My First Week: Thank You to My Work Angel Mark Wallengren

My first week on the job has been humbling and so very very exciting! The first thing I tell my friends and family that call for updates is: "I'm surprised at how much there is left to learn, and THAT is the best part." I have been working in radio on and off for over 12 years because of a love/hate relationship with myself. My last position was programming, which was tough. I liked the challenge, but after my boss started missing weeks of work at a time, I was getting less and less feedback. I grew anxious for more direction, although I didn't need it, I longed for it. I enjoyed making important decisions and creating a station that everyone was talking about. I loved the team and I loved the listeners. But I left because I felt I hit a glass ceiling. I felt I had nothing left to learn. No where else to go.

I moved to Los Angeles with the intention that I was going to make it in comedy. I still have that intention, along with several other major goals. In the mean time, I HAVE to pay bills. I need to eat and pay rent. The idea of bending over backwards (literally) for some ridiculous web cam scam is out of the question. (And it was brought up. Ick.) "Why don't you wait tables?" Um, then how would I have time to perform at night? No thanks.

The only thing I'm good at...scratch that...the only thing I WANT to do...is radio. I've always loved this business. Every aspect of it is different but exciting! It gets my gears going. I just GET it. So I clawed my way into the door. I tweeted at a major radio station until they looked at my resume. They didn't. I bugged the few people I knew to mention my name. They didn't. I applied for every available job with every company in the market. Until...finally...someone read my resume and called! AH!

KOST 103.5, an iHeart Media station was curious about me. I came in for my first interview and met the gentlemen who would soon become my boss(es). I say this because the man I work for most closely, the person who has been in this industry for more years than he'd probably ever admit, Mark Wallengren, is the kindest human being I've met in a long time. He has the same energy and drive for radio that I do. He loves each and everyone of his listeners. He respects all the people that work together to make KOST 103.5 a great station. Wallengren has a star on the Hollywood Walk of Fame, for crying out loud, and is still one of the most humble, down to earth people I've had the pleasure of meeting.

As my first week comes to a close, it has been full of mistakes, crazy conversations, and chaos. But Mark has yet to be cross. Rather, he has been supportive and extra considerate. He has gone out of his way to introduce me to his/our fellow employees. They all say the same thing "Good luck workin' with this guy!" But they all say it with the same "You are so lucky" tone. One of the first things he told me on Monday: "My wife cannot wait to meet you!" What?! OMG! I can't wait either!

Sure enough, his family came in this afternoon for a quick visit. She was so excited to introduce herself, I hugged her. I couldn't help myself! In fact, his whole family was so wonderfully supportive of him and happy to meet me, a stranger, all based on his pride for his work.

Mark Wallengren has every reason to float away with an ego. Yet, he doesn't. He hasn't. I haven't tapped into how he has done it, but I feel privelaged to know him. His energy is contagious, his smile infectious and you can tell his listeners feel the same way. I'm eager to work hard for him. I look forward to a long time professional relationship. 

If anything, he has rekindled my faith in this industry, the value of letting your work and positive attitude speak for itself, and that there is still so much to learn as long as I stay curious. I'm curious! Actually, I look forward to going to work everyday to try new things, learn something new, and play.

Thank you for the opportunity iHeart Media. And my most sincerest gratitude for you being yourself, Mark Wallengren. You are my Work Angel. You've made a nobody feel like a somebody. You may never realize how important that is during this 'nobody's' first week. Thank you, thank you, thank you...I hope I have the opportunity to pay the kindness forward.

I chose Glen Campbell's "Try A Little Kindness" because Mark Wallengren embodies the spirit of the song. Despite every reason he has to be an egomaniac, demanding, and entitled, he couldn't be more open minded and considerate of everyone else around him. Enjoy this classic!

Facebook is a damn liar: We are not happy all the time.

