But it’s not making you happy.

You’re bored. The damn thing is just sitting there and about as exciting as watching a manatee swim.

So maybe it’s time to turn that brand of yours on its ass and make it exciting again. Somewhere, you lost your way — and there’s no shame in it. Happens to everybody to some degree and at some time.

In my latest column in Entrepreneur Magazine, I talk about what to do if you hate your brand. It’s the exact process I went through for rebranding myself from RedheadWriting to Erika Napoletano (before and after thoughts right here).

Have a click and check out What To Do If You Hate Your Brand — and thank the good folks at Entrepreneur for letting me turn your upside-down self back right-side-up once again.

“Imitation is the most sincere form of flattery.”

“It happens to everybody — quit bitching.”

“Take comfort in that you’re an innovator, not an imitator.”

“Some of the words were changed — it looks like they made an attempt to personalize it…”

“I had no idea — I hired a marketing intern to write my web copy!”

Since Friday morning, these are just some of the things I’ve heard when I busted a “social media expert” for stealing my web copy for my Buy Me Coffee service. The plain, no-bullshit truth is that just over 24 hours later, I’m exhausted. (I’m writing this post on Saturday afternoon.) I am, and without argument:

Exhausted with anyone who thinks that stealing intellectual property is normal.

Exhausted with ludicrous suggestions that I “orchestrated” my content being stolen to help…what was it…RAISE the thief’s profile.

Exhausted with anyone who wants to call me egotistic or a bully for standing up for keeping what’s mine…mine.

Exhausted with excuses from one thief, the lack of even a HINT of acknowledgement from the other.

Exhausted with starting a day with one rip-off, being alerted to another one only moments later, and finding someone with balls of an incomprehensible size appear as yet a THIRD ripoff in one day.

And I’m exhausted even more having heard from a colleague who teaches a well-known copywriting class that her students are ripping her off. Her motherfucking students.

So — do I have rage? Yes, I do. Do I have recourse? Yes, I do. Is it a pain in the ass? Undoubtedly. But today, I’m laying down the law.

Some of you might unsubscribe and leave the community. That’s cool — it’s your community to leave.

But no one should have to sit by as they look at 40 years of work ripped off 3 times in one day and be made to feel as if they’re a bully for cowgirling the fuck up and saying: HEY! THAT’S NOT YOUR SHIT!

In the only way I know how, I present to you the arguments and my rebuttals for each. If you’re a content creator, we’ll likely be singing the same tune. If you’re in the business of acquiring content (as in hiring others to create it for you), take note. And if you’re a thief…well, you’re just a thief.

“I had no idea — I hired a marketing intern to write my web copy!”

As Rae Hoffman stated on her blog on this very subject, this is the digital equivalent of “the dog ate my homework.” When you hire someone to create content for you, you are the one ultimately responsible for that web content and the rights attached to it. It’s the same reason you can’t go out any buy a stolen car without clear title and tell the cops, “Hey! I didn’t know it was stolen!” Clear title for a car equates to clear ownership of any content you procure. You either purchase it outright and clear the rights for it up front (even if it’s created for you for free), you negotiate the terms of the rights and how it can be used and who retains copyright, or you don’t use it. This is why the cops can confiscate — without compensation to you — a car you purchased, if proven stolen, without clear title. It’s also why content creators can file DMCA Takedown Notices to shut your website down if you steal their intellectual property. If you’re going to do business on the shady side, best be ready to pay the consequences.

“Hey — you’ve arrived. People think you’re worth stealing from!”

While pithy, this is no consolation. Having your content stolen and saying, “Hey, at least you’re worth stealing from” is the digital equivalent to having a custom hot rod you built from the ground-up from your designs stolen out of your driveway and having the cops say, “Hey — at least it was worth stealing!” <insert blank stare>

“Imitation is the most sincere form of flattery.”

If you ask any stand-up comic or singer, they’ll lay a list of influences on you. People who made an impact on their career, style, and the content they create today — as well as how they create it. When we’re learning a craft, we all go through some phase of imitation or another. Imitation is how we learn as kids and I consider it the greatest compliment when anyone tells me I’ve inspired them to do anything. But if I’ve inspired you to steal my shit, I can do without that compliment. It’s not okay to rip someone else’s shit off (aka: “imitate”) because you’re too lazy to create your own. Or worse, you thought you wouldn’t get caught. And it’s even worse when you steal words from someone who makes a living using words. As a professional writer, this is what pisses me off most. By ripping off my words, you’re stealing money out of my pocket. You’re stealing my continuously-honed talent, ideas, and time. I’m paid to write, and you didn’t pay me to write for you.

“It happens to everybody — quit bitching.”

