When Even the Monster Teen Thinks You Gone Too Far… My Un-PCness in the Home

I’m not politically correct on my good days. And on my bad days and medicated days I tend to let anything and everything fall out of my mouth. Especially to my son. Even without cursing, he says I’m the crudest person he knows. I don’t think I’m as bad as he feels…I’m sure other parents have these kind of conversations right?.

Monster Teen: *walks into living room after spending a day being a lazy teen. His afro that he recently started growing is completely flat and matted¬†from where he’s been laying. Also, he’s wearing a grungy t-shirt and shorts and his skin is crying out “moisturize me!” (Doctor Who reference there ūüėČ

Me: Sooooo, I take it your name is not Toby today. Looking more like Kunta Kinte (Roots reference here). *sips tea*

M-T: * looks at me appallingly* Are you serious? That’s just racist Mom!

I love this little guy. I think he’s hypnotizing me with his toothless screams…

Me: Not my fault you come out looking like a runaway slave.

I think I’m to the point of my son threatening to tell me I’m going to hell.

I’m more of the mindset that if I’m not crude and up front with my monster, who will be? So I tell him that not washing his long johns will give him a stank crotch. Or let him know that if he fails 9th grade and continues to have a gpa below at least a 2, I’m legally changing his name to Taekwondus Aloewicious Jones and then kicking him out my house.

Monster Teen: Taekwondus?

Me: Yeah, you’ll need a proper flipping burgers name.

MT: Mom…

Me: and you’re from Bah-more now. Forget that you’re from *******. You have to learn to talk like you’re from Merr-lin!

MT: *walks out of living room to my cackles.*

Well, I’m having some oral surgery this week, and I know he’s happy about not having to hear embarrass him while he’s on the phone about his room smelling of armpit and teenage spunk.

That’s ok. Nothing wrong with my hands and my access to his FB page.



Oh No, I’m Blinded! Dealing With Monster Teen’s Growing Body

I share this because after telling the story to friends, I realized that maybe other mother do not talk with their sons this way. And plus, in hindsight it is hilarious. But when it was happening I was just frustrated.

So my son is a musician, and plays in the school band. The other night he had a performance, and I found out only the night before that he needed to be dressed in a white dress shirt and black slacks. Of course I have to buy this ish short notice!

So after work the next day, I run to the store, estimating my monster teen’s growing size. Pretty much holding things to me and picking a size slightly bigger. It works well for the shirt. For the pants, well, the last size I’d bought him was 32-32. And as a side note, stupid men’s sizes are stupid. Yes, I know they make more sense than a woman’s because you can have a tall skinny dude that needs a tiny waist and all, but it’s too confuzzling for me. So, I just bought his dress slacks in 32-32. I forgot about the one thing my genetics have cursed him with.

My son has a badonkadonk.

This is not a representation of my son. He has a huge butt, but that does not turn him into a monkey.

It is a ridiculously big behind for a male. He’s in denial. He thinks I’m making it up just how like I had him believing for some time that he was a clone after my first of him had an “unfortunate accident.”

But his butt is huge, and when I rushed home, gave him his new clothes to iron and throw on while I changed, I came back out to a visual dilemma.

From behind, his pants looked rather tight. It was showing off just how curvy those back cheeks were.

Me: You gotta go up a size in pants next time.

Monster Teen: Why? They fit.

Me: You look like you are smuggling cantaloupes back there.

Monster Teen: My butt is NOT big Mom!

And then… He turned around and I’m blinded.

Me: Oh no! You can’t go out like that!

MT: What?!

Me: All I see is crotch!


Me: Your junk is sitting up like a beacon right up front. No one will be able to see anything but that!

You remember in the movie¬†Labyrinth, how we as children were introduced to David Bowie’s package? David Bowie has websites dedicated to his package.

My childhood… if it hadn’t already been sullied, that moment would be now.



I don’t want my son to have websites. *Shudders*

Monster Teen: What am I…

Me: Can you move it? Push it down the leg of your pants or something. Ugh. Just, just get it out of everyone’s face!

MT: grumble grumble grumble

Me: BIGGER PANTS. And boxer briefs.

