Fat Bottomed Girl

Love Me Like You Do

2015-02-18T10:06:00.002-07:00

I've been working on this blog (in my brain) for a while now. Frankly, it was partially written (in my brain) as soon as I heard there would be a film (loosely used term) adaptation of Fifty Shades of Grey. I had a few potential post titles stemming from You Give Love a Bad Name, Your Own Disaster, Miserable at Best, to Smack My Bitch Up, my personal favorite. But that was back before the outrage from the religious right filled up my FB newsfeed, demanding that no one see this movie (or read the books) or else they would be doomed to eternal hellfire and damnation. And before there was a bomb ass movie soundtrack to utilize.

I originally set out to humorously provide my commentary on the whole Grey craze. I HAVE read the books and am going to hell, but I have yet to see the film (again, loosely used term). I'm not against spending $6.50 on a matinee showing of a terribly written and (I've heard) acted portrayal of what even the most extreme BDSM participants say is a shit representation of what they do. I paid money to see Jack and Jill, so I trust me when I say I am no film snob. If anything, I would see it JUST to tear it apart. But to see it with a bunch of horny, salivating women who have built this up in their heads to be the greatest love story of all time and have dildos waiting in the wings? Naw man, I'm good. I'll wait for home release (hahahahaha ewww) to view it. That's right, I said I WILL watch it, but I already acknowledged that I am condemned to hell so what's one more sin right?

If you have not read the books, you are missing nothing. Anastasia Steele is a mousy virgin who meets a billionaire control freak named Christian Grey. He takes her virginity, though this is a terrible term. She gave it to him. She wanted it and said yeah let's do this so he TOOK nothing. Anyway, after he deflowers the poor girl, he introduces her to his red room of pain and BDSM. He has a traumatic past and that's how he gets off. In the beginning, he has all the control and somehow she changes him (after three terrible books) into a man who DOES do romance and DOES love her and relinquishes control to her. Your classic girl thinks she can change the boy and does tale. Like Beauty and the Beast with whips...and ben wa balls...and butt plugs. It is not vanilla sex by any means and not for everyone to digest. I will admit I had just finished reading Infinite Jest, a book that I am told I am supposed to brag about reading by anyone who has ever read it, and needed a mindless escape. Why not pick up an easy to read series that was once Twilight fan fiction, I thought. Plus, I have a Kindle so I figured I wouldn't be embarrassed by it as no one would know what I was reading.

Yes, I was ashamed to be reading Fifty Shades of Grey. Not because I found it sinful, but because it is a modern day Harlequin romance novel but Fabio has been replaced with a leather clad man with a ball gag. Sorry, that's not fair, Mr. Grey wears worn jeans in the red room of pain. But you see my point, I'm sure. Sex...good, bad, or with accessories...is still a personal thing. I may chat with my girlfriends about sex but I don't want a stranger knowing that I am reading all about the removal of a tampon to get it on (yes that happens). How would they know you ask? I was late boarding the Mr. Grey train and everyone knew about what kind of books they were. Plus, did I mention I had just finished Infinite Jest and while I am not a film snob, I consider myself well-read and didn't want people to know I slum it from time to time.

When the world heard there would be a movie, I played the same casting director game the rest of my girlfriends did. I still maintain that Katharine McPhee and Paul Wesley should have been cast as Anastasia and Christian. THAT I would see in the theater. I saw Magic Mike with a girlfriend and that shit was awkward. The movie premise was crap, the acting was crap, and the dance scenes were so-so and I could have waited for DVD. Plus, let's say it was exciting and appealing...who wants to be a riled up in a dark theater? Come one. Ew.

So now the movie is here, complete with that bomb ass soundtrack (that I will shamelessly plug again like it's my job) and more marketing than a Marvel movie. I have read more posts on my FB newsfeed in the past two weeks about Fifty Shades than I have about ISIS and that is saying something since a large portion of my friends list is crazy ass veterans who want all them there mother f-ers dead 'n shit. I've read why Christians should shun it, why women should feel empowered by it, why men should be threatened by it, why it is hurting our children, how it leads to domestic violence, and how you too can have Fifty Shades in the bedroom.

More of my female friends than I expected are anti-Fifty. Some because it is a crap read/watch and there are much better erotic novels out there (love you Susan) and some because the relationship is fucked up (it really is) and this should not be something women aspire to have. I mean I aspire to have his bank account, but Mr. Grey can keep the handcuffs.

Most of the ladies have protested (again and again and again) due to religious reasons. Yes, with all the world's problems to tackle on behalf of God, they have chosen Fifty Shades of terrible writing. This is not love, they say. This is pornography. This is vile. This does not glorify God. This should be banned. That's their opinion and I can certainly unfollow them on FB so I don't have to see the posts they are sharing over and over and over...posts that they have not written as they would never have personal knowledge of such sin. You know, except that I know who you were before (and sometimes with) Christ. But that's not important. This is filth that Christians should wholeheartedly condemn and then judge everyone else for engaging in. Because as a Christian, you are supposed to act as God's hand extended...wait...

For all have sinned and fall short of the glory of God. That's in the bible right? Somewhere? I know you all think I am just some heathen, but I may have read it a time or two, or fifty, and I distinctly remember Jesus telling people to chill the fuck out. He says to love as he has loved. Love them like he do (see what I did there? Title tie-in, bam). Kind of hard to show the heathens of the world God's love when you are busy damning them to hell for reading a book or watching a movie. Whatever happened to the softer of Christ? Hmmm.

Let me ask this, did you hate Harry Potter too? Were you like my Pastor's wife, telling kids that it was of the devil and reading it would send them to hell? Don't act like it was just the crazy Pentecostals in a tizzy over it because everyone was tripping on my man HP back in the day. People lined up to demand that libraries banned them and there were even a more than few Harry Potter bonfires. Not the fun kind where you roast marshmallows and throw back a few beers; I'm talking about burning books like the Nazis. What about And Tango Makes Three? The book about the two male penguins (true story) that adopt a baby penguin orphan? I know someone who wanted it banned from the library for promoting a homosexual lifestyle to her son...even though he was under a year old and she would have to read it to him for him to know what it was about. And she wasn't the only one. Seriously, a book about what really happened in nature was trying to turn all our kids gay. Maybe throw it on the pile with HP just to be safe.

I have also been told we are living in the end times and this is one more sign of that. Yeah, Revelation specifically mentions "Laters babe" and "We aim to please" in between plague (which I am sure is Ebola right?) and destruction and the anti-Christ (is that Obama?). I've read Revelation and I will start tripping when Israel is supernaturally protected by an attack from Russia because that's when it really starts to pop off.

Long story short, who's the bigger asshole here? The people reading this crap and watching it, or the person focusing all of their energy on taking it down. What have you done to glorify God lately? What actions do people see him in of yours? I can post scripture all day, 'ery day but it doesn't make me holy. It doesn't prove I am showing people Christ's love and forgiveness. It just cements in a non-believers eyes that they don't want what you're selling because what you're selling is judgment and hypocrisy.

Brennan Manning said it best. "The greatest single cause of atheism in the world today is Christians who acknowledge Jesus with their lips and walk out the door and deny Him by their lifestyle. That is what an unbelieving world simply finds unbelievable." Sure, you could (and probably will) argue that a Christian watching this film is exactly what he was talking about, but I would counter that the judgment of others is far, far worse than being the Christian chick seeing a dirty movie. We all knowingly sin every single day, so how is watching a movie any different? You don't know the condition of someone's heart any more than they know the condition of yours, but you sure are showing them the ugly bits with your attacks. I'm not saying tone down your faith to appease others, but how about you just stop being a dick about it?

You're just a sinner saved by grace...the same grace you forget to extend to others. Isn't demanding perfection from others contrary to what you believe?

I have reached around 2000 words on a topic that if you all had just ignored, would've have gone away. According to every review, the movie is a steaming pile of poo and the novelty would have soon worn off. But nope, let's make it more appealing by being the zealots who condemn it. Shit, even I want to see it now just to piss you all off.

Have A Nice Day

2014-08-03T19:31:00.000-06:00

You know you haven't blogged in a while when you go to your blogger page and it makes you sign in. I didn't even remember the password and almost got locked out. I had set that for "remember me"...apparently Blogger is a bit senile.

I have not had time to blog at all. I am not trying to make excuses, but you work a full-time job, work on your Masters full-time, and be a wife and mother and tell me when there is blogging time. Seriously, someone tell me, because I miss this. The sound of my fingers flying over the keys as I rage out over the idiots of the world is more peaceful than you can possibly imagine, but I can't do it instead of being with my family. However I have carved out a bit of time for myself (and all of you adoring fans) this Sunday evening. Chores are done, school work is done, Little Bug is needing alone time with her iPad, and Hubby is at work. AND I NEED TO RAGE.

We all know what is happening in Israel and Gaza right? Hamas terrorist scum is using women and children as shields and firing on Israel because they want to achieve their ultimate goal of death to all Jews. If you didn't know, now you do. If you disagree, kick rocks because this is not the blog where I eloquently explain why Israel is not the bully of the Middle East. I can and have and probably will on here soon, but not today. Today I do what I do best. Today I ruin someone's life.

This someone is truly deserving. I haven't come across someone as deserving since my cunt faced neighbor decided to slut shame teenage girls. I let her be because she dug her own grave and her wickedness was soon shown to everyone. I didn't have to dirty my hands because hers were fucking filthy already. But this someone, well he is a special kind of candidate. He is the kind that is woefully ignorant to world events but thinks himself a genius because he reads the headlines. He also is the kind who brags about his job and doesn't realize that what he says constitutes OPSEC violations and could cause serious security risks.

His name is Edwin Peguero and he is a scared little man. He should be. Though he has since blocked me and removed his comments from the post where this went down, sceenshots last forever. Screenshots that I have forwarded to his employer and the Israeli Consulate in New York. I have spoken with a representative from his employer and after we got past her righteous indignation as a Jew, she took my contact information and had me email her directly the screenshots of his comments.

I know there is a part of me who should feel bad for him. He is an Air Force vet and English is apparently his second language. Maybe he genuinely doesn't understand what he posted and why it is ignorant garbage that leads to anti-Semitic filth. Maybe he thought bringing up his military service and name dropping who he works for now and what he does for a living would calm the little white girl down. Obviously I am just a woman who did not recognize that the men were speaking. But as he stated that I didn't know him more than once adding P.S.'s about his job that were an OPSEC don't poster waiting to happen, I realized there will be no feeling bad for him. There will only be soul crushing and livelihood killing.

He doesn't know who I AM. He doesn't know that I don't skim headlines to form an opinion, I read everything. And I remember everything I read. I am highly educated. I am not going to quite down. I served in the same branch of service as he did, except I don't use my service as a trump card. I take very little personally but this, this I take personally. When you side with Hamas, when you condemn Israel's right to defend itself, you are basically saying you agree with Hamas. You are supporting the eradication of the Jewish people. BECAUSE YOU FUCKING IDIOT THAT IS WHAT HAMAS WANTS. Eat a dick. Suck some terrorist asshole. Oh, and start looking for work in another field, possibly another city, because you popped off at the mouth to the wrong mother fucking bitch.

*Drops Mic*

This One's For The Girls

2014-03-08T18:43:00.002-07:00

The older I get, the more it upsets me when women or girls treat each other like shit. Probably because when I was younger I treated other girls and women like shit. I've been a bad friend, a frenemy, a backstabber, jealous, and cruel and any one of you gals who say you haven't is full of it. And I don't even have the luxury of saying it was as a teenager because frankly, I spent the better part of my early twenties being a this way. My bet is that most of us have.

I am so embarrassed at how I behaved towards other women that I have written, deleted, rewritten, deleted and now REwritten this blog this morning alone. Seeing my behavior written out makes it undeniable. It seems unforgivable, though I have been lucky enough that many of them have forgiven me (and vice versa). And frankly, my pride and embarrassment is going to prevent me from writing them all down in this version. I may share them later, but I think they will distract you all from my point.

Yes, I do have one. I am not here just to shame all of us ladies into tears. I am a mother to a daughter. Read that again. As a mother to a daughter, I am even more aware of the vile, vicious things we ladies do to one another. I fear every single day that some girl who wasn't loved enough or hates herself is going to take that out on my girl; my girl who thinks drag queens and old people are magical. My girl who apologizes to her toys for not playing with them enough. My girl who loves everyone and sympathizes with the world. My smart, kind, beautiful girl who doesn't know what it is like to feel unloved or look in the mirror and hate everything about yourself. Because let's face it, we hurt other girls and women because we ourselves are hurting.

We've moved to the middle of nowhere as I have previously mentioned and it has been an eye-opening experience for me. It is in a small-town that you really see the damage that girl on girl crime causes. I know it is bad everywhere, but in larger cities you can avoid someone if you don't like them. You aren't forced to see them every day, to pretend like you like them. So instead of developing your relationships with a group of girls you chose, you talk shit about the ones that are forced upon you. What's worse is that they hate each other because they're taught to do it. Their mothers are too busy gossiping about other women AND teenage girls that they don't see their daughters behaving the same way they do.

I don't want that for my Little Bug, but I don't want that for any girl. I want to live in a world (or hell, I'd take just my town) that isn't filled with hateful women tearing each other down behind each others backs and smiling sweetly to each others faces. I want to live in a world where girls don't slut shame each other and then go and sleep with the same guy. I want to live in a world where women don't condemn each other for making a choice that is different than their own. I want to know that my girlfriend only says things to my face and doesn't share what I have confided in her with the cool girls to get ahead. Yeah...the cool girls still exist at this age except at this age you can tell they are just as damaged and self-loathing as you used to be.

This probably isn't FBG comeback you all waited so patiently for, but I can't get it off of my mind and isn't that what my blog is for? I know I'm not THAT old, but being a mother changes your whole perspective. Being good friends with other women does that too. I look at these girls who desperately want to be better people than they have been raised to be and I feel so sad and yet so hopeful for them. Because at least they know it's wrong and knowing it's wrong is the first step to being better.

Don't get it twisted. I'm not having some world shaking epiphany. My snark is still alive and well and will be aimed at all parties who are deserving, male and female. That doesn't mean I can't be a better FRIEND and in turn help others be better friends. I'm not saying it'll even work, but who knows what'll happen if I reach one girl? Maybe she'll reach another. And then that one reaches another. Fingers crossed right?

You Kill Me

2013-08-21T09:51:00.002-06:00

I'm about to lose some friends, but that's okay. You don't have to like what I am about to say for it to be true.

Black culture is responsible for the murder of Christopher Lane. Had their mommas and daddies been present, they wouldn't be involved in trying to live a gang banger lifestyle. Had they not been trying to emulate the images they see from the black entertainment world, they wouldn't have thought killing someone would give them some street cred. Had they been involved in productive activities this summer, they wouldn't have been bored and killed a white man in cold blood.

Yes, those boys are responsible for their own actions. I say fry 'em. And while you do it, make sure their heroes, who I assume are raps elite, have to sit their and watch what they inspired. One of them calls himself "Baby Drake" on his FB page. And a "Black Power" pic on there. Who's to say it isn't racial now? If we can accuse Zimmerman with no evidence, we can nail this asshole with that pic, right?

It isn't a race issue you say? Maybe not, but if it was a black man shot by three white kids, y'all would be on the Jesse Jackson, Al Sharpton race baiting train. Are you pissed? Good, because I sure as hell am. This is what a culture that promotes hatred, violence, crime, misogyny, etc. causes. This is what happens when you don't hold yourself to a higher standard. This is what you have allowed to happen after people fought so hard for your equality. Be fucking pissed and be very ashamed.

If you live under a rock and have not heard about how three black teenagers murdered a white, Australian baseball player in Oklahoma because they were bored, you can read about it here. Or here. Or here.

And if you aren't angry, if you aren't disgusted, if you can't feel the same sadness and rage you felt for Trayvon Martin, you can go fuck yourself you racist piece of shit. Yep, you are a racist. No apologies today or from here on out. Same standard for all.

I've Been Everywhere

2013-08-20T09:49:00.002-06:00

I really have. And now I am smack dab in Middle of Nowhere, Texas...better known as Kitty Kat, Texas. Don't get me wrong, aside from the herd of bison that don't think I'm good enough for my husband, it is a great place. Most people are very friendly, genuine, and I know I can count on them for anything.

Anything except having a Walmart, Target, drug store, Starbucks, etc. in their back yard. If they did, I would never leave this place. But alas, they do not and I must troll the Internet for the things I require...or just really want.

Starting with: An at home pedicure. You see, there is no nail salon, no comfy chair that massages my lower lumbar as I listen to bitchy Koreans talk about how dry my feet are. I miss those angry little Asians. *tear* I've had to take matters into my own hands...

This thing is a lifesaver. No foot soaking needed and I don't have to be referred to as white girl. Time saver and less racist.

Have I mentioned that Kitty Kat, Texas is dry? As in booze is not sold in this ~~town~~ ~~village~~ rest stop that I reside in. I could drive 17 miles to the county seat and buy beer at the gas station, but no liquor or wine. BUT (!) it's almost like Amazon.com knew that this would happen and prepared in advance. I give to you Amazon Wine!

I have Amazon Prime and my shipping is free and quick. Wine shall be mine!

Now, I know what ~~you all~~ y'all are thinkin', that there girl needs a wine rack to store all that there wine she's gonna be orderin'. Yep. Already ahead of you. And after trolling Amazon for hours...okay, like 15 minutes, I found this one that hold 9 bottles of manna from heaven.

Wall mounted means I don't have to try to find space for it. And though that price says $30.19, I got it for free 99, because Baby Sis decided I needed a house warming gift. She kind of doesn't suck.

Now, I'm not a super lush...but I do know where a drive-thru liquor store is about 45 minutes away.

Moving on. You know what else the country has? Bugs. Every single type of bug imaginable. I would not be shocked if a Camel Spider popped its head out my kitchen cabinet just to say "Hey!" Actually, Hubby is super OCD about cleaning and bug extermination, so finding a bug in the house would actually surprise me, but if he was chillin' on my front porch with a sweet tea, I would wave back. Little bug hates bugs as well, and I think its time to buy stock in OFF.

