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June 19, 2018 / Brittany Hendrick

#MeToo: An incomplete personal history of male impropriety, imposition, and sexual misconduct

Some time ago on Facebook, under a thread on my wall that wended into the topic of stalking, I state that I have been violated “every way except physically.”

Yeah, except that’s not entirely true.

Oh yes, I have been violated. My car has been broken into countless times. I’ve had personal belongings and mail stolen from me, as well as money defrauded from my bank and credit card accounts.

Most chilling, after someone attempted to steal my truck while I was at a concert in Atlanta, I woke two mornings later to a knife in the tire of my rental car — which was parked in my driveway, 40 minutes outside Atlanta. Do you know HOW HARD you have to drive a knife to puncture a tire?! Undoubtedly, this show of force was a message communicated by an anonymous male person who got all butthurt because he couldn’t get his way with me.

I wasn’t able to recall recent encounters that could have instigated the incident. Ostensibly, I rebuffed some dude-bro (with good reason, obviously) and I guess he didn’t take kindly to being told “no.” So I had to PAY.

“Watch out, bitch. This is what I’m capable of,” said the faceless assailant behind the blade.

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January 16, 2017 / Brittany Hendrick

Boxes, Part I

JUST NOW, as I start writing this, I realize the coincidence of today, Martin Luther King, Jr.’s birthday. It’s not how I plotted out the beginning of this blog post — it was intended to be more interesting than these first two sentences. However, the subject is the same: a memory from my first day of the Montessori school I attended for a short while until I was old enough for kindergarten. I’ll get to the “real” thing I wanted to write about after I address this.

One of the schoolteachers, Karen, whom I remember wearing a red t-shirt, jeans, and having straggly hair past her shoulders, little-to-no makeup — I recognize it now as “earthy” or “hippie-like” — sat in a circle with us, “Indian-style” (quoting what the teacher called it back then), and led us into a chant while we slapped our hands on our knees every first and third beat:

Martin Luther King was a merry old soul,
And a merry old soul was he.
He was a preacher and a teacher and a man of God,
And he loved you and me.

If this singalong scene indeed occurred in tandem with my Montessori debut, it had happened later that afternoon.

What I really want to talk about is that morning. How my day started.

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July 3, 2016 / Brittany Hendrick

Repost: Doggy oncology


After 12 long years — comprising the majority of my adult life — my boy Levin is gone! After agonizing contemplation, I decided to have him put down yesterday. I have lost my two best friends within 11 months, so now I really don’t know what to do with myself. For now, here’s a post from 2008:

Levin knew he was coming home with me before I knew.

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February 19, 2016 / Brittany Hendrick

One of my babies has autism

A vaguely familiar number rang my cell phone one recent Thursday afternoon.

Normally, I let a call go to voicemail when a strange number appears. Most of the time, it’s vendors trying to sell me payroll services and other business solutions. My number landed on some call list or another when I opened my business to work the now-defunct Atlanta Nosh food festival.

I’m super busy at work and can’t be bothered with outside calls (I think I regret giving my mother my desk number), yet I felt compelled to answer in this instance.

Who is this? I know this number…!

I answered. And then my day turned a little upside-down.

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