Details of life as I find myself changing my life for the better. Sure I could be mature and even tempered, but slightly crazy and an emotional car wreck are more fun.
"Let's go on an adventure," said Christopher Robin.
"What shall we do," asked Pooh.
"We should go to Topeka, Kansas," replied Christopher Robin.
After a moment of thought Pooh said, "OK" because, after all, who doesn't like an adventure?
the last time I took editors to the Jostens Printing Plant in Topeka, Kansas, it was 2009. There was heavy snowfall (although it had been quite warm in Dallas when we boarded the plane.) We arrived at the Kansas City airport, got our luggage and then opened suitcases and started piling on clothes.
I have no idea of why I thought this trip would be less of an adventure.
Our flight was scheduled for 1:20pm on Southwest airlines on Sunday.
As it turns out, Southwest had hit the news cycle on Friday for problems. Sunday morning our yearbook rep (who was accompanying us on this jaunt) received an email from Southwest declaring our flight canceled.
I headed to the airport to try to determine options (canceling almost 50 flights seriously increases phone hold time when calling.)
I had my 6 2012 senior staffers with me as we tried to find another flight...another airport...anything. There was nothing on any airline.
But me? I'm no quitter. So, we kept trying to find new ways out there. In the end? Well, I got a hold of "Buses by Bill" And Bill? He's a miracle worker. By 5pm we were boarding a full size "executive coach" headed to Topeka...
Only 7 of us at this point because one of the moms was worried about the long bus trip, and it WAS a long, long bus trip. We arrived at the hotel by 1:30am The front desk clerk almost had a heart attack thinking a bus full of people was arriving, but no just us 7.
We got up, ate and were at the plant by 9am. It was a great day. They learned a lot, got some ideas, saw how the book is actually put together. They spent time learning more about the computer program and what it can do.
Back on the bus by 3pm and headed home, mission accomplished!
Have I mentioned I am going to Africa? Well, a funny thing happened on the way to the forum...
I work at a fairly (read this as very) affluent school district. We invite "gurus" of the industry to come speak to our staff and to work with us as we improve what we do. Turns out one of these gurus said that a problem with American students is that they have no empathy for the rest of the world. Go figure.
In an effort to build relationships and forge bonds with our brethren around the world, a position was created within the district, let's call it "global guru." So, GG starts working on finding places via the internet also interested in forging relationships. Lo and behold, if a district in Ghana didn't say, Helllloooo there.
Long story short, yours truly is on the short list of 3 people going, GG, a middle school teacher and yours truly.
Yesterday, MST and I go to get a yellow fever shot which we know we must have to be able to go to Africa. We had been told we had to pay for our own shots, but we figured what the heck.
The very nice lady at the "so you want to leave the country, here's what you have to do to stay alive" office went through a very long list of diseases we could get etc. Disturbing to say the least. Yellow fever, my ass.
In addition, it seems that rabid animals are a bit of a problem too, but there is nothing you can do about that. The instructions? "If you are scratched or bitten BY ANY ANIMAL, you should EVACUATE IMMEDIATELY." Sweet Christmas, great. fantastic. can't wait.
She then goes through exactly how much it would cost and how many shots would be required. Let me tell you, had I known in advance, not sure that there would be a plane ticket with my name on it... Not. Kidding.
I left the office and immediately went to get a drink because my ARM REALLY HURT.
Then I concocted the note I was going to write to the superintendent in my head (and the principal and the head of curriculum and my friend PR because, well, that's the kind of girl I am). Which I did. See below.
To whom it may concern,
Yesterday I went to Passport Health in preparation for the trip to Africa. I was expecting one lone yellow fever shot. I received EIGHT shots inoculating me against every major disease on the planet. I return in a month for TWO more. The total cost...wait for it...$1150.
That being said, I would like to officially offer myself up for any and all trips to scary places that require shots. Because I have my shots, and they were expensive, and the only way to get my money's worth is to go EVERYWHERE.
So, with total dedication and a lot of pain in both arms right now, I say, I'm ready to serve.
Your devoted employee,
The Diva
I haven't heard back from anyone. What's up with that? At any rate, as the BFF said, with all those shots in me, I am practically bulletproof! Hence, my desire to travel the world while I am fully immune to all diseases. Except for rabies. Which is unfortunate because I am a tasty morsel to the dog population of the world. Other than that, I am bulletproof. Oh, and the flu. I hate flu shots, so I don't ever get those. I could get the flu still. Other than that, I am bulletproof. Well, and the common cold. There's no defense against that, and let's be honest, I work with wealthy kids, but they still get sick, a lot if you ask me. Aw screw it, I am only bullet proof against the following illnesses: yellow fever, polio, mumps, measles, rubela?, typhoid, Hepatitis A, Hepatitis B, Malaria, Dengue and cholera.