You may be thinking, "Wow, she has options to choose from!" You'd be wrong. I use all of these. Yes, at the same time. Okay, I'm kidding. No, I am actually not.

The other night, Hubby was out patrolling the mean streets of Briscoe County. Little Bug and I were just about to go to sleep, when we heard the unmistakable sound of the glass door opening, followed by someone trying to open the front door. Little Bug said, "Daddy's home!" and I went into the living room to greet him. But NO, I did not see his head through the windows at the top of the door. Someone was still trying to open the door though, so I turned right around and went to retrieve my baby. Not Little Bug, my other baby.

Beretta PX4 Storm Subcompact 9mm. And yes those are hollow points. Mine is loaded with them as well. Come in my house, I dare you.

EXCEPT my baby was not in its usual spot. I then grabbed my other baby, locked us in my bedroom and called Hubby. He was in the county seat, but sent the Sheriff and a state trooper to come right over and check the surrounding area. They found nothing but footprints likely belonging to the heathen children that live behind us. I'm actually happy that Hubby had my gun, because I would have probably fired.

Which brings me to the next thing you need in the country. Security lights. And you can bet your ass that I bought one that will blind ya.

Worth every penny. Country people seem to be afraid of lights. I think that's why they don't have street lights, stop lights, or even electricity. I kid, I kid. Only the meth trailers are electricity free.

There is so much more stuff I have Amazon'd since our arrival, but I've got to save something for next week. That isn't a promise to actually write next week, but I might think about it. And since this should have been up yesterday before my iPhone Blogger app ate it, I'll have Tuesday's Thrashing up soon too!

Moment for Life

2013-08-18T15:21:00.001-06:00

I'm back! Yes, I have said that before and thought I meant it, but this time...well, I really sort of mean it. You get a full week of Fat Bottomed Girl. I highly doubt I can keep this up though. I start my Master's program very, very soon and Little Bug starts Kindergarten in a week! So, because I will be trying to work around all of that, I give to you, my loyal fans, a full week of posts.

Monday will, of course, be Must Have Monday, but this will be a very special "So you moved to the middle of nowhere?" edition.

Tuesday, which was once Time Warp Tuesday, is now Tuesday Thrashing. I am aware that Thursday Thrashing had a better ring, but school starts on Tuesday's now...so get over it.

Wednesday will remain What in the World? Wednesday.

Thursday is now either a Time Warp or Turn Up The Stereo Thursday. It'll make sense come this Thursday.

Friday, well, I don't know about Friday. Maybe I'll rehash the week and put up some pics of my Little Bug. Or maybe I'll dedicate it to Kitty Kat, Texas. I'll figure it out as I go I guess.

Anyway, I'll see you tomorrow, bright and early and with a smile on my face. Well, really not all that early and I cannot actually promise I'll be smiling.

Reunited

2013-08-03T14:35:00.003-06:00

Fat Bottom Girl has moved. No, not domains or whatever, but actually packed up and moved. I and my brood are no longer residents of Sun City, Texas. We now reside in Kitty Kat, Texas. No, of course that isn't the real name of it, but it IS shockingly close.

Kitty Kat is located in the heart of the Texas panhandle in a county that will remind you of a one season TV show on Fox that starred THE Bruce Campbell. I'll wait while you Google it. Got it? Great. There are about 1100 residents of the county and 250 of them are in Kitty Kat. The ones I have met and had actual conversations with are lovely. They think my husband hangs the moon every night and that my daughter is a beautiful blessing. They even think it is so wonderful that I am an educated, lovely mother and wife and tell me how I am going to be such a positive role model for the girls in this community.

We went on down to the Baptist church last night for the last night of Vacation Bible School. See, hubby has been up here for a few months now, working as a deputy sheriff. He was wrangled into going to church almost as soon as he got here....despite being a non-religious Jew. Oh well. They kept him busy and fed him, and I am glad to have been dropped into such a loving group of people.

Little Bug loved it. Lots of kids her age and lots of playing.

She even got to perform in the VBS program. She managed to get most of the dance moves right and the words. I'd post the video, but Blogger hates me today.

Afterwards, there was a hot dog dinner for all the kids and the church congregation. Got to chat with a lot of great folks. We went back home afterward and Little Bug ran around the yard with her daddy, some neighbor kids, and her daddy's friend Jake until the sun went down.

Now Jake lives around the corner, while his parents and sister live across the street. We spent most of the night over at their house just talking and whatnot. Great people. They love my husband like a son and were great to me and Little Bug. I adore these people, I mean that.

HOWEVER....not everyone in Kitty Kat is as welcoming and friendly. It was overheard at the local gas station that some of the local ladies are not my biggest fans. In fact, my arrival is the talk of all the bison. No, not the bison running wild in the state park. I'm talking about the lard-ass, single bitches in town with two plus children by different daddies (and maybe one from their own), no education, and pooling their food stamps to sell for cigarette money. The herd thinks that my husband is way too good looking for me. As hot as he is, they expected I was gonna be a gosh dern super model. Instead, I'm just some ugly bitch.

Now, I know that everyone expects me to drive on down to the herds stomping grounds and let them have it, and trust me, I WAS tempted. Even had a speech:

Hi, I'm Fat Bottomed Girl, Deputy Hubby's wife. You know, the one who isn't hot enough for him. I just thought I'd come on down and introduce myself so you could say it to my face instead of behind my back.

Even thought of bringing them some of my delicious homemade cookies and adding "Have these cookies since y'all are so hungry for drama." But they aren't worth it. You see, while I certainly have some poundage to lose, I'm not 300 plus pounds of destitute scum. I've got a husband who loves me and our daughter, would do anything for us, and doesn't steal my belongings to buy meth.

I know everyone dies famous in a small town, but I haven't even been here five days yet! Oh well, I guess that's what happens when all you have to do is lust after another woman's husband and eat. As their asses and debt increase, mine will be getting smaller and my bank account larger. Think I still might stop in an introduce myself. Might as well give them something to fear...right?

The Bitch Is Back (Part 3)

2013-05-16T22:52:00.000-06:00

Zayda and I are an unstoppable team. I waited in the hallway for him since he's old and I knew it would take him a while to get to the classroom. I greeted him warmly, but he saw through it. "Sit with me, lets discuss the volatile circumstances between Israel and the rest of the Middle East," he said with a smile. My country is Israel for my teams International Relations project, how fitting. I told him about Iran's (Poison Pussy) desire to wipe Israel off the map. I told him about Egypt (Belittle) compromising the whole Middle East stability with false words. I told him about Syria's (GI Schmo) acts of genocide and refusal to stop being combative. He laughed whole-heartedly.

"So, Poison Pussy wants to kick you out of the group. Belittle plagiarized her whole assignment, and GI Schmo keeps picking fights?" he said with a grin. I told him that he must be a genius. Again, he laughed and said, "That, and I monitored your learning team forum this week. If I didn't have dentures I would have had some popcorn." I adore this old man. I gave him all my supporting evidence and he thanked me because "now I won't have to grade it myself." I was pretty in-depth. He told me that Israel became a free state in 1948 and now Fat Bottomed Girl became one in 2013. I smiled and said, "I feel like we should celebrate." He replied, "Getting to see you do a presentation next week without the burden of the Islamic regimes weighing you down is celebration enough for me."

I am Israel now. I am free. I posted my portion of the Week 4 assignment in my forum for grading. I get to do next week's team stuff on my own. This is like my dream class. I don't have to put up with idiots and I get all the credit. Yay me!

The battle has been won, but the war still rages on. GI Schmo and Belittle stared daggers in me when I came back in. Belittle asked GI Schmo if he was going to talk to the instructor. He looked at me still and said, "Oh yeah I will. But not in front of her." "Do you mean me?" I said with a smile. "I've emancipated myself from your repressive regime, you don't have to worry about me bettering your people anymore." He didn't get it. Why was I even closed to surprised?

We started off class with an ice-breaker. Why does the United States have a greater trade with Canada than Mexico? Belittle started it off by saying (after a very long Google search) "Um, with Canada, we have a border." Zayda said, "We have one with Mexico too. Next." Poison Pussy was up and said, "I don't have any knowledge of that." I couldn't resist and quickly replied, "Of course you don't. Heads up, Canada isn't in China." She scowled and said pass. GI Schmo also opted to pass, but added, "I've never been to war with Canada, so I just don't know much about it." Zayda asked if he had ever been to war with Mexico either and he didn't respond. I was next and mentioned a few statistics and reasons off the top of my head. Yes, McMac was closed. I don't need Google. Poison Pussy scowled again and said (in what she thought was a whisper) that I just thought I was so fucking smart. I smiled and "whispered back" that I AM so fucking smart. The other team let out audible noises implying the bitch had been burned. I desperately want to say "And not just in her vagina."

Just now, out of nowhere, Belittle loudly exclaims, "If you're going to text in class, can you turn off the noises Tiffany?!?!" Poison Pussy got really red and tried to switch her phone off. Belittle saw this and said, "Oh no girl, you're good." Since Zayda is deaf and can't hear the shit talking, I smiled and said, "I'm sorry, I am so embarrassed. You know my name, but I am trying really hard and can't remember yours. Are you new?" Even Poison Pussy laughed. You are an extra in the film doll, sit the fuck down and shut the fuck up.

We have to discuss our human rights paper from Week 3 as a team before the whole class. They won't even acknowledge me on it. That's fine. I asked Zayda if I should just cover the whole Middle East since I'm the only one who knows where it is located. He laughed and said, "Maybe I'll learn something about China though." Poison Pussy did not laugh.

"Let me start because I am the team leader," Poison Pussy said. "All bow before your Queen," I added loudly. Again she looked confused. "Oh that's right, you're the only person who doesn't get it. Please, continue Your Majesty," I replied. She ranted on about how she knows where China is but she knewed (yes that is the word she used) that Iran does businesses with China and thought they were really close enough to each other. 4,000 miles really isn't that far I guess. It's like maybe a few days walk. She said Iran is seen as a leader in the Middle East and the world and that their President is respected so much that he spoke at Columbus University in New York. I didn't comment, just LOL'd and rolled it into a coughing fit, garnering sympathy from the other team. They asked if I was choking. I said that I was choking...on stupidity. Belittle jumped in to talk about President More Si? (that's her pronunciation) of Egypt. He has been the president for a long time. He was in jail, but now he is free and runs things for the Muslim Brotherhood. Zayda looked at me to correct, but I smiled and said nothing. GI Schmo kept it simple. "Syria has chemical weapons that they use on their own people. But that's their business, not ours. We don't need another bullshit war."

I cleared my throat, rather dramatically I might add, and started. I addressed the freedoms in Israel, for all faiths, not just the Jews. I mentioned world human rights agencies ratings of Israel. I highlighted the current efforts to bring gender equality to the religious sites in Israel, specifically the Western Wall. I even cited a few missteps by Israel, but stated, "In contrast to the rest of the Middle East, Israel is a mecca for human rights in the region. Though my former teammates failed to mention anything of significance, Israel is perhaps the only country in the Middle East where you will not be persecuted for not be a Muslim." I also said, "Just a quick side note. I don't know where they got their information Poison Pussy, but in what reality is Mahmoud Ahmadinejad a respected leader by the rest of the world? Do you troll pro-terrorist websites and take their word as gospel?" I had hoped this would spark a fire in her and that I would get some type of response, but she said, "I don't even know who that is." "The President of Iran," I replied. "Well, that's not who I said," she snapped. "But you said the President of Iran," I replied quizzically. "Nuh-uh." It's pointless.

This was all AFTER the break. Team A presented before we broke. It was as if they were unaware that Latin America was their chosen region. After five minuets of babble, Zayda put his hand up and said, "I'm gonna call it."

During the break, the Three Amoebas huddled around Zayda's desk and tried to complain about me and said I MADE them turn the paper in without editing it. He said firmly, "I know that to be completely false. There will be no more discussion about Israe--ahem, Tiffany. After class we will discuss the plagiarism issue at length if you wish. I have already submitted your portions for further review." Poison Pussy looked outraged and cried, "WHAT ABOUT HER?!?!?!" Zayda didn't miss a beat. "Tiffany submitted her portion separately and proved that she did not participate in academic dishonesty. From examination of your team forum, I can attest that she even warned you about the many, many mistakes and you reacted rather, well, immaturely frankly. You three will be held accountable for your actions."

I had a slight skirmish in the hallway after that with Poison Pussy. I was filling Katniss in on what was going down and Poison Pussy walked by and scoffed/laughed. So I broke out in crazy hysterical laughter. She walked down the hall, then turned around and came right back. Um, obvious much. When I came back in, she was whispering to GI Schmo and they laughed when they saw me. I smiled and said, "You can continue to talk about me, or you can try to act like an adult. I'm not sure if you can spell it, but maybe you can Google it." She said whatever and rolled her eyes and then said, "You see?" to GI Schmo. He was like, "Yeah, that's Air Force for you, real high speed." I couldn't hold back.

Me: You wouldn't know much about that would you?
GI: Excuse me?
Me: High speed. You clearly have no idea what it means to be light years ahead of anyone. Should I speak slower for you?
GI: Whatever. We kicked you out. Get over it.
Me: I asked to be removed. Enjoy those F's. You know you have to pay that money back, right?
PP: Don't talk to her. She's so dumb.
Me: But I know how to spell Egypt and where Iran is, so there's that.
GI: Whatever.

The rest of class was a series of moments of them glaring at me and Zayda demonstrating why I'm his favorite. Poison Pussy had the nerve to whisper, "What's worse is that that bitch is a mother." No, I didn't choke a bitch the fuck out. I simply replied, "Maybe that's why God killed off your litters." Cruel? Yes. Do I regret it? Not one bit. Do I wish I had gone harder? You bettcha. I think I should really thank Zayda for not having a hearing aid. They may talk a lot of shit, but I get to respond which makes it all worth it.

At one point during class discussion, I asked GI Schmo if he was legally retarded, because anyone who thought that the problems in the Middle East could be solved with giving Iran a nuke must be. I asked if he had to wear a helmet when he's awake and if he got to serve in the Army as a make-a-wish thing, you know, pretend to be a soldier. He said, "There's nothing pretend about my service. You don't know war okay." The leader from Team A said, "I had you in my last class, you said you never deployed." "That's because I don't like to talk about it," GI Schmo replied defensively. "Really?" I asked, "because you used your combat experience to explain why you can't turn your work in on time." He shut up quickly and Team A Leader air high-fived me. I didn't know we were cool like that bro, good to know.

Then this just happened. Poison Pussy had security come to our classroom. She left, went and got security and then pulled Zayda into the hallway with them. I knew immediately it was about me. Game on bitch. I'm not sure what she said, but she came in smirking. She said, "Security will be here to walk me out, so don't try anything." What? This bitch is a psychopath. Either the meth or the hair dye has warped her mind. I went and spoke with the chair of my department and the head of security. My Chair was pissed. He told me she randomly walked up to security and said "This girl is gonna hit me. I know it. Can you come stop her?"

WHAT. THE. FUCK???? Chair and Head Security weren't buying it and asked me if I felt safe walking to my car. I was pretty shocked. I told Chair about how she walked back in the class and cackled while waving her finger at me. He said, and I quote "What a crazy bitch." Yeah, that sums up my thoughts. Head of Security asked me to file a complaint and Chair said he could email me the form. She told them that I followed her to her car last week after class and threatened her all night. I wasn't here last week. "Check the attendance," I said. "That didn't happen. One, because I'm not crazy, and two, because I wasn't even here." Head Security radioed his other guy and asked him to sit in class with us. Chair said a number of times that my Hubby is a cop, so they better keep me safe. This is beyond. What, I don't know, but it is beyond.

This went from you got busted for academic dishonesty to full-blown Glenn Close boiling my rabbit. When I came back in class, she pointed at me and made the creepiest face. Like, "I'm going to get you bitch and wear your skin." I WASN'T going to hit her, nor did I ever say I was going to hit her, but now I think I need a baseball bat. And a priest and a crucifix while I'm at it, because this bitch is possessed! I was just going to settle for an honor code violation, but now I think explosion sounds like the best option. Why do the psychos ALWAYS find me?

My Chair sat in class with me for a bit. He told her to sit down and shut up or leave. He told her to stop glaring at me. After about 15 minuets, we had to answer team discussion questions, but since I am without a team, I asked if I could answer the first question. They weren't jumping on it and Zayda said that was a great idea. Chair said, "Clean out your ears, you're gonna want to hear this." Poison Pussy said, "No thank you," and walked out of class. Then, she came back, loud as hell, and said "I'm so sorry, I need my pills." Then some weird fake crying happened, she answered a text, and went back to normal. Jaws collectively dropped in the room. I want to believe this was real. I really want to. But sorry, it's all too calculating for me. If you're really having a meltdown, you don't go get security and try to set me up with a smirk on your face.

Chair and Zayda assured me after class that Poison Pussy's allegations were not to bug me. She was lying and they knew it. But seriously, who the fuck does that? She's either really off her rocker, or her break conversation with Zayda made her realize she was fucked and she needed to do something drastic. A mental health breakdown will get you out of class I've heard.

I'm mentally spent guys. I have to work tomorrow and this has drained me. I am praying for a peaceful and uneventful class next week.

The Bitch is Back (Part 2)

2013-05-16T17:35:00.001-06:00

I left my computer charger at home. As of right now, McMac has 2 hours and 5 minuets of battery life remaining. Of all the nights! I might go old school and jot it all down by hand, transfer it to here, then blow all of your minds.

I'm the first one here and I've set up my command post. To my left is my Trenta Cool Lime Refresher and backup bottle of water. In front of me, my mac. To my left, placed just enough away from me so someone else could read it is my evidence. The plagiarism check, the professional review, and my personal edit dripping with green ink. Poison Pussy sits next to me on that side, so yeah, it's for her.

