Grotesque ode to Aldrich, King, and Monty Python

Photo from http://my.execpc.com/~reva/babyjfotos.htm

Our story starts on a dark staircase. Wine in hand, we ascend the steps of what seems to be the location of a dinner party. Little do we know, insanity lurks in every shadowed corner. A troll, the bridge keeper of sorts, accosts us: "What is your name? What is your quest?" Glinda, like Lancelot, brings forth the Holy Malbec, and with, "Right, off you go," the bridge keeper troll lets her through. Edgy and I, however, are stopped by the troll with the same questions. I point at the Holy Malbec, and she grunts, "Are there two other bottles in that bag?" I nod: "African and European". "Fine," she utters with a suspicious bulging of the eyes.

Next, we enter the house, cryptic and twisted. Our host, though amiable, leads us to her secret chamber, the clown room. Pictures of clowns adorn the walls--tramps with hollowed sockets, circus performers with faces melting in LSD illumination, tiny clowns suspended from the air in cords or smashed beneath endtable glass, their lipsticked mouths dissolving. I could feel Pennywise's breath on the nape of my neck.

We return to the staircase. The troll emerges from the fog with more questions, "Where did you spend your first 7 years of life? Why don't you have an accent?" I made the mistake of telling her that my grammar school was parochial and that they beat the accent out of me. "How dare you profane this place with your presence! " She turns to Glinda, before ejecting me from the bridge: "Are you responsible for these two?" Glinda nods, as Lancelot would, "In truth, yes." "And you," she turns to Edgy, "What are you?"
"My accessory," I chide.
"A permanent one?"
"Well, ye.."
"NOTHING IS PERMANENT!"
"Well, hello sunshine" [Glinda's first verbal mistake].
"I'm only telling the truth," the troll growls, "I only speak the truth. I have impulse control issues."
"So thaaaats what it's called." [Glinda's second verbal blunder].
"It is. I'm a shrink, and I have impulse control issues. Always have. It's what I do."

It's at this point, I motion Glinda into the other room, and she turns to the troll with foot in mouth, "We're going to get something to drink." The troll glares at her, "I understand." As I look back, before she turns to engage Edgy in conversation, I distinctly see her painting her lips in a circular motion. "I'm Mama's little devil." Yes, yuh aaah, troll, yuh aaah!

And the F You of the day goes to...

This guy, Dave Crow. As you know, I'm addicted to both Wife Swap and Trading Spouses, though it's not my version of porn, as one Slate writer implies (I'm not even going to go off on her article. BTW, look at the pic of Bimbo Barbie and her new family, particularly at the little kid hugging her, and tell me if you didn't laugh your ass off).

Anyway, back to Dave. This guy is a prick deluxe. Usually I watch TS and laugh at the insanity, but this time, I got tears in my eyes at the way he treated his poor 11 year old son, Chad. I can't go into it because I will bust a blood vessel in anger, but the guy is a fucking cock and has caused the poor kid to feel so bad about himself that he has invented a pack of imaginary monkeys to console him. The scene where the new mom makes Dave take the kids out for a game of golf was heartbreaking. I can't believe the new mom sat there silently and allowed it to happen. I would've swung the fucking 9 iron at the guy's dick and would've said things to him that would not only make a sailor blush but would've made ol' Dave react like Miggs in Silence of the Lambs after Lecter had a few words with him. Of course that would've probably made poor Chad go running for his monkey tribe, too, which is why I am not on the show.

Where do parents get off treating their kids like that? How do they live with themselves? I can't understand it.

Be afraid

Um...yeah.

I can play tag!

I forgot. TwoShirts is it, and this can be his first entry on his new blog that he's going to set up right now. That's right. Just click that little B in the corner--the orange one. That's it. It's free and easy to sign up! All you need is a title. I think The Chocolate Rim would work well. ;o)

You can do it. Three cheers for TwoShirts!

It all started when I threw a party

So here's the story I mentioned in the comments of Shelly's blog entry on Texas and vibrators.


My junior year in college, I shared a townhome with 3 other girls. It was on the outskirts of campus (Baylor or Jerusalem on the Brazos, as it was commonly dubbed). Now, we were known for our parties, famous and infamous depending on your point of view. To our neighbors, who belonged to a very charismatic church in town, we were infamous and a threat to all society.

