Trainwreck Amy L. Hayden / yellowbird73 / subjunctive collapse - A Hybrid of Phil and Cecily.

exceptionalgoogle

kiwifarms.net
lmao I love that she's mad because her family deemed her competent:

All it would have took was her to admit the truth, she's a raging fuck up incapable of managing her life and then she could have gotten the help she needs.

She's so fucking entitled. Here is her admission of how she came to New York with $52 cash to her name and begged people to put her up. Remember this woman is pushing 50.

When I made the decision to move to NYC, I sent a mass email to everyone I knew who lived there asking if I could crash with them for a little while. A few people answered saying it was okay for a couple days, a week at most.
Can you imagine the kind of selfishness it takes to mass email everyone you know in New York and ask them to take you in off the streets? With only $52 to her name, she surely expected to be eating their food and had no intention of putting her hand in her pocket to cover the expenses they'd incur due to her imposition.

It wasn't the first time she expected family or friends to bail her out. And her family has previously--they even paid for her and her son to travel to Texas for her brother's wedding, five months into her time in NY when she blamed Hurricane Sandy for her continued laziness (did you know there were no jobs in NY post-Sandy?!) and inability to pay the rent. (I know you'll be shocked to learn she later bitched about the wedding on her blog, said it "triggered her," moaned about being around wise family members "who long ago judged me so unfit of a person that they wouldn’t even say so much as hello," and said it hurt to see her brother in love and happy while she was all alone.) But she never paid them back, so they're not dumb enough to give her money to piss away on movies, manicures, hair salons, vacations, Anthropologie shopping sprees, multiple pairs of expensive headphones, plane tickets for cross-country booty calls, or any of the other shit she spends her money on instead of paying child support.

What's hilarious and chilling is how, less than two years ago, she wrote this on her blog. Sound familiar?

I’ve recently taken to temporarily muting certain people on Twitter, not because they are racist or rude or politically offensive but because they are financially tone-deaf. I think we all know these people (I was once one of them): the sort who humble-brags about how oh-so-expensive that [insert non-necessary food/service/luxury here] was and how oh-so-tortured they feel about having spent so much money. Or a different sort: those who whine about how broke they are after they pay their credit card bills, how financially strained they feel after a particularly expensive night out, how put-upon they are by high gas/drink/cigarette/manicure/insurance prices. These people use words like “poor” and “broke” with complete abandon, and with some regularity I run out of patience and mute them for a little while. Because, just like some people bristle at the use of the phrase “I’m starving!” by anyone not literally starving, I cannot abide by those who use such specific financial terms to describe what can, at worst, be characterized as high-class problems.
She then says, multiple times, "I'm not complaining." Yeah, you are. But you've been doing the same shit yourself for the past decade. In an entry from 2007, she bragged about paying 47 fucking dollars (plus tip) to get her eyebrows done, and how she needed to find the "perfect black miniskirt to look sexy" (magic is not real, tubby). And then you turned around and did the same shit yourself, literally, while your abandoned children miss school trips and go without because your manicures and Epicerie Boulud pastries and cappuccinos come before putting food on their table.

The good news is, this monster got her tubes tied. Considering her own admission of how she skipped out on her kids' lives even before abandoning them in Illinois and moving to New York, that is for the best.

I feel (and know) that I missed out on so much of what being a mom is all about. I had the first 10 years with my older son, the first 4 with my younger son, but I was absent for a lot of that time. I wasn’t good with staying in one place. I was always running away, trying to find something, leaving the boys with The Philosopher, to whom I’ll always owe a debt of gratitude for being a stable presence in their lives, because without him they would be a mess today. If I could go back and do it all over, I’d do it 1,000% differently. But I can’t, and I feel a tremendous amount of regret about that. Which is the tricky part about me thinking about what I’d do if I met someone who wanted to have a kid with me.
No one is that fucking crazy. Also, note how she has backtracked completely on this regret and now insists she did everything right and anyone who doesn't applaud her for ditching her children and refusing to pay child support is a big meanie. And all the while, she shames her father for not showing her kids enough attention. This from the mother who abandoned them. If you want to be chilled by her disconnection from reality, try this on for size.

