/page/2

nerdsandgamersftw:

EVERYONE STOP WHAT YOUR DOING! MOTHERFUCKING CAT ARMOR!!!

Via  Etsy

hoganddice did ye get a cat?

(via plaguesandpuppies)

My Parents are Dead and My Sister is Disabled

congalineofdurin:

cockismybusiness:

team—wolverine:

therealbarbielifts:

eisforedna:

On May 28th, my sister, Edna, turned 31.

image 

Her mental age is about three years old. She loves Winnie the Pooh, Beauty & the Beast, and Sesame Street. Even though the below picture is unconvincing. 

image

Edna and “Cookie.” I think she was trying to play it cool. 

My name is Jeanie. I’m Edna’s younger sister. I’m also her guardian and caregiver. 

image

That’s me on the left. (Hey, you never know. After a year of writing a blog about online dating - Jeanie Does the Internet - I’ve come to learn that there are A LOT of fools on the internet.) 

image

ANYWAY, I’m not “doing the internet” anymore. I’m taking care of Edna full-time, after completing my MFA in Writing for Screen & Television at USC.

image

May 16, 2014. I wanted a picture. Edna wanted breakfast.

In case you’re wondering where our parents are, they’re dead. Our mom died of breast cancer when she was just 33. 

image

Us with mom before she died. (Obviously.)

As for our dad, he peaced-out around the time my mom got sick. His loss - we’re awesome. 

image

Here we are being awesome at the beach. Pushing a wheelchair in the sand? Not so awesome. 

In case you’re wondering “What’s wrong?” with my sister - as a stranger once asked me on the street  -  NOTHING. Yes, Edna has a rare form of epilepsy - Lennox-Gastaut syndrome - but I don’t know if that’s anymore “wrong” than people who don’t have manners. 

Basically, Edna was born “normal,” and started having seizures as a baby. They eventually got so bad that they cut off the oxygen to her brain, causing her to be mentally disabled. Or impaired. Or intellectually disabled. Or whatever you want to call it - except “retarded,” because in 2010, President Obama signed Rosa’s Law into effect, replacing that word with “intellectually impaired.” 

Which is cool and all, but services for the disabled and the people who care for them are SEVERELY LACKING. Also, there’s a bunch of people working in taxpayer-funded positions who are supposed to help families like us, but don’t. (Big surprise, I know.) They just fill out paperwork (whenever they feel like it) with asinine statements like this: 

image

YUP. I transport my sister down the stairs in her wheelchair, because that is not only safe, but TOTALLY PRACTICAL. Why doesn’t everyone in a wheelchair just take the stairs, for God’s sake? Stop being so lazy, PEOPLE WITHOUT WORKING LEGS! 

But, as it says above, Edna’s legs do work. Whether or not she wants them to, is another story. 

image

Edna refusing to go inside. 

These are the stairs that I have to carry her up - by myself - on a daily basis. That is, until one of my legs break and both of us are just sitting at the bottom of the stairs, helpless. 

image

For six months, I have begged - BEGGED - the State of California to help my sister, which they are required by law - The Lanterman Act specifically - to do so. But they’ve told me “these things take time” and that I “need to amend my expectations.” (That was said to me when I refused to place Edna at AN ALL-MALE CARE FACILITY. Because yes, that was an “option” that was offered to me.) 

Prior to Edna moving in with me in my one-bedroom apartment, she was living with her amazing caregiver, Gaby, back in Tucson, where we went to high school and I did my undergrad. Edna’s reppin’ the Wildcats below. 

image

But back in November, Gaby also died from breast cancer. (FUCK YOU, BREAST CANCER!) This picture was taken a month before she died. She never even told me she was sick because she didn’t want me to worry. 

By the way, we were raised by our grandma. Edna and her were very close.

image

She’s dead, too. Surprise.

She died when I was 20 and Edna was 21. That’s when I became Edna’s legal guardian and Gaby stepped into the picture to help me out with Edna. 