During the snow storm, I discovered that I had trolls. Sounds like some sort of disease, I know. I was talking with my big sister about her blogs (actually she has two blogs, but only one was under attack so to speak.) She had trolls. Someone had come to her site and started going back through the posts writing basically mean stuff. My sister is a researcher at heart. So, she began trying to figure out from where the trolls came. Lo and behold, they came from the last blog post on my old blog that said "Gone."
Four women (I swear they might have made up names) posted. ALL posted mean stuff about me. In fact, one had started her own blog and the only post was a picture of me saying how I tried to steal her husband away...Yeah, cause in addition to every OTHER reason that would never happen, some time during the crapfest 2010 of Sabrina's life, I was out looking for a MAN. sigh.
At any rate, I deleted my one post. My sister then did a post on "Trolls." It was awesome. Part of the awesomeness was due to the fact that the troll is really an idiot. Sis's blog is clearly about developing self awareness and thinking about how she has messed up parenting in the past, and she's learning from it. Perhaps she uses too many big words cause it is obvious the troll, she didn't understand a bit.
Under comments, my sister had given me a shout out because some newspaper had done a poll, and I was runner-up for best teacher in the district. Sure it is a really small district, and sure, I was runner-up to a 1st year 4th grade teacher at one of 5 elementary schools in the district, and yes, it is very likely only 5 people voted. But it was sweet of my sister. The troll wrote a mean comment to the effect, I shouldn't be allowed to teach. That is A LOT of venom to have inside.
A week ago, one of the women sent me a facebook message "Hi." That's it. Nothing else. I ignored it, but it seems like a lot of energy to put into someone when I don't recognize ANY of their names or anything. Who are they???? I was starting to feel a little down. But THEN, one of my editors-in-chief let me see her college essay. It made me cry. She let me attach it. (Mostly because she knows only 5 people read the blog. Hooray for censorship and fear of the machine.) Any way - here you go.
An Unforgettable Character
Perkins: Like you’re mom but worse. She stands 5’4” in her pink sparkly designer Christian Louboutin stiletto heels—a gift from our journalism class last year as a token of our appreciation. Everything about her is asymmetrical; it is no surprise when she stands with her left hand extended, her right hip cocked, with a semi-fisted hand saying, “This is Perkins,” circling that fist with her right hand through at least three revolutions, she continues, “and this is the world…!” All the things my mom tried to teach me are acted out on the journalism stage every day of high school. The starring role is played by Ms. Elizabeth Perkins, my journalism advisor.
Lesson #1: Dress to impress. “Don’t dress like you are going to work on a street corner.” When dealing with inappropriate dress choices, most teachers avoid confrontation by passing the student on to the administration. Not Perkins. She deals directly with each of us, and we are quick to learn what is and is not appropriate attire for school. Because of Perkins, I am increasingly aware of the small range of appropriate clothing in dress—especially when I am relating to teachers or students as yearbook editor-in-chief. She takes her position seriously and demonstrates her self-respect with a flair for fashion by playing the “Diva” role with confidence and aplomb.
Lesson #2: “Do as I say, not as I do.” Perkins never sets herself up as a perfect example—quite the opposite. She always admits when she is at fault and actually wants us to do a better job in respecting authority. Last week, during the school mandatory lockdown drill, Perkins opted to send students out to take pictures of the event. Once again yearbook “is more important than pseudo student safety.” Unfortunately our school resource officer did not agree. He captured Perkins and Company and officiated at our in-class criminal lockdown lasting three days. By letting us in on her escapades, we become comrades in crime with a worthy cause of surviving the school day and publishing our annual yearbook, The Highlander.
Lesson #3: Be good humans. “If there is one thing I want to teach you in this class, it’s how to be good humans.” Last month we had an incident with stolen money from the yearbook fund. Perkins appealed to our sense of humanity and justice by asking for our help. Because she believed and trusted in us, we were successful to use our student web of contacts to find the thief. As she teaches us to be good humans, she models it by standing up for the staff. Recently, an anonymous group of girls created a Twitter account to slander several of us on the staff. Not only was she determined to find these “mean girls”, she was “out for blood.” Her lasting advice about our emerging humanity always mentions the necessity to, “bring each other up with your words, not tear each other down.”
Whether Perkins is delivering a light message on fashion, or a serious message on what it means to be human, the thing that I’m going to remember forever is the delivery itself. She preaches her message with the humorous characterization of a Diva mixed with the high drama of a philosopher. Her obvious lessons are represented by the quotations above, but it is the subliminal undercurrents that I will take with me to college. I want to define my own character by taking risks for the people I lead; laugh not only at others but myself; and most importantly, create a character for my life story who makes people want to be better. Underneath all the bravado, Perkins lets herself be vulnerable so that her students rise up and help her. Her leadership style allows us to feel valuable and needed as we develop mutual empathy. Whether it’s dealing with my college roommate, my professors, or future boyfriends, I know on some level, I will be modeling Perkins, or as she is otherwise known, “The Dallas Diva.”
