Random “Blackness” Testing… I Tend To Fail… May Need a Tutor

Older black male nurse: Have you seen the new Best Man Holiday this weekend?
Me: Uh, no. I went and saw the new Thor
Older black male nurse: Oh, you gotta see it! It’s so worth it.
Me: Um, I’ll probably watch it when it comes out on DVD or something. I like to see action movies when I go to the theater.
Old Black Male Nurse: You’ve GOT to see it. It’s so worth seeing in the movies.
Me: …

Exactly.

One thing that never fails to irk me is being told that I should like something because I’m black. When Obama first ran against Hillary Clinton, I should have been supportive of Obama because he was black. I should watch The Game, and Real Housewives of the Ghetto (I can’t remember the name) because I’m black. I should like Koolaid, and go to Red Lobster, own a pair of Apple Bottom jeans because I’m black. I should be able to swivel my neck and snap my fingers, just because I’m black.

I am black. Surpise!!! But I refuse to change what I like and enjoy. Although I’ll watch on TV and giggle along with a Madea movie, it is not something that I’d wait with baited breath for. In fact, there has to be NOTHING else to watch. Or I’m stuck at a family member’s house. I mean, hey, I grew up and watched all my “Black Card” movies: The Color Purple, Lean on Me, Roots, Coming to America, etc. But, that doesn’t mean I’m going to go and look for the latest black movie that EVERYONE must see and support. And seriously, it’s fine if you do. But don’t expect that just because we share a skin tone, I’m going to give a good gosh darn about the latest chocolate written and directed movie. Don’t look at me like I’m crazy when I say I don’t care for those. And before you say it, I’m just as frackin black as you. I’m just not a stereotype.

Broaden your frackin horizons.

Hopefully one day there will be more black written sci-fi and fantasy movies that make it to the big screen. And you know what, when I’m randomly tested on my “blackness” in a doctor’s office I can gush and exclaim:

Oh yeah, I saw that! It was awesome!

Or maybe I’ll have to say “That ish was hot! The bomb diggity.”

(Hmmm, that may be too old and lame.)

Randomly shouts YOLO and runs away.

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Screw You Guys, I Quit!… Crap, the Military Doesn’t Work That Way

Whine mode is engaged. I repeat, warning, whine mode is engaged.

In case you’ve been living under a rock, or smoking rocks, everyone affiliated with the government has been having a pretty rough time of it. Even little old dimensionthe5th. And it feels like the last straw when it comes to my military service.

I want out.

But… you see, like The Godfather, it isn’t that easy. After 10 years had passed, I signed my life away 10 more. And I’m over 5 years away from that. There is the 15 year retirement option, but that’s only open to select people. So far, I’m not one of them.

But I just can’t deal with the bullspit anymore. Or I can, but I think it may send me back to mental health, pffft.

See, there’s the government that’s been playing around with our money and livelihood for the past few year. I’m tired of every year having to wait on pins and needles to see if this “We can’t run the government so we’re going to make YOU, every last service member and DoD Civilian, deal with it.” I can’t stand politics, and I don’t care if you are a republican, democrat, or independent. When it all boils down to it, I signed my life away. Agreed? But at the same time, I signed my life away with the expectation that I have a pay check that cannot be fracked with.

I’m tired. One of the reasons I joined the military was to travel the world and not get stuck like so many family members in Nowheresville, USA. I was a military brat, and used to moving around. But… I’m tired. I still want to travel, but I want to hop on a flight, be gone a few days at the most, and come the frack back home. I love the area I moved to. It happens to be the same place I said I would always retire. But with so many years in the military left, they’ll probably move me again. I don’t wanna! I seriously don’t want to. They’ll probably send me overseas again. And my monster teen probably will have to switch high schools in his senior year.

What’s the other bee in my stylish bonnet? Office politics. You say, DT5, office politics are everywhere. And I will tell you from having worked civilian jobs before joining the military, from hearing stories from others, military/government office politics is another animal. Maybe it’s no worse, but I am frustrated with it. Just today, having a conversation with my supervisor, I was told that he tried to put my name up for a course, but his supervisor, without looking at what I’ve accomplished, what positions I’ve held in the past, just automatically dismissed the idea because I didn’t have the right rank.

Rank gets you a lot in the military. You can barely know how to tie your shoes on a good day, but if you kissed the right butt, had someone write your evaluations, plumping everything you really didn’t do, you will get promoted. And… you will get this big *ss award at your end of tour. Now, this doesn’t matter if you have less time and experience than Joe Blow standing right beside you. If you outrank Blow, Blow pretty much blows you.

