Insensitive

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

It Won't Be Like This For Long

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

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

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

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

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

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

Here is our story. Our story about Autism.

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

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

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

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

 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

 

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

 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Back In The USSR

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Me: The DISTRICT of Columbia?

CF: DEPARTMENT.

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

CF: Si.

Me: Where's Seattle then?

CF: I don't know what that is.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

JTF: Oh yeah, that sucks.

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

BS: But this sucks.

Me: I'm leaving now.

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

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

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