My Man Cooks AND Makes Fire, What Can Yours Do?

I have to say, I managed to land myself a pretty good man. I mean, seriously! He's absoulutely awesome and I can't even begin to think of what I did to deserve him or how many karma points I had to cash in to get him. Really! The Hedgehog is fairly clean, hilarious, jokes around constantly but knows when to be serious, sometimes looks at me and announces I'm gorgeous for no reason, surprises me almost constantly, and on top of it all he can cook!

Maybe he's not a world famous chef, but for a man he can cook really good food. This is a man who definitely knows his way around a kitchen and how to rock it. I'm talking these really delicious meals, much better than the macaroni and cheese, omelets, or everything grilled my dad used to cook growing up; and aside from the incident last week he caught the stove on fire, there's been absolutely no problems with him in the kitchen. It was totally an accident, too; I told him not to use the front burner, turkey grease has spilled on it and was smoking, but neither of us thought it would catch fire, so... I mean, in a way it's actually my fault, since I didn't clean it after it happened and I'm the only one who knows how to take the stove eye apart.

Cathrin the Profile

 The following is the actual profile for her blogs, unchanged and unadulterated... except for the easily noticed red text where I interfere to explain things. Things spelled wrong are bolded with the proper spelling next to them, grammar and capitalization problems are underlined... I don't know how to point out her super short sentences or her run ons...

I am currently eighteen years old. When I was thirteen I started dating my Husband Chris. ( Honey, dating is putting it mildly: it was an internet relationship and you had no internet, you stalked him obsessively from school and made me make you an email account on my phone so you could talk to him.) When I was 15 I got pregnant with our fist child, however I had a miscarriage and even though we did not know the sex of our child we named her Feodora. (I met you when you were 15... I think you told us you'd had a couple miscarriages before... Also, nice going not telling them it was only a couple of weeks!) A little over a year later(,) when I was sixteen(,) I got pregnant with our second Child,(; or .) at thirty weeks and four days I went in to early labor(, or ; or .) Serenity was stillborn. (It's hard to get pregnant when you've never had sex with a man and the supposed husband lives several states away...) The doctors said that her heart could not take the contractions, and that she was gone by the time I arrived. (Looks like someone learned to lie better and finally started claiming to have gone to the doctor. Considering I know for a fact her parents didn't know, it's pretty hard for a sixteen year old to go to the doctor with a miscarriage without the family finding out, not to mention she claimed to hide her baby bump by belting it down and pushing it in...) Our most recent loss was Sterling Snow 1/6/11,(. or ;) Sterling was lost to early miscarriage,(;) I was three weeks and five days. (This is the only possible pregnancy she could have had considering she had actually met Chris by this point, except considering she was only two weeks late and then claimed miscarriage...? Pretty sure she was just a little late. After all, in invetrofertilzation they inject a woman with several embryos, and the ones that don't stick aren't considered miscarriages.) Now (that) I have healed some form(from) my losses I am working on focousing(focusing) on (Pick one, working on your writing or focusing on your writing.) my writing and becomming(becoming) an author as (,) after all, that is what I enjoy doing. (Aw, see, now I feel bad... I happen to enjoy writing and want to be a writer...)

 Grammar rules to learn:

When connecting several ideas that are similar but don't share a similar thought, you don't use a comma; you can either end the sentence or use a semicolon.

Spell Check: it is your best friend.

Capitalization is only for proper nouns, children and husbands aren't one of them.

She Makes It Too Easy...

In the midst of editing her work, I saw she had posted something up, and in the first paragraph there was just so much to work with... It... I just... I can't help myself, okay? I'm a sick person! Honestly, though, I'm doing this to teach you how to write... and to vent my spleen over her lies. From now on, after the next post, I'm all business... Business and sarcasm.

A Little About Me

I figured that if you guys are going to be following me on here you might as well know me a little bit. I am going to focus this mostly on what has to do with my writing and some of the things that influence it; if you want to know more then just ask me, I'd be glad to answer.

