Anyway, this thread looks like it's going to be fun, especially when she find out about this thread which I'm pretty sure it'll be soon since she looks like the kind of bitch that googles her own name every 5 minutes to see what people are saying about her.
Ohhhh, this bitch. I started reading her when my husband and I were going through IVF, and remember very well when she blogged that, after months of fertility treatment, she was "angry at God" for giving her twin boys instead of the girl she so desperately wanted. I also remember her blogging that she was "relieved" to lose one of the twin boys, since it would be cheaper and easier just to raise one dreaded male child. Every election cycle, she trots out "the boys" as linkbait. Total fucking piece of shit garbage human being.
And yes, her doctors warned her repeatedly that her morbid obesity was a serious threat to the viability of her pregnancy. She called this "sizeism" and actually thought someone her size (say 350 pounds and 5'2") would be allowed to have her baby in a birthing center instead of a hospital. Because the medical needs of her baby meant nothing compared to Cecily having her dream birth with her perfect mix CD and lighting so she could write the perfect blog post about how OMG crunchy granola she was, having her baby in a birthing center. Instead she killed both her babies by brazenly defying her medical team when they begged her to cut her salt intake and weight.
Her husband is a whole other level of mess. He actually comes from a well-off family and graduated from an Ivy League university (Penn). But he loves to brag about how his only ambition in life was to be "unemployable." He blogged this depressing little conversation he had with their daughter when she was only 8:
THE CAREER COUNSELOR
8YO: Daddy, what did you want to be when you were my age?
Me; Nothing.
8YO: No, I mean when you grew up.
Me: I know. I just wanted to hang out and not do any one thing. I watched the job slowly kill my father, and my mom was miserable at home. Plus, all the jobs I saw people doing seemed horrible.
8YO; What did you tell your parents?
Me: First I told them the truth.
8YO: What did they say?
Me: They said I'd be a ward of the state.
8YO: What's that?
Me: Like someone in a mental hospital or jail.
8YO: Oh.
Me: But after awhile I just made stuff up. I once told them I wanted to be a lawyer. That seemed to make them happy.
8YO: But didn't you want to be ANYthing?
Me: A professional daydreamer. So I became a drunk. And then a poet. Which is about as close to professional daydreamer as one can get.
8YO: I know what I want to be.
Me: What's that?
8YO: An underwater photographer.
Me: Wow, that sounds fun.
8YO: Yeah, AND I get to take pictures of mermaids.
Her father is living out his dream of doing nothing (unless you count going to Center City several times a week to take pictures of young women who don't realize he's photographing them). Between the two of them refusing to work to earn money, without being willing to give up expensive Apple technology for themselves (while their daughter sleeps on sheets purchased secondhand on Craigslist from strangers, sounds hygienic and not at all risky), they have resorted to begging for donations dozens of times over the years. Once, Cecily bragged about how reader donations had helped to get them back into a good place where she could finally "afford" to buy steaks from Whole Foods again. Not joking.
And let's not forget the time Charlie chose to panhandle for change in front of his daughter, blame others for his lack of funds, and call the people who gave him money racists.
BROKE DOWN IN BLOUNTVILLE
Out of gas, out of cash, and stuck somewhere between Bluff City and Best Move On—we pull the car off the Interstate. My wife's crying in the front seat, my daughter in the back. I go inside the Burger King to ask where we are and am told it's pronounced "BLUNT-veal."
"Virginia?" I ask.
"Tennessee," the girl replies.
I get the kid a burger and fries with our last five bucks, while my wife tries to explain to the clerk at the North Carolina motel we just left that they double-dipped us for our stay. And while they're sorry, they stress that it's Sunday and the banks are closed. "Hafta wait in BLUNT-veal til the morning." My wife starts crying harder and the kid joins in again and I phone a pal in Asheville who says, "If you can get it back here, you can bunk with us."
My wife's still on the phone, "How am I gonna feed my CHILD?" she shouts into the hot BLUNT-veal breeze. I walk around the Burger King, quietly panhandling spare change from the customers, asking myself if the Lee or Jackson ever passed thru here. And when's the last time they burned a book or hanged a man for being brown?