Social media does this adorable thing where it makes us, humans, look happy all the time. Well, that simply can't be! We just have to run the gambit of emotions; it only makes sense in our binary way of thinking that in order to be happy, one has to be sad sometimes. But if we really studied Facebook, then we must be one happy group of people. This isn't true and there are multiple studies on the subject. Facebook, specifically, makes us sad. Depressed, even.

I wanted to use this as a disclaimer because OF COURSE we only post happy shit on there. If we post negative stuff we wouldn't have any friends because no one wants to be around a Debbie Downer all the time.

My social media posts are quite exciting. I have to actually look at my own Facebook sometimes to remind myself how much fun my life is right now. I have to do this because most of the time, this is not how I feel. Most of the time, I feel alone, isolated, bored, too tall, too fat, not funny, lonely, hungry, and really broke. Did I mention I feel lonely?

Los Angeles is a tough place to live and work. It is a land of opportunity and where some dreams come true, but those opportunities come to those with an incredible drive and somehow live above the threshold of fear. The people that never stop giving of themselves creatively and emotionally are the ones that make those dreams come true. But dammit, it is difficult to live like that. I spend most of my day in the car. Alone. I have no radio (right now) so I'm forced to listen to Pandora or iHeart Radio App or podcasts. Most of the time I sit in silence and go over new jokes I want to deliver at that evening's open mic(s). Then I sit in a crowded room where you are expected to be quiet and pay attention to the performer on stage. I wait my turn, do my set, then return to my seat. There is a little interation after the show to say "Thank you for the opportunity" or "Thanks, I thought you were great too!" Then I get in my car and repeat until I'm too tired or out of money to pay for parking.

The mornings are just as bad. My only real connection is to the yoga video I put on in the morning. Then I sip on coffee while I work from my home studio doing a recording or just marketing myself for more work. Maybe I'll get lucky and on my run that morning I'll cross paths with another runner and they actually respond to my high five attempt. But that's it. That's what my interations are like. Short and shallow. It's lonely here and I'm having a hard time making friends that don't want to fuck me.

I felt it was really important to share this because everything does look amazing on Facebook. And, quite frankly, I don't really have anything to complain about because life, on the outside looks pretty great. The weather is wonderful, I'm working for myself as a voice talent and I get to perform stand up more than once every night if I want to. But I'm lying if I said that I don't need to make new friends; or that I didn't want people in my life that lived here that just wanted to hang out and watch TV and drink a few beers on a Friday night. Or, at least a friend that wanted to get in the damn car and hop around to different open mics with once in a while.

Again, I'm not complaining. I just wanted to share the very real experience behind the scenes. The struggle that I deal with alone. We all look happy as fuck online, but sometimes that is an amazing front. So I wanted to share my experience because life is hard and dreams don't come easily. or overnight. It's a lot of work with a lot of struggle and I just wish there was a friend that was going through it too.

I do realize that I can call any number of people and vent and chat at any time, but there really is something to just having a friggin human to hang out with that wants to go to shows or go shopping or grab coffee or sneak into Disneyland or people watch at the beach because you are too broke to do anything else. The "just exist next to me and see where the night goes" friend is invaluable. They are hard to find and even harder to keep. So if you have one, give them a damn hug and buy them a beer. Then don't take a damn picture and post it anywhere on social media all night because you might jinx something really friggin great.

I chose "Eleanor Rigby" by The Beatles for this post's song because I figured...I am hoping that I am not the only lonely one in Los Angeles. Plus, It's a great song.

Dammit Beiber: I'm Sorry I Liked Your Song So Much

There is a song playing on the radio right now that is such an ear worm to me; I dance every time it comes on and really enjoy how I can barely make out the words. Justin Beiber's "Sorry," has been on repeat in my head for over a week, now. It's catchy and fun and doesn't sound like anything else on the radio right now. I never thought I'd say it, but I like a Justin Beiber song.

