they done pushed the suki too far.
now, I gotta go to jail.
today's installment of lunatic and asinine children was...as usual...nearing the point of being utterly unbearable, but at least there was an early dismissal.
thank you, allah. I don't have to kill a 13 year old, today.
I will, however, murder the shit outta one of the contractors next door.
this...for lack of a better explative...sister fucking, shit-headed, dung-dwelling ass eater had the NERVE to catcall one of the neighborhood's many older-than-they-look 12 year old girls.
oh, no, you motherfucking, didn't.
it was (as related to me by my OWN older-than-she-looks 12 year old):
*curse*, baby! you looking *curse*ing fine!!!
yup. he's gonna die.
the girl was terrified, having been suburban-bound her entire life and not privy to the finer points of catcalling, shit-talking and general purpose assholery. I, however, am. and even I know...you don't fuck with someone's daughter in front of their house.
...that is, if you want to keep your testicles. apparently this guy doesn't...
nor will he.
upon my arrival home this afternoon, I found several of the previously mentioned contractors milling about on the neighbor's porch con cigarettes. AND if you've read my blogs, then you know...
I went right on over seeking blood. specifically - testicle blood.
the offending workman was unavailable for comment, but I went to great pains to inform his brethren of a couple of things:
1. this isn't the ghetto. we speak in a friendly (mostly) and cordial (kinda) fashion 'round here. keep your street slang...off my motherfucking street (it is, however, just fine in my blog).
2. if you so much as look sideways at one of our children...you will be leaving here without your juevos. for real.
3. these girls are younger than they look. and if you can't keep your junk firmly lodged in your drawers...don't even look. I will cut your balls off. for real. I'm not playing.
4. if I catch him there tomorrow. he's going to die. for real. for real. I'm really not playing.
I peppered the conversation with references to pitbulls, very large fathers and gun collections.
PLEASE LAWDY, LET ME have the opportunity to school this mickeyflick on the proper treatment of a passing 12 year old.
...and let me have my stun gun with me.
Thursday, January 31, 2008
Tuesday, January 29, 2008
fuck you.
My sentiments summed up quite nicely, albeit, inappropriately by a 3rd grader today in class.
Ms. Suki agrees.
-Fuck you, alarm clock, for waking me up.
-Fuck you, cold and dreary winter weather, for making me want to curl back up under the blankets.
-Fuck you, 3rd grader, for disrespecting an authority figure.
-Fuck you even harder for saying it to me.
-Fuck your parents or guardians for dropping the ball on raising a socially intelligent child.
-Fuck you, school administration, that sits on your hands and does nothing to make a difference.
-Fuck you, vice principal, that decides the best reinforcement for the child is to send his ass right back into class without consequence.
-Fuck you, greater school district inhabitants, for letting this behavior become the normal acceptable standard for your society.
-Fuck you, local government, for seeing the problems and applying Band-Aids to the issue rather than dealing with the root problem.
-Fuck you State of Pennsylvania.
I should add, however, that after publicly BLASTING this particular VP he redeemed himself by agreeing to suspend the little focker tomorrow (whoops. muh bad).
I've decided to write him a thank you note, which of course, will be a (very) thinly veiled set of principles to apply to future situations.
I mean...s'cool the little summabisch is getting punished...
but it would've been a much nicer scene had the VP actually SHOWN up when I called. DIDN'T send the wanker back to class without a word and hadn't ignored my concerns before.
teachers are being expected to work miracles with retards.
full. inclusion. sucks. anus.
in any given class of 20 (or 33) there are now at least 5 who are, for lack of better phrasing...
complete fucking douchebags.
I don't mean dumb. of course, there are the dumbies. every box o' crayons has a couple of mud brown dullards...they usually don't cause any trouble if you give them some fascinating paste to eat.
I'm referring to the pre-criminals.
they're sent back into regular education classrooms under the premise that their behavior/disability/general fuckupedness will improve under the influence of their peers.
ha. fucking. ha. ha. ha.
instead every OTHER child (and teacher) in the room suffers because a couple of boneheads have NO emotional control, NO social skills, NO ability to reason, NO self-discipline and NO fear of (non-existant) consequences. to top that all off...
the administrations are fat, dumb and lazy.
they wash their hands of the matter and pressure the teachers to do magic.
"can't you just handle this yourself?"
no, motherfucker. I'm not allowed to backhand him.
they ignore concerns until they escalate into tragedies and even then only deal with them peripherally or with incompetence befitting one of the paste eaters.
I strongly dislike them (I decided by the slimmest of margins not to use the word "hate" here).
I would LOVE to have some means to evaluate THEIR performance.
well, hello mr. VP...how is YOUR report card?
oh? horrendous?
...imagine that.
and while I'm typing of performance evaluations...can I tell you about the sheet the classroom teachers I cover for use to grade MY performance???
lame. o.
did I leave their supplies where I found them? ha! could I even find them to begin with?
did I follow their plans? did you even LEAVE any? and if you did...could I read them?
did I take attendance?
did I brush my teeth, jump thrice and spin in a circle and most importantly...did I kiss your principal's ass?
not one single measure on that evaluation form had ANYTHING to do with teaching. I propose that the students evaluate me.
they know whether or not I tried to teach them something.
and I can guarantee...no matter how awful a classroom is organized or how terrible a set of plans are. no matter how many children are calling me a dirty fish bitch and trying to bite me...
I ALWAYS try to teach them something.
.
Ms. Suki agrees.
-Fuck you, alarm clock, for waking me up.
-Fuck you, cold and dreary winter weather, for making me want to curl back up under the blankets.
-Fuck you, 3rd grader, for disrespecting an authority figure.
-Fuck you even harder for saying it to me.
-Fuck your parents or guardians for dropping the ball on raising a socially intelligent child.
-Fuck you, school administration, that sits on your hands and does nothing to make a difference.
-Fuck you, vice principal, that decides the best reinforcement for the child is to send his ass right back into class without consequence.
-Fuck you, greater school district inhabitants, for letting this behavior become the normal acceptable standard for your society.
-Fuck you, local government, for seeing the problems and applying Band-Aids to the issue rather than dealing with the root problem.
-Fuck you State of Pennsylvania.
I should add, however, that after publicly BLASTING this particular VP he redeemed himself by agreeing to suspend the little focker tomorrow (whoops. muh bad).
I've decided to write him a thank you note, which of course, will be a (very) thinly veiled set of principles to apply to future situations.
I mean...s'cool the little summabisch is getting punished...
but it would've been a much nicer scene had the VP actually SHOWN up when I called. DIDN'T send the wanker back to class without a word and hadn't ignored my concerns before.
teachers are being expected to work miracles with retards.
full. inclusion. sucks. anus.
in any given class of 20 (or 33) there are now at least 5 who are, for lack of better phrasing...
complete fucking douchebags.
I don't mean dumb. of course, there are the dumbies. every box o' crayons has a couple of mud brown dullards...they usually don't cause any trouble if you give them some fascinating paste to eat.
I'm referring to the pre-criminals.
they're sent back into regular education classrooms under the premise that their behavior/disability/general fuckupedness will improve under the influence of their peers.
ha. fucking. ha. ha. ha.
instead every OTHER child (and teacher) in the room suffers because a couple of boneheads have NO emotional control, NO social skills, NO ability to reason, NO self-discipline and NO fear of (non-existant) consequences. to top that all off...
the administrations are fat, dumb and lazy.
they wash their hands of the matter and pressure the teachers to do magic.
"can't you just handle this yourself?"
no, motherfucker. I'm not allowed to backhand him.
they ignore concerns until they escalate into tragedies and even then only deal with them peripherally or with incompetence befitting one of the paste eaters.