In elementary school I was not very good at English, (You still aren't!) I was horrible in fact,(. or ;) I hated reading and I hated writing. Now obviously I have come a long way from (since would work better) then(,) but English was never my best subject all the way through school, (. or ;) math and science were always my best subjects. In fourth grade I actually had an F in English in (on) my final report card, but I had gotten something from that (those?) grades (grade? in) English, (:) a new found liking for writing. (There's something not right about the phrase "new found liking for writing"...) So in fourth grade I learned that I could actually like writing, and in fifth grade I learned that I could like reading also. (You read it all here, she didn't like reading but tried to write first.) In sixth grade I actually started to read books and write stories. (Someone famous once said: a reader does not make a writer.) I started writing so that I wouldn't forget what was going through my head (, and) that formed many hours of fun games, (;) and because of this the Immortal series was created.

When I was in seventh grade I spent most of my time in classes reading or writing, (. or;) I (would) read through my math class while getting A's on the test(should be plural, also ,) and I would try to read through science but my teacher would yell at me for it. Ironically (This isn't ironic, it's sad; oh, and ,) the only class that I didn't read or write in that year was English,(. or;) well that's not entirely true, (;) we did do this one thing where we wrote stories and then had them bound and looking all nice. The name of that "book" (Even she admits it's not a book.) was Immortal (... My Immortal...? Are you Tara Gilisbie?!), and I would love to one day go back and turn it into a real novel and put it where it belongs in the Immortal series. The Immortal series is what made me fall in love with writing(.) and (Get rid of the and, and start a sentence!) I do have some "novels" (Your Twilight fanfiction doesn't count.) finished(,) but I honestly have to go back and rewrite them as I totally over road (overrode) my characters as I wrote them and they really bear no resemblance to what really happened. (What really happened? In the story? In your life? Are your stories real accounts from alternate dimensions? Considering all of your characters are you, overriding them is the least of your worries.)

In seventh grade, (no comma needed) we also had a writing test, just like we did in fourth grade, both of which I ended up failing(;) but honestly(;  or :) how do you write an essay on what character from a book you would want in a mural? (Easily. Pick a character from a book you like, now write about why it would be awesome to see them painted on the side of a building. Then again, I guess we all can't get fours on all of our writing tests, E.O.G.'s, and E.O.C.'s... Hey, if she can brag, so can I!) I did end up passing the on (one) in tenth grade, and honestly when I look back at my writing from seventh to tenth grade it's unrecognizable. (Hilariously, she has improved greatly.) Though people in class with me in seventh grade were astonished that I had failed the writing test as(,) after all, I did do nothing but write all day long. (Just because you write doesn't mean you have a grasp on the English language.) I assume it made them feel better about themselves. (I'm sure finally seeing that someone who never pays attention and writes nonsense did make them feel better about themselves: they understand English and you don't. I know you make me feel better about myself. I thought I was a horrible adult until I saw this...)

In ninth grade I was in honors English, though I didn't stick with honors English’s (English, honey.), not because I didn't want to be in honors(,) but because I was a very lazy person. I still am as a matter of fact, and I just didn't feel like doing the extra work, (;) so I decided that I would just keep doing my honors sciences (Science) instead of both. My senior year of high school I took AP biology (College Level) (. or ;) I loved it (,) but I was too lazy to get a (an) A (. or ;) though I could have if I had done the homework.

