I had every intention of livetweeting as much as I could of my surgery yesterday (Laparoscopy, for endometriosis). Partly for the humor-I'm funny when drugged-and partly to help me remember things, since most people don't remember much before or after.
So I'm gunna put it here instead, so that I can remember what I remember.
My roommate's mom came & got me just before 8:00AM-8:30 check in, 10:00am surgery. They asked me a bunch of questions that I'd answered before, kept asking how I was (hungry, thirsty, & terrified), kept making sure I was the Neurodivergent K who's chart they had, stuff like that.
The gown was, like, recyclable. Seriously. It was purple and made of this paper/cotton mix. It plugged in & inflated these plastic bag things with hot air...it looked like I had absolutely comically GIGANTIC pecs. Unfortunately it sounded like a vacuum-I would have liked it warmer but it was so loud.
So after I got all gownified the official presurgical nurses came in to do my IV and make sure the incision site was as clean as could be & to take my necklace & bracelet from me. Noooo. The IV lady was really good...most people need a few tries, but it was in before I noticed. They were asking the same standard questions, I was answering the same way I always would (so, most people read me as a bit quirky or obnoxious), and they kept telling me I was adorable. Weird, but better than the people who are dealing with my anesthetized ass thinking I'm a jerk, right?
It took a long time for the anesthesiologist to come in. Like, a LONG TIME. Apparently my chart had walked away. But he told me exactly what they were going to give me & explained how they were going to prevent anesthesia awareness (a rare phenomenon that really really freaks me out). Telling me that it's rare isn't helpful, so are a lot of things that I've experienced, but telling me that even those rare cases mostly occur in emergency surgery when they can't fully anesthetize because blood pressure is already too low-that helped.
Then MY doctor came in & asked how I was. Terrified was apparently a healthy answer. I appreciated my anxiety not being written off-so often it's seen as silly. Also, she had on bright orange shoes, which is the silly kind of detail that I notice that makes things like "getting four holes punched in your abdomen & your innards cleaned off" a bit less intimidating. Weird? Yep. Yep I am.
Then they gave me Versed in an injection & everything got all fuzzy-the first thing to go is always my ability to focus my eyes together. The next thing I knew I was waking up in a room with a LOT of medical people & a lot of groggy people and I felt naked. First conscious word: Naked. Second conscious word: thirsty. Third conscious word: blanket. I took a fuzzy (and frankly offensive, it's covered in puzzle pieces but was made with loving intent, and my cat loves it) blanket & they gave that to me. And then ice chips. They told me to go back to sleep, but it was too noisy & bright.
I only vaguely remember being wheeled back to the room I started in, but I ended up there & kept asking for water & if I should have my noon meds. They wanted me to have a few more ice chips first. So I did. And then I drank. And drank more. And took my meds. And drank more. They left some crackers there, so I ate them. Mmm, club crackers...this nurse was kinda...uh...spacey, or else I was being very confusing, because nothing I asked got an answer without being asked again.
They made sure I could pee & then I got to go home. I was really out of it physically-like it was taking my brain a few steps to connect with my body-so I kept my eyes closed the whole time in the car.
And then the cat cuddled with me, I slept, and that was really that.
Boring blog post, yeah? Less boring, I guess: they took out several endometriosis implants & one of my ovaries had almost no mobility because of scar tissue or something attaching it too tightly to the pelvic cavity, so they're testing the shit out of that shit. So, I am not a whiny baby-there was stuff in there that causes pain. And it's gone now. Bahahaha.
Thursday, November 24, 2011
Friday, November 4, 2011
So this is why I don't blog for other people much, or go to many conferences.
Something I wrote here was reprinted on Thinking Person's Guide to Autism (with my permission, at their request). It was the story about C. You know, the C who had no reliable and honored means of communication and who was given no agency?
Apparently it was an anti-ABA screed, judging of his parents (and damn right I judge his parents. I'm not a hypocrite-everyone judges everyone. "Judging" does not mean "makes a negative assessment of someone and shares it". "Judging" is making any damn assessment, good, bad, or neutral, and keeping it to yourself or sharing or whatever, judgement already made.) We all do it, all the time, it's one of the things that makes us human, conceited because I was proud of what I had done (I don't understand what's wrong with that?), a bad example because I yelled at a woman who grabbed a child's body and made him do things he expressly indicated he did not want to do (because autistic kids don't deserve bodily agency? Forget that), and all kinds of other things I didn't say.
