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.
Showing posts with label Tuesday. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Tuesday. Show all posts
Today, I am worse than any car crash on I-10 as it winds through Sun City. I am a total wreck. I woke up with a smile on my face and a Little Bug snuggling up next to me (when does her new bed get here again?). And then it hit me. Before I looked at my phone, before I turned on the news, before anyone said anything to me, I remembered.
I was supposed to post a blog about BMT today as requested by Baby Sis, but that'll have to wait until next week. I didn't blog about September 11th last year, I just wanted to soak it all in, but this year I am plenty soaked. It's been 11 years since my mother woke me up to tell me we had been attacked. 11 years since I groggily asked what she was talking about and thought she meant someone had broken into the house. 11 years since I watched the smoke leave the North Tower and think that it had to be an accident, who would do this to US? 11 years since I watched in horror as the second plane stuck the South Tower at 9:03 (6:03 my time) and know that it was NOT an accident.
The images of people running from the scene, the smoke and ash covering everyone, the men and women in service dress running INTO the Pentagon to help, I can't remember it without tears falling. Everything stung. I felt so helpless and emotional, as I am sure everyone else across America did. I felt so far away in California, so small, and so raw. Every agonized expression on those poor people who were there was like a stab to my gut.
And then they fell. And so did my tears, which I thought had run dry. It was one thing to see those planes hit, not okay by any means, but there was a moment of "Fuck you assholes. They're still standing!" But they didn't. They fell. I can't even describe the way I felt. I just know that everything ached and everything was changed.
As the day progressed and even the week, we learned who was responsible for this awful, cowardly attack. We watched as people searched for their loved ones, to include some joyous reunions and some devastating revelations of loss. We watch as first responders dug through the rubble day and night and saw everyone pause when they found someone alive or dead. Every time they found someone alive, I just imagined what must be going through the minds of the people who were missing someone. I felt so bad for the thousands upon thousands who would learn their loved one wasn't coming home. I still do. To everyone who lost someone, we will never forget.
11 years ago today, 19 piece of shit MUSLIM (because that's what they were, who they are, and why they did it) terrorists attempted to destroy our country. Attempted, because even though the Towers fell, even though they split open the Pentagon, even though that plane crashed in the field, they did not succeed. We are still America. We are STILL standing.
I was supposed to post a blog about BMT today as requested by Baby Sis, but that'll have to wait until next week. I didn't blog about September 11th last year, I just wanted to soak it all in, but this year I am plenty soaked. It's been 11 years since my mother woke me up to tell me we had been attacked. 11 years since I groggily asked what she was talking about and thought she meant someone had broken into the house. 11 years since I watched the smoke leave the North Tower and think that it had to be an accident, who would do this to US? 11 years since I watched in horror as the second plane stuck the South Tower at 9:03 (6:03 my time) and know that it was NOT an accident.
I just remember how sad I was. As the flames and smoke continued to build and the bodies fell from the sky (yes, they aired that live), the Pentagon got hit. Sadness fell away and anger, unspeakable anger flowed through my body. It made it real for me. The WTC was horrific, but the Pentagon was an audacious challenge in my mind. "Here we are, we spit in the face of your military, your strength." I may have waited until I was 21, but I know in that moment, I joined the military.
The images of people running from the scene, the smoke and ash covering everyone, the men and women in service dress running INTO the Pentagon to help, I can't remember it without tears falling. Everything stung. I felt so helpless and emotional, as I am sure everyone else across America did. I felt so far away in California, so small, and so raw. Every agonized expression on those poor people who were there was like a stab to my gut. 
And then they fell. And so did my tears, which I thought had run dry. It was one thing to see those planes hit, not okay by any means, but there was a moment of "Fuck you assholes. They're still standing!" But they didn't. They fell. I can't even describe the way I felt. I just know that everything ached and everything was changed.
As the day progressed and even the week, we learned who was responsible for this awful, cowardly attack. We watched as people searched for their loved ones, to include some joyous reunions and some devastating revelations of loss. We watch as first responders dug through the rubble day and night and saw everyone pause when they found someone alive or dead. Every time they found someone alive, I just imagined what must be going through the minds of the people who were missing someone. I felt so bad for the thousands upon thousands who would learn their loved one wasn't coming home. I still do. To everyone who lost someone, we will never forget. 
I remember the swell of pride in our nation and our first responders. Every flag that was flown caused a stirring in my heart. Every person lined up outside of a blood bank to donate made me cry. Our nation's Commander-in-Chief, President George W. Bush saying just the right things to rally this country. I've never been more proud to be an American. I have ALWAYS been proud of my country, ALWAYS (yeah, that's to you Mrs. Obama), but the days and weeks after September 11, 2001 might always be the proudest. Those bastards wanted to destroy us, they failed.
Today, I had to discuss 9/11 with Little Bug for the first time. I had the TV on and she wanted to know about the pictures of the fires and the people who were crying (and why Mommy was crying. This is what I said:
Me: 11 years ago on this day, very bad men called al-Qaeda crashed 4 planes into American buildings and they hurt alot of people, a lot of people died.
Little Bug: That's not nice at all.
Me: No, it wasn't. But America is fighting back. That's why Mommy and Daddy and Aunt Baby Sis all joined the Air Force. That's why Mr. R is in the Army. We fought back and we don't let the bad guys win.
Little Bug: Oh, that's nice. I'm glad America fights back.
Me: Me too baby.
Little Bug: But don't cry anymore Momma, your nose gets red.
I know when she's older, this is going to be more difficult to explain things like this, but I'm just glad it didn't scare her. I'm glad she could see those images (as awful as they are) and know that we fought back, and that it gives her peace. I hope the children of the victims of 9/11 have that peace some day.
Hug your babies, kiss your significant other, call up your momma and tell her you love her, hell, even shake a Fireman's hand (or a cop or a military member), but do something today. Even if it's small, just do it. Never forget what happened and never again take life for granted.
Tuesday, September 4, 2012
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The Way The Whole Thing Ends
No, not the end of my blog, just the end of the layout. I haven't liked how my blog looks for quite some time. I need to spruce it up. I've been looking for a custom blog designer for a while, but everything is too kitchy. I need something that is cleaner, but still me. Hopefully, I find that soon...lol.
I also want to add a page or two. I need to finalize the photo-a-day list for October, yes, October. All the freaks come out in October. Freaks are required for this contest! And once a week starting next week, I will be featuring a pinterest craft that I will be making (and should have made a long ago). Not in Pintester fashion, I really want to do a good job...lol. I'm starting next week with Scrabble tile coasters. They should be amazing!
Okay, on to the time warp....I'm not doing one today. DirecTV is being installed and shit is getting crazy. I'll be back tomorrow.
I also want to add a page or two. I need to finalize the photo-a-day list for October, yes, October. All the freaks come out in October. Freaks are required for this contest! And once a week starting next week, I will be featuring a pinterest craft that I will be making (and should have made a long ago). Not in Pintester fashion, I really want to do a good job...lol. I'm starting next week with Scrabble tile coasters. They should be amazing!
Okay, on to the time warp....I'm not doing one today. DirecTV is being installed and shit is getting crazy. I'll be back tomorrow.
Week 3 of Into to Film started today. Yippee! Um, I just want to make sure everyone here's the sarcasm in that as they read it. Maybe a Daria-like voice? We're good? Okay.
This week's theme (yes, we have a theme each week) is essentially the Horror genre. Steve decided to add a twist, “because every good horror movie has a twist," and threw in comedy/horror movies. More explicitly, Shaun of the Dead and Zombieland. Both brilliant comedies, but in my opinion, not so much horror films.
One of the discussion questions this week was this:
This week's theme (yes, we have a theme each week) is essentially the Horror genre. Steve decided to add a twist, “because every good horror movie has a twist," and threw in comedy/horror movies. More explicitly, Shaun of the Dead and Zombieland. Both brilliant comedies, but in my opinion, not so much horror films.
One of the discussion questions this week was this:
In some instances,
genres overlap each other, as in Zombieland or Shaun of the Dead.
In your opinion, do you think these movies fall into an existing genre, such as
horror or comedy? If so, which one do they fall into? Why did you select this
genre? If not, how would you define the genre? What would you call it?
I thought about changing the font to something more professional, but if it's good enough for Steve, why not copy and paste? Anyway, this was my response:
"Zombieland and Shaun of the Dead fall into the comedy genre more than horror. The movies are more funny than scary, if they are even scary at all. The zombies are more sluggish and silly than terrifying, the actors deliver hilarious line after hilarious line, and the stories have a happy ending. Horror movies never have a happy ending. It defeats the purpose of a horror movie. I guess it is possible to say they fall in both genres, but I personally find nothing about these films to qualify them as horror.