So, six months ago, after Gaby died, I moved Edna to California, where I tried to get the folks over at The Frank D. Lanterman Regional Center to help me. I’ve told them I’m worried about our safety - that one of us could get hurt on the stairs -  I’ve told them I can’t afford to pay the private babysitters $15/hour because the ones social services sent me who make $9/hour were unreliable (they didn’t show up on time or at all so I could get to school and work), untrustworthy (one of them let Edna go to the bathroom in the kitchen and then took her into the bathroom because “that what I thought I was supposed to do.”) 

But the people over at the FLRC don’t return my calls, they don’t file the paperwork on time - and the first caseworker that was assigned to us actually LAUGHED AT my sister when he came to our home to evaluate her. When I reported him to his supervisor, she told me, “That’s just [insert name of said jackass].” 

He was one of the two caseworkers that contributed to the report I mentioned above, which also included this: 

image

So let me get this straight - I have to feed, bathe, dress and help Edna in the bathroom and you can’t deduce whether or not she is able to vote? What in the fuck?!

Now I realize I seem angry. And you can bet your balls I am. I’m also sad. Sad for those who don’t have family to stick up from them and who waste away God knows where, monitored by no one. Or monitored by people who physically and sexually assault them

I’m also sad for the caregivers who are SO EXHAUSTED - trying to take care of their loved ones - while also trying to take care of themselves and battling a system that is supposed to help, but does nothing of the sort. And I know a lot of people give up. They let their dreams, their marriages, their friendships slide. All while trying not to resent the very person you’re doing it all for.

image

Edna wanted to sit next to me the other day while I was writing. Clearly, she’s not impressed. 

Here’s the thing: I REFUSE TO GIVE UP. I’M NOT GIVING UP ON HER OR MYSELF. I’m going to pursue my dreams while taking care of her, AND while ensuring that the people paid to do their jobs ACTUALLY do them.

That’s where you come in. I need you to help me get my story out there. Because I know I’m not alone in this. I want to connect with families who are in similar situations and also show people who have no idea what it’s like to care for someone with a disability (or even a loved one who is sick) that it can be rewarding. Super fucking hard. Exhausting. Painful. Isolating. But, rewarding. 

I’m going to get help for my sister - and others. My hope is that by sharing our story, I can bring awareness to the lack of services and help for the disabled. 

Thank you, 

Jeanie 

Facebook:  facebook.com/eisforedna

Twitter: @EisforEdna 

This made me cry

SIGNAL BOOST

STOP SCROLLING. THIS PERSON ISN’T ASKING FOR MONEY AND THIS POST WON’T MAKE YOU SAD.

This is a really uplifting and inspirational story of a family sticking by each other and making things work despite a whole lot of shit

They just want to find other people in the same position they are, for a sense of community and to feel like they aren’t alone.

I know out of all of you, some of you have followers who are living with and taking care of intellectually or emotionally disabled family members, and this lovely and unbreakable pair of sisters need to find them.

SIGNAL BOOOOOOOOOST

(Source: , via hoganddice)

These lads are available for weddings. If I don’t Irish dance down the aisle to this the entire day will be a waste!

Sign our petition - Action On Hearing Loss: RNID

Having a hearing aid means:

- not fighting with my partner because I can’t communicate with her.

- hearing my niece and nephews.

- birds! They are everywhere, how cool are those feathery lil guys and gals?

- not being afraid to go new places alone.

- not pissing people off asking them to repeat themselves.

- not getting yelled at because it pisses people off when you ask them to repeat themselves.

- not crying yourself to sleep because you aren’t sure why people were yelling at you all day.

- not being frightened to speak.

- having friends I can laugh with because I can hear the jokes now.

- realising my partner is happier because we haven’t fought in ages.

- hearing the bass in your favourite song for the first time in your life. 

