“We’re Coming For You…”

This will likely be a long story, and with triggering content. Cartels, drugs, and violence.

Nineteen years ago right now, in 2000, I was dealing with the aftermath of a house fire. I lost my pets, most of my possessions, and my place to live.

Fast forward to over a year later, Spring 2001. I was still with my ex. He was freshly out of a job again, so he chose to sell weed. At one point, he was kind of given an offer he couldn’t refuse… buying weed from a Cartel, in Dallas, arranged by a middleman (friend of a friend) who lived there. I chose to get myself involved as well, driving. We did get caught eventually, right before my 24th birthday.

After we were busted, we owed the Cartel about $8,000. I saw what this Cartel did to a guy who owed them $20,000. I didn’t witness anything, but I saw the poorly cleaned crime scene. Maybe I will save the graphic details for a movie.

My ex had our only cell phone, prepaid by minutes. Random numbers started calling one day. Texas, Illinois, Minnesota… the Cartel wanted to find Mike. Maybe me too, as his girlfriend and the driver, but their focus was definitely Mike. They filled our inbox with threatening messages, saying things like, “We’re coming for you… We have guys from Chicago and Minnesota and they are coming for you…. We are getting closer….” We never responded, at least not at first.

I later found out that a friend of mine was visited by them right after we left her house one day. They beat her pregnant self up pretty good, trashed her apartment, and kicked in her big screen TV, because she didn’t have answers for them about where we were.

We were hiding out, bouncing around hotels for about a week or so. Once night at this hotel, I noticed a truck creeping through the lot real slow. I had this vibe but kept my cool. As they made the bend to leave the parking lot, I peeked out the blinds. I noted Minnesota plates and three people. The one in the middle was wearing a hat typical of Rancheros. Probably them. They never found us though.

The Cartel then told our inbox that they know when the next court date is, and they would just snipe him/us out there. Mike got real scared, and called his lawyer. What do we do about this and our safety? The lawyer called the Sheriff’s department, who called the DEA, who called us. We met with the DEA, two agents. One talked with us, and the other took our phone into their vehicle. He emerged some time later, looking rather shaken up. He said, “Oh yes. This is definitely real.”

The Cartel called AGAIN talking their BS. Mike answered this time all pissy, and basically told them to fuck off because we just talked to the DEA. Guess what? We never heard from them again.

I still won’t answer my door unless I’m expecting someone, but I feel a lot of relief knowing that specific Cartel was taken over some years ago.


Trigger Warning.

This has been a long time coming. Three and a half years ago, I told my husband I feel I should write a blog. He said do it. 💞💞💞

I started this blog By the Indigo Moon right away, but held back. I held back because it’s some hard material. Nobody wants to read about “poor me”… But then a friend in Africa pointed out that my writings, even when they get dark, are always light, or I wrap it up that way. This story does ultimately have a happy ending, so I will proceed. It seems to be tearing at my soul to hold back any longer, so it must be meant to happen. Consider yourself trigger warned, though. 🙏😞

I was 19 when I met my ex, Mike. We were friends first for a few months, then I moved in with him (and his dad) right away when things advanced beyond friendship. There were red flags, but for my whatever reasons I chose to ignore them.

It was good between us for some time. Arguments, yes, but just words and not very intense. It escalated after we got our own place. For the record, I did slap him first. But ultimately I created a monster, or at least unleashed one, and we had wars fairly often. It went on for some time. There came a point when we both realized we went too far, and silently agreed never again. And we didn’t, for like a year and a half.

One night, I took his cousin Marc home after a night of fun. Marc was raised with some religion. Mike hated religion. I was somewhere inbetween. Marc and I had a talk for about a half hour that night. I told him I’m not sure about life with Mike, because I knew it was whack. He said, “Start praying. Start praying and don’t you stop.” I prayed for a sign from God about this…..

A little over 48 hours after this conversation, Mike picked me up from my bartending job, as usual. We went home to find we are homeless now because our house caught fire. 😵😵

It worked out right away. We weren’t actually homeless because we stayed with his dad again for a few months. I took it as a sign to stay with him. 😞That was January 2000.

