Crazy people are people too

You know how I say I'm crazy with pride? Well it depends on what crazy I'm referring to. The crazy that's me, that's always been me, the me dancing in weird places to make the clerk laugh or driving like a mad woman, that's a crazy I'm proud of. The diagnosis crazy, the stuff that's new to me, not so proud and highly embarrassed.

I also know not only what it's like to take care of crazy people, I know what it's like to be crazy. 

When I take care of my nephew, I want people to know he's crazy. He's a handful. He's difficult. I want people to know because it IS difficult to raise him. I earned it dealing with the crazy. I want you all to know for sympathy and an occasional pity party because I need those things to get by and keep me going. Everyone enjoys a good pity party once in a while. Don't even pretend you are immune to that. Even more, don't be the asshole who is all, "shut the fuck up, stop bitching, and live your life about it," because we all know you cower like a little bitch too on occasion and need a poor you minute. 

I know I'm not the only one. I read blogs of moms of special needs kids, and most do the same thing. It's so difficult to raise this kid. It's almost impossible at times. There are issues that have no solutions. These are things they actually do experience. Things they want the world to be more understanding of because of those people who say, "Suck it up it's called parenting." 

One time I was on a facebook group, and a mom of a kid with down syndrome went ape shit over someone calling a mean person retarded. I understand the word offends her. I understand her need to advocate for her son and release her inner pity party, but she went too far when she is offended that someone called someone else retarded because she believes her son is retarded. It makes him appear special needs more so than he already is to people.

Yes, we are flipping the picture here. As the person who is crazy, I'm sick of people treating me as such. Here's the deal. I have a diagnosis that should land me in a long-term care facility for the rest of my life. I'm not there. Instead, I'm at home cleaning the house, taking care of my kids, raising my kids, cooking meals, planning doctor appointments, handling all the finances, taking the kids to school... I'm still the person everyone calls when shit hits the fan, "Hey Michelle, tears, I don't know what to do, I need to pay my water bill and I don't have the money." Ok. I'll help. "Hey Michelle, come get me now before I kill my mother." Got it kid. I will pick you up mid-meltdown with all 3 kids with me, calm you down, and make you spaghetti. "Hey Michelle, I can't bring this kid lunch because I'm busy here at work, do you mind dropping some off?" Why not? I'm the crazy one right? Nevermind my life, what do you want me to cook for him? 

Now that I've more than proved I'm more capable of life than most non-crazy neurotypical people, then they follow it with:

• You can't make clear decisions because of your diagnosis.
• Nobody will take you seriously in court or in your kids' school because of your diagnosis; your husband will get instant custody of the kids in a divorce because of your diagnosis
• Your advice that will make things easier on you in the future when I come at you to fix my problem is something I can't follow because you are crazy and therefore have no credibility; and when you come at me later with, "I told you so," I'm going to believe you are making it all up because you are crazy. 
• You can't say crazy things like "she's gonna regret the day she pissed in my Cheerios," or "Patti has no idea her pet unicorn, Lord Burgess Atwood, loves to dance to showtunes from Rodgers and Hammerstein," because of your diagnosis, people will take it wrong. 
• You are making excuses for your crazy, in response to things like, "I'm running late because I overslept, and then the kids flooded the bathroom and one peed on the floor on our way out the door and I had to change her clothes and clean it up, and then they wanted food..." As if real life doesn't happen to me anymore because some Freudian Wannabe wrote something about me on paper. 

Let's not even get into...

Did you take your meds?

I hear this question every time I disagree with someone who knows my diagnosis. Heaven forbid I have my own opinion and it's not the same as yours. 

The one that really gets me. I'm not entitled to emotions anymore. If I have a feeling, it's somehow part of my crazy and a sign that I'm getting worse. Just because I am pissed at someone for pissing me off doesn't mean I am crazy. In fact, if I responded with a poker face, that would be a sign of a mental problem. When you respond to fight or flight mode with calm logic, you are fucking crazy, like kill the population by talking them into drinking bleach crazy. If someone stabs you, pain is a normal response. If someone you love calls you a cunt, pissed off is a normal response. If a stranger calls you a cunt, a little pissed off followed by, "Do I look like your mama?" is a normal response. 

From a crazy person to another. From a person who handles crazy person to another. Do not assume the crazy are incompetent. That's mean. Calling me retarded over a diagnosis is bad enough, but to take the extra steps to SHOW me that's what you think no matter how you word it? Now that's fucked up. Look at people for who they are. 

If I'm sitting here telling you the world is going to end on December 5, you need to stock up on water, first aid kits, chicken blood to ward off the vampires, and wear this aluminum hat until then so the aliens can't see you, ok then treat me like I'm retarded enough to need your help and that my advice might suck. If I'm telling you, "I thought about driving off a bridge yesterday," Ok, red flag. That doesn't mean I don't know what we should eat for dinner or that my advice on making a crazy person see a shrink is bad advice, but it is definitely a red flag. IF you see me in my bedroom for days without sleeping or eating and just crying, lots of crying, and I didn't take the kids to school or clean the house, hospitalize my ass. But if you see me taking my kids to school, cooking meals, worried about coming up with money for picture day (hey multiple kids, that shit is not cheap), you know, being responsible and shit, don't treat me like I'm drooling on myself plotting to lick the windows.

I'm not saying you are not entitled to your pity party for putting up with my ass. If I make you stop what you are doing to come over here and help with the dishes, by all means bitch that you had to help me with the dishes. But don't bitch about shit I'm not. Don't do that to any person with a diagnosis. Don't treat normal or unusual but safe things like it's part of the diagnosis because it really hurts the person you supposedly advocate and love.

Judge a person NOT by their diagnosis, but by the things they do. If they are fully functioning or damn near close enough like you, don't treat them like they aren't. We all have moments of insanity, and just because someone had one long enough to get diagnosed doesn't mean they are always that person. If they aren't fully functioning, those who aren't actually caring for the individual really shouldn't have an opinion of them. By actually caring, I don't mean being nosy up in their business. I mean you wiped their butt and cooked their meal.

All people are crazy. Some of us are diagnosed. The people who don't know their crazy enough to give it a name are the ones that are dangerous. And all of us, crazy or undiagnosed, need to realize that we all may be different, but we are still equal. Crazy people are entitled to bad days, negative emotions, strange opinions, bad behavior, and shitty excuses just like you are.

PS. I have never licked a window, but I have licked people and poured salt on them and then licked the salt off before doing a shot of tequila. You don't even want to know what I do with the lemon afterwards. Mmmm. Body shots.

If for whatever reason you licked people for salt and you like my blog, you know, you can subscribe to it.

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You can also find me under these rocks...
      


Blogs who I think sent me traffic to my blog that you should check out if you haven't...  I do read all of these blogs regularly.

The Bloggess

Insane in the Mom Brain

More than Cheese and Beer

Finding Ninee

Ooops I Said Vagina Again

Janine's Confessions of a Mommyaholic

25 Gift Ideas for Him

I never know what to get my husband for Christmas besides huge expensive things like an Xbox 1, yeah right, so here's a list of less expensive, creative UNIQUE ideas for your mans, or craziest. Well most of them are less expensive. There is one I couldn't resist.

They get better, and more practical, toward the end.


Prices subject to change as they are marked as they are at the time of writing this, and if the product is unavailable, google for more. 

Also check Divine Secrets of a Domestic Diva's gift guide

Links to all the gifts in the guide...
Gum
Undies
Sheets
Unicorn
Bumper Sticker
Putter
Lip Balm
Towel
Mini-Fridge
Horn
UroClub
Whizdom
Potpourri
Booger Bin
Soap
Pickle
Can Cooler
Bottle Opener
Holster-6
Holster-12
BBQ Apron
Toaster
Wall Mount
Wall Mount Guy
Beer Kit
Remote Control Helicopter
Drinking Glass
Scratcher

Crazy, Unwell, Whatever.