Soooo, if some of you could sign this petition. That would be wonderful. Thank you.

I killed a Huntsman spider today. 

It was in my living room touchin’ all up mah stuff (floor) so I had to kill it. I was coming downstairs with a long handled dustpan and brush and I saw this STUPID GIANT BASTARD TRYING TO SNEAK ACROSS THE FLOOR! YOU ARE BLACK/BROWN SPIDER!! THE TILES ON THE FLOOR ARE GREEN!! SPREADING YOUR LEGS OUT AND MOVING SLOWLY AND CLOSE TO THE FLOOR ONLY MAKES YOU LOOK LIKE A GIANTER THAN GIANT CREEPING DEATH SPIDER IT IS NOT SUBTLE I HATE YOU!! It saw me getting close so it stopped moving. Where did you go giant spider? Oh! You are RIGHT THERE EXACTLY WHERE YOU WERE WHEN YOU WERE MOVING HOW DID YOU SURVIVE THIS LONG I CAN SEE YOU YOU GIANT BASTARD!!! 

I hit it with the dustpan. It got away under the sofa.

I pulled the sofa out and it scuttled out. I hit it with the dustpan again and knocked it’s leg off. Didn’t even slow it down. Went under the other sofa

Pulled the other sofa out and it scuttled out. I sprayed it with Raid. It got away back to the FIRST FUCKING SOFA STAY STILL SO I CAN KILL YOU YOU SPEEDY FUCK DEMON!!

I moved the sofa again and it scuttled under the chair for a change of scenery. I hit it with the brush/broom on it’s way. IT. GOT. AWAY.

I kicked the chair and it ran under the coffee table and I kicked the coffee table and sprayed it with so much Raid my throat burned. It scuttled drunkenly to a corner where stopped moving and curled up. I watched it twitch and then be still. 

I watched it some more.

It twitched once more.

Then I just watched. 

Satisfied it wasn’t moving anymore I went to pick up the dustpan and brush, handy for killing AND hiding the body. 

The spider was gone…

about 3 inches to the left of where I had left it. I smashed it with the dustpan repeatedly until I heard a crunch. I swept it up. I left. 

I sat on the bus going away from my house thinking I need to buy coffee and toilet paper… and burn the house down.

"But Vietnam is so far away! Won’t you miss Ireland?"

"Whereland?"

Sailor Moon Meets Metal

Lookit how happy he is when he plays! Adorable!

Hey, did you know I’m on the radio?

hoganddice:

Two LGBT+ shows,

Dublin Pride Time on Near FM at 5.30PM on Sundays

And Dublin G Talk on Dublin Ciy FM on Tuesdays.


Streaming here:
Near FM Stream: http://near.ie/live-stream/
Dublin City FM Stream: http://dublincityfm.ie/about/board-of-directors/listen-to-our-streaming-radio-service



And podcasts here:
Pride time Podcasts: http://www.mixcloud.com/pridetime/
G Talk Podcasts: http://www.mixcloud.com/GTalk/

Hey! Listen! *twinkle twinkle flutter*

(via hoganddice)

Five minutes from my home now. Moving to a big, busy city soon. Eep!

flowisaconstruct:

al-the-stuff-i-like:

pleatedjeans:

17 People Who Are Holding Us Back as a Society

THESE MAKE ME SO MAD

When I worked in retail, I intentionally overcharged people who wouldn’t get off their phones. They very rarely noticed.

I once worked in a bathroom store where small discounts could make a huge difference (think of all the money you need to pay the professionals to install the bathroom stuff you’re buying!) If people said “Hello” to me after I said hello to them when they entered the store, they got 5% off. If people said “No thank you” when I asked if they needed help they got another 5% off. If the customer used the word “Please” at any point, they would get another 5% off. If they had been polite a customer could have had 15% off their bathroom (average spend £500/£700) 

I never once gave a customer the 15% off polite discount. 

nerdsandgamersftw:

EVERYONE STOP WHAT YOUR DOING! MOTHERFUCKING CAT ARMOR!!!

