So... how the hell did we get here?

THERE WAS NEVER REALLY A PLAN.

I grew up learning pretty damn early how to figure things out for myself.

My parents divorced when I was young. My dad moved to California and started another family. My mom struggled with alcoholism for most of my childhood. There were marriages, instability, jail, powdered milk and a whole lot of shit kids probably shouldn't have to understand yet.

Eventually, alcoholism took my mom's life.

By 17 or 18, I was basically on my own.

I never really went home after that.

There wasn't a safety net. There wasn't somebody quietly funding Plan B. If I wanted to learn something, I figured out how to learn it. If I wanted something, I worked for it.

And somehow that kid ended up becoming a cop.

I joined the Seattle Police Department in 1998 and spent the next 25 years wearing a badge, eventually retiring as a lieutenant in 2023.

I worked patrol. I supervised cops. I ran watches. I worked administrative use-of-force. I dealt with people on some of the best days of their lives and a whole lot more of their worst ones.

I learned to read people.

I learned to ask questions.

I learned that the first version of a story isn't always the whole story.

And I learned that when something doesn't make sense, I'm probably going to keep digging until it does.

That part of my brain never retired.

APPARENTLY, NEITHER DID I.

Retirement sounded very peaceful.

Turns out I'm terrible at peaceful.

I moved to Eastern Washington and suddenly had enough time for every random idea my brain had apparently been saving for the previous 25 years.

So now I make sh*t.

I laser. Sew. Sublimate. Rhinestone. Design. Upcycle. Make hats. Make patches. Make books. Rescue perfectly good things other people gave up on and occasionally turn them into something nobody asked for.

Sometimes it works.

Sometimes I f*ck it up spectacularly.

Sometimes the f*ck-up becomes my favorite part.

I also dig through thrift bins because apparently rummaging through 600 pounds of somebody else's abandoned clothing looking for one amazing piece is my idea of a good time.

Then there's The 509 Unfiltered.

I road-trip. Geocache. Wander. Take questionable back roads. Find forgotten places. Notice weird shit on Google Earth and then decide I need to go stand there in person.

I've changed entire plans because I saw something and said:

“What the f*ck is THAT?”

Apparently that's an itinerary now.

And because you don't spend 25 years investigating things and suddenly stop being curious, I still ask questions.

Public records. Development projects. Government decisions. Weird local shit.

Who decided this? Why? Who benefits? What does the paperwork actually say?

Same brain.

Different uniform.

AND YES, I SWEAR.

A lot.

I have the mouth of a sailor and I make absolutely no apologies for it.

I'm not swearing because some marketing expert decided profanity makes a brand edgy.

This isn't a carefully manufactured internet personality.

This is actually how I f*cking talk.

I spent 25 years in law enforcement. At this point, the F-word is basically punctuation.

I'm loud. I'm curious. I'm sarcastic. I'm creative. I'm opinionated. I ask too many questions. I get distracted. I change direction. I start projects before I've finished the last three.

And I'm not everybody's cup of tea.

I've known that for a very long time.

People tend to either like me or they don't.

I'm okay with both.

I've spent enough of my life worrying about responsibilities, expectations and what I was supposed to be doing.

I'm 56 years old.

I'm not starting now.

SO WHAT THE HELL IS WITTY REVOLT?

Technically, it's a business.

But that's probably the least interesting answer.

Witty Revolt is what happened when I finally had enough room to be all the different versions of myself at the same damn time.

The cop.

The investigator.

The maker.

The reseller.

The road-tripper.

The woman with a laser in her garage and another completely unnecessary idea.

The person who will absolutely turn the car around because she saw something weird on the side of the road.

The woman who still believes “I wonder if I can…” is a perfectly reasonable way to begin a project.

It's creativity, curiosity, inappropriate humor, reinvention, thrift-store treasure hunts, public-record rabbit holes, weird road trips, power tools, dogs, questionable decisions and whatever the hell I decide to try next.

There isn't really a niche.

I'm the niche.

And I've finally stopped trying to make that make sense.

PERFECTION DOESN'T LIVE HERE.

Thank God. It sounds exhausting.

Things get crooked.

Plans change.

Paint splatters.

Projects fail.

Life gets messy.

Sometimes you have absolutely no fucking idea what you're doing and you do it anyway.

I've discovered that's usually where the interesting stuff starts.

So no, Witty Revolt isn't polished perfection.

Neither am I.

Different on purpose.
Imperfect by design.
Unapologetic as hell.

Welcome to Witty Revolt.

Pick a rabbit hole.