I'm at a gas station and a guy walks up to pay right behind me right as I say, "I'm going to try some birth control and see what happens." What was the conversation? Mind you, this is the gas station I go to all the time. They know me. They will let me leave and come back to pay for my gas.

I approach the counter with my Diet Coke and Donut. I repeat that like there's something wrong with it. The woman didn't think there was something wrong with this. I think it's obvious. DIET soda and a DONUT. Diet and Donut do not belong in the same sentence together. BTW, the donut was delicious and it was worth every calorie.

With that said, for more oxymoronic nonsense, I tell the lady...

Me: I stopped taking my medication because it makes me gain weight and I'd rather be crazy than fat.

She, Debbie: (Laughing Hysterically) What were you taking? Something for your anxiety?

Thought note here: My anxiety is that obvious I see.

Me: Well actually the doctor diagnosed me with bipolar during PMS. He was like, "Your moods are leveling out I think these meds are where they need to be," when really I just started my period.

Debbie: (Laughing hysterically)

Me: (as I'm walking away) I'm going to try some birth control pills and see what happens.

Guy: (Weird look)

Me: Well, not for birth control, for the hormones. Well.... Debbie's seen my kids. I obviously need birth control too...

Debbie: (Barely able to hold herself up laughing)

I left. Like that. Just like that.

The not so funny part of farming children

I know I joke about the crazy of parenting, a lot. A. Lot. I refer to it as Mom Syndrome, one where the symptoms include having a dirty sippy cup or bottle under your bed and you hear babies cry when there are no babies around. One where you talk like you have Tourettes because you are interrupted that many times by your kids and thoughts of your kids. Did the 3 year old just go into the bathroom? Shit hold on for a minute while I check. Or is that the sound of running water? What was I saying?

Oh yes, motherhood is a crazy ass roller coaster. The humor is sometimes the only thing to get me through some stressful moments, but it isn't really all humor. There's a serious underlying tone to it all...

We push ourselves beyond the limits our bodies can handle. The Marine Corps says that pain is weakness exiting the body, and all 4 branches will tell you that your body can handle more than you think if you push yourself enough. 

We moms put that to the test. Every day we do. And there is a breaking point. Yes, it can break you. It broke me.

I hate to admit this in a blog publicly, like this is a deep dark secret that should just go into the closet and stay there, but I am going to admit it. Why? So to help people. I also want to just fucking say it somewhere just because I suck at keeping secrets. I went crazy. Not a haha take your meds crazy. More of a crisis 2 week vacation at the funny farm in the hospital. That's where I've been, and I am so grateful for the other admin on my Facebook page for keeping it going in my absence. 

The thing is, there was a point in July where things started to get bad. There was no obvious trigger for it though. That's because I'm pretty sure the trigger was I over did it. 

• Years of sleep deprivation
• Zero ME Time
• Anxiety from trying to get the kids to school on time to trying to get them to fall asleep
• Guilt from being late to allowing the kids sleep in the living room
• Pushing myself too hard to be this June Cleaver paradigm that I openly admit does not exist
• Constant self criticism like I am never good enough for me. 

They have medication for this, so it's ok if you go there. If you ever do feel suicidal or homicidal, please utilize the funny farm. It's a break. It's a place to heal. To jump start you becoming a better, healthier version of you. I shit you not, I left the hospital today, and I feel like I'm looking at things for the first time ever. I was mentally sick longer than I thought. A lot of buildings and reconstruction occurred in my absence, and 2 weeks just seems rather short for it, so I was gone a long time before I went.

To every mom out there, the purpose of this post, this is the message I want to say to you. The message straight from the lips of my Doctor...

SLOW DOWN

You are missing out on the best things of life rushing through it, and you will make yourself sick. That's right. You will make yourself sick if you go too fast. 

Your ME TIME IS VERY IMPORTANT. 

It is more important than most people think. It's more important than dinner. Your time away from your family is necessary. You need to relax and rejuvenate from time to time, regularly.  And like my doctor said, what kind of mother are you if you aren't there at all? Taking an hour or two here and there is better for the kids and less of an abandonment than being gone forever. 

I know it's not easy because I'm the one in the world where I get no help for anything, but being out of commission for 2 weeks, my family stepped up and did help. If they can do it for those two weeks, they can do it a couple hours a week on the regular. If not, I'm going to have to find a way.

I think in my case, I'm going to create a regular Girls night out. Why? The funny farm doesn't offer adult beverages (though the pills are really hot there). I think I want an adult beverage. Simple. I know.

To all of you reading this, best of luck to you and yours. Please drink responsibly if you do that sort of thing, and please mother responsibly. You CAN OD on motherhood. And end up ....

PMS and Men...

So I've been discussing PMS on my page because mine this month is brutal. My normally barely C Cups have swollen into DD Cups, hard cups like someone inserted rocks to make them bigger. My ass is also an inflated puffy bulge that is twice the size of its normalness, and if I weren't so pissed off at the world, I'd probably enjoy dropping it like it's hot. But it's not hot. In fact it's all temperatures. I go from cold sweats to hot flash in point five, and it's constant. For days. Cold sweat for hours where I'm hovering over the broiler followed by a sweaty hot flash where I'm hugging the freezer just to get cold again....

Then on top of it, I have the mood swings. One minute, I want my own hotel room to get away from everyone and the next second I'm thinking that's not a good idea because then I'd miss everyone and I start crying thinking about not seeing my kids for a whole whopping night, and then I think how it would be awesome to not see my kids for one night just be free and then I feel super guilty for it because PMS IS A BITCH.

And that thought process goes for everything. Talking to people. Talking to other people's kids. Talking on the phone. THe husband. Taking a shower. Not taking a shower. Cooking dinner. Watching Dora....

Then the men come in with their brilliance. I think regardless of where you stand on the PMS psycho spectrum, you've probably had part of this conversation at least once a month...

Woman: Don't bother me right now. I have hormonal issues that make me mad over nothing and because i know that's not fair to you, I'm just saying don't bother me okay?

Man: But I'm really concerned for you. That's not fair you have to go through that. Let me help.

Woman: No, you can't help, and you are starting to  piss me off already.

Man: But I can make you laugh. Let me try with some stupid horseshittery...

Woman: Stop it. You are really starting to piss me off.

Man: Fuck you and your fucking woman problems and stupid mood swings like I'm not having one right now. Let me piss you off out of concern for your pissed offness. Let me help by making it worse. And now this isn't even about you or your PMS but about me and my stupid mamby pamby feelings, because pissing you off isn't enough for my sadistic evil pleasure. I must add guilt and make you second guess your sanity and self worth with it because I'm the alpha dog and you are the woman.

And then in many cases like mine:

Woman: Are you serious with that horse shit? (throw out evil glare where I really am thinking about divorce and murder at the same time)

Man: No, I was kidding. It was a joke. If you didn't have PMS you'd think it was funny. I'm sorry. I love you.

Woman: I don't know. Rub my feet. Then we'll see how I feel.


So I say this to all you ladies out there. Milk your men. If they are going to be inconsiderate assholes to you during your time of psycho where your body is preparing to tear down walls, whether it's intentional or not, whether it's sadistic maniacalism or not, use it to guilt him into doing the shit he should be doing anyway, whether it's taking out the trash, washing dishes or rubbing your feet. Yes you men SHOULD be rubbing our feet and our backs and what not because a massage therapist is 60 an hour. If I clean the house to avoid paying maid service, and I watch the kids to avoid paying nanny services, then you can rub my motherfucking feet to avoid paying massage therapy services.

