Happy Draw Mohammed Day!

It’s that time of year again! You guessed it, Happy Draw Mohammed Day! It’s a day to read bronze age books and thank the universe that we have freedom of speech and we will die fighting for it. Just like You religious nutcases will kill for your faith- regardless of what fucking spot of Jerusalem you get dibs on. So take a look at my contribution:scan Michelangelo it isn’t, but I think it’s a rather cute family portrait of Mo and his dozen wives. And yeah I know, some did die before he married others, but honestly, if you were a man of Mo’s power and influence would you honestly care if a lowly woman was alive and protesting? I think not. Next time I might draw one of Joe Smith and Mo going toe-to-toe. So come and kill me wackjobs. Allahu akbar!

And now, something to offend everyone:

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If not now, WEN?

If Richard Simmons, Debra Messing, and that preggo Streisand-wannabe dumb bitch from Glee taught me anything, it’s to trust your best gay- especially if he does your hair!

The first time I ordered off QVC it was Dennis Basso’s faux fur blankets (I own two- mink and lynx- and the leopard print I gave to my BFF), and it was around that time when I saw- and heard- the presenters, models, and callers creaming their mom jeans on this religion called WEN. Developed by stylist Chaz Dean, he (like the rest of his celebrity ilk) is hellbent on changing the world one head of hair at a time banning shampoo forever! Back the fuck up, mom and I screamed! How in high holy hell can you clean your hair without shampoo? We ignored the WENNITES until a week ago.

When K came round to file the ole 1040 for us mom asked what shampoo she used. Since she’s black I assumed she used Pink, Dark n’ Lovely, and the slew of relaxers and other nappy hair treatments you’d find at the far back corner of the Duane Reade shampoo aisle and beauty supply shop I’d seen her buy countless times. Nope! She was a WENNITE, converted by our other friend Mika. Like the QVC idiots, K glossed on and on about Chaz’ baby and educated us on what a cleansing conditioner was. When I translated for mom we were still skeptical, but despite the price, she encouraged us to take the plunge. We had no choice. Seriously.

When mom went into menopause, her hair became an unmanageable bedhead rat’s nest forcing her to wash it every motherfucking morning. Now we all know that washing your hair daily strips your hair of all moisture, but mom didn’t seem to have a problem because her L’Oreal Color Vive shampoo and conditioner was her DOC for over 25 years. Then the corporate assfucks bought their competition (CoverGirl, Maybelline, and Max Factor) and all went to hell. When the global markets crashed (with the ponzis fueling that fire) quality products turned to shit, and beauty and personal care weren’t immune. In 2011/12 it became harder for me to find L’Oreal hair care products until they eliminated the Color Vive line for this green sulfide-free (and more expensive for less in the tube) trendy bullshit line. Mom went through $100 worth of other brands only for them to end up in the recycling bin because of the damage they caused. Then two months ago after customers more than likely bombarded L’Oreal’s inboxes with death threats did they relaunch Color Vive renaming and repackaging it using the Glee dumb ho as its spokestwat. But the formula was fucked with (to save $$$) and while it did the trick for mom’s hair, it lacked magic. Still better than nothing.

But my hair has been giving me nothing but grief for the last 18 years. PCOS women have acute frizziness, dandruff, breakage, and hair loss caused by hormone imbalances. I had hair loss at 12, and then when I was 14 my shiny smooth hair went berserk. It looked like I had a tumbleweed on my head with chunks of my scalp lifting off every time I pulled a brush through it, and the scabs were so thick you could see them at my temples. In other words, I was pretty popular. I was 24 when I finally became a redhead and what people may not understand is that ammonia and peroxide- the dominant chemicals in all hair dyes (except the bullshit ones which are ALL save for L’Oreal)- are also major components in relaxers. It was taming my frizz but it remained bushy, breaking, and a big fucking mess during the rainy season. I was diagnosed with PCOS when I was nearly 30 and went vegan after that, but my hair remained a problem. Doc said my hair would start behaving once I got on birth control, but alas, no insurance. I did some online research and began a supplement regimen in addition to my multivitamin that included biotin. I take biotin and used biotin shampoo and conditioner, but the dandruff and breakage is still a misery.