Do you want to tell Rosa Parks to get her ass to the back of the bus? Just because theft of content these days is as common as one of Lindsay Lohan’s stints in rehab doesn’t mean it warrants acceptance, tolerance, or silence. I will do and be none of those things. Words like these are too often used in instances of rape, abuse, and other acts that some feel aren’t to be spoken of — because they happen so often that it’s commonplace. I will not be silent when someone steals my shit. It’s not okay, and by not talking about it, I am willingly and knowingly pushing an important issue (online copyright infringement aka THEFT) under the rug when I have a voice powerful enough to make a difference. I will use that voice EVERY. MOTHERFUCKING. DAY.

“Some of the words were changed — it looks like they made an attempt to personalize it…”

I’m going to get a little Fair Use on you and drop some mad shit you need to know. First, bookmark Copyright.gov’s Fair Use guidelines. Next, know that hitting “publish” on a blog post or web page grants copyright on that material to the creator. I have an additional copyright notice at the bottom left hand corner of my website for those who don’t know that legal tidbit.

That doesn’t say “some” rights reserved. It says ALL.

Now, let’s use a little Fair Use to demonstrate when it’s okay to copy someone else’s work:

How much of someone else’s work can I use without getting permission?

Under the fair use doctrine of the U.S. copyright statute, it is permissible to use limited portions of a work including quotes, for purposes such as commentary, criticism, news reporting, and scholarly reports. There are no legal rules permitting the use of a specific number of words, a certain number of musical notes, or percentage of a work. 

Source: Copyright.gov

Now, the fun part is I cited copy from another website that talks about citing limited portions for the purposes in bold: commentary, criticism, news reporting, scholarly reports. This means that it’s in complete violation of Fair Use guidelines to copy entire webpages unless you are offering COMMENTARY, CRITICISM, NEWS REPORTING, or CREATING A SCHOLARLY REPORT. Wait — how can I say that? Well, let’s use another citation from Copyright.gov to explain why paraphrasing, or moving a few words around, isn’t kosher:

How much do I have to change in order to claim copyright in someone else’s work?

Only the owner of copyright in a work has the right to prepare, or to authorize someone else to create, a new version of that work. Accordingly, you cannot claim copyright to another’s work, no matter how much you change it, unless you have the owner’s consent.

No matter how much you change it. Damn. Did it really say that? Fucking A right, it did.

This means that you can’t paraphrase my shit and call it your shit. If you do, that’s stealing shit. Especially if you didn’t have the wherewithal to not follow the exact flow of my page, section for section, including bold face, italics, and key phrasing. By key phrasing, I mean entire paragraphs that are materially the same as my copyrighted material. And here’s the thing: I could give three frog’s fine ass hairs if you want to create a consulting product called “Buy Me Coffee.” What I do care about, however, is that you use your words and not mine to describe that service. Consulting’s been around since the dawn of time. But the words I use to describe how I do it, why you might want to do it, and what you might get out of it — in the order I put them together — haven’t.

“You make it sound like stealing your content is worse than stealing someone else’s.”

It’s not. Ever. Theft is theft, doesn’t matter if you’re a dad in Peoria, Illinois with the beginnings of a home brew blog for your buddies or a site like Digiday. But if you’re going to steal, you’d best be aware of from whom you’re stealing. Not unlike a Guy Ritchie flick where some poor bloke finds he’s unwittingly stolen from the Ukrainian mob, it’s probably not a good idea to steal content from someone like me — a twice-published author, a columnist for two national business magazines, and with mad presences on social media. And is that ego? No. It’s practicality. The backlash from stealing from me is going to be greater than if you steal from someone with no voice, no community, and no presence.

And you never really know with whom you’re dealing, as that home-brewing dad could be an IP attorney. Or part of the Ukranian mob.

There’s not a single person reading this post who would say that their life has been easy. You’ve busted your ass to get to where you are, and I know damn well that I don’t have a community filled with people who think that fucking off and status quo are ways of life. It pisses you off when people phone it in and it pisses you off when you catch yourself in an ever-so-rare phone-it-in moment (we all have ‘em).

I haven’t had it easy, either. There have been no bluebirds flying through my window and no one’s dropped a large bag of $50s on my front porch quite yet for no reason at all. I owe everything I have to my community and the people in it. You appreciate my content. You come back for more of it and bring your friends. You grow the community. Every opportunity I’ve been afforded above is the result of you — my community — 40 years of living, the combination of my experiences during those 40 years, and some knack I’ve got with putting words together.

And the kicker? You — my community — are the ones who brought all three instances of online copyright infringement of my content to my attention. For this, in addition to everything else you’ve afforded me, I thank you.

By saying that it’s cocky or egotistic for me to say that these thieves are stealing from someone who’s:

• busted her ass to get to where she is — and is grateful for where she is
• busts her ass every day to not just stay where she is, but do more, different, and better

then you’ve never had anything stolen and I’m wondering what you would say to someone who thinks you’ve had it easy when you dare defend what you’ve achieved and created.

There’s this negative connotation of “ego” and I’m here to say, while it can mean conceit, it also means having self-esteem. Being content with what you’ve accomplished. I grew up with parents who always told me that they were proud of my accomplishments. As an adult, I fell into this black hole of shame that said you should never talk about yourself and that it’s unattractive to be proud.