I strongly dislike them (I decided by the slimmest of margins not to use the word "hate" here).
I would LOVE to have some means to evaluate THEIR performance.
well, hello mr. VP...how is YOUR report card?
oh? horrendous?
...imagine that.
and while I'm typing of performance evaluations...can I tell you about the sheet the classroom teachers I cover for use to grade MY performance???
lame. o.
did I leave their supplies where I found them? ha! could I even find them to begin with?
did I follow their plans? did you even LEAVE any? and if you did...could I read them?
did I take attendance?
did I brush my teeth, jump thrice and spin in a circle and most importantly...did I kiss your principal's ass?
not one single measure on that evaluation form had ANYTHING to do with teaching. I propose that the students evaluate me.
they know whether or not I tried to teach them something.
and I can guarantee...no matter how awful a classroom is organized or how terrible a set of plans are. no matter how many children are calling me a dirty fish bitch and trying to bite me...
I ALWAYS try to teach them something.
.
Sunday, January 27, 2008
whoooooah, nelly!
thank you rock, paper, scissors for my first ever ice ride today.
him: whaddaya wanna do today?
me: I dunno. ski? climb? ride?
him: (considerable pause) well...whaddaya wanna do?
enter: rps.
we deci(I just realized that this is nowhere NEAR as good a retelling of a rps showdown as one I've read before)ded to go all in. once and done. winner takes all. none of this best outta three shit for us. NO, SIR!!!! sudden death i'tis.
mmmm...but we had to shoot four times cause we kept picking the same thing.
first I was riding and he was skiing.
skiing got its ass chomped.
then I was riding and he was climbing.
climbing fell like a toddler on roller skates.
...so we rode.
whooooooooo, lawdy it was cooold going down that hill (the hill, btw, which I rode the ENTIRE way up and out of to the car for the very first time today).
got to the bottom, took the right instead of the left (some of my favoritist trails on earth are on the right) and immediately hit a patch of ice.
boom. crash. ding. (<----the ding was the sound of my dome ringing)
first thought: do people ride this shit? yup. apparently they do.
as we continued at a snail's pace (and old dude power walking lapped me twice) I started to realize several things:
snow=traction
ice=piddle in me panties
oqui didn't give a shit and rode the slick stuff.
we took it super easy (had to. I kept shitting myself in terror). some places were just frozen mud. some places were wet mud. some places were sheets of ice and some (thank you, beezlebubb) were blessed, dry, crunchy and ooooh so inviting leaves (2 months ago, btw, I was scared of riding over leaves).
I fell once riding, once walking my bike and once just regular walking (I'm good like that).
we stopped to admire the sunset over the lake. oqui skipped a stone. he threw 15...one skipped. the old dude walking passed us again and then we headed back to the car.
we had to cross that first (killah) patch of ice again...this time going up. I had to choose:
am I gonna do this?
welp, I certainly tried. I made it, too.
ironically, while scared witless on the uber-ice my internal mantra was:
come on. get it. it's just like riding a bike.
him: whaddaya wanna do today?
me: I dunno. ski? climb? ride?
him: (considerable pause) well...whaddaya wanna do?
enter: rps.
we deci(I just realized that this is nowhere NEAR as good a retelling of a rps showdown as one I've read before)ded to go all in. once and done. winner takes all. none of this best outta three shit for us. NO, SIR!!!! sudden death i'tis.
mmmm...but we had to shoot four times cause we kept picking the same thing.
first I was riding and he was skiing.
skiing got its ass chomped.
then I was riding and he was climbing.
climbing fell like a toddler on roller skates.
...so we rode.
whooooooooo, lawdy it was cooold going down that hill (the hill, btw, which I rode the ENTIRE way up and out of to the car for the very first time today).
got to the bottom, took the right instead of the left (some of my favoritist trails on earth are on the right) and immediately hit a patch of ice.
^ not my picture...and not enough ice
boom. crash. ding. (<----the ding was the sound of my dome ringing)
first thought: do people ride this shit? yup. apparently they do.
as we continued at a snail's pace (and old dude power walking lapped me twice) I started to realize several things:
snow=traction
ice=piddle in me panties
oqui didn't give a shit and rode the slick stuff.
we took it super easy (had to. I kept shitting myself in terror). some places were just frozen mud. some places were wet mud. some places were sheets of ice and some (thank you, beezlebubb) were blessed, dry, crunchy and ooooh so inviting leaves (2 months ago, btw, I was scared of riding over leaves).
I fell once riding, once walking my bike and once just regular walking (I'm good like that).
we stopped to admire the sunset over the lake. oqui skipped a stone. he threw 15...one skipped. the old dude walking passed us again and then we headed back to the car.
we had to cross that first (killah) patch of ice again...this time going up. I had to choose:
am I gonna do this?
welp, I certainly tried. I made it, too.
ironically, while scared witless on the uber-ice my internal mantra was:
come on. get it. it's just like riding a bike.
.
breaking shit helps.
I am stressed out.
way out.
way far out.
wicked way far out.
I'm a hella mess.
the o'pah and I had an entire day fight. all 16 hours of waking was spent either arguing some point, slamming things around (yeah, I went there. first time in about 83 years), attempting to reconcile, or fussing, again.
did I mention I'm a mess?
part of it is this house. I.just.don't.want.to.be.here. I love this house. It's gorgeous, fun, kinda quirky and charming as all get out...
but I bought it with Mark. when I asked for a divorce I NEVER intended to stay here...and its starting to wear thin for me.
way thin.
another part of it is my job. its hard. I'm poor. and it taxes me emotionally like nothing else I've done before. I think I pushed too far when I started to work with these kids at school...AND at home.
working at the shelter was a bad idea. I'm burnt out.
I look at the broken ones.
broken minds from
broken families.
broken homes.
broken society.
and I get sad. overwhelmingly so. I see a kid acting up at school. sometimes I ACTUALLY know his family...more often than not...I can guess.
I've taught children with PTSD from a parent trying to murder them (the siblings, unfortunately, didn't survive). I've taught children who live in homeless shelters. I've taught kids who've witnessed murder. I've taught children terrorized (mentally and physically) by drug dealers and users. I've taught a child who's father caught off her fingers (which were then surgically replaced by her toes) and slashed her face. I taught a disabled child who was being sexually molested almost DAILY.
fucking monsters.
I see these kids and their tormentors everywhere I go. I see them in my sleep, in my rear view mirror, at Taco Bell.
I live (and teach) in fucking Gotham City.
I need to leave. its killing me.
knowing the back-story has only made this harder for me. I KNOW that these children are man-handled and abused. I KNOW that their parents were, too. I KNOW...
that there isn't much hope of changing GENERATIONS of dysfunction.
and its hard for me to help when I'm not helping.
I'm turning into a(n?) universal hall-monitor. yesterday I reprimanded a family outside of McDonald's for putting their trash on the ground SIX FEET from a trashcan. In my teacher voice I also told the employees on break that they were too close to the door, blocking the walkway and needed to go smoke somewhere else. I helped the two VERY SMALL unattended children order their food...then I sank into a chair and realized...
its not my job.
I see my students all the time...and strangely enough...even the ones I clashed with smile, hug me and are glad to see me.
maybe because they can feel the energy I expend on them.
maybe because nobody else cares.
sometimes...a little thing makes it feel worthwhile,
but more often than not these days...I'm just fried.
I'm yapping at my kid, fighting with my man and too emotionally exhausted when I get home to enjoy the family I've got here.
I've got to get the hell out of here.
however...breaking shit helps. they've made MASSIVE progress on the Bin's house. we've got it down to the studs. half of the roof was removed yesterday and the top floor was expanded for the new one. I tore up floors, tore down walls. knocked down ceilings, ripped up boards, tossed shit out (non-existant) windows.