According to my brother (who may or may not have accurate information, and I’m not ready to verify it, for reasons that should become clear), my father didn’t talk to me during my recent trip because he’s upset that the stories I told during my last trip “made him look like a redneck in front of his brothers and embarrassed him.”

Okay.

Let’s put aside that I’m not the sort of person (or at least I’m no longer the sort of person) who tells stories for the purpose of embarrassing someone.
Then she proceeds to out her father's alcoholism, her mother's mental illness and the physical, emotional, and sexual abuse she says she suffered at the hands of her parents. Why on earth would they think she's the kind of person who wouldn't mind embarrassing them?! In another blog post, she details what her brother (whose identity is revealed all over her social media) told her in private letters, and writes of the "childhood filled with both abuse and neglect, adolescence marked by the absence of adults who paid little attention to us other than for their own ego-driven needs" that they both suffered. You know, the same shit this shameless cunt did to her own babies.

Her face is revolting, but it's nothing compared to her black, ugly soul. Yet she thinks she's "beautiful," "stunning," and would have us believe she is constantly chased by handsome, wealthy, cultured men who beg her to marry them. Complete insanity.

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@exceptionalgoogle only for the sake of her family am I grateful she's a nobody noticed by few, but by golly it'd be fun if one of the countless people he harangued into helping her showed to to share their experiences with her. I'm unaware of a single living arrangement that worked out for her. I'm sure she's a sour bitch in person, the kind whose presents makes waiting on the subway platform all the more worse, I can only imagine what living with her even for just a day is like. I could easily imagine her behaving like the petulant ingrate she is inside someone else home probably pointing out all the things THEY have and she doesn't in an effort to guilt.

After all, this is a woman so disliked no even her dozens of claims of cancer bouts and fighting other imagined illnesses don't raise so much as a murmur from her "friends".
 

exceptionalgoogle

kiwifarms.net
After all, this is a woman so disliked no even her dozens of claims of cancer bouts and fighting other imagined illnesses don't raise so much as a murmur from her "friends".

The only affliction she has (apart from all the personality disorders) is Munchausen's Syndrome. She is so far gone that she doesn't even try to make her stories believable. Unless you think it's normal to blog, Instagram, and tweet your way through "focal seizures" and 30+ days of migraines.

I’ve had a migraine since August 4th. Thirty-six days of pain, one of which three weeks ago was spent in the ER at Bellevue getting a double dose of morphine and a shot of toradol, only to dull the pain from a 9 to a 7 on a scale of 1–10.​

A cynic would think she was faking it to get a fix of intravenous drugs. But I am sure there was no trip to Bellvue (if so, she should have gone to the psych ward while she was there). Those who know her always roll their eyes at each other when she starts talking about her imagined medical crises--which always seem to happen when she is 24 hours from eviction because she spent what should have been rent and child support money on manicures, blow-outs, or flights for cross-country booty calls. When she's hinting that she needs you to give her cash or she'll be in a shelter by the end of the night, she trots out one of her supposed medical afflictions. What are those? She's happy to blog it if you'll be persuaded to drop some cash in her PayPal account:

Here’s the full list: degenerative disc disease, scoliosis, lordosis, trocherantic bursitis, facet joint syndrome, osteoarthritis (all conditions thus far make simple things like getting out of bed, washing my hair, and standing for long periods of time to cook dinner excruciating; other things, like sex, require a conscious effort to “forget” I’m in pain), knee valgus deformity (I’ll need replacement before I’m 50), pelvic organ prolapse (including a partial rectocele, if you don’t mind getting squeamish), an abdominal hernia (which I tend only to notice when lifting heavy objects), the aforementioned breast lump; chronic migraines (2-3/week even with the best preventative meds + Botox injections every three months), an arachnoid cyst in my brain, treatment-resistant depression, panic disorder, fibromyalgia, excessive fatigue necessitating a narcolepsy medication, mixed incontinence, and PTSD.
In that same entry, she bemoans the fact that she has no one there to hold her and comfort her. Gee, would that be because you're a monster who bleeds everyone dry, emotionally and financially, and causes so much wreckage that you leave them with no choice but to avoid you?