I’m over that shit. There’s not a day that goes by where I’m not proud of where my 40 years have brought me — and dear reader, they’ve brought me you. If protecting the content that’s built this community and daring state the information that’s included in my boilerplate bio is being conceited, call me conceited. 

You’re letting the name calling persist — why do you tolerate this in your community?

There has been some super shitty name calling going on in the comments section of both Facebook and this blog. I haven’t really known how to deal with it.

Why? Because I’m pissed. Because there’s a part of me that wants to join in and thinks all the things you’re saying about the people who are ripping me off. And that’s what happens when you get angry. You lose site of the goal.

My goal is this community — not to waste my time with lazy ass thieves. Hence:

First: I appreciate your enthusiasm and fervent support. Fuck yes, I do. You are the ranch dip for my baby carrots and the hummus for my pita. I’d fuck you at 4AM when I’m in the middle of a good dream and then again at 7:43AM when I have a meeting scheduled for 8AM. Yeah, you’re that good

Secondly: This shit has to stop. I will not have the Facebook page or blog comments — this community — become another bathroom stall filled with YouTube comment-like spew. I have called the people who have stolen from me lazy and thieves — as that is undoubtedly true. I have not called them cunts, twats, assholes, motherfuckers (OK, once in a comment to Nick Armstrong), or made judgements on whether or not they have reproduced. I have not cited their looks, clothing, nor web design.

So, I’ll ask: Can we come up with more creative ways than name calling to express our pissed-offness if we feel the need to lay out a thrashing? This community has been an endless source of hilarity and holy-shit-can-I-steal-that-not-in-an-infringement-way-but-a-funny-as-fuck-way worthy comments. Let’s aim for more of those and less of the Cunty McCunterson-type responses. And I know there are assholes in the world and I’m certainly not going to put a dog turn in a Tiffany’s box and call it anything but a turd. Let’s just keep the vitriol to a minimum.

And finally, a word on ways to prevent yourself from stealing shit, buying stolen shit, and finding shit people stole from you…

Have you met Copyscape? You should.

How do I verify when people are stealing my shit? Simple. I just drop in a URL from my website.

If you hire people to create content for you, I highly recommend Copyscape Pro. Expensive? Shit howdy, it sure is.

It’s $0.05 per search. That’s right. FIVE CENT*.

*ending S intentionally omitted

When that “marketing student” or “intern” or copywriter you hired submits their work, drop it into Copyscape to ensure that someone like me isn’t going to be sending someone like you a Cease & Desist letter with a fancy DMCA Takedown Notice for stealing her shit.

You can also protect your site by signing up for Copysentry. This is a monthly service — only $4.95 for pages with less than 500 pages in their sitemap — that will monitor the web for ripoffs of your content. You’ll have to contact them for how to set this up if your site is like mine and has a wealth of indexed pages (read: more than 500). But that’s easy. And now, so is finding the people who steal shit.

That’s all — and thanks for reading all 2606 2608 words today. Holy shit.

First, no. I haven’t contacted this person. Fuck that. She’ll get the pingback and can learn about it on the Internets, just like I did this morning. If you’re going to rip me off — so blatantly and sans creativity — you’ve forfeited any consideration from me and you’re going down.

So, the issue is that someone sure to be a super rockin’ big fan of my Buy Me Coffee service. So much of a fan that they just decided to rip off the entire thing, virtually verbatim.

First, some facts:

My new website went live on Monday, February 4 of this year (2013). On that date, my Buy Me Coffee Service launched with the rebranding.

Today, I woke up to an email from someone in my community pointing me to a site ripping my page, service, and web copy off.  The similarities between the two are too awesome to not share. I’ve even built a side-by-side comparison so you can see for yourself. It’s also a great way to cache this page of hers for posterity, since dollars to donuts, it’s going to go through some revisions or deletions sometime very soon.

Now, let’s talk about some up-front information we all need to have in hand before I hand someone’s ass to them for ripping me off:

• My rebranded site was published on February 4, 2013.
• I will document that I contend that her page was published sometime in April based on image upload dates in WordPress. Ah, WordPress — you’re super awesome about time stamping media files by their upload date. Thank you, pumpkin. I might have also found another nifty tool to back up my assumptions. Wait for it…
• And, well — I’ll just leave the rest up to you.

And for anyone who wants to take the stance that I’m a bully — this is copyright infringement. I will defend my intellectual property every day of the week. You can call that bullying. I call it calling my attorney and filing a DMCA Takedown Notice.

Soooooo…let’s get to it. Here’s a side-by-side comparison of the two pages — mine, and the one from SavvySexySocial. You can also find her on Twitter here and here. Maybe she’s on Facebook, too. If that link doesn’t work, it’s because she got the pingback on this post, shit her pants, and has taken the page down.

Click here to view a full-sized version of the image (you can also click the image itself).