MOM Syndrome: How to treat a crazy that defies medicine and freudian stuff

I suffer from what I call MOM Syndrome. The crazy. Coping with that life long sentence of insanity you get the moment the pregnancy test comes out positive… I actually want a t-shirt for it, which is funny because I have these cafepress stores, and I have yet, at the time of writing this, made one. I will soon, and the reason? Not one of those, "I pooped out 3 kids and all I got was this lousy t-shirt" deal. No...  You know how they have those little cards you can print up, and some people do, that say something like, "Sorry my kid has autism" and you hand them to strangers when your kid starts acting autistic (meltdowns) in public? It's like that. When I start acting all MOM in public, like a person who probably needs a straight jacket and padded walls, it would be nice to direct people to a simple explanation for it, you know, before they start admitting me into the funny farm. Now you are thinking, "Who gives a fuck what people think?" I really don't when I'm at Walmart, but when I'm at a doctor's office or my kid's school, okay I do give a fuck, like they need to know that I'm crazy because I try to be a good mom, and the fact that they are not crazy is a sign they either don't have children or they have a lot of help with it. 

OLD BLOG ON WHAT MOM SYNDROME IS

But the coping with this crazy? How do we do it? It's not like we get a shrink for it, and most of us self medicate. Those of us who do get prescribed help, it usually only curbs the anxiety, which I'm sure makes a little dent into the insanity, you know, like washing a dish or two in a hot mess disaster kitchen. 

I know some moms like my grandmother and my mother in law, both of which are/were in environments where the women did ALL the work and their men were completely useless when it came to the household, they turned to alcohol. I should probably say ABUSE of self medicated drugs... My grandmother started drinking at noon. My mother in law usually waits until 3PM. I don't know how they did/do it because like I couldn't function if you took away my ability to drive. And for those who are curious why I keep referring to my grandmother in past tense, she passed away Christmas of 1998, liver failure. 

Mary Tyler Mom beatme to a little of this subject. She says it well. For her mother, it was valium. It was not something she abused like my grandmother did alcohol, but it was her coping strategy for those really crazy days. Moms today, many of us turn to Facebook. It's our valium. And we probably abuse it more than the 70's moms ever considered trying with valium.

I don't think it's just Facebook. I think a lot of us moms are looking for a healthy outlet for our crazy, and the internet becomes it.

It's convenient. You don't have to get everyone dressed and load up a car and fuck with sadistic car seats in order to go talk to someone. Even better, chat and messaging allows for the kids to be screaming in the background and the taking a break to run and change a diaper and scream "STOP FIGHTING" mid conversation, something that is a horrible distraction to communicating via the phone. 

It becomes therapy. I have learned that it truly helps to realize you are not alone with whatever crazy ails you. I have learned that with autism, PTSD, and now, MOM Syndrome.

It becomes your friend. When your friends who don't have kids or have kids who are more independent can't find time to come see you or you them because they don't want to deal with your kids, you find people online who are caged to their houses and families looking for someone to talk to just like you. I probably have about 50 Facebook friends of females I met online who are better friends than most of my relationships offline, especially when I need that moral support.

It becomes a place to vent about how your children just spent $150 on Kick the Buddy app for the iPad, or how they took all the clean clothes out of the drawers, piled them with the dirty clothes and sprinkled cheese and juice all over it putting you at square one with that room and laundry all in the matter of minutes. We need to vent this shit because nine times out of ten, our men don't give a shit. If they listen to you, IF, they have little sympathy because they just totally saved the world in Call of Duty, like your day wasn't shit compared to theirs. Plus you have to let it out somewhere. I have learned, don't do this on your normal Facebook profile. Save it for a secret group of friends somewhere confidential. Why? Your haters are also on your Facebook, and they like to see you down like that. Who else is on Facebook? People who actually do worry about you, people who might hire you someday, and most important, people who do not understand at all and take it as bitching. 

It becomes your guide. There are no parenting manuals. It's a lot like Adobe products, like Photoshop, in this aspect at least. No manual comes with the program, BUT there are various tutorials online to help you navigate the program. We as moms have that resource too. We have Pinterest with recipe and craft ideas. We have Facebook sharing the crap they put on Pinterest. We have blogs about sanity and deep subjects that are parenting related like school bullying and rape. We have medical information at our fingertips. Some people suck at that kind of research and could diagnose their kid's common cold with some rare infectious disease from the planet Mars courtesy of Web MD. But some of us find it very helpful for home remedies, disinfection advice, identifying a rash (don't image search that while eating)… We get cleaning advice, cooking advice, gardening advice… Motherhood covers such a wide range of subjects that only the internet could hold all that in one place.

It becomes your shopping. Yes we women need to shop, and the internet too has that convenience. We also get packages in the mail which adds to the excitement of it. You can even buy normal stuff online like diapers and shampoo, in addition to our girly stuff like clothes and accessories, but also hard to find stuff, which is great when your kid needs something like hypoallergenic diapers and emu oil, or they have to have a Mario Backpack for school or Dora on their shoes…

It becomes your entertainment. This is the best of the internet. The funniest moms are online, and Facebook and blogs are full of humorous memes (funny pictures). Laughter is the best medicine, and us moms need to laugh. We need to learn how to laugh at the crazy in our lives offline, and we need to laugh at other people's crazy online. Insane in the Mombrain often gets emails from people serving overseas or dying of cancer who thank her for making them laugh in the darkest of times. Mom bloggers like her are that scene in the Lord of the Rings where Frodo falls down and the witch elf appears out of nowhere like a hallucination and helps him up. Patti at Insane in the Mom-brain, Nikki at Moms who Drink and Swear, and Sheila at Mary Tyler Mom are my elf witches. They have been for years now. 

It becomes your drama. This can be the worst of the internet. Anytime you put a bunch of women together, online or offline, for long periods of time, there will be drama. There will be the PMSy bitch. There will be the overly sensitive butthurt. There will be arguments and cheap tactics like spying and gossip and straight girl world bullying. People will call you fat and ugly, even though they have no idea what you look like. It will always be over something stupid.  I guarantee you there is someone on your facebook friends list (if you Facebook) where you had a falling out and you have no idea what the fuck it was about. You knew then, but not so much now. I'll tell you what it was about. Drama. Stupid girl world drama. Don't be embarrassed you were part of that. You are a woman. This is part of the package. We know drama. We know it more than TNT. And for some strange sick reason, we enjoy it, no matter how much we play it off like we don't. 

It becomes your addiction. It's really okay to be on Facebook a lot. It's okay to get sucked into the internets to where you have no idea what the weather is like outside. What's not okay? What I'm doing now. I'm sitting here typing this blog surrounded by filth I call home. I'm procrastinating cleaning up my childrens' destruction because A, I don't want to clean it. I just did that. I should get at least 12 hours in between catastrophic messes to myself. B, I want to write this blog. It's been on the to do list for over a week. I need to finish what I start. C, I have a sprained ankle. Who in their right mind wants to clean on a sprained ankle? My foot and leg are still purple and the baseball sticking out of my ankle has turned into a golf ball. Great it's healing. It's still a golf ball hanging out the side of my ankle and it hurts like a bitch when I step on it wrong. And A, B, and C are my excuse to be online, to escape my reality. To forget my house is a mess for a minute, and that minute turns into hours.

It becomes your tool. Kids math homework? Google it. How many cups are in a gallon? Google it. There's a calculator somewhere. To Do List/email/calendar/horoscope reading/dream interpretation/school closings and delays/weather forecast/stock market... The internet is full of information and tools we moms use regularly. 

It contributes to your growth/development. That's the important part. When a toddler is learning to walk, he will use whatever resources are available to him as a tool to help him learn. Naturally we do this. If there's a table, he'll use that to help him stand. It can be a table, a chair, a pack n play, a house plant, a stool, a vacuum cleaner… If it has wheels, he'll use that to help him move. We as moms do that, and the internet becomes our vacuum cleaner table stool that holds us up for a second before we pitter patter across the room to another vacuum cleaner table stool. While finding our balance with parenting via online tools of humor, shopping, calculators, recipes, research, we also nurture whatever we are trying to learn with support, advice, wisdom, and feelings. We share more than just funny internet memes. We share each others lives, whether it be to our friends in a closed Facebook group, or to complete strangers on a comment on a blog post. Some of my best lessons I learned came from some random person's comment. A plant needs water, dirt, and sunshine to grow, and the internet provides all of that for us moms. The water is the advice and wisdom. The sunshine is the humor, and the dirt is the comfort of friendship (or being anonymous in many cases).

