Awesomesauce Parenting from a Slightly Weird Mind

Today’s text conversation with my son is pretty darn normal for us:

My monster teen: (sends picture of  tall closet mirror by the trash dump by our home) “Mom, this was beside the trash cans. It looks brand new.”

Me: “You have a new mirror coming in with your new bedroom furniture tomorrow. We don’t need it.”

Monster Teen: “Ok. I thought it would look good over my bed on the ceiling.”

At this point I choke on my spit. W…T…Frackadoodle in hot fudge does my 14 year old want with a mirror on the ceiling?!?!?! He’s PURE! He’s still able to touch a unicorn PURE!

Me: “What! Why would you want a mirror on your ceiling? You know who puts mirrors on their ceiling? Perverts. Or people that want a horror movie monster to come out of the mirror and get them.”

Monster Teen: ” -_-”

Me: “I’m just saying. Weirdo.”

Monster Teen: “Never mind. I don’t need to know all that.”

Me: “hahahahahaahha”

Monster Teen: “I’m going back to work on my chores. I don’t want that mirror anymore.”

Sometimes, I like to think my son was put into my life as a fun torture object. He has about 3 grey hairs he swears is from me hiding in closets and under his bed to scare him. He still threatens his friends with the fact that he has a psycho mom.

I’m a single mom, that was a single mom from a very young age. I was young and dumb and full of… juices… just like every teenager. Hormones and parents divorcing and arguments made me lash out, but the only person I hurt was myself, with drugs, and alcohol, and sex. So I did the very not smart and academically gifted thing I was known for, and got Cinemax with a guy, and pregnant. And became a teenage statistic.

Or I could have. Instead of becoming the whore meant for welfare and 5 more kids like my “wonderful” father predicted, I finished high school, started to work as a preschool teacher, and took night courses at the local community college. When I realized that it wasn’t enough money to really take care of my monster, I joined the military. I vowed that although I was a selfish bastard and never wanted children, I would raise try and raise a child better than I could ever be.

And so, my child-raising style may be a little unconventional, especially for this day and age. I’d rather my son fear me a bit, rather than be his friend. We talk when he’s done something wrong, but I still take my uniform belt off and spank him afterwards. We also spend loads of time together, watching anime, or heading to a museum or amusement park. I talk logically about him NOT going to college because school is so hard for him with his reading disability. Not right away anyway. We talk about sex, and not becoming a statistic. He knows how he came into being, and knows that he is very much-loved, but it’s a hard road that I took. And when I’m bored, I like to stare at him with a maniacal grin and do the sound of the scary monster chick from The Grudge. Or tell him that he was cloned. Or describe how I would cook him if we were stranded in our house without any food.

Meh, he seems well-adjusted.

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There is a such thing as a Black Female Geek

Why am I writing so many posts after just creating this blog? Well I do have some extra time on my hands having just arrived to a new military duty station. On we go….

Intro: I had a Korean boyfriend for about 6 months. He didn’t look to kindly on the fact that I was constantly trying to convince him to dress up like Kakashi Hatake from the anime Naruto.

Hello, my name is dimensionthe5th and I’m a geek. (*waving with maniacal grin)

There’s nothing wrong with me. I look normal, attractive even so I hear when I get hit on. I’m in my early 30’s with a teenage son (do the math, I was not always with a book in my face). I also have a huge photo of Fullmetal Alchemist Brotherhood and the Cheshire Cat in my office. And my anime character figurines and key chains. And I love conventions and dress-up. And comics and comic book movies. One of my biggest wishes is to see Stephen King’s The Dark Tower Series turned into a show like Game of Thrones. I swear to you I was already saying frack before the re-imagined version of Battlestar Galatica came out.

So how does that work with a black female trying to date? I’m an international dater so I have more to pick from, but still run into the same problems: too much or too little. Either I date the guy who isn’t really into what I am who finds the geeky side cute, and then later expects me to change like I’m a toddler going through a biting phase, OR date the geeky guy who is so far gone they can’t function in normal society. Where the frack is the happy medium! It’s rare.

