Nicole J. Butler: "Living Truthfully"

Is This Thing (still) On??

noreply@blogger.com (Nicole J. Butler) — Tue, 26 Sep 2023 16:54:00 +0000

As I begin this post, it doesn't have a title. I may add one later if something suitable comes to mind, or it may remain untitled. My life seems to be taking shape without instruction from me, so why shouldn't my blog?

Also, I'm typing this without my glasses on, but the muse won't allow me to get up and retrieve them for fear that I'll "ooh, SQUIRREL" my way into another thing that begs to be done RIGHT NOW, so if there are typos or other weirdness, blame it on my sketchy vision.

I now have a villa in Mexico. Read that again.

Have=rent, but still...

here I am with two places to be and only one butt to put in them.

Currently - I'm typing from my office, which has a beautiful view of a very verdant yard. I've already fashioned a makeshift VO booth in one of my cabinets that works pretty well until I can get 'hold of some acoustic foam instead of bed pillows.

Still... it's my office in the Caribbean. Huzzah.

'Scuse me - I had to stop to scratch one of many fresh mosquito bites that have mysteriously appeared on my legs, as (I'm learning) is pretty common when one spends time in the tropics. "The JUNGLE," to be exact, as I was recently reminded by a new friend when I told her that a gecko had happened by one evening. I'm not afraid of lizards... I think they're cute! Also, they eat bugs, which I AM afraid of.

I'm guessing that you would like to know how this happened. lol (for real)

Well - I'm still wondering at that myself.

I've been in the throes of burnout since 2019 but didn't realize it then.

I think I'm far enough into this post to go get my glasses and be trusted to come back and tell you the rest. Be right back...

Unpopular Opinion: "Currency"

noreply@blogger.com (Nicole J. Butler) — Fri, 28 May 2021 19:00:00 +0000

I've never cared much about money beyond it being a tool that I need in order to function in society. No need in hoarding it when there are people in need and you sure can't take it with you when you die, which we all will.

The perceived status conferred by owning the latest car or the must-have handbag is lost on me. I'm a proponent of doing something that you enjoy and finding a way to make it make money for you. This is how I advise anyone who asks me and it's how I live my life. I've been told that I'm crazy for thinking this way since I was a teen, so if you think I'm crazy, get in line. If I stumble upon a pile of money, I'll welcome it (and end up giving most of it away), but I'm not willing to sell 60+ hours of my life each week to a job that I dread just so I can buy a bunch of stuff to impress other people. So not my jam. I'm motivated by keeping life interesting for myself. "Can I make a living as an actress?" Yes, I can and I have. "Can I write and produce a series?" Yes, I can and I have. "Can I learn to paint?" Yes, I can and I have. That sort of thing is exciting to me: challenging myself to grow.

It's from this vantage point that I look at the current trend of people opting to not return to their underpaying jobs in lieu of receiving unemployment, and I say "Good on 'em."

My mom and I have a (mild) disagreement at times. She will say "It's good to have a job." I'll say "It's good to have what you need - job or no job." Being hoodwinked into believing that there is something inherently honorable about working yourself to death at some random job is one of the biggest coups that our society has ever pulled. There is some work that is "sacred work" and that usually involves helping people to be better. Selling widgets (or burgers, or whatever) from "cain't see to cain't see*" so that the wealthiest of wealthy people can hoard their treasure troves and enjoy leisure time not afforded to most is a HUSTLE. And some hustles need to be knocked.

So yeah, if you make more money on unemployment than you do at your pre-pandemic job, keep getting unemployment while you hatch an escape plan. And if coordinating with others to buy GameStop stock or cryptocurrency allows you to leverage the power of numbers against the status quo, do that too. The game is rigged and capitalism is a race to the bottom because it fosters the illusion of scarcity in a way that encourages people to do ANYTHING for money. Then we wonder why the whole place is in shambles.

Our time here is finite: find YOUR way to expend your time and energy it in a way that works for you. If you're selling your life, make sure you exact the most comparable return possible.

--Nicole

*from the dark of morning 'til the dark of night

WTAF??🤬

noreply@blogger.com (Nicole J. Butler) — Fri, 28 May 2021 00:28:00 +0000

(Written May 26, 2021)

🤬🤬🤬

I posted a video on social media yesterday (I'm "@NicoleJButler" on all social media except Pinterest, where I had to add a "1." 😒), letting everyone know that I'm going through cancer treatment. I mulled it over for a while to be sure it was what I wanted to do, and decided that it was. Now everyone who wants to know, can know, which allows them to process their feelings in their own time and keeps me from having "the conversation" over and over again.

The cancer center where I'm being treated offers a few *special* perks to those of us undergoing active treatment: yoga and tai chi classes, weekly sound baths, an art workshop, and 4 free "wellness" appointments including massage, acupuncture, acupressure, and one other thing that I always forget.

Today I got a massage before my treatment. My (ahem) "area being radiated" has been very sore & swollen lately, so I couldn't lie face down. The masseuse, whom I saw for the first time last week, told me to stay face-up and she would modify the massage. It went just fine and I floated out taller and more relaxed when I came it. I went downstairs, got my daily zap from the radiation machine, and went on my merry way. I ordered lunch for pickup (Zankou Chicken 😋), picked it up, and headed home. Once home I took my ADHD meds (which I had forgotten to take in the morning since I left earlier than usual so my "take your meds" alarm hadn't gone off yet), and because I was still in pain, I decided to take 2 acetaminophen (generic Tylenol) capsules instead of my usual 1.

I sat down to eat and about 10 mins into my meal, my legs started itching. Then my hairline. Then my scalp, then my- OH NO - I remember this... I'm breaking out in to hives! (WARNING: If you want to see a few pix of the hives, click the link that follows this parenthetical. If you think photos of hives might freak you out, don't click the link.) Photos are here: https://photos.app.goo.gl/28g5P68swxK21ufGA

I put my lunch into the microwave, took a Benadryl, then headed straight for a lukewarm shower. The hives multiplied as I showered and I scratched as much as I dared. I got out of the shower, called a good friend who lives in my building, and asked if he would PUHLEEZE run to CVS and get me some hydrocortisone ASAP. He left immediately, I popped another Benadryl, and took pix to text to my mother, my sister, and a couple of trusted friends for advice. My mother told me to call my doctor. I called the nurse at the cancer center, told her what was happening, and asked if this was a possible side effect from radiation treatment. She assured me that it wasn't and said that she wanted to tell me to take Benadryl but since she didn't know what I was reacting to, she'd prefer that I go to the ER or urgent care. Way ahead of ya, Sis - Benadryl up to bat, hydrocortisone on deck. I talked to my friend while he was at CVS, bless his heart, and he sounded panicked. I tried to keep him calm and guide him through the store as I watched the hives continue to multiply and I continued to scratch. I literally had hives from my head to my feet. He found what I needed and brought it to me. I slathered myself in hydrocortisone, turned up the AC and lay on my bed. After about 1/2 hour, the hives on one thigh looked like they were starting to flatten out into one big lesion, and, drowsy from the Benadryls I decided that meant I was getting better and I could doze off. I vowed that if I was still all hived-up when I awoke, I'd go to the ER.

I awoke about... 3.5 hours later and the hives were almost completely gone, thankfully! As I type, I'm still a little itchy in spots, but nothing I can't deal with.

At this point, I'm guessing it's either the massage oil that the masseuse used or the extra acetaminophen capsule that I took, or even the fact that I took a generic instead of an actual TYLENOL. I broke out in places that the masseuse didn't massage, so the oil would have had to travel via my bloodstream (which can happen) in order for me to break out all over my body. I'm also allergic to NSAIDS and acetaminophen is the only over-the-counter oral pain med that I can still take, so it could be the culprit. I hope not because the thought of getting through the final week and a half of radiation with no pain meds is daunting.

