Lady Cat Lady

And it’s with the editor now.

Yes, folks, amidst the chaos of my already incredibly busy life, I wrote a memoir. It doesn’t encompass my life, it details my time on a dating site. The one I work for. Guess what people? I was hired by a dating site after being a member, a cam girl, and blogging there for years. Then, I called the CEO a loser and proceeded to get banned. An interesting meeting with the CEO of a multimillion dollar dating empire on Google Meets in May of 2024 changed everything.

I’ve decided to give you the final chapter and epilogue. Once it’s all done and dusted? We shall see is all I’ll say.

April 19, 2024.

I sat at my computer with two printed letters in front of me. One addressed to Ali. One to Jon. I’d spent hours crafting them.

The letter to Jon’s office in California started:

“Dear Dr. Buckheit,

Below please find the email I sent to Ali, your head of customer services. Considering you are his boss, I feel you should know my complaints about his abilities in ‘customer assistance.’ Don’t worry, I’m not mean or abusive, since I know that is something you’re concerned with. However, I am direct since I have unaltered digital evidence for most of my claims.

I’ve included screenshots. “

Links to my blog posts where everything was documented. Evidence they couldn’t dismiss or deny.

The letter to Ali was longer. More detailed. Every grievance laid out with precision:

“It is highly entertaining that a customer service manager of an adult dating site isn’t adult enough to reach out to the person he banned to tell them they were banned. It’s even more comical given I was told by your customer service agent to wait to hear from you. Glad I didn’t hold my breath because I never got that email!”

I quoted their TOU back at them, showing where they’d violated their own policies by not notifying me of my termination.

I documented the live chat conversation where the agent had gaslit me, telling me the blogs were down for everyone when my friends were literally looking at them at that moment.

“The rot starts from the top.”

I called out the irony of being offered a chance to return if I opened a new profile: “So, I’m bad enough that I can’t be reinstated, but not bad enough that I can’t be on the site? Do you know how ridiculous that sounds?”

I didn’t hold back: “This is about a man on a power trip wanting to silence women by taking away their followings because they hurt his feelings or whatever. Who even knows? It’s not like I was given the courtesy of being told why I was banned.”

I pointed out that one of the reinstated members had been warned before being banned. I hadn’t received even that basic courtesy.

“Why would you? I wrote a blog that was only about gardening, cats, and my back problems for months. But, yeah, I crossed a line that nobody knew existed because it still doesn’t exist in the TOU today. Mmmhmm. Yep. Makes perfect sense.”

Then I went for the throat:

“It’s ludicrous you think I would be willing to return to a site that is more concerned with criticism than child sex abuse material, otherwise known as ‘child porn’ (I have proof. Unlike you, I will not be distributing it.), scammers (got lots of proof of those too), censorship, inconsistent moderation, possible sex trafficking, and promotion of content theft.”

Every word was true. Every claim documented. Every accusation backed by evidence I could produce if challenged.

I ended with this:

“I can tell you what I do know, I would never go back to a site with a gaslighting customer service manager who seems to be afraid to speak to customers.

I hope censoring and punishing those who constructively criticize rather than fix the actual problems works out exactly as it should for you and the company. Given the voices in my inbox from members who stopped paying, it sure sounds like it is.

Sincerely,

Former EnigmaInitiative

All hail the end of that fucking debacle!”

The next morning, I drove to the post office. Asked for certified mail with return receipt. Watched the clerk weigh each envelope, apply the tracking labels, enter them into the system.

Evidence. Documentation. Proof that I’d sent them, that someone would have to sign for them, that they couldn’t pretend ignorance.

I walked out of the post office feeling lighter than I had in weeks.

Not because I expected anything to change. Not because I thought they’d suddenly develop consciences or basic human decency.

But because I’d said my piece. Told my truth. Refused to let them disappear me without consequence.

Epilogue

I started working for them in June 2024.

They hired me despite calling the CEO a loser, being “too loud”, a thorn in their side.

My immediate supervisor was Alex. From day one, he treated me with a respect I hadn’t expected. Not just professionally, but genuinely. It seemed my voice mattered. My years of experience as a member gave me insight they needed.

I created games for the community. Silly things—trivia contests, photo challenges, anything to get people engaged and laughing. The members loved it. I loved it. For the first time in years, I felt like I was making a real difference.

Not in some grand, world-changing way. But in small, human ways that mattered. The work was meaningful in ways I hadn’t anticipated.

But it was also complicated.

I gave a damn. More than I’d expected to.

I had a seat at the table now. A voice. The ability to advocate from the inside instead of just criticizing from the outside.

Some days, that felt like enough.

Other days, it felt like rearranging deck chairs on the Titanic—making small improvements while the whole ship slowly sank.

I’d fought so hard to be heard, to be seen, to matter. And now I was.

That’s the complicated truth I learned: You can work for a flawed company and still do meaningful work; be part of a broken system and still make a difference; and compromise your outsider status and still maintain your integrity.

As long as you keep fighting for small improvements even when big changes feel impossible.

I showed up. I cared. I fought.

And for a while, that was enough.

“I need to write this down,” I said.

“The memoir?” asked Nick.

“Yeah. All of it. The whole thing.”

“You sure you’re ready?”

“Yeah,” I said. “I’m ready.”

I started writing. Not blog posts. A memoir.

This memoir

Working Title: Post Traumatic Stress Queen