There’s not just that. Depending on what kind of family you come from you grow up with the derision from other family members. My family is GHET-TO. Yes, I must capitalize. When you have an uncle who at times has been an aspiring singer/pimp/crackhead/ pastor/pill-popping alcohol, you just might have some ghetto in your family. But my parents raised me in the suburbs. And since I was an only child for a long while I didn’t like going outside. I enjoyed reading, pretending to be a wizard, or making full on dramas with my barbies that put Soap Operas to shame (there was always a to-be-continued in my head so I could start where I left off). My cousins constantly teased me. I was acting like a “white girl” and “talked white” O_o Even then I knew that they were ignorant as heck, but it did make me for years try to hide my geekiness.

At work, even with the military, I tried to hide it those first years. Then I switched jobs, where the whole job field is brimming with the nerdiest people I have ever met in my life. Their “thing” might not be exactly like my “thing” but they get it. They really do. I don’t have to worry about someone asking me if I watched the latest BET show (wanted to pull my brain out and go play in traffic the last time I was convinced to sit down and watch the game). It’s great that to have a group of people who try to work out all the character motivations on shows like Fringe and Game of Thrones.

So… you say meh, whatever, there’s many openly geeky people in the world nowadays. Being a geek is cool! Uh yeah, okay. I’m not talking fake geeky, whachamacallit Hipsters and the like. I’m talking about that I cried at the end of X-Men 2 because my favorite character died,  even though I KNEW that if they followed the comics, Jean Grey was coming back as the Phoenix. The first Pokemon movie still makes me a little weepy. Shut up.

I taught my son to read by reading subtitles of anime when he was diagnosed with a learning disability. Can your parenting get as cool as that? Pffft, I think not!!!

So, I’m dimensionthe5th, and I’m a proud geek.

Pet Peeve #52.757 – New Adult Readers Reading Bad Things

I love reading. I love books. Although I have an e-reader now, there’s still nothing like the smell of books. Yes, I smell books. I started reading at 4, had moved to chapter books by five. By 10 I was reading Stephen King, and then stories on the high school list like Elie Weisel’s Night, and Things Fall Apart, all of Isaac Asimov and Shakespeare for the heck of it. A speed reader, I would finish a book of around 3-400 pages in a day if I could sneak in the time. Even when I went through basic training and wasn’t allowed to have any books, I had a small notebook that could fit in the pocket of my uniform that I filled with poetry so I could read over and over again.

That being said, although my reading isn’t always high-end (I’ll read sci-fi/fantasy fiction more than anything else, although I love reading nonfiction about different religions), I do know what well written books are. I do know that it takes a certain skill level. And that even a famous writer isn’t THE BEST writer out there. I mean, my favorite two authors of all time are Stephen King and Anne Rice, and they can go for a chapter about a crack in the wall O_o.

My pet peeve though is those adults that haven’t picked up a book since they graduated from high school or college, and then it was only required reading. And then, this NEW HOT BOOK comes out, and they read it, and want to come talk to me. Argh. Grrr. Ugh. Dear Baby Jesus, it’s not even a GOOD BOOK. It’s reads like the author only had a 5th grade level, does not understand what plot is, and can’t construct a complete sentence. Granted, I’m not the best writer, but I’m a lover of good writing skill. And I’m opinionated. And I’m vocal about my opinion.

Like this: I’m at the car dealership getting my car checked, out smoking a cigarette and reading my e-reader (because that’s what I do: feed my brain while I destroy my health) and this older woman walks up. “Hi, you love reading huh? Me too.” Yay another reader! “You know what I ordered on my Kindle and can’t put down?” Please let it be something good. Not that 50 shades of sh– “That 50 Shades of Grey series!”

Pause.