Forgot to mention why I call her Poison Pussy. Two weeks ago, she tells me (out-of-nowhere) that she has miscarried twins, triplets, and what the doctors think were quadruplets. She said (with a Jodi Arias smile) that her uterus was like poison. Then she said that she had cancer "in my pussy", but like pre-cancer, but really more like a weird test result that got cleared up. So, she doesn't have cancer. Thus Poison Pussy.

Zayda usually gets here before the students. I really hope that's the case tonight. I need to talk to him before anyone else talks to me. If I engage with the Three Amoebas first, I might waste all my good stuff right off the bat. There's a certain way you address people who you know are going to be crucified as well, and I want that satisfaction. Am I evil? That was rhetorical, of course I am.

I have this turning in my stomach. It isn't nerves, more like this amped feeling I can't get rid of. Is this what GSP felt like before he whopped Nick Diaz's ass? You know what I mean, that feeling of "Wow, this guy is so unmatched that I am actually catching a high off of my excitement" kind of thing? Someone told me today that in a battle of wits, you should never engage with someone who is unarmed. But the kicker is, much like Nick Diaz, they think they've got a shot. They're each others hype men. Think Flavor Flav, but less intelligent. Sure, this may be shooting fish in a barrel, but those fish were talking shit and I am deadly accurate.

I think I'll end here. Part 3 will be the class breakdown. This way I can save McMac's life.

The Bitch Is Back (Part 1)

2013-05-16T14:31:00.000-06:00

I had a tough time choosing the title for tonight's blog. Ultimately, Elton John always wins out, but I had some other close choices. Keeps Getting Better was the second in line, but as I detest Christina Aguilera, I had to veto it. Stiletto by Billy Joel and Cold as Ice by Foreigner also came into play, but I think I can save them for later. Besides, The Bitch is Back is the best possible description for how my night will unfold.

I'm currently taking my last ground class at University of Fictitious Bird. This might make some of you sad, but don't fret as I have two more online classes and chapters (yes chapters) worth of stories that never made the blog. Not because they weren't good, but because they were chapter material. Read into that what you will (see what I did there?). Anyway, this class is all about international relations. Seems apropos since I seem to be the only American in the class.

My instructor loves me. He's an old, hunchback Jew who is hard of hearing, yet full of knowledge. I sit in awe each week as he explains things to us and recalls specific incidents of international significance that he lived through. I kind of wish he was my Zayde and I could come visit him in his home that smells of rich mahogany and he would tell me stories from the war. I don't think he's THAT old, maybe more Korean War than WWII. Every week, it feels like he and I have this intense discussions about world affairs and that we're the only two people in the room. Well, we are the only ones who actively participate. Everyone else needs to be stabbed in the temple to get some brain juice flowing.

My team is no exception. They. Are. Idiots. The self-appointed team leader, Poison Pussy, is a daft and aging pathetic hipster and single mother of 20. Okay, I think she said she had 4, but she doesn't have custody of all of them because of her issues. I candidly asked, "Is it the meth?" but she laughed. She either didn't get it or it was a nervous laugh because she's a methhead. She is easily in her late thirties with or without meth use, has spotty dyed pink hair, and dresses like my baby sister did when she worked at a hipster skate shop (you know it was bad little sis). And she thought Iran was in China. I'll let that sink in..........................we good? Moving on.

Then there is Belittle. She's fat, but not obese, more like weird shapes. She speaks English, but that is a generous statement. She "es an ejucation major. I like to teash the kids" Yep. She also plagiarizes like a fucking idiot and still does not understand why "joo can't just use the words of the writers because that's what joo say anyway." She's not really important, except that she would be the easiest of the group to make cry. I call her Belittle because it sounds like her name and it's so easy to do to her.

Finally, we have GI Schmo. He wasn't in class for week one, didn't speak to us at all during week two (except to say "You air force?"), and week three, didn't communicate with the group at all about the team assignment, and then added his unedited train wreck portion to the final version and said "Don't worry guys, I added my part." No dumb ass, you were left off for a reason. When I told the instructor and GI Schmo that his part should not be considered as part of the paper, he told me I wasn't as "high speed" as I think I am, then sent me this message:

i said the high speed reark as a joke i am not mocking your military service, I served in the Army as a combat engineer probably one of the most dangerous jobs to have,two deployment to Iraq & Afghanistan, so if anybody who knows what it means to serve and sacrifice it would be me. I have lost best friends in these pointless wars. So as you can see i am a veteran just like you and i know war. So if you think i was mocking your service, you are wrong, I figure you would get the joke but didn't take it so well. your bad.

Yeah, because your military service is relevant to the situation at hand. He knows war, but doesn't know how to write properly or comply with team deadlines. I got 8 out of 8 on the paper. Poison Pussy and Belittle got 4 and 3 respectively. GI Schmo got a 1. Needless to say, they're all a little pissed.

That's what brought on this weeks drama. I missed class on week 3. I didn't feel good and I was tired. But I messaged PP and told her that I would provide an outline for the week 4 assignment. She said OK. Of course she did because she doesn't posses an original or creative thought in her tiny little meth-riddled brain. I messaged her my outline and she texted me back to say that they came up with their own idea and that I could do it or be kicked out of the group. WHAT? We were on good terms the week before. Other than getting a better grade than them, I didn't do anything wr....Oh. That's it. Anyway, she assigned me and GI Schmo the same thing essentially. We can ignore the fact that her plan (which I learned was actually GI Schmo's plan) was not even close to what the syllabus called for and just focus on the redundancy for a second. I explained to her the dilemma she created and she said "Do it or don't. You can be kicked out real quick." I politely responded that a simple Google search would prove me correct, but we could always involve the instructor if she wanted to be argumentative. She did. So I got Zayda involved. He informed them I was correct and said that he "strongly suggested that Tiffany's suggestions become law in this team." Owned.

The thing is, no ones portion changed but mine. They all still had a full week to do their portions, while I had less than a day. It was due to GI Schmo on Tuesday and it all got resolved on Monday afternoon. However, I am the only one who posted my learning team portion to the team forum on Tuesday. When I noted this to GI Schmo and asked for transparency, I was told to kick rocks. He said he would edit it, post it for review, and submit it "when I get to it" and then added that I needed to "be calm and courteous" if it was even in me. We all know how I feel about time lines and due dates, but I feel even more strongly about some POS, dumb as rocks, wannabe bad ass telling me where to go. So I replied.

The team charter, much like the course syllabus, is a biding document for the learning team. Failure to adhere to it will result in the instructor grading members differently for the submitted assignment. We all agreed to adhere to the charter and university rules. I'm not sure about your feelings on integrity, but I feel VERY strongly about it. Failure to produce your portion for the assignment on the day YOU requested it is a lack of integrity on your part. Holding people accountable to their word is not disrespectful, but not honoring your word certainly is.

Not as snarky as you all expected? Well, the forum is monitored. I have to maintain some control. He didn't reply. Instead, he posted last night this:

Hey everyone here is the Paper for week 4. Good job everyone, good sources, good citations and good coverage on the topics given. Feel free to check it out and let me know what you all think.
Thank you for all your hard work everyone.

Except, he didn't wait for review and corrections, he posted it for grading. I am irate. With the exception of my portion and references, the entire thing is a train wreck. Egypt is spelled "Eygpt" 13 TIMES throughout three separate sections of the paper. Citations don't exist and there is bold, absolute plagiarism by the paragraph. I printed out the paper, the plagiarism check, and the school's editing software's corrections of the paper and plan on bringing them to class to gloriously shame them all. Also, I WILL be telling GI Schmo that even though he referred to everything as good, I don't think that word means what he thinks it means. Yep, sometimes you have to go Princess Bride on a mother fucker.

I publicly and formally asked to be recused from the team and the team assignment via the forum. I stated that I do not, have not, and will never participate in violations of the university's policy and do not support academic dishonesty. I also made sure to highlight that my portion was checked for plagiarism and came back clean. And I posted EVERYTHING in the team forum. I'm covered. They, however, posted nothing in the team forum, so proving who wrote (or stole) what is going to be a little harder. Zayda takes plagiarism very seriously and will be forced to submit the three of them to the Academic Integrity Council. Meanwhile, I'll be free to operate as my own learning team and next week, I'll presenting an intelligent analysis of Middle East relations. I get sweet revenge and freedom.

Well, I hope that's how it'll play out. Stay tuned....

Oh, here's a taste of the edits needed to make their paper not suck:

There was much, much more, but the black ink doesn't do it justice. I should have used green, like my favorite English teacher Mr. Woo. I feared green. Maybe these people should too.

The Angry American

2013-04-11T19:35:00.000-06:00

Okay, I realize that I many, many, MANY years late on this one, but funny things come to me when I’m in the shower. In this case, it was brought to me by Spotify radio. I was listening to “Boys Round Here” by Blake Shelton earlier today and I was diggin’ it so much that I hit the radio button for it. Normally, Spotify would generate a radio station with similar artists and genres. I expected some “1994” by Jason Aldean, The Pistol Annies, Miranda Lambert, or even some Kenny Chesney. What I got was “Dear Mr. President” by Pink. I double-checked, then triple checked, and yes, it said “Boys Round Here Radio.” Spotify, you have never made such a big mistake, but I forgive you because the song brought on a wave of emotion.

For those of you who have not heard the song, you’re not missing much. It’s Pink’s lyrical open letter to then President Bush circa 2006. It’s everything you would expect from a liberal woman and every criticism of President Bush that was trendy. It’s also pretty catchy and I found myself singing along. Except I didn’t imagine I was pleading with W, I saw President Obama in my minds eye. If I didn’t know that Pink was a hypocritical liberal who made a quick buck on attempting to shame a man with his past, I’d have thought it was directed at Barry Soetoro. Not sure who that is? That would be President Barrack Hussein Obama II, at least that’s what he used to go by.

Anywho, I thought I would try my hand at song interpretation. In BOLD are Pink’s lyrics and underneath in regular text are my thoughts. Enjoy. Or get really offended. either way gets me blog traffic.

Dear Mr. President,

Come take a walk with me.

For a photo op? Because that doesn’t sound like something Bush would do. Obama, for sure. He loves a good walking photo.

Let's pretend we're just two people and

You're not better than me.

Did Bush really act as if he was better than anyone? This line confuses me. I don’t recall him throwing expensive parties and taking million-dollar vacations at the cost of taxpayers. I mean, we weren’t even in a recession then and the man would take a trip down to Crawford Ranch, which he owned. But whatever, who cares about poor Americans when you get to party with Justin Timberlake.

I'd like to ask you some questions if we can speak honestly.

This one. THIS. ONE. Couldn’t get Obama to do this. Everything is either Bush’s fault, the GOP’s fault, or he just doesn’t answer.

What do you feel when you see all the homeless on the street?

What does Obama feel? Not much, or not enough to do something about it.

Who do you pray for at night before you go to sleep?

Does he pray that those awful Jews stop trying to control him or that America will fall? His pastor, Jeremiah Wright, certainly believes that. He called Israel an illegal state and said “To equate Judaism with the state of Israel is to equate Christianity with Flavor Flav.” He also called for God to damn America. This is the man who married the Obama’s, baptized their children, and even is credited for the title of his book, The Audacity of Hope. I don’t think I would personally let an anti-Semitic baptize my kids, but I’m not Obama.

What do you feel when you look in the mirror?

I hear he does this A LOT. Reports also state that he spends a large amount of time Googling himself. And don’t forget the many, many, MANY reports about his narcissism. Like this one. Or this one. And this one.

Are you proud?

Yes, I really think he is. Watch Obama’s America: 2016 just one time with an open mind. You might surprise yourself.

How do you sleep while the rest of us cry?

He’d probably like to use our tears as lube. Or he doesn’t hear the cries because he’s too busy partying with Jay-Z.

How do you dream when a mother has no chance to say goodbye?

Oh this line, how I’ve been waiting for you. Not only has Obama NOT ended the war; he’s dragged us into more conflicts. But while I know this line was meant for Bush and our soldiers deaths, I’d like to highlight four mothers in particular who didn’t get a chance to say goodbye.

Mary J. Stevens, mother of Ambassador J. Christopher Stevens.

Patricia Smith, mother of Sean Smith, a U.S. Foreign Service Information Management Officer.

Barbara Doherty, mother of Glen Doherty, retired Navy SEAL and contracted State Department employee.

Cheryl Bennett, mother of Tyronne S. Woods, retired Navy SEAL and State Department Diplomatic Security team member.

These four women did not get a chance to say goodbye to their sons; sons who ere savagely murdered by Muslim terrorists who attacked our American Embassy in Benghazi. Their sons called for help multiple times, only to be ignored by the President and his people. These four women don’t even get answers as to why their sons were left to die. They get a government cover-up on par with a Hollywood movie plot.

How do you walk with your head held high?

Oh this is easy. He’s a pompous narcissist, that’s how.

Can you even look me in the eye

And tell me why?

No, he can’t tell you why, because a man who ran on a platform of transparency has been the least transparent President of recent memory. You don’t have a right to know what a public servant does.

Dear Mr. President,

Were you a lonely boy?

Are you a lonely boy?

I don’t know if he was lonely. His mom was a loose woman who had plenty of people in an out of his life. Hippies always have someone around…with pot.

How can you say

No child is left behind?

Yeah, this one was all Bush (the program at least), except that Obama cares more about teacher’s unions than the education of our children. Take a good look at the Chicago public school system, it’s pretty telling.

We're not dumb and we're not blind.

I’m not dumb and I’m not blind, but I’m not too sure about the writer of this song. Keep on praising Obama and the main stream media’s coverage of him all you want, but it doesn’t mean I have to be a sheep.

They're all sitting in your cells

While you pave the road to hell.

Yeah, I have heard Gitmo is pretty packed. Funny, I though Obama was going to close it.

What kind of father would take his own daughter's rights away?

Which rights? Her right to bear arms? He’s not a big fan of that one, or the Constitution for that matter. Obama once stated, “Our Constitution reflected the fundamental flaw of this country that continues today.” And this gem, “Well, it turns out our Founders designed a system that makes it more difficult to bring about change than I would like sometimes.” Well, thank goodness for that! Imagine what he’d be doing if he DIDN’T have the Constitution to keep him in line.

And what kind of father might hate his own daughter if she were gay?

Well, only until a half year ago did he care about that one.

I can only imagine what the first lady has to say

You've come a long way from whiskey and cocaine.

Or pot. But really, Michelle has a LOT to say. She said he was born in Kenya. She said she was a single mother. She said she was only proud of America because a black man was elected. She also said “All this for a damn flag” during the 9/11 ten year memorial.

Let me tell you 'bout hard work.

What hard work? Obama has always been given a free ride. Always. And he has only been employed as a civil servant, which let’s be honest, is welfare.

Minimum wage with a baby on the way.

Maybe those people should make responsible decisions. Besides, Obama is totally cool with you killing that baby.

Let me tell you 'bout hard work.

Rebuilding your house after the bombs took them away.

The bombs Obama sent. Drones baby, drones. And we’re next if we get out of line.

Let me tell you 'bout hard work.

Building a bed out of a cardboard box.

Just wondering what Pink knows about any of this. Why don’t you redistribute some of your wealth? After all, Obama did say that at some point, you just have enough money.

Let me tell you 'bout hard work

Hard work

You don't know nothing 'bout hard work

Hard work

I completely agree. Obama and you know NOTHING of hard work.

How do you sleep at night?

Just like you do Pink; with a chip on your shoulder and condemnation in your heart.

How do you walk with your head held high?

Again, narcissists can do this easily.

Dear Mr. President,

You'd never take a walk with me.

Would you?

He would most definitely take a walk with you. As long as you can get him press and a Google alert.

Stupid Hoe

2013-04-04T22:34:00.002-06:00

The problem with last week's "MJ I'm back" fax (as it has been labeled), also known as Paperback Writer, is that I'm not really making a comeback. I have too much going on to apply the required energy to bring you all daily snark.

But I can give you pictures.

Blond Sonja has gone dark...only in her hair though as she has squeezed herself into white leggings.

I really wish I would have been bold enough to snap a full-frontal shot. I think that'll be my goal for next week. Why next week? Because I overheard her telling Juarez Teenager female about this super hot dress she got for her date next week. Oh, I forgot to mention, she is the side piece for a Muslim dude and they meet up on Thursday nights. He picked Thursdays because she already has a sitter to come to class. Odd though, I thought Muslim's couldn't have pork?

Paperback Writer

2013-03-28T18:56:00.000-06:00

Get your towels ready, it's about to go down.

So last week was pretty uneventful in class. Blond Sonja and Juarez Teenager Female shot me hard looks because I didn't re-join their ~~coven~~ learning team. My most recent old team looked at me longingly and whimpered when Stoner White Boy Cop and Angel Bautista announced that they had poached me. Yeah, I caved and joined the cop group...they're my people. And Angel Bautista is almost as smart as me. Typhoid Maria and Fat Alberto didn't show *tears* but they're names are still on the roster, so fingers crossed.

Shit got real earlier today, however. I was posting my individual work to the website and in the forum for Learning Team C there was a notification screaming at me. Okay, it was just sitting there in bold (1) but the OCD in me can't handle it. I am not in learning team C, nor did I know who was, but if I clicked, the (1) would go away. So I clicked. The post I see is from Juarez Teenager Female for her team's learning team charter. I can't explain it, but I had this gut feeling that I should download the document and read it. My gut is rarely wrong.

I open up the document and sure the fuck enough, I come face to face with my words. A while back in Big Time Army's class we had to come up with a team charter that was worth HELLA points. Hella. JTF and Blond Sonja didn't help (though they never did) and after four revisions, I submitted a 7-page masterpiece. Every possible situation that could occur was covered. Psychological strategies that could assist in conflict resolution to a detailed outline of team strategies for work completion was in there. Big Time Army said it was the greatest learning team charter he had ever seen. He also said on the returned document in bright red text that he knew that the other members of the group had not participated in writing ANY of the charter and they would NOT be receiving credit for it. Do I have that document? You bet your mother fucking ass I do. I keep everything school related. CYA. If you don't know what CYA means, you're doing it wrong.