A little over a year later, February 2001, we both were settled into jobs and a house of our own again. But then he lost his job. He was already a convicted drug felon, but he chose to get back into that game. By the time June came around, he was given an offer he couldn’t refuse, and planning to drive to Dallas. I always wanted to go there, so I talked my way into joining the adventure. That was a bunch of crazy stuff that I seriously would like to turn into a movie one day. Action and suspense. A Mexican Mafia came looking for us. 😂😂💁There’s so much to write about, but I will save some things for other, shorter blogs.

We ended up getting in trouble in August 2001. Yes, both of us. If I would have told the cops the weed was his, maybe I could have walked with no charges. Naïve at 23, I said it was both of ours. “Possession is nine-tenths of the law” is a common expression, that’s why I said that, but I likely would have been the one-tenth that was in possession but it’s not mine. Coulda-shoulda-woulda has haunted me ever since.

I wrote some about life in Mexico already. I have stated a reason why I went. That was not a lie. I always wanted to leave this country, until I did. It just isn’t the whole truth.

With having a prior conviction, Mike was looking at significant jail time. He wanted to leave the country to avoid prosecution. Although we were trying to break up with each other, he saw this whole thing as MY fault, and therefore I had to go with him. He had no license and knew no Spanish. I had a license and good Spanish skills.

We fought a lot over it. I would say no and he would throw me across the room by my throat. Ultimately, one day he put a gun to my head over this. “Where are you not going?” I told him I agree to go, but only because I’m going to do what I gotta do to get him out of my life. 👌😂

It worked, ultimately. We went to Cancun in July 2002 where along the way, he literally almost killed me. I went under. I just remember telling the black space that I must return home to my best friend, and I eventually regained consciousness. 💚

We left Cancun to return to the States in December 2002 via a car ferry that went to Tampa. We got off the ferry and straight to jail, with bailjumping warrants. We were extradited to Wisconsin to face charges in January 2003. He bailed himself out and let me sit. I got my felonies attached to my name, and sat all my time and then some. Two weeks shy of a full year on a 9 month sentence. I had work release for those 9 months, though, and was able to return to my old waitress job working with my best friend.

I also started dating the man who is now my husband during that time. How amazing that he has never judged me and has fully embraced me. Even these parts he don’t want to hear. I am now and have been since: safe, loved, spoiled, and fully 100% supported and protected on every level. All I have to do these days is stay sober from alcohol and hard drugs, make some Reiki bracelets, and maybe do some card readings. Make memes and help people laugh with me and learn astrology as The Sober Astrologer. Enjoy my amazing pool and all that my new life has brought me. Amen. 🙏

Thank you for reading. 💚

In the End…. Synchronicity

You may think this is a cheap play on Chester Bennington’s suicide, but let me assure you it is NOT. It is a play on a blog post I wrote over two years ago.


The last time I was in my car before the news of Chester broke, this song came on. I reflected back on what this song means to me. It is the one of two songs that have ever made me cry straight away, based on substance as opposed to memory. (I’m pretty sentimental.)

I was in Dallas, Texas with my ex, up to no good. We got in a fight, a pretty bad one. At one point he was standing over me with a commercial-sized fire extinguisher, flinching me. Threatening to smash my face. I pushed his buttons, but our friend intervened and separated us. I was in the bedroom listening to the radio and this new Linkin Park song came on, In the End. I was frozen. It was like I could predict the next words because it resonated so strong.

I write about this, because symbolism is everything for me. Some would say I am ridiculous for the extent, but I am not trying to fit in a mold anymore. Time to shine. Shine my light for others, even if it means a dark topic about my ex. I was conflicted for so long, but now it is clear.

The symbolism here is that today of all days is when Chester chose to go. To him and others it is Chris Cornell’s birthday. While I loved Chris too, today is something even more significant for me. It is the 15th anniversary of the day that I chose to work one last shift at my beloved job with my bestie, then head out into uncharted waters. I drove to Mexico, to learn a whole lot of life lessons. In the coming weeks alone I would have transmission issues,  a Near-Death Experience, and ended up homeless on a beach in Cancun because I had no money for a hotel yet.

