I Don’t Want to Walk a Mile in Your Shoes, Your Feet Stink

As Shang Tsung from the awesome first Mortal Kombat movie said “Save your pity for the weak!” Best line of one of the greatest Action B-movies ever.


I don’t know if it is because of how I was raised, or my time in the military, or just my personality, but I hate when people feel sorry for themselves. Heck, I hate myself when I get all weepy and depressed. But it seems many people in this day and age think that if they stub a toe, or don’t win an award they should be coddled and given a cookies.

I’m all out of cookies you whiny mustardbustard. I’m on a diet! I drink poop tea! (Some stupid weight loss tea that seems to make my insides liquefy).

Frack you Morpheus! Frack you and your no cookie having butt!

I think it has to do with the mentality that everyone’s a winner from out of the womb. Babies participate in a game, a sport, and everyone is supposed to let the room. If children are playing as a group, EVERY last snotty nosed ankle biter should get a trophy, even little John-boy, who stood there digging in his butt for gold for a few hours. Give that stank brown hand a trophy!

People aren’t honest with their kids. They praise my son being self-sufficient, but gasp when I say I never let him win on a game with me. And that I flat-out answer honestly any question he asks about life. To them, it’s too embarrassing. Why the frack did you have kids? Did you think it was going to be like a Hallmark movie where nothing bad or uncomfortable ever happens? Did you hit your head after pushing your monstrosity out and forget the world we live in?

You are setting up your child to not have realistic expectations, and to get wedgies everyday, you punk.

And then those pinks raise punks to grow up to be… Grown up punks. And they get to a college, and whine about how hard it is. And they expect a degree to be handed to them. And then they get a job, and they whine about how hard THAT is. And why aren’t they running things by now when they have the life and work experience of a gnat?

Or maybe they are just those people who have had a rough hand in life. Dog and every family member dead, a disease that’s worse than Mr. Glass in Unbreakable. Just incredibly poopified life. And I have a little empathy, to a point. But Dear God day in and day out I say hi and you start to list the reasons why you’d be better off dead? I might just hand you a rope and knife. Remember, not ACROSS the wrists.

I’m just saying…

Sorry (not really), I’m just lately fed up with the in person pity parties people like to throw in my face. I’d much rather read about in online. At least on Facebook if you go all F*** My Life crazy, I can click Like. And you can sit and wonder if I’m sharing in, or laughing at your sadness.


Self Created Nicknames of Lameness

So today, I misheard lyrics to a song that my son was singing. I swear that I heard Grilled Cheese Ninja somewhere in there. And decided that it should from now on be my cat’s superhero name. Even cats need superhero names, dontcha know! So if I mention a four-legged she-devil by the name of Grilled Cheese Ninja, I’m talking about my crazy cat.

And it’s cool to make up nicknames for people. I seriously do it all the time. Especially with my students that have weird names. It’s not to offend them, its how I remember. I’m not going to remember a name that has no vowels. I gotta find something to call you where it doesn’t sound like I’m hacking a loogie or cursing in chinese.

What I can’t stand is those that make up their own nicknames. It’s all over the book of face. And usually, I’d say 75 percent of the time, of the ghetto/hood/trailer persuasion.

You know. The people who use Wal-Mart to debut the latest fashions of “Oh, God Killitwithfire” wear.

I’m all for cosplay. I’m not for Walmart-play.

The other 25 percent are the religious ghetto fabulous persuasion. The people have to put bible quotes up on Sunday, even though Saturday they posted pics of themselves in club clothes before they headed out.

These people have learned the interwebs.

And these people seem to have an animal impulse to add their own nicknames to their natural names on Facebook. I don’t know if its genetic, or group mentality, but what do you expect from people who have names that sound like their mother just picked letters out of a hat and then called it a name.

So Boomquisha Jones already will fail at anything above fast food and doing hair in her kitchen, but on top of that she has her FB handle as Boomquisha “ChocolateThighs” Jones. Boomquisha, I know you are 300 pounds and those chocolate thighs may be actually made of chocolate by now. And then there’s Boomquisha’s brother Antwon “Swaggalous” Jones. And in case you think I’m picking on the brown crayon ghettoness, Antwon’s girlfriend is Brytani “ChicksWannaBMe” Sullivan.

Those 3 I’ve actually seen across FB.

And of course, online religious leaders of FB have names like Tonya “2Blessed2BStressed” Williams, and Chris “RealMenPray” Johnson.

Why the fudge bucket do we need a nickname written into our FB identity?! It’s not even a nickname really. It’s the words that the announcer for HBO boxing before you come out into the ring.

I’m almost willing to believe that all the people are passing secret codes to each other. They are part of the government conspiracy of YOLO.

Maker of YOLO. Leader of the conspiracy of stupid.

All I know is, I can’t take seriously anyone that does this. It equates in my head with all manner of foolishness. Like YOLO, and swag, and other pop inspired shenanigans.