Let me explain these neighbors. The first day we met was the day we moved in. My other two roommates were out somewhere, and Panchette and I were getting the place in order. A knock sounds at the door. Panchette answers it and accepts an invitation to a pool party at the association pool. We put on our suits, grab some beer and towels, and head out the door. Um...oops. It was a bring us all to Jesus party. Now, the women all looked like Barbie dolls, as all Baylor women did. Commonly, Baylor women talked about the nose jobs they got for their Sweet Sixteen, and the boob jobs upon graduation. The first time I learned about the terrors of liposuction was at this party, actually, because some girl told me that she had a fatty growth on her side as a result. Apparently, if you don't get regular resucks, the fat will reappear in another part of your body. Anyway, I digress.

The women were in bikinis, but had giant gold crosses around their necks and these love bands on their wrists that had different colored beads to symbolize sin and crucifixion and resurrection or something. Men wore what men always wear, baggy and normal, but it was all designer.

K, I'm in a bikini, no cross, flannel shirt tied around my waist, baseball cap (with no bow...Baylor girls would only wear baseball caps with big bows clipped to the back. They were called "bowheads," and everytime I wore a baseball cap, I always got a lecture on how I needed to distinguish myself from a boy. Um...I have boobs. Thanks.) Plus, I've got a 24 pack of MGD. Jaws dropped everywhere, and some little bimbo (with bow) sashays forward, ushering us out with, "It's not THAT kind of party."

From that moment on, we were the target of constant visits from the entire church to save our souls. When I broke my ankle, a girl stopped me on my way to be xrayed to ask if she could pray for me. I said, "sure," thinking she'd go home and pray. She slammed her hand down on my shoulder and began praying for "this sinner." Never once prayed for my fucking ankle.

Ok, that's the intro to this long story, but it needed to be said. Now for the real story. We threw another one of our parties. People were everywhere. At least 30 army guys came in from Fort Hood, and my friend, B, brought her 10 friends in from Austin. Plus we had our whole sorority and their friends/dates. There was a courtyard in between each row of townhomes, so we were all in the house and out on the courtyard. I had put together tons of mix tapes (yeah, those were the days), and a huge crowd of people was out on the lawn slamdancing to NIN at this point. I think that the slamdancing was the last straw for our neighbors (whom we did invite to the party, but they declined), and they came out to witness to us. One of the girls came up to one of B's friends and put her hand on him. He stopped dancing, trying to figure out what she was doing. Out of nowhere, she starts speaking in tongues and flailing around with her hand still on his shoulder. Her whole body was vibrating and her hand shaking like crazy but still gripped onto his shoulder. He looks at her and says, "Honey, you can keep doing that, but I'd prefer if you move your hand down a little lower." That was it. They never tried to witness again.

Tag, nobody's it!

Ok, I'm trying to follow the rules of the game, so I will list 5 pleasing things that I really feel guilty about:

• Showing people the big headed baby picture--I feel really bad about laughing at it because the poor baby can't help it, and god knows I have enough about myself to laugh about for centuries. Still, damnit, that's a big headed baby.
• my blog--I love blogging, but I do feel guilty for some of the scathing entries
• American Idol--I feel bad when I laugh at Simon's comments, but some of them are fucking hilarious--like when he told the guy that he looked like the wife of Hulk. That still kills me.
• filet mignon--I love it, but I can't help but cry over the little animals. Luckily, I hardly ever eat it because I'm allergic to beef.
• when I do...living away from Texas, but I do feel guilty that I'm not close to my parents in case of emergency

Whew! That was hard because I generally don't feel guilty over pleasures. I don't have anyone to tag because no one untagged reads my blog.

Almost speechless

Went to class tonight. More laid back this week. That is not the purpose of this blog entry, though. Get this.

Class ends. I'm walking out the door, and the prof says, "I'm really delighted to have you in this class. I'm sorry for picking on you, but you have so much to share with the class, that I value your input." She then proceeds to ask me to apply to the UH doctoral program in literacy education. She doesn't see any problem with me getting accepted, and she says that she will help me petition the classes I've taken so far so that they will count. The only reason they don't count now is because I'm taking them Post Bac instead of as a doctoral candidate, but they're the same classes.

She said that she would love to copublish something with me to help get me started and has plenty of opportunities for research and for me to attend national conferences.