2021 seems to be the gift that keeps on giving. I'm really hoping the latter half is better than this first half has been.

Pray for me. 🙏🏾

--Nicole

Going Public

noreply@blogger.com (Nicole J. Butler) — Fri, 28 May 2021 00:07:00 +0000

(Written May 24, 2021)

Parts of my life are public because of what I do for a living, but I'm pretty private. Not really "secretive," I just don't think every move I make is everybody's business, nor is my day-to-day life interesting enough for me to delude myself into believing that every event is newsworthy. Social media (+ blog) makes it easy to shout every thought from the rooftops, but that doesn't mean that it's necessary, in my opinion.

Lately, though, I'm having to have "the conversation" more and more, and it's tough. People get sad and don't really know what to say, which I understand completely, so I try to make them feel better, but nobody really feels good about being on either side of the "I'm in cancer treatment." conversation. Instead of having multiple conversations about cancer, I'm going to post it on social media and anyone who's interested enough in my life & career to follow my various accounts will know about my diagnosis. After having the conversation twice last week, I recorded a video then decided against posting it. I had to have the conversation again this weekend, and was urged to "tell [my] fans." I was going to post today, but didn't want to interfere with my sister's enjoyment of her birthday, so I'll go public tomorrow.

How am I feeling? Meh. Very sore with the occasional shooting pain. Mostly lethargic and fatigued. After treatment, I feel myself getting more and more tired as I walk the short distance to my car, and I rarely get through the day without at least one (long) nap. Tylenol helps with the pain. My skin is sensitive and turning darker now (the discoloration is *supposed* to go away in time), but no blistering or anything like that. 9 treatments to go. I honor myself by accepting where I am, but do my best to avoid wallowing by reminding myself that it could be much, much worse. I'll be fine. Different, but fine.💙

--Nicole

The TWO "Cs" (and I don't mean Chanel)

noreply@blogger.com (Nicole J. Butler) — Thu, 27 May 2021 23:53:00 +0000

(Written on May 17, 2021)

Been a minute. You already know that I'm in treatment for breast cancer...

But I also caught friggin' COVID. 🤬 I'm sure that I caught it at the hospital. I had to have my mask off for an hour and a half for some tests and 3 days later I started coughing. I have allergies and sometimes I wake up with a cough or sneeze or a random sore throat. I'll take allergy meds and I'll usually get better later in the day. I felt better that afternoon so I chalked it up to allergies.

THEN I woke up coughing for the next 3 days and each day I felt worse & worse. On the 4th day, which happened to be the day before I was to start radiation treatment, I looked at my face in the mirror and I didn't like the way my eyes looked. I decided to get a rapid COVID test for my own peace of mind, and I tested positive. A friend suggested that I get the PCR test because it's supposed to be more accurate, so the next morning after postponing radiation for 10 days and canceling a podiatry appointment, I went to CVS for drive-up testing. Two days later, my results came back negative, which puzzled me because I was clearly sick: coughing like crazy, no appetite, headache, low-grade fever, upset stomach for a couple of days, shortness of breath (which was very scary). Another friend of mine told me that I should ask for monoclonal antibodies. I had been under the impression that I needed to wait until it looked like I might need to go to the hospital to request them, but he told me he had seen commercials that said I needed to ask BEFORE it got that bad. I thanked him and decided to err on the side of caution - I scheduled a virtual appointment with my primary care doctor for the next day.

My doctor told me that I had called too late and that I was supposed to get the antibody infusion within a certain number of days after the onset of symptoms. All I could do was keep monitoring my oxygen with the oximeter and take cold & flu meds to manage my symptoms. I was very upset, because basically all I could do was monitor my oxygen, go to the ER if it dropped below 90, and pray for the best in the meantime.

My doctor called me back a couple of hours later and told me that the criteria had been updated, that I DID meet the criteria, and that she was sending an email to the department that did intake for monoclonal antibodies. Apparently there had been a meeting the night before but she "forgot about it, hee hee."😒 She said that she didn't have another way to get in contact with this department but if they didn't call me by a certain time the next day, I was to call her.

LUCKILY they called me, asked me a bunch of questions, determined that I was eligible and scheduled me for the next day. By the time I received the antibody infusion, a week had passed since the onset of symptoms and I had already started to feel a bit better. I was nervous about the infusion but even more nervous about the COVID taking a turn and ending up in the hospital with pneumonia. I expected a roomful of people with IVs dripping into their arms, but it turned out to be just me and a very personable, animated Cameroonian nurse named Cassandra who told me entertaining stories for the entire 2 and a half hours that I was there. I wondered what side effects I would get, but the only side effect was extreme fatigue. For the next 36 hours, I could barely keep my eyes open, then the next day I started to feel like myself again. Over the days that followed, I continued to feel better and better. I went from coughing all day everyday and being short of breath to zero shortness of breath and coughing maybe a couple of times a day.

By the time day 10 rolled around, I awoke feeling 98-99% well. I can't say 100 because I did still (and do still) cough my head off about once a day and my right lung feels peculiar when I take a deep breath. I'm declaring it a victory though.

In the time since, I've completed 8 of 21 radiation treatments. We'll talk about those later.

Glad to be moving forward despite the detour,

--Nicole

The Things We Carry

noreply@blogger.com (Nicole J. Butler) — Thu, 27 May 2021 23:51:00 +0000

(Written April 20, 2021)

I'm sitting at home, watching the commentary after George Floyd's murderer, Derek Chauvin, was found guilty of all charges. I only watched 3 clips (TOTAL) of the trial on social media. I feel that I have a responsibility to bear witness when I can, but this time felt like it would be too much trauma on top of all of the other trauma that I am experiencing.

In advance of the verdict, I asked friends to text me with "guilty" or "not guilty," as I would not be watching. My sister who lives in Minneapolis, called to (basically) tell me that she was waiting to see if the city will burn to the ground tonight or not. I told her that- if he wasn't found sufficiently guilty of actions we all saw with our own eyes- the entire country would be on fire in a way that would make last summer look like child's play. She told me that there is still unrest because yet another unarmed half-Black man, Daunte Wright, was murdered by the cops in her neighborhood.

When I spoke to my mother in the Chicagoland area, she told me that there's protesting there due to a Latino child (he was 13) being murdered by the cops.

It's all much too much. None of these individuals were "saints" by societal standards, but somehow white people are allowed to be imperfect and "troubled," while Black and brown people are dangerous and must be brought into submission immediately. The solution is not for the police to start killing white people, the solution is to reimagine policing. I'd be fine with my tax dollars going to serve and protect the community if that actually happened. Instead we are being murdered in the streets and paying for the "privilege."

When the verdict came in, I felt a brief moment of relief that THIS TIME the jury did the right thing. Then that "THIS TIME" pissed me off. Living in hopes of being validated by a system built to discriminate against you is no way to live. Knowing that if a cop (or random white citizen) decides to accuse you of something or take your life, they can, and possibly face little to no commensurate repercussion - is a heavy load to carry. And yet it is a fact of life in these United States.

Last night my father and I talked about the adage of Black people having to work twice as good to be half as far. We both know this to be true from the inside. And then when we have high blood pressure, stress disorders, substance abuse, and other illnesses, they get chalked up to EVERYTHING except the stress of living in a racist society.

But we carry all of this and more, day in and day out. Despite the toll, we do what we can to find joy. We do what we can to celebrate and validate ourselves and one another. We forgive because it's a way of holding on to our humanity and not becoming the hatred that stares us in the eyes whenever we dare take a deep breath and draw ourselves up to our full height.