It becomes your fantasy. We human beings love characters. We read books, watch movies, soap operas, prime time soap operas, reality television... whatever. We like characters. We like getting to know someone or a personality who isn't real in our lives and letting our imaginations run with it. We like falling in love with them. We like hating them. We like learning from them. The blogs online provide that. Each blogger is a character who pours their life online and you get to love and hate them. ... My friend is obsessed with Grey's Anatomy and has been making me watch all the seasons with her on Netflix. I never quite understood the character love deal (human fanaticism) until this show. Izzie is my lesbian lover, McDreamy is my husband who I cheated on with Henry who just died in whatever season I'm on, Arizona is my best friend and mentor and I am Yang. None of these characters interact like that on the show, but they do in my head, much like I am Insane in the Mom Brain's wife who cheated on her with The Bloggess and Moms Who Drink and Swear is my mentor (who I argue with a lot, but she teaches me so much with it) and People I want to Punch in the Throat is one of my main personalities I've been repressing for years. Mary Tyler Mom, she is my best friend I want to hug every day. Bitches in the Burbs is the Army of Bad Asses I call on when I need back up in a fight, you know, my posse (in reality, they give great fashion advice). The Zookeepers Wife is my therapist (she really is an astrologist), and I am Counting Caballeros' crazy cousin (she's the practical wise grounded one, even though she has more children than I do, and we really are probably related even though I met her online). Holdin Holden is my career oriented friend that makes me feel like I'm in a scene of Sex in the City except it's about booze and motherhood more so than sex. I Want a Dumpster Baby is the woman in the rap video I'm trying to mimic the butt shaking in the mirror nekkid, and I am Honey Badger Press (I'm not really her, just in my mind I am, I really am Dribbles and Grits). 

Of all possible addictions one could have to cope with MOM Syndrome, I think the internet is the healthiest approach. I also turn to Diet Coke, energy drinks, chocolate cake batter, and other cheap methods that do nothing for me but hurt me in the long run, but the internet, it entails good and bad, and it's my choice how I use it.

One thing I want to say to you, the person reading this, sometimes we have bad days as moms. I don't care if you forgot your mommy childhood (the early years of the motherhood struggle), you can at least admit you had bad days. You had crazy days where the shit you said made no sense and sometimes you were hurtful only because you hurt. Remember that other moms do that too. If you see them doing that anywhere, online or offline, don't be an ass about it. Ignore it and move on, or reach out and touch someone with some love. Some of us need tough love, real talk, yes, but when we are emotionally ready for it. A stranger trying to give the tough love talk, or the mocking (I tend to mock), that might just send them into a downward spiral and that shit is not cool for their kids. When you mock a mom losing her mind on Facebook, you are fucking with her kids indirectly. I'm not saying she's going to beat them to an oblivion or abuse or neglect them, but she is NOT going to handle her kids in her best mindframe if you provoke her, especially if she's on the brink of completely losing her shit to begin with. Don't be the flying monkey that pushes people over the edge. Reach out and reel them back to a safer ground.

Mommy Developmental Markers: The kids are not the only thing growing

Just about every major milestone a woman can encounter in life involves vagina goo. We come into this world covered in it. Our first step into womenhood isn't a Bar Mitzvah party, no, it's our period. Losing our virginity is next. Getting knocked up for the first time, now that's life changing.  It is the circle of life we are talking about here, our vaginas are the circle of life. I don't understand why God isn't a woman, like you'd think all these savage men writing the Bible would be awe struck over our vaginal awesome, especially since we know which head they do most of their harder thinking with. I know. So much pun in one sentence. 

And with every milestone, every life altering event, follows a series of developmental phases… It's kind of like trees, where every year we drop some leaves, lay dead for a few months and resurrect with new green healthy leaves, except it's more like when a guy turns into a werewolf with the screaming and twitching and then the new him is covered in extra hairs he has no idea where they came from and it scares the ever living piss out of people, but now he can run faster and has super strength… And our growth too usually involves large quantities of goo, whether it be snot and tears, or toddler gifts.

So from that moment the goo covered pregnancy test comes out positive, growth takes on a new form.

Pregnancy  

While pregnant, we women experience the best PMS has to offer, for 9 months. Fits of rage, plots of murder, spontaneous sadness, incredible urges to eat everything, sporadic vomiting, waterfalls of tears over things like Oprah and Hallmark commercials, inappropriate joy... Through all that internal chaos, we are also coming to grips with the idea that we are going to be a mom. We have moments where we are excited about it, fearful, insecure, arrogant, at peace, worried… Like all the stages of grief except instead of it being about losing someone you love, it's about gaining someone you love. Some of us prepare like the ants in that story about the grasshopper, and we feel very confident we are ready for this baby. The money has been saved. The nursery has been painted. The bottles are in the cabinet. The diaper genie sits patiently by the changing table… Some of us don't prepare because life is not that easy where we can just shit money out of our vaginas like we can the expense… So we worry about it. We can't have this baby yet because there is no changing table to set the nonexistent diaper genie next to… Now if you are already a mom, you are laughing at this. Why? Because the next stage…

The Newborn Years

When I gave birth, I experienced all the emotions. It was like the PMS of pregnancy squashed into a matter of 4 hours. I think all women go through that, whether they opt for the epidural or not. I fully suggest the epidural if not for the awesome memory alone, but the memory will compete with holding the baby for the first time, because it is that awesome. Anyway, the developmental process doesn't happen at the hospital. That's just a vagina goo moment.

No, the newborn months of crazy is where the phases of growth hit you yet again. First you realize NOTHING can prepare you for motherhood. That's why mothers were laughing at the pregnancy stuff. The diaper genie collects dust. You end up changing diaper on the bed or something so you can sit down too for it. Why? Because your balance is way off from the sleep deprivation. The crazy of pregnancy is nothing compared to this. This is the craziest it's going to get… right? LOL. You realize your best friends, your husband, your family, useless. Nobody knows you anymore. The outside world is completely non-existent. It's just you and baby, like it's just you doing all the real work.  Everybody else is just telling you how to do it and you would do anything to shut them up, like your baby crying is a step up from everybody else's mouth. You are tired, worn out, and trying to heal on top of it. You look forward to that age where your kid sleeps all night like you are looking at the clock at a minimum wage job for the work day to end. You need a break. You need a friend. You need a shoulder to cry on. You need someone to take care of you while you take care of your baby.

The Toddler Years

If you are fortunate, by now you should be sleeping all night every night. Some parents, like myself, are not that lucky. You are finally excited that your kid is getting a little older to where he's not as needy. LOL wrong. The more your kid learns, the crazier it gets. Now they can do more than roll over and hold up their own bottle. Now they can get into things, all the things, and destroy things, all the things. The heirloom vase from your great grandmother, your favorite book, the furniture, any concept of organization… gone. GONE! Your sanity, even more gone. This is harder than the newborn years. It has to be the craziest things get. Right? So then you count down the time until we leave the terrible twos and find out there's the treacherous threes and fuck me sideways fours.

Meanwhile, you start teaching your kid the ABC's, the 123's, the circles, the squares, the color red… You as mom start doing that. You are no longer the crying newborn but a toddler figuring out the basics. You start to talk by learning to listen to your intuition and trusting your own judgment. You start to walk by figuring out how to keep the house clean enough and keep up with your child. You start to explore the world around you for what feels like the first time. You go outside once in a while and feel sunlight, and as you watch your child experience these joys, you have a new found appreciation for them. You realize what is red in your world and what is green, like the diet your family is going to eat, and how much tv you are going to let your child watch… You can read about that stuff all you want and make decisions before you have your child, but nothing is more decisive than the trial and error of experience.

