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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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.” 

Gluten Free Girl, You’re Fucking Busted!

What do the following three words have in common: “Breathe”, “Yes”, and “Lu”?

I had no idea you had celiac disease!

On bratfree we have a ball breaking on Mrs. Shauna James Ahern, a.k.a. the Gluten Free Girl, a.k.a. narcissistic fatass. Now I’m not making fun of anybody with the disease, I’m making fun of an annoying woman who happens to have this disease and writes her blog like a Whorelequin trash novel over the moon about herself and her Olympic Peninsula island idyll and managing to get knocked up at 42 branding and herself a hero. Oh yeah, and her husband is a cook who apparently is talented enough to keep the wheat gluten from his ham hock armed wifey, but not the butter or sugar. Anybody with a brain knows that after reading her beloved cookbook, somebody’s not playing with a full deck.

But I just want to tell you something Shauna, you fucked up. You know that promotional event you held on the Great Lawn in Central Park early last fall? You know you kind of publicly admitted that you held an event under the guise of a picnic that you kind of didn’t send in your paperwork and pay the fees that was required of you by the New York State Parks and Recreation department. Don’t worry my fellow honest New Yorkers, I’ve done my duty and reported her. I hope they could retroactively fine her fat Washingtonian ass, maybe that will force her to, I don’t know, go to the supermarket and buy frozen veggies and fruits from the produce aisle maybe? How about joining a gym to work off some of that stress that’ll hopefully come your way (say NO to food for once).

Q. What about in-person tours?

A. Bookstore readings are becoming antiquated, and particularly for a cookbook, it doesn’t seem too relevant. So we wanted to create a space where people could gather. We did a picnic in Central Park in New York , and everyone brought food.

On a Sunday afternoon in New York City, we had a picnic. We sent the invitation out into the air and then showed up. Who might be there? How many? We didn’t know.

Maybe a handful?

When we walked onto the Great Lawn, we saw a huge group of you, already talking and eating, becoming friends.

Gwyneth January 27, 2011 at 2:49 pm

What the fuck is wrong with women?

What the fuck is wrong with women?

Seriously. And I’m asking you this as a woman.

For the last three weeks I’ve been getting confirmation of being childfree from this one spayshul little fucktard that lives up the block from me. It’s fairly safe to say that any idiosyncrasies and dysfunctions we have stem from childhood, and this little blood sucker is a good example. Mom believes she knows who her mother is, a divorcee living with her grandparents, and evidently her ex dumped her and their two shitbags because he couldn’t stand her, nor her family (not that hubby is any better). I don’t know what the custodial arrangements are- and could give a shit- but the little cunt dropping is here on weekends and holidays from what I’ve seen of her. For the last three weeks (since the weather has gotten nicer) she’s been outside playing with the daughters of a family who lives next door (I only know them because their oldest daughter is a cripple), but I’ve never had a problem with them. Now she’s one of the middle daughters’ new BFF so they’re outside with their kindercrap screaming their heads off about nothing when this little bitch says to me as I pass:

“You wear too much lipstick!”

And she ducks inside her friend’s door.

In my day that was called disrespect, and we got our asses handed to us with a MAJOR verbal beat down for the rest of the day, and maybe a punishment on the side. Even the worst of the bastards who tortured me in my Catlick school were reprimanded by their parents if a comment was made towards an adult. Who was a stuck-up little snot who couldn’t even wipe their ass on their own to criticize an adult for their fashion choices? Nobody, that’s who! Which is why spankings are a good idea.

But today the little douche has a myriad of acronym brain diseases because of her parents divorce and is simply acting out. Which is why avoidance on the victim’s part is paramount, and mediation and negotiation are the parents’ duties should it be deemed that the situation be brought to their attention. This is the welfare of a child we’re talking about here…

YOU FUCKING PARENTS ARE PUSSIES!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