We carry it.

And we do our best not to crumble under the weight.

--Nicole

File under: "Hey... YOU asked!"

noreply@blogger.com (Nicole J. Butler) — Thu, 27 May 2021 23:49:00 +0000

(Written April 16, 2021)

Twice in my life I've been asked variants of "What do you do with your time?" and both times I was stunned into temporary silence. One such time was in 2019 (I remember like it was yesterday) and the other was actually yesterday.

The expected answer? Something like: "I work my fingers to the bone in order to earn as much money as I can. I'm very important, you see, and my body of work proves that because blah blah blahdee blah." 😝

The REAL answer? I paint, I write, I act, I take naps, I play music loudly and dance, I connect with friends, I talk smack on social media, I read, I laugh from my gut, I travel when I can, I watch tv (incl. lots of reality shows), I exercise, I journal, I eat good food, I do artsy-craftsy stuff... I do things that keep life interesting for me.

In short, I LIVE!

And sometimes I get paid for some of that "living."

Nice work if you can get it. 😉

--Nicole

I had a virtual appointment with my psychiatrist today...

noreply@blogger.com (Nicole J. Butler) — Thu, 27 May 2021 23:46:00 +0000

(written April 14, 2021)

yep, I said "psychiatrist." If you think psychiatrists are for "crazy" people, then honey, deal me in. 🤪

I've managed Generalized Anxiety Disorder since my late teens and it took until 2021 for somebody to figure out that the anxiety is a result of my having untreated ADHD. We think about ADHD in terms of children (usually boys) who need to be medicated into sitting still. 👀 It's not that (and please don't do that), it's a neurodivergence as valid as any other. You know how people come in all shapes, sizes, and shades? Well, so do brains. When people are developmentally delayed or have certain types of autism, we recognize that their brains are functioning differently. With some types of neurodivergence, it isn't quite as clear, even to the person whose brain it is. We just know that we process things differently and at some point either have to expend an inordinate amount of time and energy trying to appear neurotypical (or "be normal,") or we just say "eff it" and be our weirdo selves, partying with the people in our heads. In my case, a head that is only quiet when I'm asleep. Being a sound sleeper has been my saving grace.

My way of coping has been to demand as much perfection as I can extract from myself. Of course, nobody's perfect, so yeah - I've never been quite satisfied. I did (and DO) a lot of "weirdo" things that I didn't know were right on-brand for folks with ADHD, like setting alarms all day long to remind me to do things because my attention wanders from one moment to the next. I leave myself notes where I can't miss them, like the closed toilet lid or on top of my shoes in front of the door. I clasp my hands together tightly to keep myself from fidgeting. I have to be up and moving for HOURS before I have to be anywhere because I need to allow myself time to wander around my home forgetting things and remembering them again. I also need to allow time to get lost on the way to wherever I'm going if I'm not positive about how to get there because I tend to get lost almost everywhere I go, even WITH gps sometimes. I'm so used to my brain hopping from one thought to the next in quick succession that only doing one thing at a time seems like a waste of time if that task doesn't require much mental energy. When I try to watch TV without doing something else at the same time, I fall asleep.

And then sometimes I can go into a state of "hyperfocus" (usually with something that I'm really REALLY interested in) and it feels like a superpower. I can push myself to get things done perfectly (there's that word again) in a ridiculously short span of time. I'm usually exhausted & pretty useless afterwards, but for one shining moment, I am a shooting star!

I have issues.

I R-E-F-U-S-E to be unreliable and unprofessional, so I've worked very hard at coming up with these and other ways to keep myself on track. It's a lot. Until I was diagnosed with ADHD a couple of months ago, it was just my life. I didn't understand why I was overwhelmed, stressed, and anxiety-ridden most of the time. I didn't know why everybody seemed to have "down time" except for me. IT WAS BECAUSE I WAS SPENDING SO MUCH TIME SETTING ALARMS, LEAVING NOTES, AND OVER-PREPARING EVERYTHING, because without these measures, I was sure that my bills would go unpaid, my home would go uncleaned, I would show up late (or not at all) for appointments, I would lose all of my friends, and my life would fall apart.

The very first time I took medication for ADHD, it took 3-4 hours for all of the noise in my head to quiet down. I actually sat down and started crying as I thought "Is this what 'normal' feels like??" I also felt a little woozy, so I went to bed early. The next couple of weeks- as my body adjusted to the medication- were rouggggh. With time, I found that I focused better. Didn't fidget as much. Didn't feel like I was listening to 7 different people shouting directions to me at once and constantly having to prioritize which to follow.

Mind you, I am not talking about schizophrenia. I know there aren't actual people in my head, talking to me, but this is how I've always explained away the fact that I have multiple thoughts at any given time.

But now my crazy has a name. It's A-D-H-D.

I'm learning to make friends with it and not be (quite) so hard on myself.

❤️

--Nicole

Healing Continues...

noreply@blogger.com (Nicole J. Butler) — Thu, 27 May 2021 23:45:00 +0000

(Written April 12, 2021)

It has been one month and three days since I had a lumpectomy. I'm healing steadily but much more slowly than I expected. Because of other folks' experiences and the fact that "lumpectomy" sounds like the minimally-invasive little sister of "mastectomy," I had the (erroneous) idea that I would be close to fully-healed in about two weeks. Nope. I was in a lot of pain and very frustrated about it for about three weeks, especially the lymph node removal scar below my armpit (pictured), which I did not expect to be as much of an issue as it was, but it was more painful than the lumpectomy. It's located where the top seam on just about every bra hits. Good times.

I never realized just how much of a blessing it would be to have people bring food for the first couple of weeks. I had bought "easy to cook" groceries, but the only cooking I could even wrap my head around was microwave reheating. The pain meds kept me on a sleep/wake merry-go-round, so I wasn't eating much, but I knew I needed to in order for my body to heal. My friend Mikki brought me the most delicious minestrone. I didn't get to see her when she dropped it off because I was asleep (she left it with a friend who lives in my apt. building), but that minestrone and some saltines sustained me for 3-4 days, bless her heart.

I was also very fortunate that my friend Elgin drove me to and from appointments and the pharmacy for over a week. One day too soon I decided to drive myself to the doctor and to run an errand afterwards and regretted it every time I went over a bump or hit a pothole (OUCH). I decided to check my independent spirit at the door for the time being and allow myself to be chauffeured as I convalesced.

About part-way through week 3, I was able to walk on my treadmill again. I wore a supportive sports bra and didn't push myself too much. I was able to walk for 15-20 minutes for the first couple of days, and within a week, I had worked my way up to 45-60. I found that decreased speed and increased elevation kept impact low while burning the same number of calories.

The "little things" bring me joy. I normally sleep on my left side, which is the side where the surgery was done. When, after 3.5 weeks, I could sleep (carefully) on my left side again, I drifted off with a smile on my face. When I could drive without flinching at every bump in the road, I felt free again. When I stopped randomly falling asleep in the middle of the day, I knew that my body was on the path to wellness.

Now, at the beginning of week 5, I'm waiting to find out my oncotype score. If it's below 25, I won't need chemo and I can go straight to radiation. If above 25, it's chemo first, then radiation. I'm really hoping to not need chemo, but I'll do what needs to be done so that I can move forward and minimize the chance of recurrence.

--Nicole

P.S. - Added May 27: My score was 15, so I was able to skip chemo and go right to radiation.