This symbolism speaks to me that I DO need to write about my ex, and anything else I feel could relate for someone somewhere. Not everyone is going to vibe with what I am doing, but that’s okay.

The Hypocrisy of the Mexican Government

A lot is being said about the United States border and immigration policies. Not much is said about the Mexican side of things. 

I was in Mexico for five months in 2002. Yeah that is 15 years ago now, but this story is still relevant. I left the US in attempt to live life in Mexico. With the way things were I naïvely believed I could just go get a job there. I quickly learned it is a whole different country.

I first had an unexpected, extended stay in Villahermosa. I made buddies with a bartender there. Nice guy, from Brazil. He was the first to tell me. This guy was living life in Mexico, working to make money to send home to his family in Brazil. He said if he were caught working there, he would be detained until he was deported. Wait a minute… Isn’t that contradicting how Mexico feels about the US policies?

My visa was strictly tourist. Not work. As such I had an issue getting a job once I got to Cancún. Most places wouldn’t hire me. Some places have ways to help getting the proper visa. I went to Wet & Wild, a waterpark on the beach. They even had swim with dolphins so think of all the people who work there. From counter to cleanup there are probably a lot. The woman liked me, it was obvious. She said, “I would LOVE to hire you, but the Mexican government says I can only have THIRTEEN foreigners working here at any given time.” Let that sink in.

I was able to find work in a nightclub, as a shot girl. Fun times, no doubt. One day my boss came to me and the others to collect our bottles and aprons for a bit. Immigration agents were coming or were already there. My boss got us drinks and asked us to chill like tourists til they cleared. 

Basically, the Mexican position is ‘if a Mexican can do the job, a Mexican will do the job.’ But then their government at the same time was printing maps of the US border areas and where water stations are to help the migrants coming here. Hmmmmm.

Dear Mexico, I Love You.

When I returned to my hometown after being in Mexico for five months, my best friend told me I had changed. I could feel that he did not mean that in a negative way, but still it intrigued me. He is right. Mexico did change me.

In my childhood, events happened which made me so jaded for someone so young. I developed a hatred for this country. I am very smart, but I barely passed my Civics class in high school. I was so committed to not learning about a country I had no interest in living in. I took opportunity at 24 to leave the country. I drove to Cancún. Not by myself, but this part of the story is about me. I was barely out of the country 24 hours and I realized how very wrong I have been. 

The federal highway system leaves much to be desired, for one thing. The one and only time I have ever been lost in my life was in Veracruz. I had missed the signs that would have kept me on the highway skirting town. Instead I was downtown Veracruz, with no clue even which way was south to get me back to highway 180. I saw some police. With my limited Spanish at the time, I was able to communicate that I am trying to get to 180. He knew even less English, so we agreed I would just follow him. He led me to the highway and pointed the direction I needed to go.

The upkeep of the roads was also lacking. Horrible potholes in some areas. And the pinches topes, speedbumps, in all the little towns. My poor transmission had it from all the shifting up on open highway and down for the towns. Luckily it held together until we got to Villahermosa, to a Ford dealership. Again with broken Spanish, I told the guys in the service department about the problem. They took it for a drive around the block. When they got back the car needed to be pushed to the bay because the transmission had fully given out. We stayed almost three weeks in Villahermosa, mostly waiting for parts from the United States. The warranty manager was back to work our first full day there. His English was actually some of the best from a non-native that I’ve ever heard. He kinda took us under his wing and made our stay fun.

Finally we made it to Cancún. We got an apartment and attempted to live life, but all of our start up money got ate up by our delay in Villahermosa. My job didn’t help much in low season. Lucky we had a temporary support in the US, and Western Union was easy. Our neighbor José said like so many people do, “if you need something, ask.” 

One day I nervously knocked on their door. José’s wife answered and said he was taking a nap. I asked if we can borrow 50 pesos. At the time that was about $5.00 USD. We needed more sandwich supplies. I never ate so much PB&J as I did in Mexico. About 45 minutes later, she came to our door. She had 50 more pesos for us. She told me José said 50 pesos was not sufficient, so take this other 50 pesos and don’t worry about paying us back. 