If it wasn’t for having to leave out the door at that moment, I would have NEVER let my poor teen go out the door like that. I know he already catches the eye of many a young female. Well the other night he was serving them free teen on a platter with that get-up. Much to my “ew that’s my son” disgust.

How would a man handle this same situation with his son I wonder?

Parents Please STOP! You and Your Child Are NOT a Special Snowflake

I love STFU Parents Blog http://www.stfuparentsblog.com/. I may have posted things as a parent in the past that are considered¬†overshare¬† But honestly, nothing as bad as some of the things I’ve seen up there. Some of those posts, whether it’s crazy mommyjacking, or a picture of somebody’s hoohah wide open until you can look up the canal and see the baby’s living room, are just super insane.

Speaking of insane, I give you this link:


Yeah. If you feel that this okay, I’d like to come to your house and poop at your dining room table. I swear I’ll be quick and clean it up right afterwards.

I’m so confused… do I eat here or go potty?

Because this is what these privileged parents did. They changed their child’s diaper in an eating/drinking area, had a hissy frackin fit when they were told to clean up. And then threw their coffee on the ground because the workers there were so rude!

I hate people.

Seriously, there is one thing I really can’t stand in the world, and that is privileged parents that think that their children are gods and should be allowed to do whatever they want, whenever they want. If little Bobby decides to come to your house and murder your cat “while playing” you shouldn’t be pissed. He’s just precocious!

This isn’t exactly that situation, but why do you think other restaurant goers want your baby’s potty particles all up in their nose and mouth? I don’t want to smell my own bathroom mess, let alone your child’s stanky Similac behind.

A friend asked the question if I was against breast-feeding in public too?

No. NO. Two VERY different things!

Feeding makes sense because guess what? You are in a restaurant! Everyone should eat. Whip out your giggles and feed your monster baby.

But, how does the saying go? You don’t sh** where you eat, and neither should your spawn.

My monster teen, when he was a little nuisance, had complete blowouts whenever he went in his diaper. ¬†As a young parent I got peed and number 2’d on. Just think if I was the parents in the story above changing one of THOSE diapers in a public place where people are eating and drinking. Yeah, that turns my stomach too.

Take that changing pad back to the bathroom with no changing table and lay it on your lap in a stall, or lay your child on the floor or sink. Take your monster out to your car and change their diaper.  Do not make this an accidental scat or golden shower moment while I am sipping my latte.

And frack Starbucks for apologizing. You are just allowing these kind of idiots to continue to act this way.

Makes me wish that there was a law that you couldn’t have children unless you passed a common sense and common decency questionnaire. I swear, it would cut down on welfare lingerers. And parents that think children should be¬†worshiped.

We need… Willy Wonka.


I am NOT made of Money!!! I am Made of Pissyoffedness

I have a boatload, a shipload, a starship full of love for my mommy. We may not have a traditional relationship since I’ve been calling a lot of the shots for years, but it works for us.

What does not work is her reliance on MY money.

Since I joined the military more than 10 years ago, I’ve helped my Momster in any way I can. Especially because she raised my son as I went playing in other countries. Especially because my sperm donor father could not be bothered to pay child support for her 2 underage children she still had to raise.

But that meant my accounts were in the negatives a lot.

See, my momster, with all her innocence and naivety, does not understand money. Sure, she can do math better than me, but actual saving, not living above her means, well, I guess you don’t learn that in the hood. Because the father unit didn’t either. And he taught her some very very bad habits.

On top of her having to pay rent for a house she really can’t afford, my brother who lives with her has no job, has never had a job, and is 20. I on the other hand give her money EVERY FRACKIN month, even when my son is not staying there because of military happy times. And, in addition to the set amount I give her every month, I give her over when she is behind on bills… Which is pretty much every month.

Let’s review: momster works two minimum wageish jobs, has a house she can barely afford, a vehicle she barely affords, an adult male who eats her out of house and home that has no job, and goes to a tech college maybe 3 days out of a week (and has a loan out for like $60 thousand for it), and doesn’t even do frackin chores, AND me, who is paying for these failings.


It is to the point that for Mother’s Day I almost didn’t give her jack shitTAKE mushroom. Why should I? I am depleting my savings for her whims!