The Wellness Diaries #1 - (or "Letting The Cat Out of the Bag")

noreply@blogger.com (Nicole J. Butler) — Thu, 27 May 2021 23:27:00 +0000

(Written January 13, 2021 at 2:35PM)

I’m calling this “The Wellness Diaries” b/c I don’t want to call it “The Cancer Diary.” We are 10 months into a global pandemic, 4k people a day are dying from COVID-19, there is a civil war underfoot, the crazy “president” has incited an insurrection and, as of about an hour ago, has earned the dubious distinction of being the first to be impeached TWICE. AND he did it in one term. How’s that for “winning?” *eye roll*

After a mammogram, an ultrasound, and a biopsy that came back with a 95% certainty that the mass found in my left breast was cancerous, last Friday, I was diagnosed with breast cancer. While I’m not thrilled about this, the toughest part so far has been telling people and holding space for their reactions. Right now, I’m only telling people in my tribe who I know will send prayers and good energy, and I don’t even know that I’ll get to all of them, b/c the conversations are tough and lengthy. I am humbled by the love that I’ve received. That said, the people who love me ALSO need time and space to process this. I don’t want cancer to color our respective relationships to one another. I don’t even have all of the details about myself yet, so (respectfully), I’m not ready for the graphic detail of what happened to someone else they know who “had the same thing.” It could be good, bad, or ugly - I’m aware. I’m expecting the good, but have mentally prepared myself for the ugly.

That said, others’ reactions make me wonder if I’m being naïve about how serious this is. I feel like I KNOW. Here are some other things that I know:

I don’t fear death, but I don’t want to die anytime soon. When my dear friend Vicki (who passed in 2012) said she wasn’t afraid to die from cancer but just didn’t want to miss all of the good stuff that comes after, I FELT THAT. There are many things worse than death. If I die, I hope to see my loved ones who have already passed on, because I miss them. If I am afforded time, I will also look back over my life and oh, what a life it has been! I have had a GREAT run, and even if I never get another day on this earth, know that I have been BLESSED.

However, because I do enjoy life, I’d like to stay here. We’re all going sometime and in some way - I’d just like to leave a long time from now, and in a way that doesn’t involve any suffering or pain.

I also like my body the way it is (most days) and have hoped to keep everything that I was born with and whatever useful bits I've picked up along the way: they’ve been with me for a while now and we’ve become friends. In my online research over the weekend, I found a group of women with breast cancer referring to themselves as “The Shitty Titty Committee.” At first I thought that was witty 😜, but then I realized I didn’t want to use that name for myself. There is a presence in my body that is staging an invasion - rather than give all of my energy and attention to the invader, why don’t I direct my energy toward my body and give it what it needs to heal? I respect everyone’s right to determine what they want to do with their own body, but as for me and my house… we gon’ live in the light (which is not the same as “walking into the light” because I ain't trying to do that yet).

It is what it is. I’m not being cavalier; it IS! Cancer is a perfectly valid reason for me to cry and yell “Why meeee?” I don’t feel that way and I’m not faking the funk, either. Why NOT me? I’d rather be the one with cancer than for any of my loved ones to have it. Honestly, the last couple of days have found me asking if I’d rather have cancer or covid (still haven’t decided). This is why I’m understanding when folks say “the wrong thing” or don’t know WHAT to say. Some are taking it as if I said “I’m dying tomorrow.” and I GET IT b/c I have done the same thing to other folks upon hearing their serious diagnoses. Thankfully, they were gracious to me, as I graciously accept any words offered with the intention of kindness and comfort.

I’m mostly annoyed at having to deal with this at all. ESPECIALLY right now. Like what thee actual eff? Did you read that list of everything going on in the world right now?? My hope is that by early 2022, everything on that list will be GONE, and in its place, a brighter day.

We Gon' Be Alright.

--Nicole

P.S. - No idea when or if I'll actually post this, but I'll save it as a draft and write more as I feel the urge.

P.S.S. - Published on May 27, 2021.

Critics* say: "Sister President" is a HIT!

noreply@blogger.com (Nicole J. Butler) — Fri, 10 Jul 2020 21:58:00 +0000

Now...

take 75 minutes to watch the entire series then come back and tell me what YOU think. ;)

--Nicole

*That's what I heard, anyway! 🤸🏿‍♀️🤸🏿‍♀️🤸🏿‍♀️

NEW Sister President Trailer!

noreply@blogger.com (Nicole J. Butler) — Sat, 27 Jun 2020 13:24:00 +0000

Official Press Release for my new comedy series, "Sister President"

noreply@blogger.com (Nicole J. Butler) — Fri, 26 Jun 2020 22:51:00 +0000

"Creator/Star NICOLE J. BUTLER

Takes Over the White House

in New Original Digital Comedy Series

‘SISTER PRESIDENT’

Premiering Online July 1, 2020"

How's THAT for a lede??
Read the rest here: bit.ly/SisPresPress1

R to L:
Michelle N. Carter as Kitara Washington & Nicole J. Butler as Shona Washington

--Nicole

The world is changing, and so am I.

noreply@blogger.com (Nicole J. Butler) — Tue, 09 Jun 2020 22:32:00 +0000

To be fair, everything is ALWAYS changing. Sometimes things change so slowly that we don't notice. Other times we see the changes and deny them in the name of "security" so that we can continue pretending to have some control over our lives.

That artifice has been stripped away and reality laid bare. We are not in control. We never were.

"Change is the only constant in life." - Heroclitus

BIG things are happening!

noreply@blogger.com (Nicole J. Butler) — Thu, 05 Sep 2019 17:17:00 +0000

My #SheShed commercial has blown up in a big way! I'm caught up in a flurry of activity and unable to fully express what's going on right now, but I'm posting quick updates to my Facebook page, so check it all out here:

https://www.Facebook.com/NicoleJButler

❤️

--Nicole

"Sister President" is ALMOST HERE!

noreply@blogger.com (Nicole J. Butler) — Fri, 16 Aug 2019 16:00:00 +0000

I've written a series, and I'll premiere the promo

and launch the crowdfunding campaign next Friday, August 23rd!

To be amongst the first to receive notifications about upcoming projects & events, please sign up here: http://www.nicolejbutler.com/mailing-list/

--Nicole

I was recently interviewed by Voyage LA Magazine...

noreply@blogger.com (Nicole J. Butler) — Wed, 06 Mar 2019 23:25:00 +0000

...and the interview is now LIVE on their website!

Because I was very direct with my answers, I was a little worried about sounding like a jerk, but I'm happy with how it turned out.

Check it out here:

http://voyagela.com/interview/meet-nicole-j-butler-los-angeles

--Nicole

RIP Mary Oliver

noreply@blogger.com (Nicole J. Butler) — Thu, 17 Jan 2019 18:58:00 +0000

Upon hearing today's news of the passing of this brilliant poet, I thought it only apropos to share my favorite Mary Oliver poem with you. It was assigned to me for recital in an acting class over two decades ago, and it spoke to me. Still does.💗

RIP, and well done, Ms. Oliver.

--Nicole

#BlackGirlsMatter

noreply@blogger.com (Nicole J. Butler) — Mon, 07 Jan 2019 17:00:00 +0000

Malcom X ain't walked amongst us in way more than a month of Sundays, yet this quote is as true today as it was when he said it.

I stayed up REALLY late last night and watched parts 1-5 of "Surviving R. Kelly" - the 6-part Lifetime documentary series detailing the life and abuse allegations of this singer. Episode 1 was like memory lane: I grew up on Chicago's south side and recognized many of the places and events mentioned and shown. I couldn't relax into nostalgia, however, because I knew that some fuckery was afoot. By episode 5, I was peeking through my fingers at the TV screen, feeling like I was about to vomit.