Over the course of the week, I became obsessed with this idea that me, of all people, would like a Beiber song. (I'm not turning into a Belieber, I promise!). I searched the lyrics and the video; now I want to share what I found and why it makes me so angry. Here is the first verse:
"You gotta go and get angry at all of my honesty
You know I try but I don't do too well with apologies
I hope I don't run out of time, could someone call a referee?
'Cause I just need one more shot at forgiveness
I know you know that I made those mistakes maybe once or twice
By once or twice I mean maybe a couple a hundred times
So let me, oh let me redeem, oh redeem, oh myself tonight' Cause I just need one more shot at second chances"


The song is so upbeat and catchy that when paired with these lyrics the juxtaposition is bizarre. I get the sense from the just the lyrics that this is a young man who clearly knows he lost a good thing but can't help his own stupidity. He wants to apologize but doesn't know how to do it in a meaningful and sincere way. The playfulness of the melody, however, says to me that he is young and perhaps trying to downplay his feelings for her. Here is the chorus:

"Yeah, is it too late now to say sorry?
'Cause I'm missing more than just your body
Oh, is it too late now to say sorry?
Yeah I know that I let you down
Is it too late to say I'm sorry now?"

The music slows down a bit for the chorus suggesting he is ready to apologize for his mistakes. He is trying to show that he can be a bit serious. It's been a while since she left because he is feeling the actual heart ache that comes with a break up, not just the "now-I-have-to-make-love-to-myself" blues. The beat picks up again and he repeats "Sorry" several times, the equivalent of a child asking "Mom, mom, mom, mom." until mom gives in and gives the child what they want. Again, the melody underneath is brilliant, fun and not annoying like the child in the aforementioned scenario. I can see why the woman would have fell for him in the first place, but also why she would have left.

Lyrically and melodically, I love what Beiber is doing. Whether or not any of this was intentional if he even wrote it himself, this song has some depth to it and I appreciate how it is clean and sentimental and sweet.

The music video that accompanies the song is a damn cluster-fuck. There are probably a dozen women in the video, all wearing sunglasses and outfits that are not overtly sexual but not flattering either. No two women look alike and if there is anything I applaud in this video is the variety of the shapes of women. None of the women dancing in this video look traditionally beautiful or even cute the way they are made up and dressed. Perhaps this is my version of being too old to know what's up.

The women are dancing in a way that is very sexual. They sink down in low squats to thrust their hips in unison while each touching parts of their bodies in a quick fast paced manner. I'm a big fan of dance videos and as far as dancing goes, these ladies NAIL it. But why, WHY? do they touch themselves? Why does the camera cut off their bodies to only show their hips or chest or stomach? If this man asking to apologize and saying he misses more than just her body and her touch, insist on showcasing these women for just that? The sex.

I'm not saying I don't like the video. Not at all. I just think the choice was weird and that he missed an opportunity to continue to explore the depth of the song. Perhaps he got caught flirting with a bartender on a tropical vacation with his lady. She leaves and now he's left on this island knowing she is there but not with him. I think Beiber makes it very clear that he wants a woman who isn't going to challenge him or think too hard. Which is fine. I'm just disappointed, probably more in myself for liking the song so damn much and then I let myself down by watching that video and hoping for something more. I know better now.

 

Your Career Is Better Than Mine...How Can That Be?

Careers. The most personal and individualistic journey. No two career paths are the same. So each should be extraordinary, right? Then why don’t we perceive our own this way.

My career has been...crazy. I’ve always seemed to let some bizarre life event get in the way of a successful career in radio. I either got pregnant, hit, bored or followed some boy. I’ve never really worried about “what’s next” for me in radio, because I love it and in time, became confident enough to believe that I am talented enough to find “the next gig.”

But I always seem to look up to others in the industry. I never thought MY career was anything to brag about. I just show up and have a lot of fun. I am myself and never take things too seriously. Professional, sure. Marketable, hell yes. I get the biz and the biz just loves me. (I’m not bragging, it just does.) Plus, I obsess over it and refuse to listen to anything but terrestrial radio in the car.