There are all kinds of controversial things I actually do say. If you must yell at me-and sometimes I think "terrorize the autistic" is an international sport-then yell at me for something I actually said. Don't yell at me for "tone"-we have had that discussion before and I think it should be an offense punishable by being cut off from the internet for 3 weeks. If I am talking about a specific event, unless it is about you it is not about you. You probably aren't that important. If I say something about a specific person, place, thing, or idea, I'm dead certain it's true. I have a painfully good situational memory and good pattern recognition-things that are honed to, you know, predict when people are going to slam your head into a wall.
I avoid contact with people who do these kinds of things because I've already had enough of it. I know where to find my mother (dents in the skull for all!). Speaking of skull dents, I know where to find the sack of shit who put me in the hospital with adrenal crisis, brain swelling so bad I couldn't stop throwing up and couldn't see. I know where to find the sorts of other people's parents who stab me in the arm-and yes it happened and go fuck yourself if you are going to tell me that I probably deserved it. No one deserves to be stabbed in the arm by a stranger or even someone they know, even if they are committing the huge crime of being autistic and adult at the same time. I know where to find the sharks. But I am tired of being forced to swim with them.
Apparently it was an anti-ABA screed, judging of his parents (and damn right I judge his parents. I'm not a hypocrite-everyone judges everyone. "Judging" does not mean "makes a negative assessment of someone and shares it". "Judging" is making any damn assessment, good, bad, or neutral, and keeping it to yourself or sharing or whatever, judgement already made.) We all do it, all the time, it's one of the things that makes us human, conceited because I was proud of what I had done (I don't understand what's wrong with that?), a bad example because I yelled at a woman who grabbed a child's body and made him do things he expressly indicated he did not want to do (because autistic kids don't deserve bodily agency? Forget that), and all kinds of other things I didn't say.
There are all kinds of controversial things I actually do say. If you must yell at me-and sometimes I think "terrorize the autistic" is an international sport-then yell at me for something I actually said. Don't yell at me for "tone"-we have had that discussion before and I think it should be an offense punishable by being cut off from the internet for 3 weeks. If I am talking about a specific event, unless it is about you it is not about you. You probably aren't that important. If I say something about a specific person, place, thing, or idea, I'm dead certain it's true. I have a painfully good situational memory and good pattern recognition-things that are honed to, you know, predict when people are going to slam your head into a wall.
I avoid contact with people who do these kinds of things because I've already had enough of it. I know where to find my mother (dents in the skull for all!). Speaking of skull dents, I know where to find the sack of shit who put me in the hospital with adrenal crisis, brain swelling so bad I couldn't stop throwing up and couldn't see. I know where to find the sorts of other people's parents who stab me in the arm-and yes it happened and go fuck yourself if you are going to tell me that I probably deserved it. No one deserves to be stabbed in the arm by a stranger or even someone they know, even if they are committing the huge crime of being autistic and adult at the same time. I know where to find the sharks. But I am tired of being forced to swim with them.
Monday, October 31, 2011
Autistics Speaking Day: For the People Who Speak With Me
This is sort of about allies, but not exactly.
This Autistics Speaking Day, I want to give a shout-out to the people who stand with me while I speak. The word ally works, ish, but that's not their primary role in my world.
They're my friends.
A lot of allies have that ally mentality, where they have chosen a just cause to do right in the world. And good for them-we need people who see the concept and are like "yeah, I'm all for that concept!" and spread the meme. People who speak truth to power in a general sense are a good thing.
But that's not the same thing.
A friend, at least a friend of mine, they have a choice. They'll have to probably make it pretty early in knowing me, because there's a lot of anti autistic and other ableist bigotry that I see every day, & I point it out (and this is why I am always SO. DAMN. TIRED). I see it, I call it, and then they have a choice:
They can minimize, justify, otherwise derail.
Or they can choose to be a decent human being.
As soon as someone starts saying "it isn't that bad" or "you're too sensitive", they have chosen to not be my friend. The ones who choose to be my friend, they consider things and come to a conclusion that ableism or anti autistic bigotry or strobing a light in my face or whatever isn't ok.
And they stand with me. Not like in the abstract "making things uncomfortable for disabled people isn't ok" way (and seriously, keep doing that), but in a bigger way.