I was so stressed out and vicious when I got there friday (the day I spent 25 minutes locked in a school parking lot and damn near flipped...for good) that they said they were going to duct tape me to the wall a few feet off the floor so i wouldn't end up hurting anyone.
unfortunately the name "duct tape devil" seems to have stuck.
^ha. it stuck. get it?
the help he's receiving is tremendous. he's got a foreman, crew, supplies. ALL donated.
yesterday they went to 84 lumber for roofing supplies. picked up $900 worth of stuff...
the cashier charged them $250. local businesses are kicking in. skilled labor is showing up DAILY. electricians, fire repair specialists, contractors, framers...you name it. they're there to help.
the kindness and concern of these people is ALMOST enough to offset my disillusionment with the rest of this godforsaken sink hole.
almost.
way out.
way far out.
wicked way far out.
I'm a hella mess.
the o'pah and I had an entire day fight. all 16 hours of waking was spent either arguing some point, slamming things around (yeah, I went there. first time in about 83 years), attempting to reconcile, or fussing, again.
did I mention I'm a mess?
part of it is this house. I.just.don't.want.to.be.here. I love this house. It's gorgeous, fun, kinda quirky and charming as all get out...
but I bought it with Mark. when I asked for a divorce I NEVER intended to stay here...and its starting to wear thin for me.
way thin.
another part of it is my job. its hard. I'm poor. and it taxes me emotionally like nothing else I've done before. I think I pushed too far when I started to work with these kids at school...AND at home.
working at the shelter was a bad idea. I'm burnt out.
I look at the broken ones.
broken minds from
broken families.
broken homes.
broken society.
and I get sad. overwhelmingly so. I see a kid acting up at school. sometimes I ACTUALLY know his family...more often than not...I can guess.
I've taught children with PTSD from a parent trying to murder them (the siblings, unfortunately, didn't survive). I've taught children who live in homeless shelters. I've taught kids who've witnessed murder. I've taught children terrorized (mentally and physically) by drug dealers and users. I've taught a child who's father caught off her fingers (which were then surgically replaced by her toes) and slashed her face. I taught a disabled child who was being sexually molested almost DAILY.
fucking monsters.
I see these kids and their tormentors everywhere I go. I see them in my sleep, in my rear view mirror, at Taco Bell.
I live (and teach) in fucking Gotham City.
I need to leave. its killing me.
knowing the back-story has only made this harder for me. I KNOW that these children are man-handled and abused. I KNOW that their parents were, too. I KNOW...
that there isn't much hope of changing GENERATIONS of dysfunction.
and its hard for me to help when I'm not helping.
I'm turning into a(n?) universal hall-monitor. yesterday I reprimanded a family outside of McDonald's for putting their trash on the ground SIX FEET from a trashcan. In my teacher voice I also told the employees on break that they were too close to the door, blocking the walkway and needed to go smoke somewhere else. I helped the two VERY SMALL unattended children order their food...then I sank into a chair and realized...
its not my job.
I see my students all the time...and strangely enough...even the ones I clashed with smile, hug me and are glad to see me.
maybe because they can feel the energy I expend on them.
maybe because nobody else cares.
sometimes...a little thing makes it feel worthwhile,
but more often than not these days...I'm just fried.
I'm yapping at my kid, fighting with my man and too emotionally exhausted when I get home to enjoy the family I've got here.
I've got to get the hell out of here.
however...breaking shit helps. they've made MASSIVE progress on the Bin's house. we've got it down to the studs. half of the roof was removed yesterday and the top floor was expanded for the new one. I tore up floors, tore down walls. knocked down ceilings, ripped up boards, tossed shit out (non-existant) windows.
I was so stressed out and vicious when I got there friday (the day I spent 25 minutes locked in a school parking lot and damn near flipped...for good) that they said they were going to duct tape me to the wall a few feet off the floor so i wouldn't end up hurting anyone.
unfortunately the name "duct tape devil" seems to have stuck.
^ha. it stuck. get it?
the help he's receiving is tremendous. he's got a foreman, crew, supplies. ALL donated.
yesterday they went to 84 lumber for roofing supplies. picked up $900 worth of stuff...
the cashier charged them $250. local businesses are kicking in. skilled labor is showing up DAILY. electricians, fire repair specialists, contractors, framers...you name it. they're there to help.
the kindness and concern of these people is ALMOST enough to offset my disillusionment with the rest of this godforsaken sink hole.
almost.
Saturday, January 26, 2008
to hell with the suburbs.
my internal debate, as of late, has gone something like this:
side a:
-keep the house
-continue rocking 'the burbs
-maintain middle class footing
-just work harder
-bring up little ones to looooove soccer and cheerleading
-continue not having cable
side b:
-fuck this house. oppressive mortgages (at least on my income) are sooo last year
-hit the road in a microbus and climb until my fingers fall off
-when done climbing, have baby
-middle class (and da man) can kiss my hairy hippy ass
-work only as much as is necessary to eat
-what's television?
side b just won.
FUCK IT.
my job is killing me...AND my pleasant disposition (ha. ha. *choke wheeze* ha.). I'm disconnected from so many of the things that I value (land, water, freedom and rocks to name a few).
this lifestyle blows ass.
I eat food laden with chemicals and other...stuff.
I put gas in my car that's killing my planet.
I go to a job (almost) every morning that dampens my spirit and kills my mood.
I come home and stare into space trying not to implode.
I get ZERO fucking physical activity because of other responsibilities.
I almost never get to break anything.
I wash my hair with products injected into monkies' eyes.
I find comfort in sex, food and door slamming. ok, i'm fine with the sex thing...but the food and door slamming gotta stop.
I yell at the people I love and live for.
I think waaay bigger than I act.
theend. (yes, I'm so done that its only one syllable)
the house is going on the market once and for all. I don't care if I have to sell it to a blind midget for $18 and an old school mixed tape. I want this fucking monkey off my back.
my assed out, retarded, I hate them more than anything on the planet, shit for brains neighbors just listed half of their semi....
for $190k. (never mind the fact that they just STOLE it from the old man going into the nursing home for 90 grand a few months ago. vulture, evil, life-sucking bastards)
haaaaaaaaaaaaaa! just sitting next to that piece of shit for that ridiculous price is going to make my house look like a fucking palace. it's gone.
even if I only get $200k its still enough to buy some patchouli and a shortbus and hit the fucking road.
and if I don't...and I have to stay here...
I'm registering republican, buying a sweater set and strand of pearls, joining the PTA and taking those cockasses down from the inside.
either way....I'm disconnected from my true self...
and shit has got to change around here.
side a:
-keep the house
-continue rocking 'the burbs
-maintain middle class footing
-just work harder
-bring up little ones to looooove soccer and cheerleading
-continue not having cable
side b:
-fuck this house. oppressive mortgages (at least on my income) are sooo last year
-hit the road in a microbus and climb until my fingers fall off
-when done climbing, have baby
-middle class (and da man) can kiss my hairy hippy ass
-work only as much as is necessary to eat
-what's television?
side b just won.
FUCK IT.
my job is killing me...AND my pleasant disposition (ha. ha. *choke wheeze* ha.). I'm disconnected from so many of the things that I value (land, water, freedom and rocks to name a few).
this lifestyle blows ass.
I eat food laden with chemicals and other...stuff.
I put gas in my car that's killing my planet.
I go to a job (almost) every morning that dampens my spirit and kills my mood.
I come home and stare into space trying not to implode.
I get ZERO fucking physical activity because of other responsibilities.
I almost never get to break anything.
I wash my hair with products injected into monkies' eyes.