Sometimes, life is just plain weird. This is such a weird little story, but I can't bear to not make a record of it.
1. So, some stranger comments on my sisters blog. Then comments again, again and again. Then comments and says my sister likes to interfere in other people's business the way HER sister does. Well, that is either Monica or me and since Monica can barely work her phone and doesn't blog, we're pretty sure the reference is to me. So, I guess HP mom. Typical. Honestly, what does someone gain by going onto the blog of a stranger and making snide comments? Really?
2. I'm rooting around blogger and I hit my final blog post on the old blog. There are 5 comments. ALL HATEFUL. But strange because they are saying mean things about me, but not really saying anything specific. Except one said that I had a crappy house on some street I've never heard of. AND I don't recognize any of their names, and when I try to look up any info to figure out who their kids are...there is NOTHING that correlates. (Twilight Zone music plays here.)
3. I click on one of the commenter's name and up pops 2 posts on her own blog. 2 exactly TWO. One of which is titled my name and picture... and she says I was trying to steal her husband, huh? If I may say so, it is a great picture of me (from my old blog) and it says I'm an old hag almost 50 with bad hair. Really? Like that IS my good feature. Who is she kidding? And 40 is NOT the new 50.
4. I get a little flustered cause let's admit that is just weird. So I decide it is time to delete the old blog. What do I do? Delete the new blog. Auuuuggghhhh
5. At least an hour of flittering about on the internet trying to get the blog back AND trying not to ball like a baby because I have lost my blog. It's not the worst thing ever because I saved it all in October when I transferred it, but A LOT has happened between October and now. This is my diary for crying out loud. It was going to suck to have lost 3 months of my life because I'm Annie quick draw with the delete finger.
6. I manage to find the "listing" of all my blogs (I appear to do a lot of deleting and starting) it asked me if I wanted to undelete - and bam it came back. Turns out Blogger knows we, the general population, aren't too swift and it gives us 90 days to regret a delete action. Hoorah for Blogger.
7. So part of their ranting was that I shouldn't be Diva because that is a singer and who am I to think I am a Diva. Now, since I originally did it tongue in cheek because no Diva would be as steeped in Shit as I currently am I've decided to keep the Diva although I was thinking I might change the name of the blog just because maybe it is time for a change. . . can't decide. If I change I'll probably go with Lessons from the front because I would like to think I am learning lessons as I go, but who knows.
Sabrina is now able to get up and down without help. It's not always pretty, but she can do it. We've taken walks a couple of times (around the block mostly, and she starts out pretty fast, but she usually slows down to a normal human rate (which she has never walked before) by the end of the walk.)
We went back to her regular vet on Tuesday. That was a total comedy of errors. I was looking cute with a skirt and jacket. Mom got in the car first (because taking her to the vet is now a two man job) to block off the front of the car so she would be forced to stay on the plastic tarp in case of accidents. Little did I know that as I was getting her in the car accidents had already begun. So, I hollar out to mom to get some tissues.
She runs back in the house, grabs tissues. Comes back out I clean up Sabrina and realize that I have poop down my skirt. I send mom back in with the poop and a request for jeans.
We finally got on the road with my sweet poopy girl. We could smell things getting worse in the back as we got farther down the road. Yeah, we found where she dropped it when we got to the vet's. It was a really good time.
The vet put her on Xanax to help her relax and not be all freaked out all the time (which is helping) and something for the urinary infection (which explains why she cried every time I tried to help her pee and lurched to snap at me.)
Things have actually been rolling along. Today, not so much rolling as just totally and complete day of constant pooping. If the last 3 hours are anything to go by, I don't know how Mom and Dad survived the day. I am so tired. I have done two loads of laundry since I got home and there is another load waiting to be started.
Poor Sabrina. I have washed her backside down several times. Oh, the smells are quite horrible too.
I recently made a comparison that Sabrina has become like a two year old child without a diaper on. You are trying to keep your eye out in case of pooping and peeing and God forbid if she starts playing in it, stepping in it, etc. Well, today it smells like the home of a two year old with a lot of poopy diapers laying around, if you know what I mean.
One more day of the week to survive, and then it is a three day weekend. I might relish it more if I didn't know my future holds a lot of cleaning, and pooping and peeing. sigh.
The vet has made me hopeful that we can get everything under control. I am praying with everything inside of me that we can get it worked out to the point that she can go 8 hours a day alone. Cause as grateful as I am that Mom and Dad are helping and letting me sleep on the couch, I am seriously missing my own bed, and home and stuff.
So, inevitably each year, some wacked out parent gets a bee in the bonnet and sends a letter of complaint. Last year it was the mom upset that her son and his girlfriend weren't listed in the senior specialty section as "Wedding Bells" Oh, how they make me tired.
