Whatever Floats Your Boat Sinks My Battleship

So I like being independent. As a young team mom, it was a necessity unless I wanted to be like other women in my extended family that looked for a handout from the government or from a man by opening their legs. I knew from a young age that I wanted a life where I was in control (yes, even while being in the military). I was not going to be like my mother, who for half of her 20 years of marriage to the father unit, lost the power to do for herself, and had to relearn when they separated. So I strived for independence. Accepted the joy of being able to do for myself. If I wanted a man, it was because I wanted them, and not because I couldn’t survive on my own two feet. Even with my mother and father unit’s personal issues, it was the way I was raised.


I know many women who weren’t raise that way. Instead, they were raised that a good women stays home and takes care of it, while the man makes the money. That their children will suffer if they work outside the home. Even those that end up single parents, some of them seem to believe that when a man DOES show up in their lives, they are supposed to hand over the reins, and let them do the manly duty of handling it. Or even worse, the women that say they are independent, but are all window dressing:


I had an ex, we will call the Evil Ex. I almost married this psycho sicko. For two years, I was pushed into his mindbox of an ideal woman. One who shut up and looked pretty, one who catered to his every need, cooked dinner even if she had worked longer hours, and by his taste buds, not her own. I was cleaning for him, dropping friends he felt were a bad influence, having smexy time by his libido, not my own. Made to feel bad if I was too attractive or not attractive enough to other males (depending on his mood). He chose my clothes before going out, my drinks at a bar. I was a slave. His fantasies, if I showed any hesitancy, well, I was not being the submissive woman who God intended me to be. I’m sure you’re asking if this dude looked like a model for me to sink into this mess for 2 years. Nope. He was overweight and squirrelly at work. But I had low self-esteem from a previous relationship, and thought that he was the only level I can aspire to. He almost caused my military career to end, and also my life. I will never say all the things that this horrible man made me do, because I’ve unloaded in front of a psychologist to move forward.

But that, that was the last time I ever tried to be someone I’m not. So, because I am so independent and not a submissive woman (except in the naughty time room, rawr 😉 ) it weirds me out when I hear of other women who seem to live in the stone age.

A coworkers wife doesn’t work or drive. She a housewife, and even before he put a bun in her oven recently, from what’s he’s said, that was what she did. Took care of the house. Little Suzy Homemaker. And now, with the baby on the way, he takes off from work a LOT, to take her to appointments, and attend all sorts of prepare for baby new age classes. The one today was called Baby Boot Camp.


W.T.F. is a frackin baby boot camp?

Why the frack do you need classes to tell you what should be natural? I mean, chick sits on her arse all day already, couldn’t she have googled and YouTube that ish if she is so confused on how to change a frackin diaper? I was 16 when I had my monster teen, and was still finishing high school. My mother taught me stuff on taking care of a child when I was sometimes confused (though she wouldn’t wake up in the middle of the night to help me if he was crying) but mostly let me figure things out because I needed to learn. That’s how parents since the beginning of TIME have raised children. This new weak butt way of thinking you need books and classes and frackin boot camps to prepare you for childbirth is a load of diarrhea diaper! *breathe D, Breathe!*


I hate that I’m so judgmental, because hey, its your life. Whatever floats your boat right? But it does piss me off that the neediness of a spouse can screw up the whole work schedule, and leave a team hanging out to dry because you can afford cruise trips overseas but can’t buy a daggone 2nd car so poor wifey can actually do something for her daggone self.

And some will say, well dimensionthe5th, you’ve never been married, you’re being kind of harsh. Your point? I call runny bull spit. You don’t magically wake up after saying I do to become a household workhorse and bun oven. You choose that.

I’m not even trying to knock stay at home wives or mothers. Hey, it’s what you chose. Good for you. Again though, when your choice affects others it pisses me off.

While I’m on that note of stay at homes, and super submissive I’ll say this. I respect you with rules: as long as it doesn’t affect me, and as long as you don’t put yourself on a pedestal. Because I work, and enjoy my career, it doesn’t make me less of a mother. Because I don’t treat a man like a God to be waited on hand and foot 24/7 while I just smile like a Stepford Wife is not the reason I am single. I plan on saying I do only once, but I will marry someone who accepts me for who I am, and who they are. I refuse to ever lose myself again. I love being my son’s mother even though I never wanted children. But my child does not define me. So you martyr moms that want to talk like you have the hardest job in the world: rephrase. You have a hard job of raising a child. It is one hard job, that except for those that have an issue with letting their children actually grow the frack up, pretty much ends from a day-to-day job once your little monsters leave the cave around 18-21 years old. Unless you have no backbone because you raised a co dependent child that doesn’t want to leave, or you have no life so you squeeze yourself into your child’s life because you don’t know how to live your own. All animals raise their young and then let them free to be adults.