And then my rant spilled forth without me being able to control it. “You know, I’m so tired of hearing about that horrid series. Who the frack would pay for such bad writing? Why would you read such bad and unrealistic erotica when there’s so much better with an actual plot in it. The author writes like she didn’t pass high school, and even her take on BDSM makes it sound like you’re not into that kind of thing unless something is wrong with you. Her characters are Mary Sue characters…”

The question comes of have I read it. “No, a couple of chapters, detailed synopsis. Did you know this was basically fanfiction that she just changed the names? You’re paying money for fanfiction!”

By the way, I love fanfiction. I just think an author should actually EDIT if they’re going to take a story that they wrote for their vision of someone else’s characters and then publish it. And that’s only my most recent pet peeve about new adult readers. The one before that was of course the “Insert Yourself because the whole main character is a blob just waiting for you” Twilight books. And dear Lord, the Da Vinci Code. That was mostly guys: “I read a book. It was great. I am now intellectual.” Go sit in a corner and shut up dude. That author made me fall asleep 3 times trying to read the first chapter before I gave up.

And I understand everyone has their likes and dislikes. Have at it. But if you’ve only read one frackin book or series, do NOT talk to me about favorite authors, about writing styles, skills, and think that you can bond with me. It’s like a person coming up saying they’re a rap fan because they heard a Black Eyed Peas song. Are you serious?!?!?! It’s like saying you like to cook but all you know is Hamburger helper. Delicious at times, but not really high-end cuisine. In fact, I think I’m cooking Hamburger helper for dinner. Who says I’m too uppity and opinionated?

Rant over.

Hello you weirdos…

Yes, why start this? Hmmm, not for any reason other than I was sitting here, a tab bit bored while waiting for a delivery for my home. This is for, me. I will write random things about myself and the world around me. I don’t plan to share with friends or family. If they stumble upon this fine. If they don’t they don’t. And since I ended up starting this on September 11th, maybe I should start a little with that. But I don’t really wanna.

I don’t like remembering that time, mostly because of how selfish a person I was back then. See, I was about 19, newly in the military, away from home for really this first time, with no real responsibilities. The first time without my young son. The first time without my younger siblings and mother. It was freedom! It was the freedom of being my age, when I hadn’t been able to be so before. And so what did I do? I was a lush/drunk/whatever you want to call it. I kept a liquid diet. I dated a lot of guys. I smoked black n milds and played cards and partied. I was being someone else. Like a role. I was miserable. And, it was all about me (in my head, because we’re all so special in our heads).

It was nighttime in the country I was in when September 11th happened stateside. I was coming from a friend’s room, going back to my barracks. I passed the media room and saw a huge explosion on the TV. Everyone was gathered around watching. I was not interested. I was probably angry about something, depressed about something. Dear Lord baby Jesus I was always so morose during that time. And I just assumed it was a movie. It was until about 2 hours later maybe that my supervisor was banging on my door to let me know that we had to do a full alert, check up on everyone there and overseas. “Call home,” I was told. There had just been an attack in America. I still didn’t really understand. I was getting phone calls from home. “Are you okay?” “Uh, yeah, I’m not the one in the States right now.” Guard duty. Being pissed, being in full battle rattle checking IDs and vehicles. This tragedy was ruining my life.

Look at that last sentence. Yes, I’m sorry to say, that was how I felt about others pain at the time. I didn’t get it, I didn’t want to. I was young and dumb and free and I didn’t want to care about other people. When the true understanding of what happened hit me, maybe days afterward, I remember sitting there and hurting inside. Getting it. And ashamed of myself for just not caring at first. For treating the whole sad situation as someone else’s problem. 11 years later, a deployment or two under my belt, I can’t be selfish. I’ve seen the repercussions of that one day. Even though, what I believe to be a genetic predisposition to be a self-centered person, I’ve learned to fight to feel for others. To understand that it is NOT just about me. I never want to look back at another time and realize that I just didn’t care. Not about something of this magnitude.

Hmmm, now that I think about it though, this is still all about me. Maybe I still have something to learn here.