MandiLoriAnn

A very happy birthday to Robert Downey, Jr., as well as Heath Ledger, God rest his soul.

I wanted to stop and say thank you to both of these great men for the way they've both influenced my life.

Sadly, we lost Heath to drugs, and that same poison seriously messed up Robert.

And both of their stories, the triumph and the tragedy, have deeply impacted my life.

Like Heath and Robert, I was once addicted to drugs, too. I lost six years to them, and while that's awful, I remain ever grateful that it was six years and not seven. Or an entire lifetime, whether that's to my death or a lifelong dependency on poison, I don't know... and I don't know which fate would be worse.

Heath scared me. He scared me straight, because I was doing the same drugs he was. I will never celebrate the fact drugs ended his life, but I am eternally grateful that his, well... sacrifice put the fear of God into me, and showed me, hey, what you're doing isn't cute, Mandi. Think about your family; are you going to put them through the same tragedy and loss that Heath's family, friends and fans are enduring? Imagine how traumatizing that would be to the person who found him, dead of an overdose. The words of my dear friend and sister, Niki, still rings in my ears... "Don't ever let me find you." She didn't add "dead" to the end of that sentence. She didn't have to. That hung in the air, unspoken, like some very real and legitimate fear it may come to fruition had I stayed on that path I was on.

And the success story that is Robert Downey, Jr., I can't help but regard with awe and reverence. He kicked his drug habit, defied the stigma and stereotypes. He did what less than two percent of us can do; quit. Robert changed his entire life, and to say he's a miracle is the most apt way I can think to describe him. Or anyone who gives up on drugs, who turns to God, who seeks something better... He truly IS Iron Man, and his wild success in cleaning up inspired a girl to follow him in his great footsteps -- I am Iron Mandi.

So... happy birthday to these two great men. To Heath, thank you for scaring the Hell out of me and showing me that I may be Iron Mandi, but I am NOT invincible. To Robert, thank you for blazing the path forward and out of addiction... so I didn't have to. Thank you for leaving your footprints for the rest of us to follow.

God love both of you. I do. Happy birthday, Dudes.

Thank you. From the bottom of my heart, thank you.

Iron Mandi

Received a graphic novel for Christmas from Mom, titled, "My Friend Dahmer," illustrated and written by John "Derf" Backderf. You've probably heard me talk about this one before; I've read it four times. It's based around serial killer Jeffrey Dahmer's youth; high school, specifically, told by Derf, a fellow classmate at Revere High School in Ohio. As you've all probably figured out by this point, I'm one of those people who rewatches and rereads things almost neurotically, as I feel I don't always catch everything in one - or even two or three, and in this case, four - read(s). I caught something on my fourth reading that didn't stick out to me as glaringly as it did this time, but this time, it really, really bothered me and changed my whole view on the graphic novel, leaving a sour taste in my mouth when, after Round Four, I put it down.

Spoiler alert? Sorry, I'm not sure, but I'm pretty sure people know. The WORLD knows what this guy did. Dudes, this is Jeffrey Dahmer we're talking about; the man defines the word "infamous."

Anyway, the illustrator/author, whom I'll just refer to by his nickname, "Derf," said he had a close knit group of friends in high school, as per usual for that age. He made it a very clear point that Dahmer, who was in his graduating class of 1978, (I believe), didn't form any close friends or "belong" to any group or clique. Derf went on later to talk about how he and his crew kind of "adopted" Dahmer, who was known as a class clown, of sorts. A loose friendship was implicated, but it was also quite evident no one hung out with Jeff outside of the group setting and at school. The time they did all go out, it was literally for Dahmer to put on a "show" in the local mall, just acting wild and crazy, basically a one man show to make everyone around him uncomfortable, at the very least, if not actually afraid of him. He pounded a lot of booze beforehand, an unnatural amount, even for the type of high school students who sneeze a few drinks in, or even get "tipsy, fun drunk." (Let me say, I don't believe there is such at thing, for me, personally, as "fun drunk." I am NOT in that category, and it's one of the multitude of reasons I don't drink.)

Right, so Derf established Jeff was a class clown, and really, he was more for entertainment purposes than actual friendship, though he does tote his book implying they were friends. Friends that didn't hang out in a setting outside of school, or outside of the group that the young men formed? Using Dahmer as a one man freak show, (I hate that term, but go with me on this), and only boasting about a connection to the Milwaukee Cannibal long after he gained worldwide notoriety? That's friendship?