During these years, you are actually crazy. You qualify for insanity under just about every criteria out there. It shows with your relationships. You think you found your real friends. The people who matter the most because they are the only people in your life. Your crazy has scared away everyone else. It's not really that you are crazy but your life is. It's actually normal to have hallucinations and an award winning bad personality when you haven't slept for 3 days. It's normal to get confused when you are distracted by kids. It's normal to put the dirty clothes in the toilet because it does have a lid like your hamper when your brain is tired. It's totally normal to forget you haven't showered in 3 days and put on a tank top on a hot day and showcase your armpit hairs to the world oblivious to your smell, when you are using all the hot water 24/7 to do laundry, dishes and keep your kids clean. Now you have decided it gets easier when they are in school…

The Grade School Years

The crazy just yet gets crazier, but by now, you are much stronger and it does get easier for that reason alone: you are getting stronger.  By now, you don't just walk, you can run and do cartwheels, metaphorically speaking. You have mastered telling people off, and you are now learning how to do it with grace as you deal with the school system. You have mastered cleaning and organizing toys (well you might, I have a learning disability when it comes to that part), and now you are learning how to organize a backpack, more specifically, the spelling words, the homework, the fundraiser papers, the party invites, the poorly written parenting magazines and nutrition articles… You got promoted from scheduling doctor appointments to scheduling after school activities.

You are now at the point where you join cliques like your children, like you can be June Cleaver popular mom who shows up with makeup and the expensive handbag bragging about how your kid pooped in the potty when he was 6 months old (no he was actually 2 but go ahead and brag away, people will fake believe you just as you fake believe their stories). Or you can be the rebel outcast mom who rocks the sweatpants and flicks your kid's booger you found on your shoulder onto the popular moms when they aren't looking. Or you could be healthnut mom discussing gluten free options for your kids and how vaccinations are destroying everyone… They are all cliques. It's not that one is wrong and the other right. They are just cliques like high school.

You also encounter playground bullying among the parents. This is when the other moms are telling you how you are doing it wrong, or how their life is harder than yours, and you back to them. The nicer ones do it in back handed compliments.  This is when you realize the schools hate you more as a parent than they ever did as a student, and you discover administrative bullying, especially if you got a kid with special needs. You are no longer alone. You are surrounded by frienemies. The wrong move could send your playground paradise packing to a new location. The queens of the slide monkey bars jungle gym rotate and some days, you are up there with them, and others you are in the sandbox playing with cat turds by yourself.

Meanwhile at home, you are still just as overwhelmed as you were with a newborn. We have replaced wiping asses with daily homework. We have replaced trying to figure out what your child's cry means with arguing with your child about what to wear to school. We have replaced folding the 7 onesies your baby went through in one day to folding the 7 princess outfits your child sported in dress up in one hour. Now, the kids don't nap, but they get hyper tired just the same, and school makes it worse, much worse. You know, the cracked out kid who found sugary pixie dust and is literally climbing the walls like a bad scene out of the exorcist. Yes. Yes that happens daily in this world. Your child still depends on you for entertainment and amusement. You have to now schedule in ACTIVE activities, even in the winter months when it's too cold to play outside, because if you don't, the house becomes the jungle gym and your cleaning becomes a much more active activity.

The Older Years

My oldest is 6. I'm not sure what to expect from the later years, but I will say this. I do know it gets harder. I know the crazy is going to get crazier. I hear parents of teens all the time say the toddler years were a breeze compared to the teenage ones.  I remember my tween years being the hardest of my childhood. Puberty definitely sounds like it's going to suck… And beyond the teenage years, I've seen parents of adults go crazy. Their kids moved out, and they are still losing their minds as parents.  So I definitely think the pregnancy equates a life sentence of insanity, one that is well worth it. 

I also have noticed with parents of older kids… the growth… we regress at some point… You know how when you were a baby and you came into this world? You remember it don't you? It was the biggest most important thing to happen to you in this life. You can't tell me you forgot? Yeah, it's like that. You will probably remember your baby coming into this world, but all the developmental shit you did during that time in your life, you will totally forget. It has to be true or women are bitches because I find it very hard to find parents whose kids are adults to empathize with parents like me whose kids are young. Only the ones who had more than 3 kids seem to remember enough to feel some sympathy. The consensus is still pretty much fuck you. So someday, I will be that woman. I will be chilling at a coffee house with my iced coffee sipping it out of a straw, and a woman is going to walk by with her 3 screaming insane toddlers, and I am going to be annoyed. I am going to jump on my high horse and be like, "I don't understand why you can't control your kids. I mean, it's not that hard. Everyone has kids and does it. You really should have just stayed home until they are not monsters like I did. I did it all. I cleaned and cooked and controlled my kids singlehandedly with zero problems, zero despair, zero depression..." Something I would never say at this point in my life. I'm sure I will be stupid and embarrass the me of now in the future. I'm sure I'll feel entitled to it as someone with seniority. All humans do this. There is such thing as selective forgetting, and I believe in selective memory just the same. We decide to our convenience what we remember to some point. In some people, it's more fairy tale than others, and in others, it's more accurate than fairy tale, but none of us remember with precision of reality.

In other moms, I have noticed they get a lot of things I would kill to have right now. A good night's rest. Naps, home alone with the kids and they get a nap. They get pissed if they have to tell their kids again not to bother them unless it's an emergency. I. Wish. They get to watch movies, with the kids, and the kids are quiet through the movie not asking them for juice every 5 seconds. They get dates with their kids, where they can go to restaurants and movie theaters. They can safely take their kids in public. They get manicures, and their nails don't turn to shit in one load of dishes because the kids did the dishes, sort of, last night. You would think with all those luxuries, they would have their sanity back. They don't.

I think the learning and stress on our "muscles" at this point become more spiritual and psychological, just like what our kids are facing as teens and young adults. They start off developing on a highly physical standpoint, and those years are highly physical on us moms. But as they mature, the developing takes on a new form, an abstract form, and as moms, so do ours. Now we have to deal with things like, "I hate you. I don't ever want to speak to you again." Now, instead of worrying about a kid falling from the top of a bookshelf or playing with knives, we worry about them running away or using drugs. Now, instead of worrying about them getting a boo boo from a bully like kid, we worry about their self esteems. Right now, I want to prepare for it. I want to read books. But I already know, it's impossible to prepare for parenting, no matter where you are with it.

I think we as moms are born again when we give birth, and we often take our new found childhood for granted. We can't wait to grow up, again. And we wonder again, what the hell were we thinking? Don't take this, wherever you are at, for granted. Embrace the learning process. Take comfort in knowing this is probably easier than what is coming. Don't let that scare you. Find comfort in the present. 

With that, very important side note, we see other moms in different phases of this development, and some of us expect them to be on our level, whether they are older or younger. It's really easy for a mom of a teen to have zero empathy for a mom of toddlers. It's just as easy for the mom of toddlers to have zero empathy for the mom of teens. We have to learn to respect each other's learning process no different than we respect the fact that some kids pee in the potty at an earlier age than others. Mom on mom bullying is a big subject now. It has to end. 

Fuck Bad Words, and the R-word it rode in on

I guess people are blogging about the R-word, and I had this in my notes as a blog to do eventually, so I guess now is a good time. I haven't read other people's blogs about the R-word because it usually pisses me off on many different levels.

Speaking

Notice I call it the R-word? That's because things like the R-word, the N-word, and the homosexual slurs are disrespectful to a lot of people. I prefer not to use them out of respect. If I were to use those words, I wouldn't be using them to piss people off. I'd be using them to communicate or try to be funny, and since there are people who lose the point when one of those words are used, or they lose all humor if one of those words are used, it would totally be anti-productive for my purpose to use those words. The purpose of language is to communicate, and that purpose is lost when certain words are used. If I did want to offend people, I really prefer my point I'm making offend them than my vocabulary, though I do use the fuck word a lot because it's fun to do. That's a different fucking blog post.