Let’s not even mention the family wedding in Vegas that she just assumed I would pay for her to go. Plane ticket and hotel. Let’s not even talk about the insane idea she had of me paying for a ticket to fly to my state and then fly with the Monster Teen and I so she didn’t have to fly alone.

We are for serious here, and I have loss some blood vessels. They are leaking out of my ears I swear to you.

I love my mother. But I have frackin spoiled her. I knew this a couple of years ago when she was upset that I got her a kindle for her birthday instead of an over $1,000 treadmill. More than half of the things like the frackin flooring and other furniture was paid with my money.

But I’m.Just.Through.

I can’t do this anymore.

I can’t continue to be unhappy looking at my accounts because they’re not as pretty looking anymore. I’m not a money hungry person, but its my daggone money! And she’s frackin bleeding my accounts and my happy frackin spirit :-/


Well… when I’m sad, only one thing can make me happy nowadays:


The Girl Grows and Asks Questions; The Child I Gave Away

The Monster Teen was born when I myself was nothing more than a teenager. I was a geek screwed up in the head, learning to be tough (and ghetto) to act out against the horrible separation/divorce that my parents dragged me into the middle of. I’ve touched on my parent’s separation a lot, I know, but only because so much of that helped shape me to who I am today. Let’s move on.

I never wanted kids. When I was a child, I never played house where I was the housewife. When people tried to get me to play that role, I’d argue or asked to be the husband or child. When playing alone, I was always someone with an awesome career. Maybe a teacher, and actress, a spoken word performer. Whatever it was, there were no children involved. I think in the back of my mind I always believed that when a woman had a child, her life ended.

But I did get pregnant with the Monster Teen. My father, who pretty much had chosen career and friends over his family had long since moved a couple of states away. When he found out, he called me to say that I was a whore, a slut, who might as well have 4 more kids and get on welfare, because I was NEVER going to make anything out of myself.

Luckily for Baby Monster Teen and I, even though I am pro-choice, I couldn’t let the growing creature I carried be killed. To me, it wasn’t fair to snuff out his life just because I didn’t protect myself from pregnancy. So I let the baby monster be born. And he changed my life for the better. I know that I would’ve grown to be a much more selfish and self involved person if I hadn’t had him to raise. But then, fast forward 4 years, and I found myself again at another crossroads.

While young/dumb/in deep depression and on my first tour in the military overseas, I made the same mistake again. Unprotected smexy times, because I forgot to refill my birth control. I swear I knew the moment it was done that I was pregnant again. And sure enough I was right.

I ranted and railed at myself. I prayed to God to change things, to let it be all in my head, to erase what was growing inside of me. I just could NOT do this again. There was not enough love in me to love another child. I knew instinctively that this was a girl child, and all I could think was that my personality was not caring enough to take care of such a soft sensitive creature (no matter that I was girl too). I saw my dreams crashing down. To be bogged down with the care of not just one child, but TWO. That through my faults I was becoming exactly what my father suggested! A whore no better than those aunts and cousins that sat with their legs open, asking for a handout.

I couldn’t do it, but again, I couldn’t destroy the life. And that is where my best friend came in.

We’ll call her Florida for these purposes. I’d met Florida only about a week after arriving to my base overseas. She was around the same age as me, new to the military, and geeky in her own way. Although we were of a similar age, her maturity level was higher than mine at the time (see last time’s post about trying to fit in) and she kind of took me in like a little sister. Coming from being the oldest and having a lot of responsibility in my immediate family, this was a breath of fresh air. Especially as I was going through a deep bout of depression with missing my son, missing home, and then, becoming pregnant again.

I went to her, in a borderline hysterical state of what to do about this pregnancy. And she had an answer that even today shocks me with the blessing it was for all those involved. You see, even though both Florida and I were baby 20 somethings, she wanted children. She was the exact opposite of me. She was proud to play the¬†mamma¬†when playing house. She wanted to have a career yes, but even that was to teach to young children. She wanted children right away, and the more the merrier. Her parents had her very late in life, so she wanted to have grandchildren before they passed away. But she wasn’t married. And she didn’t want to just get pregnant by a random person. And here I come with an answer to HER dilemma.

So that day, I sat there telling her my problem. That the dude had gone crazy, trying to force me to have an abortion.

“I can’t get an abortion, but I don’t, I can’t raise another child!”