In a "that is wrong and unacceptable and don't ever do it again and fuck you straight to hell for doing that shit to my friend" kind of way.
People can be attached to an idea. People are downright fierce about their attachments to people.
And for friends-at least the kind of friends I have-it is personal. Doing something bigoted isn't throwing some vague oppressive vibe into the air; doing something bigoted is directly hurting a real person with real characteristics besides being disabled. You aren't just shitting on "the disabled" when you do that, you aren't just excluding some vague potential people when you don't make things accessible-you are engaging in behavior that makes someone, a real someone, actually in someone's monkeysphere, uncomfortable or unsafe.
It's not really a 'thing' to speak for or on behalf of one's friends, so people doing stuff like leaving a persistently ableist pizza place for good isn't doing a deed for the disabled-it's "FUCK YOU! STOP HURTING MY FRIEND". There's a difference. If someone talks to an ally about how to, say, make people like me understand that they are just concerned about my safety in a rock climbing class, the instinctual response isn't necessarily going to be a condescending "she's right there. Tell her". It's just a different mindset.
So yeah. You want to be a fucking amazing ally? Don't become my ally. Don't work on behalf of me and my community. Become my friend and channel your inner fierce loyalty. It does way more good in my day to day life.
Besides, I am freaking awesome.
(oh, and my friends are pretty ok too).
This Autistics Speaking Day, I want to give a shout-out to the people who stand with me while I speak. The word ally works, ish, but that's not their primary role in my world.
They're my friends.
A lot of allies have that ally mentality, where they have chosen a just cause to do right in the world. And good for them-we need people who see the concept and are like "yeah, I'm all for that concept!" and spread the meme. People who speak truth to power in a general sense are a good thing.
But that's not the same thing.
A friend, at least a friend of mine, they have a choice. They'll have to probably make it pretty early in knowing me, because there's a lot of anti autistic and other ableist bigotry that I see every day, & I point it out (and this is why I am always SO. DAMN. TIRED). I see it, I call it, and then they have a choice:
They can minimize, justify, otherwise derail.
Or they can choose to be a decent human being.
As soon as someone starts saying "it isn't that bad" or "you're too sensitive", they have chosen to not be my friend. The ones who choose to be my friend, they consider things and come to a conclusion that ableism or anti autistic bigotry or strobing a light in my face or whatever isn't ok.
And they stand with me. Not like in the abstract "making things uncomfortable for disabled people isn't ok" way (and seriously, keep doing that), but in a bigger way.
In a "that is wrong and unacceptable and don't ever do it again and fuck you straight to hell for doing that shit to my friend" kind of way.
People can be attached to an idea. People are downright fierce about their attachments to people.
And for friends-at least the kind of friends I have-it is personal. Doing something bigoted isn't throwing some vague oppressive vibe into the air; doing something bigoted is directly hurting a real person with real characteristics besides being disabled. You aren't just shitting on "the disabled" when you do that, you aren't just excluding some vague potential people when you don't make things accessible-you are engaging in behavior that makes someone, a real someone, actually in someone's monkeysphere, uncomfortable or unsafe.
It's not really a 'thing' to speak for or on behalf of one's friends, so people doing stuff like leaving a persistently ableist pizza place for good isn't doing a deed for the disabled-it's "FUCK YOU! STOP HURTING MY FRIEND". There's a difference. If someone talks to an ally about how to, say, make people like me understand that they are just concerned about my safety in a rock climbing class, the instinctual response isn't necessarily going to be a condescending "she's right there. Tell her". It's just a different mindset.
So yeah. You want to be a fucking amazing ally? Don't become my ally. Don't work on behalf of me and my community. Become my friend and channel your inner fierce loyalty. It does way more good in my day to day life.
Besides, I am freaking awesome.
(oh, and my friends are pretty ok too).
Thursday, October 27, 2011
Advocacy: Everyone Can Do It.
This story happened a long, long time ago, almost 10 years now. It's still exactly what I think of when people tell me about their kid who will "never" self advocate.