They are both listed on imdb.com as comedy/horror, and thinking about it, Zombieland is a bit more suspenseful than Shaun of the Dead. There were genuine moments that startle you, but nothing that I would consider horror."
They are both listed on imdb.com as comedy/horror, and thinking about it, Zombieland is a bit more suspenseful than Shaun of the Dead. There were genuine moments that startle you, but nothing that I would consider horror."
The question is asking for my opinion and I give that. There is nothing scary about those movies. They're meant to parody the zombie craze if anything, and to me, have a Scary Movie vibe to them. But that doesn't really matter. IT IS MY OPINION. Patrick must have missed that part of the question. Remember Patrick? He's the one who insisted John Travolta was in Forrest Gump. The one who takes serious offense to every post I make. The one who can't hang up the campaign hat long enough to not treat everyone like he's their TI yelling at them.
Here's his reply to me. Not his reply to the question, but directly to me:
Tiffany
You are mistaken about "Horror movies never have a happy ending". On the contrery most horror films do have happy endings. After all- did Jaws not got blown up at the end of the movie? Does Freddie Krueger not get "kills" at the end of most of his films, Does Jaime Lee Curts not live to see a sequel? Do they not find out who the killer is in the Scream films?? Does Linda Blair not become a normal little girl again at the end of The Exercist? I think the happy ending is what viewers wait for in horror movie, it gives you the sense of vindication, and that good triemphs over evil. I do realize though...that in the past decade or so, a lot of horror films have opted for a not so happy ending (paticularly zombie films, which makes both Zombie Land and Shaun of the Dead stand out even more). Horror films (IMO) try to push the envalope now days with shock, and little substance. Speaking of zombies...they are supposed to be sluggish and silly, they are, after all, dead. Just saying...
You are mistaken about "Horror movies never have a happy ending". On the contrery most horror films do have happy endings. After all- did Jaws not got blown up at the end of the movie? Does Freddie Krueger not get "kills" at the end of most of his films, Does Jaime Lee Curts not live to see a sequel? Do they not find out who the killer is in the Scream films?? Does Linda Blair not become a normal little girl again at the end of The Exercist? I think the happy ending is what viewers wait for in horror movie, it gives you the sense of vindication, and that good triemphs over evil. I do realize though...that in the past decade or so, a lot of horror films have opted for a not so happy ending (paticularly zombie films, which makes both Zombie Land and Shaun of the Dead stand out even more). Horror films (IMO) try to push the envalope now days with shock, and little substance. Speaking of zombies...they are supposed to be sluggish and silly, they are, after all, dead. Just saying...
He still has not posted his own reply to Steve...as is required. I chose to ignore the spelling and grammar mistakes and simply respond to his "happy ending" theory:
"I'm not sure how your entire family and social circle being slaughtered as you helplessly watch is a happy ending. Every horror movie worth it's salt leaves the audience with a sense that it isn't really over at the end. There is nothing happy about it.
Freddy always comes back to kill again. Linda Blair's character was possessed by a demon and a priest was killed, can we say therapy for life? Jaime Lee Curtis lives (until she dies) in fear of her brother coming back to kill her. Neve Campbell's Scream character Sidney lives a life in which she is constantly scared and untrusting of anyone who gets to close to her. Still think that's happy?
I cannot name any horror movie where I get a "sense of vindication, and that good triumphs over evil." In fact, I get the sense that (even if there is no sequel made) these people will be forever damaged from the incident that has happened and in killing the killer, be it self-defense or not, they now have a tiny bit of that evil inside them.
In Zombieland, the nerd gets the girl and a set of cahones. In Shaun of the Dead, Shaun wins back the girl and gets to still have his BFF Ed (though, in Zombie form). And the zombies of these movies are sluggish and silly to make you less afraid of them. The zombies in 28 Days Later, Dawn of the Dead, Resident Evil, etc. are vicious and snarling. They don't dance to Thriller and die comically. "
In Zombieland, the nerd gets the girl and a set of cahones. In Shaun of the Dead, Shaun wins back the girl and gets to still have his BFF Ed (though, in Zombie form). And the zombies of these movies are sluggish and silly to make you less afraid of them. The zombies in 28 Days Later, Dawn of the Dead, Resident Evil, etc. are vicious and snarling. They don't dance to Thriller and die comically. "
I mean, am I right? Did you walk away from The Exorcist with a good feeling? No. You walked away from The Exorcist looking for the Bible. I left the Halloween movies checking my backseat and under the bed. Because of Scream, I STILL don't answer phone calls from numbers that I don't know or are blocked. No sense of good beating evil, just a few nightmares and extra precautions.
I also know that Patrick needs to learn what spellcheck is. Correct me here peeps if I am wrong, but did Zombieland or Shaun of the Dead scare you? I will refrain from LOLing in your face if they did, I promise. I looked at his reply to the other Week 3 DQ and it is obvious this guy has a hard-on for the Horror genre. He wrote a giant run-on sentence describing the effectiveness of Leather Face as a bad guy. The DQ was asking us about teen slasher flicks and the cliches that are rampant in them. I guess Leather Face as a inbred, mentally impaired, slow-moving, psycho is not cliched at all. Not Michael Myer's esque in any way, shape, or form. He stated that "Leather Face is scary because he was real and really chopped people up with his chainsaw."
Should I school him on the real events behind the Texas Chainsaw Massacre? Should I tell him that it is based on Ed Gein and didn't even really happen in Texas? Should I burst his bubble that there were no actual chainsaws? What's the point? The man is a delusional idiot.
Here's a link to the truth behind the Texas Chainsaw Massacre, you know, in case you thought it was real too.
I have done my four posts for the day. I think I'll just let this one ride, because there is just no reasoning with some people.
Until tomorrow.
Today counts as a Time Warp since I will be discussing the events of last week. Accept this logic and just let me rant. You'll like it.
Baloo had been reported to the Ministry of Magi.....wait, sorry. That's not right. I've managed to watch every Harry Potter movie in the past week and I'm getting my stories mixed. Let me start again.
Baloo has been reported to the head of faculty at University of Fictitious Bird. My very feisty academic advisor was beyond livid when I spoke with her on Friday about the situation that happened Thursday night. She told me that while she was unable to confirm or deny that Baloo had had previous complaints, she couldn't confirm or DENY that he had previous complaints. She said it four or five times and I politely played along, though I got it the first time. Big Time Army had already told me as much. She insisted that there will be an observer in each of my next classes with Baloo to ensure my "academic safety."
From here on out (or then on out?) all grades and online feedback is being monitored by some magical grade elf who will notify his bosses should my grades suddenly decline. Not a Harry Potter reference, that's really how my advisor explained it to me. When I laughed at the "magical grade elf" comment, she said "Well, you know, one of those people who use computers." If you're reading this from a computer, you are now a magical elf. I prefer the Lord of the Rings type of elf to the Harry Potter version. You're free to choose.
I also had to convey the incident in email form to the faculty director. He's a father of daughters and a PhD in Criminal Justice, so to say that these facts shaped the email I wrote would be an accurate statement. I detailed the humiliating and traumatic experience of the second class, but set up the incident by reliving week one as well. I think you could hear my tears. I referenced Baloo's version of events that he posted into my feedback forum. His version was seriously lacking the basic elements of the night...mainly, the truth and I said how upsetting it was that he not only sought to humiliate me in front of my peers, but to tarnish my sterling academic reputation.
In Baloo's feedback he stated that I shouted at him. I acknowledged this by saying that while I might have raised my voice to be heard over Baloo's discriminatory comments that seemed never-ending, I in no way shouted. I didn't come close to exerting that kind of energy. I also said that because of my service to the United States Air Force, I have been left with documented significant hearing-loss and inner ear problems that make it difficult to hear how loud I am (not BS, really is true). I said that I in no way wanted to be treated differently because of my disability, but as Baloo was aware of this issue, to accuse me of shouting is hurtful and disrespectful. Oh, did I mention my academic advisor filed a Americans with Disabilities Act complaint against him?
To put the cherry on top, I told him about how up until that moment, I was proud to say I was a member of the University of Ficticious Bird family, but now I felt dejected and humiliated by a man who is supposed to encourage and uplift. While I am not one to question teaching methods, surely there is nothing to gain from berating and chastising students. I didn't sacrifice all those years of my life in the military for an education to be treated like I was nothing, nor did I think that the other members of the class deserve to be bullied and threatened.
Everything in the email was true. I attached Baloo's feedback and snarky, unprofessional emails to me. I gave dates and times (thank goodness for live blogging to look back on) and informed him that a recording of the first class was available to him as evidence of Baloo's treatment of me, should it go that far. My advisor doesn't think it will, though she has heard the recording (I only made it because I thought I wouldn't be able to blog) and it only helped to piss her off more.