My body is tired. My health is just slowly losing the battle with the military. If I have no choice and DO make it to 20 years, my body is going to be a complete mess. The back problems that refuse to go away, that I work through each day so I can continue to work out. My medical condition, Hidradenitis Suppurativa, that is definitely NOT the kind of disease you want for a military job. Disease is aggravated by heat and stress? Oh yeah, let’s go run around in the desert with a whole bunch of gear and weapons!!! There’s my knees which I know one day is just going to finally give out on me just like my feet did long ago, and then I’ll have 2 permanent profiles stating what I can’t do for physical training. Maybe then they’ll want to kick me out. As long as I get some partial retirement or medical or something.

I probably sound whiny. I feel whiny. I feel extremely whiny after being completely sick but continuing to work because our civilians were stuck at home twiddling their thumbs in frustration. I feel whiny whenever I have to see another email about being a service member and that SOME people who are never named are not living up to their military values. I’m tired of doing my job everyday, and taking other jobs on because I love to work, to be told “Well, all that’s good, but you need to take more college courses to stand out.” I have fun, but I’m tired of rolling around in the dirt unless for some godforsaken reason I WANT to roll around in the dirt. I’m tired of having no control over where I will be sent in 2-3 years. And the thing that sticks in my throat so badly is that… I chose this. And for over 10 years no matter what I’ve accepted my choice and stood by it.

Maybe I just need a glass of wine.

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.

Signed,

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!

Fun With Side Effects! Yay!

I would probably be a bad mother if I continue to giggle as my son has the skin crawlies/twitches from his new ADHD medicine right? I guess I’ll try to keep the snorts to a minimum, but he he’s jerking around and looking like he got a bad batch of something. Luckily between laughter I was able to tell him he wasn’t crazy and it was a side effect I’d seen in children before.

It happened Thursday (about a week of him taking the meds). He’s sitting at the table, playing and online game while I relax on the couch, doped up for my back. I glance over at him as he twitches, shakes it off, then twitches again.

Me: what the heck is wrong with you?

Monster Teen: I’ve been feeling like something was crawling on me all day! But there’s… Nothing. *twitch, twitch*

Me: *pause as I think, lightbulb!, stands up and points at him* oh snap! Stephen Mtyzplizk!

Monster Teen: whaaaa?

Let me explain. Once upon a time before I joined the military, I spent a little more than a year as a pre-school teacher. If the pay had been better I might have never left, although I always wanted to join the military. Anyways, during that year I was pretty much a teacher for the 4/5-year-old class, those that would go on to Kindergarten next year. A class of 24, and there’s only on person’s name I remember: Stephen Mtzylpltzik (the name has been changed to protect the innocent and not so innocent). Stephen, from his mother account, had severe ADHD. I’m not so sure about that. I just know in my 17/18-year-old mind, I thought he might truly be the Anti-Christ.

Stephen would come in screaming and crying and trying to run away everyday. He’d yell at everyone, saying he hated them. Even his mother. He’d grab the edges of the front door and scream as his mother tried to remove his fingers and we tried to pull him in and close our security door. We’d try to distract him as we got him into class. Usually that would only end in bribing with chocolate chip cookies (mother approved).

Stephen would also take his dose of Ritalin that morning at the daycare. Why his mother didn’t give it to him at home, I don’t know. I do remember it being chew-able and apparently nasty flavored because he needed juice and another cookie to get the taste out of his mouth. And then he would begin to act like a normal child… For a couple of hours anyway. But boy oh boy would the side effects start to kick in.

He didn’t want to eat lunch. No appetite. And he couldn’t take a nap. He’d sit there on his mat rocking back and forth, picking scabs. Stephen would pick at his skin until his nose, scalp, and arms bled. And after nap time, when it was outside, or indoor play time, well that’s when he really lost his teacups. Stephen hallucinated. And it wasn’t anything pretty. He saw bugs… What he called buggies, everywhere. His scratching went up a level, he’d start to twitch like a crackhead missing a dose, and he’d mumble under his breath about the buggies. Before you feel sorry for him, around this time of day he also became an extra from Children of the Corn. He’d push, pinch, hit, trip, make cry all the other students he could whenever the teacher’s eyes weren’t directly on him. And I will admit that after trying the nice tactic of moving him gently away and softly trying to tell him that we don’t hurt our friends… well one day I finally lost MY teacups dealing with him. To be fair, this was after a week of writing incident reports, him cutting out 666 and pasting it as his artwork one day, and getting injured trying to keep him under control. I began to use his hallucinations against him. I told him I could make the buggies appear if he didn’t behave. And once I told him that, they didn’t actually “appear” to him unless I told him they were there when he was terrorizing another child. The power of suggestion for the muthafrackin win!