Did I say that too loud for you? I’m sorry, you’re deaf now? Well that’s you’re fault for buying into Life Script with Mr./Ms. Good Enough But The Cracks In The Surface Just Get Deeper Daily. I can proudly say that the little pussy biscuit will grow up to be just like her prize-winning mamma, or like the insane bitches that Mom works with. What a good citizen like myself should do is grab her by the hair, slap her until she’s bleeding from every top half orifice, body slam her ass on mee-maw’s floor like Bin Laden’s corpse and demand an apology from her coven for leading meaningless existences that they can’t be bothered (too old and bizzy) to raise the walking twat clump right. Of course that reality exists between this monitor and the bedroom door. Outside of that door I would be arrested, slapped with a multi-million dollar lawsuit, and be featured on the 10 o’clock news on the Nox Noise Channel. Then a quarter of a billion people will be siding with the poor mawm and behbeh and my whole life will be played out on You Tube saying that I am nothing but an evil, fat, ugly, lazy, unemployed, jealous, and crazy loser who likes to kick newborn puppies and bite the heads off Peeps. But really you’re just so weak that you can’t take a little nine-year-old kid’s jokes… and that maybe you do wear too much makeup, you child-hating slut! 

Now we all know that after three weeks of childish taunting you would be harboring infanticide fantasies as well, but we can’t say what we feel anymore because we’re going to hurt someone’s perceived feelings. Please keep that word in mind. Perceived. Because the basis of our lives revolves upon the perception of what we think others believe about us. If I disciple mah chyuld, they’ll become a serial killer and Ah’ll get blamed! Or maybe they won’t be a millionaire brain surgeon and Ah’ll never live in a McMansion with country club membership! Ah’m a failure! Never mind what we believe about ourselves, that’s whole other delusion. And lately, I’ve been noticing that that goes doubly for women.

Dog knows that ageism, sexism, and lookism dominates everything from employment to sex, but it’s getting worse. In Mom’s office these ghetto diva bitches are so hung up on themselves that they walk around in Alzheimer’s-esque delusions. The thinner bitches Darlene, Cecelia, Lucille, and Hazel love to say just how sexy and desirable they are complimenting themselves every five minutes and flirting with everything that has a pair of hanging gonads. The truth is, no one could stand any of them, and people who know these bitches in purchasing ask how Mom- their longest standing temp of 4 years- how she could put up with them. The truth is, she can’t, but she needs a job, and at 56 the jobs don’t come easily regardless of the economy. Once Mom was walking with Cecelia and she met a friend, Ping, and for 20 minutes these two squwaking peacocks, after discovering that they shared the same birthdate, started in like 12-year-olds with the high fructose corn syrupy simpering “You’re pretty!” “No you’re pretty!” that had more back-and-forth than a ping-pong match in Harbin. Then you have one of the supervisors, Carmen, who honestly looks like the stereotypical butch lesbian (Mom said she dresses like a gym teacher). This dumbfuck always backpedals when she says she’ll never go out of her way (again) for someone who utterly disrespects her. Lucille is the hospital’s butt of jokes because she’s such a loudmouth, she tells everybody every detail of her fucked life. She’s nothing but a welfare queen with three anchor babies. This former Filipino bar girl had four loaves with three men- her eldest son during her days prostituting on a cruise ship (claimed the father was a Greek, but a picture she produced showed a Filipino guy, but no one can be sure with her because she’s a pathological liar), the next two with her ex-husband, and this latest one with her new Michigan backwoods white trash hubster she met online who is allergic to employment and comes from a litter of pill-headed alkeys (his moomy was so fucked up on pills that she slurred over the phone to Lucille that her 12-year-old daughter Ashley could come back to Michigan to suck her toe. For a year Lucille dumped her kids on hubster’s crazy clan so that they could go faux jet-setting and making a real white baby together, meanwhile the kids ate nothing, lived in a filthy house, and a semi-tarded 16-year-old nephew took “a liking” to Ashley). I don’t give a shit at how “nice” Lucille is, she’s a trashy user and abuser. Carmen went out of her way to get this ho her naturalization status, the job at purchasing, threw her baby showers, and when the bitch was done blowing her paycheck Carmen swooped in and made her friends in the cafeteria serve this whore and her kids full continental breakfasts, and then Carmen would cook for her. So what does this bitch do when Carmen called out Lucille and hubster web surfing at her workstation (where no one without an employee ID isn’t allowed)? She called her a dirty Puerto Rican.