Anyway, when JTF, Blond Sonja, and I parted ways due to different course requirements, I made it very clear: They were not to use my work. Not the charter, not any "team" assignments, not one damn word. They never contributed to the team projects. I did it all. I'm not complaining, it secured me the honors I will be graduating with, but I'm not going to let the further benefit from my intellectual property. Blond Sonja was like "Yeah, I won't." JTF was less agreeable. She was actually pretty pissed off. She said she had grown accustomed to A's and that if she needed to use some of the work, she would. Okay, she really said "Oh it's cause now we have to do so much work and my grades got gooder now. We can use some of it if it helps us right?" I told her that I submitted all of the "team" assignments into the plagiarism checker under my name only. Yep, I CYA'd way back then too. I informed her that any "team" stuff she tried to submit as her own would come back as a rip off of my work. She called me a bitch, or beesh, and drove off.

Should have been the end of that. Until there my words were. They didn't even change the parts that say my name in it. Genius. I mulled it over for maybe 30 seconds and then sprung into action. I emailed the instructor. Now wait a second before you call me a rat, let me explain.

Our instructor let us know in week one that because this course is our final criminal justice course and a review of all the other ones we have taken, we could use our own past works to create our new assignments. As I have kept detailed record from every class, I literally have the entire course complete. All I have to do is show up. And contribute a minuscule amount to the team. That's it. So when I read my words posted under someone else's name (with my name still there) even after I warned her not to, I began to worry about what else she might use. I am THIS CLOSE to being done. I don't need to get popped in some academic dishonesty bullshit. I'm not really sure that I would, she'd be the one cheating, not me, but I don't want to get mixed up in that shit.

My email was very professional. I thanked him for his outstanding feedback for my week one paper (it was really great) and told him how much I looked forward to the next four weeks. Then I eased into the issue. I said that something regarding Team C concerned me. The charter they submitted was my intellectual property and they were trying to pass it off as their own. I told him what page he could find my name and information on. I said if need be I could provide proof that the work was mine, and also, that one check through the plagiarism checker would back me up. I said I didn't want to get anyone in trouble, but I feared that more of my intellectual property would be compromised. I stated I did not want anyone to get in trouble, but I would be requesting they remove the aforementioned intellectual property or I would be submitting them to the university for academic integrity violations. I also added that this week we were reviewing ethics and professional behavior in criminal justice, qualities that these two aspiring criminal justice professionals were NOT exhibiting.

Yeah, I'm that guy. Or girl. Or asshole. But yep, that's me. I didn't tell him so that he could do something; I told him because I WAS doing something. CYA.

I didn't even bother with Blond Sonja. She's dyed her hair black BTW. She's not even remotely concerned with academic integrity. She boasted that she buys her papers online. So I went straight to JTF. I emailed her this:

JTF,
It has come to my attention that you are using my intellectual property as your own. While any instructor can clearly see that the writing is above your level and would never believe that you constructed your learning team charter, I am very disturbed you would attempt to pass this off as your own. I believe your were already instructed that any work submitted by me on behalf of our team was off-limits to you once we parted ways. If I remember correctly this upset you greatly as you had planned to commit academic fraud with it. I see you went ahead with that plan.

I cannot compel you to do the right thing. If you're determined to "earn" your degree through fraud and the hard work of others, by all means, please continue. However, I implore you to remove my charter from your learning team forum before class tonight. Additionally, any further use of the charter or any other copies of MY intellectual property will force my hand and I WILL report you to the university.

Please do the right thing if it is in you. Thank you.

Yeah, I am a bitch. But JTF texted me almost immediately. She fell all over herself apologizing and BEGGED me to not report her. She said she would take it down right away and delete all the "other things of yours I has." Scared straight. Or not, but at least she knows I know. And our instructor knows. Ain't nobody gonna break my stride...

She looked scared when she went into class tonight. I enjoyed it.

Tune in next week. I just might blog again.

Head Bussa

2013-03-23T15:08:00.000-06:00

I know I am on a blog break, but this shit is too long for Facebook.

Little Bug and I were having a perfectly lovely day today. We went to lunch, got to build a cool wishing well out of Lego's at Toys R Us, we were having a blast....until we dropped in Big Lots.

After finding some super cool silly things we stood in a very long line to pay. I got bumped from behind by a nice enough woman who apologized, no biggie. However, it caused my cart to gently bump a lady in front of me. I was about to apologize, when her husband turned around, slammed the cart into my stomach and yelled "WAIT! JUST WAIT." I simply said "Wow. I was bumped and in turn bumped your wife. I'm sorry, but there is no need to freak out." Even the couple that bumped into me took up for me and told him to calm down and knock off the attitude.

He snapped. I told him to act like an adult, he yelled at me to keep acting like a child. I smiled and prepared to pay for my purchases. Even the cashier was like "WTF?" Of course not one employee thought they should call the manager as this man berated a white woman with a little girl, but whatever. I wanted y Tic Tac Toe shot set.

The line we were in had two cashiers. I was at the first, he was further up at the second one, but stood right next to the card reader of mine. As he stood there, shoulders firmly squared off at me, I smiled bigger and said "Excuse me sir, can you please move aside? Wouldn't want to hit you with my cart."

He lost it. Told me to shut my mouth and even raised his hand like he wanted to backhand me. I said "Wow, you're a man. Act like one and not a jerk." Then his wife lost it and SCREAMED "You don't call my husband a jerk. You better shut up or I'll shut you up!" I took my receipt, grabbed Little Bug's hand and smiled some more. As we walked out they were right behind us, still mouthing off. I told Little Bug, "I'm sorry baby girl. Some people are just garbage." The wife screamed "Yes! Some people ARE!" I put Little Bug in the car, strapped her in, closed the door, and see the wife walking towards my car. Her husband had already gotten in the passenger seat of their dark blue Honda Civic. Probably got a DUI and the wife has to drive him.

Anyway, she stood in the middle of the parking lot row and was holding her purse like a weapon and screaming "HEY BITCH! BITCH!" I looked at her dead on and said "Get in your fucking car." She stepped back, looking shocked. She yelled, "That's some mouth on you bitch!" I took off my sunglasses, set my purse on my trunk, made a small but threatening step and said "Get. In. Your. Fucking. Car. NOW." She ran back to her car, got in, and drove off.

I was a little bummed. She thinks I have a mouth on me, she should have seen the fists I've got. She would have been easy enough to take down. It was her husband I was worried about. He had an inch and a hundred pounds on me. Could have winded him pretty quick. Maybe kneed him in the dick if he got close enough, you know, if I could have found it under all that belly.

All of this could have been avoided had her asshole husband just said "Oh excuse you." I would have politely apologized and we would have been done. But no, he turned around and forcefully struck me intending to cause harm. And in front of my child no less. I know most of you, had you been there, probably would have held my baby so I could beat his ass or just beat his ass yourself if he had struck Little Bug with the cart. Told Hubby about it when I got home. The cop in him came out real quick, but I handled it and talked Hubby down. I couldn't stop LOLing though when I refused to give him the plate number and he said "All I need is a partial."

BTW his wife's ass was so fat she probably didn't feel a thing.

Parachutes

2013-01-21T14:44:00.001-07:00

First off, I need to get in a little rant before I start part duex. What's the point of writing a blog and scheduling a post to go up at a certain time when Blogger just pretends it will do it and then deletes it? I know I did it right this time, but no, it just shits it out of the Internet into some lost blog abyss. No more blogging in advance for me.

Okay. Here we go.

The Ballad of Stolen Valor: Part 2

It was a cold, dark night and the winds of El Paso whipped around me as I made the long walk from my car to the front doors of hell. Too dramatic? Okay, it was cold as balls and I was in a dark parking lot, trying to make a beeline for the door of work. I was trying to pry the exit door open (it was easier than going to the other side of the building), while juggling my coffee, lunch bag, and purse, when I heard him before I saw him. "Watch your six!" he yelled out with a cackle following it.

I don't know what he was expecting. Maybe he thought he would startle me and I would some type of PTSD flashback and he could see my moves? Maybe he thought we would bond over his usage of a "military" phrase? Or maybe, he's just a creepy rapist in a dark parking lot? Yeah, that's probably it. I did my best to ignore him as I finally got the door open, but he tried to squeeze past me. Um, apparently someone forgot the doors have a sensor to open them from the inside. So literally the door opens wide as he pushes past me and he looks even more like a rapist. "Oh, my bad," he says and all I can think is "You're going down tonight, fucker."

As I plopped myself down in my office chair, I began to devise a plan. I would wait until lunch and call him out in front of EVERYONE. Of course I would keep and ear out all night for his tales of Taliban killin' glory. But then it happened. I made an ally I will forever be blog indebted to.

His name is Tim. We will call him Midcity Stoner. MS is originally from SoCal, but thankfully didn't call it that. I would have hated him immediately. He used to work at Walmart, got fired for punching his manager, smokes weed like he's Snoop Dogg, and is my height or slightly taller (5'4"). He's thick, borderline fat, but has that sort of laugh that makes you laugh too, even if what he's laughing at was stupid. He calls me Tiff, only because the first time he did I asked him not to. He asked me why and I told him that a tiff is a petty little fight. So he never stopped. Whatevs. I call him much worse.

I'm walking back to the computer room to grab some paper and Midcity Stoner pops out of nowhere (scaring the shit out of me) and says "Tiff, come here. I gotta tell you this shit." We covertly make our way to the corner where diapers meets clothes and he fills me in.

MS: You know I fucking hate Mario, right?
Me: Well yeah, doesn't everyone?
MS: He he he. Yeah. Everyone. Even his family I think.
Me: True.
MS: So you were military right? Air Force or some shit?
Me: Yes, that exact shit.
MS: So you know about planes?
Me: Probably not as much as I should, but enough to call bullshit. Please tell me you have bullshit.
MS: Girl, I've got some serious shit.
Me: Please...continue. (Yes, I made an evil hand gesture, think the psych ward guy from Beauty and the Beast)
MS: Alright, so we're talking about Transformers 3 right?
Me: Why? It was terrible!
MS: I know, but its the only movie in the break room and we're gonna put it on during lunch.
Me: Got it. Continue.
MS: So Kenyon (another guy we work with...who's dreds have creatures) says like man that shit was crazy when theys in they squirrel suits. And Mario's fucking eyes light up and he starts saying that he used that shit when he parachuted or some shit into Baghdad.
Me: *could've heard a pin drop*
MS: Wait though, he said he parachuted from a B1. I don't know shit about shit like that but I know that's not that kind of plane.
Me: *finding my voice* What. The. Fuck.
MS: Right?
Me: Let's go with the plane first, no one, EVER, would jump, not parachute, but jump from a B1. It's a bomber. It holds bombs, not people. And who fucking "parachutes"? Seriously. I have never heard anyone who has been to Jump school call it Parachuting school.
MS: You look heated.
Me: He's just such a fucking liar.
MS: Call his ass out. That's what we do in my hood.
Me: That's what we do in my hood too.
Kenyon: *next isle over* Oh you got a hood?
Me: Yeah, you know. I keep it gangster.
Kenyon: I feel you.
MS: You're fucking stupid Tiff.
Me: I know.

So we devised a plan. I would take my lunch at the same time as everyone else, we would cue up the squirrel flying scene from Transformers 3 and wait for him to start. As soon as he opened his mouth with that bullshit, I would strike. I was giddy to say the least. He strutted in the break room about 20 seconds after I called for lunch. Such a fucking camper, but MS was right behind him. He didn't even go to the fridge, he cued up the movie. As the last employee strolled in, he hit play. Stolen Valor almost came.

SV: Yeah this is the best part!
Me: Why's that?
SV: Um, have you seen it? They fucking HALO. It's awesome. I guess you'd have to experience to get it.
Me: And you have?
SV: Pffft. Wouldn't you like to know.
Me: Yeah, I would.
SV: I bet you would.
Me: Well you'd win that bet because I would love to hear about your time in the service. Navy, right?
SV: Yeah.
MS: I thought you said the Army.
SV: No way bro, I'm a squid all the way.
MS: But you told me and Selena Army.
SV: You must have been high or something. *drunk hyena laugh*

I sensed what could happen here. He could try to divert attention on to MS so he wouldn't have to tell me about his service. I had to redirect.

Me: So seriously dude, you've done that?
SV: Uh yeah. I think I said that.
Me: Like operational or just for an exercise?
SV: We parachuted into Baghdad.
Me:...
Me:...
Me:...
Me: You did what now?
SV: When the war started, we had to parachute into Baghdad because that was the only way in.
Me: When was this?
SV: When the war started.
Me: But when?
SV: Like end of 2001, start of 2002.
Me: But you said you were involved in Umm Qasr in 03.
SV: Yeah, and?
Me: But that was the first battle of the war.
SV: Of the official war.
Me:...

Could shit have popped off secretly before the war started? Sure. Was this man involved in it? Hell no.

Is this what Navy bad asses look like?

He went on to say that they had to parachute into Baghdad because there was no airport. So this place, aptly named Baghdad International airport since 1980, doesn't exist:

Baghdad International Airport is actually just a mirage. Oh, you flew into there? No, you didn't.

I asked him what kind of plane he jumped from. He said, " I PARACHUTED from a B-1. Who says jump? Hahaha." Um, everyone says jump. You go to jump school to learn how to jump. What the fuck? But I almost missed the plane he said he jumped from. Almost.

Me: You jumped from a B-1?

SV: That's what I said.

Me: That's crazy.

SV: Yeah.

Me: No that's literally crazy. A B-1 is a bomber. Where did you jump from? The bomb bay?

SV: Whatever. I was Navy. I don't know the planes.

Me: Neither do I really, but I know you can't jump from a bomber.

SV: I meant M-1.

Me: That's a rifle.

SV: You know what I mean.

Me: No, I don't think I do.

There was a long, awkward silence...from him. Everyone else was stifling their laughs.

SV: What's the plane that they talk about in that chant thing?

Me: Do you mean a C-130?

SV: Yeah, that's the one.

Me: How do you mix that up with a B-1 Bomber or an M-1 carbine?

SV: *calls me something awful in Spanish*

Everyone was rolling at this point. No one tried to hide it. He got called the fuck out and yet, he wasn't done. He started talking about when he and his buddies went on a beer run to a nearby FOD (not FOB or forward operating base, but FOD, foreign object damage) and their convoy got blown up. Listen, I watched all 13 glorious episodes of Over There more times than I can recall and I know that that exact story happened in the same episode Bo gets his leg blown off in. I wish I could have had the smarts to record him telling this story as it was a shot by shot reference to that scene. Cool story bro, but Steven Bochco beat you to it. I held in my laughter and said "Man, I've had to do FOD checks so many times, but I've never seen anyone get blown up doing those."

Gee whiz info for the day: FOD, or foreign object damage, occurs when rocks or debris get on the flight line and damage the planes. When driving a vehicle onto the flight line, you're are supposed to stop before entering, check your tires for rocks, remove them, and then proceed slowly onto the flight line. Or just get out of your vehicle, pretend to look for shit, then get back into your vehicle.

The whole time he's popping off at the mouth, I'm posting his antics on my FB wall. My friend Melissa (we can work on blog names later) was in the Navy and was a great resource for me whilst calling him out. I asked him here he went to Boot and he got that answer right, but then told me he went to BUD/S and graduated on 9/11 ("The first one") and then it was boots to ground right after. Or is it boots to plane to air to ground?

Lunch ended far too soon. I couldn't stop though. Our word for the night became "jump." I streamed Kriss Kross' "Jump" and House of Pain's "Jump Around" on repeat through the PA system for much longer than would have been funny...except it was hilarious because Stolen Valor didn't get it. He...wait for it...actually jumped during the third or fourth playing of "Jump" and said, "Oh I fucking love this song!" Midcity Stoner almost died. We made sure to work the word jump into every conversation we had. "Hey, I need you to jump over to the bike section and get me this." "Make sure you don't jump off that ladder. It's pretty high. Not B1 high, but high." It was endless. The unspoken rule was that you couldn't just use it to use it. Stolen Valor had to be present. And each time, he just didn't understand that we were mocking him. He would just try to offer his opinion as a subject matter expert.

There was much more to this post the first (and second) time I wrote it, but I will end it here today. Be ready next week for Part 3: The firing squad.

IRaq and Roll

2013-01-01T17:56:00.000-07:00

Any of you who know me in real life and are not currently hiding my posts on your Facebook feed, know that I have been posting on the semi-regular about this ass hat I work with. His name is Mario, but I have given him a blog name BEFORE I even thought to blog about him.

The first time I met...wait for it...Stolen Valor, I was on a ladder, trying to not fall and crack my head open. He walked up, grabbed the frame, shook it a little bit, and then said "Oh shit, don't fall!" He then laughed like a drunk Hyena with a sinus infection for far longer than was appropriate. I calmly stepped down from the ladder, squared off with him, and said, "So it's funny to scare the shit out of someone while they are 25 feet off of the ground?" His face was priceless. He must have thought I was someone else (because there are so many white girls where I work) because he looked beyond shocked. He began backpedaling all over the place, saying he thought I was Maria or Alma or Beatrice (all short, squat Hispanics) and that they normally joke like that.

"So you think violating safety rules is a joke?" I asked in my best cop voice. "Oh no its cuz they like for me to tease them" he explained with a petulant but cocky tone. "Well, I don't. And you won't be doing it again. To me, or them. Got it?" I stated, rather than asked. I didn't wait for an answer. I walked into the back room and went straight to my "office." I needed to shake off the anger and fear I had from almost falling. See, I don't have a fear of heights, I have a fear of falling from them. Big difference.

But it didn't end. I'm angrily clicking the keys of my keyboard, trying to find a stupid signage report that my lovely coworker didn't finish and I feel two hands on my shoulders. As I'm preparing to take my keyboard and crack whomever the fuck it is in the face, I hear "Oy yey gringa, I'm sorry I scared you." I stand up, step to the side, then turn slowly and as dramatically as possible (I am nothing if not effective) and say "Listen, no need to touch. Ever." He laughs and says "Oh did I scare you? You jumped like someone shot a gun or something." "No," I replied, "I wouldn't jump from a gunshot. I jump when I'm in the back of a dark warehouse and feel creepy rapist hands on my shoulders." However, all he caught was that a gunshot wouldn't scare me.

