We rode our bikes down to Monterey from Pacific Grove, about a 7 mile stretch, to pick up Jay’s car where he had parked on De La Vina. He had parked on the part of the street where some locals have issues with Monterey Landscaping trucks taking over the block. Air has been let out of tires.

Today, he had to park his Nissan on the block. He starts putting the bikes in the trunk of the car. As he’s putting the bikes in I notice how much bird shit there is ALL OVER the car. Like the worst case of shit ever known to man. I say something like…

whoa!! Look at all the bird shit! I mean it’s a lot!! Like as in someone did it on purpose.”

Jays kind of laughs and says,

“Bird Shit in a Can?”

He hands me the flash light so he can put in the other bike. Keep in mind it’s about 8:00PM and we are wearing dark heavy jackets, beanies and gloves because it’s so damn freezing outside, we look like cat burglers. A SUV drives past us and I am a little worried that they will think we’re stealing bikes from their hood so I try to turn the flashlight off but I’m fumbling, I can’t figure out how to turn it off so it’s like a 360 degree rotating lighthouse beacon.

We finally get the bikes in, I shine the flashlight under the car while Jay bungees the bikes, the trunk goes clank.

Driving up Del Monte, we come upon the Seaside Starbucks.

“Mmmm a green tea latte would be good right now.”

Jay gets all surprised and says, “All right!”. He’s my sugar daddy tonight I didn’t bring any money. Then he gets another idea and says,

“Hey Bobs taking this thing to get Layla tomorrow so I should run it through the car wash, oh but we have to take the bikes out.”

We decide he’s going to drop me off at Starbucks with the bikes so I can have my hot chocolate (I changed my mind) and he can get his car washed! What a perfect way to satisfy BOTH our needs! I love him!

He drops me off with the bikes at Starbucks and hands me a $20. Thanks sugar daddy! I run in and get in line. I order this new Salted Caramel Hot Chocolate, I’ve had the fuel injected version (the Mocha) and it was pretty good, but I don’t need the caffeine right now. I’m feeling pretty good.

I pay and the barista asks me “How’d your day go today?” which is kind of a weird question to ask a stranger, it’s actually a lot more thought provoking than a question in the moment like “How are you doing?”, because her question made me have to think about EVERYTHING I did today, having the new Ken at Subaru ignore me and then skip me in line today, that bastard, then having to butter up my VW mechanic who sucked up 2 and a half hours of my afternoon, I answered “Good!” and smiled, because things are good now.

Everyone inside Seaside Starbucks is on some type of digital device. I’m usually never without my phone, but today, I set it down next to my computer because I didn’t want it falling out of my jacket pocket on our bike ride. So, I’m ok with that, I’d rather sit here and really enjoy my salty cocoa drink than read a Starbucks calorie book. But it’s too warm in this Starbucks for hot chocolate! I wanted to sit outside in some fresh sea side air.. not Seaside. Plus I am supposed to be watching the bikes. I sit right behind the bikes, I am trying to be inconspicuous and not look like a weirdo bum with my frizzy hair flying out of my beanie.

So I sit there quietly, somewhat still, and I realize… oh! I get to watch all the drive-thru people. A lot of them are stressed-out in oversized SUVs, one lady had this expression where it looked like a car was coming at her when she came around the corner. I’m thinking oh, this will be entertaining! I wait and wait and no one else comes through around the corner, slow times I guess.

All of a sudden I hear rustling. “What is that?” I’m thinking “Where is that coming from?”. I find the source of the sounds and it’s coming from the bushes at the corner of the street. I’d say it’s about 30-40 feet away from me. I look over and something really BIG is rustling behind those bushes. I am in anticipation, “What the hell is that in those bushes?!?!”. It gets louder…

A man pops straight up. Damn, I would have preferred it be a beast at this point. I keep him on watch with my peripheral vision. Weird, is he looking at me? I try to use my hoodie to cover my face up and I’m checking him at the corner of my eye. He’s looking at me! His lips start moving and I hear a mumbling. I’m thinking, “Hmm, this is a little weird, what the hell was that guy doing in those bushes?”I thought maybe he hid a weapon there and came back for it and I convince myself to feel safe and I reason, “It’s well lit and there’s a bunch of people around.” I hear him mumble again. I peak at the corner of my eye and he’s still staring at me.