It left me thinking, "are you just another one of the people in Jeff's life who mostly ignored and disregarded him, or at least did so until he became infamous and benefited your agenda, narrative, and, in this case, graphic novel?" I admit, I scoffed, and in mere moments, had an absolutely different impression of My Friend Dahmer than I had before.

Derf is just another person using Jeff, and, to be "fair," he used Jeff before using - or, Hell, even knowing - Jeff was considered "cool." So, basically, you were a friend to Dahmer went it was profitable for you? You're no friend by ANY definition of the term as I'm familiar with it, you're a user, a mooch and manipulator. You're as bad as everyone else who stepped forward to take their time in the spotlight for knowing Jeffrey Dahmer in some way, form or fashion, but only after his apartment was being cleared of dead bodies in barrels of acid and skulls from the refrigerator. Even in the lowest point(s) of his life, Jeff was just a joke to you, a tool, something that you could use at your convenience, profit from by writing a graphic novel, a sordid peek into the past, as though we were just true crime voyeurs? F*cking shame on you.

And then, something in me stopped and said, "shame on him? What about YOU, who read this thing four times, and only JUST now realized the horse shit Derf and his buddies put "their friend Dahmer" through? You ARE a true crime voyeur yourself, Mandi, don't get too comfortable on that high horse of yours."

I'm not going to sit here and lie to you and say my interests are purely on account of my college pursuits of police science; I am just like anyone else, who wants to know all of the angles and, (ugh, I regret typing this, and I haven't typed/posted it yet), "juicy details" of Jeffrey Dahmer's life. I feel like some kind of pervert, but in a nonsexual fashion -- though there ARE individuals who claim they are or were attracted to the man... but that was true of Richard Ramirez, Ted Bundy, and the people who lined up to buy paintings by the Killer Clown himself, John Wayne Gacy. I digress; my point simply is, don't read this as me judging Derf for what he did as a teenager, and eventually, what he wrote; I'm not any better -- I read it four times, Dudes... it took me four attempts to really hone in on the prickly details that were semi-glossed over. Derf didn't claim to be a saint, but he DID claim Dahmer was his friend -- he did it right there in the title; My Friend Dahmer.

I suppose it's catchier and a lot more interesting than had he been honest and simply titled it, "I Went To High School With Dahmer."

God love you all, I do.

Mandi

I went to the local Humane Society to look at cats. I've been considering getting one since April, when my parents offered to pay the adoption fee, all I had to do was select said feline.

I took Mom with me, to keep me in check. First kitty we saw was an obnoxious, sweet boy named Roberto, who was completely convinced that I was playground equipment and treated me as such. Meatloaf came next, who wasn't really into me, but he was a sweet boy all the same. Sweetie was third in line, but she had a cold of some sort, and wasn't terribly interested in me, either. She was sweet and tolerated me, but sparks didn't fly for us.

The fourth kitty I saw, a tiny but rather rotund little gray tabby, climbed into my lap with no invitation, purred her ass off and glared at me, as if to let me know, "you're not leaving this building without me." I resisted. I resisted so hard it hurt my heart... but I finally got up and walked out of the room. Mom gave me a look. I can't take her with me, I'm not ready.

I'm not...

I'm really not...

Anyway, she's home now, and her name is Edith. She's tiny, she's so sweet it upsets me, she snuggles as though it were an Olympic event, she sits at the refrigerator and yells at me, demanding turkey, (that was my first mistake... I gave her a tiny piece and now she knows 1) where it is and, more dangerously, 2) how to manipulate The Human into giving it to her), she escorts me unnecessarily to the bathroom, she has a squeaky little meow... and she's perfect.

The funniest part of this is, my parents offered to pay her adoption fee for my fortieth birthday in April of this year, which would have been ninety dollars. So, we went to pay up Edith's adoption fee... and the total?

Five cents.

You read that right.

A nickel.

Five pennies.

