What the Fuck is "Netiquette?"

Rule #6 of my grad school's (actual) "Netiquette" policy states this: "Be yourself and be honest." Up until today, I wasn't even aware there was such a policy in place. There's nary anything for which I strive in my life  as much as being original and no bullshit. I've said before...I'm honest to the point of brutality. And any of those who read me frequently know how many derogatory expletives I interject into every single conversation or piece of writing I create. Reading my therapy transcripts from my student counselor in class is hysterical to me, because every other word, literally, and they transcribe verbatim, is "fuck" or "shit." I was doing admirably well in my courses this semester (statistics, again, be damned and I'm getting like a C+ in Theories), my Life Development online class being a highlight. 

We have 2 questions to answer per week, where we post our answers and then have to follow up with posted responses to our classmates by Saturday night. The atmosphere of the class, though I have only met one student in person, is very amicable. We like one another. Hence, I feel relaxed, not self-conscious seeing as no one can physically see me.  My posts are usually insightful, intelligent and well-thought out. Or so I think they are. Except for this week's assignment. In my writing the other night, I could tell precisely the exact moment my night medications took effect, and I ceased to be coherent in any of the rest of my writing. I was inappropriate, insulting and gibbering without making any sense at all. It's so weird because what's in my head which compels me to write doesn't physically manifest itself in that fashion. I honestly believe I think I'm thinking within reason, when I'm totally not at all.

Everyone knows what I foul mouth I have and I take little consideration as whether or not that offends anyone, because I honestly could give a shit. But see, in grad school, you have to give a shit, just worded professionally and lucidly and on-topic. I have a 100% grade at midterm in this class and I'd love to round the semester out with an A, which I think is totally within my grasp.

Having gone over my posts first thing yesterday morning, I was totally embarrassed and shocked at their utter nonsense. I tried explaining on the forum what happens to me after I take my medications, but the professor and I agreed to scrap all of my answers from last night and to start over. Fair enough, as the professor is very laid back and accommodating. A lot of incoherent babbling goes on in my blogs too, but at least those I have the capacity to edit when I'm fully conscious, unlike the forum postings for class. The professor emailed me after I re-read those posts and asked if they could be removed. She agreed. She must be very attune to my nature and temperance even though we've never met in person. Here was her observation: 

"I appreciate your insights and contributions in this class, and I've enjoyed readings your responses.  However, I would like to ask that you would edit your responses/comments before posting and remove all inappropriate words. It may be difficult with your style of direct personality, language, and openness about yourself, but there are professional norms and language that we should use in the academic environment.  I suspect you may despise that, but we should think about other people and their feelings as well and what everyone expects when they're in academic environment.  It can be difficult to play various roles in the society and submit to the expected norms, but I would appreciate if you can try to socialize into a professional's role and use professional language (i.e, eliminating words such as "bitch," "ass" and etc.).  Thank you very much for your understanding and cooperation."

Damn straight. What's totally on target? It is extremely difficult for me to adapt to proper, polite society, at which I give the middle finger a lot.  I don't remember which posts "bitch" or "ass" were even in, but understandable that some people may have a different view of what's proper in an academic environment. (At least in Basic Skills for Psychotherapy, the therapy class, we all swear at one another. Our prof swears. It's all cool.)

I couldn't help but chuckle at the professor's wrist slap, as a punk. Yes, I agreed to follow the "netiquette" of the class from here on in, which leaves me with my blog, Facebook and Twitter on which to pound out F-bombs to my heart's content. Because that's just how I fucking am. Despise conforming to the norm?  I do. I feel that in a progressive, socially-conscious, private psychological learning institution, opinions should be welcomed and encouraged. But I guess they just don't want one with an F-bomb in the conversation.

Soon after I asked the professor to excuse my non-sensical ramblings and transient sleep stage responses to the questions, she did, and then shared with the whole class the school's  "Netiquette Policy." Of course she did. Because of Annie and her foul language, which I sorta find really hysterical  for those motherfuckers when the shit comes down. I feel like I was sent to the principal's office, or worse punishment, that I have to sit in the hallway and write 500 sentences of "I promise I won't use foul language in class ever again."

Saying "Fuck You" to contemporary popular, proper society is one of my life's greatest joys.

What, you're asking yourselves was so offensive and irrational? Here's one of my posts from this week, and mind you, you won't be able to follow the logic, because there isn't any:

"In the case fragment we were given from Santrock's article regarding the nuns:

I can sympathize with the nuns on one hand, but it goes against my only religion not to block the You-Know-Who.

The nun study was an interesting case. On the one hand, nuns pontificate that they are "wives" of Jesus, or at least he had a few favorites (if you know what I am still battling out Satan. [eye roll while the students are trying unsuccessfully to apply our psycholgical perspectives.

Physiologically,yes, we jockey into pole position coming out the Cumberland El stop. I'm perpetually with eyes on the back of my head. Of course, I'd also need eyes and glasses on the back of my hat, because my patient would steal it.

Had we any tricks or treaters tonight, I totally would've given them the crap on top of the cat statue. Let it roll!