Enter WEN Six Thirteen. Now for the noob I ordered the gift set and that includes a 16 oz. bottle of Six Thirteen and a 4 oz. bottle of replenishing mist. It’s prettily boxed with the pump boxed separately because the product is so fucking thick it will spurt out if you put it in. My suggestion is to use the product first and then insert the pump. The WEN comb is necessary, but isn’t included with this set so I bought it off Amazon for $13. The instructions aren’t intimidating as you might think (emphases mine):

Rinse hair thoroughly and completely with cool water for at least 1 minute. Daily Cleansing Treatment should be applied in four sections: the crown of your head, the nape/back of head, ends to the left side of your hair and ends to the right side of your hair.

 For hair above your shoulders, use a minimum of 6-8 pumps.

For hair down to your shoulders, use a minimum of 8-10 pumps.

For hair past your shoulders use a minimum of 10-12 pumps.

For hair to your mid-back use a minimum of 12-14 pumps.

 Add a splash of water to help evenly distribute through the ends and massage vigorously into scalp for 2-3 minutes. Comb through with a wide-tooth comb and clip hair up for the remainder of the shower. Leave on for at least 3-5 minutes. The longer you leave it on the better for maximum results. Rinse with cool water thoroughly for 1-2 minutes by massaging your scalp and running your fingers through to the ends.While hair is soaking wet, apply a dime size amount of the Daily Cleansing Treatment as a leave-in conditioner starting from the back of the head through to the ends.

 For thicker/coarser hair increase amount of pumps in order to thoroughly hydrate and cleanse the scalp and ends.

 If you choose to rinse and repeat, use half the amount of suggested pumps for each cleansing.

As I initiated some hours ago the breakage and color bleeding was still present, but I’ll tell you this I hadn’t been able to take a comb to my hair since childhood. The top layer is still damaged and bushed out, but my hair is lighter, softer, and is able to separate and fall easier. I used eight products (including shampoo and conditioner) to get my hair to behave and it felt flat, weighted, and unclean. I’m giving WEN until the end of this bottle, and with the rains just weeks away the next 3 days will be Chaz’ first exam with the cold, dampness, and humidity on the schedule. If I get results he’s got a new customer, and I can mix and match my WEN! The best thing to do is check out the WEN_comparison_chart to see which product is good for you. In my case the fig line is probably best because it tackles damage and coarseness. Personally I can’t wait to get the intensive oil treatments so I could finally retire the cold pressed argan oil and keep it for my skin. WEN also has a kids line and can be used on your pets. I mean, who wouldn’t want beautiful coats like Hunter, Spencer, and Ella?

Fifty Shades of Twifuck Fanfic Bullshit!

Now you understand why I only visit Barnes & Noble’s for the restroom.

Now even Wikipedia reported that Mrs. Erica Leonard uploaded Fifty Shades of Grey as Master of the Universe (I really fucking hate this bitch because she has destroyed the good names of He-Man and She-Ra!) Twifuck fanfic under the pseudonym of “Snowqueen’s Icedragon.” I found the .pdf and have skimmed over it, and let me tell you it is a 604-page assload of shit! At least the British wildebeest admitted she spewed it under the duress of a midlife crisis. As a fan of Anais Nin, Alina Reyes, and Anne Rice (before her Catlick reconversion) I can say this is unequivocally poorly written and poorly researched in the BDSM department. Perhaps she should’ve opened up communications with Sapio Slut and asked her a few questions concerning her relationship with her dom lover. OR she could’ve watched Cool Devices. Not that this had a chance in the seven circles of hell with proper research and editing.

How low can the publishing industry stoop? I did some research and looking at a Blogger link for the MOTU fic-shit, in 2010 all these screaming Twifuck teen and cougar idiots gave the fic 40,000 gay disco ball sparkling reviews. I guess Mrs. Leonard took her experience as a British TV exec decided to do what the entertainment industry does best: rehash, repackage, and re-release. In 3-D. Incidentally Erica is Chilean/Scottish, married to somebody who’s as mental as she is, attended the University of Kent and majored in HISTORY before getting her first real job as a studio manager’s assistant at the National Film and Television School in London. Oh yeah, I’m sure she’s done a fuckload of writing…

Incidentally, her publisher is The Writer’s Coffee Shop (which is formatted a bit like Ellora’s Cave), be sure to read the submission guidelines, and remember, anybody can be a writer. It doesn’t matter if you’re not any good… And if you need an agent ring up Valerie Hoskins since she did such a good job with Erica!