The Iowa County Humane Society was running a November adoption special; any kitty over the age of six months old is only five cents. Edith is a year and a half old, according to the paperwork that accompanied her. She'd spent most of her life in the shelter... which is why I was a little surprised at how rapidly she acclimated to her own home where she ruled the roost. (And she does. She rules with an iron paw, and if you look into her sweet little face, you don't have any choice but to do whatever it is she wants you to do... which, nine times out of ten, is pet her.) It took her mere minutes to become comfortable in my apartment, and she slept in my bed beside me on the very first night.

I waved Mom off as she tried to pay the bill.

I dug into my pocket and put a nickel on the counter.

$89.95, the remainder of/savings from what would have otherwise been her standard adoption fee, was crammed into the little Iowa County Humane Society donation jar on the counter.

Best five cents I've ever spent in my entire life.

She won't let me close the bathroom door without sitting on the other side of it and crying. Hell, I've given in to her at every turn this far... so now I have a Bathroom Chaperone as well. She follows me all over Creation, meows often to be petted, has "happy feet" everywhere she goes, and, as of earlier this morning, had her very first terminal case of The Zoomies. Good Lord, she was a rocket cat, running from my bedroom to the living room, leaping onto the couch, literally hanging onto the side and supporting herself there SIDEWAYS, and meowing loud enough to wake the dead. (Note to self; a little less catnip for this one next time.)

This is my first day back in the office, and my separation anxiety is through the roof. I keep wondering if she's okay, is she nervous? Worried where her Human went? God, I hope she doesn't think I abandoned her... I feel awful! She's probably fast asleep on my bed, to be honest with you, and I'm sure she's just fine, but I'm having my breakdown at our first real time apart. The entire eight hours it'll be. It can't be "Go Home And See Edith" Time fast enough...

God love you all, we do, Mandi & Edith

Watched "Extremely Wicked, Shockingly Evil and Vile," the film on Netflix about Ted Bundy, and wow, was that well done... Jim Parsons blew me away, he was extremely convincing as a prosecutor who has had just about enough of Ted Bundy's sh*t. What scared me the most about the movie, (which wasn't overly violent, given we're watching a movie out, y'know, Ted Bundy), is I can see how Ted was so ... Ted. I don't even know what to call him; there aren't words in either language I speak that would accurately convey how manipulative and evil that man was. He said things that seemed entirely... not "normal," not by a long shot... maybe I mean, "I can understand how some people were sucked in by what they perceived to be 'his charm,'" but when you watch the event as a 360 kind of thing that personalizes the situation, it's so evident that's just deception masquerading as charm. It makes me wonder how hard Ted Bundy had to work to keep all of that going and be as successful as he was... like brutally killing women is "successful," but you get the sentiment.

The other thing I appreciated is the women were portrayed... well, maybe I mean "fairly," as in, I mean, "they didn't make the girls look like brainless girls who went gaga for a serial killer," though he did have "fans" who were exactly that; brainless girls, gaga for the WRONG person. It struck me as odd, watching other documentaries about Ted Bundy, I couldn't stop thinking, "you know if you were in a dimly lit alley at midnight rather than in a courthouse in the afternoon, you are JUST the target Ted would have been looking for, right?" Richard Ramirez had similar fangirls, though I gag calling them that for some reason. It's as if they think these are movie stars rather than the vicious killers they were. Like Bailey Sarian says in her makeup/true crime videos, "GET BETTER IDOLS."

The utter farce that went down in the courtroom in real life as well as portrayed in EWSEV, was a little too much for me to stomach. People making cute, flippant, disgusting comments and the court laughing... I loved when Judge Cowart banged his gavel and reminded them, rather sternly, "you aren't waiting for the Flipper and Friends Show at Sea World, this is a capital murder case!" I think what I found so gross about that is, whatever Ted was doing to the world, it was working. What other serial killer are you aware of that could get an entire gallery to snicker while being tried on two capital murder cases, and several other attempted ones, PLUS the murder of a twelve year old child in Lake City he wasn't even on trial for yet?

The end chilled me. I won't give spoilers, but it freaked me out and made me cry. And I think part of what made me sad was for the women; we remember Ted Bundy and not their names. and that's a damn shame. Most people can't name three or four women who lost their lives to that monster... I wish it was the women we celebrated rather than their killer.

Let me reiterate for those who know me and tell you straight up if you're new here, I find the death penalty brutal, barbaric and abhorrent. I think Ted should have served life/no parole, because death was an easy way out, in a way... and even though he was put to death on January 24th, 1989, there is a very dark part of me that understands, and an even darker part that's okay with it.