This year, wackadoodle #1 sent a letter to the superintendent of the district, the principal and the business manager of the district (I have no idea of why that poor woman got included in the line up). As an after thought, she copied me.
Dear Administration of XXXX,
I am looking at the High School yearbook and am very disappointed that there were no pages designated to the Arts. No pages designated to Choir, with pictures of the several different Choirs. No pages designated to the Band, with pictures of the two bands. Nothing for Orchestra, Belles or Cheerleaders either. Yet, I see several pages for every sport, with a picture of each team for that sport. I find this very sad, especially for all the kids that worked so hard this year to represent the High School with the talents they have.
I just can not believe that this was allowed to go to print! The editor has apparently never worked on a yearbook before. I myself have been the editor of several yearbooks, so I do know what I am talking about. The yearbook was also way too wordy. We want to see pictures and not read stuff that people didn't even really say. Both of my daughter's have quotes that they never said. One even was about her going to the Homecoming Dance, which she didn't do! The other was about herasking a girl to a dance! I'm sure someone was trying to be creative with the quotes and the seasons, but in my opinion it did not work.
I only hope that next year's yearbook will focus on all the kids at the school and not just the ones that play sports, or pay for an ad. Do you realize that nationally kids in band and choir score higher on the SAT and ACT, yet they don't even get recognized at your school. How sad is that.
Thank you for your time.
Mrs. Crazy Head
I can't even describe the many ways this woman shows she is crazy. Of course, I am forced to respond in a grown up manner. It hurts me people it really does, cause this is the letter that I wanted to send:
Dear Mrs. Nutjob,
First and foremost, when sending a letter condemning something, it is usually best to take a moment and proofread. Honesty, you sound like an idiot.
Second, give me all of your daughters homework from the last year, let me slap it together and print it for the world to see and then get back to me. Cause really, this is just one big ass class project with a lot of homework assignments. Done by teenagers for teenagers.
I'm not sure of what to think that you got so wound up over the yearbook you felt a need to send a letter to the superintendent. It is just a yearbook, lady.
You are correct the yearbook staff made the decision to keep the traditional sports spreads, and each sport has 1 spread. They chose to do a chronological book which did rearrange most of the spreads. Ironically, it actually meant that activities such as choir and band had better coverage than they did before. But I totally understand your desire to bitch than to be appreciative that these organizations got increased coverage.
Sure, if the index editors had done their job right and actually indexed all the effin activities like I told them to do, you would have been able to see the long row of pages following these organizations, but again, as long as the book is being created by 15 year olds doing class work, I'm pretty much screwed out of the perfect book.
I have no idea of why you think there are no group pictures in the book. If I get it, it is in the book. Have you considered having your eyes checked?
I don't know what to tell you about your daughter's quotes. They gave quotes, they signed the quote sheets, not sure where I can go with that. Although I think the one daughter went to a Halloween party with another girl, not homecoming. But again, let's not be bothered with facts if possible.
Best part, my friend PR got a hold of my letter and shall we say "Massaged" it. Very polite and all. The mom responded - just to me of course that really I didn't need to respond, her daughters thought it was funny that they were misquoted and oh by the way no one likes to see the vacation pictures either.
NUT JOB. Honestly, the parents of the 120 kids I teach are fine, no problem, if we could only get the other 1700 kids parents under control that would be really swell.
This is too good not to post immediately. The spring is a fun time in my world. We are finishing up the current yearbook and starting ad sales (parents buy ads to tell their kids they are loved. Total scam, I get it, but we make lots of money and the ads pay for all of our equipment.)
About 15 minutes ago, a mother with her two small children came in to do an ad for her graduating senior. Don't even think how much of her life is being spent chasing children. Yikes. The baby was crying and being annoying. So she pulled out her boob and started breast feeding. The ads manager is 15 and NOW SCARRED FOR LIFE. I don't care if it is natural or part of life or anything else, a 15 year old should not have to see that up close and personal in school.
I guess next year at the ads meeting when I tell parents the do's and don'ts I need to add please don't breast feed in front of the children. Really?????
OK, so my sis who just went on a hospital tour with her expecting daughter said she picked up a card (like a business card of sorts) that said "Thank you for making it okay to breast fed in public. Women shouldn't have to find a private place to nurse." WHAT?? Yes, they should. No, we shouldn't have to see it. What is this world coming to? Find a blanket. Cover up. Don't make us a part of your freaking beautiful moment. Geez.
I am in an awful funk. First, allow me to say I have been messing around with girl issues for the last two months, and they are wearing me down. Second, I am having terrible sinus pain, I probably have a sinus infection, and sleep is an issue.