Fact is, lots of people have helped her, and it has never been enough for Amy. She minimizes all of the selfless generosity she's been shown, claiming she's "done it all alone." One example: her sob stories about going back to her (second) MA program nine days after brain surgery (which she says was supposed to have a three month minimum recovery time). She said she was having "focal seizures" while driving to work and with her kids in the car (seem safe!--if true). She claims she did it all alone, with zero support in any way. But those who knew her back then--who always thought the tale of a "brain tumor" was fishy--banded together to help her. These are mothers of multiple children who made her meals, cleaned her house, ran her errands, and generally busted their asses. Amy STILL bemoans how she had "no help" during that time. Such a fucking ingrate.

Just last year, she claimed she felt as if "a razor blade is periodically slicing into my breast," but she wouldn't go to the doctor because "these are the tiring and invisible errands of sick people who Have No One To Help." If you had any idea how many people have tried to help this selfish cunt, you'd be amazed. Then she also admits that "I canceled a doctor’s appointment because I couldn’t wake myself up in time (3:30pm) to get there." She's a lazy piece of shit who is overflowing with self-pity. She says:

The chronic pain, however begrudgingly accepted, only serves to intensify a lingering suspicion that the problems surrounding me are intractable, that perhaps I’ve done something at some point in another life that means I’m getting my just desserts.
How about how you abandoned your two young sons in this life, and have contributed nothing to their upbringing, refusing to pay child support or anything but the bare minimum visitation so that you can take endless selfies of yourself for Instagram, where you pretend to be a mom who gives a shit about her kids? Yes, you deserve every bit of this pain--and then some.

But Amy has endless reserves of self-pity. She whines about her:

dissatisfaction with the things I’ve received (or not, as it were) without ever figuring out why—no matter how hard I work or try or plan or have good intentions—I wake up every morning in excruciating pain (always physical, often existential), slightly disappointed both that it isn’t gone and it didn’t just kill me already while I slept.​

We all share in your disappointment, Amy. But when even your young children know the drill with your self-pity, it's time to get honest with yourself.

There’s an inside joke I have with my younger son; if there’s a 1% chance of something happening—a side effect, a bad reaction, an unusual occurrence—it always happens to me. When I say things like, “I had injections in my back on Friday, and 5% of the people who get them experience excruciating pain for about a week instead of immediate pain relief…,” I don’t even need to go on before he adds “…and, let me guess, you’re one of the 5%.”​

I guess she needs to convince herself of all this as she stands in line for food stamps (hours after checking in at a hair salon or a Brazilian wax appointment on Swarm--guess she needed a blowout to look good for the johns she was trying to pick up in the public assistance office). I guess she needs to believe she's this hard done by as she claims she can't pull herself up by her bootstraps because she doesn't have any.

What, precisely, is a bootstrap? I’ll certainly give it the ol’ college try to pull myself up by one if someone (a) tells me what it is and (b) sends me one. Or two. Do you need two? Then I’d need two in order for this attempt at pulling myself up to work.​

The baby daddy who has raised both of her sons as his own--even though only one is his biological child--is no fool when it comes to these splurges. Boy does this make her angry.