Considering this bitch’s spotty record, I’m still amazed at how she didn’t get fired after that incident. No, I’m wrong. I’m amazed at how she wasn’t fired after she physically assaulted church lady Marcy some years ago. Church lady Marcy is Indian-Guyanese and has been so indoctrinated by her bassackwards culture and revivalist sect that she’s the family’s doormat (Mom could relate well). Her parents are practically invalids so despite having a career and doing all the housekeeping, much of their care has been dumped on Marcy. Her brothers are coddled drunks who do nothing, and all of her sisters have shuffled off to London, Minnesota, and Miami with their lives and families. But whenever they’re in town they’re forever calling Marcy at work to ask where the spices, pencils, or dustrags are. The upshot, they’re on the upper rungs of the totem pole in Guyana. They have so much money (from family businesses) that they need armed guards on the family’s plantation. According to the church lady, these bitches treated her like dirt and that the stress Mom has from these projects divas is nothing. And while that is true, church lady does NOTHING to defend herself. She always brought donuts and bagels from her cousin’s Dunkin’ Donuts shop, but all these asshats would complain that it was too much junk and they were get(ting) fat(ter). THEN when church lady would stop they complained why she wasn’t bringing any more food! The following drama took place when church lady was out sick; at her desk Mom overheard the other bitches making fun of church lady, pulling various parts of their flab anatomies demonstrating where the bagels ended up on her body. After the office Xmas party (potluck) there was some complaint over the food she brought- it wasn’t enough… GREEDY! GREEDY! GREEDY! Mom and another employee took church lady aside and told her not to bother with the bitches any more and quit making food for them (like they expect everyone in the office to do- but Mom hasn’t!) then told her about the bagel jokes. You’d think that would get her riled up at least. Nope, she stayed home the next day and sobbed like a 15-year-old under the blankets over missing Justin Bieber fuck Robert Pattinson on Ustream.

Now I’ll get to the real cruelty.

Their recently retired boss, Bill Goof, saved church lady’s ass from getting downsized. Apparently the insurance company that now wants to dump the hospital decided she was too expensive and wanted to hire a desperate college grad for less.

“Well if she’s got to go, she’s got to go!” Darlene bitched right in front of silent church lady. This is the one who’s money-laden baby daddy won’t marry her because of the tighter younger pussy he gets on the side.  The one applicant, a recent IT grad (young white dude), came in for an interview and Bill listed all of the menial tasks that would be required of him.

“I’m not doing that!” Bye-bye to the wannabe soap star.

“Why did you discourage him?!” Carmen screeched.

Bill knew that all of these old ghetto bitches (including Star the head supervisor) would be flirting with the poor guy and drive him to quit with their craziness. But moreover the office would be in chaos. These ghetto queens scream and fight over the pettiest shit, but when a man gets involved they become a wolf pack! Jealousy over imagined attention would wreak havoc and spill over into the work, and they would get nothing done if they’re too busy batting their eyes and shaking their saggy asses in front of someone who could be their kid.

When it comes down to it, they’re all insecure pathetic losers who’ll settle for the worst. Lucille is finally leaving the job to relocate to Texas to hopefully get hubster- who left her– out of Michigan to make a fresh start with their baybee that he doesn’t give a shit about. Cecelia is fucking some womanizer, Orlando, that’s engaged because she’s lonely and angry at herself for never being satisfied with herself or anybody else. I mean church lady and Carmen suffer from the 1st grade-itis (if I do everything for the pretty girls they’ll be my friends and I’ll be pretty too), but is this what I have to look forward to? Is this what middle-aged women do when they can’t bear aging?

Meanwhile on the whiter side of things…

The Ass Food that’s across the street has been the feed bag for our local hook and ladder since time immemorial, and as a kid my teachers always told us to wave to the firefighters in appreciation for their sacrifice. And as corny as that sounds, I waved, and they waved back. But in the store Mom was firm, You don’t bother the other shoppers. (THE RAYS!) And her word was law. But that didn’t stop the clucking hens from circling them at the registers. Now obviously I was raised not to criticize the grown ups, so I watched at how these bitches made idiots of themselves bombarding them with the dumbest questions! That hasn’t changed, but since 9/11 the age demographic has widened. I try to run as fast as I can with my old lady cart from the giggling and brown nosing, I wonder if all the teen and twenty-something fangirls are hot on firefighters because of the Chippendale-wannabe calendars they’ve released?