Valerie Hoskins Associates
20 Charlotte Street
London
W1T 2NA

email: info@vhassociates.co.uk

phone: 020 7637 4490

REGISTERED ADDRESS
Valerie Hoskins Associates Limited
8 The Glasshouse
49A Goldhawk Road
London
W12 8QP

REGISTERED NUMBER 2435715

P.S. They might be optioning this for a screenplay. Your best bet into what this pile of fuck might look like, DL The Secretary.

P.P.S. If you have any questions regarding the .pdf email me.

“Music is disposable now. It doesn’t have the emotional impact anymore. That’s sad.” – Bob Welch (1945-2012), Fleetwood Mac guitarist.

CREDIT CARD FRAUD!

According to Murphy’s Law, anything that can possibly happen WILL happen. And it happened to us. CREDIT CARD FRAUD! Some asshole thought he was being cute and charged $7k of KLM plane tickets to our card that s/he lifted after I made a purchase at the Fair & White website. We never hit our limit, and it just so happens it went $97 dollars over our $8k limit on AmEx, and when I went to buy a $10 metrocard on an emergency, it rejected in the machine. We also got a suspicious statement that there was no payment due.

We called in a hot minute and the very nice customer service agent questioned us that our spending pattern was off (by the thousands) and when we confirmed that we didn’t know about any airline tickets they immediately stopped the card and is reissuing us a new one with a brand new statement that has the fraudulent charge off. Now we have to go through this whole hellfire of filling out an affidavit, waiting for official papers to come in, and a new card is coming in 10 business days. When it comes to fraud and the credit card companies, it’s never as easy as that (they are doing an investigation as we speak). So I told mom not to be shocked if she has to fork over the money if AmEx is unwilling to believe us. I know that the number could have been lifted by the usual sites we shop at which is Amazon and Sephora, but the dates according to the agent seem probable it was when I ordered from Mitchell Group Cosmetics (Fair & White’s parent company). Their site may be unsafe so avoid it like the plague.

If anybody has any advice, I’d really welcome it so feel free to drop a comment.

Fundie, mentally ill, and anti-vax wannabe hippie parents love homeschooling!

Fundie, mentally ill, and anti-vax wannabe hippie parents love homeschooling! Gee, I wonder why…

On bratfree we were making fun of the crazed homeschooling breeders, and swapping tales of our own personal experiences with homeschooling. Or should I say, unschooling. If you’re a Beverly Hills Cop I & II fan like me, then you know who Judge Freaking Reinhold is. A few years back he had a TV sitcom (that lasted all of 8 eps) called The O’Keefes. The premise was a hyperactive pretentious family homeschooling their supposed intellectually superior kids now transitioning into public school. Can you see how these characters might be the posterchildren for unschooling? I know I can.

Now as I bitched in my last post American public, religulous, and charter schools are SO FAR OFF THE FUCKING MARK, only a cultural revolution could change them. But, hey, this is America! And when do things really change? My father suffered from Paranoid Personality Disorder and codependency (like my grandmother), and several of the big red flags of these disorders are inflated ego and capability, projecting blame on others and even things, and quick loss of interest. In ’93 I was pulled out of my second Catlick school because I was the target of bullying. I had been the target of bullying up until I was in high school (I said this before). My father couldn’t and wouldn’t accept the reasons for this was my social maladjustment because of isolation, being biracial, and being overweight (PCOS played a big role in my weight problems I later found out). I had been out of school (the first time around) for 44 days. At the time Rudy Giuliani had been crowned king of NYC and he was overhauling the BOE big time. The big problem was truancy, the other big problem was the shit ass educational programs, but neither really got solved. Dad nicely informed the BOE that he would be homeschooling me for the remainder of my educational career, to which the secretary on the other end of the phone replied, “Put her back in school.” And hung up.