My last appearance in family court included being presented with an inch-thick stack of printouts of my social media activity, ranging from blog posts to Twitter feed information, pointing out the various aspects of my life that would indicate I might have more income than my tax returns showed. But I don’t have a habit of lying to the IRS, which leads me to point out what I say to most everyone who inquires how I’m able to do so much with such little income: appearances can be deceiving.
She claims that when she is checking in at spas, movies, vacation spots, salons, Epicerie Boulud and other nice places where she spends her time instead of earning income so she can pay child support (and/or spends her money that should be going to her children for child support), it's because all those things have been gifted to her "because I happen to be a lucky person." Yes, that's certainly the impression she's created from more than a decade of blog posts about how she has never had anything she deserved! A lucky person who doesn't even have bootstraps or know what they are? Sounds legit!

Or, once in a blue moon, I’ve just decided I deserve to see a movie before noon at AMC Theaters for $8 and I splurge, because I happen to believe that even people who are struggling and broke deserve to treat themselves from time to time, because if they don’t, then that makes their lives even worse.
I don't give a shit about your life. I give a shit--more of one than you do--about the two children whose lives you've made worse than you can even comprehend. Give them that $8, you selfish cunt.

And even poor people deserve nice things occasionally.
Nobody owes you shit. Your abandoned kids, on the other hand, deserve a stable, secure home and a mother who doesn't neglect or abuse them, who contributes financially to their upbringing, who doesn't use them to score sympathy points with the entire internet and would-be marks for loans.

And it sucks that “nice things” devolve into $8 movies or a $4 donut-and-coffee combo at Dunkin’ Donuts when you’re at-or-below the poverty line and living on food stamps and leaps of faith and luck and temporary work.
She's neglecting to mention all her trips to Daniel Boulud restaurants for pastries and cappuccino, her multiple pairs of expensive noise-cancelling headphones, her Anthropologie shopping sprees, her vacations (FROM WHAT?!) and all the rest of the shit she's dumb enough to flaunt on social media. She has no fucking shame--to the point of saying it's none of her ex's concern that she is treating herself to constant luxuries while refusing to pay child support, leaving him with the bills for raising two kids (one of whom isn't even his).

What I want you to know is that what someone else does is none of your damn business BECAUSE appearances can be deceiving.​

Well, bitch, it IS his business that you piss away money you owe your children on luxuries you claim you "deserve." And what the fuck is wrong with you that you think rubbing your kids' noses in it with endless social media posts, flaunting the expensive fun you're having while they miss school trips and go without, is anything but extremely fucked up? Any money you spend on costly splurges should be going to your children. Any spare time should be spent earning money to send to them, or looking for work that will allow you to do so. That you persist in taking your beached whale body to the beach for repeated "me time" while your kids suffer is beyond forgiveness, you smug cunt. Wipe that butthole smirk off your ugly-ass face.
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@exceptionalgoogle for a second while I was reading the rundown of her diagnoses I chuckled bc I thought it was a pithy write up by you and then realized this is her IN HER OWN WORDS. What's amazing is that she seems autistic in her inability to distinguish tone when her exasperated son beat her to the punch line of her being the snowflake anomaly that gets the adverse effects from treatment.

The idea of live posting while you're having mini seizures or w/e the fuck while driving around with your kids warrants a knock knock on her door from the police, and this is coming from someone who doesn't believe what Cecily does warrants police intervention. She's obviously lying, but the depths of insanity someone must be dwelling in to believe this is plausible of sympathetic for attention needs to be locked up in a psych ward.

Pulling yourself up by the bootstraps means taking a fucking job you can't glamorize to make ends meet. There's dignity in working, none in begging and berating those you're supposed to be teaching once someone is foolish enough to give you a chance. I bet she would have a legit psychotic episode if she was ever locked out of her social media accounts where she can't live her fantasy of being an unseducable minx waiting to be tamed by Mr. Right. Even if the audience she's playing to is only herself.

At least her ex has sense enough to keep tabs of her. lol @ Amy crying her life is no one else's business as she makes it everyone's business by posting it publicly online and shamelessly begging for money and handouts both directly to anyone's email she has on hand and indirectly to the dozens of followers she has on her social media.