OKAY, that does it for me, I’m going inside, ef THIS! So I make myself inside right past the trash can at the right of the entrance. This way, I’m somewhat hidden from the view of the east glass there and I’m small enough that if someone comes walking in they’ll mostly see the trashcan blocking me, but I can still look outside through the window for Jay.

I feel the warm soft texture of the Starbucks cup and take a sip of my overly sweetened salted caramel drink. Feeling safer, I think, “What is that guy doing out there?” He’s still standing straight up, looking in my direction through the glass. Well, I’m safe if I’m in here, feeling pretty confident.

I keep an eye on the strange man through the glass. It’s like I’m watching a movie. The man starts his way around the bushes and he has a fist full of sticks and leaves. It was one of those big spiky unfriendly plants with tips he was digging around in, so it looked like he had a fistful of knives.

He slowly walks up towards the Starbucks. There’s not another person in the parking lot except him. The cars at the busy intersection are like a blur of light and metal flying behind him. The contrast makes it seem like he’s moving slower than slow motion. “Is he coming IN HERE?” I ask myself in disbelief. He’s coming in!!! I’m getting a little worried and as he passes through the void in my vision where the trash can is, it seems to block at least 5 crucial feet, where I’d be able to foresee whether he would head to the sidewalk and spare my life, or come inside to stab me with his knives.

The door opens… I hold my breath. The guy walks in and turns towards me, he has gloves on, the leaves come at me, and he crams them with force into the trash box not more than one foot from my head! By this time I’m hyperventilating. I thought he was going to smash the fist-full of leaves into my head.

Then for a second I thought, “Oh, maybe he’s just a gardener, not some psycho Seaside slayer”. I settled a bit, took another sip of my saltacocha. There’s some blues music on the stereo. I’m feeling the groove, tapping my fingers on the table and get lost in the sounds.

Oh so that thought about being home free, that thought the weird guy was a gardener… he wasn’t a gardener. He had gloves on but wasn’t taking them off. He started working the room. Not for money though. He walked over to the other end of the Starbucks with those big gloves on and would start mumbling here and there around groups of people. I couldn’t figure out what he was saying but he walked past the barista behind the counter and she said something like “It’s better when you sleep on it”, and he mumbled not one second after her “… yea sleep on it”, softly but with a tone to it.

OH NO he’s headed my way. Everyone else has their personal electronics, they are in another world, completely oblivious to the strange man. But I, who left my phone at home, stupid me! , I hunch over and stare out the window to try not to give him any reason at all to bother me. Then I think, “Where is Jay, where is Jay, how long has it been?” Then I realized I had only listened to three songs, so it couldn’t have been more than 15 minutes. Maybe he forgot he dropped me off here and went home. I start to panic, if that guy bothers me I’m going to jump on that bike and ride my ass home.

A couple seconds go by. I’m concentrating on being unsocial… I feel a tap on the upper arm and he says sincerely,

“Oow you doing ma’am?”

Inside I’m “AHHHHHHHH” I look up at him and he towers over me,

“I’m good thanks!”

and I smile at him, and he smiles back at me, shakes his head and turns around and grows roots in the brown armchair about 5 feet from me.

I’m looking for Jay, “Where IS THAT guy? He can’t still be cleaning off that bird poop?”. Every single car looks the same pale tan color, shape, size, ugh how am I ever going to spot him. If he was driving my bus I could spot him. Oh! There he is! He picks me up, I tell him this story, and he tells me I need to write it down.

Last week I was looking for my stolen bike on craigslist and, while listening to some of the simple melodic tunes of Natalie Walker, I started looking for electric pianos. I found one not even a mile away, and on impulse I snagged it for a mere $300 bucks. It’s not my mom’s, or inherited ex-husbands, but my first very own piano. I’m pretty proud of it even though it sports one squeaky key and the headphone jack doesn’t work. But other than that it serves its purpose and helps me get through some of those flat, anxious days.

Noteable mentions of today

• Learned a new trick at the skate park – ride the quarter bowl backside and save my face from kissing the concrete with a mini kick turn. HAH! Take that “I used to do that when I was a teenager” sayings.
• Held a meeting with my programmer for a pretty big project that could pay off my debt. Fingers are crossed!
• Met up with my people down at the only surf break for miles and got a couple worthwhile waves.