I worked for a few years with a boy who we will call C. C was about 9 when I met him. He was nonverbal, really hated typing on the computer, knew a few signs, and had a PECS book. He had experienced many years of ABA therapy, which is very much therapist directed, and he was growing increasingly frustrated with how things in his life were going. His frustration was pretty clear-he was angry a lot of the time and he was lashing out physically when a lot of demands (or unpleasant demands) were made. His PECS book often didn't have what he wanted to communicate in it, so that added further to his communication challenges. What he was left with was behavior as communication.
I'm pretty sure C's parents weren't exactly looking for self-advocacy teaching, at least not what I do. They had the whole "autism as tragedy" thing going on, were into quackery, kind of seemed to resent C for existing (ok, so very much resented C for existing) and wanted compliance and normalcy, not what I was offering. But C and I hit it off right away & I wasn't completely horrified by his expression of his anger. I avoided getting hit, obviously, but I wasn't going to restrain him or, nearly as bad, throw more and more demands in his face when he was upset. That's silly. It does not work. Typicality is not a realistic goal, but being able to express wants and needs is, and it was quite likely that C could learn a more expedient way to make his wishes known.
When I started working with C, I had a rule for his ABA therapists and parents: if C made clear a want or a need, he gets it. If he indicates that he doesn't want to do same with same or whatever, he doesn't do same with same. If he indicates that he is not ready to leave an activity, he doesn't have to leave yet. He needed to learn that he has some agency after so many years of following other people's agendas.
What's the first thing little kids tend to learn to take power over their lives in small ways? The word "no", right? I wanted C to learn that he could ask for things and get them, and that he could say he didn't want to do things and get that. A lot of our time was spent playing and him indicating he wanted or didn't want things, and me putting into words "No, don't take your block? Alright!" or whatever when he indicated in any way that he didn't like what I was about to do or did like or want something. Showing him that adults do take his wishes into account.
Then I took C swimming one day. This was something his ABA therapists didn't like to do very much because apparently it's a battle to get him out of the pool, he liked swimming in the deep end even though he wasn't an awesome swimmer & keeping him in the shallow end could be meltdown inducing-he could swim, but needed an adult right there. Not a battle I wanted to fight, but I'm not a fan of the Adult As God paradigm. I liked swimming and I liked C, so it was a good time.
We did some laps, we (well, C) splashed around in the shallow end, and 15 minutes before we actually had to leave I asked C if he was ready to get out.
"NO!"
Clear as day, emphatic, and with feeling.
Yeah, we didn't get out of the pool for another 10 minutes. C indicated no, he was enjoying himself, he did not want to leave. And he did it in a way that no one could deny-no is an important concept in making one's needs known, and everyone knows what it means.
He used the word NO a whole lot-they made him do a lot of inane things (touch nose? Really???) and he didn't want to. I don't blame him; touch nose is not exactly a meaningful activity. He started indicating preferred activities & even started helping make a schedule of stuff he'd do during his sessions (or what toys we'd play with & such...interactive toys for demonstrating "I don't want to" or "don't do that" are pretty great).
Then he stopped & started biting again. Being bitten hurts. Biting wasn't getting him what he wanted. "What. Did. You. DO?" was my question to the ABA people.
"Oh, he didn't want to do (some meaningless task) and I hand over handed it."
"...what the hell is wrong with you?" (insert about 15 minutes of full volume yelling about how it was his body and he had a right to not be touched and he had a right to determine his activities, and she owed him one hell of an apology, and he was going to get that apology. Where C could hear it. And where C's parents could hear it, because they were in the same county).
She thought I was kidding. I wasn't. She quit shortly after-apparently apologizing to a just turned 10 year old was beneath her, or to an autistic kid, or being told to by an autistic adult, I dunno.
And C started saying NO! again. Then we started fixing his book & set up a dynavox, but that's a whole other story....
I worked for a few years with a boy who we will call C. C was about 9 when I met him. He was nonverbal, really hated typing on the computer, knew a few signs, and had a PECS book. He had experienced many years of ABA therapy, which is very much therapist directed, and he was growing increasingly frustrated with how things in his life were going. His frustration was pretty clear-he was angry a lot of the time and he was lashing out physically when a lot of demands (or unpleasant demands) were made. His PECS book often didn't have what he wanted to communicate in it, so that added further to his communication challenges. What he was left with was behavior as communication.