I don’t know. I’ve been working on this rant for nearly four hours, and I am nowhere near deciphering as to what’s fucking up women. Maybe I’m the exception to this odd rule. Okay, I went to a crap high school in a basement where I interacted with characters from the rejects zoo, and that was hardly the John Waters ideal that I had in mind when I was eight. I’m not really romantic, and outside of Microsoft Word I’m not very creative. And maybe I am a pessimist, but I prefer to define (not label) myself as a realist (read or listen to George Carlin’s Brain Droppings for a detailed explanation). I knew that I was CF pretty early on (I referred to my Cabbage Patch doll as my sister, not my daughter), and marriage doesn’t seem like a bowl of peaches and cream either (dysfunctional parents that had influence, I know). But let’s face it, when I lose my remaining 59 pounds (UPDATE: LOST 33 LBS. AS OF 7/6/11! 143 STILL IS THE GOAL!) that won’t guarantee me a ring, and should I get one I’m the type of bitch that if you were one of the morons I went to high school with met me on the street and saw it, your initial reaction would be, “YOU’RE MARRIED?! He must be as bad as you!”

I remember as a kid I begged my dad for ballet lessons. A lot of my non-friends at Catlick school went to the dance school just two blocks from here. It was $75 for the year. Mom always got this panicked look when I pleaded with her, and would try to deter me with “go ask your dad.” And I did. And I stood there whining for dog knows how long as he just sat at the table paying bills and balancing the checkbook, not once acknowledging me. I mean what’s the damn deal motherfucker? You tell me that fat girls aren’t loved (and that’s true) don’t you think a little activity would help with that? Was $75 bucks so hard to part with, you miserly assface? I took the long way to get some Chinese food avoiding that little bitch and I noticed that the weekend class was letting out at the dance school. Not much had changed, well the sign and the fact that the picture windows are shuttered since breeders believe that pedophiles are on every corner. The school advertizes with blown up recital photos, girls of varying ages and ability. A pink chain of five-year-olds in tulle and ribbons stiffly take their bow, a troupe of 10 to 12-year-olds pose in disco sequins with glitter in their hair and on their faces. Sugary smiles and Olga Korbut splits looking like so much North Korean propaganda. I wasn’t so lucky, but are they lucky? Out from the rear exit emerge two fat teen girls, both are in leggings. Their faces are sheened in sweat and are giddy. No cares in the world and they seem to be all buddy-buddy. Maybe weight loss partners, maybe not. But they all seem lucky, one by one skipping down the cracked concrete in the spun gold sunlight of late spring afternoon chasing after diamond fireflies. And it hits me just now. There’s really nothing fucked up with women. And yet everything. It gets really hot under stage lights, and you have to hit your cues on time, and if you screw up the whole cast looks bad, but… that fairy glamour makes it all worthwhile. Fifteen seconds, that’s all you ask for to look special, pretty even. And that’s what they’re doing. Chasing the fairy glamour.

Lights dim.

Curtain closes.

Matinee at 2pm.

I get up from my seat and walk up the aisle. I’m the real lucky one. I get to leave the theater every time.

Did you know there is no such thing as an unwanted child?

Did you know there is no such thing as an unwanted child?

Apparently this right-wing, religulous Arizonan bitch Heather K. Shew-Plummer thinks so.

Now my fellow CFers at bratfree were having a great laugh at resolve.org’s National Infertility Awareness Week, (notice how we have these awareness bullshit weeks and months without being aware of it in the first place?) and I read the anti-adoption myth list by Mrs. Plummer and nearly ruined my new ergonomic keyboard with diet Pepsi. Take a gander (emphases mine):

Myth: There are many unwanted babies available for domestic adoption. 

