Paperback Writer

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

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

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.