"Oh, you know guns? You military?" he asked, tilting his head up to appear taller. In that moment, I knew. I fucking knew. He was going to be the bane of my existence. The rest of the night became a game of 20 questions, times 100. As he asked about my service (which I didn't really confirm) he mixed in his time in the Army, switched to calling it Navy, then back to Army and finishing strong with Navy. I wanted to call him out on it, but I decided that engaging him would be far worse.

It wasn't until I took my break that I really wanted to choke the life out of him. He sat right next to me, like scooted the chair even closer and began to probe me....for information. Had I ever been shot? Had I ever fired a gun? Did I say I was Army? Where was I stationed at? Was I ever down range? Did I know anyone in the Navy? I gave curt, one-word answers if I answered at all, but it dawned on me more and more with each question that he was trying to see how much I really knew about the military....so he could gauge how much bullshit he could get away with.

The next night when I arrived at work, he was waiting for me. Literally waiting at my desk. I say excuse me as politely as I can muster, but he still stands in front of my chair. "Can I help you with something Mario?" I ask. "Nah, I'm just back here. Watching them unload the truck, Angel wants me to oversee" he says, bragging to me. "Don't you have to be able to see them to oversee?" I ask. "Ah yeah, I got this," he replies. Okay, he can't take a hint, so I sort of motion for him to step aside. He laughs and moves aside, but not silently.

SV: That was like a signal, huh? Like military stuff. But I got it, you know, cuz we were both military. Air Force right?
Me: Yes Mario. Air Force.
SV: Oh so like, you guys got pampered, huh? Not us man. We were in the shit. I graduated for my job on 9/11 and it was like go go go go after that. Yeah, I've been to war.
Me: That's great Mario (I'm thoroughly engrossed in my inbox)
SV: Yeah, I was on the George Washington, that's a ship, a big one. But we docked in Iraq and then went in from there.
Me: (Looking up from my inbox) You docked IN Iraq?
SV: Yeah, bet you didn't know that huh? Yeah, Iraq is by the ocean.
Me: Well, it's on the Persian Gulf, not an ocean. But I didn't think a carrier could dock in Umm Qasr. And I really didn't think that the US Navy would send a carrier INTO Iraq. (Yes, I know where Umm Qasr is...I have an excellent memory...I don't think he accounted for that).
SV: Yeah, well they did.
Me: I thought only spec ops went into Umm Qasr in 03. I mean, it was kind of a big deal battle.
SV: Yeah, how do you think I know about it?

This is important to remember for my next blog in The Ballad of Stolen Valor series. Umm Qasr, or rather, the battle of Umm Qasr was one of, if not the first objectives of the Iraqi invasion. Take the port, you control all supplies coming in. American and British Marines with some Polish bad asses took Umm Qasr. The only Navy involved was the trained divers who detect and remove underwater mines. So is he a diver now? Seriously, I remember all of that from a doc on the History channel and a little from when it was initially reported but I'm pretty sure a quick wikipedia search could get him more accurate shit.

I was just about to ask him for detail (to nail him with) but I think he saw the doubt on my face and he quickly bolted back over to truck land. No goodbye, no "Oh I think they called for me", nada. I went about my business for the night and tried to make a mental note of all the bullshit I heard him spewing as I passed. He was Angel's responsibility, not mine, so instead of telling him to shut up and get back to work, I just absorbed. In the span of six hours or so, I heard the terms AR15, parachuted, squirrel suit, boat, kill, hit, shot, almost, this close, and a few dozen others repeated with such fervor that I wanted to pounce on him and rip out his jugular. All of it was bullshit, even if I hadn't caught the full stories surrounding the words. Bullshit, bullshit, bullshit (yes, read that like Kristen Bell says it in Forgetting Sarah Marshall).

I knew I couldn't let him keep this up, but our shift was almost done and I was a busy girl. I would have to strike the next night....

This concludes "The Ballad of Stolen Valor: Part 1." Tune in next week for part 2.

Seriously, I know I've been a lazy blogger, but I will have part 2 up for you all next week. Promise. Why? Because I've already written it and it's scheduled for a week from today. I have to keep you all coming back somehow.

Low Expectations

2012-11-16T01:55:00.002-07:00

Sometimes, I come to class thinking, "Man, tonight is going to be epic." I felt that way tonight. I woke up at 1630 hrs (I am normally getting ready by 1500), had to rush to get ready and print out my note cards for my team presentation that I forgot to practice. As I am rushing out the door, my mom and husband inform me that Little Bug got hurt at school today and one of her teachers was a total bitch about it. So I had to stay and get the whole story. That set me back 10 minuets and the line at Starbucks put me back another 15. By the time I got to school, I knew tonight had to be entertaining, because it always is when I am in no mood to write.

Wrong. Tonight is a snoozer. The last night of class always seems to disappoint me. Everyone has checked out. Usually, I can count on these people to be at their literary best when I am at my most tired, annoyed, rushed, etc., but tonight I am let down. Maybe if this was last week...le sigh.

So fuck them. I'll be ranting about zee German.

Little Bug is in Pre-K as I am sure I have bragged about numerous times. The very first day, she made a BFF. We shall call her Julie. Julie and Little Bug were both born in Germany, at the same hospital no less. Her father is in the Army and her mom is German. She's a few months older than Little Bug, taller, and a brunette. She has a 7 or 8 year old sister that she is a carbon copy of. We will call her Jay. Little Bug and Julie are inseparable. They insist on holding hands pretty much all the time, they finish each other's sentences, and they laugh at everything like it's an inside joke. I'm very happy Little Bug has a BFF.

Julie's mom is a whole different story. N and Jim (the husband) have been married for some time. They met in Germany when he was stationed there the first time and while she was dating another American service member. I'm not judging, it'll be important later.

SN: One of the cops is sitting next to me biting his nails and popping his joints over and over. I want to beat him. His nail bits are scattered all over the desk. I may scream.

After a week or to of school, I invited N and Julie over to swim on a Sunday. I believe it was Labor day, and we also had over my gal Shannon and her awesome brood. I figured that if N and I didn't hit it off, at least I would have Shannon there. I don't want to take to long on the Labor Day fiasco, but the woman is a nut. She spent almost the entire day talking about our pool and how she wished they had put in a pool instead of turf, how "they" were in the Army, and a plethora of info about her oldest daughter Jay. She ignored Julie to the point that the little girl clung to me like I was her mom. I am not normally a kid person (unless it's my friend's kids) but I felt so bad for her. She was desperate for attention. And of course, Little Bug was so taken with the older sister. I know that's how little girls are, but I was on LB like a hawk making sure she paid attention to Julie instead.

Jim showed up and he was everything I expected. Loud, pompous, boisterous, typical southerner. Hubby and Shannon's hubby Rob got on great with him, but I couldn't believe how much he dominated the conversation. I thought I was loud...sheesh.

Despite being severely annoyed with N's obsession with materialistic things, I dismissed it as a cultural miscommunication. Despite having been in the US for sometime, her accent was still noticeable and there were just some things about her that screamed "GERMAN!" What bothered (bothers) me the most is her total disregard for Julie. The sun rises and sets with Jay, but Julie is often times ignored. They went to Jay's school's Fall Festival, but skipped Julie's because "Jay didn't want to go to something for little kids." They ordered Jay's school portrait but were not going to order Julie's until she "cried like a little baby about it." When Julie comes over for a play date, she can only stay an hour or two because it isn't fair to Jay. Yep, Jay, who is in school until 3, doesn't think it is far that while she is at school Julie is at our house playing with Little Bug. We wouldn't want to anger Jay.

The first time Julie came over for a play date, she said and did some things that really bugged me. She told Little Bug that LB had such a nice small tummy and that she (Julie) was fat and gross. Little Bug ran in my room to tell me this, and also that "Julie said she hates herself." I had to have LB repeat this like six or seven times. I couldn't believe that a five-year-old girl was even capable of thinking she was fat or hating herself. I had them both come in my room. They climbed up on the bed and we had a talk about self-worth. We talked about how you should always love yourself, no matter what. I don't even know if I handled it right (LB is not lacking in self-worth AT ALL), but her angst broke my heart.

I didn't bring it up to her mom. what would I have said? Your daughter has body image issues at 5? As a younger sister, I assumed she got most of this from her older sister, they're where we little sisters get most of our issues, but a nagging part of me wondered if N was partly or mostly responsible. She is constantly comparing Julie to Jay and Little Bug. "Oh look at Little Bug's outfit? See how pretty she is?", "Julie, why isn't your hair pretty like Little Bug's?", "Jay doesn't have dry skin like Julie", and much worse. Every time she opens her mouth out flows something critical about Julie, and Julie is always within ear shot.

When it was Julie's turn to host a play date, I ended up staying there as well. Not because I didn't want to leave Little Bug alone (though I didn't), but because Jim was also home and he insisted on giving me a tour of their house. The same house N was devastated about because they didn't have a nice pool like ours. The house is nice, really, but it isn't anything different from any other house in Sun City. Two-story, multiple car garage, open floor plan, up near the mountain and over-priced. They paid $225,000 for it using their VA loan and put nothing down. Not the route I would take, but they were sure proud. Then the tour started.

We started on the second floor with the kids playroom. It was full of toys (mostly Jay's), a big screen LCD TV, pottery barn furniture, and "super expensive carpet." I know how much everything cost in the room...because they told me. Jim kept nudging me and saying, "Guess how much that carpet cost. Just guess." I finally did and he LOL'd in my face and said, "Double that!" All for a kids play room.

I was whisked to Jay's room, also filled with the best furniture money can by. Crate and Barrel, Pottery Barn, Ethan Allen...all were present in Jay's room. I remarked that I loved the quilt set from Target, and N looked at me terrified. "You can tell it's from Target?!" she asked. I told her that I had looked at the same one for Little Bug and that though we did not get it, it was really cute. I'm sure she threw it out after and bought a high-end one. Julie's room was far less fancy. Also rocking a quilt set from Target (the owl one we got for Little Bug), N didn't put the same effort into coordinating this room as she did Jay's. Nothing on the wall (Jim said it's because he doesn't want nail holes in that room only), furniture matched but looked like it had been abused by someone before she got it...just a marked difference. She didn't even keep the door open that long, as if the room embarrassed her...like how she treats Julie.

Down the hall was Master Suite number 1. N sleeps in this one, complete with more Pottery Barn furniture, a balcony, Jacuzzi tub, walk-in closet and "just a wonderful view" of the side of a mountain. After they listed the prices of everything from the carpet (different and more expensive) to the wall sconces, we moved downstairs. Jim sleeps in Master Suite number 2. Lives is a better word. Like, I get sleeping in another room because your spouse snores, but they LIVE in separate rooms. This one was a man bedroom to the core, but decked out in leather and "rich mahogany." I swear to whomever you worship, he said that...and was NOT making an Anchorman reference.

Then came the kitchen, laundry room, backyard, living room and formal dining room. Without giving the same price list they gave me, I will tell you that anyone who spends that much money on minor, non-value adding improvements on their home is an idiot. But anyone who brags about it, knowing that I know how much you make at your rank, is a pompous idiot.

Despite all of these things, I was still pretty tolerant of Das German. Every morning when we drop the girls off at school, I can be polite and listen as she rambles on about how they should be stationed at the Pentagon and not here, how they should have got a pool (STILL!), how Little Bug is so pretty compared to Julie, and how they aren't going to participate with Julie's school fundraisers because Jay's school already had one. Until Red Ribbon Week hit. Each day had a specific theme. Day one was the day the kids got to dress up like what they want to be when they're older, day two was Tie-dye, day three was patriotic, day four was pajamas, and day five was crazy hair day. Little Bug dressed as a rock star for day one and while the kids were playing before class, N asked me what I was going to do about the tie-dye shirt. I told her I was going to make one.

Then, my hatred of her officially began. She went on to tell me how difficult it was going to be to make a tie-dye shirt and how it WOULD NOT BE FAIR to Julie if Little Bug had one and she did not. Yeah, it wouldn't be fair to YOUR child that I make MY child a shirt. You know what isn't fair? The fact that if it was for Jay, you would have made three shirts so she had options. I made a shirt anyway, her child's feelings be damned and it cost me less than ten bucks and a few hours of my time. But from that point on, everything out of her mouth has sparked a rage in me that I can not quell.

She is atrocious right? But wait, it gets worse. She treats me like her human Google. Every morning, EVERY FUCKING MORNING, she has a new batch of questions for me that a normal person would just, well, Google. Or Bing, pick your poison. At first it was just questions about the weather this time of year and if I know of any good local whatevers. However, the questions quickly morphed into where should she shop online for multiple, very specific things and what should she buy her 11-year-old niece for Christmas. Each time I try to passively answer the questions, she presses me for more info. Take the present question, I told her, "Aren't most little girls into dolls and stuff. Try that." Should have been the end of the convo right? Nope. She then wanted to know what kind of dolls, what does she do if the niece doesn't like the dolls she sends, should she send it with a gift receipt so she can return it, should she spend more than $50, dolls are kind of immature, maybe she should just send clothes, but what are the sizes....and on and on. Then she abruptly stops and says, "Dolls aren't right for her. I shouldn't have asked you." Go. Fuck. Yourself.

I don't answer now. I just pretend that watching Little Bug play is taking every ounce of my being. She hasn't clued in and still asks. I must not reply because the things that will come out of my mouth are not going to be pleasant. Or appropriate to say in front of our children. I feel like this blog hasn't remotely covered the suckfest that is Das German N, but she's one of those women you have to experience in person...

Anyway, I'm exhausted and need to sleep. I'll check in with Black Friday drama next week.

Oh, here's Little Bug's Red Ribbon Week pics:

OF COURSE she wants to be a Rock Star when she grows up!

Yeah, I made that shirt.

Voting for her future and waving like a candidate.

Pajama day...except she didn't sleep in those.

Her idea of crazy hair was me NOT styling it. One mom tried to make a dig by saying "I thought YOU of all the mom's would have done something crazy!" To which I replied, "She wanted it down and unstyled, like your daughter, every day." Take that bitch...and change out of your pajama pants.

You're Gonna Miss Me

2012-11-09T00:21:00.000-07:00

I didn't blog last week because I didn't go to school last week. I felt and looked like death, so obviously I couldn't leave the house. Sorry to leave you all hanging. I need to get back on here, blogging it up, but I've been pretty busy.

I got a job. It's overnight at the world's largest toy store. After the first night, they made me 2IC. I haven't lifted a box or stocked a shelf since (unless my OCD kicked in and I felt the need to put all the Ninjago in the correct place). Needless to say, I haven't much time for blogging.

HMIC strutted in, dramatically threw his stuff down on a table, and said, "Well, who's ready to have a shitty four more years?!" I laughed, so did a few others, but Clown Face said, "Ay but he promised change. It'll happen!" Stoner White Boy Cop spoke up and told her, "He promised change four years ago. Shit changed alright, for the worse." Clown Face then said, "Oh yeah that's so true." Way to stick to your guns. I asked her if she voted and she said no, but it was because the lines were annoying. "Oh, so you went to the polling place, but didn't have time to wait?" I asked. "No," she said, "I saw on the TV that the lines were long in Florida too." I almost asked what Florida has to do with El Paso, but I didn't want to lose brain cells.

I still don't feel too hot. No fever or anything, but my allergies are acting up and I want to take a nap. HMIC is doing his best to engage me, but I'm sleepy McTired Pants. How is it possible that with all my yawning and coughing, I am still the most active participant in the room? This makes my head hurt.

To top all of that off, we broke for lunch and I didn't move. I'm a wee bit hungry, but I just didn't think it was worth it. There is one gas station near the campus and everyone breaks for lunch at the same time. Nope. I'm good. The things you overhear when you don't leave the classroom though...juicy. Apparently Dental Diva and Clown Face almost came to blows last week in the parking lot after class, all because Clown Face didn't correct the grammar in their team paper. Dental Diva said she sent the paper to her with shitty spelling and grammar because that's the job of the editor. Oh Dang totally agreed with her, because "who has time to make sure it's right?" THEY didn't volunteer to edit the paper, so Clown Face should just "fucking edit it and shut her mouth." Well, after class last week, Dental Diva was parked by Clown Face and CF stood in front of DD's car door and demanded an answer as to why she didn't edit her work. DD told CF she better get the fuck out of her face or she would "gut that bitch." Over editing?!

CF, allegedly, put her hands on DD and shoved her back into another car, which caused to alarm to go off. DD said that the security guard came running over and CF was lucky because "she was gonna get it. Bitch doesn't know how we do." Oh Dang told DF that she would have so had her back but she looked like she had it. "Girl, I knew you'd fuck her up. I saw you, you had it." These women are mothers. Sheesh.

Eh, I guess I don't have any room to talk. I took Little Bug to see Wreck It Ralph this past weekend. Everything was fine, but the place was packed. So, when it was time to leave, traffic was a nightmare. I patiently waited for a good fifteen minuets. When I finally was able to move, a man in a black Ford sedan with Juarez plates tries to cut in. It wasn't like he had been waiting as well, he zipped in out of nowhere and tried to squeeze his car in between me and the guy in front of me. Normally I let people in, but there was no room for this guy unless I backed up and that wasn't happening, not with the 15 cars behind me. So I honk at him to warn him that as he is inching towards me and about to hit me. He keeps moving and I honk again. It set him off.

He rolls down his window and starts throwing trash from his vehicle at my car. A full theater cup of soda, a small cardboard box, random fast food wrappers, one after another strikes the hood of my car and windshield. I watch in horror as he gets out of his car, reaches into the parking lot planter, and picks up a good-sized rock. Keep in mind he is on Little Bug's side of the car. I reacted.