I'm pretty overwhelmed. What will I do with this degree, though? I'm tempted to do it because I could combine it with a master's in instructional tech; plus, I've always had a Dr. prefix fixation. Dr. Cranky. That's right. Who's your mama?

Most depressing day of the year

According to a UK psych, today is the most depressing day of the year. For many reasons, according to the article, Jan 24 is bleak, but one reason is that one can find no lingering pieces of tinsel or drops of eggnog anywhere. So, to heal our depression folks, I recommend that you take the "Which Reindeer are You?" Quiz. My results are predictable.

You Are Vixen

Sexy and sultry, you're the one all the other reindeer dream about. Why You're Naughty: That fur pulling spat you got into with Dancer over Santa. Why You're Nice: Because even when you're nice, you're still delightfully naughty!

Which of Santa's Reindeer Are You?

Schoolaholic

Just so I can keep it straight (and to provoke a tad bit of sympathy--tug tug), this is my after work schedule until May.

• Monday: Tutor for TAKS from 3:05-4:05
• Tuesday: Tutor at HCC from 4:30-7:30
• Wednesday: Class from 5-8
• Thursday: Class from hell from 5-8 or whenever she lets us go
• Friday: Tutor for TAKS from 3:05-4:05

This does not include grading time, doing group and individual project time, writing papers time, workout time, and eating at some point.

So, for those of you who wonder why I'm not going out as much anymore, there's the proof. It's been good on my pocketbook...no, wait, it hasn't. I forgot I dished out 3k to take these stupid classes. I'd rather spend 3k on starbucks. queso, and lemondrop martinis.

Off to read about No Child Left Behind for my class tomorrow. My teacher even sent out email reminders. Inconceivable!

Weird

Now it spontaneously fixed itself.

The Great Pumpkin strikes again

Um...is it just me, or does my blog magically look like a pumpkin patch. I changed nothing on my settings, but my colors changed. What the hell?

I'm not the only one

Here's a story of Gordie's latest experience at Food Town, the grocery store near the school where I teach.

Gordie goes in to buy pickles. As she nears the back of the store, she notices a young man (one of the workers) huddled under an endcap display (using it as a fort of sorts) while another worker hurls produce and jugs of milk at him. Thinking this is strange, she goes up to the register to pay and get the hell out of Dodge.

She buys the pickles and a few other things and runs her debit card through the machine. The checker asks, "Debit or Credit?" G answers, "Debit." Checker returns from staring off into space and says, "Debit or Credit?" G answers again, "Debit." At this point, she is punching her code into the machine and asking for cash back. Checker asks again, "D or C?" G says, "Debit." The machine finishes, and G is standing, waiting for her cash back. Checker asks the fated question one more time. This time, G stares at her in the eyes and enunciates clearly, "DEB IT." The checker purses up her lips, cocks her head to the side, hands on hips and eyes glaring, "WELL YOU DON'T HAVE TO BE FUCKING RUDE."

G doesn't like the F bomb or any of its forms, so she asks to speak to a manger. Manager comes over. She's fake blond with "tangerine dream" complexion and fake blue eyes, wearing a purple bra under her white manager shirt, buttons pulled down to reveal her name (Tyffani) in bling all over her chest. "Do we haff a prahlem?" G explains the situation. Tyff says, "yeah, so?" G explains that she didn't appreciate hearing the F word..." G is cut short by Tyff screaming, "JUST SAY FUCK. JUST SAY FUCK. FUCK FUCK FUCK."

G is astounded. Walks out, only to turn around and see Tyffani up on the top of the register stand gyrating with keys in hand screaming, "Oh yeah. Oh yeah."

These, my friends, are my students and their moms.

To Pulchera because I didn't make it to her party

"Hey, you'd better play with my paperclip collection now that you're finished with your thesis!"

I had a migraine and was in a wretched mood yesterday, so I missed the Pink Soiree to celebrate Pulchera's wrap up of her thesis. I do know how it feels to have the thesis out of the way, so WAY TO GO, PULCHERA!

Hope this makes up for not being there!

Image from unencyclopedia.org

Ah, much better

You Are a Losing Lottery Ticket!

Full of hope and promise.But in the end, a cheap letdown.

What Crappy Christmas Gift Are You?

AW...you see that?