I got a new Iphone app which is very cool called Sleep Cycle. Now, the point is that you set the alarm and it wakes you within 30 minutes of the time at the point it is least offensive to your system to hear the alarm. It also has a graphing property that shows when you are in which stage of sleep. Looking at my sleep chart, it is obvious that a. I sleep like crap and b. the dogs wake me in the middle of the night or at the crack of dawn every single night.
So, last night was the first night of return to kennel time. Best part? Since the dogs were in the kennels, Cat decided to make a return to sleeping with me, so he kept jumping on the damn bed and trying to sleep with me.
As you might imagine, these things are making me slightly insane. Dating. Oh, how I hate dating.
Sure, I give myself lots of opportunities to analyze myself and try to figure stuff out.
For instance, I know nothing about the male species. I teach a roomful of girls all day long. My brother was out of the house by about the time I turned 6, and I have two sisters. Boys baffle me. One of my students suggested I get a book For Women Only. I read it. Very interesting. Men are strange creatures. So, then I gotFor Men Only (I actually feel better that I identified with so much of what was written. I am not crazy, ok, not totally crazy, and I am not alone!)
I have now been up to the lake with Mr. Potential twice. Both times very lovely. Do I feel confident about this relationship? Not at all. Honestly, I am fully prepared to never hear from him again each time we depart each other's company.
Basically, I am filling my time, doing my thing and trying really hard to not think about him or us too much so that I don't flip out and get skitzy. And, I think, wow, it really shouldn't be this way, but I think there is a pretty good chance as long as I am one of the players, it is this way. Know what I mean?
Honestly, I am not sure if I know how, let alone am capable of just relaxing and enjoying myself. Total Nutjob.
Last night coming in the house Buddy tried to escape, so as I was grabbing his leg to keep him from escaping. While I was doing that my purse fell. So, I finally get us all inside.
This morning I can't find my keys. Anywhere. Any guesses? Yeah, they were still in the front door.
Sabrina is still being difficult about the doggie door. I'm quite busy fretting about what is wrong with her. In the course of fretting this morning, I totally forgot to feed the dogs. As I type, they are probably eating a pillow in protest.
I have other examples but I can't remember them because I'm LOSING MY MIND.
I'm certain I'll miss all of you when the mind totally goes, but since I won't remember you I think it will be ok.
*** Totally inappropriate for young children, the squeamish and men. There, consider yourself warned.
Today was traumatic not just because I started the day hurling, surely that alone is enough to qualify as traumatic, but more importantly because today was the day I went to my new lady doctor. . . I have had the same doctor as long as I have been going. One. Doctor. Only. I have tried to limit the people that have visited my girl bits. One doctor. 20 some odd years. Yes, it was a woman, and yes, this one is a woman, but still. The whole thing is awkward. Getting to know someone new and trying to act blase about some stranger being down in private town.
Now I tried to get sympathy from the BFF but as it turns out if your husband is in the military, there are a parade of people who have seen your girl bits through the years and therefore you are unable to be truly sympathetic to the trauma of a NEW Girl doctor.
She was a very nice lady. I think she might be Persian which did cause a little bit of confusion. She asked me if I smoked (in my defense I was distracted because she had begun the exam process). I told her yes, I did drink milk. I needed her to repeat things a couple of times which might have given her the idea that at the ripe old age of almost 40 I am clearly going deaf.
In fact she made a comment about almost being 40 and then said, "Oh, I know, I am almost 38." It would have been wrong to punch my new girl doctor right?
Some of you know that I have had migraines since I started teaching (that corollary is a whole nother post.) Early on I was given a drug called Fiortal for the migraines. Works great. I have taken it for years. So, I then began working on getting my lady doctor to prescribe. She was ALWAYS reticent. She used to give me 10 at a time. That alone usually gave me a migraine just thinking about how few I had. Apparently it is a controlled substance, so she was all nervous about it. So, almost 16 years later, I finally had gotten her to relax and prescribe 50 at a time. . . for a year. It was great. New doctor. . .that's right. . . I have to start all over convincing her I am not abusing them and I'm not a druggie.
She asked me if I gone to a neurologist. My response was why would I do that when I had found something that worked. She asked if I knew when I got them, and she appeared impressed that I told her I had 5 triggers and when I hit 3 of the 5 I would get a migraine. She then gave me the perscription, just for 20, better than nothing I say.
Then she asked me about birth control, if I was tied to pills (which are really nice because I know when NOT to wear the white clothing if you know what I mean.) Apparently as we get REALLY REALLY old we have to be careful of the amount of hormones we add to our bodies. She suggested the Nuvaring. Please feel free to peruse the website and contemplate the questions you might have. I know I am slightly taken aback by how this is going to work exactly. It apparently can be placed inside the body and removed every three months. No period for 3 months at a time. Small pause, then, "Unless you like getting your period."
"Uh, that would be a no ghost rider."