Here is where it’s a little bit less about my writing and a little bit more about my life. (That last paragraph was nothing about your writing...  You were just trying to brag about how smart you are. Don't worry though, I did a little too... Oh! Wait, here's more: I got an award for highest math average in a school year despite math being my worst subject!) In case you have not read the little about me over there on the right, (Don't worry, that is literally the next post...)I am eighteen years old, a wife, and a mother. (You have to have kids to be a mother.) This means that my senior year ended six months ago in June (Being married designates where you end school?), the last day of school was the day before my second daughter turned one (... I hate to sound cruel, but even if you really had miscarried: she wouldn't have turned one, it would be the one year anniversary of the day she died. If she'd been born at all, it wouldn't have been that day.), and the day after was the graduation. Oh, did I forget to mention that I got pregnant three times while I was in high school? (Yes, you totally did!) Sorry about that. (No you're not.) Anyway, I have four children (No you don't.) , three biological and one who was from one on (of) my husband’s previous relationships. Devon James Kushman is my stepson, (When you marry someone, the miscarried children of their previous relationships don't become your children.) Feodora Laurent Kushman is my eldest daughter, Serenity Grace Kushman is my second daughter, and Sterling  Snow Kushman is my only biological son, but he is defiantly no more important to me then Devon (There is so much wrongness going on up there that I don't know where to begin...). Here is another thing that I haven’t mentioned here yet, but it is in the thing on the right. Every one of my children is in heaven, even my stepson Devon. Devon was lost to miscarriage October 27th 2004, Feodora was lost to miscarriage October 31st 2008, Serenity was stillborn (born dead) on June 10th 2010, and Sterling was lost to miscarriage January 6th 2011. 

(None of this is true, except maybe about Devon... You will see why in the next post, but let me explain. Feodora, if she existed, would've barely been a few weeks along, close enough she would've thought she had a late period. Considering she never had sex because her now husband was several states away and she claimed spirit pregnancy, it was simply impossible. The same goes for Serenity, she was never pregnant. There was a girl at school who was six months along, so she claimed she was too to get attention, she also said she wore a belt to push the baby in so there would be no bump. She never went to the doctor, in fact, this February when I tried to shatter her delusion I pointed out that that far along it would have been a stillborn with a body and would've needed a doctor. Nice to see she listens to me, though I'm sad to see it's only to reinforce her own delusions. Lastly, Sterling: she was barely three weeks pregnant, and considering it takes a week for implantation, it was probably a late period she blew out of proportion.)

Serenity is what inspired the Hope series, and the Hope series will be the first thing I try to get out there. Well(,) maybe I’ll try to get a short story out there before hand (beforehand, also: ,) but you understand what I’m saying.

Thanks for listening to me talk! Feel free to ask questions!

~Cathrin

Grammar rules to follow: make sure the word you're using is the word you want to use and that you also use proper punctuation.

Internet rules to follow: never lie on the internet where people who know the truth can find you.

Kit and Lulu (and Hunny)’s Adventures in Spanish!

Unlike most people I don’t really have a mom or dad, or any real family in general. I mean… yeah, I did have a mom, who I miss a lot, and I do have a dad, who I never see any more, and I have a ton of cousins and aunts and uncles, most of whom could die without me ever caring about and who wouldn't bat a lash if I died, but I don’t have a real family. Get it now?

I won't lie,  though... I had a pretty lonely childhood.

Instead, I have friends, and they’re the most important people in my entire life, you know, my Hedgehog aside. Three friends in particular have become more than friends, they are my sisters… that’s not to say that I don’t love my other friends, some of which have been around longer and know me better, but these three… I can count on them no matter what.

Hunny

Lulu

Jess

And a couple of years ago or so when I found myself homeless, the first time, not the second time when I went to live with the Home, they became my family.

Group huggle.

Yeah, bad stuff happens to me a lot, not much that can be done about it now, but it’s made for a lot of interesting stories and has led me to where I am, so I’m content with it even if at the time I was pretty miserable… Anyway, it was about to be spring break of my senior year in high school, and thanks to my dad’s Girl-Fiend home wasn’t exactly so safe and home-like anymore.

... There's no easy way to draw stringy bleached hair and leathery skin...

Oh gods you have no idea how much I wish I were kidding... She used to wear this skintight lime green track suit, and one morning she walked around in a tight blue shirt that came to just below the curve of her butt and nothing else: literally nothing else. She was mean, too, like... a thousand times more vindictive than I've ever been, but I digress...

Shirtless because that's how I always see him.

I’d already run away from home for a couple of days at a time in the past, so I knew that neither the Girl-Fiend or my dad would care or really come looking for me, so I took up an offer Lulu’s dad had made and decided to stay with them for a couple of weeks. He's pretty awesome, actually, and he jokes around a lot. Every time I see him he asks me how prison is, and then goes, "But seriously, you're looking good. Glowing." He's an awesome guy, he calls me Kit the Car.

