reblog and make a wish!
this was removed from tumbrl due to “violating one or more of Tumblr’s Community Guidelines”, but since my wish came true the first time, I’m putting it back. :)
OH MY FUCKING GOD, IT’S BACK ON MY DASH.
THIS SHIT WORKS OKAY, I AM DEAD SERIOUS.
The last time I saw this on my dash, I didn’t think it would happen, so jokingly I wished I could go to a fun. concert.
AND GUESS WHAT, I WENT TO A FUCKING FUN. CONCERT.
THIS SHIT WORKS, TRY IT.
I SAW THIS ON MY DASH THE OTHER DAY AND THOUGHT “ITS WORTH A TRY” SO I WISHED I COULD GET A 3DS
LITERALLY LIKE 4 DAYS LATER MY DAD SENT ME A PICTURE OF THE 3DS XL HE BOUGHT FOR ME WHILE I WAS AT SCHOOL
IM STILL FREAKING OUT ABOUT THIS
holy fuck, I didn’t expect this to work, I was like psh, whatever it’s just a quick reblog, but I wished my Dad would actually respond back to me AND HE FUCKING DID A FEW DAYS LATER, I GOT A FUCKING TEXT FROM MY DAD TODAY WHO HASN’T SPOKEN OR RESPONDED TO ME IN MONTHS HOLY FUCK WHAT IS THIS MAGIC IT WORKS.
I WANTED TO SEE MY BOYFRIEND AND I DIDN’T THINK I’D GET DAYS OFF BUT THIS WEEKEND I’M HEADING UP THERE??? THIS IS CRAZY SHIT
SO LIKE I JOKINGLY WISHED FOR MY OWN LEN KAGAMINE AND THEN LIKE A WEEK LATER I GOT A LEN NENDOROID??? H ELP
WTF OKAY SO THIS SHOT ACTUALLY WORKS BECAUSE WHEN I WISHED, I HAD WISHED MY CRUSH WOULD LIKE ME BACK AND GUESS WHAT? I HAVE A BOYFRIEND NOW. WHAT THE HELLLLL?????
ok I’ve said this before but IM DOING IT AGAIN THE FIRST TIME I SAW THIS, MY WISH DID COME TRUE SO I REBLOGED AGAIN AND SAID IT IN THE TAGS BUT THEN I WISHED FOR SMTH ELSE AND IT LITERALLY LITERALLY HAPPENED LIKE A COUPLE DAYS LATER WHAT THE HELL SO NOW IM WRITING THIS HERE FOR YOU BC I DONT BELIEVE IN THIS CRAP BUT STILL IT’S AN AWFULLY BIG COINCIDENCE
THE BOY I FELL I LOVE WITH LEFT TO TRAVEL THE OTHER SIDE OF THE WORLD AND HAS BEEN GONE NOW FOR 3 MONTHS. WE HAVENT SPOKEN SINCE BECAUSE I DIDNT WANT TO MAKE HIM FEEL TRAPPED TO ME AND NOT ENJOY HIS TIME SO I WAITED FOR HIM TO CONTACT ME FIRST. I SAW THIS ON A PARTICULARLY LOW DAY WHEN I WAS MISSING HIM SO MUCH I CRIED FROM THE PAIN, GUYS I REALLY LOVE HIM, SO I THOUGHT MEH WHAT THE FUCK, AND WISHED HE WOULD JUST LET ME KNOW HE WAS OKAY.
HE FUCKING CALLED ME 20 MINUTES LATER
20 FUCKNG. MINUTES. LATER.
GOOD THINGS DO HAPPEN. AND ITS IN THIS POST.
I wish for someone to leave something in my ask.
OKAY SO I ASKED FOR A HEDGEHOG AND NOW GUESS WHO HAS A PET HEDGEHOG
I WISHED FOR SNK MERCH THE FIRST TIME. I GOT A JACKET.
I WISHED FOR MY GIRLFRIEND THE SECOND TIME. I HAVE A GIRLFRIEND.
On May 28th, my sister, Edna, turned 31.
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.
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.
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.)
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.
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.
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.
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:
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.
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.
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.
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.
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:
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.
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.