This fell on blissfully deaf ears. Mom, Dad, and me tramped down to the WNET (Channel 13) Building at Rockefeller Center to buy me GED workbooks. Now I always believed that the GED programs were for lazy ghetto-ass high school kids who don’t feel like doing anything (which is largely true since I know so fucking many of them), but Dad never figured out that 1) I was 13 and these materials were made for older teens and adult education and 2) in order to complete the work in the books you had to follow a set program series that aired at certain times of the morning on PBS. You can’t imagine our embarrassment upon walking into the smoky glass and steel monolith of establishment liberalism with a Hispanic man speaking too loud wearing grungy three sizes too small clothing barely stretching over his beer gut. The volunteer country club and 5th Ave. Synagogue old lady members stared us down with puckered disgust, and the uncomfortable college kid who rang him up (paying for the books with rolled up coins) was forced to listen to his insane diatribe that I was being homeschooled because I was a “misunderstood genius.” I seriously considered suicide for the first time when I got home that night.

At WNET they also sold the GED VHS series, but they were grossly overpriced and I think you had to have qualifications as a GED instructor to purchase them. So needless to say Dad felt that I was smart enough to figure out the material on my own. He forced me to watch the series in the middle of the lessons (consequently I was unable to follow them at all) and then sent me to my heatless room to do my “homework”. I found out that the workbooks had the answers in the back, making the whole thing pointless, and I just abandoned the books in my closet and proceeded to make dollhouse accessories from swatches of old clothes. This went on for a week, and Dad no longer brought up my homeschooling in favor of watching video taped eps of Star Trek: TNG, Forever Knight, and prime time crime dramas over and over again. After 44 days the school sent a letter requesting my return, or ACS would come a-callin’. I went back willingly knowing what I would face, so Dad put cotton balls in my ears to block out the abuse, but when Mom questioned how I would follow the lessons, he ignored her. I finished out the ’93 school year barely passing, and my parents didn’t pay the rest of the tuition (they didn’t deserve it), but I didn’t return to school until November ’94, and my bro Archer was pulled out of school for three months in September of ’94. We were both held back a year because of Dad’s (and Mom’s) actions, Archer became destructive, I fell into the deep well of an eating disorder and became more withdrawn and paranoid as I was not allowed to go near a window when I was at home during that very long year.

We should have been removed (as ACS did come to the house that year), but chances are nothing would have been done. Why? Simple, Mom, me, and Archer are white. We live in a clean, white middle-class neighborhood. I had no idea that Dad was mentally ill because his character was always unstable and I chalked it down to racism and the abuse he suffered from his equally insane family. I always saw homeschooled kids as being abuse victims, and this post from a Midwestern fundie cow of eight hailing from a piss-poor farming community in Buttfuck, Minnesota with no real job trolling the internet when she should be “teaching” her kids (especially when among them are disabled) reaffirms my belief:

“I have a feeling that you don’t know a whole lot about homeschooling, but you do know a lot about public school. You need to understand that homeschooling can be very different from public school. There is no law in Indiana that says an 11-year-old must know how to read well, or the parents have been neglectful. I wonder if you know the family well enough to know if that girl has a learning disability. As the other answer mentioned, it is legal for parents to encourage reading in a more gentle fashion, instead of forcing it on a child who is not ready or willing.As for what the children tell you, they might forget that they did tests, since tests can be far apart in time. As for lessons, homeschooling fits into the everyday lives of the families, and the children may not realize they are doing school. They might be learning through lots of activities, interaction with parents, and through books and movies. For example, some of my kids are studying the Vikings. Yesterday, they watched Veggie Tales “Lyle, the Kindly Viking”. Tonight, we are planning to watch “The 13th Warrior”. Videos and movies like these give lots of useful info about historical subjects. If I didn’t tell them, my kids might not realize the videos are part of their schooling. Also, last summer, I took them to the Kensington Ruinstone Museum.
For homeschooling, families do not usually have the kids in desks with the mother by a blackboard “teaching” them. It can be a lot more casual, and spread out throughout the day. It fits into the families’ lives.
If you reported this family, you would have to have first-hand knowledge that the parents are not in compliance with the law. If the law only says that the parents have to notify the public school of their children being homeschooled, and has no specifics about what or how the children are to be taught, then the parents are free to do it how they see fit.
I just urge you to be educated on the subject before you go and cause turmoil for this family. Educational neglect is a very serious charge. If you falsely accuse the family, you can expect that you will never see those kids or your sister or brother again. Talk to them before making judgement. Tell them your concerns, and ask them to explain their homeschooling philosophy and plan. Keep in mind that you may not agree with what they are doing, but that doesn’t mean it is wrong. If you won’t talk to the family first, then I question your motives. Possibly you are against homeschooling in the first place, and you just want to “get” them.
I have had my disabled child in public school for 2 1/2 months, and I can tell you, we were doing much better with him at home. There are no “magic special teachers” who can make the kids normal.” 