Three dollars and seventeen cents. Not enough for a gallon of gas. I wonder how I'll tell my wife, whom I can hear sobbing from across the lot. She gestures to me she's on hold, they're trying to reach the credit card company. I stare into the thick green air, remembering the time I was nine and the bus to Bethlehem broke down beside a cornfield. How we stood there in the August sun—the men smoking, the women trying to keep the children calm—until another bus arrived.
The phone's on speaker now, Muzak playing. Then a voice comes back on the line. It's a woman at the hotel. They received the fax at the credit card company. Give them ten minutes, he says, the money should be refunded. "Get your daughter home safe," she adds. It's the kindest voice I've heard in years.
We fill the tank and get back on the Interstate headed north. Straight for the Mason-Dixon line.
Their daughter would be better off as a ward of the state. BTW Cecily has always gotten VERY pissed when anyone told her Tori looked like her father, which she does. So Cecily over-fed her daughter and dyed her hair pink until she looked more like mommy. She is one sick fuck.
And let's not forget the time Charlie chose to panhandle for change in front of his daughter, blame others for his lack of funds, and call the people who gave him money racists.
BROKE DOWN IN BLOUNTVILLE
Out of gas, out of cash, and stuck somewhere between Bluff City and Best Move On—we pull the car off the Interstate. My wife's crying in the front seat, my daughter in the back. I go inside the Burger King to ask where we are and am told it's pronounced "BLUNT-veal."
"Virginia?" I ask.
"Tennessee," the girl replies.
I get the kid a burger and fries with our last five bucks, while my wife tries to explain to the clerk at the North Carolina motel we just left that they double-dipped us for our stay. And while they're sorry, they stress that it's Sunday and the banks are closed. "Hafta wait in BLUNT-veal til the morning." My wife starts crying harder and the kid joins in again and I phone a pal in Asheville who says, "If you can get it back here, you can bunk with us."
My wife's still on the phone, "How am I gonna feed my CHILD?" she shouts into the hot BLUNT-veal breeze. I walk around the Burger King, quietly panhandling spare change from the customers, asking myself if the Lee or Jackson ever passed thru here. And when's the last time they burned a book or hanged a man for being brown?
Three dollars and seventeen cents. Not enough for a gallon of gas. I wonder how I'll tell my wife, whom I can hear sobbing from across the lot. She gestures to me she's on hold, they're trying to reach the credit card company. I stare into the thick green air, remembering the time I was nine and the bus to Bethlehem broke down beside a cornfield. How we stood there in the August sun—the men smoking, the women trying to keep the children calm—until another bus arrived.
The phone's on speaker now, Muzak playing. Then a voice comes back on the line. It's a woman at the hotel. They received the fax at the credit card company. Give them ten minutes, he says, the money should be refunded. "Get your daughter home safe," she adds. It's the kindest voice I've heard in years.
We fill the tank and get back on the Interstate headed north. Straight for the Mason-Dixon line.
Their daughter would be better off as a ward of the state. BTW Cecily has always gotten VERY pissed when anyone told her Tori looked like her father, which she does. So Cecily over-fed her daughter and dyed her hair pink until she looked more like mommy. She is one sick fuck.
So they went on a road trip hundreds of miles away from home with zero money in their bank accounts, relying solely on a credit card and they were so fucking so broke that a double charge on a hotel room (going to assume their budget is somewhere around a hundred dollars) was enough to leave them stranded? These pieces of shit didn't even budget for food for their child? Then he still managed to feel superior to the people he was begging from because he's a northerner (cause you know, racism and slavery never happened up there) and they were kind enough to give him what they could spare? And then he laments about how much he got. Sounds like he and Cecily deserve each other.