Busted!:  There are no unwanted babies.  Birthmothers love their children and want what is best for them.  A birthmother contacts an adoption agency when she is unable to parent her child.  Adoption agencies recognize how difficult a decision this is and uses a unique hands-on case management approach for both birth parents and adoptive parents.

But like all politicians before the backpedal, the grain of truth must be exploited:

Myth: If you can’t get pregnant, you can “just adopt.”  It’s easy, quick, and inexpensive. 

Busted!:  Adoption is not always easy, quick or inexpensive.  Adoptive parents must complete a home study which includes home visits, interviews and extensive background checks which are required by both the state and their adoption agency.  There is also no crystal ball in adoption that can predict the amount of time the process will take.  The matching process can be lengthy, and the entire process can take up to two years.  It is important for adoptive parents to remember, however, that their profile will be selected by the birth mother that is meant to work with them.  It is also important for adoptive parents to remember that adoption should not be viewed as something they can “just” do if they can not get pregnant.  Adoption is not a substitution when pregnancy is not achievable; it is another way to build a family.

Can you smell the garbage? I don’t know about you, but this fucking shit pile makes me want to go out and torch a church. My well-off Canadian cousins found out after many sessions of useless fucking that they were shooting blanks, and decided on international adoption. Never mind that the old people marginalize anybody who is “slightly off” in their opinions. They actually took extended leaves from their careers and moved to Russia in search of a baby. I don’t know how long it took, but it was quite an ordeal (a former Communist superpower that has lapsed into a corrupt mafiosa totalitarian state can give westerners with money trouble? Heavens to murgatroid, no!) and they brought home a blond-haired, blue-eyed boy Aleksandr, now renamed Alexandre. Today he’s 18 and in university, and as it turns out he’s an adoption success by PNB’s (parents not breeders). I’m happy to hear that he’s well-rounded, has his shit together, not a Chernobyl kid, a tard with brain damage, or a psycho, but how in fuck could Plummer bitch be so ignorant to push the typical natalist repertoire my-DNA-is-spayshul-we-need-to-breed-one-right-now-to-hell-with-the-cost! Did you know IVF is considered cosmetic under insurance rules, premiums go through the goddamned roof every time these bitch-moos (usually over 35 when you shouldn’t be having any after that age) and their wannaduhs dive into this cess pool! Men will get Viagra, but neither men nor women who want to opt out (or are done) will get their sterilization, birth control, or abortions covered! Do not make women- CF and not- have any more difficulty with getting their medical care covered (especially reproductive) more difficult because you are insecure headcases who believe the delusions that a child will save my marriage/make me a better person/give my life meaning/grandbabies to spoil/old age care.

That’s just my beef, but if you want to adopt, please do so. Seriously. I’m a selfish CF bitch who doesn’t like kids (I fit into the stereotype just like bible fucking Mrs. Duggar does for breeders), but if this is something you want to do because you are willing to make every fucking sacrifice in the book for that kid (discipline, education, and giving up your lifestyle) and love it to death, and not doing it to have the “package deal”/the ultimate accessory/Kodak moments/golden son/the next Jonbenet, you will be the proud label-wearers of PNB adopters.

So I’ll end this rant with a little message for Mrs. Plummer, a rich bitch from buildingarizonafamilies.com: You are from a red state that is run by Mr. John Arcane with little water, a major illegal alien problem, Native American reservations that have nothing but clay and dust, and seat yourself, your hubby and brood FAR from those slightly shabby people whilst in church receiving the Good News and lovin’ thy neighbor, and all that crap that you don’t practice. What you will do is direct a pregnant shabby looking woman from Planned Parenthood to the pastor so he could pray over her food stamps and 50 cents savings and hope it might transform into a trust fund for the spayshul sneauflayke in her belly that’s persecuted every day.

Death and marriage

So the semi-tard got married… to the Goodyear Blimp.

If you remember my tard post, I got the order of kids wrong. A few months back the tard and semi-tard’s mother had a stroke, she’s slowly bouncing back though. But I have no contact with these fucktards, why should I? The old bitch only wanted gossip out of my mother when she asked her why she didn’t speak to her any more (let’s not lie old harlot, the whole neighborhood’s racist and my psycho dad’s PR). Anyway, she and her husband (whose Stogies that killed him almost 10 years ago) had three sons: a normal who married a blond with fat hair (now she’s just a blond who’s fat) when I was in high school, a semi-tard (can’t work but could restrain himself), and a full-on squawking, screaming, straitjacket and lithium cocktail-ready retard (after paw-paw kicked off the Stogie money went toward his much-needed meds).