The other day, Layla and I were watching one of the chefs on the Food Network cook up some real home made Louisiana jambalaya with some shrimp and andouille sausage. I’m talking home made shrimp stock and everything, like my grandma used to make. I’m not usually one to spend more than 1/2 hr in the kitchen prepping a meal, but today would be an exception.

Layla isn’t going to be here for a couple days so ill had to make do without my little sous chef. I had to do all the chopping and shrimp peeling myself which puts me in a little trance of anticipation. I think to myself…

This is going to be good! I hope its going to be good. Such simple ingredients, its got to be good.

Jambalaya is one of those meals that sits in the pot cooking for over an hour, filling the house with a smothering of thyme, bay, andouille and shrimp. Hard not to anticipate dinner. Sometimes  anticipation of a home cooked meal is almost better than actually eating it. Jay comes downstairs, sits at the table smiling and says…

What are you cooking? It smells goooood.

It must have smelled real good. I usually have to call him to the dinner table ( but he never, ever makes me wait, true sign of appreciation ). Some days when I’m not around to cook I catch him with a bowl of cereal by his bed. I am his food savior and I love it.

Served with some tropical mimosas, we enjoyed our jambalaya side by side. Something as simple as sharing a home cooked southern meal with the person you love is what makes life so wonderful.

Friends come and go. Even the best of friends may not stick around. But even those short term friends may know you better than those long term friends. They’ve seen you in your most raw form and have supported you through some of your most trying times. Then there are those you have lost touch with, and have randomly bumped into some 10 years later, and it’s like a day hasn’t gone by.

The last week has been a trying one, full of emotion, fear, and worry. It’s not often I feel this way, but I think it’s the first time Jay has seen me feeling so helpless. I only let a few people on to what was going on, but it was amazing to feel so loved and supported. I’ve haven’t felt that much from “friends” before. I received calls and check ins on how I was doing, if I was ok. It was real, genuine. Something I have not experienced much of before.

I just wanted to dedicate this post to all my true friends who have supported me through the harder times. I appreciate you, and will never forget your kindness and compassion.

I contemplated on what to wear. I hate these social things, especially those things in Santa Cruz, where all the fashionable 30 to 40 year old something moms look so hippy boho glamour (or whatever you call it), when I can barely find time to take a shower before my socials…. and I don’t even have kids. I’ve even figured out a way to be out the door with sopping wet hair and have the car heater act as a diffuser to tame my otherwise frizzy hair.

Speaking of hair, this morning I dashed to the beach without a shower. I wasn’t meeting any clients today and my only real plan was to surf. Under my beanie lives a monster of tangled dreads, frizz, and naps. When I eventually got in my wetsuit to surf, I pulled off my beanie and an annoyance came up to me and said… “Nice hair.” in a really sarcastic way. I almost came back with a…

Nice facebook picture… biaaatch.

Normally I’m not that sensitive about my hair but you know how certain things get to you when certain people say things to you. We’ll she’s one of those people.

Anyways, so I’m trying to put a little bit of thought into my outfit. I’ve never been a trendy fashionista. It always seemed to take too much time, and when I did try, it probably looked like I tried too hard. But today, I’m the daddy’s girlfriend, going to a school play and I should try to look a little put together. So I purposely picked a pair of jeans that weren’t too tight, a clean long sleeved henley and a lace top under it to cover a little bit of that extra cleavage. Ok, honestly, it’s kind of my staple comfy outfit. That night I just picked the nicer of each item… no stains, holes, and not too tight. Ooh, and I grabbed a scarf and my leather jacket (which this day I decided to stop hoarding for those special occasions that never happen and put it at the front of my closet as one of those every day wear).

I’m feeling comfy and not too overdressed… just perfect. We drive up there, arrive at the school a little early. We wait at the front of the school for the Baby Mama. She’s walking up the street towards us and she’s got on a pair of ripped jeans, a tube looking top with what looks like torn yarn with spaghetti straps that barely hold it up, and…eew, when did her hair get so orange?

I was going to go on with the detail of clothing that’s too tight and muffin top armpits, but I’ll just leave it as that.