I get the reference, but I can't help but imagine it like this...

I spent many a happy night.

Living with Lulu was a lot of fun, at least while the rush of freedom still had a hold of me; not that it didn't continue to be fun, it's just... after awhile I couldn't shake the burden feeling I always get. The first night there she set my bed up underneath the Twilight poster she had on her closet door and told me, “Don’t worry, Jasper’s nipple with protect you.”

Anyway, to the reason for the particular title of this post, Lulu’s family is Puerto Rican, and as such there is a good amount of Spanish spoken at her house. Well, I’m not exactly fluent, but I know enough of it to understand it and even respond in really simple cases… You know, what time it is, how I'm doing... I understand it better than I speak it, that's thanks to a Latin class I took in high school, and normally people stick to the simple stuff cause I'm just so white, so I can normally chirp back my short reply and feel kinda awesome from remembering stuff.

I could never do that with Lulu’s dad, though. When he came in all, “Como esta?” I sat there, panicking, wide eyed, staring at him. He was just so intimidating to me somehow, maybe because he actually spoke it. Most other people didn't really speak it that well, or were learning, or did it in a joking way and kept it short and simple and not often; he would speak sentences at me, things I understood, but it made me afraid. What if I said the wrong thing? What if I messed up?

Not that Lulu was any better. When she speaks Spanish you have to speak to her really slowly like she’s “a really slow retarded five year old”. That is a quote from Lulu herself. This made things really interesting around the house. Her dad would be there, just saying really simple things… asking me about my day and how things were, in really simple Spanish I could understand and reply to, and I would panic really badly… and Lulu wouldn’t help because either she couldn't or she thought it was funny.

It was all because I was a super quiet house guest, too. I don’t require much to keep me entertained, and I’m actually pretty shy and quiet on my own… I made him uncomfortable, he couldn't tell what I was thinking, and I knew it, which is why I later went to stay with Hunny; her family forced me into talking by poking and prodding and joking.

And me and Lulu and Hunny had some fun ourselves, like this one time we were hanging out at one of their favorite Mexican restaurants… Now, before anyone accuses me of being racist, I would like you all to know that I know the waiter spoke Spanish, I had heard him speaking it with one of the other waiters on the other side of the room just ten minutes before the incident… I have to commend the guy, too. Through all of our insanity he didn’t so much as crack a smile. He was really serious about his job.

As we were sitting at the table, we were talking about how there were really only two phrases that we knew in Spanish, the first one was “es un oso”. About the time Lulu said this the waiter came up to refresh our drinks. He had to be wondering what bear we were talking about and where it was… Or at least wondering what was wrong with us.

A few moments later when he came back to give us our check, Hunny announced to the table the other phrase we knew, “tengu en gato en mai pantalones.” … Despite hearing this, he didn’t even laugh, didn’t even smile, though she had just announced she had a cat in her pants. We all died laughing, however, when he walked away.

I Am A Horrible, Cruel, Mean, Twisted, Evil, Passive Aggressive, Vindictive Person (but I just can't stop!)

I stand at the apex of war...

I am a horrible, cruel, mean, twisted, evil, passive aggressive, vindictive person... but there really isn't much I can do to help myself; you see, once upon a time I had a temper just like my mom, and then one day... she was gone. When I realized I could never take back my regrets and the things I'd said, I decided I would just never have regrets over things I'd said ever again... except now I have regrets over things I don't say. This isn't about that, though: this post is about my love of looking for things that make me angry so I can sit and feel insanely alive as my adrenaline courses through my blood. I am, needless to say, a terrible person...

There are things that must be said.

 Especially I am terrible when it comes to the subject of a certain young woman named Cathrin... I won't even try to hide her name, she's seeking out attention all over the internet, so it won't matter if I hide it, you'll still find her... eventually. See, we used to be friends in high school, she was younger than me and a lot more immature even back then, but we got along fine... only she had, problems...

