Low Expectations

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

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

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

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

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

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

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.