Dimension “youonlyliveonceinalternatedimensions” the 5th

That’s Just My Day Face? Ramblings of Military and Civilian Life

My first time trying this:  Rarasaur and Prompts for the Promptless – Season 2 Episode 1:  The Alter Ego

I’ve worn a uniform so many years that it feels abnormal not to wear boots or a cap on my head. Of course, the longest I’ve gone without the uniform is probably about 30 days of vacation in a year.

So it makes it hard to understand civilian life, to make friends outside the military. To not bring the military in every aspect of my life.

The military has its own language, that not even most movies can duplicate. There’s certain responses to situations we are conditioned to make. Or well, we WERE. The guys that I see coming out of basic training are softer than a wet roll of toilet paper. No offense, though it does offend me.

Not like I’m the toughest chick outside of my uniform. I run and scream at the carpenter bees, super mosquitoes and stink bugs that think my patio is their nighttime club and bar. But there is a mask that I can pull on, the military mask. When in uniform and told to stay still, I’ll let bees crawl all over me while I stay the frack still!

But back to making friends outside of the military, to being a separate person. I swear I don’t know how you guys do it! I mean, if you move to a new place as often as I do, how do you connect with others? What do you talk about? Do you just use your holdover friends from high school and college? Make nice with the neighbors?

Is this how I do it? Stalk people to make friends? Hmmmm.

And, how do you be a regular human being nowadays? My time in the military has been a part of my identity for so long, that I don’t know how to separate from it. It’s gone from being a face that I put on, to something I can’t take off even after the day is done and the uniform comes off.

So along with online dating, I’ve added online friend making with Meet-Up.com. Dear Baby Jesus, in order to be a normal person, I’ve trapped myself in the interwebs!

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.

This Generation of Punks, Crybabies, and Murses

When you pass your ten-year mark in the military, you’re considered old school. The military ages you. You can be a young 30 something like me, but feel like you’re 50 sometimes. It’s the hurry up and wait life, it’s the constant moving, constant change. And when I first joined, September 11th hadn’t happened. I joined knowing that there was the chance for war, not that it was going to happen so soon. But it did, and I did my times in those sunny beaches with no water, and possibly will do it again before retiring.

But the new guys coming in… the guys and gals around my young siblings ages. Just out of high school or even college. There’s not that many years difference between us, but mentally there’s a swamp with crocodiles.

I’m in a teaching position. You know the school that the basket weavers go to after their initial military training (basic training, boot camp, the time in Hell, or whatever else you want to call it)? Yes, I teach how to weave the basket. And so I have students. Now granted I just moved and am new, so I’m only assisting, but I do interact with them. And this is the thing that gets me: within a week, we had about 5 students break down into tears/ nervous breakdowns.

Let me go back. I went through initial military training when the older guys were already complaining that it was too easy. Drill instructors/Sergeants/whatever weren’t allowed to curse at us. I found it easy. Maybe because I was a military brat from a military family. Maybe because I already knew that it was just a big game that I had to play. Nothing ever made me cry. I laughed when I got dropped and made to do push-ups. The only thing that scared me was my Drill Sergeant threatening to bring in her big dog to chase me because I kept failing my run time.

But today’s kids… and yes, I call them kids, are weak. They are big crybabies. They believe everything should be handed to them, and everything is owed. That it’s a parent’s job to let them live in their home long past the age of 18, and go into debt paying their school bills. Everything should be fair in their world. Even if they do average, they expect to be treated as if they’ve done the best. Sensitive is in, and so is the color pink for boys. Men wear murses. And tight pants. And put more gel in their hair than me. Can you tell I do NOT like the feminization of men yet? Spanking is now abuse, and can get you sent to jail. Instead, put a leash on your child like they’re a frackin pet to keep them from running away. Blame their ADHD, the teachers, what’s on TV, superstars even for why your child grows into a total absolute douche bag of fun and love. Treat bullies like they are a new thing and must be eradicated. Instead of helping your child grow by facing their fears, whether it’s a fight after school or just playing outside on a warm day with nothing but they great outdoors… teach them it’s ok to sit in their room texting with horrid English or playing video games.

My younger troops whine about being made to get up early. They whine about having extra duty. Dude, complain when you have to paint rocks or pick up trash all around base! I had a troop take a knee after only standing in formation for a ceremony about 10 minutes. O_o That boggles my mind when I remember practicing for a whole day and more standing in formation for a ceremony that would last an hour-plus the next day. In the hot sun. With no breaks. Let’s not mention the time a guy puked from partying too much the day before right in formation. Nope, still can’t move. Ugh.

We’ve got a bunch of punks growing up.. And you are letting it happen. Heck, in fact, you ARE the problem. STOP IT! You know, having rules is not a bad thing. Tough love does not have to be a whooping with an extension cord. I’ll be good gosh darned if I let my son wear the pants in my household. Nope. I’m disgusted. Can’t even talk about it anymore. Can’t even make sense. Blech.