Now, in the bottom left corner, you’ll see see some red text about copy that was originally on this page when it first launched in February. It’s the “What You’ll Get” part of the session. I send this information out to participants in a detailed email once they’ve booked. Oh — and I use Uberconference for all of these sessions. For $10/month, I can record calls and send participants an MP3 of their call so they have it as a reference. BAM. Looks like she didn’t rip off Uberconference, but they rock and I wanted to tell you about them (they also have a free version but you can’t record calls). I digress.

Here’s the page revision history from my Buy Me Coffee page in WordPress from February 4, the date I launched the page:

That shit looks FAMILIAR, doesn’t it? I mean, it’s not as funny as this or even this, but I’m going to go ahead and call it funny.

Now, here’s the source code from this gal’s WordPress site showing the time stamps of her image uploads on that page.

All of those images on the page were uploaded in 4/2103. Also, I did a little more Googling this morning and I discovered Google’s Advanced Search Tool. Here, you can do things like search for webpages containing something very specific…like maybe someone who wanted to rip off your content…and Google will then show you the first index date of the page. Isn’t that neat?

And…my site.

So — here’s the thing:

There are enough words out there in the world that you don’t have to rip off someone’s intellectual property in order to get done what you need getting done. When you do that, it’s called copyright infringement and it’s against the law. See, I’m not just a gal with a big mouth. I’ve got some skills to back it up what comes out of it. I might have also co-presented a session on Fair Use and Copyright for Bloggers in conjunction with Cooley LLP (one of the leading IP law firms in the nation) at Blog World New York 2011. Just sayin’.

More importantly, though, I have an incredible community filled with people who have my back. They’re the reason I get to do what I love every day and when they’re out on the Internets and see shit like this, they let me know about it.

SavvySexySocial: You’ve been slapped. Get my motherfucking intellectual property off your website immediately. Hire a copywriter like every other business owner with half a brain and find some words of your own. You fucked with the wrong redhead this week, because there’s nothing I hate more than laziness. Aside from theft. And you’re both lazy and a thief. The saddest part is that you’re a member of the RedheadWriting community and you turned around and did this to me. While pithy quotes would have us to believe that imitation is the sincerest form of flattery, this isn’t flattering at all. It’s shitty. And illegal.

First, I know this shouldn’t surprise me — the number of YouTube trolls. I’m not worried about the people who don’t agree with my line of thinking (haven’t really ever).

I find the folks who take issue with my language to be (fucking) hilarious.

I find the misogynists to be downright entertaining.

I find those who simply want to yell — especially when I’ve offered a kind reply to a question…well, I just find them to have more issues than TIME magazine and not particularly worth additional response. And apparently, nobody else likes this lady’s remarks, either.

But I guess the greatest challenge I’m having now that I’ve pulled the trigger on this YouTube thing is this: it’s no longer about my community. It’s YouTube’s community — and admittedly, that’s turning out to be a pretty low common denominator.

I had grand designs of building my channel on Vimeo. I tested one video over there and it showed that platform’s limitations. First, you have to sign up for a Vimeo account and be logged in to like or comment on a video. Given how few people have Vimeo accounts versus YouTube accounts, that proved to be a huge roadblock. The reality was plain: I had to go the YouTube route. While Vimeo is clearly the better technology, YouTube is Google is YouTube is king. And with that decision came all of the dumb shit I don’t have to deal with on my blog because I’ve spent 6 years building a community that understands the word “respect.”

So, I’m doing a few things:

• I’m turning off YouTube comment notifications. This is hard because I’ve always participated in my brand and having a conversation with my community is important. But when the idiocy and vitriol streams in, I don’t need that shit poisoning my day. I’ll comment when I get around to commenting and if I feel like it/feel a comment is warranted. It’s not going to be anywhere near the response timeline I give to my blog comments, however.
• It’s possible that I’ll stop responding to YouTube comments, period. You guys? You fucking rock. You treat one another with respect and know that’s my only rule here. Agree or disagree, do it respectfully. But how do you decide what to “selectively” respond to on the YouTubes? I feel like a sycophant herder if I only respond to comments from people who agree with me. And there are always people who can respectfully log a differing opinion. Right now, I just don’t know where I’ll draw the line with my time.
• I’m moving forward with video, full bore. There are fucktards everywhere. Don’t like my dirty mouth? Don’t watch it. There are a few different buttons you can click on YouTube that perform amazing functions like closing a browser window, NOT pressing the “subscribe” button on my channel, or even switching to watch another video. Haters gonna hate — I get it. In reality, the idiots and the haters provide great fodder for Facebook posts, so why would I not tap into that? I do lament, however, that there is not a Clive Owen button I can push on the YouTubes…

It’s just hard launching this video strategy and being smacked upside the head with the reality that I’m building outside my neighborhood. I’m not worried about being unpopular — I’m human. No matter how much I embrace unpopular, there’s a certain queasy feeling that comes along with the world of trolls. There’s a head-desk action that accompanies ill-formed, poorly articulated arguments comment that could only be described as grammar abortions. So what do I do? I move forward, firmly seated in the reality that these things are new realities for my brand. Fresh obstacles? Oh yay.