Circle of life be-witches.


Girly Men… The Rise of the Metro… And my thoughts on it

Let me be clear right now. This is in no way a post about LGBT men. This is all about straight boys and men. And my thoughts on them losing their identity.

Being a woman raising a young man is a truly trying situation. And many women end up fracking those boys up. And with the rise of single mothers, I think this is also we have a larger generation of punk men. My son also has the fact that he’s a black man against him. You can’t argue the facts of how many are in prison. But, I’m rambling. Kinda. Maybe.

Anyway, some single women raise their boys like how they always fantasized the men who knocked them up should be. Some baby the heck out of their boys with a subconscious fear that they will leave them like the other men in their life. First off: your son is not your man, or boyfriend, or husband. That is gross and the beginning of either incest porn, or your child becoming a serial killer.

They also do not instill the fact that you have to work for things. I can’t believe how many times I’m met with surprise that I don’t take out the trash, clean my son’s room, wash dishes, or wash my son’s clothes. Those are HIS chores. He also knows basic cooking skills. And he’s been doing all of this for a while now. Why? So he doesn’t expect a woman to take care of him. So he can stand on his own two feet.

The other thing parents seem to be teaching their sons is that it’s never their fault and that the rules in place do not apply to them. How many times have I heard or read online some mother (and sometimes father) complaining that their child should be excused for their actions, or that a teacher was rude for not caving to a parent’s expectations. Let’s not even go into the “everyone’s a winner so no child is left out feeling like a loser mentality.” Or, its okay for Johnny (probably spelled JahnNee because that’s what’s hot nowadays) to stay in and play video games instead of going outside and playing. I mean, you don’t want your little precious to get dirty right?

So it’s my belief that with those combinations of things, more men are being raised to be soft men. Its okay now for men to look more like girls than girls. It’s okay that they expect the world to be handed to them. Why can’t a man carry a purse and eyeliner and pants tighter than mine? I’ll tell you why:

Because when I’m a military female and have your soft-*ss son as my troop that cries when he gets told off for not having his hair cut to the standards, when he cries at being made to work longer hours, cries when they failed because they’ve never failed at ANYTHING at life – well I’m tempted to check if their balls have dropped.

My son is not allowed skinny jeans. He is made to respect women, and knows that the one thing I will turn into a monster about is it he does. My son is not my friend. He is my child that I raise to be strong and self-sufficient. My son knows at 18 he can go straight to work or go to college but he is getting the frack out of my house. My son knows that yes, having emotions and being able to express them are okay, but no one takes a male blubbering all over the place seriously (women either). My son knows that he should accept people for who they are, but at the same time he must decide who HE is and what HE stands for on his own. He knows life is not fair, and that you must work for what you want. He may slip up here and there and make me want to bust him upside the head for things, but I have to let him learn from his mistakes. One day my son will make a woman very happy to be his wife. Heck, even if some day later he decides he’s gay, he’ll make a man happy to be his partner. Because he will not be weak.

Family: I Wouldn’t Drown Them, but I Might Have a Leg Cramp When They Need Saving

So one stereotype for the brown crayoned people of America is that many cannot swim. As a whole I believe its pretty valid with my family. My biological sperm donor was in the Army and Coast Guard so he learned and taught me early. My mother on the other hand sometimes makes me think she could drown in a bathtub. I love that woman but she worries me.

I say all that to say that there are more than a few family members that I’m not too sure I would save from downing. I mean, I honestly believe I would be doing the world a favor. My Aunt Raccoon ( yes, she is huge, has these weird patches of hair on her face that makes her look like a raccoon) is a scavenger. And had the nerve to call my soft-hearted mother to complain about my actions during Thanksgiving. That I was disrespectful. Tha frack?

Let’s look at thing from a couple of months ago: I spent over 300 dollars so my mother could have Thanksgiving at her house. I drove over 4 hours to be there. I helped cook half the frackin food. I got flea bites up and down my legs because my mother let my cat get fleas, and I’m Godiva chocolate to those bustards.