I'm pretty sure C's parents weren't exactly looking for self-advocacy teaching, at least not what I do. They had the whole "autism as tragedy" thing going on, were into quackery, kind of seemed to resent C for existing (ok, so very much resented C for existing) and wanted compliance and normalcy, not what I was offering. But C and I hit it off right away & I wasn't completely horrified by his expression of his anger. I avoided getting hit, obviously, but I wasn't going to restrain him or, nearly as bad, throw more and more demands in his face when he was upset. That's silly. It does not work. Typicality is not a realistic goal, but being able to express wants and needs is, and it was quite likely that C could learn a more expedient way to make his wishes known.
When I started working with C, I had a rule for his ABA therapists and parents: if C made clear a want or a need, he gets it. If he indicates that he doesn't want to do same with same or whatever, he doesn't do same with same. If he indicates that he is not ready to leave an activity, he doesn't have to leave yet. He needed to learn that he has some agency after so many years of following other people's agendas.
What's the first thing little kids tend to learn to take power over their lives in small ways? The word "no", right? I wanted C to learn that he could ask for things and get them, and that he could say he didn't want to do things and get that. A lot of our time was spent playing and him indicating he wanted or didn't want things, and me putting into words "No, don't take your block? Alright!" or whatever when he indicated in any way that he didn't like what I was about to do or did like or want something. Showing him that adults do take his wishes into account.
Then I took C swimming one day. This was something his ABA therapists didn't like to do very much because apparently it's a battle to get him out of the pool, he liked swimming in the deep end even though he wasn't an awesome swimmer & keeping him in the shallow end could be meltdown inducing-he could swim, but needed an adult right there. Not a battle I wanted to fight, but I'm not a fan of the Adult As God paradigm. I liked swimming and I liked C, so it was a good time.
We did some laps, we (well, C) splashed around in the shallow end, and 15 minutes before we actually had to leave I asked C if he was ready to get out.
"NO!"
Clear as day, emphatic, and with feeling.
Yeah, we didn't get out of the pool for another 10 minutes. C indicated no, he was enjoying himself, he did not want to leave. And he did it in a way that no one could deny-no is an important concept in making one's needs known, and everyone knows what it means.
He used the word NO a whole lot-they made him do a lot of inane things (touch nose? Really???) and he didn't want to. I don't blame him; touch nose is not exactly a meaningful activity. He started indicating preferred activities & even started helping make a schedule of stuff he'd do during his sessions (or what toys we'd play with & such...interactive toys for demonstrating "I don't want to" or "don't do that" are pretty great).
Then he stopped & started biting again. Being bitten hurts. Biting wasn't getting him what he wanted. "What. Did. You. DO?" was my question to the ABA people.
"Oh, he didn't want to do (some meaningless task) and I hand over handed it."
"...what the hell is wrong with you?" (insert about 15 minutes of full volume yelling about how it was his body and he had a right to not be touched and he had a right to determine his activities, and she owed him one hell of an apology, and he was going to get that apology. Where C could hear it. And where C's parents could hear it, because they were in the same county).
She thought I was kidding. I wasn't. She quit shortly after-apparently apologizing to a just turned 10 year old was beneath her, or to an autistic kid, or being told to by an autistic adult, I dunno.
And C started saying NO! again. Then we started fixing his book & set up a dynavox, but that's a whole other story....
Monday, October 24, 2011
Just Don't Use That Word.
Two stories, both from this week, both illustrating how far we need to go in terms of the general public acknowledging that developmentally disabled adults out in public are, like, a thing:
Friday I went rock climbing. The facility has started charging an obscene amount for equipment rental, so my friend and I hit the discount outdoor supply (yeah, this city is so awesome that we have one of those). The guys in the climbing section were awesome-they even found a harness to fit me (I'm in a weird 'tweener size range). They were great, especially given that it was towards closing time on Friday and they were suddenly confronted with several people who all had drastically different needs.
So anyway, even though I was dropping a substantial chunk of change, I was pretty pleased. Then we go to check out & the chick at the register calls her machine r*tarded. Really? Really?! I could feel my climbing buddy wince from 10 feet away.
Don't use that word. It's ableist and unacceptable and hurtful. Oh! but it doesn't mean that! she says. It means slowed down and the meaning has changed and she grew up with foster kids and "worked with those people" and endless stream of justification.
Yeah, no, lady. And developmentally disabled people may be dropping $120 in your store right now and may be very much reconsidering that choice. The correct protocol is to apologize and STFU. And if you call me hun again I am going to slap your face off. The only thing that kept me from walking out was the knowledge that the shoes alone usually run around $200.