Thursday, I will be going to class. I don't now who the monitor will be, but I have been told it will be another criminal justice faculty member. Hopefully, it will be one of the many who I am told HATE Baloo. Oh, BTW, because I am awesome and have great relationships with all the right people, I found out that Baloo has had more than one complaint about him having to due with his treatment of women in the sheriff's department. Doesn't help me with my school issue, but it does give my evil mind some leverage.
I will say now, I am not looking for a fight. I just don't see the harm in coming to class fully prepared. And really, what Texas (fat bottomed) girl wouldn't come with fully loaded guns and extra ammo?
Depending on how class goes, I might just link you to his TMI Facebook page.
Baloo had been reported to the Ministry of Magi.....wait, sorry. That's not right. I've managed to watch every Harry Potter movie in the past week and I'm getting my stories mixed. Let me start again.
Baloo has been reported to the head of faculty at University of Fictitious Bird. My very feisty academic advisor was beyond livid when I spoke with her on Friday about the situation that happened Thursday night. She told me that while she was unable to confirm or deny that Baloo had had previous complaints, she couldn't confirm or DENY that he had previous complaints. She said it four or five times and I politely played along, though I got it the first time. Big Time Army had already told me as much. She insisted that there will be an observer in each of my next classes with Baloo to ensure my "academic safety."
From here on out (or then on out?) all grades and online feedback is being monitored by some magical grade elf who will notify his bosses should my grades suddenly decline. Not a Harry Potter reference, that's really how my advisor explained it to me. When I laughed at the "magical grade elf" comment, she said "Well, you know, one of those people who use computers." If you're reading this from a computer, you are now a magical elf. I prefer the Lord of the Rings type of elf to the Harry Potter version. You're free to choose.
I also had to convey the incident in email form to the faculty director. He's a father of daughters and a PhD in Criminal Justice, so to say that these facts shaped the email I wrote would be an accurate statement. I detailed the humiliating and traumatic experience of the second class, but set up the incident by reliving week one as well. I think you could hear my tears. I referenced Baloo's version of events that he posted into my feedback forum. His version was seriously lacking the basic elements of the night...mainly, the truth and I said how upsetting it was that he not only sought to humiliate me in front of my peers, but to tarnish my sterling academic reputation.
In Baloo's feedback he stated that I shouted at him. I acknowledged this by saying that while I might have raised my voice to be heard over Baloo's discriminatory comments that seemed never-ending, I in no way shouted. I didn't come close to exerting that kind of energy. I also said that because of my service to the United States Air Force, I have been left with documented significant hearing-loss and inner ear problems that make it difficult to hear how loud I am (not BS, really is true). I said that I in no way wanted to be treated differently because of my disability, but as Baloo was aware of this issue, to accuse me of shouting is hurtful and disrespectful. Oh, did I mention my academic advisor filed a Americans with Disabilities Act complaint against him?
To put the cherry on top, I told him about how up until that moment, I was proud to say I was a member of the University of Ficticious Bird family, but now I felt dejected and humiliated by a man who is supposed to encourage and uplift. While I am not one to question teaching methods, surely there is nothing to gain from berating and chastising students. I didn't sacrifice all those years of my life in the military for an education to be treated like I was nothing, nor did I think that the other members of the class deserve to be bullied and threatened.
Everything in the email was true. I attached Baloo's feedback and snarky, unprofessional emails to me. I gave dates and times (thank goodness for live blogging to look back on) and informed him that a recording of the first class was available to him as evidence of Baloo's treatment of me, should it go that far. My advisor doesn't think it will, though she has heard the recording (I only made it because I thought I wouldn't be able to blog) and it only helped to piss her off more.
Thursday, I will be going to class. I don't now who the monitor will be, but I have been told it will be another criminal justice faculty member. Hopefully, it will be one of the many who I am told HATE Baloo. Oh, BTW, because I am awesome and have great relationships with all the right people, I found out that Baloo has had more than one complaint about him having to due with his treatment of women in the sheriff's department. Doesn't help me with my school issue, but it does give my evil mind some leverage.
I will say now, I am not looking for a fight. I just don't see the harm in coming to class fully prepared. And really, what Texas (fat bottomed) girl wouldn't come with fully loaded guns and extra ammo?
Depending on how class goes, I might just link you to his TMI Facebook page.
Tuesday, August 14, 2012
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We Are Never Ever Getting Back Together
Time Warp Tuesday has arrived and again, I am drawing a blank on what I should write about. Having a designated day for memories past is more pressure than I thought it would be. So this post is going to go one of three ways. I can rant and rave about boyfriends that were less than deserving of me (and their are many). I can single out one of them, leaving other's for future blog material. Or, and this is my favorite for today, I can provide you an in-depth analysis of Taylor Swift and why I find her to be terrible and amazing at the same time. What's that? You want Taylor time? Yeah, me too.
For those of you who do not know, "We Are Never Ever Getting Back Together" i the latest single by Miss Swift. It will be on her new album Red which will be released on October 22nd of this year. I, undoubtedly, will be buying the album, just like I bought the single.
Here's the thing, it's not great. It's not country. It sounds like a bitter teenage girl wrote it. And mostly, it's catchy as all get out. I've listened to it more than 5 times since yesterday's download, and while that is far from the thousands of times the devoted 13-year-old girls of the Taylor Nation have rocked out to it, it feels like too much for a woman in here late 20's. When I was forced to pay for it instead of stream it on Spotify, I should have taken it as a sign that my Taylor Swift enjoyment days had come to an end.
She isn't the best singer to begin with and her lyrics seem to forever be stuck at the pubescent love/heartbreak stage. She falls for dudes 30 seconds after dating them and then publicly slams them in interviews because they weren't as into her as she was into them. I mean, for a girl who claims to have been bullied, she sure dishes out her fair share of abuse. Have you heard "Better Than Revenge" on her last album? It's allegedly about the girl who stole Joe Jonas from her. Here's an excerpt:
For those of you who do not know, "We Are Never Ever Getting Back Together" i the latest single by Miss Swift. It will be on her new album Red which will be released on October 22nd of this year. I, undoubtedly, will be buying the album, just like I bought the single.
Here's the thing, it's not great. It's not country. It sounds like a bitter teenage girl wrote it. And mostly, it's catchy as all get out. I've listened to it more than 5 times since yesterday's download, and while that is far from the thousands of times the devoted 13-year-old girls of the Taylor Nation have rocked out to it, it feels like too much for a woman in here late 20's. When I was forced to pay for it instead of stream it on Spotify, I should have taken it as a sign that my Taylor Swift enjoyment days had come to an end.
She isn't the best singer to begin with and her lyrics seem to forever be stuck at the pubescent love/heartbreak stage. She falls for dudes 30 seconds after dating them and then publicly slams them in interviews because they weren't as into her as she was into them. I mean, for a girl who claims to have been bullied, she sure dishes out her fair share of abuse. Have you heard "Better Than Revenge" on her last album? It's allegedly about the girl who stole Joe Jonas from her. Here's an excerpt:
She's not a saint and she's not what you think.
She's an actress.
But she's better known for the things that she does on a mattress.
So she's a whore because your boyfriend broke up with you for her? Seriously, women who blame the woman piss me off. From what I've read, the digs she takes at the girl, Camilla Belle, are hardly subtle. She references that she went to prep school but that won't give her dignity. She even uses lyrics from the song Jonas wrote about Belle. My favorite line is when she says "She thinks I'm psycho cause I like to rhyme her name with things." Well, maybe she's right. It's one thing to write "You Oughta Know" and leave everyone guessing, it's a whole other to blast the shit out of this girl. Smartly, Swift didn't release the song as a single. Something tells me she would have lost a few fans due to her cattiness.
And John Mayer? Surely she had to have known he was too much for her. Jennifer Aniston and Jessica Simpson couldn't change him, what made her think she had a shot. She wrote 3 songs about him on her last album. THREE! "Dear John" was the worst of them. She paints him as this older man who just callously tossed her aside when he was through with her. And again, a song that wasn't close to subtle. Not that John Mayer deserves any sympathy from the females of the world, but way to kick a man when he's already down.
I recently read that she's dating 18-year-old Connor Kennedy of those Kennedy's. She's 21 or 22 right? Can we say dating a younger guy because he isn't experienced enough to know how crazy you are? She even bought a $4.9 million house across the street from, well, his parent's house. I've seen Fatal Attraction and Single White Female enough times to know that he needs to hide his bunny rabbits and change the locks.
I know people who love T-Swizzle. They also read this blog and will probably lecture me about her greatness, but it matter not. I won't be deleting her albums from my iTunes library (they're stored in the cloud so it's pointless) and I will no doubt sing along the next time the "Shuffle All" button sends one my way. It doesn't make her less of a twat. And it doesn't make her less of an angsty Avrile Levigne wannabe. She can win Grammy upon Grammy and date ridiculously good-looking men to the cows come home. It doesn't mean she doesn't pander to the teenage girl market better than a boy band.