And I don’t think there are very many conversations happening like this and believe there should be more. We’re always asking how we can grow our brands, but rarely do we discuss the logistical, intellectual, and emotional growing pains we stumble across along the way. So, you’re watching me spread my wings. Hopefully, I’ll continue to be the one flying, flapping my wings, and shitting on cars instead of finding myself the car getting shit on. On that note, I’ve been the car.

While I am expanding my brand by using someone else’s platform (oh, almighty Google…), I’m the one who says what I get out of it. The trolls and idiots are a known quantity. I’m much more interested in filtering them out and kicking some serious ass out in the unknown.

By the way — have you subscribed to the Watch Your My Dirty Mouth YouTube Channel? I’d love to have your delightfully sane/insane self over there.

Fuck this, fuck this, fuck this.

There are days where I wish I could say this — from one to seventy-eight times and in rapid succession.

And while it’s my job to get other people UNstuck for a living, sometimes I get stuck, too. Kinda like the doctor needs to go to the doctor.

But sometimes, I’m worse than stuck. I’m destructive. Instead of feeling stuck, I feel nothing. Or even worse, I do things that make me feel worse than I already do.

Maybe you know what I mean. So today, it’s time for another Bitch Slap — and it’s one that stings. Because there are a few things I need to stop doing, like, right-fucking-now.

Blame

Oh, you whorish mother of many a ripped divide. If finger pointing were an Olympic sport, I’d be a 4-time gold medalist and enjoying a lucrative career coaching the national team. There’s really only one person to blame in any scenario: me.

• In a situation that doesn’t feel good? I’m the one choosing to stay in it.
• Something didn’t go as planned? I’m the only one who can keep it from happening that way again.

And yes, she can be a bitch of Ann Coulter proportions and he can be a mortal cocksucker rivaling only the guy who drives 40 in the left hand lane of the freeway…but for all that energy spent on blaming, I could be spending it on seeking what’s next. Better. Different. Feels better. And maybe paying attention to the people who are there for me and love me instead of trying to jam a live trout into coffee maker and expecting brilliance to spew forth. Who the hell puts a trout in a coffee maker? THIS GIRL (apparently). Blame is an asshole.

Lying

It’s not that I’m a liar. I’m actually a shitty one and don’t have the bandwidth to keep up with untrue stories. It’s the lying I do to myself when I know other people are lying to me. I make excuses for them. I give them second, third, seventh chances. I believe what they say more than what they do (though I know the latter is the Muhammed Ali of in-the-ring motherfuckers). And I’m surprised when it happens again — the lying to me. I’ve always asked that people take me at my word, face value. I just get disappointed (and repeatedly) when people can’t share themselves in a face-value way. How is someone ever going to be honest with me when they can’t be honest with themselves? I just want to be surrounded by people who consider passive-aggressive behavior to be as classy as an episode of Here Comes Honey Boo Boo and put honesty on like a pair of sexy, matching bra and panties. Lying is an asshole, especially when you’re the one inviting it into your living room and knitting it a goddamned sweater. In July.

Self-Deprecation

I’m the first to jump to the following conclusions:

• It’s my fault.
• I don’t deserve it.
• Why should I expect differently?
• I’m not worth it.

Here’s what I’m betting: if I launched a t-shirt line with those phrases on the merchandise, nothing would be flying off the shelves. So what the fuck is my problem? I had a shit day — GREAT! Sack up and get over it. Got dumped? BRILLIANT. Go cry, sack up, and get over it. Got broadsided with a $1500 vet bill? BITCHIN’. Give that pup a hug and thank him for not eating three socks (may or may not have happened).

I know I’m good enough. I know what I give and what I deserve. I do my best to treat others as I’d like to be treated. When life brings me the (inevitable) asparagus and corn-filled shit storm, the last place I need to go is to the dark place. It’s a job best left to good scotch, better friends, and loud music. Self deprecation can take a flying fuck.

That’s all I’ve got today. I haven’t been being very kind to myself in the past few weeks because I’ve been letting other people’s bullshit plot my course. So I’m not just saying fuck this, I’m saying fuck all these things above.

And if you don’t like it, fuck you.

I’ve been slapped. Maybe you have, too.

I’ve had a metric shit ton of people send me articles that are discussing Mike Jeffries, the CEO of Abercrombie & Fitch, and his stance on who he wants wearing his company’s clothes. People seem to think his stance is something new when he made his opinions clear back in 2006 in an interview to Salon magazine:

As far as Jeffries is concerned, America’s unattractive, overweight or otherwise undesirable teens can shop elsewhere. “In every school there are the cool and popular kids, and then there are the not-so-cool kids,” he says. “Candidly, we go after the cool kids. We go after the attractive all-American kid with a great attitude and a lot of friends. A lot of people don’t belong [in our clothes], and they can’t belong. Are we exclusionary? Absolutely. Those companies that are in trouble are trying to target everybody: young, old, fat, skinny. But then you become totally vanilla. You don’t alienate anybody, but you don’t excite anybody, either.”