Anyway, I do believe in bad words, but differently than most people. You know how there's a difference between truth and the norm (majority rules)? For example, the earth is round. That's a truth. For many years, the fact is the earth was flat because that was the common belief. It was wrong, but it was right because everyone all agreed. 

To me, words are words. They have no soul, so they can't be good or bad. It's not the words, it's how you use them. That's the fact truth part. Then there's the part where the majority has decided otherwise on a somewhat ignorant level, but at least they usually have good intentions. Anyway, the majority has decided fuck is a bad word. Words like that, fuck shit ass… those are not bad words to me. They are naughty words, like farts. It's bad etiquette to use them in certain places at certain times. But now, because of this majority thing, there are words that are bad words. They are only used to demean people, like there isn't a good way to use those words because of the history of their use locked them in. At least fuck can be used as a good thing. I can say, "Mother fucker" to insult someone, but I can say, "Motherfucking awesome" to compliment someone.

There is no way to compliment someone when you use the following words…
 

Any racial slurs

Any homosexual slurs

The R-word
Fat

Listening

But, that whole concept is a double edged sword. Now, I may offend some people and for that I'm not sorry. Part of communicating is speaking, and I just discussed that. The other half of communication is listening. So how do you handle when someone else uses the R-word? Or any bad word for that matter?

Me, I look at their intentions. The context. Why?

A lot of times, people's definitions of the word is different than what it is, or what you think it is. For example, the n-bomb. It's a racial slur. A very bad one. Probably the worst word ever invented in the history of man. Look it up in the dictionary and it means ignorant. So some people use it to mean ignorant, which that's irony for you. Some subcultures have decided that it means trashy people of any race. They call white people the n-bomb, and they will point to a black man and say he is NOT the n-bomb in the same sentence. There are some people who use it as a way to take back the power, mainly black people (and white posers). Do I think they should be using that word? No, not in this world with that word's history. On another planet where it has no history, maybe, depending on the definition you give it.

But am I going to ostracize and criticize them for it's use? Depends, the intention. I do believe in God, and it's about what's in our hearts. Gotta look at the spirit and soul. Nothing physical can define morality. People try to. They try to make it tangible, and they lose a lot of the point of it in the process… The only black and white is in our hearts, not in our words or actions like most people believe (again truth vs fact).

What pisses me off with the r-word specifically… A, if you call a special needs person an R-word as a way to belittle or demean them, I'm going to be really pissed and I will hurt you one way or the other, whether it's your physical self or psychological self depending on how far you are from my reach. B, now the complicated part.

I have autism. My child has autism. We are both high functioning, which I hate that term, but anyway, that's us. People have called me the R-word because I'm weird. But I'm not an idiot. I know most of the population who uses the R-word use it to mean really stupid, low IQ that can result even with no diagnosis, and it generally has nothing to do with special needs or autism. I do not get offended when someone says, "That woman was so r-worded because she forgot the mayo." That has nothing to do with me or my autism.

What pisses me off is when people hide behind people like me to be mean to a stranger. I'm talking those situations where you are talking about the price of tea in China and someone says, "Wow, your husband did what with the tea? That is so r-word." Then out of the blue, Susie McJudgerson is on there clutching pearls damning someone to hell because they called my husband the r-word and somehow, with that, insulted Susie's kid, every special needs child, and all these people who were never part of the conversation or a subject in the conversation. It's like saying, "Fuck the man who was insulted, fuck his wife who is special needs. This is about me and my kid." I guess it's okay to call someone with autism an asshole as your means to advocate autism. See, that is DEFINITELY stupid and illogical and selfish.

Some of them then take it to the next step. They play the pity card. I mean we are talking a good cause here, and anyone who disagrees is insensitive, heartless and against the cause.
  

Criticizing people for shit they didn't actually mean is bullying. What happens is the social herding instinct comes into play with low attention spans and poor reading comprehension skills, and some level of laziness. If you criticize someone for insulting kids with special needs, everyone assumes that person just insulted someone with special needs, and the wolf pack preys on someone who never said anything about special needs.

Here's an EXTREME example to show how it works…

Erica: So I was thinking, now that Duke is dead, I have all this left over dog food. The humane society might take it. They could always use some extra food.

Susie: That is so fucked up Erica. How dare you? Do you know what the Humane Society does to these animals? They kill them, and that's after they torture them by putting them in these cages all day long. Sometimes the animals are actually abused beyond the regular neglect. That's just fucked up you'd donate to them.

Erica: Actually, I know someone at the Humane Society who is really good with animals, and they really do try to find homes for the animals so they don't have to euthanize them.

Susie: I can't believe you. Enabling that is the same as abuse. You are a dog abuser. I can't believe you don't care how they kill all those puppies with sad puppy faces. What did those dogs ever do to you?

Mildred: Hi guys. I'm too lazy to read all the comments, but wow. Erica really? You can go to hell and suck Satan's dick. The world would be a better place without animal abusers like you. You deserve ass fucked with a pitchfork fuck you. You are such an idiot. I'm going to punch you in the face if I ever see you.

Erica: Mildred really? Because I want to donate to the humane society. I miss my dead dog. I want to do something good for them. And Susie? You are insane. I don't enable dog abuse. I love dogs.

Mildred: So you killed your own dog? You are so fucked up.

Beatrice: Who killed their dog?

Mildred: Erica did. She is pro dog death. She's trying to say she's a good person because she donates to the humane society. Like that makes it okay.

Susie: Wow, Erica you are a real piece of work. Calling me insane after everything you just said. Look again hun. You are the insane one.

Mildred: She's fucked up is what she is.

In addition, the r-word doesn't refer to your kid or to me unless someone is calling us that word directly. To associate us to the r-word as a way to defend us is calling us the r-word. I don't think anyone realizes that when they do it, but seriously, how would you feel if every time someone used the word "idiot" I jumped them in how it insults all the mothers of special needs people. The parents of special needs people within an ear shot of that would be insulted if I did such a thing.  Same thing follows with the r-word. Unless they are talking about your kid, to make it about your kid is calling your kid the r-word. It's insulting.

I am a firm believer that criticism is a person not calling someone else out on something, but projecting their own insecurities, worries and fears (some valid and some not so valid)… Parents of special needs who insult people for using the r-word I think are insecure about their child's special needs, in a way they probably don't even notice. They worry so much about their child being called names for their situation...  It's common. It's natural. I know. I too am a parent of a kid with special needs. You don't think I don't do the same thing? 

I am probably most guilty with this over the word fat. Every time someone belittles a person for their weight, I see my child getting belittled, and all the sudden I'm holding her feelings right there in the palm of my hands and this person is spitting on them. To steal Insane in the Mom-brain's concept, it makes me sporky. But that's my issue. It's in my head, and it haunts me even when people don't insult people for their weight. And my issue is, I have to get over the fact that my daughter is a little overweight, and yes some people are going to call her fat, just like people call me fat. Anorexic people get called fat. Everybody gets called fat. Just because I worry it might be true for one of my kids doesn't make it about her every time someone talks about fat. This is my issue. It's my fears. It's my worries. 

So I don't ask you guys to just remove the R-word from your vocabulary, but remove it from communication. If someone uses it in a way to demean, have at it. Tear them a new one. I'll be cheering you on. But demeaning people for using the word who wasn't trying to demean anyone is using the word to demean. Reread that one slower, and then try to say it real fast five times. But it's true. If you are demeaning people, you are demeaning people. I don't care whose name you do it in, whether it's autism or God. If you want to help, if you want to advocate, uplift people. Promote acceptance and understanding when you see it lacking. Save the insults for people who are actually insulting and deserve it. 