Breeders Know Better Than Teachers

Another bunch of breeder shit for the bitch books: breeders know better than teachers!

Now this isn’t news. I’ve seen this firsthand during my entire scholastic career. One-ton Betty Bimbo sloshes her way up to the school in her flipflops and grey sweats that she’s been wearing for the past three weeks because Shitford came home with a 50% on the latest spelling quiz. Never mind he spelled the word “theater” with a k.

On You Tube there are excerpts from a corporate propaganda film Waiting for “Superman”. It stars Bill Gates and Michelle Rhee, both right-leaning business people who think that since public school is shit (and it is), it should be wiped out (along with teachers unions) and replaced with an Enron-esque Rank ‘n Yank “charter” curriculum (I went to a “new visions” high school- that would be referred to as “charter” today) that leaves the weakest (non-competitive and non-incentive receptive) students in the dust because they will NOT be the ones leading Wall Street in generations to come.

Now I’m from New York, and it probably has the most corrupt (and weak) public education system in the country. The UFT is no better than the UAW today. And I can personally attest to the phenomenal failures of the public, Catholic, and alternative educational schools. Education has been going down the shitter for the last 35 years or so. And funding is only the tip of the iceberg to solve this problem. No, the problem begins at home. Two incomes are required today, so SAHMs should really rethink getting to the gym and updating their CVs in order to make the mortgages and grocery bills. I think breeders are failing their children education-wise because they lack backbone. They are being fed this epic load of horse shit that they need to be their kid’s co-sleeper, BFF, motivational speaker, partner, and coach (doesn’t matter if it’s play coach or sport/art coach). But parent? That’s passe. You want them to be the next LeBron James, Golda Meir, Al Pacino, and Marie Curie right? Well you don’t HAVE to want them to be that, they already ARE that. That’s what gifted/purple/crystal/spectrum analyses are for! Usually self-diagnosed, but shrinks, professors, and “experts” eager to buy yachts, shop at Bergdorf & Goodman, and rent out the dancers at Scores for a weekend in Puerto Rico are for.

On the latest laugh-fest we’re having at bratfree, kidlesskim (and Miss Hannigan who lead the race in snappy wit) put up a link and short list of “gifted” preschool kids (linkie):

From the U.S. Office of Gifted and Talented:

Short list of typical gifted preschooler (ages 2-5) characteristics:

  • Uses advanced vocabulary for age.
  • Uses spontaneous verbal elaboration with new experiences.
  • Has the ability to make interesting or unusual shapes or patterns through various media: blocks, playdough, crayons.
  • Ability to assemble puzzles designed for older children.
  • Sense of humor used in general conversation.
  • Understanding of abstract concepts such as death and time.
  • Mastery of new skills with little repetition.
  • Demonstration of advanced physical skills.
  • Demonstration of advanced reasoning skills through explanation of occurrences.

Source: Janice Szabos as quoted in “The Gifted and Talented Child,” Maryland Council for Gifted & Talented Children, Inc. P.O. Box 12221, Silver Spring, MD 20908

Got all that? And now with my “gifted” genius, I shall break down why I was in the “magnet” schools/classes for the “gifted”… even though it got me nowhere fast.

1) Asks the questions.

As with all kids, their favorite question is, “Why?” And that the first reason as why I find them annoying, and was quite annoying myself as a kid. I always asked “Why?” and “What for?”, before launching into a soul-sucking diatribe demanding to know the specifics. My first word was “clock”, and my favorite TV obsession was Sesame Street. More than likely I correlated that the big round thing with numbers above our stove was the same as big round thing with numbers that Big Bird, Ernie, and the deaf chick who worked at Hooper’s Store calling a clock glossed on and on about as if were Jesus’ tack hammer.  Having this epiphany I thrust out my fat finger nearly blinding my mother as she fed me mashed peas, and made my groundbreaking proclamation. After that it was… non… stop… yapping.