So — what do I really think about Mr. Jeffries and his admittedly exclusionary marketing practices?

First, remember that I wrote a branding book called The Power of Unpopular.

Secondly, watch the video. If you’re on the fence as to whether or not you have 4 minutes to spare, I do grab my tits in this one.

And — with no shame, I ask: have you subscribed to my YouTube channel? You can do that here.

There are those I love who have been kept from having their love recognized by the government — a practice that’s seeing its own sea change.

But today — my mom sent me an article that showed me a new boundary on love.

KHOU in Houston’s coverage of the story offers this:

With the beaming smiles of newlyweds, Paul Forziano and Hava Samuels hold hands, exchange adoring glances and complete each other’s sentences. Their first wedding dance, he recalls, was to the song “Unchained …” ”Melody,” she chimes in.

And later:

“She’s very beautiful and she helps me,” Forziano says of his new bride.

But Paul and Hava can’t live together. See, they are husband and wife under the laws of New York State, but they each live in separate group homes that provide housing and services to those in the lower range of intellectual functioning. Forziano has an IQ in the range of 50 to 58, and Hava’s is in the 50 to 54 range. By day, they spend time together in a performing arts education center, which is where they met. But by night, they each must return to their respective group home.

Forziano’s home says that they’ve denied the request for cohabitation on grounds that those who live in group homes “are by definition incapable of living as married people.” Samuels’ home has denied the request because it “believes she doesn’t have the mental capacity to consent to sex.”

And yes, the couples’ families are fighting (there is a lawsuit pending that would allow Paul and Hava to live together). But here’s where I ask: when will this end?

When will our preoccupation with labeling the right kind of love go the way of the Chia Pet and New Coke?

When will we cease being so arrogant and embrace that love isn’t something that can only happen between specific people, races, genders, and those whom have only known one another for an “acceptable” time?

And before some troll comes along with a filthy remark about “retards reproducing” (yeah, I used the R-word), let me offer this:

Have you ever sat in front of a person who’s mentally handicapped? Have you held his or her hand? That “retard” you’re afraid will reproduce if people like Paul and Hava should have sex and beget a child will probably be the kindest, loving, and accepting human being you’ll ever be fortunate enough to meet.

Probably kinder than you’ve been in the entirety of the past 7 days (or maybe 70 years) you’ve spent on this planet.

When will it end?

When will we stop being the arbiters of love and start being the ones who say that love is what makes this world better? It doesn’t matter who has it for whom. It doesn’t matter a mental capacity. And I’ll prove it.

My first husband was in full possession of an IQ that would be classified as fully-functioning by any mental assessment. This didn’t stop him from holding me up against our bedroom wall by my neck. And it sure as hell didn’t stop him from threatening me once he’d found out I’d contacted a divorce attorney.

And I married that guy. That fully-functioning, in-complete-possession-of-his-mental-capacities guy.

Which is why reading this article about Paul and Hava this morning made me cry. Because Paul and Hava most likely have a kinder love than I ever experienced in my four years with that “fully functioning” man. And from what I see with some selected Facebook stalking, that guy has gone on to reproduce a few more times since I exited his life. Jesus — and we’re worried about Paul and Hava getting it on?

Love is love. And the next story I want to read about Paul and Hava is the interview after they’ve been living together for a month as husband and wife — as two people whose lives are made better because the other is near. I want to hear what they say about waking up feeling the other’s body warmth. Hearing the other say, “Good morning.” About each being the last thing the other sees before they fall asleep and the first thing when they rise.

Samuels says she fell for her future husband because he was funny; she particularly liked his “knock-knock” jokes.

But her eyes begin to well up with tears when asked about her current living situation. “I’m not happy,” she says. “We live apart.”

And they live apart because — while we purport that we’re an evolved society — we’re still one that gets off on telling other people what they can or cannot feel or do. Out of our own fear, ignorance, or whatever other excuse-du-jour we’re willing to conjure up.

So, here’s what I ask today:

Paul lives at Maryhaven Center for Hope. Their mission statement (clearly visible on their website home page) is: “Our vision at Maryhaven Center of Hope is to improve, enrich and respect the lives of people with special needs. We promote each person’s highest potential by encouraging all aspects of growth. We are committed to creating opportunities and delivering quality services throughout life’s journey.” All aspects of growth? Really. Oh — and they’re the ones who say that because Paul lives in a group home, he’s not mentally capable of living as husband to his wife even though the State of New York says he’s mentally capable of entering into a marriage contract. Here’s how to contact them via mail and via phone (I’d say blow up the Administrative Offices line).

Hava lives at the Independent Group Living Program in Manorville, NY. They also have a super shitty Facebook page that hasn’t been updated since September of last year. Here’s how to contact them. Oh — and they’re the ones who think that a Hava’s not mentally capable of entering into a consensual sexual relationship with Paul, even though the State of New York says they’re mentally capable of entering into a marriage contract.