Then there was Sunday. As I've blogged about before, I swing dance. I have made some very good friends dancing, and it partially fills a gymnastics-shaped hole in my life. Anyway...
This very nice guy who's been dancing forever brought his nephew or cousin or something (younger male relative, in his earlyish 20s I'd guess). The kid kind of rubs me the wrong way, but whatever, right? There are lots of decent people with whom I just don't mesh, personality-wise. So this dude comes out to Denny's with us after the dance. We played this ridiculous game, Quelf the Card Game-as opposed to Quelf the board game-which involves doing silly, silly things.
Dudeguy pulls a card and says "I won't do this. It's r*t*rd*d." Don't say that word. It's bigoted. "Can I say 't*rd*d?" Well, not if you don't want me to think you're a bigot. Don't spew that hate in front of me.
Insert his not knowing what ableism is here (it's like sexism or racism, except against people with disabilities!). Insert "but I didn't know anyone here is disabled" as a justification here (because it's totes OK if no one is there to be offended, amirite?). Yeah, dude, I'm autistileptic. Nope, your claim of "borderline autism" doesn't impress me-you're still 100% ableist asshat and there's nothing that will justify that.
The guy asked if I'd be offended if he carved "fuck your god" into his arm. Non sequitur much? At this point other people are telling him to just stop, and one friend pointed out that I'm an atheist, if he was going for shock value with that one. I really don't care, it's his arm, though I do wonder what the purpose of doing that would be.
Then we get more word vomit of the R word & "well I don't know what other word to use!" Um. Bullshit. There are lots of other words and after you call me an fing r I have no reason to educate you-you are not worth my time after that. The guy just won't stop with the offensive and my friend tells him he is no longer welcome at our table-I was ready to leave at that point, but apparently I wasn't the one being an asshat?
This guy then goes around with the card that he insists playing would make him look like...well, that word (as though there is no worse fate than the late night crowd at Denny's wondering about you!) and he asks the waiter and all the stoners and other assorted riffraff that frequent Denny's at 1 AM for an adjective that describes the action on the card (please note that I absolutely without reservation consider my group part of that riffraff as well).
He. Asked. The. Waiter. To. Justify. His. Ableist. Hate. Speech.
The waiter was having none of it, fortunately, so this guy just stood at the side of our table for an hour while everyone ignored him. And on his way out he made sure to be vaguely threatening while using the same word about 10 times in one sentence.
But still. Hate speech. He fought that hard for his "right" to use hate speech.
My friends are awesome and wonderful, I must point out. There are so many similar situations where being not-ok with that word is somehow embarrassing or something, and they were pretty solidly "just stop, dude", which is just a symptom of their amazingness.
But this isn't the kind of thing that should happen at all.
In both these situations, people felt they were entitled to use words that the communities they are used against have explicitly said they disapprove of. And then when I, a member of said group, said "that isn't cool" (and according to witnesses, in the kind of way that isn't even offensive, since argument from tone is so damn popular), they felt they had a right to argue their right to use That Word, even though they'd never dream of using similar slurs, because they somehow have the right.
No.
It is not ok to use my people-yep, we're all stuck with each other-as your insult. And you sure as hell have no right to try to argue that because you know a disabled person or don't know that someone is a disabled person it's ok. Your bullshit, it is not flying here.
Friday I went rock climbing. The facility has started charging an obscene amount for equipment rental, so my friend and I hit the discount outdoor supply (yeah, this city is so awesome that we have one of those). The guys in the climbing section were awesome-they even found a harness to fit me (I'm in a weird 'tweener size range). They were great, especially given that it was towards closing time on Friday and they were suddenly confronted with several people who all had drastically different needs.
So anyway, even though I was dropping a substantial chunk of change, I was pretty pleased. Then we go to check out & the chick at the register calls her machine r*tarded. Really? Really?! I could feel my climbing buddy wince from 10 feet away.
Don't use that word. It's ableist and unacceptable and hurtful. Oh! but it doesn't mean that! she says. It means slowed down and the meaning has changed and she grew up with foster kids and "worked with those people" and endless stream of justification.