I got out of the car. Probably a dumb move, but I sized him up pretty well. He was maybe five feet, scrawny, and effeminate as all get out. I could take him. He saw me get out and threw the rock. He missed. Worse than when I threw a rock at this Asian boy named Who-e in the seventh grade. That story WILL be told one day. Anyway, he sees me and hurries back into his car. The whole time he's yelling at me that I'm a crazy white bitch, a fucking whore, skank, slut, cunt, puta, etc. He was so determined to wound me with words that even after he got in his car, he rolled his window down to keep yelling at me. I calmly walked toward his open window, spit on his face and hit his window three times with the side of my fist. On the third strike, I heard his window crack. Then, I calmly walked back to my car, flipped him off, got back in and drove off.

I'm not proud. At. All. Little Bug was super upset, it took me forever to calm her down, but it took me longer to calm myself down. I thought he was gonna smash in her window or who knows what. I reacted. Poorly. But come at my kid, I come at you. I'm appalled that I spit on his face. So classless. I know you're probably thinking "What about Little Bug?!" But even whilst enraged, I turned off the car, took out the keys, and locked it. Aside from the emotional trauma, she's fine. I explained to her that mommy was scared the mean man was going to hit her and she was so sweet. She said, "Mommy, you're a good mommy. You won't let anyone hurt me. But don't be mean to strangers." Thank goodness kids are resilient, because I was so sad that she witnessed that. Please, judge away in the comments.

Class picked back up. We had to do this role-play activity that designated four groups to represent four different parts of an ice cream company. Oh Dang, Stoner White Boy Cop, Dawg, and I were all on a team and we represented the production plant of the company. Because I'm exhausted and because there was too much going on to type, I will say just this: we kicked ass. So much so that the three of them suggested we be a group next class. I replied that they shouldn't get carried away. The less I find that I have in common with these people the better.

Anyway, me so sleepy. Unfortunately, I have to stay up to keep my sleep schedule, but continuing to write would just produce babble. Maybe more later in the week.

Time Is On My Side

2012-10-21T20:41:00.000-06:00

New class, new group, new instructor, still an outcast. There are actually 2 other white people in the class, but one is Stoner White Boy Cop from I-USA's class and the other is staring directly at my boobs. Hipster Gordo and Mexican Snookie are also in this class, but I will pretend to not know them for as long as I can get away with. There's a guy who was in my last class but I still don't know his name. We said "Hello" and all, but it was forced.

The chair of the department is our instructor. He's a bigot through and through according to Katniss, but he's got an academic crush on me already. He already announced to the class that I will be a blessed addition to the Master's program, the one they probably won't make it into. Yeah, he said it. He's never had me before but he's heard "great, excellent, amazing, inspired things" about me. I guess I am the one "you want in your group, because 90% of this class is group and she's a genius." That bar is now set way too high. I read the syllabus and had every intention of coasting through this class. I have all the individual work already done and half of my group work done. They're all looking at me like I'm a glass of water and they've been lost in the desert for a week. Well, at least I'll have my pick.

Clown Face just walked in late. I could have sworn she wasn't going to be in this class. I checked the roster and didn't see her name...oh wait, I only know her as Clown Face. No wonder I didn't know. I should really learn real names. Hehehe, and you thought I was just protecting identities.

HMIC is what we'll call the instructor. Head Mexican In Charge. He's spent the past ten minuets letting us all know just how at the top he is. He's got jokes too. I think he's a cross between George Lopez and Larry David, but not because he's Mexican, but because he does the stereotypical Mexican voice to make fun of them. I don't think I'm going to hate him. As we started going over the policy letter and syllabus, he said, "I don't do this whole 'I'm a stupid Mexican and I don't answer questions and I don't listen' because I will fail you and probably hit you." Yeah, I am the only one laughing.

There is a line in the policy letter that states "in order to promote professionalism in any criminal justice occupation and future dealings in the field, it is recommended to avoid wearing caps, hats, or sunglasses during class." I not only get it, but I love it. Hipster Gordo is wearing both a hat and sunglasses. HMIC is explaining why this is essential to giving a good presentation and why someone needs to be able to listen to you present without thinking you're a "stupid, fat, wannabe gangster" and kept his eyes locked on Hipster Gordo. He still kept his hat and shades on and HMIC let out a heavy sigh and said, "Okay, so obviously you just don't care. I'll remember that when I grade your work." AND STILL, he leaves on his cap and shades. Target acquired.

We had a pretty intense 20 minuets or so of quality teaching before the break. HMIC sat down next to me and taught from that seat. It made everyone else tense up but I relaxed a bit and was able to take it in more than if he had been pacing up front. It helped me focus on the content and not Clown Face's sharpie brows or Hipster Gordo's eyeliner. Yeah, he has on eyeliner. HMIC did scare me a few times when he would stop speaking and yell at whoever wasn't paying attention. Not directly, mind you, but in that way that let's everyone know he means you and causes you to shrink in your chair. "BECAUSE THE CONVERSATION ABOUT WHO PUT IT IN YOU LAST NIGHT AND WHAT HAPPENED ON JERSEY SHORE HAS EVERYTHING TO DO WITH CRIMINAL JUSTICE.... and really, that's how you can embrace other cultures in your field of work..." He then apologized for making me jump out of my skin. Clown Face said, "Oh you did it to me too!" HMIC smiled and said, "Well, remind me to decide if I feel bad about that."

Look, I realize that if he was treating me this way, I would be irate. BUT there is a difference. I am studious, I am attentive, and I participate. THEY had a 15-minuet conversation about brands of tampons before realizing that HMIC had stopped speaking and was watching them. It's a bit deserved. Tampons guys, tampons.

I think I’ll skip the rest of class and break down each classmate for you guys. It’s going to get intense, so hold on.

Hipster Gordo: Homeboy described himself as an “Inventory Specialist Interim Supervisor” at Wal-Mart. His real name is Eduardo but he prefers Eddie because the white people always fuck his name up. Funny, because the tongue ring in your mouth caused your rolled R to sound a bit off, but I’m the one who’s going to fuck it up. He kept his shades and hat on the entire time and I heard him whisper that he was “high as fuck” so he couldn’t take them off. I’ll be sure to remember that should I find out what Wal-Mart he works at.

Stoner White Boy Cop: Apparently he just made detective for Sun City PD, though the other cops in the class were talking among themselves saying that he fucked some higher ups wife and detective is now in jeopardy. He still looks high. He is growing out his “detective mustache” as he called it, but it looks like gnarly pubes on his face.

Mexican Snookie: She’s back and still rocking coral colored clothing. I told Katniss this and she said “What? She hasn’t been shopping since before?” She works at Duncan Doughnuts and she said she recognized some of the cops from class from there. When asked what she wants to do with her degree (should she graduate), she said, “I don’t know, why are joo putting me on the spots?”

Oh Dang: I think she’s Asian. Her name is Kimmy with a B and her last name is pretty obvious ^. She is built like a super model except that her face is contorted into this hideous expression, like she had a stroke. It’s just her bad attitude. She hates our instructor and said out loud that if he pronounced her name wrong again she would report him. He told her, “You’d report me for that? What are you going to do when you see your grade from the first paper? Should I wear a second chance vest?” I LOL’d and got a death stare.

Angel Bautista: Sounds and looks just like Angel Batista from Dexter, but white. And yes, I know that Hispanics come in all different colors, but trust me, He. Is. Caucasian. And old. He works for the Department of the Army, which means he’s a civilian gate guard.

Clown Face: She worked for UPS for 16 years but quit because she didn’t feel “respecteded no more” and now is suing them for her pension. She says she has been offered some really awesome jobs (like jobs I would jump on) but she isn’t sure what she wants to do. HMIC said that it was amazing she was offered these jobs because you have to have a degree for them and she said, “Well they really like me.”

Pinky: My new teammate. She works at a call center, wants to be an FBI agent or a criminal defense attorney, and has an obsession with pink. Everything she had on, head to toe was pink. EVERYTHING. I asked, “So you like pink, huh?” to which she replied (seriously, “I try to wear it everyday. It really is my best color.” Elle Woods would be proud? She also spelled her own name wrong on the team list (and scratched it out with her pink pen to change it), thinks that immigration is cool but only for light skinned Mexicans, and says my name like “Teeeffaneeee.”

The Brain: She is also my other new teammate. She’s so quiet that you have to have her repeat things 4 to 7 times, has the thickest accent I have ever heard (or not heard) and her head is 4 times larger than it should be to be proportionate to her body. She sits next to Pinky (who is super tiny) and I hear the iconic theme song playing.

Jack Diesel: Sits in front of me and is covered in tats from his neck down. HMIC asked him what he does and he told us about the gym he works at.... whilst flexing. You work at a gym? Couldn’t tell. He wants to be DEA but undercover, which (and I am dead serious) is why he got all the tats. You know, so he could blend in. That’s totally why the DEA will hire him and start him undercover immediately.

The Three Stooges: I think I might have had them in a class or two a while back, but you’ve seen one trio of fat Sun City cops, you’ve seen them all. They sat in a row and finished each other’s sentences. They also said they knew Mexican Snookie and that she was a bitch all the time in the drive-thru to which she replied, “Oh its cuz I hate my job and shit.”

Hosway: That’s how he sounded out his name for HMIC so I guess we just have to leave it at that. He’s portly with Backstreet Boy facial hair and a bad Express for Men fitted T addiction. I know that his nipples are pierced and that he has a hairy gut because none of the sales people at Express for Men wanted to tell him that a small could not replace an 2XL. He’s the same kid who wanted to work with the Federalas in my last couple of classes, but now, he wants to work for “childrens stuff.”

Flowers: Skinny, pockmarks, whip smart, and also my new teammate. Works for his dad’s detailing company but wants to work for customs. He only has a few more classes, but his dad said he couldn’t apply until he finished college. He’s 19. Apparently he graduated HS at 17 with his Associates because Sun City offers that program. I am tres impressed, but can’t look directly at his face. I might throw up, seriously.

Dental Diva: Showed up HELLA late and then demanded to be handed the roster to sign. HMIC said it could wait until break and she said, “You gon’ regret that. Imma sign all large and shit.” HMIC asked her to please settle down and added, “Let’s not show up late AND be disruptive.” She shut up quickly. It’s hard to be taken seriously when you have Mickey Mouse scrubs on. Her and Oh Dang are buddies (and the tampon convo culprits) and during break conversed about how it was too bad the dentist she works for is old and married because he has mad money. And is also probably too rich to go for your FUPA.

Chinese Tats: He started by saying, “I’m open to whatever (long pause followed by gross smile) ladies.” Had to swallow down my puke. He wants to work for some type of criminal justice entity (but he said envyty) but not one that has crazy hours because “I did that once with the Navy and I’m not about that anymore.” He has Chinese symbols lining his forearms that he says mean all the clichéd things, and check this out, he got them “in Asia on shore leave. That’s some authentic shit, you know?”

Dawg: Dawg is my dream teammate. He is a vet tech, a substitute teacher, this is his last class, and he will be leaving for Dallas to work as an Animal Cruelty Investigator for Dallas. He’s THIS close to being done, which means he will not be fucking anything up, but the Three Stooges snatched him up.

Should be a pretty easy class. Not too much learning team stuff, and I always appreciate that. My art class that I’m taking online is a different story. I have the uneducated team from hell. More on them later. I hope to get back into the swing of regular blogging, but who knows. See you later.

Heard You Whisper

2012-10-09T09:14:00.000-06:00

Maybe it was my Dependa Slap Down earlier today, maybe it was my lack of sleep last night, maybe it's because Nicki Minaj went all hood on Mariah Carrey and I can't be outdone. Whatever it is, I am not having it tonight. It doesn't help that everything I am writing is in a tough English accent in my head. Totally egging me on, actually. Say "actually" out loud in a British accent....amazing, idint it?

I am actually still reeling from having to do so much homework this week. I easily BS'd my way through my art class paper, but I have to respond to discussion questions daily and it's driving me mad. The forum in which we post has spellcheck, use it. Then I had my individual paper for Mr. Bordertown's class, but he took FOREVER to get our grades back to us from last week. I have this mental block that doesn't allow me to create new work when the old work hasn't been graded (praised) yet. I know I'll get an A, but I need to see the A. So the grades came through yesterday and I put my nose to the grindstone to finish and not neglect my child at the same time. Not sure if I struck the right balance, but I'll pay for her therapy later.

THEN there was the team paper and presentation. I should have had that done a few days ago, but you know what happens when you have to read a boring ass article and then write a paper about said boring ass article? You take your fucking time. The subject of the article doesn't really suck, I love an good in-depth study about illicit arms trafficking in the Balkans. I don't love an in-depth study written by foreigners who use other people's in-depth studies and articles instead of doing their own research. I ended up using the articles that were referenced instead and explained in the paper that the original article was shit. THEN I made a half-assed presentation that everyone else would turn in as their best work. All the while catching up on Once Upon A Time and Revenge. I'm sure I missed a bunch by only listening...such is life.

I walked into class to find Juarez Teenager Female already here and frantically taking notes. She looked up and when she saw me, she looked like a weight had been lifted from her shoulders. "Oh my gawd, I dint know if you were coming and I jus barely gotted the presentation! I don't even know what slides is mine and there are no notes or nothing!" she whined. I set up my things and sat down. I told her calmly, "Well it's really hard when one person is doing the work of three. You wouldn't know that burden, would you?" She looked embarrassed (as she should be) and asked if I had note cards for her. I gave her the ones for her slide and quietly said, "If you don't like when I get the work to you, maybe you should offer to help." Again, she looked embarrassed and said, "Oh its cuz I thought maybe you just dint do it cuz like sometimes I just don't do it either."

I wasn't shocked, but Typhoid Maria sure was. She had been quietly listening to our conversation and finally decided to speak up. "It's such a shame that I put so much effort into my work and people like you just skate by," she bitched. "People like who?" I loudly replied. "I didn't mean white people," she said sounding panicked, "I meant Juarez Teenager Female. I promise!" I had to make the call, do I defend JTF or do I let it go? What do you think?

I let it go. Just kidding. I turned my body, looked her dead in the eye, and started to speak, but Juarez Teenager Female spoke up. "Ju know wha Typhoid Maria, you have some nerves to tell me anythings about people like me. You shows me the website you buy jur papers from, okay? So don't go there." Get it girl. Typhoid Maria said, "I'm not even going to dignify that with a response." I didn't stop laughing for much longer than was appropriate.

I guess that'll teach her to mind her own business from now on. She's fuming now, and angrily tapping her foot against the desk we share. I only have this class and next week's class with her and I am sickeningly delighted this happened. JTF presented me with the gift that keeps on giving. No, not herpes, but the knowledge that Typhoid Maria is not just a cunt, but a fucking cheater as well....it's a beautiful thing. It's not just that I know, it's that she knows I know. Maniacal laugh, maniacal laugh.

We watched a short news piece about Tracy Thurman. She was beaten and stabbed by her husband while cops and neighbors watched. She is the reason that domestic violence laws changed in the US. Did anyone know this before the clip? Just me. Did anyone give a shit after the clip? Just me. It did inspire everyone else to tell the class about their personal experiences (or their cousins) with domestic violence. Most of it wreaked of bullshit as I am fairly certain these stories would have made the news. Like the one where Fat Alberto's cousin was getting beat up by this guy, you know, this guy she was married to (her husband?) and she said "You know, enough of this you know" and she cut off his parts. Yes, he said parts. After a very loud LOL outburst by me, I said, "Oh, so you're cousin is Lorena Bobbitt?" Fat Alberto said he doesn't know a Bobbitt but her name is Lorena (say it as Hispanic as possible). Wow, such a coincidence. Mr. Bordertown asked if this happened in Sun City (you know, since he's been a cop for decades) and Fat Alberto replied, "Oh si, but not really here." Still not sure what that means. Maybe it means it didn't really happen at all?

Typhoid Maria told us a tail of her teen mom daughter and the "baby's father, well, my grandchild's father, you know, the boy who took advantage of my daughter." Her daughter was an honor student, into sports and "no matter what all the lying little sluts at her school say, not at all promiscuous." But then this boy came along and "forced her to have sex with him" and now she struggles everyday with being a mom and a student. That's not domestic violence, that's rape. Well, if she's telling the truth. Let's find out shall we?

Me: How did he force her to have sex with him? Did he rape her?
TM: Well, he might as well have.
Me: So was she a willing participant or not? Just because she got pregnant doesn't make it rape.
TM: I never said that Tiffany.
Me: But you said he forced her to have sex with him.
TM: Well, she would have never made that choice on her own. He manipulated her.
Me: So he smooth talked his way into her panties? That isn't rape. That's called game. At least that's what I think the kids are saying.
TM: NO, IT WAS RAPE. SHE TOLD ME THAT HE MADE HER WANT TO DO IT.
Me: So he made her "want" to have sex? He turned her on. That's not rape either, that's called foreplay.
TM: You have no idea what I am trying to say.
Me: I think YOU have no idea what you're trying to say.

Mr. Bordertown jumped in and tried to deescalate the situation, but I think he just pissed her off more. "I think what Tiffany is trying to say is that there is a huge difference between domestic violence, dating violence and rape and what you described. If she got pregnant by someone, well, unless it was statutory rape, it isn't really the same as what we are discussing," he offered up. "Excuse me, but just because she was older than him does not mean she is not a victim!" Typhoid Maria said through gritted teeth. Whoa Nelly, no one even knew that tidbit. I had to ask...

Me: So she was older than him?
TM: Not that that is relevant, but yes, she was 18 and he was 14. But he was very cunning.
Me: So you're daughter committed statutory rape? Because anything more than three years difference is statutory rape.
TM: And he should have been charged.
Me: No, SHE should have been charged. She's 4 years older than him. She's the rapist according to the law.
TM: DON'T CALL MY DAUGHTER A RAPIST! SHE IS A VICTIM.
Mr. B: Okay, you don't get to get upset when the validity of your story is questioned. This is a learning environment. You brought up a story, we have a right to discuss what we think about that story. And frankly, if she was 18 and he was 14, his parents should have pressed charges on YOUR daughter. That's the law.
TM: Well, maybe he was 15.
Mr. B: Well maybe this story sounds as believable as Fat Alberto's story. We're moving on.