Via  Etsy

hoganddice did ye get a cat?

(via plaguesandpuppies)

My Parents are Dead and My Sister is Disabled

congalineofdurin:

cockismybusiness:

team—wolverine:

therealbarbielifts:

eisforedna:

On May 28th, my sister, Edna, turned 31.

image 

Her mental age is about three years old. She loves Winnie the Pooh, Beauty & the Beast, and Sesame Street. Even though the below picture is unconvincing. 

image

Edna and “Cookie.” I think she was trying to play it cool. 

My name is Jeanie. I’m Edna’s younger sister. I’m also her guardian and caregiver. 

image

That’s me on the left. (Hey, you never know. After a year of writing a blog about online dating - Jeanie Does the Internet - I’ve come to learn that there are A LOT of fools on the internet.) 

image

ANYWAY, I’m not “doing the internet” anymore. I’m taking care of Edna full-time, after completing my MFA in Writing for Screen & Television at USC.

image

May 16, 2014. I wanted a picture. Edna wanted breakfast.

In case you’re wondering where our parents are, they’re dead. Our mom died of breast cancer when she was just 33. 

image

Us with mom before she died. (Obviously.)

As for our dad, he peaced-out around the time my mom got sick. His loss - we’re awesome. 

image

Here we are being awesome at the beach. Pushing a wheelchair in the sand? Not so awesome. 

In case you’re wondering “What’s wrong?” with my sister - as a stranger once asked me on the street  -  NOTHING. Yes, Edna has a rare form of epilepsy - Lennox-Gastaut syndrome - but I don’t know if that’s anymore “wrong” than people who don’t have manners. 

Basically, Edna was born “normal,” and started having seizures as a baby. They eventually got so bad that they cut off the oxygen to her brain, causing her to be mentally disabled. Or impaired. Or intellectually disabled. Or whatever you want to call it - except “retarded,” because in 2010, President Obama signed Rosa’s Law into effect, replacing that word with “intellectually impaired.” 

Which is cool and all, but services for the disabled and the people who care for them are SEVERELY LACKING. Also, there’s a bunch of people working in taxpayer-funded positions who are supposed to help families like us, but don’t. (Big surprise, I know.) They just fill out paperwork (whenever they feel like it) with asinine statements like this: 

image

YUP. I transport my sister down the stairs in her wheelchair, because that is not only safe, but TOTALLY PRACTICAL. Why doesn’t everyone in a wheelchair just take the stairs, for God’s sake? Stop being so lazy, PEOPLE WITHOUT WORKING LEGS! 

But, as it says above, Edna’s legs do work. Whether or not she wants them to, is another story. 

image

Edna refusing to go inside. 

These are the stairs that I have to carry her up - by myself - on a daily basis. That is, until one of my legs break and both of us are just sitting at the bottom of the stairs, helpless. 

image

For six months, I have begged - BEGGED - the State of California to help my sister, which they are required by law - The Lanterman Act specifically - to do so. But they’ve told me “these things take time” and that I “need to amend my expectations.” (That was said to me when I refused to place Edna at AN ALL-MALE CARE FACILITY. Because yes, that was an “option” that was offered to me.) 

Prior to Edna moving in with me in my one-bedroom apartment, she was living with her amazing caregiver, Gaby, back in Tucson, where we went to high school and I did my undergrad. Edna’s reppin’ the Wildcats below. 

image

But back in November, Gaby also died from breast cancer. (FUCK YOU, BREAST CANCER!) This picture was taken a month before she died. She never even told me she was sick because she didn’t want me to worry. 

By the way, we were raised by our grandma. Edna and her were very close.

image

She’s dead, too. Surprise.

She died when I was 20 and Edna was 21. That’s when I became Edna’s legal guardian and Gaby stepped into the picture to help me out with Edna. 