And maybe you’ll do nothing — your choice. But I ask: What if you were kept from the one you love because someone else said you’re not “capable” of loving that person?

Bullshit, my friends. Grade A, undeniable bullshit. This shouldn’t be a lawsuit that’s costing two families a shit ton of money. What have we come to as a country when we’re fucking around with determining who can live together instead of building a country healthy enough to support every kind of love we have the audacity to imagine?

PS: if you want to catch a glimpse of Paul and Hava, click here. Isn’t that beautiful?

Not that it’s a particularly attractive look, but it does accomplish a few things:

Limited sight lines (keeps me from seeing shit I don’t want to see).

Keeps my head warm when it’s cold (though a snazzy hat could accomplish the same task, and more fashionably)

Aaaaand that’s about it.

When I look back at my first 40 years, I think it’s pretty fucking astonishing what I’ve been able to accomplish during my moments of clarity — those where I opted to strategically remove my head from my ass. And in all sincerity, it makes me want to cry.

Why? Because of all the time I’ve wasted on refusing to see.

So today, I’ll throw a few questions at you that make me cry when I think of the answers. The only way out is through, and darlin’, there ain’t nowhere worth going that involves shoving your head up one’s ass to get there.

Why have I not done this?

What is it that I’m really afraid of?

What’s the worst thing that could happen if I have the conversation?

Have I placed money above my heart?

What have I neglected that deserves my attention?

What have I missed because I refuse to slow down?

Have I said, “I love you” today — and meant it?

Am I taking care of myself — and if not, why?

Have I let those close to me help when they’ve offered or have I been too proud to accept and insulted their generosity?

Have I set boundaries and do I honor them, or do I keep letting things through and lamenting the life I’ve created?

If I walk away, what’s next?

If I stay, is it willingly and enthusiastically?

Have I placed the opinions of others above my own?

Am I letting someone else run my life or is this my motherfucking ship Starship Enterprise?

Pull your head out of your ass — the view might surprise you. And it’s funny — after 40 years, the view still surprises me.

If you like my Kickass Graphics, you can now view them online.

Have you ever been afraid of what people might think about a decision you have to make?

That was the leading question from my talk at TEDxBoulder 2012. Will I be enough?

It’s a question I struggled with for pretty much the first 37 years of my life. On occasion, it sneaks back in. Who am I? Why am I doing this? Why the hell would anyone listen to me when there’s a perfectly good taco stand around the corner?!

The answer? ME is enough. And ME being ME is all my audience wants. And I can pretty well guarantee that it’s all your audience wants from you, too.

We’re fed enough bullshit to know what’s bullshit — which is why I can’t be anything but exactly who I am. Like it or lump it like a stash of heroin you’re trying to sneak through customs, this is Erika.

So, if you’ve ever needed validation that YOU is enough to build the kind of brand you want to build, you might enjoy a piece over on Forbes.com today. I was humbled to have been asked to be a part of this piece – Why It’s Better For Your Career To Be Loathed Than Liked. And no, I’m not asking you to hop on over there because it features me.

I’m saying that if you’ve ever needed validation that YOU is enough, it’s right here in print today — and accessible from any device connected to the Interwebz.

Meet an ex-stripper, the smartest guy in the world, and a lippy redhead. We’re all UNpopular. Loathed by some. Loved by others. And we wouldn’t have it any other way.

Click here to read Why It’s Better For Your Career To Be Loathed Than Liked on Forbes.com.

Grandpa, Grandma, my sister Risa, me, and my brother Doug on one of Grandpa’s handmade swingsets outside The Big Green House in New York

One September day back in 1947, the Finger Lakes region of upstate New York received a visitor. Her name was Karen Alice. She had a sister named Jackie and a brother named George (who like many other children of the day, wouldn’t live to see his first birthday). She was born to Elsie and Harold — Elsie a stunning young woman who would go on to introduce more than one grandchild to the splendor that is corned beef hash, and Harold a strapping young man filled with resolve who would become the guy who could fix anything in a workshop deep with dusty yet well-maintained tools.

Karen’s my mom. I remember summers spent with Elsie and Harold (my grandparents) at The Big Green House in Canoga Springs, New York. There was a great aunt and great uncle who lived across the driveway. The little white church was across the street. The rural country road was lined with a flower called Queen Anne’s Lace, not dissimilar from the crocheted doilies that adorned the arms of my grandmother’s parlor sofa. I liked to pick them. I also liked sitting on one of the big swings my grandfather had built, enveloped in the humid blanket that was a New York summer, my parents on either side of the swing with us kids.