Your Birthdate: November 6

You tend to be a the rock in relationships - people depend on you.Thoughtful and caring, you often put others needs first.You aren't content to help those you know... you want to give to the world.An idealist, you strive for positive change and dream about how much better things could be. Your strength: Your intuition Your weakness: You put yourself last Your power color: Rose Your power symbol: Cloud Your power month: June

What Does Your Birth Date Mean?

Part 2

I was going to write part 2 later, but I'm too grumpy to wait.

Today's highlights:

• Leave house at 6:40 to get to work by 7:15 for meeting.
• Late to meeting--wreck on 288
• walk in meeting just in time to hear Stripy (named such because her hair looks like a dirty zebra's underbelly) bitching about me and about how she's going to turn me in to the prinicpals because i'm late all the time
• smile at Stripy with a smile that only a Scorpio can give. If you don't know that smile, heh heh, you will
• listen to her read from an email that she sent us previously (and that we responded to) and to her requesting that we respond again.
• meeting over by 7:30. Why did we have to be there so early?
• go down to get coffee. We only get 1 cup per teacher per day, that is if we can because they only brew one pot a day for the entire faculty (167); someone always has to make a comment about how coffee is a drug and that i should get off drugs; today, someone made that comment and offered me a free sample of Spark, a "product' she sells that will enhance my brain capability and energy level [Read: Amway for health fanatics]
• Consistent emails all day from salesteacher asking how I feel after taking the product. I didn't take it.
• go to teacher restroom--ongoing fight about how these goodies think that i'm an asshole for not pumping the towels out for the next person who might come in. Who wants a stale, germ infested towel?--towels are pumped down again despite the fact that yesterday, someone crammed the whole thing down the toilet in rebellion. There's a tip jar for the custodians now. What are we in, the fucking George V in Paris? From what I hear, the custodians make more than I do. Granted, they clean up shit, but i"m still not tipping them. Call me a bitch. I'm tired of tipping, especially for powdered large grained soap and brown paper towels.
• lunch--talked to a colleague about class last night--private conversation. An eavesdropping colleague screams out, "Do you realize that you've complained for the entire lunch period? We all can find something positive to say. I mean at least you aren't that person on TV last night whose skin is falling off." WTF? Do you realize I wasn't fucking talking to you, fuckmonkey?
• Ran into someone in the hall--"How are you?" "Fine." She says, "just fine? It's a "blessed" day." What the fuck is this with the word blessed? I get this shit on emails with little butterflies and happy music and threats that if I don't send on the happy blessed prayer, my ass will fall off and my family will grow mustaches on their inner thighs. I said, well how are you? She said, "Oh, blessed. so so blessed." Yeah, well I'm fanfuckingtastic.
• get back to computer with another email from the salesteacher and a second one from another salesteacher who guilted me into buying some stupid ring for 14 dollars. Jesus. What the fuck is with these people? This particular person sells mary kay, premier jewelry, candlefucktastic, and some other tupperware thing. I've said no so many times that she looked like she was going to cry as she sheepishly asked me. I fucking bought a ring. DO I FUCKING WEAR JEWELRY? NOOOOOO!
• I don't even know what else happened, but it all added up to the fact that i hate perky people, and I have to wonder if they are actually happy or just vapid people who actually read these little pamphlets PISD gives us from the National Emergency Association (or something like that) about how to deal with stress that tells you to pretend that you are happy so that your synapses really believe it.

Oh, and an addendum to part 1, I forgot to mention that the woman, an African American, spoke 1/2 the time in Spanish without translation because she thinks that we need to get used to a more bilingual education atmosphere. This elicited whispers throughout from Pasty and her buddies, "Whut did she sayuh?" Strangely enough, I understood her. I didn't think I learned that much from living in Mexico for a summer.

lugubrious part 1

Today I live up to my blog's name. I am lugubrious.

It all started Wed when I found out that one of my classes for the job I hate requires me to do a group project for 20% of my grade. One of my group members is a 4th grade teacher. We're supposed to do a unit using a textbook and a novel for high school English. She wants to use a Beverly Cleary book.