Aunt Raccoon brought Ice Cream. Egg Nog flavored.

And then gets pissed because I don’t let her take it back home after no one eats it. On top of that, she gets irritated when I tell her to go home, and that I don’t need her help in the kitchen. (She’d already fixed herself two plates that she lied and said she hadn’t to my mother over the phone).

Why do I have 50-60 year old heffas that feel the need to call my mother and complain? This isn’t the first time. Why do they feel they DESERVE so much respect from me?!

There’s also on the other side my Aunt Cougar. She and her daughter tried to extort money from me, saying somehow that the “sins of my father” towards them made it so that I owed them. Whaaa? I’m sorry, I was sitting in my mom’s belly when Aunt Cougar decided to get drunk and screw my father. And I was only 4 when she decides to get her daughter to lie about being molested by him. If anything, I deserve payment for not killing these be-witches.

Needless to say, I can count on my hands how many people in my family I actually like, and wouldn’t want them to sink like the Titanic, while I don’t share my space on a gigantic piece of wood 😉

Children are Evil – My monster just fracked up my awesome mom track record

So no matter how great a job you are doing as a parent (or how well you THINK you are doing as a parent), your idiotic teenager can just frack up your track record.

You didn’t know this was a contest? OF COURSE IT IS!!!

And now I’m behind in the race like a fat kid trying to win carrots. Shut up. It DOES TOO MAKE SENSE! Ahem, yes, my mind is wandering, I can’t sleep (Clowns will eat me… not in a good way).

My MonsterTeen (patent pending), now has a juvenile record. And not for doing something cool that he can tell stories about when he’s my age. Oh no, he will have a lame “I was a follower that didn’t want to be looked at like a punk” story.

Let me set the scene for you: The other night, I’m chilling on my couch, half out of uniform, flexing my online shopping muscles while buying Christmas presents for the MT. As soon as I pressed the “place order” on my favorite site (really, I’m not sure if I love Amazon.com or bacon more) there’s a knock on my door. A policeman. A cop. A cute cop, but a cop nonetheless. And I think cutecop maybe got the wrong address until he asks if I am MonsterTeen’s mother.  Oh sweet baby Hay-soos. What is going on.

Under the threat of going to jail this is the story that came out: He was hanging over in his “girlfriend’s” neighborhood with her and another dude. We’re just going call her Shanaynay, because that’s just as ghetto as her real name. The other dude is going to be called Oomfoofoo Jr. So, they are all on the stairs and Oomfoofoo Jr. asks to borrow a pen from my son. My son gives it to him and then he an Shanaynay proceed to just stand there and watch as Oomfoofoo Jr draws male and female body parts in health class detail, writes that he’s fracked the wife of whoever lives there, and many other crude and violent things – ending with “and this was written by to black guys, you better be scared!”

Are you frackin kidding me. -_-

So MonsterTeen now has a record, because he was a punk, and didn’t tell on the little bustard, or just walk away. He is lucky as heck that cutecop didn’t take him to the station as he threatened. He is lucky that the man who’s door was defaced only wanted an apology. He is lucky that the housing complex isn’t pressing extra charges, fees, or kicking us out of our home. And he is lucky that I didn’t murder him.

Instead I took away all electronics: TV, cell phone, PSP, PS2, PS3, Wii, Nintendo DS, laptop, ipod (yes, the little bustard is spoiled). No TV, no going outside, no sodas, no desserts, and no candy even though we’ve got a lot leftover from Halloween. He’s grounded until Christmas… unless he fails any classes on his report card.

Meanwhile back at the ranch… in my brain that is… I’m starting to go into somewhat of a depression. I don’t want my son to ever turn out like his biological genetics donor. I was stupid, but my son should not pay for it. He has all the tools to be better than the both of us. So I may sip a little more wine than usual this weekend. And I may shed a tear or two where he can’t see. I already have. And I’ve also had friends that have been very supportive by understanding that I don’t just take this as “oh, boys will be boys, he got in trouble, and it’ll be cool.” My real friends have been either talking to the Monster Teen, or taking him out for some male bonding. Because mom just might lock him in a closet somewhere.

So Monster Teen has ruined dimensionthe5th’s mom track record of awesomesauce. Back to training. And torturing. Maybe I should reinforce the story that he’s cloned and tell a new story of what happened to the first version of him.