is epic. It’s been over a year now since it happened. My ex’s roommate when I met him was a cop. He stood up in our wedding. It was him that busted G this time around. Karma does know how to give one hell of a bitchslap. It really was brilliant.

The kicker to all this is he has cancer now. He’s dying. C won’t bring him up to me unless I ask and I don’t ask. Part of me is really pissed she didn’t warn me he was out again. Seriously, that’s totally gotta break some sort of chick rule. There must be a “hey he got paroled” clause somewhere. My answer to his text was that I would talk to him, tomorrow. Which is technically today now. He continued to let me know that A. He still loves me and B. He’s sorry. And now I’m left wondering what to say to him.

I come bearing my own irony to this as well. I was just discussing a very, very dear friend of mine, B, who passed away four years ago. I miss him so much. He is also one of my very few regrets in life. HE was going to be my next post. G and him actually grew up in the same town and went to the same school at the same time, but they were never friends. My regret with B was my failure to see him bullet training toward his own dead end. My life at that time was really busy, I was pregnant with lilest monkey when he died. I just wish I could hug him and tell him I’m sorry. I know that doing so with G won’t change my regret with B. Maybe I’m wrong. Maybe this is the powers that be giving me another shot. A do over. I will not apologize to G though. I don’t feel a need to. No matter what, I have no clue what to really say. I know he wants validation that I still love him. I don’t know that I do and I am not one to just say I love you for the sake of it. Then again, he is dying. So, if this eases his conscience(though I’m not entirely certain he deserves it), does it matter?

I’m feeling pretty damned by that ding now.

They say every family has a black sheep. Well, my aunt Carol was the rainbow colored one. To me she will not only always be my favorite aunt, but one of the best female role models I had and will ever have. Aunt Carol redefined original. You can walk to the beat of your own drum, she had her own five piece band. If Lucille Ball, Betty Page and Audrey Hepburn had a lovechild, maybe, just maybe, you could come kind of close. Funny as hell, yet equally graceful. Ladylike manners when she was telling someone to go to hell (and believe me they had it coming). Dancing forward through life bold and brave, yet always thinking of others first.

She was the oldest of five siblings in a household that saw many rough times. My grandfather died young, barely in his 50’s at the time thanks to the working conditions he was in day in and day out. No matter how bad things were, she always made sure all of her brothers and sisters had a present beneath the tree on Christmas morning and every lovingly wrapped present was from “Santa.” Oh how she loved Christmas. Trips to her house in Minneapolis were my favorite times ever growing up. Second only to their trips down here. Trips, I am very grateful to say, that happened pretty frequently.

Aunt Carol was also my very first official Partner in Crime. Many of you know that I inappropriately grope my coffee mug every morning. What you don’t know is how deep my love of coffee goes. Ever since I can remember, I have loved it. I would bug my parents incessantly when I was little for some. As it would “stunt my growth,” it was off limits. Bless Dannon’s heart though, they made a coffee yogurt that my parents would get me. When we visited aunt Carol, she would sneak it to me. She was so slick about it too. When she made me hot cocoa, she’d use coffee instead of water. We called them “Cocoa Mochoas” and they were our little secret. They were so delish. That’s right, screw you Starbucks. I still make them for myself during the winter. And it still brings tears to my eyes on the first sip.

I have a million great aunt Carol stories. But damn it, I should have a million more. My monkeys should have their own arsenal of great aunt Carol stories forming. OMG she would so love them. And she would so be their favorite. But, Cancer felt otherwise. Fuck you very much Cancer. I swear one day you will wreak the just desserts you deserve. If only it were a person we could torture for decades day in and day out.

It was roughly the late 80’s when she was first diagnosed with Breast Cancer. A time when little was really known about it and old people whispered “Cancer” as though anything louder would summon it like a beast from the deepest bowels of Hades. No one wants to wake that beast. Doctor’s didn’t really do mastectomies. Radiation and chemotherapy were their sole weapons of choice. “It’s not the Cancer that kills you, it’s the treatment” we’d hear over and over. WTF does that mean?? Then why do it?? She beat it over and over again. A tumor would pop up and she’d ride it out until it was gone. Then I guess it got really pissed. It came back with a vengeance and it spread. At one time she had a brain tumor the size of a golf ball on her brain. Oh the grin on her face when she looked back at the baffled doctors when she lived through the treatment for that one and it had completely disappeared. Eventually, the beast decided to devour her entire body at once. No holds barred, spitting in the face of all the prayers and hopes for recovery. The last 3 1/2 months or so of her life, my mother lived there so she could take care of her. Every Friday after school, my dad and I would make the somber trip up. Every Sunday, the dreaded ride home. No matter how bad she felt,, even when she was down to 84 lbs and you could SEE the tumors all over as she lay in her hospital bed, aunt Carol was always smiling. She never once complained, never once screamed “why me?!?” and she always asked how you were doing right at first sight.. Not out of a point of formality, but because she truly cared.