Do I sound like a judgey bitch? I hope so, it' what I'm good at. I'll leave you with this gem of a song that will now replace "Call Me Maybe" in the "stuck in my head" slot.
I know today is a time warp but I cannot shake the need to plug my new favorite rapper. Yeah, you know I talkin' 'bout my baby boy Bangs.
If you don't remember, he was the title inspiration for my Take U To Da Movies post. Why this Sudanese-Australian rapper is not a huge star in the hip-hop world is beyond me. His lyrics are relevant and really paint a picture of what it would be like if one would go to "da movies" with him.
And the beat? I mean, I thought I was listening to something Dr. Dre created in the lab. Fantastic. Hubby's favorite part would be the green-screened images that flash in the background. The sports car, stacks of cash, the map of Africa with the Sudan highlighted.
But lo and behold, Bangs doesn't just want to "Take U To Da Movies," he wants to Take U 4 A Dinner."
UPDATE:
Your Boi Bangs didn't just give me a retweet on Twitter, he shared it on his FB page. I choose to believe he understand the ironic tone in which I wrote this. If not, you have to love a guy with that much confidence.
If you don't remember, he was the title inspiration for my Take U To Da Movies post. Why this Sudanese-Australian rapper is not a huge star in the hip-hop world is beyond me. His lyrics are relevant and really paint a picture of what it would be like if one would go to "da movies" with him.
"Let me pay the money so we can get in. Now hold my hand and take a step to the door. Don't fall. Lets sit on those two chairs alone, watching a movie so we can see whats going on."
And the beat? I mean, I thought I was listening to something Dr. Dre created in the lab. Fantastic. Hubby's favorite part would be the green-screened images that flash in the background. The sports car, stacks of cash, the map of Africa with the Sudan highlighted.
But lo and behold, Bangs doesn't just want to "Take U To Da Movies," he wants to Take U 4 A Dinner."
"I hope you liked dinner cause I did too. Anytime you want to go again, Bangs will take you."
I especially love how his female lead is careful not to get too close to him. You wouldn't want his millions of adoring female fans to get jealous. He must have taken that lesson from Justin Timberlake, who Bangs has said is his "Number one rap influence." I personally have never considered Justin Timberlake a rapper, but I also am nowhere near as musically awesome as Bangs. What do I know?
But, just when you thought your dream date with Bangs was over, I discovered that Bangs is a very generous man. He wants to "Take U Shopping" after the movies and dinner.
"Hey girl what's poppin'? Dressed up, let me take u shopping? Take your bag and leave it empty and anything u need just throw it in."
According to Bangs, he only learned to speak English in 2003 and this has me slightly worried. Bringing an empty bag to a store to fill with things sounds like shoplifting to me. But really, the more I think about it, he's probably just really green. I think we can all respect a man who wants his woman to bring a reusable shopping bag with her.
Sadly, the dream date has to come to an end, because I discovered "Ur Boi Bangs" has been hitting up other ladies on Facebook.
"U can show me what u gat and I can give u what I have. We can make love through the Facebook and that's hot."
All these hoes have to do is give him their email address so he can add them on The Facebook. And to think, we went to the movies, dinner, and shopping and he just throws that all away for more bitches. I feel like he's used us.
Don't let that bright smile and bling fool you, Bangs is a total playa. And the game is hard. He explains it here:
"I'm tryin to open da door for the next generation ... for the ones tryina be like Bangs."
I guess we can forgive him for pickin' up on new girls. After all, he has to "keep dem beats comin" and the game is hard, man. You "gotta have people that love you" and if that means that he has multiple ladies, who are we to judge? He is a world traveler and how disrespectful would it be to Ludacris if he didn't have hoes in different area codes?
Also, I really respect that he doesn't need to carry knives and guns like everyone in America does. People show him too much love for him to hold all that craziness. I also appreciate that he does all this on his own because "da big studios want to own you to much." I am sure that with all the major labels pursuing him, it's probably best that he remains true to himself.
Ladies and gentleman, if Kony could go viral as quickly as it did (and accomplish nothing except that guy whackin' it) we can make Ur Boi Bangs a huge star. I think everyone should hear his music and truly respect his desire to stimulate the economy, one movie/dinner/shopping trip at a time.
You can follow him on twitter @yourboibangs. @fatbgirl is following him. I will update later if I get a retweet or a shout out from him. I'll be linking this blog for him as well. Fingers crossed.
UPDATE:
Your Boi Bangs didn't just give me a retweet on Twitter, he shared it on his FB page. I choose to believe he understand the ironic tone in which I wrote this. If not, you have to love a guy with that much confidence.
I don't know what it is today, but I am all kinds of tired. Oh, I know what it is. I stayed up too late and woke up to early. I've been zombie status all day because of it, but as promised, here is a time warp from a very memorable first day of school.
Mid-way through my seventh-grade year, my mother moved my two sisters and me to Idaho. The details of why are not important, but just know that we were not happy. We had visited my Uncle Stew and his family when we were younger and Baby Sis had not been created yet, but all I could remember was that my older cousin Mike was a dick. I was also bitter that Uncle Stew had effectively stolen my grandmother from us, as shortly after my mom and step dad married, she went to live in Idaho.
My Uncle Marc and his buddy helped us move up there. He made it fun. Everything was a joke and he helped change my attitude about how Idaho was going to be. Except Uncle Marc wasn't staying in Idaho with us.
We got there and settled in as best we could with Uncle Stew's (at the time) 3 little kids running amok and creeping us out. The girl, Jo, was 4-ish and kept chanting "The cousins are coming!" over and over. While only 11, my witt and sarcasm was already strongly developed and I had to refrain from making fun of them...all of them.
You know what, there is far too much detail required to explain my family in Idaho. And considering they're the most manipulative, hypocritical Christians I have ever met, we're gonna skip 'em. They don't really matter in life so they shouldn't matter in my blog (which I know one of them reads searching for gossip).
So our first day of school came and it was cold as shit. Most of our clothing wasn't unpacked yet, though I was lacking on the winter clothing front. We had come from California, it wasn't anywhere near that cold. I threw together (what I thought) was a cute outfit and tried to mimic my Older Sister's "I don't give a fuck" 'tude. I failed (of course) but we looked good and I had just learned that the middle school and high school were joined, so I would have her there if I needed her.
Mom drove us to school (but we later took the bus), which was located 14 miles away in the town of Riggins. Everyone stopped and turned on the town's main strip when we passed. Mom drove a candy-apple red Lincoln Town Car, so I guess we stood out a bit. As she turned up the steep hill to the school, I got more nervous. Would they like me? Would they hate me? Would there be cute boys? What if I got lost? What if Older Sister ditched me (she did)? What if I got on the wrong bus home?
When we flattened out and I saw the actual school, I let out an audible laugh. My middle school back home was bigger than this place. When we walked to the office through the main hall, I literally LOL'd because there was absolutely no way to get lost. The main hall was the only hall. It connected everything. Well, except the main middle school building, but that also had one hall and only two classrooms. One question answered, I would not get lost.
A very large, loud woman with Texas pageant hair greeted us at the office. Her name was Winnie (no more code names, shit just got real) and she was the Principal. I would later learn the students called her Winnie the Pooh, which is hilarious now because she went on and on about how much everyone liked her. They didn't. At all.
This is where I am sure I am messing the whole year we were there into one day. I can remember the events of that day, just not the order, so eff it. You'll be gettin' a great tale.
I think the first class I went to was that of Buck Fitch. Yes, that is his name. He was out social studies teacher. He was big, balding, and burly and the best part...he had a stutter. He yelled at everyone for no apparent reason and the louder and meaner he got, the more the stutter came out. Once, he was talking to my mom and he said "L-l-l-l-Lydia" and she wasn't aware of the stutter. She thought he was calling her Little Lydia (my grandma and her have the same first name) and she said "Who you callin' little?!" If he wasn't such a jerk, I probably would have felt bad for him.
He sat me by Greg, our next door neighbor. He was cute (I thought at 11, now, not so much) and seemed like a bad boy. Every girl likes a bad boy, right? Seated next to him were the two Sarah's. Or Sara and Sarah. Sarah was brunette, while Sara was blond. Both looked like skanks. Yes, skanky 12-year-olds. Well, almost 13, I would learn because at 11, I was the youngest 7th grader.
The Sarah/Sara's started in on me quick. Where in California was I from? Where did I shop at? Was I in a gang? Did I know Snoop Dogg? Did I surf every day? All the stuff they had ever heard about California. I should have let them think I was in a gang, maybe they wouldn't have made the next year of my life a living hell.