R. Kelly was known for hanging out at a neighboring high school around the time I graduated and left for college. It wasn't even a secret. When I was in college, I heard that his grown ass had married Aaliyah, who was 15. I wasn't clear on whether or not her parents had okayed it, but it all sounded like some "crazy Hollywood shit" so I declared it Not My Business™️ and continued to bop to both of their musical offerings while getting my OWN life together. I was a superfan of neither, but when their music came on, I didn't turn it off.

As decades went by, allegations continued, Aaliyah died in a plane crash (rest her soul), a rape tape surfaced that included footage of R. Kelly peeing on 14 year old (I saw the tape- it was him), EVENTUALLY there was a trial... and I- by this time an adult with life experience and a different perspective, wondered how the hell this man was still walking around free.

I firmly believe that had he been raping and pillaging white girls wholesale for 30 years, he would be under the jail by now, dead or alive, prolific music catalogue be damned.

A few days ago, I saw a video circulating on the internet of young, black, female McDonald's employee physically assaulted by an older white man. Not only was he a man (which is bad enough), but he was MUCH larger than her. After a heated exchange about there not being straws at the drink station, he reached across the counter and choked her. She summarily proceeded to beat the shit out of him until her coworkers pulled them apart.

The comments seemed to be comedic ones, largely centered around the fact that she beat up a man almost twice her size, however I saw it differently. I had a viceral reaction to the fact that this woman, fighting for her life, was being lauded for her fighting prowess instead of being tended to. After the fight, the aggressor, not realizing he had been video-recorded, started blaming her and barking orders at other employees. A manager came over to address his concerns. NOBODY checked on this young woman. A later news story confirmed that SHE HAD TO CALL 911 HERSELF, and that she is afraid to go back to work because now she feels like anyone can do anything to her. This, my friends, is how PTSD works. But black people don't get to have PTSD or other mental illnesses. And black WOMEN barely even get to be sick at all.

"All the blacks are men, and all the women are white."¹

When "Black" issues are addressed, they are primarily black MEN'S issues, and where "women's" concerns are brought to the fore, they are almost always WHITE women's issues. Black women who point out these facts are usually chided for being divisive.

In the meantime, we buttress everyone else's causes: donning our pussyhats in honor of a feminism that views us as an afterthought (if at all) while we continue to make less money on the dollar than white women doing the same work, and kneeling as a show of solidarity with black men, too many of whom never reciprocate when faced with the opportunity.

We fight to survive (often physically) and are maligned for being "aggressive" when our non-black counterparts are "spunky," or "fiery," or "assertive". We are constantly told that our hair and our bodies are the wrong kind, which has proven to be code for "the wrong color". We change them, and others make fun of us for trying to do what we have been told is beautiful. Our non-black counterparts make those same changes and are lauded as "exotic" and "desirable". We don't change them, and we are put down for not trying hard enough to be beautiful. We exercise our creativity in a myriad of forms, many borne of not having many resources, only to have those creations labeled as "ghetto", then co-opted by others, renamed, and declared "elevated". I call bullshit on all of this bullshit. TO-day.

Yes, #BlackLivesMatter and the #MeToo² movement are valid and important... but so are black women. Full stop. It's high time that we move through the world in full possession of this knowledge, and stop accepting anything less than what we deserve from whomever offers it.

--Nicole

1. From the title of THIS book.
2. A movement created by Tarana Burke (a black-American activist) in 2007, and largely ignored until co-opted by white feminists in Hollywood ten years later.

The View From The Mountaintop - My New Year's Manifesto for 2019

noreply@blogger.com (Nicole J. Butler) — Tue, 01 Jan 2019 23:40:00 +0000

Today finds me nineteen days post-op from a laparascopic myomectomy. I had abdominal pain for (literally) ALL of 2018, and it took doctors over 9 months to determine why: subserosal fibroids.

Fibroids are common amongst women in general, and black women in particular. The risk rate also goes up exponentially for those of us who haven't had babies, so... yeah - my black, child-free self was bound to get them. I heavily side-eye the doctors for taking so long to figure out what was causing my pain, but that's not what this post is about. This post is about the aftermath.

I've spent a LOT of time at home alone, post-surgery. I have wonderful, caring friends whom I can call if I need ANYTHING, and many of them checked on me regularly for the first 10 days or so to make sure that I was ok. I appreciate each and every single one of them from the bottom of my heart. Over the last week, I've ventured out a few times, briefly, each time ending up with additional pain and fatigue.

My own frustration at not healing "fast enough" along with some others expectations that I *should* be ready to socialize (in whatever form), began to cause me tremendous anxiety... so I checked out. I muted all mobile device notifications and sequestered myself to the level that felt right for me, peeking out of my cocoon mostly just enough to let my parents know that I'm still alive and to peek in on Twitter every couple of days to see if the world is ending. Healing takes the time it takes and that it WILL HAPPEN if I allow myself the time and space to do so. I've breathed out expectations, breathed in healing, and in doing so, I've reclaimed that time and space for myself.

The resulting atmosphere feels like a mountaintop meditation of sorts, and I'm awestruck at the view from here.

We all know that looking at things from a distance allows you to see things that you would not otherwise see. Think "big-picture" vs. "small-angle" viewpoint.

I don't feel stressed or rushed, and I don't feel like I'm missing out on anything that will matter long-term. I don't feel beholden to my devices. I move on my own time, how and if I see fit. As a result, my mind, unencumbered by the usual minutiae, feels more free to be creative and make associations than it has in a long time. Without minute-to-minute demands from the outside world, I find that it processes more slowly, deliberately, and meaningfully.

My home is a peaceful place, and when it isn't, it's because of what or whom I've allowed in. Same with my mind.

So, now I've finally come to the point of this blog post: my over-arching goal for 2019.

For the past couple of years, I've decided on a principle to guide me through that year. In 2017, it was #SelfCare17. 2018? #GrownAndFree was my theme. I'll keep those with me, for sure, but this year?? I feel compelled to take a cue from my lived experience over the last few weeks, and,

Transmit less,
Receive more, &
Guard my energy.

In a hashtag, I will:

#FocusOnWhatMatters

because, apparently, I've been expending valuable energy on LOT of things

that don't matter (to me) long-term.

So I, like Auntie Maxine, am reclaiming my time in 2019. Huzzah. Watch me Whip, Whip, now watch me Nae Nae with joy.

I'm fully aware that I can't hole myself up in my apartment forever, nor do I wish to completely withdraw from the world - I love life and most of the people IN my life. I will, however, be extremely selective about how I spend my energies this year, and in doing so, I intend to cultivate fertile space within my mind and spirit for good things to grow. ❤️

--Nicole

What A Month On Jury Duty Taught Me - Part III: Deliberations

noreply@blogger.com (Nicole J. Butler) — Tue, 04 Sep 2018 23:04:00 +0000

(Click HERE to read Part II of this three-part series.)

By the time we were ushered into the deliberation room, the prosecution had tied up the the case with a nice, neat bow, and presented it to us on a platter. The defense, on the other hand, had lobbed the equivalent of a sloppily-written "dog ate my homework" note at us, and didn't even make the effort to make sure it was even crumpled tightly enough to reach the jury box.

After discussing what a shit-show we had just witnessed, we chose a foreperson and started the work of parsing the evidence. Some jurors were already ready to enter guilty pleas for all charges so they wouldn't "be there all week," but others of us were NOT. HAVING. IT.™️ and reminded them that we ALL had things to do outside of court, but that lots of lives would be affected by our verdict, so they needed to chill the fuck out, posthaste.

(Said nicely, of course, because it was day 1, hour 1 of deliberations, and we were still being polite-ish.)