Now I know why I always feel a little uncomfortable around the Baby Mama. I see her interact with Jay, and I see her interact with other men.  I think she’s trying to get Jay’s attention, or every mans attention. On our way home, not trying to cause offense to Jay, I started the conversation with…

I’m going to say this, and I don’t want to offend you, or Leyla’s mom, but I think she would be a lot hotter if she didn’t try to dress like she’s still in her twenties.

When I say “twenties”, I’m talking about late teens, early twenties. Then Jay assured me I wasn’t offending him and that I was absolutely right. He said that she should be that show, “How Do I look?” where people’s friends give them an ultimatum on bad style or inappropriate attire that usually consists of a retaliation, an emotional breakdown, and a rebirth. I told him she’s not that bad, but that she is a pretty lady and a lot gets lost in her ensembles. She’s still young, in her late 30′s, and often attracts guys in their twenties who don’t stick. Jay told me that she was really pretty when she was young, that she was hot shit in her glory days. But when things went sour with them, to see her dress like that with other guys really messed him up, for a couple years. He was committed to her, the mother of his child, and after getting back together with her on a number of occasions he realized she was stuck in that 20-something party mode.

I guess in the end I thought about all this and my conclusion is that I really want to age gracefully. I see new wrinkles on my face, and just the other day I noticed an extra crease in my ass (you know that part where the top of your thigh meets the bottom of your buttocks) that wasn’t there before. But you know what? I’m OK with it. At least I can do all the wonderful things I want to do with a wrinkled mug and a flabby ass. I can take good care of myself, but we all get old eventually, why waste your youth trying to fight it and stay young. Being happy and accepting who you are with confidence will make you appear a whole lot younger than any plastic surgery, botox or trendy 20 something attire.

Memorial Day Weekend was full of fun, sun, friends, and surf. I love the place I live in, it’s beautiful, full of beautiful people. Weekends are hard sometimes. It’s a good thing I work at home during the week or I’d never get some time to myself.

My mom was right about how I would never appreciate everything she’s done for me until I have kids myself. We only have Layla on the weekends during the school year. I just don’t know how parents can watch and entertain their children every single day. (Props to you Jennay). Activities are planned around them and sometimes cancelled because of them. You sacrifice your time, your hobbies, and your personal fulfillment for them. Every once in a while I will pull the…

She’s not my kid, I can do whatever I want.

…card and sneak away for some selfish gratification. Jay is awesome, he never gives me a hard time about it.

I see what’s in for the kids these days. It consists of The Real Housewives, Jersylicious, and Lady Gaga. You either have to be fashionable, stupid, or weird to be popular, famous or cool. I just want her to be happy with herself for who she is and to not have to try to be anyone she’s not. With help of some good friends, it’s taken me some years to figure that out.

Most of the time it’s pretty cool being around a little kid that is always interested in what you’re doing, whether it’s work, surf, friendly outings, or scrabble. One my favorite things we often do is cook together. We’ll be drooling our faces off while watching the food network and get inspired to experiment with a gourmet meal. We’ll find a yummy recipe online, modify it to our liking, shop the ingredients, completely take over the kitchen and then prepare the meal to Blondie playing in the background. It’s like I’m the master chef and she’s the sous chef. I pretty much tell her what to do and she does it, with a big smile on her face.

This weekend was the local surf contest. The first day, it was too small. The second day was too big and windy. I feel like Goldilocks. I did complain about the ocean conditions during the competition but it did make paddling out today in non-ideal conditions a little less annoying.

While waiting to paddle out in the first heat, Lalya and two friends spotted me sitting in the sand with my jersey on, came over and surrounded me. I wasn’t used to all this attention. They were so cute though, sitting around me telling me…

You’re going to win, I can tell.

And me telling them…

I don’t know, everyone is pretty good, I’m just going to try my best.

It was like I had my own little fan club routing me on.

All in all the weekend was a bit overwhelming. I think back to when I was so involved with being a Jdub. It was meetings three times a week, which totalled 6 hours a week, not counting the time it takes to get ready for those meetings, not to mention knocking doors on the weekend,or the full day conventions. I was always around so many people. Having to be nice to them, not be a smart ass, and having to make sure my skirt wasn’t too tight. One of my favorites was when an elder came up to me and told me…

Now, would we want to be wearing the same attire as prostitutes?

He was referring to how my skirt clung to my butt and my jet black pantyhose. Funny my asian friend wears the exact same styles but no one ever told her that. My brothers say it’s cause I have a black boodie and she’s got an asian one.