I find comfort in sex, food and door slamming. ok, i'm fine with the sex thing...but the food and door slamming gotta stop.
I yell at the people I love and live for.
I think waaay bigger than I act.
theend. (yes, I'm so done that its only one syllable)
the house is going on the market once and for all. I don't care if I have to sell it to a blind midget for $18 and an old school mixed tape. I want this fucking monkey off my back.
my assed out, retarded, I hate them more than anything on the planet, shit for brains neighbors just listed half of their semi....
for $190k. (never mind the fact that they just STOLE it from the old man going into the nursing home for 90 grand a few months ago. vulture, evil, life-sucking bastards)
haaaaaaaaaaaaaa! just sitting next to that piece of shit for that ridiculous price is going to make my house look like a fucking palace. it's gone.
even if I only get $200k its still enough to buy some patchouli and a shortbus and hit the fucking road.
and if I don't...and I have to stay here...
I'm registering republican, buying a sweater set and strand of pearls, joining the PTA and taking those cockasses down from the inside.
either way....I'm disconnected from my true self...
and shit has got to change around here.
Friday, January 25, 2008
ma'am, this is Trooper Hoch
with the Pennsylvania State Police. Do you drive a blue Volvo?
yes.
Does anyone else drive the car?
sometimes.
Was anyone else driving it yesterday?
not that I know of.
Your car was observed at the Morgantown Interchange yesterday...
yeah, yeah. I know. EZPass. going too fast. gotcha.
Ma'am, the toll-taker observed you traveling at a high rate of speed through a non-designated lane.
um, huh.
He said you were going like hell.
define "going like hell" please.
He said that he recognized your vehicle and that you were warned before.
nigga, please.
I "debated" with the fine occifer of the law about whether or not it was likely that a toll-taker would "recognize" me (based solely on appearance and description of the car, mind you) given the number of vehicles that pass through a turn-pike interchange and the infrequency with which I actually "go like hell" through one.
the end result of our extended phone conversation was that he was going to check on whether or not I actually was warned before (I wasn't) and if I was...he was going to send me a citation.
I got the voicemail several minutes ago that a citation was in the mail.
fuh. que.
you got nothing on me, coppah.
send your little citation and I'll plead my lil' not guilty. we go a few rounds. I'll tango, you'll cha cha...
and when its all said and done...
you'll still be a douchebag.
yes.
Does anyone else drive the car?
sometimes.
Was anyone else driving it yesterday?
not that I know of.
Your car was observed at the Morgantown Interchange yesterday...
yeah, yeah. I know. EZPass. going too fast. gotcha.
Ma'am, the toll-taker observed you traveling at a high rate of speed through a non-designated lane.
um, huh.
He said you were going like hell.
define "going like hell" please.
He said that he recognized your vehicle and that you were warned before.
nigga, please.
I "debated" with the fine occifer of the law about whether or not it was likely that a toll-taker would "recognize" me (based solely on appearance and description of the car, mind you) given the number of vehicles that pass through a turn-pike interchange and the infrequency with which I actually "go like hell" through one.
the end result of our extended phone conversation was that he was going to check on whether or not I actually was warned before (I wasn't) and if I was...he was going to send me a citation.
I got the voicemail several minutes ago that a citation was in the mail.
fuh. que.
you got nothing on me, coppah.
send your little citation and I'll plead my lil' not guilty. we go a few rounds. I'll tango, you'll cha cha...
and when its all said and done...
you'll still be a douchebag.
Thursday, January 24, 2008
chugging along, picking away at it
yesterday saw the completion of the please-oh-please-please-please. please. letter to Lowe's. I tugged heart strings, jerked tears and included photographic illustration of how yicky-poo-poo the damage really was.
rotten suggested I include a picture of my cooter (couldn't hurt, right?). After much debate, however...I abstained.
my BIN's next door neighbor and friend just so happens to own a framing and remodeling business and is donating a tremendous amount of his time for estimates, labor, scheduling and clean up. he also set the stage for the Lowe's donation and his wife is organizing fundraisers through her job and elsewhere.
awesome people.
my mother, shifty as she is, has found a way to accept cash donations with matching that will be both tax free for my BIN and tax deductible for the contributor. the council is voting on it next thursday at their monthly meeting after which point I will be able to provide an address and fund name for those of you who have already (thank you) asked how to help.
if a tax break isn't a big deal for you, we are also asking for gift cards in the meantime. we've taken the girls shopping a few times...but they literally lost everything (this may not be a COMPLETELY awful thing...because at least now I can veto retarded clothes choices. say GOODBYE to eight foot long black and red pleather pants with 47 chains on them, m'dears!).
rotten suggested I include a picture of my cooter (couldn't hurt, right?). After much debate, however...I abstained.
my BIN's next door neighbor and friend just so happens to own a framing and remodeling business and is donating a tremendous amount of his time for estimates, labor, scheduling and clean up. he also set the stage for the Lowe's donation and his wife is organizing fundraisers through her job and elsewhere.
awesome people.
my mother, shifty as she is, has found a way to accept cash donations with matching that will be both tax free for my BIN and tax deductible for the contributor. the council is voting on it next thursday at their monthly meeting after which point I will be able to provide an address and fund name for those of you who have already (thank you) asked how to help.
if a tax break isn't a big deal for you, we are also asking for gift cards in the meantime. we've taken the girls shopping a few times...but they literally lost everything (this may not be a COMPLETELY awful thing...because at least now I can veto retarded clothes choices. say GOODBYE to eight foot long black and red pleather pants with 47 chains on them, m'dears!).
My nieces actually HAD ^ these pants
anyone who's interested can e-mail me at: hookABinUp@gmail.com
now for some funny antecdotes:
-we realized last night that the niece staying with me has been sharing my daughter's toothbrush. eww
-while my mother took my older niece shopping, I went with the younger one. at different malls, they both bought exactly the same shoes.
-I have an extra kid to wipe the counters...and this one uses cleanser.
-a lady came to my house last night wearing a wig
-while waiting in line at the one hour photo place...I saw the salesgirl forced to open a package of batteries AND the back of the customer's camera because her gawdy awful nails rendered her disabled
-and the good news, I suppose, is that I won't be throwing away any uneaten food any time soon
Wednesday, January 23, 2008
a little help here.
I volunteered to write the letters to local (and corporate) merchants requesting donations for my brother-in-law and nieces.
Lowe's
Home Depot
grocery stores
clothing stores
art supply stores
we're requesting supply donations in excess of thirty thousand dollars.
how do I even START that letter?
Dear Da Man,
Please give me cheddah. It fo a good cause. A family be in need. You gots lots o' da green backs. Hook a sista up, yo.
Love,
Da Suki
^ my best attempt, yet.
I'm thinking it'll be a no go in its current state. any suggestions? can somebody hook a suki up, please?
as for hooking up...my bin (bro in law) has been getting lots of help. I showed up yesterday to photograph the house and he had half a dozen friends volunteering their time (and money) to get the clean up started. the local pizza joint even sent over some pies free of charge. all day people came by offering condolences...
and help.
warmed my heart. I like people, again.
now I just have to convince them to give me their money.
churches, food banks, furniture stores, friends...
give me all yo stuff, foos.
megA asked where she could send some help. warmed my heart.
I suppose I'll come up with an answer to that ASAP and bother all of you incessantly for your pocket change (and mexican massages) for the next six months.
so in advance:
fank you fo all da help (and rubs), my niggaz.
Suki
Lowe's
Home Depot
grocery stores
clothing stores
art supply stores
we're requesting supply donations in excess of thirty thousand dollars.
how do I even START that letter?
Dear Da Man,
Please give me cheddah. It fo a good cause. A family be in need. You gots lots o' da green backs. Hook a sista up, yo.