The thing is, these two pieces of shit don't think it's their job to raise their daughter to be self-supporting. They are raising her to be a mooch like they have done (including stealing from Charlie's dementia-afflicted mother's bank accounts to buy a trailer in the Poconos, a minivan, fertility treatment, etc. - when they tried to get his mom into a state-funded nursing home, the government called BS on them having looted her funds and they had to sell the trailer, minivan, etc. and return the money). Check out this amazing parenting and his realization that his daughter is as shiftless as he is:
"Like me, she only seems able to complete tasks that interest her. Everything else she abandons in frustration. I know, she's not even 6. But that's how I was. I've been virtually unemployable for 28 years, spending my 20s drunk and drifting from one low-level job to the next: salesman, stock clerk, proofreader. Even sober and medicated, I've been unable to string togethner anything more than a few months of full-time employment. I may have gotten away with it. But the world my daughter will face will doubtless be less forgiving. And she can't be a panhandler. Or find a room for $9 a day the way I did. So, this is the part where I'm supposed to tie things up with a sweet message of hope. All I can say is that I love my daughter. And if she turns out like me, I'll probably be a horrendous enabler."
Of course, Cecily's preferred method of "earning" income is to steal it. She worked for a kind veterinarian who gave her the benefit of the doubt and a job when she was seriously uneducated and untrained. How did Cecily thank her? By stealing thousands of dollars in cash, as well as ketamine and dilaudid, from the vet. She then proudly blogged about this as if she had reformed herself somehow. No, bitch, now you just steal from your creditors and put the bill on taxpayers when you declared bankruptcy.
The thing is, these two pieces of shit don't think it's their job to raise their daughter to be self-supporting. They are raising her to be a mooch like they have done (including stealing from Charlie's dementia-afflicted mother's bank accounts to buy a trailer in the Poconos, a minivan, fertility treatment, etc. - when they tried to get his mom into a state-funded nursing home, the government called BS on them having looted her funds and they had to sell the trailer, minivan, etc. and return the money). Check out this amazing parenting and his realization that his daughter is as shiftless as he is:
"Like me, she only seems able to complete tasks that interest her. Everything else she abandons in frustration. I know, she's not even 6. But that's how I was. I've been virtually unemployable for 28 years, spending my 20s drunk and drifting from one low-level job to the next: salesman, stock clerk, proofreader. Even sober and medicated, I've been unable to string togethner anything more than a few months of full-time employment. I may have gotten away with it. But the world my daughter will face will doubtless be less forgiving. And she can't be a panhandler. Or find a room for $9 a day the way I did. So, this is the part where I'm supposed to tie things up with a sweet message of hope. All I can say is that I love my daughter. And if she turns out like me, I'll probably be a horrendous enabler."
Sounds like their child is doomed at the point, whether she's taken out of the household or not it's already been ingrained in her to yield to failure instead of practice and overcome. Do you know if there's any family of there's left that would be able to take her in if it comes to that? Has anyone in their family petitioned to take custody of the kid before?
Also, I found this video which a friend had sent to me like a year ago which was my first introduction to Cecily. She has a serious case of backpfeifengesicht.
And here's a cringey review she did of a sex toy, I can't imagine her career in blogging has led to much more free loot from sponsors than this:
I really weep for Tori. I'm sure "coming out" as "pansexual" (while admitting she's not sexually attracted to anyone) was one of the few ways she could get her mother's attention. Cecily proudly blogged about lashing out at her daughter for not joining in her feels-fest while watching footage of the Boston Marathon bombing "on a loop". From http://mamalode.com/story/detail/the-real-world
I was sitting on the couch watching the same loop of video and information about the Boston Marathon bombing, over and over, including that terrible shot of a man missing the bottom of his leg, holding the shattered parts of it in his lap in a wheelchair as volunteers ran him to safety.
My daughter already knew what had happened in Boston, and after a handful of typical near-seven-years-old questions, she promptly headed away from the television, clutching her lamb and engaging in a lengthy, and very loud, conversation with the toy that involved loud baaaaaing like a sheep.
I became incredibly irritated as the volume of baaaaing hit top levels. I wanted to scream and cry and tear my hair out because of the tragedy, and here she was, calmly baaaaing like a sheep? Didn’t she realize how important this was? People were hurt and dying and she was clueless. My mood had been dark all day, and the bombings pushed me over the edge into blackness. I wanted to scream at her about the injustice of it all, about respecting the dead, about the gravity of being a fragile human being in a violent world.
