No Good Deed Goes Unpunished

I hate having to defend myself. Doesn’t it just suck when you feel the need to point out the obvious?

But a few good friends have gone out on a limb to defend me and I believe it’s time I speak for myself.

Back in October, over seven months ago, I heard about a former classmate who had cancer. I wrote the following article asking for my readers to pray and send positive thoughts.

Please read it. Then read it again. Then maybe one more time.

We good?

Okay, let’s continue.

In December of 2008, I wrote about her foundation. I talked about my family’s tradition of donating to a worthy cause for Chanukah and that her foundation would be our cause of choice that holiday season. I encouraged my readers to donate as well.

Please read it. Then read it again. Then maybe one more time.

In February, I wrote a quick post to update readers because I’d received so many queries about her progress. Read that too if you like. Then again until it all starts to sink in.

That brings the total to three articles I wrote before I was even asked to get involved.

Because it’s the least I could do. Because my beloved cousin Jackie died from breast cancer and I have been an activist ever since – raising over $5K through the years for the Susan G. Komen Foundation. I walk or talk or take off my shirt. Whatever it fucking takes to find a cure.

Since February, I’ve updated readers and encouraged participation in a fundraiser. Not once. But twice. Not just here, but on Sticks of Fire and Creative Loafing.

My peeps have been running announcements in The St. Petersburg Times, The Tampa Tribune, and WMNF.

As a result, several people decided to go and give and I considered that extra funding a blessing. If it helps just one person…

Recently, I was commissioned to write a few articles about the reunion side of this event. Explore the anxiety people feel when confronting their past. Ran Part One this weekend. Part Two was supposed to delve into how this reminded me of a time I was asked to write for a local talent show at seventeen and tie the two together with how we change over time, but not really.

Wouldn’t win me a Pulitzer or anything. Just silly, giggle-inducing type shit.

But this last article, the sixth one for those keeping count, ignited a shit storm. Darby herself doesn’t seem to be involved in the negativity, just the people involved with her event.

And despite the fact that, like me, their hearts have been in the right place, they are attacking me. And I’m a little pissed about it.

For the past few months, whenever I’ve been asked to help, whether it’s through writing or connecting people, I have done it. I was concerned at first that maybe I was a little too rude and raw, but figured if I could help raise some money, every little bit counts, right? Whatever it fucking takes to find a cure, right?

A few people thanked me in the form of private emails along with apologies for why they can’t thank me publicly.

I get that. I write about love toys and blow jobs and gay rights. And although my friends and supporters include lots of people who aren’t ashamed to admit it – politicians, journalists, even a Rabbi! – not everyone is comfortable loving me out loud.

I’m fine with that.

But when someone gets their feathers ruffled because I poke fun at myself and then they loudly, PUBLICLY takes shots at me on Facebook or email my friends or email me – when they’ve never uttered a positive word about any of the good I’ve done, well, it’s a little fucking hard to take.

At first I was hurt. Why would this article bother anyone? Can’t we just laugh it off?

My husband and a few friends defended me and I don’t take that lightly. It requires a certain amount of bravery to step up to the plate. And I appreciate it. My hurt dissolved into giggles last night as they made me see the absurdity of the situation.

Just some laughs. No malice in any of it.

No surprise though that some found those attempts to cheer me up offensive as well.

The haters are right about one thing. This weekend isn’t about me. That’s why I wrote about it FIVE TIMES with the hope to work toward a cure.

But my site is about me.

Here I’m allowed to poke fun at myself and everyone else. I’m allowed to point out a different take. It’s why I work with editors all over the world and might even be able to put two kids through the inevitable bar mitzvah, college, grad school ritual that is the right of every Jewish kid in America.

For Christ’s sake.

And because such people think I do an okay job, you guys got your event publicized for free in places you might not have without this rude and raw woman who writes about love toys and blow jobs and gay rights.

So take the good with the uncomfortably honest. And get off me.

Stop being so goddamn mean.