Love,
Da Suki
^ my best attempt, yet.
I'm thinking it'll be a no go in its current state. any suggestions? can somebody hook a suki up, please?
as for hooking up...my bin (bro in law) has been getting lots of help. I showed up yesterday to photograph the house and he had half a dozen friends volunteering their time (and money) to get the clean up started. the local pizza joint even sent over some pies free of charge. all day people came by offering condolences...
and help.
warmed my heart. I like people, again.
now I just have to convince them to give me their money.
churches, food banks, furniture stores, friends...
give me all yo stuff, foos.
megA asked where she could send some help. warmed my heart.
I suppose I'll come up with an answer to that ASAP and bother all of you incessantly for your pocket change (and mexican massages) for the next six months.
so in advance:
fank you fo all da help (and rubs), my niggaz.
Suki
Monday, January 21, 2008
it could've been worse.
today my brother in law's house burned down.
gutted.
my nieces lost everything.
no insurance.
they have no clothing.
tears when I saw the soggy art supplies I had just bought them for christmas.
more tears when I saw their artwork was destroyed.
a neighborhood mobilized to help a family in need.
I can't stop shaking.
but, nobody was hurt.
it DEFINITELY could've been worse.
gutted.
my nieces lost everything.
no insurance.
they have no clothing.
tears when I saw the soggy art supplies I had just bought them for christmas.
more tears when I saw their artwork was destroyed.
a neighborhood mobilized to help a family in need.
I can't stop shaking.
but, nobody was hurt.
it DEFINITELY could've been worse.
Wednesday, January 16, 2008
dreams
last night I had some doozers.
at one point I was naked in the desert and freezing. I'm guessing this had something to do with me crashing out butt-ass-nekkid ON TOP of the covers...with the light on, no less...
but the over-arching feeling in the dream was one of discomfort and anxiety.
I drempt that something had happened to oqui and I was alone. a particularly insidious ex chose to vantage this and had me back at his place (in the desert, mind you) within weeks. my mom showed up. she said in her mother knows all voice...
I'm surprised to see you here, but if you keep coming back I guess it's what you really want.
I replied with a zombified..."its...just...pretty here."
visually-yes.
emotionally-no.
what a strange ride I've taken over the last 2? 5? 10? 15? years.
having a child at 18 doesn't leave alot of room for uninterrupted personal growth. I've been completely committed to her well-being my ENTIRE adult life.
odd.
my relationships have always involved her as much as they involved me and looking back over them I feel a weird mix of relief, mourning and fondness.
I'm lucky to be where I am. a partner. shared interests. intense love. willing and open communication (ie. a hand around my waist even during an argument).
and petrified that it'll somehow end (and/or change) and I'll be back in the desert speaking zombie.
sometimes I wish I knew HOW to be more independant...so the prospect of losing him wouldn't be so petrifying.
then I think....
nah, being an uber needy social butterfly makes me who I am.
...which, in case you missed it...
is pretty fucking rad.
at one point I was naked in the desert and freezing. I'm guessing this had something to do with me crashing out butt-ass-nekkid ON TOP of the covers...with the light on, no less...
but the over-arching feeling in the dream was one of discomfort and anxiety.
I drempt that something had happened to oqui and I was alone. a particularly insidious ex chose to vantage this and had me back at his place (in the desert, mind you) within weeks. my mom showed up. she said in her mother knows all voice...
I'm surprised to see you here, but if you keep coming back I guess it's what you really want.
I replied with a zombified..."its...just...pretty here."
visually-yes.
emotionally-no.
what a strange ride I've taken over the last 2? 5? 10? 15? years.
having a child at 18 doesn't leave alot of room for uninterrupted personal growth. I've been completely committed to her well-being my ENTIRE adult life.
odd.
my relationships have always involved her as much as they involved me and looking back over them I feel a weird mix of relief, mourning and fondness.
I'm lucky to be where I am. a partner. shared interests. intense love. willing and open communication (ie. a hand around my waist even during an argument).
and petrified that it'll somehow end (and/or change) and I'll be back in the desert speaking zombie.
sometimes I wish I knew HOW to be more independant...so the prospect of losing him wouldn't be so petrifying.
then I think....
nah, being an uber needy social butterfly makes me who I am.
...which, in case you missed it...
is pretty fucking rad.
Monday, January 14, 2008
hurts so good.
had a nice active weekend.
finally.
thank god.
went out for a sissy baby ride on saturday about 40 minutes before sunset. I hadn't been on my bike in months, the leaves were wet, the roots were hidden, my bike felt alien to me and I was scared senseless. I took a little spill over some miniscule hidden roots and managed to tweak my right knee for the 18th time in two weeks.
and yeah...the pain felt good.
take that, old man winter (aka FUCKER)...teh suki's still alive.
after our waaaaaaaaay too brief jaunt in the woods on our bee-sickles we headed to the rock gym for some punishment. we did some leads, ran some laps and then strapped on 20lbs of training weight to finish the night off.
and yeah...the pain felt good.
sunday morning was the usual three hour decision making process as to what we SHOULD do (it was unanimous...someone needs to clean the toilet) versus what we actually WOULD do.
the toilet remains disgusting as we headed to the rock gym, again. it was ALMOST nice enough to venture out to a crag, but we snuggled two hours too long and blew that possibility.
's cool, though. after my scary year of health and injury encounters, I find myself strangely content safely within the limits of the envelope. ie. I'm in no hurry to take another lead-fall (get food poisoning/get pneumonia/have another bout of blood butt) anytime soon.
I've lost my nerve and I'm cool with that (for now).
training in the gym sounds juuuust fine to me.
while the toilet is still repugnant, we did manage to round out the weekend with some much needed grocery shopping, a hot bath a deux (harder than it sounds. oqui's a tall man and we've got a tiny tub), and we washed three of the eight remaining spoons.
one of the best weekends I've had in a while. and just in time...
the winter blahs were beginning to border on out-right depression and I've become entirely too cozy in my sweats and my bed. I had such a rough year. I lost so much confidence in my body's ability to regulate and heal. I've let myself get out of mental and physical shape...and did so without even caring enough to feel guilty.
I went from ballz out over-training lunatic to lazy, lethargic and over-cautious.
finding balance, apparently...
is much harder than I thought.
but weekends like this last one are a good place to start.
finally.
thank god.
went out for a sissy baby ride on saturday about 40 minutes before sunset. I hadn't been on my bike in months, the leaves were wet, the roots were hidden, my bike felt alien to me and I was scared senseless. I took a little spill over some miniscule hidden roots and managed to tweak my right knee for the 18th time in two weeks.
and yeah...the pain felt good.
take that, old man winter (aka FUCKER)...teh suki's still alive.
after our waaaaaaaaay too brief jaunt in the woods on our bee-sickles we headed to the rock gym for some punishment. we did some leads, ran some laps and then strapped on 20lbs of training weight to finish the night off.
and yeah...the pain felt good.
sunday morning was the usual three hour decision making process as to what we SHOULD do (it was unanimous...someone needs to clean the toilet) versus what we actually WOULD do.
the toilet remains disgusting as we headed to the rock gym, again. it was ALMOST nice enough to venture out to a crag, but we snuggled two hours too long and blew that possibility.
's cool, though. after my scary year of health and injury encounters, I find myself strangely content safely within the limits of the envelope. ie. I'm in no hurry to take another lead-fall (get food poisoning/get pneumonia/have another bout of blood butt) anytime soon.