Out of curiousity, I did some math and figured out how much of my life I spent dedicated to my religion. And this is what I came up with…

3 meetings a week averaging = 6 hours a week

52 weeks a year times 6 hrs = 312 hours

312 hours divided by 24 hrs = 13  (24 hour) days a year

13 days times my active church life of 30 years = 390 days

That’s over an entire year of my life being in a structured routine, from birth to my 30′s!!! There was a family with some boys that surf and they used to flake on meetings all the time to go surfing. And now one of them is practically pro. I used to secretly envy them.

These days, I have nothing to plan for except the next spontaneous activity. I must admit, it is absolutely wonderful.

At that age, you don’t really know what is normal and what isn’t in family life. You just accept the only hand you are dealt and play your best using whatever strategies you know. I was lucky to have brothers to relate to even though we never outwardly spoke about it until we were teenagers. We rarely saw the actual abuse. We’d mostly hear screaming and some banging around. My mom never cried, or at least I rarely saw her cry. My dad would pick a fight with my mom and then continue on like nothing ever happened, while leaving my mom in shambles. One time I remember my mom crying after a pretty heated dispute. I ran down to my dad and told him, “Don’t be mean to mom!” and stopped talking to him for some time.

There’s no excuse for that kind of abuse, or any. But, I think a big part of the reason why my dad treated my mom so badly had a lot to do with being a Vietnam war veteran. For decades he had many ghosts that haunted him. We really didn’t know how it affected him until later in his life when we were teenagers. My dad was a horrible husband in the way he treated my mother. But he was a good father, always reliable, took good care of us, and stuck to his word. Only once had he left us stranded. Even though he lived an hour and a half away, he would leave work early and pick us up at the highschool on Wednesdays to spend some time with us. He’d take us to the courts to hit a few tennis balls around and then take us to some fancy restaurant for steaks and virgin daquiries.

He never showed up that Wednesday. We called at least a dozen times. He never picked up or called back. That Thursday, my brothers and I convinced our grandma something was wrong and to drive us up to San Jose to see if he was alright. When we arrived at his apartment it seemed to take forever for him to open the door. It wasn’t my dad who opened the door. It was a weak, worn down, humbled man, hunched over, with one hand on the table helping him to keep from falling over. His eyes were glazed over and it took a couple seconds for him to recognize us. I had never seen him like this before.

My dad was always a confident man. He was smart. He held numerous patents for different electronic technologies. He had worked for big time companies like IBM and Oracle. He’d come home from work and usually have one drink in the evening to wind down after work. But this day, when he opened the door, he reeked of vodka. He told me he didn’t remember the last two days. Apparently he had blacked out and was just now sobering up. We sat him down at the table and asked him, “Dad, are you ok?”

He broke down and wept…

“God is never going to forgive me for all those people I killed. I’m so sorry… so sorry.”

He continued to sob. We didn’t know what to say. He had never talked about his war experiences with us. Just that he was the only African American pilot in the Marines at that time, and that he got to fly helicopters and would make runs searching for wounded soldiers. That day he told us his chopper had been shot down, a bullet skimmed his head and killed his buddy in the seat next to him. He cried about losing his friend. We never knew. War sounded horrible. He never shared another war experience with us like that again. My brothers and I, at that moment realized, my dad had been through some kind of hell we could never relate to, and it had molded him into the person he was. He too was hurt, and it was too painful to share with anyone.

I had thought twice about sharing this post. But I decided to share it because I know there are a whole lot of people who were brought up in or are still in abusive households. I didn’t realize how many people are affected by this problem until I myself visited a womens battered shelter and learned about the many different forms of abuse. My mother is still working to overcome some of her negative feelings of self-worth over 20 years later. These are some of the unspoken things you never hear about but they are real. Every once in a while we are reminded of the seriousness of it when we see a battered celebrity like Rihanna on national news. If you feel you are or have been in an abusive relationship, there are organizations to help you. Click here for a list of places to get help in California.