Well now the mortality bug has finally bitten and semi-tard needed a nurse wife that will also look after tard BIL since normal (a garbageman) and his SAHMoo do not have the shekels to front for decent hospitalization and can’t make room for tards with tweens in their digs. I was coming home after 3 hours in the most magical place on earth- THE DMV to renew my ID when I saw Mr. Rain Man and his Mrs. Sow (with her three chins) picking up their DII grocery shopping that exploded from one of the hundred bags they were lugging! They technically close a 4pm, but work doesn’t stop til about 8. But I wasn’t huffing or puffing since I started DIM-Plus and Inositol two months ago. I haven’t had a rage attack, my screaming has subsided greatly (after 15 years), and my depression has lifted. I’ve been at an even keel for the first time in my life, and let me tell you, it’s not easy adjusting to this foreign feeling of, “Meh, it’s not my problem.” Because of dad I’ve always been pressured to put on an act in front of the relatives. But they’ve always cut us down. If I talked too much I was a disrespectful noisy little bitch, and if I didn’t, I was a lazy uncaring little bitch. Mom just moped around and gave blank stares as she took abuse. I’ve come to terms that I will always be resentful of her and my father thrusting us head first into the cowpile of poverty, and that Mom has gained a semblance self-esteem since returning to work in 2001.

And now I learned that my late Aunt Sadie’s mum, Leona, is a death’s door from her battle with lung cancer. Her bottle blond pig-in-a-California-beach-blanket DIL Joelle had flown to Florida to watch over her near corpse. She called early today to report that she was no longer talking and had to be fed, she won’t last much longer. And grandma’s other SIL, Lucrezia, has been receiving radiation for her breast cancer that her kids kept secret, because no one is allowed to know their business, but they HAVE to know ours. Gossip makes life full, you know. Oh yeah, and somebody at the ghetto charity hospital Mom temps at also had a surprise visit from the Grim Reaper. Ronald, the office supply department head (and heavy smoker) went into cardiac arrest in his office and an hour later they wheeled him into the morgue. It’s just as well, he was scared to death of the layoffs and his department was being cut off at the knees.

I don’t know what everyone is fussing about, the damage has been done, they’re all fucked. Maintenance was privatized, entire wards have been shut down, the homeless patients will be shipped off to some shithole in Harlem, and whoever that hasn’t been fired will be doing 50% more work for the same (or lower) pay. Then the hospital will be shut down, sold off, razed, and band-spanking-new condos and matching shopping mall will rise from the ashes for the revitalized Roosevelt Island. And everybody and their babymamma will soon be chowing down at TGI Foodpoisoning, snatching up iPud2’s at Best Lie for knockdown prices, and getting the best bargains at Kunts, all in the shadow of the United Nations on the iridescent Hudson.

And I almost forgot, our new neighbor almost got burglarized last week. As it turned out Mom saw a suspicious character walk up our stoop and peek in the storm door to case our joint that very night. Our house is usually inhabited at the midnight hour- but it’s deceptive. My shitty light and thermal (HA! HA!) curtains do a good job of blotting out the majority of the lights, the other asshole works the graveyard shift, and grandma’s basement apartment has few lights on since she’s usually watching the broke-ass mega big screen tube in the second floor whose living room has no windows. So the neighbor is building a higher wall facing the alleyway side of the yard. I’m not surprised, there’s been a rash of petty crimes in my area. The further this economy sinks into the shit, the more people will be looking to get guns. And now Plan B will be harder to get in Illinois because 2 fundie assface pharmacists refused to fill scripts for women on religulous grounds. Skydaddy will be pretty busy I expect.

I hate having a best friend

Happy fucking new year (two weeks before St. Paddy’s Day).