I've lost my nerve and I'm cool with that (for now).
training in the gym sounds juuuust fine to me.
while the toilet is still repugnant, we did manage to round out the weekend with some much needed grocery shopping, a hot bath a deux (harder than it sounds. oqui's a tall man and we've got a tiny tub), and we washed three of the eight remaining spoons.
one of the best weekends I've had in a while. and just in time...
the winter blahs were beginning to border on out-right depression and I've become entirely too cozy in my sweats and my bed. I had such a rough year. I lost so much confidence in my body's ability to regulate and heal. I've let myself get out of mental and physical shape...and did so without even caring enough to feel guilty.
I went from ballz out over-training lunatic to lazy, lethargic and over-cautious.
finding balance, apparently...
is much harder than I thought.
but weekends like this last one are a good place to start.
Friday, January 11, 2008
sour oranges and hershey's kisses
today is...
rain slicked grass and squeaky wipers.
sour oranges and hershey's kisses.
native americans and 49'ers.
wedgies and chapped lips.
a messy desk in a cold room.
frustration and entertainment. heavy on the frustration.
'yo, miss!" and "no engles."
not wanting to go home, nor wanting to be here.
pb&j and keebler crackers.
chicken and beer.
6th grade and stun guns.
tired and annoyed.
rain slicked grass and squeaky wipers.
sour oranges and hershey's kisses.
native americans and 49'ers.
wedgies and chapped lips.
a messy desk in a cold room.
frustration and entertainment. heavy on the frustration.
'yo, miss!" and "no engles."
not wanting to go home, nor wanting to be here.
pb&j and keebler crackers.
chicken and beer.
6th grade and stun guns.
tired and annoyed.
Thursday, January 10, 2008
love ya, too!
---------------------------------------------------------------
Anonymous said...
Wassa? You are incapable of holding any 'real' job and even if you could you don't have what it takes to obtain the skills to get one and it would take forever at that. Stick to being inferior...
Love ya!
January 10, 2008 8:12 AM
--------------------------------------------------------------
^ aaaaaaaaaaahahahahaha
me thinks somebody isn't exactly sure about appropriate usage of the words "love ya!"
lemme 'splain.
meh, on second thought...
lemme 'gnore.
EDIT(ed about 16 hours later in a cranky moood):
FUCK YOU.
ps. today I told the kids that I'm a dirty hippy and lectured them on plastic production, over-consumption and being retarded.
despite my best efforts, however...
they're all still retarded.
Anonymous said...
Wassa? You are incapable of holding any 'real' job and even if you could you don't have what it takes to obtain the skills to get one and it would take forever at that. Stick to being inferior...
Love ya!
January 10, 2008 8:12 AM
--------------------------------------------------------------
^ aaaaaaaaaaahahahahaha
me thinks somebody isn't exactly sure about appropriate usage of the words "love ya!"
lemme 'splain.
meh, on second thought...
lemme 'gnore.
EDIT(ed about 16 hours later in a cranky moood):
FUCK YOU.
ps. today I told the kids that I'm a dirty hippy and lectured them on plastic production, over-consumption and being retarded.
despite my best efforts, however...
they're all still retarded.
Wednesday, January 9, 2008
lock down and evacuation
the middle of abso-fucking-lutely nowhere is sounding might nice just about now.
who's with me?
today yet ANOTHER (as my cousin put it) "whoever in a trench coat" brought a duffel bag of explosives (he hoped) and knives into a school.
he stabbed three girls (all ok. released from the hospital) and tried to blow the joint up...but instead, blew the attempt.
he held the principal at bay with a propane torch...til a teacher knocked it out of his hand and gave him a whooping. they sent the kids home, evacuated the area and sent a general (yet lightly salted) panic through the district...
and neighboring ones, as well.
around noon today the principal of my school da jour, rather calmly, made an announcement that all teachers who did not have students should come to the office immediately. my ears perked and I told the group of thugs I was attempting to edumacate about Handel that it sounded alot like a lock down to me.
we escaped lockdown...but DID have a fire alarm (can I have a side order or retard with my loser?).
gaaagh. this is just becoming entirely too fucking annoying.
like seriously.
last month a bomb threat was intercepted at my daughter's uber white bread suburban school initiating a lockdown/search/seizure there.
what is wrong with this crop of fucktards and douchebags? wait. no need to answer that...I already know. knowing, however, does nothing to eliminate my ever burning desire to put a foot in their lazy, spoiled, entitled, emo-loser asses.
quit yer fucking whining and get a goddamn hobby, you sissy baby chickens.
yes. the 11th grade girls picked on you and said you have a small cock (the apparent reason today's wanna-be psycho flipped his shit).
you have a small cock.
deal, asshole. how bout instead of going all columbine (like we haven't suffered enough of THAT already) you man up, wash your hair, grow a personality and do what every other small winkied man out there does...
make a ton of money and over-compensate.
for fucks sake, though...
PLEEEEASE leave the torch out of it, cockass.
its punks like you that give propane (and wanna-be terrorists) a bad name.
who's with me?
today yet ANOTHER (as my cousin put it) "whoever in a trench coat" brought a duffel bag of explosives (he hoped) and knives into a school.
he stabbed three girls (all ok. released from the hospital) and tried to blow the joint up...but instead, blew the attempt.
he held the principal at bay with a propane torch...til a teacher knocked it out of his hand and gave him a whooping. they sent the kids home, evacuated the area and sent a general (yet lightly salted) panic through the district...
and neighboring ones, as well.
around noon today the principal of my school da jour, rather calmly, made an announcement that all teachers who did not have students should come to the office immediately. my ears perked and I told the group of thugs I was attempting to edumacate about Handel that it sounded alot like a lock down to me.
we escaped lockdown...but DID have a fire alarm (can I have a side order or retard with my loser?).
gaaagh. this is just becoming entirely too fucking annoying.
like seriously.
last month a bomb threat was intercepted at my daughter's uber white bread suburban school initiating a lockdown/search/seizure there.
what is wrong with this crop of fucktards and douchebags? wait. no need to answer that...I already know. knowing, however, does nothing to eliminate my ever burning desire to put a foot in their lazy, spoiled, entitled, emo-loser asses.
quit yer fucking whining and get a goddamn hobby, you sissy baby chickens.
yes. the 11th grade girls picked on you and said you have a small cock (the apparent reason today's wanna-be psycho flipped his shit).
you have a small cock.
deal, asshole. how bout instead of going all columbine (like we haven't suffered enough of THAT already) you man up, wash your hair, grow a personality and do what every other small winkied man out there does...
make a ton of money and over-compensate.
for fucks sake, though...
PLEEEEASE leave the torch out of it, cockass.
its punks like you that give propane (and wanna-be terrorists) a bad name.
Tuesday, January 8, 2008
pasty white in PA seeking real job
I realized two things while gnoshing some hardcore Hershey's.
1. I'm white as a mofo. It's time to get a lil Orange County and seek UV rays.
say HELLO to my raccoon tan.
2. I should get a "real" job. If I were a regular ol' vanilla variety teacher...certified, with a classroom and BENEFITS...I'd probably want to murder myself...but at least I'd have insurance and a union rep when the attempt failed and I wound up in "the ward."
but...I'm not. my degree in developmental psych (read: arts and crafts college) stopped JUST shy of ensuring future employability and most of my "real" jobitude was in...
believe it or not...
financial systems software design.
*shudder*
the pay was swell and I vaguely remember being able to see a doctor, but life was suck-o-rific 40+ hours a week (50 counting commutes) and I wanted to stick a pencil in my thigh on a fairly regular basis.
now...I sub. the pay, as I'm sure you've read here before, absolutely sucks donkey ass...
but I get to move around during the day, from day to day and don't get too terribly bored.