She came to a decision.

“Let me adopt the baby.”

I laughed at her that day, shocked out of my depression. I was like yeah right, She could raise the baby, and since we were best friends I would get to know the child, and be in her life even though I couldn’t raise her myself.

“Exactly,” said Florida. She was serious. And I felt my heart lurch with so many emotions. Somehow, this blessing fell upon me and the Girl not yet born. We planned it out, right then and there, though I still didn’t really believe. We were leaving for our next assignments in a few months, and I would continue the pregnancy. When I got close, I would take leave and come to her base, so that she would see her child being born. She would raise her with the knowledge that I was her birth mother, that she had an older brother, that she was blessed with double the family of a normal child. That I would be her Godmother. We talked of how, if one day she wanted to come to me and stay with me, we would allow it to happen. That we would be open and honest with her and each other. A great plan that we both agreed on and thought was best.

Everyone else though, were against it.

I didn’t tell my mother I was pregnant until I was about 7 months pregnant, and already stationed back stateside in the¬†Midwest¬† Even when I had first come back to the states I hid it, spending time with my son and family without letting them know the secret plan. When I told her, lord, she was so angry. She begged me to keep the child, to let her stay with her grandmother until I was ready to raise her myself. Hadn’t she taken my son while I was in my first enlistment, going through basic training, school and then overseas for a year?!

She didn’t understand. I saw my gut instinct future. That I did not have the same connection as I did with little MT. That if I kept her, there would be that underlying resentment of being saddled with a child I didn’t want. Why do that to a child when there was someone ready and willing to love her with all of their being as a mother should?

We argued right through the Girl’s birth and a year or so afterward. Before she was born, she’d told others in the family about my decision, and all of them had harsh judgment for me. My aunt and uncle on one side of the family who were childless, why didn’t I think of them? My Aunt on the other side of my family, who’d been trying for a child, why didn’t I think of her? My evil cousin and her mother spread rumors that Florida had brainwashed me and was my lover, that had to be why I was giving away my child. My command at my new unit tried to force me to keep the baby, saying that they would allow me to take my son back early, before I re-enlisted. I could move out of the barracks if I said I planned to keep the child.

And it wasn’t just on my side. Florida had friends and family members saying that I was going to change my mind, or take the girl away once they’d had a couple of years together. That I had to want something else out of the deal.

But the day came to give birth. And Florida was right there, the first to hold her newborn. I signed the papers for adoption right then and there. And even when my mother called a couple of hours later saying that she would NEVER let me have my son back until I took back custody of the Girl, well even that conversation (that made me have a screaming incoherent anxiety attack) did not change my mind or heart on the choice (My mother apologized for her outrageous threats after I threatened for her to NEVER meet her other grandchild, and my mother and I repaired our relationship over the next couple of years). There was no guilt. No feeling in my heart that I had done wrong. I loved the girl unconditionally, but she was not my child. That mother/daughter connection forged itself between Florida and the Girl as soon as they touched.

And so years past. The Girl gets older. And at 10 she starts to asks questions. She is trying to find her place in the world. Is her family her family? Is her mother her mother? Do the boys Florida had later on after she married count on the same level as brothers like my son? I knew the day would come, but I thought I had more years. She asks about her biological sperm donor. I tell her his name and wait for more. Is she going to ask why she’s never met him? Do I tell her I cut off all contact when he threatened my life, demanding that I have an abortion or give him the child? That he got drunk and appeared in my room somehow while I was sleeping, threatening me until I had some male friends threaten HIS life? Do I tell her it came down to letting him believe that the Girl might not be his, letting him believe what he’d already accused me of, sleeping around on him while we were dating, just to keep him from stalking and harassing me?

One day I will have to tell this to the gentle soul that looks like the spitting image of me. She may grow to hate me for the things I did, the decisions I made. She looks up to me now as like a cool aunt kind of person, a person she wants to emulate. And it hurts my now older and humbler heart. Even after the years have passed I still believe I did the right thing. I gave her what I could. And hopefully, as she grows, and ask more questions, and understands, and gains deeper knowledge on life, love and the universe… Maybe then, she’ll still look at my heart and soul, and understand.

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 ūüėČ ) 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.