Now I’m a female, and it’s known that women use on average 20,000 words a day. Men use around 8,000. While humans are cerebral creatures, men primarily rely on visuals and women the mental. It’s why we think of sex 6 times a day, and men up to 30. But thanks to evolution and the feminist movement (with the added help of the privacy of the internet) women are enjoying pornography more than ever. We’re catching up guys, please continue to be threatened. And that brings us to…

2) Extremely curious.

Now the why’s and what for’s can be placed in this box as well, but I needed a clear definition behind the why’s and what for’s. I had to know. Want to know why? I had nothing better to do. For the first 6 years of my life I was a bored, friendless, overeating only child. Mom was a neurotic obsessed with living up to her co-dependent mother’s standards and Dad was a miserly shit. I really hated these people. The only good I saw in my parents was that Dad had a big VHS collection (thanks to a short-lived time with bootleg HBO), bought me a lot of books, Mom could cook, and her relatives fed me like a pig. My father dealt with living in a racist environment in an interracial marriage with biracial kids by ignoring it, even though he was fully aware of the consequences. This would cost him his family, marriage, sanity, and well-being. Mom also chose to ignore because she was sheltered and depressed all her life with no experience in real cold world. Grandma is a co-dependent bully, Grandpa was an indifferent shithead, and Mom’s brother is a rage-aholic schizoid type personality. I don’t like to call my family dysfunctional, I like to call them colorful.

Despite being alone, I got plenty of mental stimulation. There was always talking (yelling) in the kitchen between my grandparents, mother, great-grandmother, and great-aunt. I love food and loved to help in the kitchen which grandma encouraged, so I helped cook from an early age. The first movie I ever saw was The Empire Strikes Back. I loved Dorothy Hamill’s The Nutcracker on Ice, Follow That Bird, The Dark Crystal, Labyrinth, and The Secret of Nimh. I read through my grandparents’ encyclopedias, Gramps National Geographic collection (he got me a book set on animals through NG once), a fat cookbook on pasta, and a huge-ass Random House dictionary with full color maps. Gramps also had a Time Life book set on WWII with these awesome photos. Dog fights, battles at sea, the Normandy landing, Reichstag parades, you name it. If I had to know why some shit was what, I looked it up. All the while I munched on bags of chips from the Wise assortment box- the 80s version. Not the shit they hawk at Target or Squalor Mart today!

This isn’t to say, I didn’t watch TV. I loved TV! Especially musicals! I danced and sang all damn day, being so hyped up after The King and I. Mom would go through great lengths to prevent me from seeing them sometimes because I was so goddamn loud. I but I’d find out what channel it was on regardless. I’d know she was up to something. Which brings me to…

3) Gets involved physically and mentally.

I began school at 3 by accident. I had a “friend” that was six months older than me and she liked to scare me to death because she was an undisciplined daredevil. And I was a big chicken. She was the little bitch who abused her pets and later on the unhousebroken family doberman bit her in the face. I think I mentioned her in a previous post. She started school before me and our new game was playing school. Kids tend to re-enact and adapt the newest thing into their playtime. Also she had this sweet Playskool school role playing set, a blackboard and a desk. She was the teacher, fully armed with a plastic pointer, and I was relegated to dumbass student forever getting whacked upside the head with the fucking pointer. As if she were Cecil B. DeMille the bitch would direct me to give the wrong answer, because it looked funny when I played dumb. If we were with a bunch of kids on her block and played school she would NEVER play the dumbass. She’d fly into a tantrum over that shit. Once I got defiant and consistently gave the right answers. She pissed the bitch, and hit me HARD. But not hard enough, I admit. I took the abuse because I thought that was how to make and keep friends.

She went to a Catlick preschool out of parish because it was free (our parish pre-k had a tuition). Mom and me went with the bitch and her mother to drop her off one morning (early enough in the year) and I just saw all those other kids having so much fun running around the schoolyard and all those colorful construction paper signs hanging in the windows welcoming kids back for a new school year, and thought just what the fuck was I missing out on? Taking a cue from the bitch I started to whine.