Anyway, I really expect to see Stephen Mtzyplzk as a Senator or serial killer one day. As for my monster teen, I explained that all to him, and said that his twitches were probably normal as he got used to his meds, but to tell his doc about it at his next appointment. Of course my son said I’m evil for how I treated Stephen, but how should you treat a real life demon child in your class? Monster Teen luckily only has the one side effect. If he starts drawing 666 though, this test of ADHD medicine is at its end!

Anime Convention Afterglow and Hangover… From the Mind of a 30-Something

First off: “permanent” marker is A LIE. It does not stay on my chocolaty-ness. And that is needed when you are cosplaying someone with snakes all up and down their arms!

This year marks my second convention that I actually attend and not live vicariously through my younger sister. My first convention was in Korea. I of course was the only brown crayon person there. I got a lot of people asking to take photos (I think because of the fact of my brown-ness). My cosplay wasn’t that glamorous since I borrowed from a friend. But I had so much fun! Posing for pictures even when it was freezing outside.

And now, I can say that I’ve cosplayed in the USA. Wow. First off, I really feel like a true cosplayer after last-minute having to create a costume that should have been finished. What had happened was… My costume was too tight. I had ordered online a large, because I know I’m curvier than a stick figured woman. BUT, with my change in working out (evil back with a mind of its own) I’ve acquired more junk in the trunk, and of course the toddlers for thighs. So, when I tried on the Medusa Gorgon (Soul Eater) jumper two nights before the event, my butt said “ahahaha. NO.” What to do? Run to the store the next day after work to grab a black hoodie and work out capris. Take the white snake eyes and tail off the costume I bought, and sew them onto the hoodie. Cut the sleeves off. Paint nails black. Use nametags colored yellow and cut into arrows for my nail vector snake thingies. Add water and stir. Instant costume! Yay!

It was my son’s first convention also, and boy did it make him LOVE me! Lol. See, I’d said years ago he was allowed to go to conventions when he was living with my mom, but she never allowed him to go with my sister and brother. Probably scared that they wouldn’t really take care of him. So, I got to show the Monster Teen the joys myself. I paid for a very detailed and well done Assassin’s Creed costume. My reasoning for shelling out the big bucks was that he could reuse the costume for more conventions and renn faires. Then I convinced a friend that had accidentally bought two hidden blades to let me buy one  from him for the Monster Teen to use.

Dear Lord, at times it seemed we were stopped every second for the MT to have his photo taken! He was a very good young Ezio, and played his character very well. I think I’ve created a monster, Monster Teen. He even ended up in two Harlem Shake YouTube videos, one with about 5-10 Assassin Creed cosplayers.

My worries about being looked down on for playing a peachier character with my brown crayon skin seemed mostly unfounded. I do feel like a couple of people dressed as a character from the same anime seemed to try to ignore me on purpose when I waved/tried to get their attention. Which is just rude. But I’ve decided that I refuse to not play a character just because of the color of my skin. My sister hasn’t all these years, so why should I? And that would be the worst kind of example to the Monster Teen, when I’m trying to make sure he understands that being a geek, whether its comics, anime, video games, books, etc, is a thing to be proud of.

Anyway, the convention was awesome, and I can’t wait until the next one. The only thing… I really felt my age the next day, not waking until the late evening. Convention Hangover. May have to make sure I pack some energy drinks for next time!

medusa artwork

Cosplay Should Not Be About Color

My little sister has cosplayed for years… I think she started around 12. I myself only went dressed up to a convention a for the first time about a year ago. I loved it, and have been preparing for my next chance to go (3 costumes all ready to go!). Of course, the last time I went I was in another country, so yes I was one of the few Americans, and definitely the only brown crayon comrade out there. But this time I’m going in the states. And then my sister (who is the cosplay champ in my eyes) sent me this link called “I’M A BLACK FEMALE COSPLAYER AND SOME PEOPLE HATE IT.” People upset at a black woman who loves cosplay because she’s not the “right” skin tone? I could have sworn all those characters were Japanese O_o. It made me realize that when my son and I go to our first cosplay convention in the states, we might not be as accepted as I thought we would be. Will someone actually look at us, and DOWN at us for dressing as a character that doesn’t match our skin tone??? Even though I’ve never received any racism towards me, I shouldn’t have to even worry about it! My family, from my parents, siblings, and son are proud geeks, and should be able to wave our geek flag like anyone else. No one should be judged as they experience their hobby to the fullest.

Except for Furries. I’m sorry. You guys scare me. Sorry for my geek prejudice (geekjudice?)  Okay, I’ll go hide in a corner now.