All of this was before I became quite the pain in the ass of a child. Let’s just say that was fond of boundaries — and anything I could do to test them

Throughout my formative years, I earned each smack upside the head. In all fairness, whatever restraint my mother used to avoid killing me deserves a hearty round of applause and possibly sainthood. Through all those bell ringing incidents, she was the woman who drove me to every history fair event (NERD ALERT), picked me up after volleyball practice, and stood by me as more than one teacher did everything from say I was a “problem” to tell her that maybe I wouldn’t be a problem if she didn’t work and stayed at home with her kids which is where a woman belongs.*

*Had I had money to wager in this particular standoff, it would have been 7-1 on My Mom.

Then there was the day — okay, it was really the fourth day — where I heard the garage door open and froze. I’d recently transferred to a magnet school and realized that sleeping in and watching soaps and game shows was much more fun than actually driving 30 minutes to class. Hence, I stayed at home for 4 days. And on the 4th day when I heard the garage door open, I knew I was hosed.

Again, she didn’t kill me.

My dad, brother Doug, and my mom holding me right after I was born. Isn’t my mom gorgeous?

Throughout my life, my mom has surprised me. In every situation where I felt I wasn’t worthy, she hung around. In every instance where I needed a real friend, she was there at the other end of the phone. When marriages ended, her door stood open (and in the instance of my first husband, her wallet as well so I could pay the filing fee for the divorce). With every year that’s passed, the woman continues to surprise me.

Yesterday, it happened again.

I was sitting in Boulder prepping for a consulting session, doing some inbox triage on my iPhone. I saw an email from my mom with the subject, “A Thought About Time.” Curious, I popped it open. A few minutes later, I marked it unread, did that oh-it-must-be-my-allergies-no-I’m-not-crying eye wipe and pretended to fuck around with my laptop before my client arrived.

She’d surprised me again (damn you, woman) and with a completely different smack upside the head.

Welcome My Mom, Karen, to the blog.

****

I’ve thought about time a lot since Aunt Liz passed away last month. Both she and Vic were born at the end of World War I. When Liz and Vic got married in 1940, she was 20 and he was 21. That was just before the start of World War II and both had been kids and teenagers during the Great Depression. Both of them came from farming families so they knew what it was like to have to work hard to become even semi-successful. Still, they chose the life of farmers for many, many years. They never had kids but did have each other.

Vic had one of the only successful farms in the entire area and never raised livestock, crops only; he worked hard – mostly by himself – but Liz also drove the tractor when needed. Several of us nieces and mostly nephews also helped on the farm, especially when it came to hay and straw baling time. A big attraction for us kids was Vic’s pool table in the basement of their house. We didn’t really know how to play correctly but had great fun trying to do it “grownup.” Sometimes one of us got to spend a night or two with them in the summer; if we were quiet at night, we could hear Liz and Vic quietly talking and laughing together in the next room. Their home was a happy place where many members of our family got together for card and board games. There was always conversation, food and coffee (of course — we’re all Danish). When Vic finally retired from farming they continued with their long tradition of living in Florida over the winters. Back then there were still lots of relatives down there to get together with and spend more time playing cards and board games.

When Aunt Liz passed away last month, she was 93 and Uncle Vic is now 94. They were married an amazing 73 years. To many of us, that is most of our life. They did the things together that they both enjoyed and never let time stop them. Oh, yes, they did slow down eventually and Aunt Liz resorted to using a cane after she broke her hip and had to have joint replacement surgery. They still went to the Moose Club every week for dinner and to the Ponderosa as well. The house was cluttered with the myriad of items that Liz collected but it never seemed to bother Vic.

When I went up to New York for the funeral, Uncle Vic had one thought: “What am I going to do without her?” He had spent pretty much his whole life with one person and was going to have to learn how to be alone.

I found out a couple of days ago that Vic fell in his backyard and broke his collarbone. Thank goodness he has a nephew who got him to the doctor and convinced him to stay at his house until his shoulder heals. I hope I will be so lucky when I grow old and weary. I am just thankful that one couple had the love and conviction to stay together for 73 years. Very few people can do this and many cannot due to the death of a partner. Still, it must be comforting to have a partner that you know so well you don’t even have to ask a question – you already know the answer. I am sure my Grandpa Larsen came to take Liz home and, when the time comes, Liz will come to take Vic home to her.

Time is a precious thing and we all too often take it for granted. There is always another day to do something or go somewhere. However, one day we will run out of time and will have to accept how we lived it – no matter how many or how few years that has been.

****

And while Mom’s probably going to smack me upside the head for posting this on my blog without telling her, I need you to know a few things:

1. This is — and always will be — the most important and influential person in my life.
2. She’s the smartest woman I know.
3. For every “lean in” conversation floating around the ether, this is a woman who stood up while standing by — which I feel is far more important than leaning in one direction or the other.
4. She lives a good 800 miles away and can still give me a smack. And I’m glad for it and have never forgotten it.

There’s never been a Fuck Yeah, Friday post filled with more Fuck Yeah than this one. And I do feel it’s more than deserving of being filed away under “Bitch Slap.” So thank you, mom, for every single smack upside the head over the past 40 years.

And yes, I do know that I’m grounded for not asking you whether I can post this first.