Tag Archives: adult

AccidentalThong.com celebrates 1000 Ausome Things #AutismPositivity2013

30 Apr

Here are a few of my favorite images which remind me of three of my favorite things about autism:
-When we are given the space to be ourselves, we soar.
-There are always new angles and new ways to approach everything (when in doubt, SPIN!)
-We understand each other even when we can’t find our words.

AccidentalThong.com celebrates 1000 Ausome Things #AutismPositivity2013
These are two of my favorite things! Happy Autism Acceptance Day!
Two Happy Aspies

The Meticulous Choreography of Improvisation

13 Jul

I found this on thautcast.com: “What I Can Do Is Pretend To Be You”. It’s an Aspergian’s reflections on a life focused on passing, focused on perfecting “the character” others want us to portray. My first three-plus decades felt like this. I remember having to do an improv scene in the mandatory high school theater class and I just couldn’t grasp how to make improv work. Now I know that nearly every moment of my life was strictly scripted, with rationed moments of improvisation to perpetuate the illusion of flexibility and the words and looks that suggested that I was just a freak and not fitting in on purpose, and not possibly because of anything organic, formed in me before words and judgments and comparisons.

I struggled with that for years, as I tend to fixate on the things I can’t do, or can’t do well (training from my youth, when things were forever paraded about with labels regarding shortcomings, comparisons to other people, and my intelligence).

I fixate, I hyper focus, for the sake of pursuing mastery and approval.

I should say, I fixated. I hyper focused.

I’m so much happier now, being myself.

The approval I seek is my own, and I’ve learned to be flexible in my criteria and the word and concept of perfection aren’t in my vocabulary except as a scar that serves as a reminder to buckle up or watch where you are going as next time a scar might not even have the opportunity to form over the wound.

I wish I had this piece, from Larkin Taylor-Parker, on a sandwich board to wear around people who refused to look at me and instead focused on what they felt I wasn’t willing to be, for those who saw just the failure and the gaffes and not the effort and considerable choreography applied to each moment, to pass even just a little…

Click the link to hop on over to thautcast. I’d like to hear your thoughts on this piece and the concept of “passing”.

On Autistic Passing: “What I Can Do Is Pretend to Be You” | thAutcast.com.

Happy Friday,


Ten Tips… An Autistic’s Advice

5 Dec
Tomato Tomato.  It's only different if you say it aloud.

Tomato Tomato. Lets Call The Whole Thing Off....Doesn't work so well when typed.

A fantastic list of 10 tips for teachers, that really should read:  Ten Tips for Everyone.    Every person that interacts with the world, in any way, shape, or form will come in contact with a person with autism at some point and probably more frequently than just once or twice.  For that matter, every person does come in contact with people with various disabilities, some of them “invisible disabilities”… So yes, everyone should read this and mentally slather it onto their brains as “Ten Tips to Mindfully Communicate With Your Fellow Humans, Especially the Ones Who Seem To Be A Little (or a lot) Off Center In What You Consider To Be ‘Normal'”. 

My apologies for using that “N” word.  Most of you know that I find that N word to be outdated, on an even keel day, and mythical on the other 364.

Clickety click the link below, and check out the tips.

Please comment below if there is anything you would add and if you have examples of people doing the opposite… Me thinks it helps to bridge the gap between us and them when we can share examples.  Too many of the folks not living with disability or a difference that impacts every single morsel of their lives, think that discrimination and just plain douchey behavior doesn’t happen anymore because “people know better” and “there are laws” and when we do share our stories with others we are often told that we just misunderstood or worse, that clearly we have a chip on our shoulder.  Gee. Thanks made-for-cable-TV movies and sitcoms. Stereotyping us as bitter-because-of-our-physical challenges or extra-sweet and gullible because of mental and emotional ones, either keeps folks away or lets them feel no guilt whatsoever when they slip on in and take advantage of us.