The next class was with Mrs. Updegrove. Math. It was pretty remedial for me and my fancy California education (public school but light years ahead of them) and I spent most of the class getting to know the rest of them. Topper (real name and yes, after the penguin) was a country boy who was illiterate. He had to read something from the textbook and he struggled with the word "The". He was funny enough, in a laughing at not with way, and he dipped in class. I had no idea what dip even was until him, so thanks for that, I guess. His midget buddy Ryan sat next to him. I'm sure he has grown since then, but he was shorter than me. And like all short boys, he was a loud mouth trying to make up for his stature. He had blond hair and it flopped over his forehead in what I now think was a primitive Bieber hair style, but shaved in the back. He wore baggy clothes because no one informed Idaho that trend had passed.
The girls were nice enough. Lindsey, Stephanie and Meghan all were jocks and sat together. Shannon and Thea were glued to each others hip. And Faith and Miranda were part of the Sarah/Sara's and part of the others. Believe me, it was a very fine line to walk. There was also Barbara and Danielle. Barbara could use a shower and Danielle was a beached whale. I didn't care how nice they were (well, Danielle was NOT) I knew to stay away.
Following math was science with Mr. McCormick. He was a ginger (before it was cool...just kidding, it was never cool), short, and peppy. He took to me right away. He was sarcastic and dry at times and I would be the only one who laughed/got it. He would dryly crack on each student as they attempted to read, and though I am sure it didn't help me fit in, I had to laugh. He said "Let's see what you got" and had me read aloud. He gave me a standing ovation and said "Thank you, I truly appreciate that." That's where my day started to go downhill.
Lunch happened and I sat outside by myself because my sister had already become popular and didn't meet me. A few upperclassmen walked by and took pity on me to strike up a conversation. They knew my cousin Mike and maybe he said to be nice to me or maybe they knew what a chode he was and felt bad, but they spent the rest of lunch outside with me.
After lunch was English with Mr. Lindsey. He was originally from there, moved away to find a wife who wasn't related to him (most of that canyon was inbred, I'd put money on it) and came back to teach. He was pretty cool, though the rest of the students didn't think so. Maybe because he required them to do shit. Maybe because his wife was Alaskan Indian. Seriously. Biggest bunch of racists to ever walk the earth. To this day I am still friends with the Lindsey Family. Tim is the oldest, then Jordan, then Ana and his wife Bev. They were like an oasis in the desert for our family. If any of you are reading this, I would not have survived that hell whole without you all. And Mr. Lindsey (I can't call you Randy), you have no idea how much you molded me in your class. Thank you.
I had band and something else that day but I can't remember. In band, though I was a clarinet player, they gave me a trombone. Seriously. Then somehow I got switched to percussion. Sarah played clarinet and tried to make me intimidated. Now I know she was so good because she sucked cock like a champ.
It never got better. Ever. They hated me from day one to the very last day when we left that hell whole back for California. Sure, there were moments of fun. Like when I personally started a middle school cheer squad, but that slowly lost its luster when the Sarah/Sara's and Mirnada threatened to beat my ass if I stayed on it. I did, but only to piss them off. There was Aaron. My first real boyfriend. His brother was dating my sister, well, since they were two of the only not inbred guys in town. I was too young and immature to handle it though and broke up with him over something stupid a month or so after. Big mistake because it just gave them another reason to hate me.
I went to church, so there was another strike. I didn't live in a trailer (which was all the rage there) so I must have thought I was better than them. My mom drove a "limo" as they called it, so we must be all fancy. They didn't get my sense of humor, I didn't dress like a skank, I thought studying was a good thing, and I wore glasses. I also wasn't my older sister. She was adored or feared in her half of the school, I was tortured. I cried daily, though I tried to never let them see me cry. I would hide out in the library whenever possible or hang with some upper-classmen from band as they protected me from the wrath of the Sarah/Sara's. We got a new principal and he expelled Sarah for her threats and bullying, but her white trash family slashed his tires and she was allowed to come back.
I prayed every morning and read Ephisians 6:10-17 in the parking lot before going in. You know, "put on the full armor of God so that you can take your stand against the devil's schemes..." because to me Sarah was the devil. My eyes filled with tears and hers filled with hate. I now know somethings about her family that explain a whole lot. She also got knocked up in high school (probably by her daddy) and popped out a few more before marrying a much older man. She still lives in that canyon and probably still gets off on making other's miserable. She probably wouldn't remember my name if I told it to her, but I'll always remember hers and pity the shit out of her. Knowing that she doesn't know how disgusting she is makes me happy. Is that wrong?
There are a few girls who have gotten out and gone far. I occasionally talk to them on FB and I am very happy for them. They have wonderful husbands, happy kids, good jobs, and they didn't let that canyon swallow them up. Unfortunately, they are few and far between. A quick FB search of the names I can remember (okay, like all of them) shows that they're still getting drunk and high, have different baby daddies/mommas, never went to college or didn't graduate and still live in a trailer. Qualities that make you popular in Riggins.
I could write an entire book on that year in Riggins, easily. Remind me some time and I'll share some more. See you tomorrow!
Mid-way through my seventh-grade year, my mother moved my two sisters and me to Idaho. The details of why are not important, but just know that we were not happy. We had visited my Uncle Stew and his family when we were younger and Baby Sis had not been created yet, but all I could remember was that my older cousin Mike was a dick. I was also bitter that Uncle Stew had effectively stolen my grandmother from us, as shortly after my mom and step dad married, she went to live in Idaho.
My Uncle Marc and his buddy helped us move up there. He made it fun. Everything was a joke and he helped change my attitude about how Idaho was going to be. Except Uncle Marc wasn't staying in Idaho with us.
We got there and settled in as best we could with Uncle Stew's (at the time) 3 little kids running amok and creeping us out. The girl, Jo, was 4-ish and kept chanting "The cousins are coming!" over and over. While only 11, my witt and sarcasm was already strongly developed and I had to refrain from making fun of them...all of them.
You know what, there is far too much detail required to explain my family in Idaho. And considering they're the most manipulative, hypocritical Christians I have ever met, we're gonna skip 'em. They don't really matter in life so they shouldn't matter in my blog (which I know one of them reads searching for gossip).
So our first day of school came and it was cold as shit. Most of our clothing wasn't unpacked yet, though I was lacking on the winter clothing front. We had come from California, it wasn't anywhere near that cold. I threw together (what I thought) was a cute outfit and tried to mimic my Older Sister's "I don't give a fuck" 'tude. I failed (of course) but we looked good and I had just learned that the middle school and high school were joined, so I would have her there if I needed her.
Mom drove us to school (but we later took the bus), which was located 14 miles away in the town of Riggins. Everyone stopped and turned on the town's main strip when we passed. Mom drove a candy-apple red Lincoln Town Car, so I guess we stood out a bit. As she turned up the steep hill to the school, I got more nervous. Would they like me? Would they hate me? Would there be cute boys? What if I got lost? What if Older Sister ditched me (she did)? What if I got on the wrong bus home?
When we flattened out and I saw the actual school, I let out an audible laugh. My middle school back home was bigger than this place. When we walked to the office through the main hall, I literally LOL'd because there was absolutely no way to get lost. The main hall was the only hall. It connected everything. Well, except the main middle school building, but that also had one hall and only two classrooms. One question answered, I would not get lost.
A very large, loud woman with Texas pageant hair greeted us at the office. Her name was Winnie (no more code names, shit just got real) and she was the Principal. I would later learn the students called her Winnie the Pooh, which is hilarious now because she went on and on about how much everyone liked her. They didn't. At all.
This is where I am sure I am messing the whole year we were there into one day. I can remember the events of that day, just not the order, so eff it. You'll be gettin' a great tale.
I think the first class I went to was that of Buck Fitch. Yes, that is his name. He was out social studies teacher. He was big, balding, and burly and the best part...he had a stutter. He yelled at everyone for no apparent reason and the louder and meaner he got, the more the stutter came out. Once, he was talking to my mom and he said "L-l-l-l-Lydia" and she wasn't aware of the stutter. She thought he was calling her Little Lydia (my grandma and her have the same first name) and she said "Who you callin' little?!" If he wasn't such a jerk, I probably would have felt bad for him.
He sat me by Greg, our next door neighbor. He was cute (I thought at 11, now, not so much) and seemed like a bad boy. Every girl likes a bad boy, right? Seated next to him were the two Sarah's. Or Sara and Sarah. Sarah was brunette, while Sara was blond. Both looked like skanks. Yes, skanky 12-year-olds. Well, almost 13, I would learn because at 11, I was the youngest 7th grader.
The Sarah/Sara's started in on me quick. Where in California was I from? Where did I shop at? Was I in a gang? Did I know Snoop Dogg? Did I surf every day? All the stuff they had ever heard about California. I should have let them think I was in a gang, maybe they wouldn't have made the next year of my life a living hell.