Yeah, no, lady. And developmentally disabled people may be dropping $120 in your store right now and may be very much reconsidering that choice. The correct protocol is to apologize and STFU. And if you call me hun again I am going to slap your face off. The only thing that kept me from walking out was the knowledge that the shoes alone usually run around $200.
Then there was Sunday. As I've blogged about before, I swing dance. I have made some very good friends dancing, and it partially fills a gymnastics-shaped hole in my life. Anyway...
This very nice guy who's been dancing forever brought his nephew or cousin or something (younger male relative, in his earlyish 20s I'd guess). The kid kind of rubs me the wrong way, but whatever, right? There are lots of decent people with whom I just don't mesh, personality-wise. So this dude comes out to Denny's with us after the dance. We played this ridiculous game, Quelf the Card Game-as opposed to Quelf the board game-which involves doing silly, silly things.
Dudeguy pulls a card and says "I won't do this. It's r*t*rd*d." Don't say that word. It's bigoted. "Can I say 't*rd*d?" Well, not if you don't want me to think you're a bigot. Don't spew that hate in front of me.
Insert his not knowing what ableism is here (it's like sexism or racism, except against people with disabilities!). Insert "but I didn't know anyone here is disabled" as a justification here (because it's totes OK if no one is there to be offended, amirite?). Yeah, dude, I'm autistileptic. Nope, your claim of "borderline autism" doesn't impress me-you're still 100% ableist asshat and there's nothing that will justify that.
The guy asked if I'd be offended if he carved "fuck your god" into his arm. Non sequitur much? At this point other people are telling him to just stop, and one friend pointed out that I'm an atheist, if he was going for shock value with that one. I really don't care, it's his arm, though I do wonder what the purpose of doing that would be.
Then we get more word vomit of the R word & "well I don't know what other word to use!" Um. Bullshit. There are lots of other words and after you call me an fing r I have no reason to educate you-you are not worth my time after that. The guy just won't stop with the offensive and my friend tells him he is no longer welcome at our table-I was ready to leave at that point, but apparently I wasn't the one being an asshat?
This guy then goes around with the card that he insists playing would make him look like...well, that word (as though there is no worse fate than the late night crowd at Denny's wondering about you!) and he asks the waiter and all the stoners and other assorted riffraff that frequent Denny's at 1 AM for an adjective that describes the action on the card (please note that I absolutely without reservation consider my group part of that riffraff as well).
He. Asked. The. Waiter. To. Justify. His. Ableist. Hate. Speech.
The waiter was having none of it, fortunately, so this guy just stood at the side of our table for an hour while everyone ignored him. And on his way out he made sure to be vaguely threatening while using the same word about 10 times in one sentence.
But still. Hate speech. He fought that hard for his "right" to use hate speech.
My friends are awesome and wonderful, I must point out. There are so many similar situations where being not-ok with that word is somehow embarrassing or something, and they were pretty solidly "just stop, dude", which is just a symptom of their amazingness.
But this isn't the kind of thing that should happen at all.
In both these situations, people felt they were entitled to use words that the communities they are used against have explicitly said they disapprove of. And then when I, a member of said group, said "that isn't cool" (and according to witnesses, in the kind of way that isn't even offensive, since argument from tone is so damn popular), they felt they had a right to argue their right to use That Word, even though they'd never dream of using similar slurs, because they somehow have the right.
No.
It is not ok to use my people-yep, we're all stuck with each other-as your insult. And you sure as hell have no right to try to argue that because you know a disabled person or don't know that someone is a disabled person it's ok. Your bullshit, it is not flying here.
Saturday, October 22, 2011
For the billionth time: I DON'T HATE PARENTS
Well, not as a general rule. I make exceptions obviously, but someone kind of has to earn my ire.
Some absolutely wonderful people I know are parents (obviously. I work with kids). Some of them are even parents of autistic kids. Some parents of autistic kids have been nothing but lovely to me. I count some of these people as friends, even-a much more exclusive group than "people who are pretty alright".
If you are a parent & feeling like I hate you because I call you on something that's a problem-NT centering, for example, or calling yourself the autistic community when you aren't autistic, or for accidental use of silencing tactics or whatever-that does not mean I hate you! If I hate you, I'll probably say so, in so many words.