I can act retarded (and I do...ooooh, I do). I stand on desks, flail about, do the cabbage patch (jealous yet?) and pick on kids who have gas and their flies down (some...have both). I'm a good teacher. I'd venture to say that I'm better than good, even...
but I don't have the burden of doing this every. single. day. like "regular" teachers do. I can walk out on assignments, tell kids I know where they live and am going to get "my people" on them, piss in the water fountain and occassionally grope myself in class and STILL have a job the next day.
regular teachers...not so lucky. they're accountable for their students' performance, responsible for their own actions (blecht) and have to answer to their administrators. not so sure I could do it.
the very first time someone told me not to jump on desks I'd probably grunt and fling poo at them.
that being said, however, if I were already certified (what WAS I thinking going pre-med in college, anyway???) I'd probably give it a whirl and take a class.
but at this stage of the game, if I were to spend two years getting a masters and a certificate...I'd be done with the whole teaching thing before I ever got a legit paycheck.
le sigh.
so its an ap in to nursing school (pre-med not TOTALLY wasted, I guess). discounting that whole lil getting kicked out of med school incident a few years back, I think I'm a good candidate and if all goes well will be wearing a gay ass white uniform and kissing doctor ass come fall.
I'm sure I'll hate the work. I hate all work, but the money will be better and after a few years I can go on to become a nurse mid-wife (I hearted ob/gyn rotations) or a nurse anesthestist (they make 120k a year. can I get a woot?).
I know its a responsible move (like not getting knocked up JUST yet)but honestly...
I can't imagine a real job...
without children there.
1. I'm white as a mofo. It's time to get a lil Orange County and seek UV rays.
say HELLO to my raccoon tan.
2. I should get a "real" job. If I were a regular ol' vanilla variety teacher...certified, with a classroom and BENEFITS...I'd probably want to murder myself...but at least I'd have insurance and a union rep when the attempt failed and I wound up in "the ward."
but...I'm not. my degree in developmental psych (read: arts and crafts college) stopped JUST shy of ensuring future employability and most of my "real" jobitude was in...
believe it or not...
financial systems software design.
*shudder*
the pay was swell and I vaguely remember being able to see a doctor, but life was suck-o-rific 40+ hours a week (50 counting commutes) and I wanted to stick a pencil in my thigh on a fairly regular basis.
now...I sub. the pay, as I'm sure you've read here before, absolutely sucks donkey ass...
but I get to move around during the day, from day to day and don't get too terribly bored.
I can act retarded (and I do...ooooh, I do). I stand on desks, flail about, do the cabbage patch (jealous yet?) and pick on kids who have gas and their flies down (some...have both). I'm a good teacher. I'd venture to say that I'm better than good, even...
but I don't have the burden of doing this every. single. day. like "regular" teachers do. I can walk out on assignments, tell kids I know where they live and am going to get "my people" on them, piss in the water fountain and occassionally grope myself in class and STILL have a job the next day.
regular teachers...not so lucky. they're accountable for their students' performance, responsible for their own actions (blecht) and have to answer to their administrators. not so sure I could do it.
the very first time someone told me not to jump on desks I'd probably grunt and fling poo at them.
that being said, however, if I were already certified (what WAS I thinking going pre-med in college, anyway???) I'd probably give it a whirl and take a class.
but at this stage of the game, if I were to spend two years getting a masters and a certificate...I'd be done with the whole teaching thing before I ever got a legit paycheck.
le sigh.
so its an ap in to nursing school (pre-med not TOTALLY wasted, I guess). discounting that whole lil getting kicked out of med school incident a few years back, I think I'm a good candidate and if all goes well will be wearing a gay ass white uniform and kissing doctor ass come fall.
I'm sure I'll hate the work. I hate all work, but the money will be better and after a few years I can go on to become a nurse mid-wife (I hearted ob/gyn rotations) or a nurse anesthestist (they make 120k a year. can I get a woot?).
I know its a responsible move (like not getting knocked up JUST yet)but honestly...
I can't imagine a real job...
without children there.
Friday, January 4, 2008
not so bad.
unfortunately...we did NOT climb last night.
what transpired in our family, instead, was much like the MOVE disaster. As Oqui put it...
What the hell kind of place do we live in where a mayor declares war on his own city?
substitute person for mayor and family for city...
and well, that was last night. it was a gut wrenching, back breaking, wrist bruising (we stopped arguing and stressing long enough to have a tickle fest during which Oqui got head butted...intentionally...and I got some badges of honor on my wrist. I fought well. I fought hard. I was outnumbered but ultimately was victorious.) 8 hours.
me: we can't keep having this same fight.
him: I know.
ten minutes later...
we resumed the same fight. I'm not gonna lie...I fought dirty. I hit below the belt. I went for the nads...and was almost ready to give up, call it quits and move itn with my mom.
wtf?
I calmed down just enough (or was I simply too exhausted to keep arguing???)to do some introspecting and figure a few things out:
why the hell was I spazzing?
why had my perspective changed so drastically?
what THE FUCK was going on?
I got it all straightened out.
getting sick...got me scared. I was lying in a hospital bed, chucking up my guts thinking, "oh my god, I won't have health insurance in 3 days. oh my god, what if I'm pregnant and puke for 4 months again? I can't handle that. I'd rather die. I need to work. We need the money. We're not ready. Where will we live? Oh my god! Oh my god! Oh my god!"
then last night O'pah came home from a miserable day with a poor performance review and all hell broke loose. I was supposed to be comforting him in his time of peril and all that was going through my mind was (whether I liked it or not)...
FUCK!!! Now NOBODY will have insurance. Noone'll be able to pay the mortgage and how will we keep this family fed?
I considered broiling the dogs.
see...we've been putting a wee bit too much pressure on ourselves. We have a 2-3 year plan to pay off everything, sell everything else, purchase a piece of dirt in the middle of nowhere and live happily ever after as family farming, folk crafting, land lubbing uber hippies.
I realized today driving in my Volvo (which, yeah it rattles, guzzles gas and has blown speakers (my fault), but come on...its not THAT bad...its got heated seats) through an affluent BEAUTIFUL neighborhood, to a somewhat likable (somewhat) and professional job, with an application in the works to Nursing school and a cute as a button house in an amazing school district to go home to...
not to mention the dogs...
that we're already living most of America's dream. Middle class, suburban professionals. Amazing loving relationship. Great kid. Nice house. Decent (cough, cough) jobs. Awesome hobbies.
what the fuck am I crying about?
I'll get back to the land soon enough...
til then, I'm gonna stop being an ungrateful cunt and just enjoy what I have.
...at least until I spazz, again, that is.
what transpired in our family, instead, was much like the MOVE disaster. As Oqui put it...
What the hell kind of place do we live in where a mayor declares war on his own city?
substitute person for mayor and family for city...
and well, that was last night. it was a gut wrenching, back breaking, wrist bruising (we stopped arguing and stressing long enough to have a tickle fest during which Oqui got head butted...intentionally...and I got some badges of honor on my wrist. I fought well. I fought hard. I was outnumbered but ultimately was victorious.) 8 hours.
me: we can't keep having this same fight.
him: I know.
ten minutes later...
we resumed the same fight. I'm not gonna lie...I fought dirty. I hit below the belt. I went for the nads...and was almost ready to give up, call it quits and move itn with my mom.
wtf?
I calmed down just enough (or was I simply too exhausted to keep arguing???)to do some introspecting and figure a few things out:
why the hell was I spazzing?
why had my perspective changed so drastically?
what THE FUCK was going on?