We soon learned that no matter WHAT we thought, the law would be the arbiter of itself because of the way that some laws worked in tandem with one another. I know that this is confusing, so let me give you an example:

If I rob a bank and only plan to threaten the teller by waving a gun around, but I end up shooting the teller (who dies), I am now guilty of robbery and first-degree murder. Second-degree murder is not on the table, even though the murder was an accident. Why? The law says so.

AND if you and I planned the bank robbery together, then YOU, as a co-conspirator ARE ALSO GUILTY of robbery and first-degree murder, even if you were still at home in your jammies.

Huh??

Exactly.

So half of us sang seven choruses of "What the fuck?/ This isn't fair!" A fourth of us didn't seem to have an opinion that wasn't given to us, and the remaining fourth seemed to be interested in controlling the narrative so that they could return to their 'real' lives.

The gloves came off.

Remember the tagline of the grandfather of all reality shows, "The Real World":

"What happens when people stop being polite and start being real?"

Oh, it was REAL. I had to turn down an acting job that I really, really wanted because I was serving on this jury, and dammit, I was ALL-IN. I rarely get headaches, but I got them frequently during this case, and had one every day after deliberations. I didn't have the bandwidth to return calls, emails, or texts. I forgot to call my dad for 2 weeks, and remembered when he sent me a text asking if I had been put in jail. I apologized profusely, and once I gave him an idea of what was going on (because I couldn't talk specifics), he absolved me. I'm an introvert who is NOT TRYING TO BE CLOSED UP IN A TINY-ASSED ROOM HAVING TO ENGAGE WITH 11 STRANGERS. YES, I'M YELLING. That shit wore. me. out! One day after court, I lay down for a nap and slept for twelve hours straight, then woke up in time to get ready to go back to court... It was extremely stressful, and the only way out was through it:

we all had to agree on whether the defendants were guilty or not guilty of the given charges.

The first charge for defendant #1 was a simple point of deliberation and we all agreed on it right away, by secret ballot (i.e. "little slips of paper tossed into a bowl.") After the 12th "guilty," one of the jurors clapped and cheered, as if we were issuing prizes instead of life-altering verdicts. Another juror reminded her of the gravity of the situation, and her attitude sobered up for about five minutes.

Erroneous assumptions abounded, often fueled by lack of cultural understanding. Slang being misused. Nicknames being called "gang monikers" until I explained that one defendant's nickname was actually a common nickname in the black community.

Her: "Oh - I never would have known that."
Me: "That's why diversity is important."

People saying that posing with money and having tattoos were indicative of gang activity, not realizing that, in certain circles, when you aren't USED to having ANY money, getting some is all you think about (Thanks, capitalism!), and when you get some, posing with it is how you show others that you are now "successful." There were a few of us who were able to shed some light to the others regarding either common goings-on in the black community, or gang activity. Two of us were black (my female self and a male), one was a latina who had grown up in South Central, but now had several markers of affluence, and one was a white, female schoolteacher who had taught in South Central for many years.

How can you judge a culture that you don't even understand?

Turns out that none of that mattered in the end, because, as I stated previously, we had no wiggle-room for variable degrees of guilt, and since the defendants were both guilty of portions of the crimes committed, we had no choice but to find them guilty of everything.

Hear me again, please:

We had no choice but to assign blanket blame,

even though not all parties were guilty of everything.

What part of justice is this?

I reminded myself of the judge's admonishment to decide this ONE case and not try to solve all of society's ills. It was something akin to holding my nose and taking medicine as we sent two very young men to prison on charges that carry expected life sentences without possibility of parole. Had the prosecution sought the death penalty, then the defendants would most likely have received it.

They deserve to pay for their crimes; crimes that led to a family's brutal loss of their beloved matriarch. Still, I feel like I was tricked into throwing away two more lives under the guise of "civic duty." Maybe they'll find religion in prison, and/or rehabilitate themselves against all odds. Turn their lives around, and become better men than they were when they went in, after all, they'll have LOTS of time.

If they couldn't do it while free, though, the odds are stacked high against them being able to do it while caged in a system that focuses on punishment and further enrichment of well-monied entities rather than rehabilitation.

I don't know how they came to be where they are - associating with gangs, robbing old ladies. I DO know how easy it is to end up on the wrong path when you are young, and there, but for the grace of God, go I. If you come from a poverty-stricken area and are told by society that the only worth that matters is financial worth, then the message is "Get money." If your family is struggling, and you are told that to be a man means to be a provider, but you can't provide on $9 an hour from the local fast-food restaurant, then the message is "Get money." Desperation leads to terrible decisions. Desperation coupled with not enough life experience to see beyond your neighborhood? Disastrous.

To be sure, I'm not an advocate for robbing and/ or shooting people, nor errant gun-toting. To me, however, it looks like the crime began LONG before the decision was made to take the victim's purse, and that society may be complicit. Perhaps if we didn't find it so easy to throw certain types of people away, our youth wouldn't confuse fear and intimidation with respect, and wouldn't devalue themselves and others for a quick buck.

I believe in punishment that fits the crime, but in my efforts to make sure nobody got railroaded, I feel like the ensuing wreck was by design, due to a "justice" system in serious disrepair. As a result, I ended up dragged down the tracks by the train. I may need therapy.  (I'm not joking.)

So, what now? When I express my despair over the experience and decry the broken system, well-meaning friends and loved ones tell me to let it go. "It's over."

But I can't unsee what I've seen:
the dead body of a grandmother shot to death for no reason, her family broken with grief. The faces of the defendants' family members who love them, even though they've done wrong.

I can't unhear what I've heard:
the coroner describe the path that the bullet took through this woman, ripping up her organs in its wake. The voice of one of the defendants calling his mother "Mommy" as he talked to her on a jailhouse phone line, and her telling him to "Just pray."

I can't unlearn what I've learned about our criminal *justice* system:
that you may NOT be judged by a jury of your peers, that the process and laws are grossly unfair and inadequate, and that, apparently, only those who can afford competent representation deserve it.

I've also learned that some people don't get a second chance,

even if they didn't have much of a first chance.

As the verdict was read ("Guilty" on the major counts, "Not Guilty" on a lesser "special circumstance"), I looked around, surveying the courtroom and trying to commit the scene to memory.

A day on which you send someone to prison SHOULD be memorable, shouldn't it?

Members of the victim's family cried quietly and comforted one another. I hoped that they could now begin to heal. The prosecuting attorneys tried to keep their faces from betraying the sense of triumph emanating from their very pores. The defense attorneys alternately looked at the jury and put their hands to their faces, as if they didn't see this verdict coming. One defendant (Ron) stared straight ahead as he had done for the entire trial, but his profile had changed. He looked smaller than his already-small frame did, just moments before. Broken. Willie looked me in the eye, and I looked back at him for a beat longer than I probably should have. I felt it fitting, though:

If you send someone to prison for life, you should be able to look them in the eye,

even if you aren't allowed to tell them why.

I held back tears long enough to get out of the courtroom, and began crying as soon as I got out into the hall. I didn't feel like justice was served, because I felt like I was handcuffed by the law. Back in the deliberation room, everyone was silent. The judge (whom I feel did an EXCELLENT job of explaining things and keeping order) came back and talked to us for about 10-15 minutes, answering questions, and explaining some things. Then the clerk brought our "proof of service" papers for those who needed to show them to their employers, and, for our safety, police officers escorted us to the parking ramp through a passageway that we didn't even know existed.

That made me feel more unsafe than anything that had gone before.