The places I’ve gone because of my career choice have been amazing when I really think about it. New York City, Green Bay, Champaign-Urbana, IL, Seattle, Southern California, backstage at concerts, inside a limo with Kool and The Gang, Playboy Mansion parties, hosting concert festivals, or even working on a farm. These things have always seemed like minor perks. The ride has been great, but I always seem to feel like it is never enough. “I can be better,” or “I can do more,” I tell myself. There are people like Fitz in the Morning in Seattle, or The Woody Show here in LA that are doing...exactly what I thought I wanted to be doing.

My focus has shifted quite a bit in the last year and a half and I am excited about all of the things I want to create. I am meeting people who work harder than me, are smarter and more talented than me, and yet they are the ones saying things like “Wow! I always wanted to do what you do,” or “How do you manage to get it all done?”   Record Scratch. What? Seriously? You are the one that wrote a damn musical! You are the one that is on a comedy tour. You are the one that has a television contract. And so on and so forth.

Is this a common feature of creative people, or most people,I wonder? Are we all afraid that we aren’t doing enough? Creating more? Thinking faster? Or, should I be better about talking about my insane life choices? New York was great! Interviewing Kool and the Gang was a blast! Drinking with country stars Trick Pony was unforgettable.

Perhaps, for me, it is not the fame or prestige that is so noteworthy (although that is all I seem to be bragging about in this post). It’s the listeners and the clients that I have had a small part in helping. My talents in talking to people and connecting on some level that is so very real, has helped clients do better business. This interpersonal skill has helped listeners get through shitty shit in their life because I told a joke or shared a story just like their own to make them feel a little less...alone.

We all need to be better advocates for ourselves. Writing a musical is AMAZING! I’m so impressed. TV credits? You are da’ bomb! (Also I’m envious, but I’ll get there.) But would I trade that for an entire listening area falling in love with plain, simple old me because I got in the trenches and worked on a farm with them. (Seriously, I had to castrate a bull...and it was gross and hilarious).  Could I say that is better than all the money for charities like Special Olympics and March of Dimes that I helped raise over the years? Hell no

It’s time that we all start being impressed with ourselves. It’s time we are as intrigued, inspired and proud of our career/life paths as we are with one anothers'. We each bring something pretty damn cool to the table. Put that shit on a plate and share already!

This song is all about being brave enough to stand up for yourself. Hope you are feeling inspired already. "Brave" by Sara Bareilles

Being Different for Different's Sake: Am I annoying or just really being myself?

When I was a younger person in college, I found a pattern in my sociology studies: people don't really want to stand out. We all just want to fit it. People want to be accepted at work and liked by their peers. Our fear is, however, that if we are radically different from our friends then they won't like us anymore. Take my personal story for example.

Right out of high school, I got a job at a local restaraunt diner, Ruby's, to supplement my life while I went to community college. It's what everybody did. We were just trying to figure out...oh, ya know, LIFE. A new girl got hired at the Ruby's location I worked at, but she was a hostess and I didn't see her very much. Many of my coworkers kept coming up to me, "Maggi, there is this new girl, Sabrina, you two are like the same person." What??? Not uh! I mean, I didn't have a grasp on anything at the ripe old age of 18, but I did know that I was a happy kid and I liked adventures. When I finally met Sabrina, I didn't really see what everyone was talking about. I mean, she had a great laugh, but, we didn't look alike. We certainly didn't think the same. She had so much more experience with people than I did. (She was popular in high school, and I was...so uncool that people knew me because I was a dork). She could do her hair, she got pedicures on the reg, and this girl went out dancing. Dancing!

One of Sabrina's favorite stories to tell is of how we became more than just coworkers. Here's the short version: She invited me and my friend, Melissa, to go to a gay club with her and her friends. Melissa bailed and I showed up. Apparently that was really friggin cool and we were pretty much inseparable ever since. Turns out, we WERE almost like the same person.