The next class was with Mrs. Updegrove. Math. It was pretty remedial for me and my fancy California education (public school but light years ahead of them) and I spent most of the class getting to know the rest of them. Topper (real name and yes, after the penguin) was a country boy who was illiterate. He had to read something from the textbook and he struggled with the word "The". He was funny enough, in a laughing at not with way, and he dipped in class. I had no idea what dip even was until him, so thanks for that, I guess. His midget buddy Ryan sat next to him. I'm sure he has grown since then, but he was shorter than me. And like all short boys, he was a loud mouth trying to make up for his stature. He had blond hair and it flopped over his forehead in what I now think was a primitive Bieber hair style, but shaved in the back. He wore baggy clothes because no one informed Idaho that trend had passed.
The girls were nice enough. Lindsey, Stephanie and Meghan all were jocks and sat together. Shannon and Thea were glued to each others hip. And Faith and Miranda were part of the Sarah/Sara's and part of the others. Believe me, it was a very fine line to walk. There was also Barbara and Danielle. Barbara could use a shower and Danielle was a beached whale. I didn't care how nice they were (well, Danielle was NOT) I knew to stay away.
Following math was science with Mr. McCormick. He was a ginger (before it was cool...just kidding, it was never cool), short, and peppy. He took to me right away. He was sarcastic and dry at times and I would be the only one who laughed/got it. He would dryly crack on each student as they attempted to read, and though I am sure it didn't help me fit in, I had to laugh. He said "Let's see what you got" and had me read aloud. He gave me a standing ovation and said "Thank you, I truly appreciate that." That's where my day started to go downhill.
Lunch happened and I sat outside by myself because my sister had already become popular and didn't meet me. A few upperclassmen walked by and took pity on me to strike up a conversation. They knew my cousin Mike and maybe he said to be nice to me or maybe they knew what a chode he was and felt bad, but they spent the rest of lunch outside with me.
After lunch was English with Mr. Lindsey. He was originally from there, moved away to find a wife who wasn't related to him (most of that canyon was inbred, I'd put money on it) and came back to teach. He was pretty cool, though the rest of the students didn't think so. Maybe because he required them to do shit. Maybe because his wife was Alaskan Indian. Seriously. Biggest bunch of racists to ever walk the earth. To this day I am still friends with the Lindsey Family. Tim is the oldest, then Jordan, then Ana and his wife Bev. They were like an oasis in the desert for our family. If any of you are reading this, I would not have survived that hell whole without you all. And Mr. Lindsey (I can't call you Randy), you have no idea how much you molded me in your class. Thank you.
I had band and something else that day but I can't remember. In band, though I was a clarinet player, they gave me a trombone. Seriously. Then somehow I got switched to percussion. Sarah played clarinet and tried to make me intimidated. Now I know she was so good because she sucked cock like a champ.
It never got better. Ever. They hated me from day one to the very last day when we left that hell whole back for California. Sure, there were moments of fun. Like when I personally started a middle school cheer squad, but that slowly lost its luster when the Sarah/Sara's and Mirnada threatened to beat my ass if I stayed on it. I did, but only to piss them off. There was Aaron. My first real boyfriend. His brother was dating my sister, well, since they were two of the only not inbred guys in town. I was too young and immature to handle it though and broke up with him over something stupid a month or so after. Big mistake because it just gave them another reason to hate me.
I went to church, so there was another strike. I didn't live in a trailer (which was all the rage there) so I must have thought I was better than them. My mom drove a "limo" as they called it, so we must be all fancy. They didn't get my sense of humor, I didn't dress like a skank, I thought studying was a good thing, and I wore glasses. I also wasn't my older sister. She was adored or feared in her half of the school, I was tortured. I cried daily, though I tried to never let them see me cry. I would hide out in the library whenever possible or hang with some upper-classmen from band as they protected me from the wrath of the Sarah/Sara's. We got a new principal and he expelled Sarah for her threats and bullying, but her white trash family slashed his tires and she was allowed to come back.
I prayed every morning and read Ephisians 6:10-17 in the parking lot before going in. You know, "put on the full armor of God so that you can take your stand against the devil's schemes..." because to me Sarah was the devil. My eyes filled with tears and hers filled with hate. I now know somethings about her family that explain a whole lot. She also got knocked up in high school (probably by her daddy) and popped out a few more before marrying a much older man. She still lives in that canyon and probably still gets off on making other's miserable. She probably wouldn't remember my name if I told it to her, but I'll always remember hers and pity the shit out of her. Knowing that she doesn't know how disgusting she is makes me happy. Is that wrong?
There are a few girls who have gotten out and gone far. I occasionally talk to them on FB and I am very happy for them. They have wonderful husbands, happy kids, good jobs, and they didn't let that canyon swallow them up. Unfortunately, they are few and far between. A quick FB search of the names I can remember (okay, like all of them) shows that they're still getting drunk and high, have different baby daddies/mommas, never went to college or didn't graduate and still live in a trailer. Qualities that make you popular in Riggins.
I could write an entire book on that year in Riggins, easily. Remind me some time and I'll share some more. See you tomorrow!
"The single greatest cause of atheism in the world today is Christians, who acknowledge Jesus with their lips, then walk out the door, and deny Him by their lifestyle. That is what an unbelieving world simply finds unbelievable."
-Brennan Manning
Without delving into my confusing and often chaotic religious upbringing, let's just say that I have good reason to abhor organized religion. I saw a bumper sticker that read "I've got nothing against God. It's his fan club I can't stand" and I completely agree. The hypocrisy and hatred that flows form the pulpit and the pews of most churches makes my blood boil. I know it isn't every church, but in my experience...it is.
Names have been changed of people and organizations.
When my family moved to El Paso in 2002, we struggled to find a church to call home. After two or three failed attempts to "belong", everyone had pretty much given up. I enjoyed the church-less family we had become. For once I felt like everything I did wasn't being judged and scrutinized by people who were more righteous (in their own minds). I probably went to far. Smoking, drinking, dating a boy who didn't deserve me and then some. I was ill-equipped to deal with my new found freedom of religious limitations.
A few of my co-workers at a national coffee chain all attended the same church and were constantly pestering encouraging me to attend a bible study of sorts that they called Small Group. One night, after a particularly bad fight with Terrible Boyfriend, I decided to go. I wasn't going to play chauffeur to him and his loser friends, I was going to go to church. Bizarre logic, I know, but over the mountain I went in search of Intersection.
Intersection was a church seed off of a bigger church on the same side of town. From what I had been told, the pastor, a man named Coral, had started the church as an outreach for youth in the troubled area. It was initially a coffee house out of a warehouse and a back-alley that served as an alternative to running the streets. It grew into a church and by the time I wandered into the same warehouse, it had been roughly ten years since it's conception.
I immediately liked what I saw. A coffee bar to my right, tables and chairs next to it, an open sanctuary beyond that decorated with graffiti wall murals and mismatched chairs. It was everything the church of my upbringing was not. Even though I saw no one, I felt welcomed and comfortable. Then Gulp popped up. Gulp was a mid-20's hipster looking fellow. He had glasses and dark hair and scared the living shit out of me. "Hey," he said. "Are you looking for something?" I laughed off my initial shock and introduced myself. I explained that my coworkers had invited me as Gulp nodded and looked me over. I was immediately skeezed out as he stopped at my chest and his gaze didn't leave.
Slowly, other Small Group members arrived and I began to feel more at ease. Erica, one of my co-workers, was there with her husband, the leader of the group, Ernie. Her BFF, also named Erica joined us and seemed friendly. They were excited I had come and quickly whisked em away from the lecherous paws of Gulp. Mal and Fanny were also there and were closer to my age. Mal was full of energy and an aspiring singer, while Fanny was a college student who had been going to Intersection since it's beginning. Fuzz, brother of Erica 2, was another longtime member of Intersection and good buddies with Gulp. It was a great night and I felt really renewed. It was possible to love God and not be surrounded by crazies.
Over the next few months, I began attending Intersection regularly and eventually my family joined. It was a far cry from anything we were used to. There was a 15 minute break between worship and the sermon to allow the smokers a quick cigarette. No. Lie. Pastor Coral would often stand outside and shoot the shit with us. One sermon in particular did it for me. Coral preached about the prodigal son. I thought "Wow, that was for me" and I was hooked. It was a judgement free zone. That should have been a red flag, but I liked when he would describe us as a "beer church." After all, I was a beer drinker.
The more I immersed myself in the Intersections culture, the more I really thought I found a place I belonged. I could still drink and smoke and have too good of a time on Saturday night, but come Sunday morning, no one was judging me and there wasn't guilt like there would have been in the church(s) of my youth. I became pretty close with Fanny, we hung out all the time. She was more timid than most of my friends and I think she liked that I was her token wild friend. She never told me I should smoke or drink less, seemed to delight in my retelling of whatever guy I was currently seeing. Living vicariously through me was her favorite past time.