“I wanna go to school! I wanna go to school!”

Luckily Mrs. S, the teacher, was rounding up her class when she heard me.

“It’s okay, she can come in.” At first Mom thought that she thought was I old enough being that me and the bitch were the same height. Mrs. S. directed Mom to the main office and told her that it was okay and I could register at my age. Mom gave in and I was ecstatic. Yay for me! I’m so happening! I’m a big kid! I’m going to school! School is cool! This would be the last time those words would be strung together in my mind. I joined everybody on the line as Mom went fill out the paperwork, getting reassured that everything would be okay. She’s an independent kid, so go home and catch up on your sleep. It was a win-win.

Mrs. S (up until high school) was probably the best teacher I had. She was old-skool Irish, really nice, but hella strict. If you didn’t follow the rules, she lit into your little ass! And with God-given right! She didn’t give two shits that we were four. We were little crack monkeys, and were not to be trusted. If you planned on pulling shit, she must’ve gone to the same psychic academy as Sylvia Browne- but passed- and took you down on the spot like fucking Navy SEAL. But as much as a disciplinarian as she was, she was also a good damn teacher. She was patient, and above all, she loved what she did. There was an overall good vibe in her classroom, it was immaculate, white, and sunny. It smelled the way a classroom should smell like, cracking linoleum glue with a hint of chalk dust, and reams of grainy yellowish art paper from the 1960s. NOT LIKE A DIAPER BAG! Mrs. S. asked if her kids were properly toilet trained. Today there would be lawsuits and she would be forced to register as a sex offender.  There were METAL group tables for the kids, purchased from Crayola because they looked like the fronts of crayon boxes. Made in the USA baby, splashed right under the branding , block font kelly green on ocher. Not that Chinese shit from recycled plastic letting off toxic fumes because they have no concept of quality control let alone human rights! Every table had its supply box: some flat pencils, assorted Crayola markers, and a pair of actual metal kiddie scissors! You know, the kind that we never put out eyes or cut off fingers with. Because the corporations brainwashed breeders some time in ’91 with the belief that kids would be influenced to commit mass murder with metal art scissors, just to import cheap tin-lined two-toned plastic shit from Taiwan that couldn’t spread margarine- loaded with trans-fat- in order to shut down a factory in Tulsa. Y’know, to empty out the sites for future meth labs.

Toward the back there was Mrs. S.’s desk (no man’s land) and a closet, and further up adjacent from the blackboard was an upright black piano. Mrs. S. led us in Old MacDonald, The Star Spangled Banner, and other big hits and had a kid lead the group in singing- and I often did it. Learning to read and write the alphabet and our names on that lined paper with the HUGE spaces were paramount, but colors, shapes, identifying animals and things followed and she made it fun. We did dioramas all the time with shoe boxes, construction paper, aluminum (we burned through rolls of the shit for Xmas), and cotton balls. She hung up all our pictures, and I drew the nuttiest things, flying cats and grizzly bears with green hair and giraffe necks. We acted out animals and made their sounds, and had us do group work and I often lead our group. It was fun and engaging, and I had no problems with the other kids.

When it was time for me to go to “real pre-k” I thought it would be a blast. We had more playtime in the between. I jumped in willingly and had fun… with the kids who would play with me, but it didn’t deter me. Bringing us to…

4) Plays around, still gets good grades.

Of course I got good grades. You know why I got good grades? If I didn’t, I got punished. SIMPLE. AS. THAT. I admit I’m a fucking overachiever. I LOVED reading ahead. I LOVED shooting up my hand to answer all the questions. I had to be told by the shit teacher Mrs. M. that I had to give the other kids a chance. Mom failed on that. But Mrs. M. was a racist and often complained that when I was playing during lunch break I was “out of control”. Mom got neurotic and screamed at me, got Dad in it too. But she stopped all of a sudden when, quietly, one of the paras (volunteer mommy monitor) took her aside and called on M.’s bullshit. I wasn’t misbehaving. It was because I was part PR and able to read better and write complete sentences before the rest of the class. And when I got to kindergarten? I was called out by Ms. G. being a “strange girl” for reading ahead, preferring to get books from the school library for “reports” because they had better books than our shit collection, and she NEVER hung up my pictures. Oh, and she pissed the bitch that I played too much in the doll corner. Never mind the fact that nearly ALL THE OTHER GIRLS occupied our pretend kitchen and the jungle gym was boy central. I had a ton of wooden blocks at home, and plenty of small tinker toys as well so the block and toy corners just didn’t interest me. Since when did being above-average mean we can’t play?