Life then happened, ya know, I got career serious and moved to follow that dream around the country; she got family serious and found a rad husband and made some pretty cool kids. We just celebrated her birthday and had probably one of the best conversations we've ever had. I told her how cool I thought she was and she laughed in my face. "I've had someone else's puke in my mouth and you think I'm cool!???"

This was not the reaction I was expecting. I mean, she is like super mom. Always put together, she is the most patient person with her kids. She is doing really well at work, has great fashion sense, and managed to surround herself with some great women. I, on the other hand, left everything I had going for me: an awesome job, a few rungs up on the comedy ladder, so many friends, bills paid on time without help. And then I moved. Away from it all to try out a new dream. And I've been feeling foolish. Here I was watching this person that I thought I was JUST LIKE, and she seems to have it all. When all along, she was experiencing the same exact feelings as me. (She though I was cool...the first and last person over the age of 15 ever).

We are so not the same anymore. I've never had puke in my mouth, and she hates being on stage. But that doesn't mean I don't love and cherish all the things about her that are different from me! She is still my most special friend. Peas and Carrots as Forrest Gump would say. And I know she doesn't hate me, yet, because I'm not the same kid that wanted to drive up and down Pacific Coast Highway with her. (She can't hate me, she's letting me live with her and her family until I can get on my feet again).

Still not convinced it is totally ok to be different than other people? Last week, I was invited to participate in an improv practice with a fairly new team. Now, there are different styles of improv but they are all generally the same idea. You listen, agree with your partner that what you are doing on stage is real, and then you reply to them with hopefully something witty, or at least really interesting. (In the biz, they call that raising the stakes or heightening the scene.) The team I had been with on and off for several years liked to edit scenes with a big "Ssswwiishhhh." So if the people on stage had been stalling, or nothing funny or interesting was happening, then someone would walk in front of them and "swish" the scene to cut to the next thing. Apparently, that was the weirdest damn thing the team had ever heard of because their version of "swish" was just a jog in front of the people on stage.

The "swish" was at first really embarrassing. But, how was I supposed to know they did the same activity differently? They all thought this was the funniest damn thing. I felt really badly at first, because I wanted these improvisors to like me and let me play on their team. I had just done something so terribly awkward and different, how was I to ever come back from that? Turns out, I didn't need to. The team is sweet and talented and seemed really excited to have me come back. Did you read that correctly, they WANTED me to come back. Weird Swishes and all.

I think that it was my different way of thinking that got these guys excited. They are all just people, and probably really relieved that they weren't the ones this week to look ridiculous.

So I won't be afraid of being different. Difference isn't bad and I promise that the world isn't full of a bunch of dickheads walking around going "Ewwww, gross, that girl is different." Well, unless you are in high school. Then I'd say, hang in there. The world does become kinder. Instead of "ewww, gross" it evolves into "whoa, that's different. How did you do that?" Bonus life tip: Those curious folks are the ones you want to keep around you.

I'll keep rocking on with my bad ass self because a) I've never had puke in my mouth and b) swish is the cool sound a basketball makes when you get points. Isn't the planet full of enough people that think and act the same?Share your story of how you stood out from the rest of the crowd and how it positively impacted your life. maggimayfield@gmail.com

This song is a no brainer choice....be uniquely you, and I love you just the way you are. Rock on!

But Mom, you said boys that hit me in school, like me: A Tragically Funny Story About Domestic Violence.

Stories about domestic violence generally aren't funny. The women brave enough to come out and talk about them honestly and openly are going through a very messed up reflection of who they were before, during and after their scary relationship. (This is a TED talk that started my research into what happened to me)My story, however, is so ridiculous, even mere days after the event, that I didn't want to wait to share. Deep breath. Here goes.