On Sunday, I really loved God. I felt His presence when I sang and praised Him. Over and over, Coral would tell us how grateful we should be for God's love, that He forgives anything. But no sermons on NOT acting in a way that would require forgiveness. Not that that's an excuse. I was raised to know better, I chose to go the other way. But Intersection made it okay for me to keep going. It was almost encouraged.
And Gulp was ever present. He was a creeper, no doubt, but in my fragile state of religious confusion he picked and picked until he wormed his way into my life. Fanny and Fuzz were constantly making fun of him. His supposed friends, now laughing at his every pathetic attempt to hit on me, seeking out the gossip on Sunday morning, but hanging out with him as if they didn't just laugh at him. Fuzz was equally as creepy. I started playing poker with the group of Intersection guys and Fuzz dubbed me "9 to 5" as my poker nickname...yes, because of my rack. Real Christian like, huh?
It got much worse. The Erica's, though older than the rest of us, were the biggest group of mean girls the religious world has seen. They were jealous of any pretty young thing that walked through the warehouse doors. They were passive aggressive and would start rumors, judge the other mothers in the church (Erica and Ernie were parents, not Erica 2), and anytime I would walk by them, the conversation would stop like they had just been talking about me. Rachelle, married to Shawn, was a frequent target of their cattiness. The things they said about her behind her back were horrendous. I remember one incident at a summer festival, a girl from another church was there who was gorgeous. She could have been a model. But Erica 1 noticed this too and treated her horribly. She made a big scene about the girl giving her dirty looks. Come to find out, the girl had shingles and her face was paralyzed in a half-scowl. I tried to explain this to Erica 1 but she continued treating her like a bitch.
And then their was our Amish drummer, Joe. He always made me uncomfortable, and not just because Fanny was pinning away for him and he ignored her. He stood too close to you when he spoke to you. He looked through you as if you weren't worth of his time. His eyes were never right. I'll leave it at that.
Gulp got more brave. He started telling me that he and I getting together was God's plan for our life. Seriously. I thought "Isn't it funny that God is telling us different things?" He kept at it and any time I shunned his advances, he would tell me I needed to get closer to God. I, in-turn, got closer to a bottle and some cute Army guy because the more her tried to prophesy over my life the more I wanted away from the church. Instead of offering comfort or sound biblical advice, Fanny would just gossip about what I had told her. Gulp began spreading rumors about me as well. I finally had enough, and with the backing of my mother, went to Pastor Coral.
I told him everything. Yes, I probably led Gulp on a bit at first. It was funny and I was encouraged to do it by Fanny and Fuzz. I didn't like him that way and he had been told many times but he kept coming. I told him about his words from the lord about us being together, I told him about the times he would insinuate I was a godless whore because I went on a date with someone who was not him. I told him how alone I felt because it was cool for everyone else to hate Gulp, but if I did it, I was some trouble-making outsider. I cried as I sat across form Coral's desk for what seemed like forever. Coral took a deep breath and proceeded to tell me quite the tail about Gulp.
This wasn't the first time he had religiously strong-armed a girl. He had been warned about this on more than one occasion. He told me how sorry he was that this happened and if I had come to him sooner, he could have stopped it. It didn't comfort me. It infuriated me. Gulp was still in a position of leadership in this church and they knew of his predatory behavior towards females? What the holy heck? He assured me he would take care of it with confidence attached and I left. But what happened? I became the bad guy. Gulp started rumors that I showed up to church hungover, or would miss because I was too drunk. It spread to the other church too. I brought it up to Coral, but it didn't stop. There was always a smile to my face but whispers as I walked away.
I joined the Air Force in 2005 and before leaving I planned on one last "Fuck you all!" to my Intersections betrayers. I refrained because my mother and sister still attended. While I was away, serious shade was thrown in their direction as well. Baby Sis went on an Intense Camping Mission with Erica and Ernie, Erica 2, and a few other members of the youth ministry. Or should I say clinging to their youth ministry, since the only teens were Baby Sis and her not-Christian friend she brought along. The Erica's were vicious to them. Regina George had nothing on them. When she returned from the trip and told my mother all the shit they put her and her friend through (who BTW will never come to Jesus after that experience), my mother confronted Ernie about it. He made excuses for his wife and the other Erica, fell over his closeted self apologizing for their behavior, but he still allowed two grown-ass women who claim to be Christians to bully 14 year old girls.
Upon my return to Sun City after the Air Force, I tried to rebuild my relationship with Fanny. She was dating Shawn because his wife Rachelle had left him for Amish Drummer Joe (great Christians right) but they all still attended Intersections. I thought maybe we could have a mature friendship but it was clear she wasn't interested in Tiffany the mother and wife when almost every conversation included her reminding me about how we used to go out and I was so wild. Can't party vicariously through someone who doesn't party anymore. And though I had grown-up from the girl that Intersections loved to pray for, she hadn't. Still going to the same church that never appreciated her musical talent, still kissing the Erica's collective asses, still making fun of Gulp, and yet prying me for any juicy details that might make her life a little better, a little more fun.
She'd always talk about the glory days of Intersection. It used to be so awesome, they could just come and be. There wasn't any drama, just kids loving Jesus and it was so powerful. It never felt like a real church with all these rules. But now Coral was talking about organization and tithes and being responsible. You know, shit the bible says you should do. It must have been hard for her to grasp the concept of change. Those teens came to Intersections. They graduated, went to college (okay, like 3 of them did), got married and had babies (though not always in that order), and with their change, the church changed. You can't have all night jam sessions while the babies sleep in the nursery. But Fanny didn't have those life changes so she had to cling to what Intersections used to be.
With all the drinking and smoking they condoned, the cussing and the criminal activity that was discouraged but never corrected, I was shocked to find out their stance on homosexuality. You would have thought gay was okay, but Fanny explained to me that gay was a choice and we shouldn't support it. Shawn's sister Shana actually fought with me on FB about my pro-gay stance. She married a guy when she was 18 or 19 that everyone in the church hated. Even Coral couldn't stand him and his cult like family. They've got her locked up in a compound in New Mexico now (one girl, three men) and apparently, all she can do is rage on my FB. She deleted me and blocked me after going full-fledged psycho. Way to blow your witness. Shortly after, I deleted Fanny and Shawn from my FB when Fanny said that Hubby and I should meet her and Shawn for drinks. Like 2 minutes after her future sister-in-law lost her shit, I got the invite. Too shady for my liking. I imagined Shana waiting in the parking lot with a knife as I came out of the restaurant. No thank you.
I hear they expanded and have the storefront on the other side of the warehouse now. They've legitimized their "little back alley project." Coral still plays the part of the aloof/hippie pastor, Gulp still does worship. Ernie is still the youth pastor and his mean wife and her twin are still talking shit about everyone in site. Rachelle and Joe are now parents and married and Shawn was all but excommunicated from the church since you can forgive a cheater, as long as her ex-husband isn't around. Fanny is as wishy washy as ever, having bouts of Intersection devotion and hatred. The older people of the church, the ones who I actually enjoyed, have all moved on to other churches, choosing to have a significant relationship with God over regaining their youth.
I remember telling Fanny that it would be so funny if I randomly showed up to church one Sunday morning with Hubby and Little Bug in tow just to see their faces and see how fake they would be to me. She said "You should! Rub how hot your hubby is in their faces and show off how cute and smart Little Bug is! Gulp would lose it! And Erica 1 and 2 would be so jealous." I laughed, but she was serious. Gay is bad, but doing that would be okay? I don't want that kind of shit in my life.
I still speak to a few Intersectioners, but they're people I had a connection with outside of Intersection or have since left the church. Some of them are just as jaded as me, some are the kindest people you will ever meet. They really do live a life of love and compassion, I would never lump them into the hypocritical Christian bunch.
I guess my biggest beef with all of this should really lie with Coral. Wasn't this his flock to shepherd? Sure, we should be grateful that God forgives us, but we should also try to lead a life that doesn't require forgiveness in the first place. I don't miss the hellfire and brimstone sermons of my younger years, but I sure could have used some accountability. A lot of them could have. But I guess it's easier to be everyone's friend instead of moral compass.
I sound pretty bitter. I'm aware of that. Intersections isn't solely responsible for my disdain for organized religion, I'd say it's a 40-60 split with the churches of my youth. Those churches laid the groundwork but Intersections led to the total contamination of my soul. For those who love their church and live the life, good on ya, but I cannot ever go back to a church. I want no part of it. Not even the Methodists who love the gays, because I always have that fear that church politics and drama will be more important than God and his love.
Like the bumper sticker said, I've got nothing against God. It's his fan club I can't stand.