I asked if it was fairly idiot proof . . . she said yes. I have my doubts. She gave me a sample with instructions to keep it in the fridge until I use it. . . Umm, where would that go? With the eggs? Cheese drawer? Next to soft drinks? And good Lord, won't that thing be cold when it's time to be a using it? I'd be happy to let you know when it is time, but that may qualify as WAAAYYYYYY too TMI (while clearly this post is just slightly TMI).
I mentioned staying with my parents involved the TV playing at high volume. Always. I didn't mention that it usually had Fox news on from 4-11. Seriously. My dad loves that shit. He watches all the time. I hate Fox news. Mostly because I can't stand the talking, talking, talking. I might add that if my dad had loved watching CNN from 4-11 I would hate CNN. At any rate,
Mr. Potential? Yeah, he loves Fox news. So after dinner the other night, back to his house to watch a little Glenn Beck and Bill O'Reilly. It wasn't horrible. Mostly because I fell asleep. I'm really grateful that he limits himself pretty much to those two shows. I also think God is laughing. at me. a lot.
I almost don't dare write this post because we KNOW what happened when I twittered something I wasn't supposed to twitter, but I haven't historically learned my lessons quickly, no need to rush into it here either.
So, there are a gazillion cameras going up in the building. None of them are connected yet, and quite honestly, some of them are in weird places (like two cameras facing the same direction and no camera at one of the entrances.) Our StuCo pres was reading announcements Monday when he threw in an impromptu "Get those senior pranks out of the way before the cameras go live." Yeah, bit of a rocket scientist that boy.
So, today while the pep rally was going on, someone set 3 pot belly pigs loose in the building. Poor little critters were scared to death. Pooping everywhere. The administrators were NOT pleased.
On one hand, why do these kids have to come up with pranks that are mean to animals? On the other hand, the admin probably over reacted. By the end of the day the kids had spread a rumor that one of the assistant principals had beaten a piglet to death. Seriously. Are they kidding? As if the piglet did anything. More likely a child was in danger of a fatal beating.
I texted Mr. Potential during the day.
Me: Someone let 3 pot belly pigs out in the school. Gonna be a long day.
Mr. P: Are they greased up?
Yeah, I've got it bad for a hillbilly.
Back to the prank. There are rules of pranks and I don't understand why our dingbat kids can't understand them. Pranks shouldn't cost the school money or damage property. Pranks shouldn't require the janitors to clean up gross stuff (ie pig poop). And they shouldn't involve abusing animals or people.
The prank when they glued all of the door locks? Bad. Cost money. Total pain.
Prank that involved signs on EVERY CLASSROOM door saying go to the library. Funny.
Prank that involved stealing the "Read" posters from the library with a ransom note? Totally funny. Still haven't figured out how they got them down. Posters reappeared a week later, no damage. Totally classic.
Prank where they put fish on the roof of the building to rot stinking up the place and forcing the janitors to get up there and try to clean it up? Totally crappy.
You've heard about the importance of changing things up so that your body doesn't get tired of the same old thing, right?
Ladies and gentlemen, I have taken this to a WHOLE. NEW. LEVEL. So, I moved into the new abode and decided that I really was going to have to find a place to work out. I need to be getting exercise. The last time I joined a gym I went all of twice in a year. It was not convenient enough. I cannot over emphasize the importance of convenience in getting my ass to the gym.
So, I managed to find a gym right by my house. See, right by my house. I walk there.
How could I resist??? AND it is an all girls gym. NO BOYS. Who doesn't love that? AND it is fun and different. By fun and different, I mean, I can't really tell anyone because it is embarrassing. . . It's called The Girls Room. . . and it teaches Pole Dancing.
First, it does NOT look like a strip club. It looks something like this. . . only we mostly look a lot more awkward. Almost like a ballet studio, but with vertical ballet bars.
Sure, I'd love to look like a gymnast. . . but I look more like a spastic second grader on the play ground. They are really big on not comparing oneself to anyone else and the instructors are all about everyone having fun and not being too serious,
which is good, because sometimes, it just isn't pretty. (please, please, click on the link. It is one of the funniest videos ever.)
Mostly it is wives and girls just wanting to have some fun and do something different. I'm pretty sure there is at least 1 girl that is secretly excited about the idea of knowing how to pole dance ($50 says if you get her drunk and leave her near a stop sign she'll make an ass of herself within minutes) but everyone else, pretty normal.
At any rate, I have to tell you I have renewed respect for our sisters the strippers. That is some hard work. Not the stripping part, all the rest of it.
We do yoga and push-ups and "core" exercises for most of the class and then we work on the pole stuff. It is hard. My arms are usually about to fall off at the end of an evening. The ends of my hair have been known to hurt because EVERYTHING is in pain.
BUT I am getting stronger. I can tell. I can't do a full push-up yet (hey, I'm a wimp, I know it) but, I can stay in "plank" position (yoga term) without collapse in a heap on the floor, well, mostly. So, I hope if I keep going, that I will continue to get stronger and smooth out some of the rumples. Ya know?