You know, the real world.
Later that evening, I was still carrying my black mood into her bedroom when it was time to put her to bed, unable to shuck it off even in this quiet moment. My daughter lay stretched out on her bed with her arms around her lamb; the lamb was nearly her size. She started talking about her special school, saying that she didn’t want to go there anymore when she was a teenager because she’d rather go to a horseback riding school. I told her that maybe we’d go horseback riding sometime this spring and that she could ride her very own horse and hold the reins and everything.
Suddenly, she was weeping, sobbing inconsolably about how scared she is to ride a horse alone, how she’d rather ride with someone else controlling the horse. I tried to console her, but it was to no avail: my blackness made me a crappy mom in that moment, and soon we were yelling at each other.
I realized, finally, that she was indeed living in the real world, and she knew full well that the real world is a scary and ugly place.
I lay down beside her and the lamb and put my arms around her. She cried, a bit, then sighed finally and snuggled into me. I told her I was sorry, that I loved her, and that she didn’t have to ride a horse alone if she wasn’t ready. I told her I was sorry for yelling at her. She said she was sorry for yelling too.
When I think of the sidewalk full of blood and the broken bones and frightened faces in Boston, I now also think of one scared little girl who is absorbing too much of the world. A little girl who still lets me hold her in my arms and tell her that she will be okay.
If only I could wrap my arms around Boston as easily.
Bitch, your daughter is crying and scared because you're scaring and ignoring her. Playing bombing footage on a loop for a 7 year old?!?!
Because why do kids need parents in the first place? They're totally equipped to decide whether or not a slutty Halloween costume is putting them in danger before they've even reached puberty.
I really weep for Tori. I'm sure "coming out" as "pansexual" (while admitting she's not sexually attracted to anyone) was one of the few ways she could get her mother's attention. Cecily proudly blogged about lashing out at her daughter for not joining in her feels-fest while watching footage of the Boston Marathon bombing "on a loop". From http://mamalode.com/story/detail/the-real-world
I was sitting on the couch watching the same loop of video and information about the Boston Marathon bombing, over and over, including that terrible shot of a man missing the bottom of his leg, holding the shattered parts of it in his lap in a wheelchair as volunteers ran him to safety.
My daughter already knew what had happened in Boston, and after a handful of typical near-seven-years-old questions, she promptly headed away from the television, clutching her lamb and engaging in a lengthy, and very loud, conversation with the toy that involved loud baaaaaing like a sheep.
I became incredibly irritated as the volume of baaaaing hit top levels. I wanted to scream and cry and tear my hair out because of the tragedy, and here she was, calmly baaaaing like a sheep? Didn’t she realize how important this was? People were hurt and dying and she was clueless. My mood had been dark all day, and the bombings pushed me over the edge into blackness. I wanted to scream at her about the injustice of it all, about respecting the dead, about the gravity of being a fragile human being in a violent world.
You know, the real world.
Later that evening, I was still carrying my black mood into her bedroom when it was time to put her to bed, unable to shuck it off even in this quiet moment. My daughter lay stretched out on her bed with her arms around her lamb; the lamb was nearly her size. She started talking about her special school, saying that she didn’t want to go there anymore when she was a teenager because she’d rather go to a horseback riding school. I told her that maybe we’d go horseback riding sometime this spring and that she could ride her very own horse and hold the reins and everything.
Suddenly, she was weeping, sobbing inconsolably about how scared she is to ride a horse alone, how she’d rather ride with someone else controlling the horse. I tried to console her, but it was to no avail: my blackness made me a crappy mom in that moment, and soon we were yelling at each other.
I realized, finally, that she was indeed living in the real world, and she knew full well that the real world is a scary and ugly place.
I lay down beside her and the lamb and put my arms around her. She cried, a bit, then sighed finally and snuggled into me. I told her I was sorry, that I loved her, and that she didn’t have to ride a horse alone if she wasn’t ready. I told her I was sorry for yelling at her. She said she was sorry for yelling too.
When I think of the sidewalk full of blood and the broken bones and frightened faces in Boston, I now also think of one scared little girl who is absorbing too much of the world. A little girl who still lets me hold her in my arms and tell her that she will be okay.