I was 15 when she was taken from us. Her funeral is still vividly etched in my mind. I sat paralyzed at the back of the funeral home at her wake, praying repeatedly that it was just a nightmare and I’d wake up any minute in my own bed, back in Wisconsin. That is until I noticed my grandma alone in her own little corner with the same desperate look on her face. My ever constant personification of strength sat there looking so small and fragile. Like the weathered depiction of heartbreak. It pained me to hear her “no” when I asked her if she’d gone up yet. Everyone was so busy surfing their own overwhelming tide of pain that she got lost in the proverbial shuffle. So, I took a deep breath, grabbed her hand and up we went. Our slow and heavy stride in unison, the closer we got, the tighter our grip to each other. When we got there, both of our breaths were held as we looked down at our own version of an angel knowing each other well enough to know that we wouldn’t be uttering the typical “they did a really nice job on her” or “she looks peaceful” bullshit. Nope. We were both thinking “ fuck you, I want her back.” There is only so much heartbreak even the strongest of people can bear and grandma, though tough as nails, was no different. She lost it. Yup, grandma literally tried to climb into the casket with her. I thought she was just going to hug her goodbye. I should have known better before I saw her little leg hike up over the top of the casket. It’s ok, you can laugh at the image. I can giggle a bit about it now. Knowing I was about to get my ass kicked, I proceeded to pull grandma up off of aunt Carol and the casket. I swear to you she was laughing her ass off up in heaven looking down at the scene. Everyone else stood there dumbfounded. It didn’t sink in until I had struggled/dragged grandma half way to the exit door of the funeral home and by then she was in no mood to be coddled by them. I am proud to say I had the sense to grab her purse on the way out and not just for the possible need for self defense should she try to turn and make a run for the casket again. When we got outside, I shoved a cigarette in her mouth, lit it, did the same (not many can say they smoked their first cigarette with their grandma nor that it was a Pall Mall straight) and said “go ahead and hit me for saying it, but someday, this is all going to be ok. It’s going to hurt like a son of a bitch and that pain will never really go away, but it will be ok.” She took a long deep drag, looked at me and said “You’re right, I do wanna punch you and it does hurt like hell. But, no one loves you more than I do. Thank you Carol Ann.” For months she would repeatedly call me Carol Ann. For years after she would still slip and do it on occasion. You know what, it was the best compliment I have received. That I will ever receive.

So, yesterday I stumbled upon @boobiewed on Twitter. I always support Breast Cancer awareness and the fight to end it day in and day out. This is our month though. What @shimmer418 and @honey_is_evil are doing is amazing, brave and yes, fun. Above all, I found it very liberating. The goal is to show your breasts on Wednesdays across Twitter to raise awareness for Breast Cancer. I’ve seen people bare their breasts for awareness before, but I have never had the courage to do it. I’ve had issues with mine for the better part of my life now. I showed up to fifth grade sporting a b cup on my (then) little frame. My maiden name ends in witz which was changed to “tits” for that whole year. And the damn things just kept growing. Teen years with a D cup was rough. By the time they hit DD, they had turned into an entity of their own to some respects. No matter how hard I tried to hide them, they were ogled. Older people would talk to me like I was stupid because I had big breasts. I know, it’s like the size 4 friend we all have that likes to complain about being fat while we all want to smack the shit out of her. It’s really not my intent. And in all honesty, I don’t have the right. My point is that I’ve got some body issues going on, which every one of us does whether we admit it or not on some level. My tatas just happen to be one of the biggest catalysts for that. No pun intended there. Even though I’ve come to terms with them in some aspects, I still always hide them. Until yesterday. I thought about it, thought about aunt Carol and my grandma and lifted my shirt, snapped a pic and plastered my polka dot bra proudly all over my lil corner of Twitter. And, I will continue to do so. Hell, I submitted it to the @boobiethon today.

I am sure I speak for all those involved when I say that if just one person learns to do regular self exams, one person learns they may be at risk, one person learns about early detection, then by god it is more than worth it. There are some of my sisters out there that have battled Breast Cancer and won that don’t have the luxury of bitching about breast size any longer. They are merely thankful to be alive. So, for them, for my aunt Carol (who was the polka dot bra in the drawer of life), my monkeys and for every woman out there I say “Yup, I have boobies. I am proud of them, I vow to examine them regularly and to remind every woman in my life to be proud of theirs and do the same.”

Please take the time to follow: @boobiewed, @shimmer418, @honey_is_evil and @boobiethon.