Want to know what's no ones business? Her kids medical diagnoses and self harm. But who cares if it means scoring Hamilton tickets and sympathy points? Things she values more than her son's dignity and privacy.
 

exceptionalgoogle

kiwifarms.net
Pulling yourself up by the bootstraps means taking a fucking job you can't glamorize to make ends meet. There's dignity in working, none in begging and berating those you're supposed to be teaching once someone is foolish enough to give you a chance.

Lest we forget, Amy believes she's way too good--and her kids not nearly deprived enough--to even consider taking a job working for Tim Ferriss.

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At least her ex has sense enough to keep tabs of her. lol @ Amy crying her life is no one else's business as she makes it everyone's business by posting it publicly online and shamelessly begging for money and handouts both directly to anyone's email she has on hand and indirectly to the dozens of followers she has on her social media.

Right. Once you've crossed the line into advertising your fucking vaginal prolapse and the fact that your rectal tissue has shifted into your vagina, you officially have no business expecting anything less than complete horror at what you post online. You certainly can't order the man who is raising your two abandoned children, without financial help from you--a man who only fathered one of those kids biologically, but has raised him as his own for years--to ignore your flagrant displays of luxury spending while your kids miss school trips and do without. The fuck is wrong with you?

Want to know what's no ones business? Her kids medical diagnoses and self harm. But who cares if it means scoring Hamilton tickets and sympathy points? Things she values more than her son's dignity and privacy.

I wish she had died in childbirth.
 

exceptionalgoogle

kiwifarms.net
I wonder if she'll find anyone willing to bail her out of China when that job inevitably fails.

Her only hope is to try to get another gig as a BDSM hooker. She would have a sort of freak-show appeal to Chinese men, even if they needed to cover her face in order to perform. Since she's already broadcast on social media that she's willing to get paid to let men use her mouth as their toilet, it seems like she knows she's not attractive enough to get paid for straight-up penetrative sex without extreme kinks. So, maybe she has a chance of making it there. I hope her next hooking gig pays her enough that she has something left over to send her abandoned children after treating herself to daily luxuries and richly deserved vacations from sleeping until 4pm.
 
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Honestly, the thing I'm looking forward to the most is her learning how uncouth the Chinese are when confronted with fat, ugly white people. I doubt she'll learn any of the language and will contort people tittering at the sight of her as intrigue to her "exotic" green eyes, but I guaranfuckingtee any one of them she runs into that speaks English will gleefully call her a pig.
 

exceptionalgoogle

kiwifarms.net
Honestly, the thing I'm looking forward to the most is her learning how uncouth the Chinese are when confronted with fat, ugly white people. I doubt she'll learn any of the language and will contort people tittering at the sight of her as intrigue to her "exotic" green eyes, but I guaranfuckingtee any one of them she runs into that speaks English will gleefully call her a pig.

By her own admission, she can't even wake up before 3.30pm. How the fuck is she going to learn even the bare minimum number of Chinese phrases she needs to get by? Does she plan to communicate through Google Translate on her phone the whole time? I can't wait to see her start stomping her foot as the ugly American (literally) who takes it personally that the world hasn't learned English to accommodate her.

Also good luck being a vegan in China when you don't speak the language. Bitch is going to be getting regular doses of donkey dick in her mouth, and not just from her paying customers.
 
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Wait, she's vegan? What's she doing eating cheese (or are those poached eggs?) and putting m.ilk in her coffee at this pricey French place? There also seems to be fat pooling at the top of her soup, and since vegetables barely have any, I'm going to assume it came from stewed meat:
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exceptionalgoogle

kiwifarms.net
Lol French Roast is next to a great psychopharm's office on Broadway. I hope she stopped in. Bet her sons wish they got treats like that, but I guess they don't know that deadbeat moms deserve expensive lunches too! Yes, even white moms. *eyeroll* We get it, bitch--you make fun of white people eo there is no way you're racist! You ARE a good person, no matter what family court judges, your exes, your students, your children, or the wider internet says! #wokeaf #wokedeadbeat #foodstampsmakemehonoraryPOC #conscious
 

PrintersNeverWork

kiwifarms.net
Once you've crossed the line into advertising your fucking vaginal prolapse and the fact that your rectal tissue has shifted into your vagina, you officially have no business expecting anything less than complete horror at what you post online.