Family vacation…a great idea, sure!  But how awkward will it be with me, Jay, Baby Mama, Baby Mama’s mom and sister? I’m cool with the Baby Mama, we get along, but I also don’t vacation with her. Her idea of a good time usual consists of a 11:00AM cracking of a Tecate in the sun. Jay’s lightly mentioned how she is when she’s hammered. I’ve heard her on the phone with Jay, spewing how her ex is a jerk, or getting on him about something he didn’t do. He usually takes it for about 15 minutes until he gets annoyed. I’ve actually heard him say to her once…

If you weren’t such a bitch, maybe one of those guys will stick around.

Jay and I never argue about anything. The only time I notice he gets irritated with me is when I pee in my booties. He’s one of the most patient guys I’ve ever met. And he’s especially patient to even listen to his Baby Mama  for 15 minutes. I asked Jay if her boyfriend, the “younger, taller, Jay look-a-like” would be coming. He said they’re not together anymore. Ok, this could be even more awkward. But how will it be in a house with her when we’re banging in the next room over? I’m thinking…

We’ll just have to escape to a secluded beach and have our private time on some warm volcanic sand under the sun.

That’s on my fantasy list. It absolutely has to be black sand though. I hope she has a man to bring along with her by then to keep her occupied. Somehow both Jay and I agreed it would be fun and encouraged her to set it up.

The only other time I went to Kaua’i was on my honeymoon with Casey. We spent a whole two weeks there. It was pretty nice except the birth control was seriously messing with my hormones. It totally killed my sex drive and made me moody. At one point he was so terrified I could see it in his eyes…

Is this what I’ve gotten myself into? A moody bitch who’s never going to have sex with me?

I’ll have you know I went back to normal when I got off that birth control. That stuff is so bad for you. It really does alter who you are, how you feel, and how you think. I think a lot of women don’t know how much that messes with you. In all honesty though, on my honeymoon I have to admit there were still some faint remains of guilt for even marrying Casey. Knowing my family supported the union but did not agree. The people in the Church had to accept the marriage, though most never treated me the same after it.

Sometimes I wonder if Jay still thinks about being with his Baby Mama. I know he can’t ever get back with her. They had a poisonous relationship when they were together. It was bad for them and for Layla. But in the end, he is the father of her child, and she is the mother of his child. Here in front of them every single day is a product of what was their love together. If I had a child with Casey I still wonder if I would be with him, trying to work it out for the sake of the child? I know my mom stuck it out with my dad for 13 years because of my brothers and I, despite the abuse.

About the Artwork: I painted this from memory. I’m not sure if it actually looked like this, but it’s supposed to be Kalihiwai. I just remember perfect rights and a big cliff and rocks.

This was the first place my ex, Casey, brought me to introduce me to his friends. I had such bad poison oak at that time, probably the worst I ever had in my life. One of the things I remember is meeting his little furry friend for the first time. I say “little” as in a short 5 ft and a few inches, and “furry” meaning, he had as much hair on his back and shoulders as he had on his head. He sympathized with my suffering and suggested I put a towel on my festering oak and slap it when it itches. He passed on a pretty good technique, one that I still use and share with other people on to this day.

I realize it has been almost 8 years since I was here. When Casey and his crew were young adults still being supported by their well-off parents, free from responsibility, challenging one another to the 3 story dive off the cliffs into uncertainty.

By this time in my life I had already graduated college, worked at a start up for a year and a half, and had the only life I knew of taken from me.

At this time in their lives, the most important thing was to defend ego, coolness, and manhood. Now one faces prison time, a few are married, some are fathers, and my ex lives a life alienated from family and those very childhood friends.

I now lie here peacefully on a warm smooth granite boulder with Jay and his daughter. Warm, relaxed, our bellies full… happy.

Prev Next

I think back to some of the good times and wonder how things could go so wrong in my marriage. It’s easy to blame someone else for all that’s gone wrong in your life but actually we all have a part in each experience. For instance, I chose to date Casey, even though ever fiber of me, except love, or lust, which ever it was, told me I shouldn’t have. The belief in my birth religion is to date and marry within the religion. A very difficult task to ask of any young person in their twenties. Even more so when you are cut off from it.

I was disfellowshipped when I was 22 for messing around with another Jdub. We never had sex, or even oral sex, but apparently he had ejaculated in his pants during a make out session. This is considered fornication (which is understandable when lusting for someone in your mind is a sin, a sin that if not wiped from your mind leads to much bigger sins). After a study of one of the Jdub publications we had both realized…

We committed a pretty serious sin and must confess.