Once upon a time, okay, last year in March, I went to a friend's wedding. My best guy friend's wedding. He met the girl of his dreams and I loved her instantly. She helped me swipe on Tinder for the sake of my new found comedy hobby. I needed new material and the engaged couple needed to be reminded why you don't want to be dating in your thirties. Well, late one night while the gang was performing some terrible karaoke, we came across a very handsome man whose profile picture was of him base jumping off a cliff, naked. So very naked. Swipe Right. Yes puh-lease. It's a match! Hopefully a fun first date in my future or at the very least, some potentially good comedy fodder.

Unfortunately, Mr. Naked Cliff Jumper and I never met up. Wedding festivities had me pretty busy and I honestly was only looking for new comedy material. I get back to Chicago, and we wind up talking on the phone for almost 3 hours the first night. I couldn't even tell you what about. It was amazing. It was like I met my best friend on the phone for the first time. Two weeks later I jumped back on a plane to go meet him. I was terrified. We had spent every night on the phone since our initial chat. I was already enamoured before I got on the plane and I think I just wanted to know if the actual intimate sex was going to be as good as the mind sex. Oh, let me tell you, it was!

Not long after that amazing weekend, he left all of his clients behind to move in with me for the summer in Chicago land. My lease was ending in August and I had fallen so head over heels for this comedy thing, I thought I would leave Illinois and head back to California, where my family is, and pursue my dreams. He was so along for the ride. Charming, fun to be around, and seemingly supportive at first, my friends, at least in the comedy world, really liked him. He had a mohawk and talked to my friends. A huge and positive improvement over my ex. What's not to like? He was fun and I was happy.

But then something started happening. He started telling me that I shouldn't be staring at other guys all night at the clubs. "But I wasn't." I'd retort, and he'd just pout and yell until I understood that my eyes were for him only. I started becoming afraid to talk to people, to meet people. He'd tell me that I'm too much of a control freak and that I'd need to go with the flow. He started spending my money on things that didn't make sense. He convinced me to steal. He never tried to get a job or some part time work while he lived with me. I was exhausted by the fights over how insecure he was with the amount of gentleman friends I have. I hang out with other comedians. A lot of whom are men. Dopey, funny, men.

I was under a spell. I was slowly being brain washed and I had no idea. (You know, because that's what happens when you are brainwashed.) I could tell I was being muted. My enthusiasm for life was disappearing. I was exhausted. I just wanted to keep the peace. When we'd fight, he'd ignore me for days at a time and the only way to regain his attention was to perform sexual acts. He degraded me. He despised my independent spirit. He controlled me.

We went on a road trip from Chicago to LA. The idea was to kayak and perform comedy all the way across the country. What I wanted out of the trip quickly became a non-priority, as long as we were fishing and kayaking and drinking beer everyday. I wanted his attention so badly, that it didn't matter what was happening I just wanted to keep the peace and keep his attention.

Fast forward through the 7 week road trip where we wound up very broke. A friend of his called and said he needed help getting back into his home after a natural disaster. Mr. Naked Cliff Jumper was ready to go chase that dolla dolla bill ya'll. I was finally home and didn't want to leave. But I didn't want to let him off the hook for spending all of my money either. So, off to the natural disaster area we went. Typical domestic violence case. Mind control...then isolate. I knew no one. I was just not the same girl that left Illinois. I hadn't performed comedy in so long. I couldn't do anything right to please him. I didn't know who I was and I didn't know how to get out.

Finally, after having been ignored for so long and then yelled at for trying to use my brain, I snapped. I said that I had had enough. I was out. Leaving. Mr. Naked Cliff Jumper didn't like that at all; he went from being Mr. Suave to Mr. Manchild. Pouting, yelling and then throwing my computer. Changing the password to the only computer that made me money a la voice acting. (He changed it to "lyingcunt," for the record. My mother was actually impressed he could spell it correctly). Then he tried to be nice to me to get money from me to move back to LA, where we had a storage unit together. He stomped his feet and yelled at me. Called me every version of the 'c' word he could come up with. Tried regaining any shred of control by taking his time packing his things into the UHaul I rented to gtfo of smallest town, USA. Seriously, no taxis, no buses, no trains, planes or rental cars. There were no limos, Lyfts or Ubers. My only choice was a damn UHaul.