So, six months ago, after Gaby died, I moved Edna to California, where I tried to get the folks over at The Frank D. Lanterman Regional Center to help me. I’ve told them I’m worried about our safety - that one of us could get hurt on the stairs -  I’ve told them I can’t afford to pay the private babysitters $15/hour because the ones social services sent me who make $9/hour were unreliable (they didn’t show up on time or at all so I could get to school and work), untrustworthy (one of them let Edna go to the bathroom in the kitchen and then took her into the bathroom because “that what I thought I was supposed to do.”) 

But the people over at the FLRC don’t return my calls, they don’t file the paperwork on time - and the first caseworker that was assigned to us actually LAUGHED AT my sister when he came to our home to evaluate her. When I reported him to his supervisor, she told me, “That’s just [insert name of said jackass].” 

He was one of the two caseworkers that contributed to the report I mentioned above, which also included this: 

image

So let me get this straight - I have to feed, bathe, dress and help Edna in the bathroom and you can’t deduce whether or not she is able to vote? What in the fuck?!

Now I realize I seem angry. And you can bet your balls I am. I’m also sad. Sad for those who don’t have family to stick up from them and who waste away God knows where, monitored by no one. Or monitored by people who physically and sexually assault them

I’m also sad for the caregivers who are SO EXHAUSTED - trying to take care of their loved ones - while also trying to take care of themselves and battling a system that is supposed to help, but does nothing of the sort. And I know a lot of people give up. They let their dreams, their marriages, their friendships slide. All while trying not to resent the very person you’re doing it all for.

image

Edna wanted to sit next to me the other day while I was writing. Clearly, she’s not impressed. 

Here’s the thing: I REFUSE TO GIVE UP. I’M NOT GIVING UP ON HER OR MYSELF. I’m going to pursue my dreams while taking care of her, AND while ensuring that the people paid to do their jobs ACTUALLY do them.

That’s where you come in. I need you to help me get my story out there. Because I know I’m not alone in this. I want to connect with families who are in similar situations and also show people who have no idea what it’s like to care for someone with a disability (or even a loved one who is sick) that it can be rewarding. Super fucking hard. Exhausting. Painful. Isolating. But, rewarding. 

I’m going to get help for my sister - and others. My hope is that by sharing our story, I can bring awareness to the lack of services and help for the disabled. 

Thank you, 

Jeanie 

Facebook:  facebook.com/eisforedna

Twitter: @EisforEdna 

This made me cry

SIGNAL BOOST

STOP SCROLLING. THIS PERSON ISN’T ASKING FOR MONEY AND THIS POST WON’T MAKE YOU SAD.

This is a really uplifting and inspirational story of a family sticking by each other and making things work despite a whole lot of shit

They just want to find other people in the same position they are, for a sense of community and to feel like they aren’t alone.

I know out of all of you, some of you have followers who are living with and taking care of intellectually or emotionally disabled family members, and this lovely and unbreakable pair of sisters need to find them.

SIGNAL BOOOOOOOOOST

(Source: , via hoganddice)

These lads are available for weddings. If I don’t Irish dance down the aisle to this the entire day will be a waste!

Sign our petition - Action On Hearing Loss: RNID

Having a hearing aid means:

- not fighting with my partner because I can’t communicate with her.

- hearing my niece and nephews.

- birds! They are everywhere, how cool are those feathery lil guys and gals?

- not being afraid to go new places alone.

- not pissing people off asking them to repeat themselves.

- not getting yelled at because it pisses people off when you ask them to repeat themselves.

- not crying yourself to sleep because you aren’t sure why people were yelling at you all day.

- not being frightened to speak.

- having friends I can laugh with because I can hear the jokes now.

- realising my partner is happier because we haven’t fought in ages.

- hearing the bass in your favourite song for the first time in your life. 

Soooo, if some of you could sign this petition. That would be wonderful. Thank you.