This made me cry
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.
tbh I don’t see the fuss about having waiters/waitresses not being happy and enthusiastic like I came here to eat I didn’t come here to be amused by employees as long as I’m getting my food and they’re not being blatantly rude I don’t see why y’all need to go on yelp to rank a restaurant 0/5 and have an outburst on why your waitress didn’t smile at you when she poured you water
this is pretty fucking important
Yes! These aren’t trained monkeys; they’re people. They’re people carrying heavy trays, fetching you refills, juggling multiple tables - some of them with rude customers, and getting paid below minimum wage to do it. Unless you’re dining at some kind of specialty restaurant à la Pulp Fiction’s Jack Rabbit Slims, your servers are not there for your entertainment. I actually enjoy a restaurant more when a server isn’t turning it up to 11 or being faux friendly. I guess that kind of behavior makes me uncomfortable because I know how tiring it is to wear a mask in public.
I think the most frustrating part about seizures (maybe not, there are so many frustrating parts if I start to think about it) is that, for me at least, I get really stupid right before they happen. So that the next day, when people say “Did you have any warning signs?” or “Did you feel it coming on?” I have to be like “Yes, absolutely, but at the time nothing made sense. I can see now, looking back, that nothing making sense and my mind saying weird, stupid things to me is a clue, but at the time, nothing was that clear.”
Banning contraceptives because you think someone shouldn’t be having sex is like banning the cops because you shouldn’t be committing crime.
i was ready to just scroll past like “haha grammar humor” but then it was weird al and i,
Can I take this moment to express how happy I am about “Word Crimes” because lots of grammar humor but also because “Blurred Lines” is really catchy and I don’t WANT to like it, but it keeps getting in my head, and now my problem is solved in the best way imaginable.
"It’s not fair, because you didn’t warn me that your friend is the most beautiful person in the world and now I want to be his boyfriend" ~ my friend, upon meeting my (ex)coworker
Ugh, I am really awful at being nice to people I like. That seems so weird, but I think I’m not the only one that does this. Anyway my (now ex) coworker is really the most adorable and lovely and empathetic person ever, and it was recently pointed out to me that he’s also incredibly physically attractive. I feel super weird, because my (ex)coworker and I seem very similar in just enough ways where we’re both terribly shy and bad at being friends with people, but I think we both want to be friends?
I mean, I’m leaving in two weeks, so we’ll probably rarely (if ever) speak again, and that upsets me a large amount, but I don’t know what to do. And I sorta want to like, write a letter (because being nice face-to-face is terrifying) saying like “you’re supes cool; if we don’t stay friends i understand, but i hope you’ll do the coolest things with your life, and if you need anything, lmk” but that seems weird, and also it’s hard to express an undying platonic love for someone (esp. of the opposite sex) without people misconstruing it. Not that he’s not adorbs in every way, just that… I’ve been wrong in the past about thinking I was romantically interested in someone when I’m not. Anyway, if somehow, some way, I find a way to support him in some way, I hope that happens. My reaction to understanding who he is makes me want to take him and shield him from the whole world with some sort of giant protective wings. I feel like he’s really too sweet for the world to deserve, and I hope no one ruins that, sine he’s just a tiny baby (21) right now.
Why does everyone always want to tell me that I’ll change my mind. I spent the first half of my life (slightly more) of people saying “oh, sure, you like horses now, but wait until you find out about boys…” or “… but wait until you find the right boy…” or “wait until you grow up” or whatever. Now, it’s more “sure, you say you don’t want marriage or kids now, but just you wait…” and I guess if I wait until I “get older” or I “meet the right person” or my “biological clock starts ticking” or any number of other reasons.
I know it’s weird to admit it, but when I say I know it, I know it about myself. I have thought it over, and I have a much, much, MUCH more thorough understanding of what I want out of my life than you do.
I’m also incredibly sick of people telling me I’ll understand marriage when I finally fall in love. I’ve experienced love before. I have. More than once. And I’ve witnessed a whole pile of marriages fall apart. Because they’re not synonyms. A marriage is a legal contract that I’m not sure how I feel about, but it seems weird to me that people legitimately believe that a legal contract is equivalent to love. (This isn’t to say I’m not happy when really cool people get married, regardless of their genders, as long as it’s what they want for their lives.) I think mostly people think I’m afraid of commitment, or think that I don’t know what it is. But the only times I’ve ever felt comfortable committing to things, I waited, I thought it over a lot, I did research, and I only say definitive things when I mean them. Stop taking all of that away from me and telling me I’m going to change.