My job was at a nightclub, and I made some friends in the area. After work we would often gather for food and drinks and the sunrise. My friend Jorge had a wife and baby at home. He was out with myself and other friends, although he had only made $17 at his job. What got me isn’t that he was out, but that he wouldn’t let me help with the bill. He said they make so much in high season that it will be okay.

The everyday life in Mexico amazes me. They have such strong faith that they will be provided for in the future, so why not enjoy the moment now. I am still trying to grasp that concept and apply it to my life. Here in the United States we get caught up in our lives and maybe push others away. 

So yes, I have changed. For that I say thank you, Mexico. 💚

Left for Dead

I had lived in Cancún for four months. I have so much I could write. For now, this is what happened my last night there.

Christmas Eve 2002 

Mike and I had our tickets bought. The next night we were to board a car ferry in Puerto Morelos to return to the United States. Along with our friend Alfredo, we set out to live up our last night. We cruised down Zona Hotelera in our Mustang 5.0 as the sun set, stopping for some pictures at some of our favorite places.

Once it was dark we headed to Wet Willie’s, a slushie bar that my friend Josh worked at. We met with my friend Zac. Zac and I had conversations about weed in the past, but never smoked together. We decided to change that on my last night and we all headed back to where we stayed in Centro.

And then…. 

Alcohol and weed should not be enjoyed together, but that’s what we did that night. Alfredo stayed behind, not feeling up for Round Two. We could easily have taken the bus back into the Hotel Zone, but Mike was insistent we take the Mustang. Problem was, neither he nor I felt sober enough to drive. Zac said he could.

I was in the back seat, fighting the urge to just pass out. At one point I looked around, trying to gain my bearings. I remember thinking to myself, “Why are we on Bonampak (Avenue)?” I also quickly realized we were not slowing down fast enough. Zac rear-ended a taxi. Suddenly I felt pretty sober.

The damage to both cars was so superficial. Barely scratches. A cop came to the scene. Mike made a verbal agreement that if we paid the taxi driver $50 USD that would be sufficient to cover his damages. The cop seemed satisfied with that so he left. Now the taxi guy wants $200. We didn’t have that, and with it being now 1:00 AM Christmas morning, a Western Union seemed unlikely. The taxi guy said follow me, we could work this out.

I stayed in the back seat. Mike chose to drive this time. We followed the taxi into an area I knew was bad news. Just a feeling. The taxi pulled over and stopped in this neighborhood on a dead end street. As it was Christmas Eve, it was like a block party going on in the neighborhood. Another taxi quickly pulled up behind us, and a third along side of us. Guys came on both sides of the car yelling. Mike and Zac both stayed in place. The guys outside got real hostile and started punching Mike. They ripped off his watch and tore his shirt. Zac ran away. At least I hope he got away.

The guys tried to get the keys from the ignition, but luckily the Mustang has an ignition lock under the steering wheel. Mike got bold. He put the car in drive and pushed the car in front of us some. He then put it in reverse to push that car some. Back and forth, until we could squeeze out between the taxis. We squealed away, but of course had to double back because of the dead end. It was enough time for the guys to gather cinder blocks, which they threw at the car as fast and furious as possible. The windshield was smashed but we pushed through and got out of the neighborhood. 

We had lost the taxis. We approached a stoplight, in the left turn lane. I don’t remember if it were the cop or the ambulance first, but someone had noticed our broken windshield. I remember them trying to convince Mike to get medical attention, as he was obviously a little battered. They had called a tow truck, which was parked in front of us ready to load up. Mike got into the passenger seat, and I instinctively hopped into the drivers seat… Just in time for the taxi to show up. The taxi driver had a little conversation with the cop. The cop called off both the ambulance and the tow truck. And then he left.  The cop left us for dead in the hands of these taxi drivers.

As soon as the tow truck driver was pulling away from us, I floored it. I didn’t care that this light was red. It was a race for my life, and I won.