But, even after everything we had been through, I didn't want to be a jerk and not help him get all of his belongings in one place. With no legal license or credit card, I thought I could help him move one last time. Biggest. Mistake. He was so scary that day. There was no reasoning. I wasn't strong enough to just help myself, but I wasn't going to just take his b.s. lying down, either. His body language was mean. He wanted to play keep away with the keys. I wasn't going to get a key to our storage unit AND he was going to lock up the uHaul which had both of our belongings in the back. I wanted a key to one of those things. I was furious and I wasn't going to take his b.s. lying down. So I took his helmet and riding jacket and locked them in the cab until I could get a key. Either one.

Mr. Manchild didn't trust me with either and I just wanted to get this show on the road. So I opened the cab on the passenger side. His helmet was sitting on top of my big bag of bathroom essentials. He came in so close to me that I was scared he was going to hit me then. He didn't. But that's because I threw his helmet across the driveway just to get him to step away from me. Apparently, I broke the dang thing. Mr. Manchild didn't like that one bit. So, to retaliate, he took my bathroom bag and chucked it across the driveway and across the yard. I went to collect my belongings as I quietly and (eerily) ever so calmly told our hosts not to worry because it "was just stuff, after all."

The dispersing of my belongings wasn't quite enough because he did manage to find my birth control pills and bury all of those in the mud. Like a dog. After stomping on those he then went back into the cab for more. He found my sunglasses and stomped on those. Tore up my snacks. Don't mess with my snacks! He even left my prescription glasses on the ground ready for a good romping. He noticed I was collected my birth control and came over to grab those out of my hand. He grabbed my hand and wrist to get me to let go yelling in my face "WHY DO YOU NEED YOUR WHORE PILLS?" My hands were covered in mud from trying to unearth his temper tantrum. I open handed slapped him across the face and walked away. Eerily calm. And then it hit me. His closed fist on the back of my head. I don't remember it, but our lovely hosts said I screamed. All I remember is feeling like "here it comes...the beating of my lifetime."

Our host came to stop him from going any further. I was walking away, much faster now. In between the sobs and pounding adrenaline in my head I heard him yell "If she can hit like a man she can take one like a man." I must have one gnarly open handed slap. Makes me wish he felt my right cross thanks to all the Jillian Michaels videos I have been doing!

I rushed inside and called the police that I had on speed dial. The entire day I had made sure I wasn't alone with him. Everything had happened so fast. Even though the cops were on the phone, I suddenly felt so isolated and alone. He saw me on the phone crying and knew I had called the cops. I looked around and no one was in the house any more. He chased me outside and on to the porch where there were many others and I felt surrounded and empowered by numbers. To me, these people were strangers, but somehow, they made me feel less crazy. I didn't know it then, but I am not the psycho he made me out to be.

You know how if you hit your sister just a little too hard, she'd start crying. Immediately you think "Shit...you're OK. You're fine. Shhh....Don't tell mom." I think I half expected him to react that way. But while I stood protected by the numbers of people on the porch that afternoon, he continued to yell at me. "GET IN THE CAR, MAGGI. GET IN THE CAR AND LETS DRIVE." I was going no where.

Was anyone laughing at this scene? I wish I wasn't IN the scene because watching a grown man bury a woman's birth control and then stomp on it would have been hilarious to watch. Partly because a dog would have buried it better AND peed on it to declare his ownership. All I got was a punch in the head. From behind. Coward.

I should be glad though. No one has ever hit me before! Never. Not once. In my whole life. I did want the boys to like me so much in school. I wanted to be pinched and hit on the arm. I should be so glad, that finally, someone loves me so much that he can punch me in the back of my head. I should feel the warm, fuzzy glow that comes along with a crush...a love like that.