I drove to Krispy Kreme, and sat in my car for a long time before going in and a long time after coming out. I was dazed. I ate a couple of donuts, then went elsewhere in the shopping center to do a little retail therapy. I let my agents, manager, and family members know that I was "free," drove home, started writing this immediately, so I wouldn't forget, ate, went to bed, and woke up, still dazed. I feel emotionally injured.

When I arrived for jury duty, I was not prepared for all of this brokenness: broken systems, broken-body photos, broken people breaking other people, broken people mourning broken people, broken systems that break families, and the broken laws that have the potential to break jurors in exchange for $15 a day (which I have earned and will NOT be donating back to the court, thankyouverymuch).

Even with all of this, when called upon, I will do it again.

As broken as this system is, it's all that we have right now. If I can bridge the gap from one group to another and provide even a modicum of understanding that gets us closer to "fairness," I will do so, and consider myself privileged to serve.

For now, however, I will allow myself space to heal,

then figure out the best way forward, since I am no longer

cloaked in the bliss afforded by my ignorance.

--Nicole

What A Month On Jury Duty Taught Me - Part II: The Circus Trial

noreply@blogger.com (Nicole J. Butler) — Fri, 31 Aug 2018 01:59:00 +0000

(Click HERE to read Part I of this three-part series.)

Until this point, everyone had stressed the importance of considering the defendants innocent until proven guilty by the prosecution, so, as far as I was concerned, they started with a clean slate. Still, I couldn't help but wonder why the hell the defense attorneys (who were all public defenders) seemed so disheveled and disorganized in comparison to the prosecuting attorneys. They asked stupid questions (contrary to what you have been told, yes, there ARE stupid questions), they allowed their clients to come to court wearing inappropriate hairstyles:

Two men and a woman: let's call them "Willie," "Ron," and "Shante."

Wille wore two fat cornrows on the TOP of his head and an ill-fitting suit (maybe the suit couldn't be helped, I'll issue a pass for that)

Ron wore a tail in the back of his head (people still DO that??)

Shante wore a wig that looked like a hair hat. I mean, like she took it off of a coat rack and put it on her head and came to court.

I'm going to be the voice of honesty and say that you DO NOT allow your clients to go to court looking like that because it can very easily read as "low-income throwaway." I would have had BOTH get haircuts, and told that woman to put the wig on properly or take the shit off altogether.

I, because I KNOW African-American (or "Black-American" - take your pick) culture INTIMATELY, know how to place the packaging in proper context and discern what is relevant to the case and what isn't.

I DO NOT expect most white people to understand African-American culture nor the socio-economic hierarchies within well enough to be able to notice this before it becomes an issue. But here they are, in the courtroom, looking "ratchet." Perhaps their public defenders TOLD them to do differently, but, I suspect that they assumed it was just "what black people do," if they considered it at all.

Now, I'm on the case, and right before opening arguments began, the female defendant, "Shante", was removed from the case. We weren't told why, and we WERE told not to speculate. Alrighty, then. The two young men remain: Willie & Ron.

Opening arguments began, and at the outset we were presented with photos of the victim: an Asian grandmother. We saw her alive and radiant... and then we saw her dead: private areas covered with black boxes, bullet hole to her heart clearly visible.

This is when I realized that I was IN IT. Like, FOR REAL.

Family members of the victim and the defendants were all present in the courtroom throughout the trial, bearing witness to what was presented as well as our reactions to what we were learning for the first time. Sometimes they cried. Mostly the victim's family looked stricken, and the defendants' families looked sad, but hopeful. There were elementary-school-aged children amongst them. I wanted to throw up, but felt compelled to keep a stiff upper lip.

The defense attorneys opening arguments seemed to consist of: (Ron) "He's a knucklehead who intended to rob, but accidentally killed this woman." and (Willie) "He wasn't there when any of this happened."

My thoughts? "Y'all better do better than this, because this is already looking like some bullshit."

In short: They did NOT do better.

The prosecution brought in witness after witness and built their case meticulously. The defense? Well, they asked obvious questions that had already been answered (sometimes multiple times), called their clients by the wrong names, pissed off the witnesses, AND the jury with their ineptness, and did an excellent impersonation of Bozo and Cookie while not calling a single, solitary witness, nor building anything remotely resembling a defense. By closing arguments, the sum of the defense was: (Ron) "My client got scared and shot the woman, and he just picked up her purse and ran because he had been told to do so, and was too dumb to understand the consequences." This attorney actually likened the shooter to the character, "Lenny" from "Of Mice and Men", and implied that he had the mental capacity of a 9 year old. At that point I rolled my eyes so hard I'm surprise they didn't fall right the fuck on the floor in front of me. If your client is mentally unfit to be held accountable for his actions, where are the witnesses verifying your assertion? In fact, where is ANY PROOF that you have prepared for this case in any way whatsoever?

Willie's attorney had a different strategy. Let's call his strategy, "Throw Ron Under The Bus And Hope Nobody Asks Questions." Let's forget that the two defendants are long-time friends (or at least long-time associates, as shored up by photos from Ron's Instagram account), and pretend that Willie let Ron drive the car that one of his relatives had rented for him (because he was underage). And oh yeah- Willie left his cell phone in the car, which explains why cell phone records put him at the scene. Also, Ron was a pimp, and his girlfriend/ bottom bitch (Shante) left her phone too, which is why it also looked like she was there - but she wasn't either.

I will not belabor you with 4 weeks worth of foolishness. If you've read this far, I suspect that you get the idea: The public defenders put on the most spectacular display of "not giving a fuck" that I have ever seen. And coming from someone (me) who is pretty unapologetic about not giving a fuck about things that she doesn't give a fuck about, that says a LOT. The could not have failed their clients more if they had done it intentionally, which I don't think they did. I think they just didn't give a fuck, because people who DO give a fuck come prepared.

Have I said "fuck" enough? I don't think I have, because (trigger warning) I strongly suspect that it's going to show up again in this narrative.

Willie spent a LOT of the trial looking at me. I mean, a LOT. Quite a few times, I caught his attorney looking at me as well. They had both heard me tell the court that I wanted the defendants to have a fair trial, so I think I was their barometer for how things were going. I mostly avoided looking at Willie, but, given that he sat at a table that was right in front of me, it was impossible to avoid his eyes altogether. When our eyes made contact, he would shake his head slowly. It looked to me like he was saying "Ain't this a shame?" And it was. A woman was dead and they were on trial because they put themselves in that predicament. Yeah, calling that "a shame" would be putting it mildly.

The public defenders asked the jury to find defendants Ron and Willie respectively: 1.) Guilty of robbery and second-degree murder (because he was "dumb" and killed the woman by accident) and 2.) Not guilty because he, a pimp, and his girlfriend, the prostitute, left their phones in the car while Ron drove the rental car that Willie wasn't even supposed to have- 35 mins away to commit the crimes alone, or with another person who was NOT Willie.

You buying any of this nonsense??

Neither was anyone on the jury.

--Nicole

*Read Part III HERE*

What A Month On Jury Duty Taught Me - Part I: Jury Selection

noreply@blogger.com (Nicole J. Butler) — Mon, 27 Aug 2018 00:13:00 +0000

(This is part one of a three-part series.)

I have to write this while it's fresh in my mind and spirit.

I just spent three and a half weeks on jury duty. I've never had to serve on a jury before, and this was a murder case.

I've emerged shell-shocked and thoroughly disenchanted with the U.S. criminal justice system.