So, that is my new workout routine. There I said it.
As it turns out, all of the really annoying men managed to converge on one evening. So, I roll over to Kirby's looking for my usual Cosmo/Steak evening. I slide up to the backside of the bar. It's actually really nice that they now HAVE a backside of the bar. It allows one to enjoy a beverage without actually having to talk to too many people. In addition, I was working on my thank you notes.
No, I didn't get that many gifts this year, but the parents contribute to the teacher lunches. (It's a fund that gets divided up, and however much there is, that is how many lunch tickets each teacher gets that month - that's right, free food. I love that shit.) At any rate, when they contribute, they do so in a teacher's name, so at Christmas, I write a mass of thank you notes.
At any rate, boy 1 shows up. He has floated around before, fellow barfly, who, near as I can tell, doesn't handle his liquor well, cause he gets plain stupid when he drinks.
Then the guy that bought me drinks but then walked the tab, shows up. He doesn't actually talk to me (I'm not even sure he saw me) but it annoyed me all over again that he was such a jackass that he SAID he was covering my tab, just to. . not. Whatever.
Then, I get a message from the drummer. Just calling to say hi bullshit. Go away I say. Must we have a conversation about that fact I really liked him and he...just...didn't like me back?? Crikey man, go away.
In the meantime, fellow barfly annoys me to the point I have to pay my tab and leave. Late that evening he sends a note saying he'll call me sometime. I controlled the urge to send a note back that says please don't.
Dear Lord, please let 2010 turn out to be better for me man wise than all previous years. Not that I've just set the bar high with that one, but still.
I finally got around to downloading all of my fabulous pictures. . . pictures of the new place, pictures of the house I loved so dear sad and empty, pictures of the dogs pooping in the snow (always a classic), pictures of all sorts of stuff from the last couple of weeks.
On the camera were pictures I have had to take of students for IDs. Those I could delete. So I clicked on one to delete and deleted them all. Auuuuggghhhhhhh. I am so unhappy.
Although I can't recreate some of the pics, I'll do my best to get the others retaken.
Well, our adventures in Journalism conventioning have begun. We arrived yesterday afternoon. Blondie and I were greeted at the airport by the BFF. She, in case I haven't mentioned it lately, is the coolest. She brought Cranberry Juice (for my morning medicine routine) and crackers. And great big hugs which I have been needing desperately. Her very existence is God's gift to me.
Once my other friend, Mrs. Jostens arrived, we headed out to grab a taxi. Cab driver, a lovely man, managed to take our conversation on the beautiful fall foliage into a discussion of politics. We said, "Gee the leaves are beautiful" and he said, "They look better since George Bush left." huh.? He continued on his happy monologue regarding GB.
We arrived at the hotel, still confused by the ramblings of our cab driver which segued to his love of Hillary Clinton for standing by her man by the time we were exiting the car. We mentioned to the front desk personnel the strangeness of the cab ride, and son of a bitch if he didn't start chastising us about talking about politics in DC. Really?
The room is great. With three of us sharing, there was some concern re: size. It is great. sofa, two chairs, two beds and a desk and chair.
We went to a fabulous steakhouse in the W hotel. Sooo good. The hotel has a rooftop bar that is very hip, trendy and cool. (I'm lucky they even let me in.) Dinner was courtesy of Mrs. J. Thank you!!
This morning we got up and headed over to the convention. Today's cab driver rocked cause he knew where there was a 7-11 on the way!
Oh, and by the way, last night I was able to talk to the drummer. I've known I needed to gird my loins and just ask what the deal is. He confuses me, it seems liked he isn't all that in to me, but he does call and ask me out. So, yeah, not that into me. Totally awkward and uncomfortable and really no fun. Not to mention totally an ego killer and heart crusher. Yes indeed the good times continue to roll for the Diva.
Tuesday, I got a phone call from the place keeping my storage.
Storage Dude: Ma'am have you been to your unit lately? Me: No Storage Dude: Well, there seems to be something seeping out of your unit. The lady with the unit next to yours said that there is seepage into her unit too. Me: Seepage? Storage Dude: Yes, seepage. Me: Sigh. I'll be there today.
My first thought? Dead Body decomposing in my storage. My second thought? I am watching way too much CSI. Third thought? Dear Lord, Please stop now. I can't take much more.
So, I head over to the storage unit. Sure enough, when I arrive there is definitely seepage out of my unit. . . and across the floor of the hallway. Grreeeaatttt
I open the door with much trepidation. . . Good news: Not a dead body.
As it turns out, I think I had been there recently because I had to get the dog crate out of the unit. A box got put back sideways. It had a huge jug of hand soap. Thank you LORD it was at the bottom and it looks like the floor is not flat but angled towards the hallway, so I didn't ruin great amounts of belongings. I threw the box out and headed home. . . to check the contract and make sure that I wouldn't be paying to replace whatever was ruined in the next door unit. . . luckily non-toxic hand soap, not illegal. Just annoying.