But instead, Mr. ManChild, I am left with fear. My heart skips a beat whenever I hear a motorcycle come up from behind me because I'm worried that you know where I live and have followed me. I cannot seem to leave my room to go meet new people for fear that I don't know how to talk to someone new. I don't even want to make love to myself because you left such a nasty taste in my mouth. Okay, I won't stop making love to myself, but the scar is there.

My story of domestic violence is no where near as violent, or scary, or deadly as some I have heard. This, however, is not a competition. I was vulnerable, I got hurt and the signs and pattern of abuse is the same. Perhaps the story is, indeed, just as scary as some, but I am stronger than most. I can laugh with my mother about the horrible names he called me. I can get onstage and talk about this. I will heal. I will love myself again. I will get back to normal. Because to me, you are now but a mere tragically funny memory.


I'm not the only one that can find the humor in domestic violence. Instead of a music video, here is comedian Bill Burr's take on the subject.

 

The Drama of Good Bye: You Can Keep It

The Drama of Good Bye: You Can Keep It

Good bye's. Usually, I like to skip 'em because quite selfishly, I'd like to have all the wonderful people I know living within a 100 mile radius of each other. So I'd cheekily say things like "Its not good bye, it's 'I'll see you later.'" But doesn't that sound like something we say to protect those we love?

It can't always be "see you later," right? Sometimes, it really does have to be "good bye." So who am I protecting, really, when I mark this huge change with a very casual, and usual hug and "later gator!"

I just quit my job. I put in a two month notice which felt like torture. Two months of people asking questions about my unnamed successor. Two months of people wondering "Where are you going to live?" and "do you have a job lined up yet?" I get that these questions are probably out of concern for my well-being, but most likely curiousity because who in their right mind quits their job with nothing else planned? No back up. No Plan B. It was just two months of saying "I don't know."

Dammit, there is a lot of insecurity that comes along with that phrase. I don't know. "What do you want to be when you grow up?" I don't know. "What's your major?" I don't know. "Do you want to get married?" I DON'T KNOW!

So two months of build up and a whole lot of "I don't knows" later, everything felt so, damn, dramatic. Everything was the last time of this, and the last chance of that, or the only time I'll get to do this. How exhausting!!! It really was for everyone else, too; the whole "Maggi's Final Parade" was all planned by everyone else. (The only thing I made a really big deal about was having lunch at the bakery down the street from my apartment. They had the best gourmet cupcakes, ever. Red Velvet with a cheesecake middle and vanilla frosting. Hello! Salivating yet?) Instead, I was way to busy with training my replacement, packing, forwarding mail, finding a vehicle that could get me across the country to my general destination, and tying up the last few general loose ends that you NEVER forsee coming. So if this was the last time, friend, to hang out or eat at our favorite place, why was it up to me to make it happen? There is suddenly a whole lot extra on my plate.

Now, not to sound like a selfish asshole who doesn't care about her friends, because I do! I really do! I WANT to hear about your promotion/break up/mamma drama/insert your life stuff here. I'm just a little preoccupied to reach out and find out what that vague Facebook post was about. I love you, but right now I need you to bat me over the head and TELL me what the heck is going on, because I just made a huge life decision and I'm trying not to question myself every day.

So, with two months of answering a bunch of the same questions with "I don't knows," letting go of arguably one of the coolest gigs AND training my replacement, perhaps it IS me that I am protecting with a simple "See you later." The pressure is already there. I just don't want to heighten the drama anymore by giving you the proper good bye you probably deserve. You see, I already have 2500 miles in front of me to think about what I just did, and what I decided will be my life in front of me. There's no turning back now. The decision is made and I have to follow through. That's dramatic enough. So, for tonight, I'd like to just have a drink with my friend like nothing is ever going to change.