Those of us who live with “it” everyday know that the treatment of people with differences and disabilities is like Betty Crocker’s iconic female face.  The clothes have changed.  Makeup and hair have been updated.  But it’s still a box of cake mix.  Capisce?

Here, as promised way back in the beginnings of this post, is the link:

An Autistic’s Advice: Ten Tips for Teachers.



Beware! & Kindness!

18 Oct

Bean Men can be deadly, despite their catalog model good looks.

Beware the Bean Men!   Especially if you have G6PD Deficiency and cannot tolerate beans/legumes of any sort!

They are pure plaid wrapped evil.

The Baldguy saw this catalog in our mail and altered it for my enjoyment.  He stuck it back in the pile of mail that I may never actually get to.  It had been a couple of weeks so this morning he finally caved and showed it to me.

This is why I keep him around.  He’s a very creative goofball.

And he’s also sweet.   Back in 1998 we had a giant flood in Somerville, MA. Sure we were safe on the third floor of our triple decker, but a week or so before that I had decided to move back to NY and pursue work in NYC.  Being fairly diligent, I started moving non-necessity belongings down to the creepy basement so it would be quicker and easier to assess what I had left to do and would make loading the truck/van easier as I was still a hard-headed, fairly able bodied, do it myself kind of a gal.

And then the flood came while we were at Shnoog’s(not her real name, though over a dozen years have passed and we still think of her as Shnoogs and probably always will) graduation party up in the hillier area of Somerville.

When we got out of the car I was up to my knees in flood water and the rain was still coming down.

Jeff and I got inside and dried off and as I was a red-headed wild child, I grabbed our summer roomie and went down to the first floor to introduce ourselves to the bakers dozen (or more!) of young Irish medical and engineering students that were moonlighting on US soil for the summer, working for a local moving company and sleeping 4 to a room.

We had a ball hanging out with the lads and probably swaying just a little from all of the beer and the gentle rocking melody of their Irish brogue.

I checked the basement at one point, and the flood water was a foot below the ceiling.  The washing machine bobbed by, as did a bottle of Tide.  I think I took a photo of the tide as it made me us laugh… It seemed like very intricate product placement to us silly drunk ladies.


A few days later, and the firemen came to pump out all of the basements on our street and fix some of the damage at the school across the street.  That is when I realized that the non-necessities in the drip-drying basement didn’t just include winter clothes and books.

January was down there.  January, the stuffed pig I got when my folks went to Florida without me when I was four.

Here’s January now (after I cleaned him, restuffed him, and stitched him up)… He now belongs to Alex.

I realized that the little doodads I had saved from my childhood, and a few beloved books had been destroyed in the nasty flood waters.

I broke down as I carried them outside into the sunlight.  I just lost it.  I cried for my stuffed animals, for the extra odd symbolism this inflicted on my latest transition from child and student to independent adult.  I cried because I knew Jeff would be leaving for LA and the summer all of a sudden seemed so short.  I cried. I cried.  I cried.

The next day was like any other. I went to my job at the production company and took the T home to Somerville that evening.  I walked down the hall of our third floor apartment, toward the kitchen, and something caught my eye from inside the bathroom.

The stuffed animals that inspired my meltdown, the day before, were all sitting around the ledge of the tub.

They didn’t look dirty or muddy and matted.

On one of them was this note:

That’s the baldguy’s handwriting.

It’s strange.  We had a horrible year as roommates.  I’m pretty sure that Dave and Pete (our other two roommates) hoped we’d kill each other so we’d both be out of their hair, but we stuck it out and spent a good portion of the year fighting and angry all of the time, and the rest of it plotting what our next passive aggressive insult toward the other would be.

We really weren’t good friends before the flood happened, before that summer.

But this act of great effort and kindness changed that.  From then on, we were true friends.

Anyway.  I have to finish up this rice pudding (will share recipe when I’m done changing everything about it!) and go to bed.  More tomorrow..


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