Together we agreed the guilt was too much and went forward with confession. This is not like the Catholic church where you go into a private box and tell a priest your sins, get a “you are forgiven” and go on with your life. You sit in front of a committee of three men, called elders. Usually they are older and volunteer large portions of their time to the Church. You tell them everything chronologically that happened that lead up to the sin. All the details, the kissing, the touching, the feelings, the orgasm that I never had.

Later my brothers and I nicknamed him the “One Second Man”. My brothers are so good at making me feel better. They convinced me…

You want someone who can at least last 5 minutes, plus Mexicans have the smallest dicks. You’d never be satisfied if you married him.

One of my elders was an old blind man, one a pervert (I say this because he had only ever spoke to my breasts) and the other, a new elder who had known me for years. No mercy had been given to me and within a week, my judgement had been decided. After a grueling two meetings with the elders, and five hours later of lecturing from the Bible scriptures on why I was such a horrible person and screwed up so bad, they tell me…

We have decided due to your independent and unrepentant attitude, you will be disfellowshipped.

I was in shock. It was unreal. I thought back to people I knew who seemingly did a lot worse, got caught and still did not receive such a harsh judgement. Their reason was that I had a position. I was a Pioneer, dedicating 70 hours of volunteer time each month knocking on doors trying to convert people. I did this for five years. They had to make an example of me for all the other young people that this type of behavior couldn’t go on. I’m only human, I was a horny young lady who made a mistake. I didn’t realize how angry I should be until I got my first orgasm almost a year later into marriage and thought back..

Geeze I went through all that and didnt even have the pleasure of an orgasm. I was jipped!

The typical disfellowshipping lasts minimum of six months to a year with good behavior. It’s not a quick punishment. It’s a sentencing, especially for someone who is forced out of everything and from everyone they know. The first week of the sentencing I was pretty positive. My nose was buried into the Bible and the publications, praying for hours to God for forgiveness and strength. The loneliness didn’t set in until the second week, when the people I knew all my life would avoid me and not even look at me. Even my best friends couldn’t look at me.

I felt like dirt. I felt worse than dirt, like runny cat shit in an litter box that hasn’t been scooped out in weeks.

I never felt so bad about myself. I cried the hardest I ever have in my life, to this very day, curled up on the couch, convulsing for what seemed like days. My whole body hurt like all of my organs had been stripped from me, abandoned in the dark by everyone I knew to be fed to the jackals.

Later to add to the depression, I found out the One Second Man kissed some girl on a guys trip in san Diego. One of his dumb ass friends had pictures of them on his MySpace in a club together all over eachother. Keep in mind kissing is all we ever did. He never even grabbed my boob! Later one of the elders told me I should forget about him because he was addicted to pornography. I was thinking…

The bastard cheated on me! And he’s addicted to porn? And he’s a One Second Man? I went through all this and lost EVERYTHING for this loser?!?”

Wait I take that back, about the One Second Man not grabbing my boob. I just remembered this right now as I am writing this. A couple weeks after we both received our sentencing, he invited me to go to Tahoe. Feeling lonely and hopeless, I went with him. I told my mom that I was going snowboarding to get some of this tension out and to think about things. But in actuality I was going to spend the weekend with the One second man.

We were in the hotel alone. I lay beneathe him feeling disgusted as he groped and dry humped me until I told him to stop and vomited my guilt all over him.  Talk About being a kill joy. I didn’t blame him, I just didn’t feel like having sex with him. He disgusted me. I think he thought…

She’s lonely and vulnerable, and we’re already disfellowshipped, we can have sex with no consequences.

Little did he know, I was still angry about San Diego. He had personally wounded my heart and betrayed me. Even though he apologized, and I had forgiven him, I could never forget what he did. I just kept thinking…

Once a cheater, always a cheater.

This was a time in my life where I didn’t speak of what I actually thought about things. I was taught to think a certain way, and anger was something that leads to sin. I kept most of it to myself. I didn’t dwell on it, I just couldn’t forget.

What does this entire story have to do with anything? It’s where the religious path I thought I would be on for the rest of my life took a big turn. Everything is a chain reaction. The disfellowshipping changed my life. It’s when I moved back home, started surfing, met my ex-husband and brings me to where I am now.