It is not an attack on all parents when I speak the ugly truth that many, many parents are horrible. Don't tell me that doesn't happen. It does. Been there, done that, paid the therapy bills. Don't tell me that parents don't center themselves in discussions on disability. A lot do. Many probably don't mean to. The ones who persist in doing so are irritating. That doesn't mean I hate them, unless they're really egregiously obnoxious about it.
I am not demonizing parents as a group pretty much ever. Those of you who think so really need to get over yourselves. If you feel 'demonized' by someone with a disability calling out problematic behavior, then maybe you need to look at yourself and why you feel hurt, especially if you insist you aren't Like That. If you are so deeply hurt by hearing about specific things that specific shitty parents have done, dig deep inside yourself and figure out why that is. Is it a knee-jerk feel-offended-because-someone-didn't-glorify-parents-of-disabled-kids? That's a personal problem that you may need to work on. Is it an I-feel-bad-because-I-empathize-with-these-shitheads? That's a different kind of personal problem. But it isn't me demonizing parents (I keep using that word because it keeps getting thrown around and I don't really know what the users are using it to mean, except "making out to be a demon") when I give specific examples of parenting choices that are shitawful.
But I don't hate parents! I hate certain things some parents do! I hate parents who are horrible people. That isn't unreasonable! I hate when parents tell me I need to shut up because of whatever stupid reasons! Also not unreasonable. And I think it's fair that I hate the dad who decided that stabbing an autistic teenager in the arm because of...whatever reason he gave, something about his wife and crying...was a good idea. Don't tell me that's unreasonable either!
So, if you think I hate you because you engage in any of those things, I don't, probably. But I sure think they're shitty things to do. If you want to know if I hate you, specifically, you can ask instead of assuming.
But I probably don't. I just won't hide what I think to make people less uncomfortable.
Some absolutely wonderful people I know are parents (obviously. I work with kids). Some of them are even parents of autistic kids. Some parents of autistic kids have been nothing but lovely to me. I count some of these people as friends, even-a much more exclusive group than "people who are pretty alright".
If you are a parent & feeling like I hate you because I call you on something that's a problem-NT centering, for example, or calling yourself the autistic community when you aren't autistic, or for accidental use of silencing tactics or whatever-that does not mean I hate you! If I hate you, I'll probably say so, in so many words.
It is not an attack on all parents when I speak the ugly truth that many, many parents are horrible. Don't tell me that doesn't happen. It does. Been there, done that, paid the therapy bills. Don't tell me that parents don't center themselves in discussions on disability. A lot do. Many probably don't mean to. The ones who persist in doing so are irritating. That doesn't mean I hate them, unless they're really egregiously obnoxious about it.
I am not demonizing parents as a group pretty much ever. Those of you who think so really need to get over yourselves. If you feel 'demonized' by someone with a disability calling out problematic behavior, then maybe you need to look at yourself and why you feel hurt, especially if you insist you aren't Like That. If you are so deeply hurt by hearing about specific things that specific shitty parents have done, dig deep inside yourself and figure out why that is. Is it a knee-jerk feel-offended-because-someone-didn't-glorify-parents-of-disabled-kids? That's a personal problem that you may need to work on. Is it an I-feel-bad-because-I-empathize-with-these-shitheads? That's a different kind of personal problem. But it isn't me demonizing parents (I keep using that word because it keeps getting thrown around and I don't really know what the users are using it to mean, except "making out to be a demon") when I give specific examples of parenting choices that are shitawful.
But I don't hate parents! I hate certain things some parents do! I hate parents who are horrible people. That isn't unreasonable! I hate when parents tell me I need to shut up because of whatever stupid reasons! Also not unreasonable. And I think it's fair that I hate the dad who decided that stabbing an autistic teenager in the arm because of...whatever reason he gave, something about his wife and crying...was a good idea. Don't tell me that's unreasonable either!
So, if you think I hate you because you engage in any of those things, I don't, probably. But I sure think they're shitty things to do. If you want to know if I hate you, specifically, you can ask instead of assuming.
But I probably don't. I just won't hide what I think to make people less uncomfortable.
Thursday, October 20, 2011
Both of these things are GABA!
The molecule? That's gamma amino-butyric acid, as represented with a molecular model kit (and yes, I know that gamma is a Greek letter. I don't have a Greek font).
That cat? Her name is GABA. She's very mellow & relaxing to be around.
That cat? Her name is GABA. She's very mellow & relaxing to be around.
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