I still worry about her...

Like she was completely obsessed with a boy she'd met at 13 or 14 named Chris over the internet. He was 18 when she met him, and her parents had already had him arrested once for cybering with her over the internet. How obsessed was obsessed? She'd write fanfiction, horrible mini-novels, all with the same plotline: underage girl meets older boy, gets pregnant, loses baby.

I'm talking physically ill...

Oh, and I do mean bad fanfiction... She wrote a Twilight spin off called What She Didn't Know. It was from the point of view of a male vampire who was obviously based on Chris. He met an underage girl over the internet and got arrested, then tricked his family into moving to her town so he could sneak into her room at night and have sex with her. The name of one chapter was basically But What She Didn't Know Was That When A Vampire And A Human Have Sex And The Woman Gets Pregnant The Baby Grows Really Fast And When It's Born She Dies. It was probably the worst thing I had ever read, but I did because at the time, we were friends, and I fairly liked her... also, I clearly didn't understand what delusions are and how it would've been smarter to do something about it before it ruined her life...

"I'm pregnant with his spirit baby."

And why did she do this? Why did she write stories about 18 year olds getting under aged girls pregnant against the wishes of their parents only for her to write in a miscarriage? Because despite having never met him in person and the fact he lived several states away, she used to tell us, quite blatantly, that he had sex with her in her sleep and she was pregnant from his spirit. When, normally a few weeks later, she wasn't showing any signs of actually being pregnant, she'd give up and claim miscarriage. Of course, she never told her parents and never went to the doctor, so you can see how this made her stories untrustworthy... especially when she'd claim a miscarriage then a week later say she was two weeks pregnant... Oh, and the spirit babies thing, too..

Still mad she used them, though...

A few years later she was on Facebook and she had managed to convince an entire community of women who really had lost children that this had all happened; oh, and she managed to manipulate her parents into letting her meet him in person, and now she's married to him... When I tried to tell these women this, a lot of them believed me because they had seen the holes in her stories and how obsessed she was, but a lot didn't because, well, it's the internet and they don't know me from jack, and they couldn't believe that anyone would do such a thing. When Cathrin told me stop after slandering me for almost a week, I let it go... I felt awful that her delusions were accidentally being reinforced, but I let it go; there was nothing I could do anymore anyway.

Am I really seeing what I think I'm seeing?

During NaNoWriMo, though, I saw her name on the site, and I read her book summary... and my petty nature had me silently competing with her in an effort to write better quality faster than she could. It got me through the book quickly, and it let me vent some anger, and all was well... until I saw she made a page on FB promoting herself as an author... and then I saw she made a blog... where she had put up the first three chapters of her book... She's completely convinced she's a writer now; I consider myself a writer, and even I know I'm probably never going to get a book deal: when your average book is more than 500 pages, you tend to have problems getting published.

... I'm a terrible person...

She butchered the English language though and did so little fact checking on her source material that a paragraph in I felt like, well... like taking her hopes and dreams and grinding them into a paste beneath my heel and rubbing her face in it. It was just too good to pass up... So, instead of letting my rage and anger take over me... I'm instead going to play the role of editor to these three chapters. Follow along if you dare, if you don't... Well then, you can return to your regularly scheduled programming and ignore those posts.

If You Read This, The CIA Knows...

What doesn't help my case:  this freaks me out somehow...

 Okay, by this point in time I doubt there is anything I could do to make you guys think I don’t freak the fub out every time something slightly weird happens,  especially not with the following story supporting evidence against me… I mean, telling you all I love horror movies and creepy pasta would probably do nothing to sway you…

Anyway, when I went to the Renaissance Faire with my friends, the night before we went, me, Lulu, and Tiffy shared a bedroom. Tiffy and Lulu had the bed, while I laid on the couch at the end of the bed, and after the lights went out we laid for a while and started talking; and after a while Tiffy started to fall asleep.