I don't expect you to be Jesus Christ and approach everything with love. I'm just saying, don't use autism or any "disorder" to hate people on our behalf. Don't use us to call someone an idiot on our behalf. You are not doing us any service with that, not at all. Autism is not the R-word. SPECIAL NEEDS IS NOT THE R-WORD. Quit telling people we are on our behalf.

And if you are a parent of a child with special needs, go find yourself a therapist. It's a tough gig. You need a place to vent. The stress, the anxiety, the lack of time for yourself, the lack of sleep, the lack of any idea of decent hygiene.... shoot all parents should go see a therapist. I never felt like I had any special needs until I became a parent. 

 

Roundhouse Bitch

Why Sylvester Stallone should choose me to play the role of his girlfriend in the next Expendables if they do another one, which they should:

1.  My father raised me to watch movies like Rocky, Rambo, Cobra, Tango and Cash... as well as Invasion USA, Delta Force, Missing in Action... and the Die Hards (and everything Bruce Willis was in including Breakfast of Champions which I didn't understand at all because I don't smoke crack), and whatever movies Van Damme was in including Bloodsport. I've probably seen all those movies at least 100 times.

Here we are about to kiss... look at the chemistry!!!

2.  I keep having a recurring dream where I'm the love object of the next Expendables, and my dreams are usually psychic.

3.  I also had a dream where I was on a date with Sylvester Stallone. I was like, "You want to watch a movie?" and he was like, "Anything but Rocky," and I was like, "How about Rambo?" He was like, "I'm going to the kitchen." So I go in to the kitchen with him, we both grab for the same knife at the same time and we kiss. It was awkward because I thought I was too inexperienced for him, so now I have to kiss him in real life to prove to him I am not too inexperienced, I know what I'm doing, and it's the best gotdammed kiss he'll ever have in his whole freaking life.

4.  I'm funny. In the dream I just had, Sylvester was like, "Honey, this might get dangerous," and I was like, "Please, I have children, nothing scares me." And, there was a part where Bruce Willis was like, "If you fuck up this job, I'm going to find you, beat you to death, and then I'm going to resuscitate you back to life so I can kill you again." And I was like, "Or even worse, I'll have you babysit my kids and I'll send them to YOUR place with legos, whistles, glitter and silly string right after feeding them Cajun food with beans and fun dip." We could even use one of my kids' dirty diapers as a weapon.

5.  I'll surprise dry hump Bruce Willis when he isn't looking.

6.  My milkshake brings all the boys to the yard. I have nice boobs. I mean that's important considering the target market. Apparently, these puppies were famous in high school. I had no idea until dudes 20 years later started telling me about them on Facebook (as well as some random dudes at the grocery store). I stare at them a lot in the mirror, but for many years, I thought that was just me being vain.

7.  I kind of look like Adrian. Not really, but I have brown hair and can be a total hottie nerd.

8.  I am an Air Force veteran (cough cough like Chuck Norris). I don't have to fake the PTSD part of my character, and I can do my owns stun... well I can aggressively file paperwork. There's a script isn't there? That's paperwork. I'll rock it.

9.  I'm double jointed, meaning I can do some cool kicks and splits and stuff. Wait a minute, this is me trying to be a girlfriend in a movie, not real life, well disregard.

10.  I cried during Rambo II (the speech at the end) and Chuck Norris's Delta Force 1 (the part with the cheesy music, wait, should be more specific huh, where the Jews get called to the front of the plane, the concentration camp tattoo, the woman who reminds me of my grandma, the cabbage patch doll, the priest...) Rambo II, tears. Uncontrollable tears. Especially when I was pregnant. BUT I didn't cry during the Titanic or the Notebook. I did cry over an episode of Oprah once, but in my defense, I was pregnant and ate an entire pie in one sitting.

11.  My father might actually come back from the grave to see it.

12.  I took down a Marine once, and it's quite possible I'm the only Air Force chick that has managed to do such a thing. I actually did some Jet Li moves I think when I did, like I flipped off this table and everything. All the other Marines were calling me Devil Dog. Basically, I'm a bad ass in real life too. Just don't ask me to do it again because I don't think I can.

13.  I have Rocky's theme song and Eye of the Tiger as top plays when working out.

14.  I am a rebel type, but in a mainstream sheeple sort of way, like in high school, people thought I was kissing a teacher's ass all morning during announcements, but really what happened was the teacher caught me and my friend sneaking liquor in our coffee and instead of being all "you are expelled," he was all, "let me have some." Then somehow, it accidentally became a morning ritual for us. I listen to Metallica and Ice Cube. That's rebel.

15.  I am a bitch. This makes for a great character who kills people. The meanest people I have ever in my life encountered, I mean meaner than drill sergeants and high-maintenance girl bullies, meaner than the 1976 Steeler's Defense, the meanest people I have ever had the pleasure to do business with, the public school administration and the PTA. Let's just say, they fear me. Like one time, there was a "fundraiser," which is a word the PTA uses for whoring out children into selling overpriced junk and compete like used car salesmen for time at the bouncy party. My child's PTA had it set up, you had to sell one item to get a half hour at the party, 10 items to attend the entire party. We are talking 600 children sharing one bouncy thing. I objected to it. Called it child abuse. Told them my kid will be at Chuck E. Cheese that day and the absence will be excused without a doctor's or parent's note. So, they decided to let my child's class have a couple hours on the bouncy thing when nobody else was using it, the whole class, including those who didn't sell one item... all because I'm not just a bitch, but I'm queen bitch. You should see me own the parking lot during the after school cluster fuck of chaos.

16.  I have a thing for pilots. Sylvester is a pilot in the movie. eHarmony couldn't do a better job.

17.  I know the age thing might be an issue, but the important thing is Sylvester Stallone aged well, and I haven't, so we look the same age. He's also younger than my father, barely, and that's what matters.

This is a picture of the first time
I never met him.

18.  I'm a libra. Nuff said.

19.  I know how to get my own coffee, so that's like money saved on assistants and shit.

20.  I will do it for almost free, like almost free means paying for the travel and partial living expenses (a nanny) and Chuck Norris shows me how to do the roundhouse kick, without killing me in the process. Ok, Chuck doesn't have to show me any secrets. I really just want a kissing scene with Sylvester (I have something to prove, see #3).

21.  I'm not an actress and I have stage fright.

**************************************************************
I'd also like to request that my character spits on people's foreheads before she kills them like the Outlaw Jose Wales, but since I can't spit without dribbling all over myself, we'll have to get a stunt double for the spitting.

I also require Peanut Butter to be present in my trailer because the Beach Boys require such a thing in theirs, and the Beach Boys are awesome. And how do I know this about the peanut butter? Play the video...

Shrinkological Disorder Shenanigans

This is a post about things I think we should add to the DSM (Diagnostic Statistics Manual), AKA, the Bible of Shrinkological Disorders. Note: These are not in there at all right now, and probably will NEVER find their way into this book.

Note: "DSM-5 is scheduled for release in May 2013," according to the DSMV website... Just in case you were curious...



Without further adieu...

1. Overcompensating Personality Disorder

Description:
Frequently referred to as Short Man Syndrome and The Napoleon Complex, Overcompensating Personality Disorder (OPD) affects both men and women. The essential feature is that Individuals with OPD inadvertently overcompensate for having something less than expected by societal standards with aggression and domineering qualities. As a result, they generally appear to their peers as a-holes. Many also have a problem succeeding in their career and maintaining healthy relationships. Unfortunately, most of them are not suicidal. This disorder is an Axis II diagnosis; however, in their peers, it can be an Axis IV diagnosis as they can cause psychological problems for people forced to work with them or live with them. People with OPD are sometimes a stressor to other people as many people with OPD turn into bullies, hence the importance of treating it is more for society's sake than the person who has OPD. The cause of OPD is unknown, but indicators show a genetic, environmental mix. Freud's theories of psychosexual stages may explain some environmental variables.