Please take the time to visit:

The Official BoobieWed Page

The Official Boobiethon Page

And, pretty please with bra whose underwire never pops out on top, check your breasts monthly, encourage the women and men (yes boys, while you cannot live the dream of staying home and fondling them all day, you are able to get it as well, though much more rare) in your lives to do the same. Get involved, help raise awareness and show us your tatas!

*Please feel free to e-mail me at JustNatali@gmail.com with any links or tweeps you would like added to my next post which will be a resource of information regarding Breast Cancer. Give me your touching, your funny, your painful, your medical, whatever you would like. I welcome them all. Hell, I’m even going to post a pattern on how to knit a breast. Seriously. One survivor uses them for implants in her bras. I would LOVE to start a group that knits them for survivors, so if you are interested in that, shoot me an e-mail too.

I’ve gotten to a point in my life where it truly does take quite a bit to phase me. Most events turn into a tiny dip, lil hill or occasional loop de loop on the roller coaster that is my life. This latest one is gnawing at me a bit though.

It’s at times like these that I wished events in my life were made up. Partially because then they wouldn’t be real. Partially because it is just so bizarre that it would make me pretty damn talented. This is one that combines them both.

I’m having many mixed emotions about moving back to the town I grew up in. It’s only been a week so they are all still very fresh. This is a town I swore I’d never live in. A town I loathed for many reasons. Funny how life works out.

So, this past Friday night I’m getting ready to go out and I notice an e-mail notification pop up for a new message in my Facebook inbox. It’s from a girl I’ve known for years. Decades even. Like basically since the 1st grade. Despite being really close (like BFF forget passing notes, we had a notebook we’d pass) a couple years after graduation we lost touch off and on. We’ve kept in spotty contact for the last five or six years. Even this last year on Facebook, our contact remains pretty here and there. It’s been a couple of months since we’ve really had some solid interaction with each other. When I saw the “OMG too funny” subject, I fully expected the message to be a “Ha ha I heard you moved back!” kind of thing. Oh how I wish it was. Instead I got:

“Hey Nat. . .
*** and I are getting divorced, and we are both on evenfreaksneedlove.com. I just logged onto his account. .i like to help him find dates, and I just saw he winked at you!!! OMG too funny. He is (Insert user name here), his pic is bad, he is cuter in person. And the greatest guy!!! btw i am dating girls now, so that kindof was a problem for our marriage. lol Anyway, thought it was super funny, and if you are lookin for a great guy. . he winked.

BFFKindOfFriendYou’veKnownSinceFirstGrade

WHAT THE FUCK!!?!??!??!! Seriously. What. The. Fuck.

I think I read it like three times before it truly started to sink in. Holy range of emotions batgirl!

Ok…

1) Usually one would get more of an ease into things. Maybe not so much on the divorce part. I think even I’m guilty of dropping that one like a “Yeah, Prick is an abusive fuck and I’m done” kind of bomb. But, the lesbian part is usually not quite sammiched between “BTW” and “LOL.” Truth be told, not an entire shock she’s batting for the home team. Also, she knows me well enough to know I’m the gal that’s going to be supportive and all about whatever makes her happy. Still, lil bit of an ease in to all this is all a sister is askin’ for.

2) Not yet divorced and helping him find dates. That’s…ummm…sweet? Perhaps it is the therapist in me, but they’ve been together far longer than my ex & I were and have kids as well. Now, I don’t really know him, so I could be way off on this, but after years and kids and being told you ain’t sportin’ the right equipment, there’s gotta be some healing time involved there. Even if he wants to jump back on a mare- she’s a new lesbian. Do you really want a rookie pickin’ dates for you?

C) WHY WOULD I WANT YOUR HUSBAND?? There may be a sub clause I’m missing in the chick rule book about suddenly jumping off the heterosexual ship but OMG NO! Beyond creepy!! Beyond wrong!! Like I’m calling a technical foul here! And what the hell must you think of me if you feel I’d be all up on that????

Perhaps I should simply be flattered by this whole situation. Lord knows I am no angel and certainly no prude. But leapin’ jeebus on a pogo stick, even I have a threshold of yuckyness. This done sprinted its happy ass right on past it.

And how does one respond to that message?? My first response of “Are you out of your fucking mind???” was put on the back burner while I let this all sink in and fester a bit. Instead I opted for a much more politely worded version of “WOW. Sorry to hear about your divorce. Congrats on embracing your inner lesbian. The offer to date your husband is very flattering but I’m gonna have to pass because umm.. I’m kinda seeing someone. Yeah. That’s it. Best of luck to ya both. I’m here if you need me, but forgive me for not winking back. What a small, crazy, fucked up lil world we live in.”

Still haven’t heard back from her. Future reunions shall be interesting.