At first we talked about the NaNoWriMo contest and how I was competing with an old friend of ours who thought she was an amazing writer but who made Stephanie Meyer look like Shakespeare. From Stephanie Meyer we fell into how libraries are destroying books and we all want to move to Canada. From that we fell into how the US government could  pretty much care squat about the average person, and the fact that most of them are just in it for money and power. Ultimate power ultimately corrupts, after all.

While I’m not exactly an insane conspiracy theorist, I pay attention to evidence, and when talking about the government, I can’t help but to bring a specific something up: “I still don’t think we went to the moon. I saw something on television once, about how in this one picture you can see the crosshairs behind the lunar lander. I saw that picture in my science book that year. It’s true.”

Somehow other things we doubted about the government kept coming up, and the more we talked… the more the room started to feel creepy  and defiled. Shadows looked like they were jumping in the corner’s of our vision. It felt like being little again and afraid of the dark and monsters under the bed.





What if there were members of the CIA laying underneath the bed listening to us talk, ready to pounce at any moment?!

It got worse when I brought up something that had never made sense to me: “And with black boxes being virtually indestructible, able to be found even in ocean crashes, how is it we never found a single one of the 9/11 ones…?”

That was it, we couldn’t take it anymore. Getting up both at once, Lulu and I rushed for the bedroom door and opened it a crack, letting light from the bathroom fill the room. Instantly we were relieved, and I let out a sigh.

Feeling safe again, Lulu and I went back to bed.

Pegasister

Okay, so it was brought to my attention that female bronies are pegasisters, but as I think that sounds like a really bad pony version of the Spice Girls, I'm gonna stick with brony...

Now, I decided to reward the Hedgehog for being awesome by making a brony version of him, but this went... really really wrong...

Apparently his name is Flutter Sparkles, and this is the mental image I had with that name in mind:

"Just call me Sparkles."

I imagine his job in Ponyville is to be FABULOUS!

... The sad thing is that he's been called Sparkles before in the past...

Why Try?

... I had a sad, sad, childhood... and I have the self esteem of a rock. I do my best and try really hard to be awesome, but sometimes the smallest thing happens and I fall back into that dark place... It's never for long, I cheer up easily, but while I'm there, I think to myself sad things...

Why try? Everyone dislikes me... the Hedgehog would be happier without me. I should just crawl into a hole and live there for the rest of my pathetic existence. Everyone hates me anyway...

Lately most of these thoughts are all because I'm pretty sure the Hedgehog's family hates me and they look for excuses to hate me even more. It feels like nothing I do is good enough for them... Some people would get all determined and try harder to be better people, I just decided that since I'm not good enough I won't even try to begin with.

The fact that I felt this way not even five hours after Lulu made me feel epic has not escaped me.

I'm special.

Half Way to Finish and It’s Not Even the 15th Yet

Whooo!

 So I’ve reached the half-way point in my NaNoWriMo challenge and thought I’d reward myself and you as well by making a post and an announcement.

The post follows this one is pretty much self explanatory…

The Announcement:

Please, please please please… If you read this blog, if it makes you smile or laugh or cry or shiver in fear, or elicits any emotion in you… Comment, tell me what you like, what you want to see more of. Subscribe if you think I’m doing a good job. Bookmark it. Send it to your friends… But I am in no way encouraging you to click on any ad, merely to share the blog with your friends...

Well, that’s even if I get my ads back… See, Google disabled my account due to “invalid ad clicks” so for the love of all things good, don’t sit there and click all the ads, or click the same ad a billion times, or click three ads, change pages, and click three more ads… Just don't. Don't do it. You know what I mean, I know you love me, but don’t do that… It ends up hurting me worse… like getting on this morning and finding that the near $200 I had which was going to help feed me and the Hedgehog this week is now gone… I have no way of telling him either until get gets home from work…

But if Google does take my appeal and give me my account back (which I highly doubt), remember, Google monitors everything like the world dominating crazy corporation that they are... According to their contract, I'm not allowed to tell you to click ads, at all... Which is why I'm telling you not to do it at all.

In the mean time, I'm looking into getting a new ad source...

That has been all, thanks guys!

My Entire Life is Irony

My previous post has become extremely ironic to me, and yes, I do mean ironic as in actual irony and not ironic as in something that’s sort of funny in a way that situations would be funny if they could be sarcastic.

See, I had this horrible migraine that developed  whilst I was posting my previous post (which was shortly after reading Allie‘s post over on Hyperbole  and a Half… I  think I felt so bad for her I felt bad… Also, this is a shameless plug for someone awesome who gave me the courage to make a blog), and I felt bad enough that I crawled into bed, pulled the covers up over my head, and laid there, wishing I could die because I was sure death felt better than feeling like you’d puke every time you breathed. Well, while laying there, the Hedgehog called because he was on his way home, and I told him breathing made me feel like I might puke and talking made it worse. How talking made the feeling worse,  I don’t know, but it felt like every time my mouth opened I was gonna spew all over the phone, so I begged him  to  let me go. He agreed, but only if I would tell his older sister, mother of Spawn and Terror, that I felt bad just in case I still felt bad in the morning.

So I sent her this text, because talking made me wanna puke: Hedgehog wanted me to tell you I have a migraine and feel awful just in case I still feel awful in the morning.

See, she’d already sent me a message saying she’d be by at 9:15 am, and I’d told her alright. I wasn’t even going to tell her I felt sick, because,  hey? What’s the point when I should feel fine in the morning? I’m not the kind of person who lets others know when I don’t feel good. I was raised to suffer through it. Well… this is how I meant it:

“I don’t think this is important, but the Hedgehog thought I should let you know, just in case when you pick me up in the morning I’m acting kind of funny. I have a migraine.”

This is how she took it:

“Hey, I feel sick so I’m not coming in. Good luck finding someone else who only works for $8.50 a day.”

This is why I put pictures in my posts, so that you guys know that, even though sometimes my words sound cruel, I don’t mean anything bad about it. Sure, I sometimes wish there was a law about allowing me to punt other people’s kids,  but I happen to love the  little Terror… she is often times not the kid I want to punt, that is that kid in Wal-mart who’s screaming at the top of their lungs about not getting candy and the parents are trying to reason with it…  Do not reason with a child who acts like that, punish them,  they will learn that behavior won’t get them anywhere. I did,  so will they.

Instead of texting me back asking if I was still coming or not, she assumed the worst… which is also hypocritical of her because this one time she pitched a fit and called and bugged the Hedgehog and her mother complaining I was ignoring her because she texted me saying she would pay me on Monday and I didn’t text back an OK.

So, guess what? She did the same thing as in the previous situation, and when the Hedgehog got home, he made me feel like I was a naughty child. Not only had his older sister thought I was trying to weasel my way out of work, but his mom had decided to vent her spleen at him about me after hearing what had happened from her daughter… and here is where the irony of my previous post comes in.

She complains about me because the apartment isn’t clean.

See, in the previous post I explained that I feel like a useless, horrible, failure and a burden because I don’t keep the apartment clean, this is how I feel, yes, and while I suspect that people might believe it, I don’t really believe it’s true… yet it is, so that’s irony. The outcome I wasn’t expecting happened.

Another bit of irony comes from the fact that Hedgehog’s mom also thinks I don’t like her because I don’t talk to her… I don’t talk to her because I’m afraid I’ll say something stupid and make her not like me…



Also, there was a complaint that I don't spend enough time with the Terror, which occured because after the Spawn left and she was being bad I refused to play with her in an effort to  punish her for being bad (also might be because she was trying to get  me to pick one of her tiny pet toys and I wouldn't because I didn't want to play tiny pets any more) and she told her mom that it made her sad. (Which broke my heart hearing from the Hedgehog) So they blamed it on the internet and instead of talking to me like the adult that I am,  they disconnected the internet like I was a naughty twelve year old...  which made me feel the same way I did back when my dad realized I'd grown too big for spankings and that was the only way to have any effect on me 'cause I had too many things in my room to occupy me if he used that  as a  punishment... (Luckily the Terror made me feel awesome today, so...)

...My entire life is irony… I feel horrible… I can’t even think of  pictures to  make this situation seem better…