Okay, there’s been a hot button topic within the Autism community that I have yet to discuss but lately has gotten pretty heated on some forums so I feel I need to offer some of my insight on the issue. Within the community there seems to be a stigma around “self diagnosis” which is exactly what it implies, it’s someone diagnosing themselves as being on the spectrum without any medical proof or evaluation from a psychologist. Now you may remember back in the fall of last year when Jerry Seinfeld stated in an interview that he may be Autistic. Within moments of that interview there was a shitstorm of backlash from parents of children on the spectrum who saw this as simply a publicity stunt. To them it was nothing more than a celebrity attempting to capitalize on a struggle that affects many families. Their worse fear was that their struggle would be overshadowed by a celebrity who doesn’t look like they should ever be the face of Autism. Now while I feel for the families with children on the spectrum and those on the spectrum who feel that people are hopping on the bandwagon because they think it’s cool or hip, there’s something you need to understand about the world’s perception of Autism. Continue reading
“Flemmings isn’t talking at all, kids normally talk at this age but Flemmings doesn’t say anything”
“Flemmings you talk too much, no one need to know what goes on in our house. Why did you have to tell my co-worker all of that stuff?” Continue reading
Remember the days when a “gate” involved an office complex? What about that “gate” that involved my home football team (The New England Patriots) spying on other teams during games? Oh, remember that “gate that involved Janet Jackson’s nipples (greatest seconds in television history if you’re a guy or a girl that interested in that sort of thing, I won’t judge, this blog is as safe zone as it gets). Anyways, before I get carried about about Janet Jackson’s nipples or how Justin Timberlake purposely ripped that breast plate off (He could have been a gentleman and covered her but he sat there twiddling his thumbs and watched what we watched for as long as it took for the cameras to move away). Now before I get really get carried away I need to explain to you what a “gate” is and what this has to do with me. A “gate” is a scandal and when referring to a scandal you attach that suffix at the end of whatever noun refers to that scandal. The origin of this term is the infamous “Watergate Scandal” that involved the Nixon administration and took place at the Watergate complex. An example of this phrase would be the whole Janet Jackson Superbowl incident was referred to as “nipplegate” because it involved her breast getting exposed on national TV in front of millions of families including children (OMG THE CHILDREN, ANYTHING BUT THE CHILDREN, LITTLE TIMMY DOESN’T WANT TO SEE JANET JACKSON’S BREAST). Listen, before I get back on topic, little Timmy enjoyed all three seconds of that as much as I did, maybe even more so stop being so naive. Your child has seen way more than nipples at his age if he’s lucky. You can’t protect your kids from smut no matter how hard you try. Now, let’s get back on track and don’t let me get derailed again otherwise you might get run over. Continue reading
Over the course of this roller coaster ride of a life there have been many people who have entered my life with the sole purpose of helping me and getting to where I am to day. While many have left their mark in their own unique ways, there are a few of them that have had a bigger impact than they intended to. Coincidentally these five people are all women not that I’m complaining, it’s just an interesting coincidence. If there was a League of Extraordinary women, these ladies would be it and with out further adieu I present to you these lovely women in no particular order. Continue reading
WARNING: STRONG LANGUAGE!!!! READER DISCRETION IS ADVISED!!!!!!
Welcome to Angry Autistic Rants, a sub series of posts where I choose something that bothers/irritates me and blogs about it with nothing but raw emotion. For this post we shall dive into a holiday that I find utterly pointless and should die in a fire.
As you reach the end of January, you instantly start to notice that there’s something ominous in the air. You can’t quite put your finger on it but you know that there’s something off. There’s an influx of jewelry commercials, there are way too many love songs on the radio but it all comes full circle when you walk into a store and are reminded what day is around the corner. Suddenly your mind is filled with flashbacks as pain as the feelings of loneliness come rushing back. Your heart starts to hurt as you are now reminded that Valentines Day is approaching. There aren’t enough words in the world or pages in a book or even space on the wordpress database to describe how much I despise Valentines Day. I could write a Harry Potter sized novel about how much I hate the day and it still wouldn’t scratch the surface. Every year when I walk into a CVS, Walmart, or any other store with a “Valentines Day” section it tends to trigger a ton of memories, memories of my attempts at love gone terribly wrong. If I could start fires and contain them to one section and keep people safe in the process I would torch the Valentines section of every single store I walked into. Scary shit huh? I promise I’m not some pyromaniac and that thought of torching that section is more of a twisted fantasy created from my sometimes fucked imagination than it is an urge or impulse. Those reading are now wondering what could have possibly happened on the only day in the calender year that we treat our significant others like kings and queens to warrant such rage and sadistic thoughts. A lot went wrong in my life for me to get to this point. Now in earlier blog posts I have covered some of my romance woes but I never exactly started at the beginning but before I do, I have to share a few of my older My Space blog posts in order to get that pain across. Back in high school I blogged of my life but in those days I blogged with nothing but raw unfiltered emotion. The next three blogs are from an angry, lonely, depressed, and even sexually frustrated 17-20 year old me on the matter of this most unfortunate holiday.
Now before you read this essay I’m about to put on here I ask that you don’t judge me for the harsh nature of this essay. I admit I was being extremely hard on myself and others when I wrote this two years ago but you should know that the pain of being alone is very real. This essay came about two years ago as the product of one of my sleepless nights. I was in college and had had it with failing to woo a woman so one night when the thoughts of dying alone started running through my head I decided to write about my struggles in hopes that one day people could know my pain. You should also know that a lot happened between now and when I wrote this essay so those who know me well will know that some of what is in there isn’t very applicable now but It will be none the less a wacky trip through my head. I present to you my shattered heart on a silver platter.