I really hate having a best friend. I know I’m not the only one, but I just can’t keep up with the emotional train wreck-baggage my BFF carries with her like a lucky rabbit’s foot. We are at an age where we are no longer talking to one another, but AT one another. Sounds self-absorbed, but it’s true. And you’re all going through that right now. K. can dither up a shitstorm about the most nonsensical topic (example: why she still beats herself up over the $600 stilettos she wore at HS prom she was forced to give away because of pain) with a blind passion for two hours, then gets that Dunkin’ Donuts glazed look when I ask about her latest accounting temp job.

But it’s a job, you groan. Who wants to talk about their job while hanging out with your bestie? I feel it’s my duty to emotionally and mentally stimulate her with positive reinforcement since she’s gotten clean. For over a year K. went on an alcohol and MJ-soaked binge that could be construed as a female working class Charlie Sheen rocket ride. I cut off contact with her as I was cleaning my own act up, and couldn’t infect myself with the depression she was prone to spreading (as well as the bedbugs that her Mom’s boyf brought). She admitted how much she missed me, but was genuinely happy to see me on an emotional uptick.

Well I’ve had a bit to be happy about: we paid off our debts! FUCKING A, MOTHERFUCKER!!!! The only downside is that we also paid off a chunk of the asshole’s debt, $19k worth to be precise. It seems that one of the credit cards he didn’t feel like paying off back in ’93 (round about $3k on the original bill) had both Mom’s AND his names on it. The bank was willing to settle for around $8k, but the interest that accrued was more than $10k. My debt went up to $10k because of interest, and, to make shit even shittier UPS LOST the check THREE TIMES that I sent to Ellenville, NY. Luckily, the legal secretary was very nice and told me that UPS has always been problematic when they’ve dealt with them. So we sent off another check via USPS express that they got the next day. We just got the original check back and deposited it on Thursday.

Out of the $50k we got from my great aunt’s estate, we have a little over $10k left. It’s just enough to pay the taxes (making a nice federal deposit this year), and Mom and me will split the rest to re-open our bank accounts.

So K. has worked her accounting magic and Mom will be getting her FULL refund within this week. But life for K. has taken on its old topsy-turvyness. She’s back with her lazy boyf A., and is happily putting her life on hold in order to take him by the hand to get his life started. Very typical of a devoted woman. When she was high as a kite, and just able to slur to me over the phone over how it was much easier to live on the streets of Vegas than live with a crackwhore mom. She was making a whole lot more sense then. She admitted that A. was only in the market for a mommy-fucktoy, and wasn’t serious about getting his degree, or a real job, or marriage. Yadda, yadda. His mom wants K. to convert to Islam and wear a rag, and she wasn’t having that.

When she was getting cleaned up, K. put an ultimatum on A. and told his ass she was leaving him if he refused to make a serious commitment, and she was going to get her CPA and then go back to school to get her MBA. Well, now that he’s gone back to being a passive-aggressive cunt face (on account that his usual cunt wouldn’t be there), K. has switched back to stupid mode. She’s getting her CPA, but hates the office culture. She wants to do freelance accounting, and stay at home with her roommate’s baby to practice when she has her shitlings (I should add that A. has remarked on several occasions he was willing to be a SAHD for the first few years. All he needed was plenty of sex and video games, but we all know his two sisters and psycho mom would be doing all the grunt work). She’s spending the majority of her time chasing after A. with baby wipes and going with him to get enrolled in radiology school that only does student admittance ONCE A GODDAMN YEAR!

She’s once again making excuses for future MIL, and is willing to capitulate for two weddings. The first, an Islamic wedding for his family, and the second for her family and all their friends. I won’t be attending either since I can’t afford gifts nor a dress at this time. Also, I reject any idiotic religion that requires sex segregation- even during fucking weddings! I will not see my vibrant best friend wearing bedsheets from head to toe. And I will not hear of any idiocy regarding religious indoctrination to their sprogs. I have to draw a line somewhere, and even though you might call me an unrelenting, unfeeling bitch… so be it.

People-pleasing nearly drove me to suicide when I was younger. When it comes down to having a best friend, or losing self-awareness, I choose self-awareness.

I dare you to tell me otherwise.