I killed a Huntsman spider today. 

It was in my living room touchin’ all up mah stuff (floor) so I had to kill it. I was coming downstairs with a long handled dustpan and brush and I saw this STUPID GIANT BASTARD TRYING TO SNEAK ACROSS THE FLOOR! YOU ARE BLACK/BROWN SPIDER!! THE TILES ON THE FLOOR ARE GREEN!! SPREADING YOUR LEGS OUT AND MOVING SLOWLY AND CLOSE TO THE FLOOR ONLY MAKES YOU LOOK LIKE A GIANTER THAN GIANT CREEPING DEATH SPIDER IT IS NOT SUBTLE I HATE YOU!! It saw me getting close so it stopped moving. Where did you go giant spider? Oh! You are RIGHT THERE EXACTLY WHERE YOU WERE WHEN YOU WERE MOVING HOW DID YOU SURVIVE THIS LONG I CAN SEE YOU YOU GIANT BASTARD!!! 

I hit it with the dustpan. It got away under the sofa.

I pulled the sofa out and it scuttled out. I hit it with the dustpan again and knocked it’s leg off. Didn’t even slow it down. Went under the other sofa

Pulled the other sofa out and it scuttled out. I sprayed it with Raid. It got away back to the FIRST FUCKING SOFA STAY STILL SO I CAN KILL YOU YOU SPEEDY FUCK DEMON!!

I moved the sofa again and it scuttled under the chair for a change of scenery. I hit it with the brush/broom on it’s way. IT. GOT. AWAY.

I kicked the chair and it ran under the coffee table and I kicked the coffee table and sprayed it with so much Raid my throat burned. It scuttled drunkenly to a corner where stopped moving and curled up. I watched it twitch and then be still. 

I watched it some more.

It twitched once more.

Then I just watched. 

Satisfied it wasn’t moving anymore I went to pick up the dustpan and brush, handy for killing AND hiding the body. 

The spider was gone…

about 3 inches to the left of where I had left it. I smashed it with the dustpan repeatedly until I heard a crunch. I swept it up. I left. 

I sat on the bus going away from my house thinking I need to buy coffee and toilet paper… and burn the house down.

"But Vietnam is so far away! Won’t you miss Ireland?"

"Whereland?"

Sailor Moon Meets Metal

Lookit how happy he is when he plays! Adorable!

Hey, did you know I’m on the radio?

hoganddice:

Two LGBT+ shows,

Dublin Pride Time on Near FM at 5.30PM on Sundays

And Dublin G Talk on Dublin Ciy FM on Tuesdays.


Streaming here:
Near FM Stream: http://near.ie/live-stream/
Dublin City FM Stream: http://dublincityfm.ie/about/board-of-directors/listen-to-our-streaming-radio-service



And podcasts here:
Pride time Podcasts: http://www.mixcloud.com/pridetime/
G Talk Podcasts: http://www.mixcloud.com/GTalk/

Hey! Listen! *twinkle twinkle flutter*

(via hoganddice)

Five minutes from my home now. Moving to a big, busy city soon. Eep!

flowisaconstruct:

al-the-stuff-i-like:

pleatedjeans:

17 People Who Are Holding Us Back as a Society

THESE MAKE ME SO MAD

When I worked in retail, I intentionally overcharged people who wouldn’t get off their phones. They very rarely noticed.

I once worked in a bathroom store where small discounts could make a huge difference (think of all the money you need to pay the professionals to install the bathroom stuff you’re buying!) If people said “Hello” to me after I said hello to them when they entered the store, they got 5% off. If people said “No thank you” when I asked if they needed help they got another 5% off. If the customer used the word “Please” at any point, they would get another 5% off. If they had been polite a customer could have had 15% off their bathroom (average spend £500/£700) 

I never once gave a customer the 15% off polite discount. 

Hey, did you know I’m on the radio?

About:

and always paddle your own canoe

Following: