Hello my fellow Protestant! Perhaps better fitting this week – Ciao! Arrivederci? Fuhgeddubahtit! It’s a Fugazi!

Everybody wants to be Capone. Except for the dying of syphilis in prison part. People gloss over that aspect of his life. I get why bootlegging came to be: women suffragists finally get the right to vote, and they vote out anyone that won’t agree to prohibition because aside from their newfound rights as voters, they still don’t have a whole lot of rights compared to their male counterparts. They could not have their own name on a passport or get military benefits for their service. In some states they could not wear pants, work in a bowling alley. They could have a law degree but could not serve on a jury. They didn’t know what the future would hold, but they did know that they were tired of getting whomped on by their drunk husbands. So bye bye spirits and hello speakeasy. I’ve no doubt bootlegging still goes on; I was verbally, psychologically and physically assaulted by one of its mongrels recently.

The latest from Upscale Mayberry:

My neighbor threatened my life with unbridled fury for a minor traffic violation when I rolled down the window and tried to apologize at seven in the morning in front of my child and his on our way to elementary school. This occurred the very day after his wife (a serial fauxbook poster) posted an insane amount of photos of their godly children’s first communion on every social media outlet imaginable.

He’s done it to other families we know: showed up on their doorstep and stopped them driving back to their houses. Spewed profanity interspersed with vile “you know who I am? I’m an animal. I am Made. You know what that means? I can kill you.” Scary ass shit to be on the receiving end when that first cup of coffee hasn’t kicked in; or any time of day. Everyone is one degree separated from a sordid ugly with this guy and his family because they share sidewalks and school classrooms in a small-town where we know apples don’t often roll far from trees. All of which is awful for anyone to experience. All of which beckons the same question every time:

If this is how he acts in public, how much worse it is behind closed doors?

All the praisy dad of the year social media trolls in the world won’t matter when that’s what everyone in your community thinks of you every time they see you. They may fake smile detest you, but they see through every scripted ounce of your being because in a town of good people that try to raise others up, you are the example of what not to be. They may hate you, but they pity your family more.

Oh yeah, and Pete wants an annulment.

What’s the common denominator there?

CATHOLICISM.

I may have been raised in a WASPy silo of Christianity, and there were plenty of judgy juggernauts gracing the pews of my hometown church, but people got called out and held accountable for that shit. And our household was like a small town aviation version of the United Nations. Iranian pilots my dad instructed during his Navy days, black friends from the other high school whose parents ran in some of the same church social circles as mine. The Pakistani family that was our home town doctor whose son was in the same clubs as me. The Jewish music teacher two roads away that taught us piano lessons and came over to eat pizza and watch recorded musicals with us for shows Kelly was in.

Upnote, Pete is ring shopping!

Downside: he says he’d like me to get an annulment. As in the catholic kind. He hasn’t been to church of his own accord in decades, does not want to do any of the work to find out what that actually entails, and is hiding behind “it’s all he’s ever known” but needs to get married in clear conscience. I started looking into it. It requires a meeting with a local deacon (married church representative), sizable check (of course), essays and interviews. I’m not doing that shit until I get ring.

Can’t just be allowed to just enjoy the moment.

Impetuous? Sometimes.

Impulsive? When needed.

Decisive? Yes.

Pathetic? Rarely.

It’s like the world making you pay penance for even dating a catholic. And how is it that I have any reckoning to do with the church over relationships? I’ve slept with two men in the past thirty years: my ex-husband and my fiance. Pete’s been gallivanting aviator boy all over the earth for decades pricking lord only knows how many va-jay-jays.

People like my jagoff neighbor guy get off when they threaten your life, your children, your safety. Pete has no problem threatening your sense of dignity. The problem is that people always underestimate you. They think you’ll just take it. They don’t realize how when the long long fuse of patience is burnt, with quiet fury and deliberate fever you’ll fight back. More than anything you question. Are any of my next step options worth doing? Does it keep me safer? Does it get me closer to any goal I ever truly wanted? Or does it just make me weak. I’ve had my backbone whittled down to a toothpick before, and I’ve rebuilt it. Sure it was sometimes greased with wine and movie nights at your house. But the worst part of feeling insecure and pathetic is that you’ve somehow allowed your life to be governed by the actions of others. I won’t be treated like a puppet again.

And deep down we all know the moral good of any story regardless of religion is empathy. People become monsters because they can. People made demands on others knowing it grinds their sense of self to a halt because they can. Because nobody ever loved them enough to say: enough. Stop. You are enough. You don’t need to caveman over others to prove your worth. Because all it proves is that you’re less. If you can’t be enough in your mind; you’ll never be enough in anyone else’s.

So that’s my metaphysical dissertation on a particular denominational ilk of Christianity for the day. All that being said, I will continue to pray and would continue to do so for you even if it meant finding out God was okay with catholicism, which I’m certain he is not because deep down we all know he’s Buddhist.

Hang in there – xoxox love ya’, Stormy