Diagnostic Criteria:

(I). A need to overcompensate including, but not limited to, the following:

• A wittle wing wang on men
• Small breasts on women
• Short height
• Lighter Skin Tone on people who are trying to be gangsta'
• A vagina trying to succeed in a world of penises

AND

(II). Four or more of the following:

1. Aggression without provocation
2. Difficulty controlling anger
3. Domineering Personality
4. Low Self Esteem
5. Bullying behaviors
6. Threatens violence
7. Mild Paranoia (sees threats when they aren't there, such as new employee at work doing his job)
8. Big truck with over-sized tires

Treatment:

While an ass kicking seems like an obvious solution, it is not. It will just make the situation worse. Treatment includes therapy that confronts possible psychological causes, corrects undesired behaviors, and focuses on finding less a-holeish ways to fit in. May suggest to patient to try out the big truck with over-sized tires if they don't already have one.



2. MOM Syndrome

MOM Syndrome is an STD that affects only women. For men who think they have MOM Syndrome, see DAD Syndrome. Women who suffer from MOM often generally also suffer from a cocktail of mental health problems and physical health problems. The essential characteristic of MOM Syndrome is The Bat Shit Crazy. The cause is children as a product of sexual activity, but MOM can be complicated by, as well as complicate, other variables, some also caused by children, such as sleep deprivation, back and hip problems from child birth, poor nutrition..., and some not caused by children such as existing health conditions before the onset of reproduction. While there is no known cure for MOM Syndrome, experts are NOT studying or looking for a cure because nobody really gives a damn, not even on Mother's Day. MOM Syndrome is coded as an Axis 6 diagnosis, and for those who are unaware of the Axis 6, that is the Axis for Fucking Nuts, and it's generally considered highly unethical (that's a big word that means Dr. Phil) to code people as such.

A woman must exhibit at least 10 of the following, and could write at least 5 more to add from the top of her head to be diagnosed with MOM Syndrome:

1. Bat Shit Crazy
2. Chronic Sleep Deprivation
3. Insomnia (a result of chronic sleep deprivation)
4. Migraines
5. Hallucinations (such as hearing babies cry when no baby is crying)
6. Disassociated Delusions (such as hearing someone else's baby cry and swearing it's your baby)
7. Short Term Memory Loss (do you even know where your car keys are)
8. Zombieness (like when that moment hits you that you apparently drove your kid to school because you are in the parking lot and your kid is in the back seat and you are not sure how you just got there)
9. Absent Minded Professor Syndrome (such as putting the cereal in the fridge and milk in the cabinet, or putting ice in a bottle, or handing the bottle of milk to the husband)
10. Frequent Tardiness and Absences (like forgetting doctor's appointments or constantly being late to them)
11. Poor hygiene (3 days without a shower and 2 without brushing teeth)
12. Gray hair (before hair dye, and sometimes regardless of it)
13. Increase or decrease in appetite (like forgetting to eat, or eating the entire pie by accident without ever using a plate)
14. Decreased social activity (a result of minors not being permitted in certain social settings)
15. Extreme weight loss or weight gain
16. Bad Driving (like swerving and braking due to "reach around slap a brat" or being struck in the head by a flying ice cream cone)
17. Frequent sudden loss of urine (like pee a little every cough, sneeze or huge laugh, and sometimes total urination due to not being allowed, or able, to go use the bathroom)
18. Using the bathroom in front of a live studio audience (while generally considered very strange, it's actually normal for people suffering from MOM)
19. Deep unexplainable unconditional love for the children, including would do anything for them (would appear to be like Stockholm Syndrome, or the result of being under the influence of a cult-like sociopath, but for some wild crazy reason, it's not).
20. Fantasizes about sleep, food, and sitting down.
21. Knows Dora, Foofa, Caillou, Kipper, Max, Ruby, and many other fictional characters and will sometimes talk about them like grandmas do about soap operas.
22. Despises Disney DVD's for the amount of Previews.
23. Irrational hatred for legos, moon sand, and any toy that makes a noise
24. Has a bottle of spoiled milk or an old sippy cup of juice under her bed
25. Makes outrageous claims to her children that the boogeyman will get them if they don't stop....
26. Tourettes Syndrome (occasionally stuttering, sometimes randomly blurting out words like boogers, poop, spank, time out, and fuck).
27. Internet addiction, such as Facebook, as if that's their only means to talk to people
28. Obsession with reading mommy blogs, occasionally attempting to read shitty articles about parenting to later turn back to mommy blogs.
29. Irrationally valid feelings of being caged or under-appreciated
30. Coffee addiction
31. Randomly breaks out into song and dance
32. Sleep cooking and cleaning (like sleep walking, but much more productive, and slightly more dangerous)
33. Hoards chocolate in secret places

Treatment:

To prevent catching the MOM, use a condom and other birth control methods before engaging in the awesome of sex and orgies. There is no known treatment for mom, but rest and relaxation helps, if available. Insurance doesn't cover rest and relaxation because the rising rates of day care would bankrupt them if they did. Many medications exist to help treat symptoms, such as coffee, a shower, and copious amounts of booze. 

Also check out How to Treat Mom Syndrome


3. DAD Syndrome

Also known as "Sympathy Pains," DAD Syndrome's essential characteristics are delusions of grandeur and the desire to be the victim. Affecting only men, people who experience DAD Syndrome are whiny with a false sense of entitlement. Usually, this comes from womb envy. Men get jealous of the women who carried a baby, gave birth, and breastfed, not only for the woman's ability to do such a thing, but for the attention the woman expects for enduring such a thing. They see these women as heroes and wish they, themselves, could be that awesome. Instead of trying to be awesome, they just complain about the things their women experience as if they themselves experienced it. They often also qualify for a diagnosis with narcissistic personality disorder and can suffer from a mental retardation. Note: Unlike MOM Syndrome, just because a man has children does not mean he will have DAD Syndrome, and sometimes, a man doesn't have to have any children to have DAD Syndrome.

Must experience 2 or more of the following:

1. Delusions of Grandeur (like when they do the dishes once and act like they cleaned the whole house daily for the last 6 years).
2. Helplessness (can't find his other shoe)
3. Constant complaining of back pain, indigestion, knee pain, etc., usually whatever their woman is actually experiencing
4. Sleeps too much
5. Doesn't do any housework (because they are so overloaded with responsibilities such as a job and video gaming... someone's got to save the world).
6. Stressed without any actual stressors (like stress about paying the bills their wife pays)
7. Gives himself zero accountability to negative things (such as the house is a mess and the kids miss a lot of school, like none of that was ever his responsibility)
8. Gives himself full credit to positive things (such as the house is clean and the kids have good grades, as if he did it all by himself)
9. Attention Whorism
10. Constant whining of how he needs a break
11. Believes his wife makes up all of her problems (i.e. sleep deprivation is a myth and she probably sleeps every time he does)
12. Very self-centered
13. Dissociative Empathy (meaning he sees his wife struggles and pretends she isn't struggling at all but he is struggling even though she is the one doing all the work)
14. Overdramatic response to pain, such as stubbing his toe and dropping on the floor screaming in agony rolling around as if he were just shot in the balls with a 50 cal rifle.
15. Constantly reassures everyone that he just worked 8 hours
16. Considers guns, video games, tools and anything he likes or wants to be a household need
17. Considers vacuums, dusters, dish detergent, paper towels, etc. to be selfish purchases by or gifts for his wife.
18. When faced with something like dinner time, hunger, and hungry children, solves problem by going to wife and asking, "What's for dinner?"
19. Wishes his wife were a lot of things, but doesn't want to contribute so that she can be those things (such as wishes his wife would stop being a bitch but doesn't want to stop being the reason she is a bitch).

Treatment

A nice big cup of man the fuck up.