My buddy S is back from her vacation and I couldn't be happier! I missed her and her family big time! She brought over her youngest today and we enjoyed some pool time. Little Bug was very happy to have her best friend back (S, not her little one...lol) and now she is napping sweetly next to me. Okay, she's flailing and doing these bizarre shudders but whatever. I get some blog time.
Today will not be a Time Warp. Today will be a full-blown rant. Ms. Frizzle posted my grades for the week and I am livid. I got 2 out of 2 on the quiz that I completely BS'd on (and didn't study for) and 1 out of 1 for team participation, but my individual paper and individual participation were docked 1 point each.
The paper's topic was on Juvenile Crime Causation and Diversion. Specifically, we were to compare two diversion programs in our city or state and answer a series of questions about each in the form of a research paper. I nailed that shit. I ran it through the systems the university provides (plagiarism checker, grammar, and writing excellence) and all came back with A+ results. I may write this blog in the tone of "an urban liberal" (thanks PolitiJim) but I write a mean research paper/essay. And I have never gotten anything less than full credit on a paper that I didn't half-ass. Even on the one's I have half-assed got either full credit or only one point deducted.
Until this week. 9 out of 10 on a paper that I can confidently say I hit out of the park. I had references from our text book, the State of Texas Juvenile Justice Department, and even an analysis of the state's recent financial support of local diversion programs. It was top quality work. But Ms. Frizzle (who stated she doesn't care about grammar and is usually wrong about it in week one) marked me down for corrections that she deemed appropriate. Like the spelling of "corrections" which she feels only has one R. Yep. She also added this at the bottom:
Today will not be a Time Warp. Today will be a full-blown rant. Ms. Frizzle posted my grades for the week and I am livid. I got 2 out of 2 on the quiz that I completely BS'd on (and didn't study for) and 1 out of 1 for team participation, but my individual paper and individual participation were docked 1 point each.
The paper's topic was on Juvenile Crime Causation and Diversion. Specifically, we were to compare two diversion programs in our city or state and answer a series of questions about each in the form of a research paper. I nailed that shit. I ran it through the systems the university provides (plagiarism checker, grammar, and writing excellence) and all came back with A+ results. I may write this blog in the tone of "an urban liberal" (thanks PolitiJim) but I write a mean research paper/essay. And I have never gotten anything less than full credit on a paper that I didn't half-ass. Even on the one's I have half-assed got either full credit or only one point deducted.
Until this week. 9 out of 10 on a paper that I can confidently say I hit out of the park. I had references from our text book, the State of Texas Juvenile Justice Department, and even an analysis of the state's recent financial support of local diversion programs. It was top quality work. But Ms. Frizzle (who stated she doesn't care about grammar and is usually wrong about it in week one) marked me down for corrections that she deemed appropriate. Like the spelling of "corrections" which she feels only has one R. Yep. She also added this at the bottom:
"Abstract included, thank you. Paper is well written, but it lacks some details required by the assignment. Key participants of each program are not well discussed. Other objectives required by this paper are observed in your paper. Continue to challenge yourself on your assignments. 9/10"
The key participants are juveniles who are placed in diversion programs instead of being committed to the state. That's what the whole paper is about. How is that not clear? I even delved into how one program was for juveniles who are being given a last chance before adult jail and the other focuses on juveniles with substance abuse problems and mental health issues. Those are the key participants, so how is that not covered? And challenging myself? Isn't it her job to challenge me? She's not doing a very good job because I wrote that paper in less than 2 hours and still got a 9. Not exactly a challenge.
Fine. Whatever. I can suck it up and take my 9. What I cannot take is the 4 out of 5 for participation. Here's what she had to say:
"Thank you for your attendance. I challenge you to become more involved in class discussions. Value your opinion. Verbal skills are essential in the criminal justice field."
Without me, there wouldn't be a class discussion. Juarez Teenager Female and Blond Sonja don't speak, neither does Fat Alberto's other team member. Seriously, not one word. Typhoid Maria says maybe 3 words and Fat Alberto and the other team only speak to piggy back on what I say. Without me (and Katniss) the entire class would sit in silence as Ms. Frizzle rambled on and on about her Prius, her children, or how she's about to retire. My verbal skills are a lot like my written communication skills...on point and bad ass.
I know, I know. Defensive much? But here's the thing, this woman has the worst verbal communication skills of any instructor I have had. Worse than J-JO and his attempts at stand-up comedy. She has yet to speak a sentence that comes from a completely formed thought and we haven't covered even 1/5 of the course material because of her babbling. But I need to participate more. She needs to seriously examine her teaching and grading methods because girlfriend is whack.
It's only 2 points. I need to let it go. So I'll get a 98/100. Most people would be very satisfied about that grade. I think I would be satisfied with it as well, if it was the grade I had earned. I deserve full credit for both. I deserve an instructor who knows the difference between "It's" and "Its" and how to spell "corrections" but right now I'll settle for full-credit. I'll be drafting a well written email to Ms. Frizzle and I'll let you all know how that went come Thursday.
See you tomorrow for What in the World?! Wednesday.
Four is a magical age. Little Bug makes me realize this every day. She reminds me so much of my baby sister, it's scary. Singing and dancing to songs she made up, telling vivid stories about princesses, eating food at the slowest pace imaginable...I gave birth to my baby sister.
Speaking of Baby Sis, I am so proud of her. She was on the flag detail of the MLB All-Star game tonight. Her tiny little ass in her ABU's, holding an 1,100 lb flag like a boss. Little Bug was beyond excited as we tried to spot her on the field.
She is the biggest baseball fan that I know. Earlier this year she got to hold the flag for a Kansas City Royals game, but the All-Star game? I know how excited she is. Even as a National League fan, she geeked out and told me how close she was to Verlander, Napoli, and Hamilton. I told her that if she gets within touching range to show Buster Posey, Matt Cain, Melky Cabrera, and Pablo Sandoval how much I love them.
We've been texting back and forth as I watch from home and she watches from the stands. If I wasn't so excited and proud of her, I'd be HELLA jealous.
It cracks me up that she loves a sport so much. This is the same girl that picked dandelions and camped out in the center of the soccer field at Little Bug's age. We'd yell for her to run after the ball and she would run the opposite direction because she probably spotted a butterfly. Elementary school and middle school she was sportless. In high school, she went out for the softball team on a whim and though I wasn't their to witness it, I'm told she was terrible. She didn't stay that way for long. She put her nose to the grindstone and within a year was on the varsity team.
It was also around this time she turned her new found love of the game into making herself a stats machine! She (as do I) loves her some San Francisco Giants but ask her anything about baseball and I am confident she will have the right answer. One day she aspires to marry Tim Lincecum and I'm okay with this, as long as she gets me Brian Wilson's number.
I know this isn't my usual Tuesday, but I have to brag on that little Bat Girl. Bat girl because as a child she was obsessed with Bat Boy (of national enquirer fame), not because she's obsessed with baseball. Anyway, here are some of her pics from the game. Be jealous and proud with me.
Speaking of Baby Sis, I am so proud of her. She was on the flag detail of the MLB All-Star game tonight. Her tiny little ass in her ABU's, holding an 1,100 lb flag like a boss. Little Bug was beyond excited as we tried to spot her on the field.
She is the biggest baseball fan that I know. Earlier this year she got to hold the flag for a Kansas City Royals game, but the All-Star game? I know how excited she is. Even as a National League fan, she geeked out and told me how close she was to Verlander, Napoli, and Hamilton. I told her that if she gets within touching range to show Buster Posey, Matt Cain, Melky Cabrera, and Pablo Sandoval how much I love them.
We've been texting back and forth as I watch from home and she watches from the stands. If I wasn't so excited and proud of her, I'd be HELLA jealous.
It cracks me up that she loves a sport so much. This is the same girl that picked dandelions and camped out in the center of the soccer field at Little Bug's age. We'd yell for her to run after the ball and she would run the opposite direction because she probably spotted a butterfly. Elementary school and middle school she was sportless. In high school, she went out for the softball team on a whim and though I wasn't their to witness it, I'm told she was terrible. She didn't stay that way for long. She put her nose to the grindstone and within a year was on the varsity team.
It was also around this time she turned her new found love of the game into making herself a stats machine! She (as do I) loves her some San Francisco Giants but ask her anything about baseball and I am confident she will have the right answer. One day she aspires to marry Tim Lincecum and I'm okay with this, as long as she gets me Brian Wilson's number.
I know this isn't my usual Tuesday, but I have to brag on that little Bat Girl. Bat girl because as a child she was obsessed with Bat Boy (of national enquirer fame), not because she's obsessed with baseball. Anyway, here are some of her pics from the game. Be jealous and proud with me.
Lucky little Airmen (of the quarter btw)
She was the first on the field at the bottom left corner.
I am green with envy!
And she got a ticket to Fan Fest! Very happy MLB is good to our service members!
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