If only I could wrap my arms around Boston as easily.
Bitch, your daughter is crying and scared because you're scaring and ignoring her. Playing bombing footage on a loop for a 7 year old?!?!
Because why do kids need parents in the first place? They're totally equipped to decide whether or not a slutty Halloween costume is putting them in danger before they've even reached puberty.
They have taught Tori to be an obnoxious, loud brat. I never blame kids who misbehave, because they are only doing what they have been taught will get them the attention they need. When Tori was a crying, disturbed toddler, hitting her mother, Cecily chose to ignore her and shirk her parenting responsibility. Instead she laughed and smiled while recording her toddler's upset for the internet.
When Tori was just a little bit older, Cecily and Charlie dragged her on a multi-state car ride from PA to FL for a blogging conference where mommy could learn how to make more money on exploiting her daughter (she didn't apply the lessons well, as evidenced by their financial wreckage still unfolding all these years later). While there, Tori was given a free bear from Build-a-Bear. She proceeded to slam the bear into the ground, kick it, smash it into walls, and be so disturbingly violent toward the stuffed animal that she damaged it. (It makes me furious to imagine where she saw such behavior and how she knew to mirror it. Shittiest parents ever.) Eventually the CEO of Build-a-Bear, who was speaking at the conference, sat down and patiently repaired the bear with needle and thread. Of course Cecily just milked this for Twitter fodder. So proud of teaching her daughter to be destructive and obnoxious! Tori looks absolutely thrilled to be there.
Unlikely. The kind of neglect she's experienced up to this point has impaired any developmental progress at this point. Her parents have doomed her as Chris-Chan's parents have doomed him with their constant coddling of his exceptional and destructive behaviors.
We may likely be looking at another Christian Weston Chandler here.
The neglect and abuse Tori has suffered is extensive. When it comes down to it, Tori is forced to go without so Cecily can pretend she's a member of the east coast liberal elite (yes, she actually described herself this way!). When Cecily goes out of town to blogging conferences (even though she doesn't blog anymore), she tweets about enjoying cold-pressed juices and expensive restaurants (where she always "forgets" her wallet, after inviting herself along to group meals because nobody extends invitations due to her obnoxious, loud, off-putting personality). Meanwhile, Charlie tweets that he and Tori are living on out of date meat and whatever they can scrape together from the gas station with spare change. Every Christmas, Tori's only gifts are ones donated by Cecily's longtime readers who feel sorry for her daughter. The exception was two Christmases ago when Cecily and Charlie got Tori a secondhand keyboard, which Tori was seen testing on Instagram video, saying, "It's kind of dirty." They didn't even bother to wipe it down before giving it to her.
The "school" they send Tori to is pretty grim. While it is technically a private school, Tori's tuition is comped because her parents have zero income and Cecily puts in some time running the school's social media platforms. I feel too sick to look it up, but you can find plenty of videos and photos of teenaged boys in "no adults allowed" rooms with kindergartners, kids "learning through play" by sitting on Xboxes all day, etc. Unlimited absences are also allowed, and kids can roll in whenever they want, so most weeks she's only there for 10 hours or so. It's hard to imagine a child in this environment being equipped to earn her GED when the time comes. If setting a child up to be a complete failure and dependent on the government isn't neglect, what is?
There are many more examples of Charlie and Cecily abusing and neglecting Tori out there, but I am sort of too sickened to link to them. They belong in jail and she belongs with parents who give a shit about her.
I'm doubtful the children are being taught composition, light, texture, depth and vantage point. Choosing the right IG filter doesn't qualify as learning photograph.
The artistic talents of a 18/19 year old student!? Art is an all day thing at Philly Free School according to our next cap.
Kinda love the shade the younger kid drawing geometric shapes is giving the older Tori's squiggles.
lol the least they could do is teach them to wear a fucking helmet, but no.
Why the fuck is there a sleezy silk blanket and a couch in a student area?
Tori reading some Marxist trash she can't understand anyway, especially not without a dictionary beside her and a note book to record new words she's learning.