Zing! We moved on. Sort of. Mr. Bordertown completely ignored a steaming Typhoid Maria and started discussing the difference between domestic violence protocol then and now...with me. I think he tries to include the rest of the class, but when they don't respond or say things that are beyond idiotic, he asks me directly. And since this is my last class with this group, I have no problem being the teacher's pet. Fuck these idiots. If they finish their degree, it'll be a fucking miracle. Or what the Mayans predicted.

Sorry it took so long to get this posted. I started another online class and there is much more work than the last one. Oh, and I'm lazy, so that didn't help.

Insensitive

2012-10-04T12:32:00.000-06:00

If someone who fanatically liked all of your posts on a page called "Overly Sensitive Military Wives" sends you a friend request, do no accept. No matter how much they beg. When they message you and say that you are so funny and smart, that you handed that deendapotomus her ass, that they have finally met someone like them with their style of humor, DO NOT ACCEPT THEIR FRIEND REQUEST. Because really, they're bat shit crazy, stupid as all get out, are the definition of an Overly Sensitive Military Wife, and most likely are friending you to make a skin suit of you.

Let me give a wee bit of background. There is a (AWESOME!) Facebook page called Overly Sensitive Military Wives. It will change your life. The creator, a woman called "Six" is hilarious, offensive, and completely unapologetic. If you ever need a good laugh though, take the option of reading "posts by others." Some posts are retellings of encounters with "Dependa-whatevers" (bison, potomaus, skank, etc.) and their entitled, overly dramatic asses. Some feel a bit false or too incredible to believe, but as other women who witnessed the encounter as well start commenting and adding details, your jaw drops or you real world LOL.

Then there are other posts coming from ACTUAL Dependas as they tell the moderator that she's a whore, slut, cunt, that they're reporting her, her husband is gonna pay because of her, and basically being the perfect example of the pages theme.

My favorites are the Dependas who post their bitches, gripes, and complaints about how hard it is to be a dependant, how their husbands are mistreated, how they don't get paid enough, how deployments make marriage so hard, and how they deserve respect because of what their husband wears on his sleeves or lapel.

I've been called a bully, a cunt, a twat, a whore, a ungrateful vet who thinks she's better than everyone else because she was a pussy and joined the AF, you name it. I enjoy it. They aren't just proving the moderators point, they keep my quips sharp like daggers. I prefer to take on a tone of maybe sarcasm, maybe serious because the confusion it causes makes me LOL more. OF COURSE I'm being sarcastic, but they get so worked up. I can imagine them sitting on their sofa, piles of dirty laundry and dishes surrounding them, the TV on with whatever Soap they obsessively follow, furiously typing with their stumpy fingers because how dare I patronize them. Even more entertaining is when they tell me that I am the one who's upset, I'm the one getting worked up, I'm the one who is out of control. I giggle and keep slamming them, and when it's over, I go on about my business while their lives are ruined by the blond cunt.

Anywho, back to the reason for the post. Did everyone watch the debate last night? The Presidential one? Now did everyone comprehend what was said during the debate? Because Duena (real name and the sycophant who friended me) did not. All she gathered was Romeny mentioned PBS.

She's always confused. She posts status updates that should be personal messages (or just left as thoughts) and she comments on things with the understanding of an infant. It's bad. I thought about sugar coating a response, but I just kept it to the point.

I probably exaggerated with the "majority of it line" but whatever. Even her friend Lindsay tried to inform her. It didn't matter. She honestly thinks that Romney's platform is to cut PBS.

I don't mean that she has to agree with me to be a Republican, I don't determine membership (though the religious right would be gone if I was in charge!). I just meant that cutting wasteful spending and government subsidizes is something the Republican party touts. In comes Cunty McCunterson.

I could have taken this as sarcasm, but this was not sarcasm. I had seen her comments before on Duena's status' and I can tell you with 100% certainty that she is serious. The first one (which I can't go back and re-snap because I've been deleted and blocked) goes on to explain that her father-in-laws station is 100% ran on donated money and not MY money. Oh, and that I needed Big Bird to educate me.

Again, I did not click "see more" before snapping the pic. I told Charlene that her passive aggressiveness was crystal clear. I said "Maybe you should just embrace the bitch you're trying to suppress and tell me how you really feel. Or you can play nice and have a civilized debate. Your choice." Apparently, that qualifies as hatred and preaching from my soap box (me? Preach? lol). Then she throws in the irrelevant sob story. Charlene, Y U No make sense?

I think this was to the point right? This isn't emotional, personal opinion time. I provided researchable fact. Sandy and Charlene can't argue bias when the numbers don't lie. Oh but wait...

Please understand that using "......." doesn't help your case. It makes me want to punch you. The subject isn't welfare reform, it's cutting subsides to PBS. How'd we jump to welfare. She says she is stating facts she knows to be true (with no proof), but that the facts I can back up are opinions. And when did I say tax-dollars were only MY money? I mean, it is, but it's her money too. Well, I guess not as she assumes I am assuming she doesn't pay taxes.

I know she read this and pictured that I was a red-faced as her, screaming as I typed. I wasn't. I'm still not. I think the sanctimonious route really unnerves the Dependas. I like to unnerve.

And then I bitch slapped her with some proof. Sucka foo. All public broadcasting stations in Alaska fall under that shiz. Even your saintly father-in-laws.

Look at that CAPSLOCK in full effect. Who's panties are in a wad? Or Wod? Not mine. Now according to her profile, which hells yeah I went and looked, she lists her job as SLAVE to her family. This doesn't really offend me, but the fact that this woman's page is covered with those "He wears dog tags and I wear his ring" or "Navy wife and strong" memes that aren't funny, just pompous, tells me that this woman isn't just a Dependa. She is THE Dependa. It gets better.

There's the full text you couldn't see before. For a woman that is pissed I called her bi-polar (which I did not, I said her posting is bi-polar), she's doing a great job of showing it off. She said these were facts she was providing and now they're opinions? I love a flustered Dependa.

Not complaining, just saying. I love this line. Yes, you are complaining. Your whole page (that I trolled which makes me bi-polar) is full of complaining. When people say this line, be advised, THEY ARE ALWAYS COMPLAINING! My Hubby and I spent plenty of time apart while in the Air Force. Probably not more than she has spent in the BX (my favorite line ever) because we all know how Dependas get with that Star Card and their husbands money, but enough time deployed to give this gal a run for her money. I had to leave my 10-month-old Little Bug with my tits still full of milk to go to the desert. [Breast feeding means you don't deploy for a year and yes, I selfishly chose to bf because of this reg, but doesn't work when you're a cop. You go with titties full of milk or not.] Nothing is worse than a Dependa who thinks no one else have ever experienced what she has. Cunt.

Anyway, deployments don't cause your spouse to become a less-equal partner. You're attitude causes that. As soon as I posted that last comment, I knew. I referenced Overly Sensitive Military Wives and I got blocked. Military wives who meet the qualifications troll the page, desperately monitoring that they will not be featured. Instinctively, I screenshot'd as the conversation went down. I didn't know if it would be blog worthy, but since I've been slacking lately, I figured it wouldn't hurt.

Know any Dependas with screenshots to back it up? I'd love to hear others takes on this all too commonly found in society species.

It Won't Be Like This For Long

2012-10-03T20:40:00.000-06:00

My dear, sweet, beautiful, smart and wonderful friend Shannon has blessed us all with a guest blog. I love her like a sister, probably more because my sisters and I fight like Palestinians and Jews. She is the bravest and strongest woman I know. There are not enough elegant words I could use to describe her, but take my word on it. She is amazing.

So is her family. Her husband Rob is a fantastic example for what a husband and father should be, plus he's country and gets along grandly with Hubby. Her teenager C is the most kind, compassionate, respectful, and beautiful 15-year-old I have ever met. Little Bug is in love with her (we all are, she's amazing!).

And then there is my precious Ava. She loves me. I know it. I love her. Okay, she tolerates me, but I still love her. She is 3, but dwarfs Little Bug in height. The whole family dwarfs my family in height. Little Bug normally doesn't like younger kids but she thinks Ava is older than her (due to the height) and tells me all the time about the conversations she and Ava has when she calls her on the phone. It's a real phone, just a pretend conversation.

Ava is just as much my friend as Shannon. She is a beautiful and wonderful child. Read on for my best friend to tell you why.

When I was asked to write this I was kind of anxious about it.

Not going to lie, this is pretty hard stuff and I get funky writing (talking) about it.

Here is our story. Our story about Autism.

Autism is a developmental disorder that appears in the first 3 years of life, and affects the brain's normal development of social and communication skills.

Autism is different for every single child. Some kids have no communication, like mine...some have sensory issues with taste, smell, touch, also like mine...and some have a hard time with emotion/social interaction. Some will sit in a corner and possibly just stare at a spot on the wall. Some may be completely "typical" and you may not notice. Every single child is different.

Ava was 12 months old and had no verbal communication. I knew immediately that was wrong. She also loved to bang her head on the couch, by flinging herself back hard (enter Sensory seeking). She had a very hard time with strangers. Actually, anyone who wasn't me, my teenager, or her daddy.

She was a happy girl, up until around 12 months...

Most people didn't know anything was different. I did. My closest friends did. A couple of strangers did.

The scariest feeling in the world is when you know something is wrong...and you can't fix it. There is no pill, or cure...there is just wondering, and dread. My heart ached for her...not from embarrassment or shame, but from sadness that she was always going to have a little bit extra to do...a little more for her. Tasks that most parents take for granted...putting shapes in a sorter, chatting, learning quickly.

The worst part for me was not hearing her say "Mama." Can you imagine? I mean just that little word, that sweet word...I didn't hear it until she was 3. [Of course it was amazing when I did, and she could sign "Mama" but it wasn't the same.]

We had her evaluated, then sent on to a Specialist. They said to wait and see. Maybe she was just delayed. I knew. I started sign language right then. If she couldn't talk, then by God, we would figure out how to sign. She caught right on. My heart did little flips when she started...we could chat. Well, we could learn to chat.

She was anxious with new people...and transitions...but we could work on it. She didn't meet the classic signs, she had great eye contact and is so very affectionate. She has a great emotional response, so that is not a worry.

Fast forward, we started therapies...Speech and Occupational.

Moved cross country with the Army....and met the most wonderful Speech Language Pathologist in the world. She made me feel like we were doing the right stuff. We tried hard, we did so much for her...and someone recognized it. {insert tears} Her new Specialist gave us a diagnosis of Autism, mildly, but Autism.

I struggled with hearing it. My heart broke. Not for me, just for her. It sucks ass some days. Some days are so hard. *SO* hard.

When you have a little one with Autism... *everything* is harder. You need diapers? Got to make a quick stop at the grocery store? Not with some kiddos. Luckily mine is pretty mild. She rolls with different. Some kids can't. Just a little wayside stop after school can make an autistic child lose their mind. I mean, really bother them. These kids don't understand when something is off routine. Going to see a show? Fireworks? Clapping? Headed to a Tupperware party? Nope, too many people, too much laughter, too much stress for both of us.

My little Toe Walker. It is very common in Autism, speech delays, and sensory kids. She likes the pressure so it calms her.

Part of the reason I struggled with this diagnosis...

My little one is fine with stops...she just has trouble with sensory issues. Touching stuff, licking stuff, working her hands...crying if it is too loud outside...all these little things add up to a big part of who she is. She may line up blocks, or cars...she may rock a bit from toe to toe...and she may be a toe walker (which people are fascinated with) but she is a beautiful, loving, caring girl. She is smart, she is learning every day.

My sweet girl. 3 now, and doing so well...with early intervention!!

You know those kids who are "acting a fool" in the store...or that just can't sit still? The next time you think (or say) that they are too big to be acting like that or that they need a spanking...please take a minute to think. That child may be Autistic. That child might have a special need that is keeping them from acting "typical". Don't judge. That makes people with kids that have differences even more anxious. You have no idea the struggles we face just to get to the damn store. Just to run in for milk. Please, don't judge.

Just recently I got some great advice from a couple of friends. It was Ava's first day of special education preschool. {She goes for 3 hours a day, and has ST & OT plus regular school activities. There are 3 kids in there. The social aspect is amazing, and the things that she is doing now...I just can't tell you how much early intervention helps.} Anyway, back to my story. I knew she was going to have a hard first day. Having never been left anywhere...it was coming. I walked her in, left her, and heard her crying so hard. She cried and cried. She was devastated. That day was horrible. I got stuck in the PTA room, and had to hear her when she walked down with her teacher to breakfast. I had to *hear* my baby sobbing uncontrollably.

I was a mess. I called my husband, my Mom, and a couple of friends. Tiffany, who is amazing....told me that it was okay to cry, really...and that I could be sad...but that this was a big deal and Ava needed this. It would get better every single day, and to step back and realize how much she would grow. {Ahh, insert more tears} I needed to hear that. I picked her up, crying...after school. I braced myself for this happening every day...and something amazing happened.

The next day she didn't cry. She stomped in mad, and flung herself on the rug...but didn't cry. She was mad. Pissed...but no tears. Then I went to get her and I heard her laughter. She was HAPPY. Day 3 was even better, she went in willingly and met me at the door with smiles. She is okay. She is learning, and growing. She is painting, sounding out letters, doing more signs...she is okay.

I could breathe again. My girl. My little baby girl was okay. She is excelling.

{psst: little secret....on Friday she is getting the Student of the Month award for the first month of school}

Autism is not a death sentence. It is hard, but not something you can't overcome. There are some days that I sob, I worry, I mope....thinking of how hard she will always have it...and how will she be an adult...with kids...or if that will even happen. Then I look at her...and see her sweet face, smiling and her little hands signing...and I don't care. I just know I am a better Mama for having this mountain to climb. She makes me better. I wouldn't change it for the world. ♥

Back In The USSR

2012-09-27T23:32:00.000-06:00

All week I have stared at the blank canvas that is the "new post" screen on Blogger and nothing has come out. I don't want to be clichéd and say I have writer's block, but I was just really lazy. And Fall TV has started back up. Why blog when you can Hulu? Stop looking at the screen with those judgmental eyes.

So, I am back and you are welcome. Hold the applause, please. Let me type.

It's pretty cold up in this classroom. I walked in and almost slammed right into Clown Face. She was fiddling with the AC panel, pushing random buttons. It's password protected, but she looked pretty confident she could fix it. I did an awkward dance around her and went to sit down. Then I saw it. She was wearing a white sheer blouse and a white lace bra underneath. The bra, however, was more boudoir than Bali. I'll just say it; you can see her (large) left areola and erect nipple. I couldn't look away. She rattles on about how cold it was in here and how they always try to freeze us out and I. Just. Stared.

"Did you have a sweater or cardigan on over your, um blouse?" I ask her, while still continuing to stare. "Oh no, I just wore this because, you know, it's the Sun city. Es so hot," she said. "That's a lovely blouse, a bit sheer though," I say trying to remove the judgment from my voice. "Oh si, but that's in. You just have to know what kind of bra to wear," and she flips her Morticia Adams hair over her shoulder exposing the right one as well. There it is, that's the shot.

There was no way I was talking a picture of that. Not because it would have been too obvious, but because I don't need a picture. It is permanently burned into my head. You don't need to see that. Besides, she went and got a hoodie from her car. Thank you Jesus.

Mr. Bordertown came in, looked me straight in the eye, and said, "Go Seahawks!" Oh, it's so fucking funny. I thought about blogging the Monday Night ~~Farce~~ Football debacle. For those of you who are not aware, my Greenbay Packers were ROBBED Monday night by an incompetent, piece of shit replacement referee. Fuck him. Fuck the Seahawks. Fuck Pete Carroll. Fuck Russell Wilson. Fuck Golden Tate. AND FUCK ROGER GOODELL'S PATHETIC ASS. That's actually how the conversation pretty much went with Mr. Bordertown. Cursing and all. He was just as pissed about the call, but apparently, he has been looking forward to tonight so he could tease me about it.

We're discussing trends in the court system. Fat Alberto, and I couldn't make this up if I tried, said he thinks the trends are "You know that the guys still wear suits, you know the suits, and the ladies have to wear like a girl suit." Y u so fucking dumb Fat Alberto?

Somehow the conversation segwayed into local politics (doesn't it always?) and Clown Face is in the know. I can't take anything she says seriously because of the nipples, even though they're covered up. According to her though, "the most corruptests judges are from Sun City and they pollute all the other judges. Even the Federals." No, no they don't. Please stop talking. Mr. Bordertown and I tried to explain to explain to her that while Sun City is corrupt, this doesn't mean every city, state, or US District court is corrupt. But she is adamant that they have reach, even to "the mains court in Washington." OF COURSE I asked what the mains court was and if she meant Washington STATE or Washington DC. "Mija, DC is the state. Washington is the city, it's not a state." And yes, I replied.

Me: I thought that the STATE of Washington was right above Oregon.

CF: No mija, the state is the department of C something. I think it's Columbia.

Me: The DISTRICT of Columbia?

CF: DEPARTMENT.

Me: So there is no Washington STATE and there IS a DEPARTMENT of Columbia.

CF: Si.

Me: Where's Seattle then?

CF: I don't know what that is.

Me: The city of Seattle. It’s in the North Western United States.

CF: Oh, well then it's in the one you said. Oregon or whatever.

Me: Please look at a map of the United States. Whenever you get a chance, but seriously, soon.

She doesn't get it. I see it on her face that she just doesn't get it. And she never explained what the "mains courts" were. I know she means Supreme Court of the United States, but I don't think she knows that she means SCOTUS. But what do you expect from a 40+ woman who wears sheer clothing because it's in? My brain weeps for these people.

Mr. Bordertown was having technical difficulties with the projector and announced that he would be unable to play a 20-minuet video that he felt would assist us in understanding the importance of the court system. Clown Face, ever the video enthusiast, bitched and moaned for longer than was polite about how we never get to watch "the movies in the class time." Mr. Bordertown explained to her that you don't "get to watch the movies in the work time" either, matching her whine with perfection.