Oh, and yeah, I'll be watching CSI: New York tonight cause I just can't stop myself.
So, the meeting with MMT? Total car crash. Long and the short of it... She refused to accept any responsibility for, well, anything. In fact, a loose summary would be she feels that the only problem in the department is me, and that everything she has heard from everyone else is the exact opposite of what I said. Yeah, pretty much eradicates any need to continue conversing don't you think?
As horribly as I think she has been acting, as disappointed as I am in the person she is turning out to be, I am really sad that she is being this way. I really did think she would be a good department chair. I can't figure out why her "friend" in the department isn't trying to help her do a better job.
I'm not sure of what will happen, but I know that I'm pretty much tired of being treated like crap and of being spoken to in a condescending manner.
Seriously. There is something wrong with me. And, actually, no possible way I am nesting. I am, however, cleaning madly. I couldn't stop cleaning M & D's house all weekend. I mean scrubbing and cleaning.
Then I got to school today and started cleaning my office from the bottom up. I mean the classroom is a total disaster now because everything in the office is now in the classroom.
I have rearranged my computers, vacuumed under all of the cabinets and started putting everything away.
On the downside, I have been feeling like crap all day and now I just have the energy to type. No cleaning this evening.
So, Saturday, I have a home showing scheduled for the first time in THIRTEEN days AND the first showing since I dropped the price $10,000. Yeah, I'm not stressing.
On the plus side, I had recently gotten a St. Joseph statue from one of my favorite Catholics (with good luck of his own since this particular statue had helped several people sell their homes). The statue was buried Thursday upside down in the front yard as I was instructed was proper.
Saturday morning, I got up yippy skippy and went down to my house to make sure it was clean, lights on etc. After doing that, then off I went.
A little while later I get a phone call from one of my neighbors. Seems there is a woman on my front porch. She's dropped her stuff off and has begun trying to find ways in the home. She's probably not there to buy the house 'cause she's scruffy and rolling her own cigarettes. This just gets better by the minute. I'm close enough that I tell her I'm on my way there.
I arrive and see my neighbors across the street watching the scene unfold. How to I explain to potential buyers that I basically bought my house because of my neighbors? They totally rock. They are nice, fun, pay attention to what's going on in the hood, and they'll totally hang out with you to watch weird shit unfold. Back to the story. The cops have been called and strange woman is in my back yard. I, of course, immediately begin heading back there. I hear my neighbor calling from behind me "Do NOT go back there." But it was toooo late, I was practically there.
Sure enough, there is a woman trying to get in the back door.
"Hi, may I help you?" I ask. It is important to be polite to potential psychotics.
"I lost my key," she said.
"No, you don't have a key," I said.
"I lost my key," she said.
"You don't live here, so you have no key," I said.
"But it's 711," she said. (Street number - have to admit I saw her connection immediately)
"I know, it makes me think of the convenience store, too," I said. "But it's not one."
"But like Chevron or Texaco," she said.
"I know," I said.
"I'm gonna buy this house," she said.
"Some how I doubt that," I said, "But you need to leave now."
"I don't want the cops to get me"
"Well, then you had really better get going because the cops are on their way, and you are trespassing."
At which point the cops arrive.
I go back across the street to the neighbors, so that a) my favorite neighbor can remind me I am a total idiot because I had no idea of how that woman would respond. Ok, fine, good point, and b) indeed, it was the real estate agent that called the cops because when the agent (with the cute young, viable home buying couple) arrived. The crankhead was already on my porch. She spoke to them a few minutes and then they turned and left without seeing the house. Fan-freaking-tastic.
I'm thinking hard, if I move quickly enough could I choke the shit out of the poor little wasted crackhead before the cops get me? How would it look on the front page of the newspaper "Ritzy school district yearbook teacher loses her shit and kills crankhead for screwing up home sale." Alright, fine. Wouldn't look good.
As I think of my various options, I begin to notice what the crackhead is wearing. . . and then I notice what I am wearing. Yeah, we're both wearing pink camo pants. I don't even know what to make of that little side note. Although I will add, mine were definitely cuter and they had rhinestones which I think add a touch of glam.
And then, as we wait for the female cop to arrive so that she can search el crackhead I start thinking that this, this, just has to go on the blog. The neighbors saw it in my eyes, because L immediately began saying, do not blog this. I, as you can tell, was totally unable to resist. This is too good. I mean really, how better to show great police protection than have TWO cop cars in front of your house? In the meantime, I had two showings on Sunday. One of the "feedback" responses was "client likes house, just not sure if she is ready to buy" May I present the weird stuff happens so you have stories to tell to great neighbors who will be there in a pinch with great police protection reason for buying a house?