I despised that overgrown uber-80s teeny bopper wannabe kindergarten teacher of mine, and she was only the second. My third grade teacher Mrs. B. mispronounced pupa (PYOO-PA) as PUPPA. I made the mistake of correcting her, she made my life hell for a while there. But back in kinder-hell Mrs. G. gave us a rainbow “lesson”, meaning that the color schematic had a cool acronym that can be easily remembered: ROY G. BIV. I was secretly happy that red lead the parade, but felt guilty that a pretty color like violet (purple’s kid sister) had to bring up the rear. So I asked her why did violet come in last. You could see the red veins in her sclera pop from the last row of us seated on our carpet swatches. And that segues us into…

5) Questions the answers.

Anne Frank is an icon. She’s an international symbol of Holocaust children victims and survivors, solidarity, the anti-war movement, and anti-discrimination. She was an ordinary 15-year-old Dutch Jewish girl thrown into the extraordinary circumstances of Nazi occupied Holland. She and her older sister Margot died in Bergen-Belsen concentration camp several weeks before liberation by British troops on April 15, 1945. For those who read her published diary we like to think she was a prophetic messenger, but if you read Carol Ann Lee’s The Biography of Anne Frank: Roses From the Earth, The Diary of Anne Frank: The Critical Edition, and watched the documentary Anne Frank Remembered, Anne was described as quite the scamp. Naughty and quite annoying at times. Always talking, asking questions, and had to be the center of attention. So much so that her precious Pim (Otto Frank) had to remove her from the room. But we don’t like seeing Anne like a whole human being, warts and all. But that’s the “tragedy” of the “gifted” child.

6) Prefers adults or older children.

Being still an only child and surrounded by old people influences you. I thought adults were mystical and teens were glamorous (a regular dose of John Hughes movies and coked-up ’80s teen shows do the trick). I wanted to be around them rather than kids my age. I couldn’t relate to them, primarily because they rejected me first. The grown-ups had real stuff to talk about and teens looked so cool in their two piece Catlick school uniforms and varsity jackets. Just like in Teen Wolf or Porky’s (yeah I saw that at a young age, my parents didn’t give a shit about what I watched- overcompensation).

7) Good at guessing.

Three words: Preschool Lotto Game. Mom got up, switched off the Looney Tunes, and we played. All damn day. Looney Tunes? What’s that?

8 ) Bored. Already knew the answers.

I will direct you back to the little paragraph I described about reading materials at home. And that it’s not illegal to read ahead during homework.

9) Shows strong feelings and opinions.

You think this blog was the beginning? Seriously?

10) Highly critical of self (perfectionistic).

Did I not say I was an overachiever? What do you think I really mean? I’m obsessive. Being ugly and fat and only half white with a failure of a father and a co-dependent grandmoo who share similar personalities, I scrutinize myself and torture myself beyond. I will never be happy with my work. I could always do more, make more time, extend this, elaborate that, trim more fat, it never ends. Not with schoolwork, writing, or household chores. I’m simply unsatisfied.

Well there you have it folks, the “gifted” child. Or should I say, your above-average headcase. But knowing breeders they’ll slip on those rose-colored lenses, filter everything as usual, and dance in a daydream. I’m not gonna stop you. Have a nice nap America.

Butthurt, an hero? Fill this out in triplicate please.

From thom_c, a kick ass EMT from bratfree. Can be used on annoying breeders, trolls, dick coworkers, your significant other, spouse, soon-to-be divorced spouse, your parents, or anyone who thinks that their superiority complex is going to lead this world out of chaos. Blessinz of teh Ceiling Cat be apwn yu, srsly.

Because your mommy and daddy always said YOUR feelings come first.