I went into this process thinking that I would serve one day and be done (as has been my experience in the past). Once it was clear that it would go into a second day and that the case itself would be a long one, I asked the clerk if I could have a sidebar with the judge, and the judge obliged. I told His Honor (with all attorneys present) that this is the beginning of a "busy season" for me as an actress, and that serving on a long case would be problematic and possibly cause an undue financial hardship. I mean, I'm not going to starve today, nor tomorrow, but as an actress, what happens in the fall (episodic season) sets me up for future residual income. In short- serving jury duty is inconvenient.

What else is new?

The judge said that he understood, and asked that I wait and see if I would even be selected to serve on the jury. If not, all of this would be moot. I agreed.

The next court day brought more clarity: There were three black defendants, no black attorneys, and only two black people in the pool of potential jurors, of which I was one. I had seen ONE other black person- a woman- on the first day. She asked to be excused because she couldn't afford childcare for a long case. I never saw her again, so I assume that her request was approved.

To be as blunt as I can (as I am wont to do), there was NO WAY I was going to sleep well at night if I precluded myself from being selected as a juror. If I wasn't chosen, that was one thing, but I felt no better about the prospects of three black kids (anyone who is less than half my age is a "kid" to me - call it "old people privilege") being judged by a jury of non-black people than I would be if it were three women being judged by a jury of all men.

Not on my watch.

I was potential juror #72 in a pool of about 110 people, so it took a while for the judge and attorneys to get around to me during voir dire. I watched and listened to the people before me being questioned. Some sounded like normal human beings who just wanted a fair trial and justice served. Some had trouble understanding legal English (which I fully empathize with b/c college Business Spanish 102 kicked my ass up and down the street). One had a hearing problem.

THEN there were the assholes. I don't know if they were just trying to get out of jury duty or what, but they sounded like Grade A assholes to me, and this is my blog, so I will refer to them as such.

Instead of commenting on them individually, I will present their statements as an amalgam of assholery in the following literary rehash (liberties taken):

Asshole: (Assuming that the defendants were gang members) I hate gang members.

Judge: I don't think anyone here would say that they LIKE gang members, but would that keep you from following the laws as written?

Asshole: Yes.

Judge: How so?

Asshole: Because I grew up in a gang-infested area, and my mom was robbed.

Judge: What if one of the determinations that you have to make is whether or not the defendants are gang members?

Asshole: I would still not follow the law.

Judge: Why not?

Asshole: Because we lived around low-income people and had a lot of problems with gangs.

Attorney: Have you been given any reason to believe that the defendants are "low-income"?

Asshole: No. But I wouldn't follow the law because I hate gang members. I'm just being honest.

That kind of shit.

By the time the judge got to me, I already knew that I would not be abdicating my civil responsibility with that type of fuckery afoot, and I told the court and all potential jurors as much.

"Your Honor, I know we had a sidebar in which I told you that my being unable to work for the duration of a long case would create a financial hardship, but I look at the defendants, and then I look around this courtroom, and, frankly, I don't see a jury of their peers. If the attorneys in this case choose me as a juror, I will make it work."

Of course (as I expected) the lead prosecuting attorney had questions for me. He led with asking me "Did I see you on a TV show... 'Justified'? "Yes." I said, trying to figure how how the heck he decided to bring up THAT particular show (I played a prisoner). He went on to ask me if I had ever portrayed a defense attorney (yes), a prosecuting attorney (yes), or a police officer (many times), and if I had ever interviewed people to get additional info on the above-mentioned professions (no). He then asked me if I could get along with 11 other people. I told him that I come from a large family of which I am the eldest sibling and diplomacy is often the order of the day. He asked what important lessons had my family taught me. I told him "Don't say everything you think... because I had a problem with that for awhile." Judging by the laughs, many in the courtroom found that amusing, for some reason. I told him that I was also taught compassion, and he immediately jumped on that:

Him: "Do you understand that in this case I don't want you to be compassionate? You will have to be surgical. People may cry on the stand, and instead of feeling sorry for them, you have to decide what is true and what isn't. Can you do that?"

Me: "Absolutely. I don't like criminals any more than you do, and if you prove that the defendants are guilty of the crimes that they are being accused of, then I want them to go to prison, because, if they're left to run free, who's to say that I'm not next? My compassion extends to the victim who did not deserve to die the way that she did. Whether the defendants did it or not reserves to be seen."

I assured him that I would not be "going easy" on the defendants because they were young nor because they were black, I just wanted to make sure that the trial was FAIR and that nobody got railroaded.

That seemed to satisfy everyone involved in the decision-making, because I made it onto the jury.

--Nicole

*Part II of this three-part series is HERE.*

I woke up with a poem in my head...

noreply@blogger.com (Nicole J. Butler) — Tue, 15 May 2018 16:00:00 +0000

I am a night owl and a slow waker-upper. I hit snooze eleventy-seven times, stretch, yawn, turn over, drag myself out of bed like a reanimating zombie, then, for about an hour, I operate at about half my normal speed.

I won't belabor you with further details, but suffice it to say that when I have to get up earlier than usual (which means anytime before 9AM), my morning ritual is even more of a mess.

This morning I woke up hella early with the first few lines of a poem in my head. I have been "arting" long enough to know that if you piss off The Muse, she doesn't visit you for a while, so I punched my pillow, dragged my raggedy ass out of bed, stumbled around for a minute looking for something to write with/ on, and saw that my phone was the nearest option.

Inspiration hits me differently when I type, and I felt like I needed to actually WRITE, so I pulled out my phone's stylus (Thank you, Samsung Galaxy Note series!) and filled the screen with the lines that were in my head. More lines were immediately forthcoming...

but there didn't seem to be a "scroll" option on the screen. "What the @$%^??" ...whine, whine, whine

...all the way to the living room where I grabbed my TABLET, pulled out ITS stylus (Thank you Samsung Galaxy Tab A with S Pen*!) selected the app that I needed, then began to write.

I think The Muse got a good laugh, but all's well that ends well. I got a poem that I can share with you. A fair exchange, I think.

--Nicole

*Yep. That's actually what it's called.

A (belated) Mother's Day Message

noreply@blogger.com (Nicole J. Butler) — Mon, 14 May 2018 20:17:00 +0000

I posted this on my YouTube channel yesterday, and didn't make it over here to post.
Here's a special Mother's Day message that I hope will reach a lot of people
who feel left out of the usual Mother's Day festivities.

Wishing you joy today and always..

--Nicole

Nicole J. Butler: "Living Truthfully"

Is This Thing (still) On??

Unpopular Opinion: "Currency"

WTAF??🤬

Going Public

The TWO "Cs" (and I don't mean Chanel)

The Things We Carry

File under: "Hey... YOU asked!"

I had a virtual appointment with my psychiatrist today...

Healing Continues...

The Wellness Diaries #1 - (or "Letting The Cat Out of the Bag")

Critics* say: "Sister President" is a HIT!

NEW Sister President Trailer!

Official Press Release for my new comedy series, "Sister President"

"Creator/Star NICOLE J. BUTLER

Takes Over the White House

in New Original Digital Comedy Series

‘SISTER PRESIDENT’

Premiering Online July 1, 2020"

How's THAT for a lede?? Read the rest here: bit.ly/SisPresPress1

The world is changing, and so am I.

BIG things are happening!

"Sister President" is ALMOST HERE!

I was recently interviewed by Voyage LA Magazine...

RIP Mary Oliver

#BlackGirlsMatter

The View From The Mountaintop - My New Year's Manifesto for 2019

What A Month On Jury Duty Taught Me - Part III: Deliberations

What A Month On Jury Duty Taught Me - Part II: The Circus Trial

What A Month On Jury Duty Taught Me - Part I: Jury Selection

I woke up with a poem in my head...

A (belated) Mother's Day Message

How's THAT for a lede??
Read the rest here: bit.ly/SisPresPress1