9:30 rolled around sooner than we all realized and Mr. Bordertown told us to stay for a few, discuss our team assignments for week 4 and 5 and then we could bounce. Do people still say bounce? Fuck it, I say bounce. Anyway, I thought I must have been hearing him wrong because he said assignments. Plural. As in more than one. Turns out that I misread the syllabus. Next week, we have an individual paper, a team paper, and a team presentation. Then in week 5 we have another individual paper and another team paper. That's four fucking papers and a presentation. I (dramatically) laid my head down on my laptop bag and let out a groan that was louder than intended. Mr. Bordertown laughed and said, "Tiffany! Why are you complaining? You look defeated. Pffft. You got this. I expect and get great things from you.... and you're team." I smiled politely and tried not to scream out "THERE IS NO TEAM! I do all the fucking work because they are incompetent jackasses!"

Blond Sonja let out a "fuck this shit" and looked at Juarez Teenager Female as she let out this gripe, "I still have to write the papers from week 1, 2, and 3. Now I have TWO MORE? This fucking sucks." Yeah, she hasn't done any of her individual work. She fed Mr. Bordertown some bs excuse about her surgery she had (not lipo) and he said he would accept late work, but it will be severely docked. As of right now (thanks to the team papers I WROTE!) she has a 22.5/57. She also mentioned it would have been 23 out of 57 but "SOMEONE forgot to change the font on the team paper." I "mistakenly" left a paragraph in a different font than the rest of the paper last week and I guess I am never going to hear the end of it. Little do they know that every team paper I write, I leave in one or two errors, just enough to get docked a half point if the teacher notices, so it seems like the team actually had a hand in writing the paper. But does that .5 really fucking matter? According to Mr. Bordertown's late work policy and Blond Sonja's writing abilities, the highest point amount she will receive if she turned the papers in Monday (she says she is doing them this weekend) is 7 points...total, not per paper. So 29.5 out of 57 points. 51% is an F. Just in case the rest of you didn't know that. She'll need perfect scores for the rest of the class to even get a D. But is she worried? Nope.

I analyzed all of this in my head as she was complaining about the papers she had to write and I just got really, well, pissed.

Me: You do know that I have already written FIVE papers, right?

BS: Well, yeah, but I still have to do those.

Me: No, you still have to do your INDIVIDUAL work. I did mine and the two team papers.

BS: Yeah, and now we have two more papers.

Me: No. WE have two more individual papers. I HAVE two more team papers and a presentation.

JTF: Oh yeah, that sucks.

Me: Seriously? I have written FIVE papers and still have FOUR more to go, plus a PowerPoint you'll butcher. Let's not complain about your individual workload.

BS: But this sucks.

Me: I'm leaving now.

Not once did one of them offer to contribute in any way to the group work. I know this is my entire fault. I made it clear from the beginning that I would do the team stuff because their idiots. I accept full responsibility for their selfishness. But to have the audacity to sit there and bitch about how much work you have to do and how I cost us .5 points on a paper, it's almost too much. Not to mention Blond Sonja is a full-time smoker now and if I sat there much longer I would have kilt a bitch. Yeah, kilt.

Little Bug has a play date tomorrow with her birthplace twin (don't ask), so I might be able to knock out an outline, some references, and possibly a few paragraphs while they play. Or maybe they'll come in to my room again and Birthplace Twin will insist on using me as a pillow whilst watching Little Bug sing and dance. Chances are I will be playing counselor to her as well, because last time she was here, she told me all about how she hates herself and her tummy is fat. She's five. And poor Little Bug has to deal with the consequences of her insecure friend's words. All week I have been asking her what she loves about herself and telling her how kind, smart, funny, and beautiful she is. BTW, she loves that she eats her food, loves that she dances, loves that her kitties and dog are HER pets, loves that she has a good family, and my favorite: Loves that we are going to get a yellow dog and name it Jake like from Adventure Time. We are?

I have a few good tales to write about. But as you can see, I'll be pretty busy with writing that determines my future. See you soon.

You Haven't Done Nothin'

2012-09-21T12:20:00.000-06:00

Well, fuck you too bitch. I walked into class tonight to find Typhoid Maria on her phone. I didn't say anything because I didn't want to be rude. She rattled off in Spanglish for another five minuets and hung up. I fully expected her typical fake hello, but nothing. Then her teammate walks in, the other one who I shall now call Jerry Curl, and she says, "Oh hello Jerry Curl! How are you?" He answers, they converse in Spanglish, shoot me a dirty look (her not him), and then stop talking. In walks Fat Alberto and Clown Face, same thing. First thing that came to mind was that thy must have seen my blog. Shit. But Clown Face, Fat Alberto, and Jerry Curl all said hi after they spoke with her. Clown Face actually carried on a conversation with me about my computer and how she wants to buy a Mac. Typhoid Maria scoffed and said "Well, if we could all afford such luxurious computers."

Okay, it isn't the blog. She's just being her usual bitchy self. Clown Face and I ignored her, well, I ignored her. Clown Face responded by telling her that she was being "Pavisè agressivo." No joke. I laughed, couldn't help it. Typhoid Maria scowled and whispered to Fat Alberto something about "esa puta es tan roja" which Google translate told me means "that bitch is so red." She's right, I am red. I'm pretty sure I got sun stroke yesterday. If she's lucky, I'll throw up on her in a bit. You don't just get red with sun stroke, you get nauseous too.

OMG. This bitch pulled out some Avon catalogues and handed them to me, Clown Face, and Juarez Teenager Female. She smiled and said "We have some really good makeup that covers redness." Clown Face told her no thank you, that she only wear luxurious brands. Damn you, you took my line! Juarez Teenager Female just smiled and said thank you. I handed it back to her and said that since she's so sick of me that turning this into a business relationship probably isn't a good idea. She said nothing. Clown Face really killed it with that line, I'm bummed now.

It's near 10 past and we haven't started. Not typical of Mr. Bordertown. I do get more time to listen to Typhoid Maria and Fat Alberto discuss how they're doing next week's assignment. Fat Alberto says that he can do the first bullet, TM can do the second and third, and Jerry Curl can do 4-7. I looked at the syllabus and the first bullet is a 100-word answer if I stretch it, 30 words knowing Fat Alberto's quality of work. Two and three will be roughly 300 based on TM's work, 4-7 is a minimum of 1,000 to cover everything and get a C. Not just my opinion, this is based on Mr. Bordertown's grading rubric. Fat Alberto says that since he puts everything together, he should do the least work. TM seems to agree. Poor Jerry Curl, he looks pissed. He told FA and TM that it should be equal, but FA said "You're the newest so you do more." He just sadly nodded.

We've been discussing the status of the Middle East for the past hour. It's been interesting to say the least. Fat Alberto's foreign policy is creative. He thinks "We should be like the ones who say no and stuff, you know, because they need to listen and stuff." I don't know what that means, but he's pretty confident it would work, and if Fat Alberto is confident in a plan, shouldn't we all be on board with it? Yeah, Mr. Bordertown didn't think so either.

Mr. B: Fat Alberto, do you think before you speak?
FA: (laughs) You know, yeah, but you know they don't listen and stuff, you know.
Mr. B: I think it's you who doesn't listen, you know?
FA: It's cause in the Middle Easts, they, you know, have the Islams and they...
Mr. B: (looks directly at me) Pointless, huh?

I laughed for far longer than was polite. I couldn't help it. No one else laughed because no one else got it, though Clown Face nervously giggled. I choose to believe she got it. Denial can make you feel less lonely sometimes.

After break, we began talking about components of the criminal justice system, to include Fat Alberto's profession, the security guard. Yes, security officers are part of law enforcement. Yes, they serve an invaluable purpose as police cannot do everything. Yes, in Texas they do have to meet state requirements. No, you are not a cop. Fat Alberto told us a tale about a friend of his who...I'll let his words tell you.

My friend, he's a security officer you know, and he was watching this park. You know like guarding? He saw these kids you know and he told them 'Hey kids, you know, it's past the hours of time you can be here you know' but they didn't listen and they pointed a gun about him you know. So he called the police, you know, but the cop came and he was a white guy and because he was white you know, he said he didn't believe him. The kids said the friend of mine was drinking and the white cop said 'I believe the kids you know.'

Okay, that story happened, but we weren't too sure if the EVENT happened. We asked (and by we I mean Mr. Bordertown and I) if he reported this to his supervisor or filed a formal complaint with Sun City PD. Okay I told him because the white cop did it to be a racist you know, but he said he had to wait for 15 days because that's what he knows. So then we asked why he had to wait 15 days. Oh you know because he said he had to wait in case they wanted to test him or something.

Test him for what? Drugs and alcohol? Mr. Bordertown asked me to please explain to Fat Alberto why the officer's doubt of the security guard had nothing to do with race. I obliged gladly. I informed him that the officer's treatment of his buddy had nothing to do with race and everything to do with his badge coming from a Cracker Jack box. No it's metals. I then told him that his friend's failure to report the incident (especially if those kids really had a gun) caused it to wreak of bullshit. I know but he said you know. And the cop was white. Again with the white? Mr. Bordertown jumped in and told him that it really had nothing to do with race. The cop probably just thought the security guard was a tool. Clown Face replied with "Tools are useful." Damn girl, that 3 lbs of makeup really caused me to underestimate you.

It was another night of mostly stimulating conversation. I normally can type and talk, but when you're actually invested in the conversation, it's hard to do both. I will pick back up at the end of class.

Mr. Bordertown wanted to talk to us about our papers. He had told Hubby that he grades everyone else off what my grade is and I was flattered and sorta thought he was joking. He wasn't.

Mr. B: Remember guys, when I graded your papers last week, I left you comments and corrections. I hope you read them and didn't repeat those mistakes. I only gave out one 10 last week and there's good reason for that. It would serve you well to ask her...or him how to make that happen. Because some of you, well, it wasn't pretty.
FA: Oh you know, I saw the words in red and you know, they helped.
Mr. B: Well, make sure you're utilizing the tools that are available to you to improve your papers. Tiffany doesn't get perfect scores because she wings it. I mean, whoever got the 10. Make sure you are checking your spelling and grammar with spellcheck.
FA: Oh you know, I was gonna ask you. Is there a, you know, a thing that does a spellcheck like you said, you know?
*dead silence*
Tiffany: Um, yeah, there is. It's called "Spellcheck."
FA: Oh okay. Cause like, I thought they should make something like that, you know.
Tiffany: Well, "they" do. It's been around for a while. Spellcheck. Little box with "ABC" and a check mark. When the little red squiggly line shows up under a word, that means it's spelled wrong. When the squiggly line is green, it's a grammar mistake. Been around since, well, forever.
FA: Oh okay. I might check that out.
Mr. B: No, you WILL check that out.
FA: Oh si. You know, if it's on the writing thing.

Now, you know you're a fucking dumb ass when even Blond Sonja is laughing at you. Like, hardcore, can't catch your breath style laughing. Who doesn't know about spellcheck? Maybe it's just something found on luxurious computers.

I know this was supposed to be up last night, sorry? Little Bug has her BFF over for a play date and I'll probably post later as the convo I am overhearing is hysterical. See ya later!

Peaches and Cream

2012-09-17T10:24:00.000-06:00

Monday already?! Fuck this noise. I want to go back to sleep! Even Little Bug is testy. She told me not to take her pictures. Que rude, right? Anyway, I have nothing for the must haves today. Want a time warp instead? Of course you do. Let me tell you a tale about a rotten vagina.

Her name was Tiny and she was a frienemy of mine. Younger than me (barely) and single, she and I fake bonded while I was pregnant and my husband was deployed. I had live in the dorms because my First Sgt kept dicking me over on when my married and pregnant self could move out and she lived down the way.

Did I mention this was an AF flashback? Picture everyone in BDUs and it should work better.

Back to it. Tiny was an active slut. Not knocking it, I dabbled in my single days, but she was out to set a world record. This isn't just word around the squadron stuff either. I'm talking from her lips to mine and God's ears. Her mouth lips. Get your minds out of the gutter.

Tiny and I always had an understanding. I would say nothing about her whoring as long as she stayed away from my guy friends. She could have my sloppy seconds, she could go after whomever made her lady parts tingle, just leave my friends alone. For a little while, she did.

Until that fateful night.

Remember my BFF minus the ovaries? Well, we still aren't talking. He has talked to Hubby and claims he knew nothing was wrong. That tells me he is an oblivious idiot or never got my texts or messages. Hmm. Anyway, before his current squeeze, he was on par with Tiny in the slut department. My pregnant belly served as his wing man more times than I am willing to admit, though not as many times as I served as DD. Everyone loves a pregnant girl, no need for a taxi.

He had been warned on several occasions, most of them sober, to stay away from Tiny. Not just because I didn't want to deal with the awkwardness if it didn't work out, but because
skank + man-skank= AIDS. He swore to me that nothing was going to happen. He lied.

One night, I refused to play DD or wing man or babysitter and I went to sleep. He went to the bar. So did Tiny. They came back to his dorm together. They tried to fuck. End of story.

Just kidding! You think I would leave it at that?! I'll tell you his side of the story first, as I heard it first. The next day, he and I met up after work. We usually ate dinner together at Chilli's or grilled outside. I think the plan was for Chilli's. He was such a good pregnancy friend. I never had to cook. Anyway, as I walked into his room, he didn't look well. He looked nauseated and shameful. Keep in mind, I had no idea about what had transpired the previous night, so I was concerned. I told him he didn't look well and asked if he was okay. He said he had to tell me something and that I should sit down.

Him: Something happened last night.
Me: Oh, you drank too much?
Him: Well, yeah, but that's not what I mean.
Me: Dude, what's wrong? You seriously look like someone shot your dog.
Him: I wish.
Me: Spill. Now.
Him: You're gonna be mad. Just know that. And save it until the end. And no judging. Well, until the end.
Me: I might be able to do that. Proceed.
Him: So I went to the bar last night. Had a good time. Hung out with some people. Brought Tiny home. Tried to fuck her. Couldn't do it. Her snatch was rotten. So, how are you today? Any morning sickness.

Read that last one as fast as you can. Now times it by 2 and that's how quickly he tried to get it out. Of course I made him explain. Apparently, she was DTF (down to fuck for those of you not hip to the lingo) and made it clear that he could have it. The more he drank (and the more he struck out with other ladies), the more he became open to the idea. I wasn't too mad. It was bound to happen.

They stumbled back to his dorm room and started foolin' around. She wanted to skip the foreplay and just go for it. So he did. Well he tried. She wasn't wet. Not a even a sprinkle. After a little bit of smashing and smacking, she suggested he warm it up a little. As he isn't a selfish man (his words), he obliged. He moved down to the nether region, opened his mouth, moved closer...and then stopped himself from throwing up.

According to him, it was quite possibly the most noxious smell imaginable. Imagine rotten cabbage, mix in a little sewage, add tuna, and you've got yourself the stink of Tiny's snatch. He gagged some more and promptly got up. He said he thought about lying and saying he was too drunk and was sick, but Texas pride wouldn't allow him to act like a pussy. Unfortunately, that was the only Texas quality he invoked. He told her that he couldn't have sex with her...because her vagina stank. She giggled and tried to play it off, but he repeated this fact and asked her to leave his room. Embarrassed as all get out, she gathered her things and left.

I wanted to smack him, wanted to scold him, wanted to high-five him for calling her out...but mostly, I wanted to be thinking about anything but Tiny's rotten puss. I had to leave. I couldn't eat dinner with him having just heard what I heard. In fact, I didn't eat (and keep anything down) for a few days. I had perma-morning sickness, but in this instance, it was the thought of her poon.

I went upstairs to my room and found Tiny writing a note on my door board. She looked upset (who wouldn't be?) and upon seeing me, she shrieked about how she was so glad to see me and how she needed to talk. And I didn't see this coming, how?!

Her tale started the same. Bar, boozing, propositioning him. At least she didn't try and put the luring on him. Props for that. But then it began to differ. He begged her to let him go down on her because he wasn't hard yet, whiskey dick and all. She normally doesn't like that sort of thing, but he was just so eager that she couldn't tell him no. That would be rude, right? So he goes down there and before he starts, he gets sick and almost throws up because he can't handle his liquor. She tried to see if he was okay, but he got mad at her for his not being able to get hard and then he shouted it out. He said "It's not my fucking fault you have a nasty ass pussy!" Naturally she was taken aback, but he just kept ranting about how her pussy smelled and told her to get the fuck out of his room. She left and wanted to come tell me immediately, but she knew how much I needed my sleep. So considerate, that girl.

I realize that the truth always lies somewhere in between both of these versions, but I've never found Tiny's words to be truthful. From what happened at work that day to her bra size, there was always something false there. And I know him, knew him I guess, and the boy can handle his liquor. And he would never shout at someone like that, he's a happy drunk, not an angry one. Like, ever. I could imagine his version of events in my mind, vividly, but her version seemed like a bad movie.

It took everything not to throw up on her. However, my nausea gave me an out. She excused herself and said she would check on me later, but if I could maybe talk to him...Yeah. Saw that one coming a mile away. I smiled and said that it really wasn't my place to talk to him about it. Shit flipped real quick. Why wouldn't I talk to him? Because I didn't want to. Aren't I supposed to be her best friend? That was news to me. What the fuck was my problem? At the moment, it was the overwhelming desire to puke. Was I just going to let him spread vicious lies about her? He wasn't saying anything. Didn't I know how much shit she could say about him? Um, this just got awkward-er.

I let her storm off and took a coma. It was lovely. Drama free sleepy-time is always great. I didn't even have one stinky vagina dream. Tiny and I, well our friendship never recovered. He never told anyone else about her skeezy snatch, I was only privy to that gem. But boy, did she run her mouth about what happened with him. Different versions to different people, but still a whole lot of shit came out of her mouth.

Later, she would give another friend of mine Gonorrhea. He knew it was her because he hadn't had unprotected sex with anyone else (and for quite sometime). He told her after he went to the doctor and she denied it. She said there was no way he got it from her because she had just gotten the all clear from her doctor. I know this to be a lie because I was at the doctor the same day she got her test results. She cried on my shoulder and begged me not to tell anyone. I didn't, until now. Whoops.

So that's the tale of a stinky vagina. Be repulsed. Be disgusted. As long as you were entertained, I'll be happy.