Have any of you thought would it would be LIKE a grandmother, much less just like your own mom, which Sean and I both agreed was worded awkwardly and vague, which we'll figure out next week, I suppose.dot

I shouldn't have to cite my sources regarding baby/child care.I just hope and keep him prayer.

"Every sperm is sacred..." --Monty Python"

What in HELL? Who the fuck is Sean? Crap on a cat? What in tarnation was I talking about? Good God! I literally was typing asleep, I truly think. I was trying to finish my homework before the 11pm due time last night. But I'd been up since 4:45 that morning, had school, then had to come home and Be a Mom, had homework for this course, and oy...I think "overtired" is an understatement. It's like switching a light off, too, these changes in lucidity. I start out just fine, but wrap it up horribly. This doesn't happen every week; in fact, this is the first time it's ever happened in this class, and I can't remember in which weeks' posts I was swearing my head off, but I trust the professor that I did. Me is Me is Me.

My professor is encouraging me to visit the aforementioned department that helps crazy addicts w/brain damage get through school. All that learning disabled nonsense because of drug/alcohol abuse and bipolar. Great.

I had no choice to withdraw from statistics online, my final prerequisite for grad school. I just couldn't keep up with it. I'm hoping to find another stats class or research methods somewhere. I have to get a C or better for Adler to count it. Good. Fucking. Luck. Adler will plotz if I don't pass some sort of class like this in a timely fashion. Why do I have this sick feeling I'll be re-taking this prerequisite over and over again, in a hellish nightmare, until I'm ready to graduate with my masters?

In happier news...

Luke's Deadmau5 costume replica hat, which he worked on for 17 man hours with his dad, turned out to be boss. I guarantee you no other 7th graders went to the time and expense Luke and his dad put into this head.  Deadmau5, as Luke taught me, is some Canadian techno DJ that the young folk really enjoy. I personally find it extremely annoying. Most of his friends, with whom he tricked-and-treated, simply wore cheap plastic masks. Offbeat Drummer Spawn posed for this picture, in costume:

After this photo of Luke made its way around Facebook, naturally I had to get some derogatory remarks from Super Christian Total Helicopter Parents. But geez, if you're gonna criticize my kid and his amazing costume, when your kid still sits in a booster seat in the back seat of your van and he's going to be 13 years old,  still carrying a "The Incredibles" lunchbox from 3rd grade,  maybe try not to confuse words: she said that the "helmet" was great (or "costume") but she said she could "do without the jester." Um....I may have been close to my witching time, but I commented back to her that I think she was reaching for the word "gesture."Luke has every right to flip the bird at me in that head, because he's totally badass. We Miklaszes love to take pictures of giving the finger. And people like giving the finger to me, too. Middle-aged punkers like The Mekons' Jon Langford, on whom I still have a ginormous crush, whom I told (Not That) Bill Wyman when I was 19 that I'd meet someday, and lo and behold...

In other news...

Finally had a phone call from Guy Friend.   I think the catalyst for him finally ringing me up was my vindictive implication that I indeed intended on caramel-dipping raw onions on sticks and giving them to kids for Halloween. I was happy to hear from him and our conversation wasn't terribly deep or emotional, so maybe he's over that whole "OMG, Annie's in love with me! and I have no idea how to handle that" crap. He's going to LA this weekend to see his sister. Last weekend, he was in Boston. I doubt I'll see him any time soon. He seemed chipper enough on the phone, and did call me "sweetheart," so whatever. I guess we're fine. The glamorous lifestyle of a...cardiologist. It's really weird. I don't blink at the thought of Best Male Friend jetting around the globe; I'm used to it. But when Guy Friend leaves town, I have crazy separation anxiety, though I don't think it's centered around his wife, though yeah, sometimes I wish he'd ditch her & take ME away for the weekend. I'd make his life nothing short of an amazing adventure into utter lunacy.

My professor, I'm sure, doesn't have time to peruse my blog at any length, but had this to say in her email to me this afternoon:

" I'm glad you've found this online class supportive, but revealing personal details to many people may not always work well in the long run.  I'm not suggesting one or the other way, but providing a different perspective to consider, since our world is not perfect and your excessive self-disclosure may sometime work against you."

I disagree. It'll all make a helluva memoir. The world is not perfect, true. And it's full of assholes who'll use your shit against you, true. But one thing I've found as an addict and as a mental patient is that too many of us are ashamed, silent and complacent about that from which we relentlessly suffer. Somebody has to give us a voice, and I took it upon myself to be one of those voices. Whether or not that works for or against me in my career remains to be seen, though still in all, the population I want to work with will be insanely shouting expletives that would make even my hot-tempered blood boil. Because, again, I want to aid people like ME.

We're learning about, uh, "older people" in Life Development for the next couple of weeks. I also ran across the article below online recently. These remind me of Guy Friend, and oh my, I have heard the best of them from him:

Gotcha. Loud and clear. Oddly, he never asked for sex. I mean, I'd give it serious consideration, but I, like Guy Friend, would never make any promises. Etiquette and all.

The closest admission to any semblance of any type of masturbatory activity you'll ever see The Offbeat Drummer disclose in public:

And he damn well better! I brought him into this world; I can take him out of it! Part of being a responsible, engaged parent is to neurotically monitor what your preteen is interested in online. Love me, love me, love me!