Can this be the Kiwi Farms official line draw? Complete horror is officially on as of the words "I have a vaginal prolapse" and there are no rules or guarantees as to what happens or is said after.
 

Karl der Grosse

Shuck them britches, Tommy. Them panties, too.
True & Honest Fan
kiwifarms.net
There’s an inside joke I have with my younger son; if there’s a 1% chance of something happening—a side effect, a bad reaction, an unusual occurrence—it always happens to me. When I say things like, “I had injections in my back on Friday, and 5% of the people who get them experience excruciating pain for about a week instead of immediate pain relief…,” I don’t even need to go on before he adds “…and, let me guess, you’re one of the 5%.”

I promise you, the only one who thinks this is an "inside joke" is you.


My last appearance in family court included being presented with an inch-thick stack of printouts of my social media activity, ranging from blog posts to Twitter feed information, pointing out the various aspects of my life that would indicate I might have more income than my tax returns showed. But I don’t have a habit of lying to the IRS, which leads me to point out what I say to most everyone who inquires how I’m able to do so much with such little income: appearances can be deceiving.


Maybe they simply read your social media and added up the totals of all the crap you spend money on, as stated by yourself,and compared it to your stated income. Do we know why she was in family court? It must have been adversarial for them to go to the trouble of documenting your social media.
 

Abortions4All

Get 'em while they're legal
True & Honest Fan
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She's not That White Girl who takes photos of food (even though she does), but she's definitely That White Girl who would rather sponge off friends and family and turn tricks than take a menial job. This is in spite of the fact that she's very aware menial jobs exist, and she consumes many services rendered by low-wage menial unskilled workers. She just thinks those jobs are for black, or Filipino, or Puerto Rican people. Not people like That White Girl, who couldn't possibly be seen working somewhere that didn't require a college degree and thick plastic frames.
 

exceptionalgoogle

kiwifarms.net
She's not That White Girl who takes photos of food (even though she does), but she's definitely That White Girl who would rather sponge off friends and family and turn tricks than take a menial job. This is in spite of the fact that she's very aware menial jobs exist, and she consumes many services rendered by low-wage menial unskilled workers. She just thinks those jobs are for black, or Filipino, or Puerto Rican people. Not people like That White Girl, who couldn't possibly be seen working somewhere that didn't require a college degree and thick plastic frames.

^Not enough likes in the world for this incisive comment. Direct hit.

Remember that she scoffed openly at her brother's suggestion that she apply for a job as managing editor for Tim Ferriss' website. She said she doubted she would ever get THAT desperate. In fact, she took shifts as a human toilet for BDSM fetishists--and shared this information on the internet, for strangers, her family, and potential employers--because she thought it made her seem desirable and attractive. Photo after vile photo of PVC fetish gear clinging to her fat rolls and her shapeless yet oversized ass, which she thinks makes her look Kardashian-esque. No, bitch--you're a fat chick with small tits, A.K.A. the worst of all worlds.

So, yeah, being a snobby, entitled, lazy cunt has worked out well for her. Someone on page 1 of this thread pointed out her comments as PinkPalatian on a hate blog about some stupid bitch named Julia Alison. The date stamps on her posts indicate that Amy has spent YEARS talking shit about this other dummy, specifically calling her spoiled, lazy, mean, a probable sex worker, inconsiderate, fat, ugly, unable to get or keep a man, willing to humiliate her family for attention and sympathy, etc. Now who does THAT sound like?
 

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