God love you, I do.

Mandi

If you want my opinion, (and even if you don't), I always thought that the "love of my life" was a romantic partner -- that one special soul I would forsake all others for. With this definition in mind, I went out looking for mine.

Back it up to second grade; a new girl moved to town named Heidi. We found each other on the playground at recess and were instantly attached at the hip and remained so ever since. To this very day, hour and minute, for that matter, we've been together. Getting into trouble together, finding ways to weasel ourselves back out of it. We literally grew up together; all of my life's milestones, Heidi, who I nicknamed Skills, she's there. All of my pictures from my past as I grew up, one thing in the frame was constant; Heidi. We danced together at Homecoming dances. She held my hand at my father's funeral. We graduated, side by side, to the astonishment of many. We campaigned for my mother, walking in parades together, handing out literature. One summer, while she was in California and I was still home in Wisconsin, we both came down with wicked fevers; we BOTH had the same hallucination of seeing each other in a hallway neither of us recognized -- that was very unsettling, and we never talked about it after it happened. We TP'd our mutual buddy Bon's front yard for his birthday and hid in the lilac bushes to observe his reaction. (For the record, it was priceless). Sleepovers too numerous to recount. We shared our deepest, darkest secrets; I will go to the grave with the things she's told me. Heidi picked up the shattered and splintered pieces of every broken heart I ever had. We were into theater together through high school and college, at one time performing together so flawlessly, we left the entire Speech class we performed for, well... speechless. (You two just have this thing about you, you play off of each other so quickly and effortlessly pre-empting each other, it's like you're some kind of soulmates...) We did something stupid in high school, she wound up getting badly injured and rushed to the emergency room, while I held her in the back of the car; she bled all over me. At the emergency department, Bon walked out of her room, telling me, "she wants you." In that moment of fear and pain I can only try to fathom, she wanted me, and I tell you with all honesty, her request to have me at her side in her darkest hour humbled me in a way I'll never be able to explain. We routinely belted out the complex lyrics of "It's The End Of The World As We Know It" by REM, getting tongue tied and laughing at ourselves louder than the obnoxious blare of the music. I spoke at her wedding to a roar of applause. I comforted her through her divorce. I warned anyone she dated, "if you ever so much as think of hurting that woman, please remember, I have NO problem going to prison over her." She pushed me through my addiction, at times, dragging me, kicking and screaming. She makes me a better person. More than making me into a better person, she makes me WANT to be better.

For me.

For her.

For us.

To this date, we still have long distance date nights, watching various movies and providing commentary from opening to closing credits, never actually watching the damn thing, but that was never the point; the point was, well... each other. The sacredness of a lifelong soulmate who knows you better than you know yourself; the friend that calls your mother Mom and you call her mother your "other parental unit." My sister by another mister. My voice of reason and the loud voice that encourages my hare brained ideas, standing by my side, chanting, "do it, do it, do it, do it!" I was well aware from Day One there was no use in counting on her for bail money if I ever did something dumb enough to land my butt behind bars; she'd be in the cell with me, and we'd be discussing how cool our illegal antics were. Hell, we'd have had better luck hitting up Bon for bail.

I love Heidi fiercely; my love for her is the very best thing about me. I love her with every single fiber of my being and will do so with the very last breath my body takes. I would absolutely die for her without hesitation or regret. I'd do and say the most ridiculous shit to make her laugh, and trust me, I have and continue to do so. I love her laughter more than anyone else's on earth; it heals me. It gives me purpose. SHE gives me purpose.

Heidi married. I never did. It's just how life turned out, I suppose. For decades, we've joked that, should dudes not work out for us, we'd say, "to hell with dudes," and run away together and get married in the Upper Peninsula. And if you want the God's honest truth, (and even if you don't), if she asked, I would marry her tomorrow. Platonically, if that could be a thing, but I have no hesitation when it comes to saying, "yes, I will spend the rest of my life with you." Why not? We've already spent the last thirty-three years together, no sense changing any of that now.

As I said, I never married, but I didn't stop looking for the love of my life... there I was, out wandering all over Creation like an idiot, searching for the love of my life that I never did find...

... because I'd never lost it to begin with.

She was right there the whole time.

Long live Manny and Skills.

Mandi