I got it all straightened out.
getting sick...got me scared. I was lying in a hospital bed, chucking up my guts thinking, "oh my god, I won't have health insurance in 3 days. oh my god, what if I'm pregnant and puke for 4 months again? I can't handle that. I'd rather die. I need to work. We need the money. We're not ready. Where will we live? Oh my god! Oh my god! Oh my god!"
then last night O'pah came home from a miserable day with a poor performance review and all hell broke loose. I was supposed to be comforting him in his time of peril and all that was going through my mind was (whether I liked it or not)...
FUCK!!! Now NOBODY will have insurance. Noone'll be able to pay the mortgage and how will we keep this family fed?
I considered broiling the dogs.
see...we've been putting a wee bit too much pressure on ourselves. We have a 2-3 year plan to pay off everything, sell everything else, purchase a piece of dirt in the middle of nowhere and live happily ever after as family farming, folk crafting, land lubbing uber hippies.
I realized today driving in my Volvo (which, yeah it rattles, guzzles gas and has blown speakers (my fault), but come on...its not THAT bad...its got heated seats) through an affluent BEAUTIFUL neighborhood, to a somewhat likable (somewhat) and professional job, with an application in the works to Nursing school and a cute as a button house in an amazing school district to go home to...
not to mention the dogs...
that we're already living most of America's dream. Middle class, suburban professionals. Amazing loving relationship. Great kid. Nice house. Decent (cough, cough) jobs. Awesome hobbies.
what the fuck am I crying about?
I'll get back to the land soon enough...
til then, I'm gonna stop being an ungrateful cunt and just enjoy what I have.
...at least until I spazz, again, that is.
Thursday, January 3, 2008
Wednesday, January 2, 2008
prison hours are from 8:05am to 3:00pm
I still feel sicky sick. sick.
I'm not having any trouble keeping food down, but everytime I eat I'm in excruciating pain.
not fun.
I also have a ginormous, mondo headache that makes me curious. I'm hydrated, don't have a fever and didn't do anything to piss off the evil skull stomping monkies that live in my closet...
so I say: yo, dome! what up wit da headache, foo?
in other occurrences:
I was duped. A few weeks ago I accepted an assignment to teach "6th grade social studies/science" for the entire month of January. I was kinda stoked about it. did some talking to the kid, neighbors' kids, former students, etc about how to be a super awesome 6th grade teacher (previously I had only been minorly awesome).
I called the school to ask what the sitch was. was told that they had had subs for the entirety of the year so far for that "classroom", so I said, "oh. I guess I better come up with some lesson plans." I gave my number and was told that the principal would give me a call with the scoop.
no call.
whatevs. I figured the guy was busy so I went about my merry vacation preparing emotionally for "6th grade social studies/science." I wrote out plans for a month long project and was getting all excited about strategies, games, classroom management and other cool stuff.
soooo excited, in fact, that I couldn't sleep last night. which MIGHT explain why I flipped my fucking top when I got there today and found out...
...wait for it.
...wait for it.
...wait for it.
that the "teacher" I was covering for was really fucking TPC.
T-temporary
P-placement
C-center
ie. in school, all day, detention-prison.
oh no. he didn't.
I railed them. they mislead me, brought me there under false pretenses and wasted my fucking time.
mad.
disappointed.
extremely verbal.
I didn't say a word that was unprofessional, but I verbally tanned the hides of both principal and vice-principal, telling them that they should have more respect for substitute teachers. I told them that what they did (LYING about the assignment) was unprofessional and the fact that they never returned my call initially further supported the (awful) fact that they were being deceitful and sneaky.
I chewed them out. I shamed them. I told them there wasn't a chance in hades I was staying. I said that I wanted a CLASSROOM with STUDENTS. that I want to TEACH. I told them that no amount of money was worth sitting alone in a room all day and that I'd NEVER return to their school.
then I told them how I really felt.
I called human resources and told her to take me off the assignment immediately. I walked out and am still looking for JUST the right person to write my strongly worded letter to.
how dare they? how dare they LIE???? they could have at least had the decency to tell me the truth prior to vacation to save me all my planning efforts.
this kind of obnoxious behavior...TRICKING people into shitty assignments is precisely why nobody respects their asses. PARTICULARLY me.
there was good news, though. walking out on those punks allowed me the opportunity to go to uncle walter's funeral and give me some perspective (another blog, for sure. this one's too angry hahahahahah). the other good news is that when the assignment was reposted on the system...
it was done so correctly.
now whoever has the misfortune of showing up to work with those fat buffoons at least knows what they're getting into.
and if that wasn't ENOUGH good news...by giving this (ass) assignment up...I was able to take a couple of others where I already know the kids and like the school administrators.
all in all...I'd like to thank the lying, conniving, miserable fucks (they didn't apologize once. if they had just apologized...I could put down my angry pen and spare them some professional embarassment).
for giving me some perspective...
and another day off.
I'm not having any trouble keeping food down, but everytime I eat I'm in excruciating pain.
not fun.
I also have a ginormous, mondo headache that makes me curious. I'm hydrated, don't have a fever and didn't do anything to piss off the evil skull stomping monkies that live in my closet...
so I say: yo, dome! what up wit da headache, foo?
in other occurrences:
I was duped. A few weeks ago I accepted an assignment to teach "6th grade social studies/science" for the entire month of January. I was kinda stoked about it. did some talking to the kid, neighbors' kids, former students, etc about how to be a super awesome 6th grade teacher (previously I had only been minorly awesome).
I called the school to ask what the sitch was. was told that they had had subs for the entirety of the year so far for that "classroom", so I said, "oh. I guess I better come up with some lesson plans." I gave my number and was told that the principal would give me a call with the scoop.
no call.
whatevs. I figured the guy was busy so I went about my merry vacation preparing emotionally for "6th grade social studies/science." I wrote out plans for a month long project and was getting all excited about strategies, games, classroom management and other cool stuff.
soooo excited, in fact, that I couldn't sleep last night. which MIGHT explain why I flipped my fucking top when I got there today and found out...
...wait for it.
...wait for it.
...wait for it.
that the "teacher" I was covering for was really fucking TPC.
T-temporary
P-placement
C-center
ie. in school, all day, detention-prison.
oh no. he didn't.
I railed them. they mislead me, brought me there under false pretenses and wasted my fucking time.
mad.
disappointed.
extremely verbal.
I didn't say a word that was unprofessional, but I verbally tanned the hides of both principal and vice-principal, telling them that they should have more respect for substitute teachers. I told them that what they did (LYING about the assignment) was unprofessional and the fact that they never returned my call initially further supported the (awful) fact that they were being deceitful and sneaky.
I chewed them out. I shamed them. I told them there wasn't a chance in hades I was staying. I said that I wanted a CLASSROOM with STUDENTS. that I want to TEACH. I told them that no amount of money was worth sitting alone in a room all day and that I'd NEVER return to their school.
then I told them how I really felt.
I called human resources and told her to take me off the assignment immediately. I walked out and am still looking for JUST the right person to write my strongly worded letter to.
how dare they? how dare they LIE???? they could have at least had the decency to tell me the truth prior to vacation to save me all my planning efforts.
this kind of obnoxious behavior...TRICKING people into shitty assignments is precisely why nobody respects their asses. PARTICULARLY me.
there was good news, though. walking out on those punks allowed me the opportunity to go to uncle walter's funeral and give me some perspective (another blog, for sure. this one's too angry hahahahahah). the other good news is that when the assignment was reposted on the system...
it was done so correctly.
now whoever has the misfortune of showing up to work with those fat buffoons at least knows what they're getting into.
and if that wasn't ENOUGH good news...by giving this (ass) assignment up...I was able to take a couple of others where I already know the kids and like the school administrators.
all in all...I'd like to thank the lying, conniving, miserable fucks (they didn't apologize once. if they had just apologized...I could put down my angry pen and spare them some professional embarassment).
for giving me some perspective...
and another day off.
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