The next heap of shit came yesterday in my other class for the job I hate. These classes are 3 hours long. Let me describe to you my 3 hour meeting:

• we began the class with having to give a commercial convincing other students to put us in their groups--no, first she elected this anorexic, mealymouthed, pasty little nothing with bruises and red scratches all over her neck to be the time keeper and to tell the teacher when it was time to go, but she's too shy to say anything, so we sit there overtime
• we then had to write a reflection of said commercial
• next we took a pretest. Mind you, she believes that students should never be left with nothing to do or they'll do things "of their own accord", and she wants to model this with us, so we are never left without something to do. So, we take the pretest--26 essay questions. Need I say more?
• then we had to write a reflection of said pretest, which she reminded us about saying, "You know what to do next, right?" In my reflection, I wrote that I couldn't write because my hand is tired.
• then she gave us the TEKS for grades 4-8 and 8-12 to analyze and highlight the domains that pertain to writing
• reflection time
• then she broke us up into groups--teachers and not teachers yet (3:10)
• teachers were to brainstorm questions; not teachers yet, answers to possible questions
• mock interview during which one of my former classmates from high school (he was a prick then and still a prick) answered an interview question about racial bias in the test curriculum: "I decline the position."
• reflections
• discussion of the lack of syllabus
• discussion of grades: we won't be getting any grades until after the course is over. we will turn our work in to the teacher in little color coded folders with our names on them, and we can "visit our work as often as [we'd] like so that [we] can make changes as we go along" and then she'll grade them all at the end.
• reflection about grades at 8:05
• mealymouth still sitting there looking uncomfortably at her watch, scratches growing redder
• homework assignment--5 page essay about our teaching philosophy
• reflection about essay assignment
• I walk out

Boycott

Interesting manifesto calling for a TAKS boycott. I don't know if I have the hutzpah.

They've got my ovaries in their hands and other snappy tunes

So we all know that I have to take these ridiculous education classes for the job that I hate that I'm going to quit. If I don't take them, I will be illegally hired and will owe somebody somewhere money for the entire year.

The total bill with $750 worth of fees for things that I won't use because I don't live on campus is about $2500. Now, I'm paying in installments of 3 so there's a $15 charge. I can live with that. What I can't handle is that to pay by credit card or check (and they won't take Visa or a Visa check card), I have to pay a 1.76% fee for EACH installment. It comes out to roughly $15 per installment. Therefore, I am paying $60 in fees for no good reason. I mean, who the fuck has $880 in cash lying around? Plus, I don't think they take cash, so they are just charging a manditory fee to everyone in the whole fucking school.

In addition to that, the books come out to $300. $2800 for 2 fucking piece of shit classes that I can't fucking stand.

Did I also mention that PISD took MLK day away from us because of Rita? WTF are they thinking? 1/2 the student body is boycotting (1/4 for good reason; the others just to skip). Oh, btw, the state of TX said that we didn't have to make up those days, but PISD feels it's important. AND they are talking about making students go back to school on Aug 3 next year with teachers having a week's worth of inservices beforehand. Freshman teachers have to go back a week earlier because they want the freshmen to come back to school a week early to learn the ropes and get ahead.

Oh, and did I mention that next year SpEd classes are no more? They are making all students mainstream and mandating that SpEd students take the TAKS exam with the other students, with teachers accountable for their scores. That's got the whole teaching body in an uproar.

In the news today, a huge discussion on the radio about HISD giving raises only to teachers whose students do well on the TAKS. The host says that it's only fair since corporations make their managers accountable for their employees' output. One statment to that: Corporations can fire their employees for being lazy little fuckers with no motivation except to kill each other and snort sudafed. They also have drug testing, which can result in firing. What do we have?

well, I have to now workout because I've eaten 200 million Victorian Tea Cookies (class project and they all stole the recipe from one person and made the same damn thing). Then I have to go to a birthday party which i would rant about but it would be better read after the fact. plus, the big headed baby, as fucking usual, is crying her big bulging eyes out, and I can't think. Glinda has the photo. I"m too guilty to upload it. I feel like I'll become impregnated with some parasitic big headed freakshow as karmic bitchslapping.

Could I BE more caustic?

Chuggin down chum and Two Buck Chuck

Had my interview today at BeanTree. Please note the listing. Do you see the bottom where it says that there is an open director position--3 to be exact? I sent my CV and the whole package with a cover letter referencing the Director of education position. When they called to set up a phone interview, I double checked that this was for the Director of education position. They even discussed my "impressive resume" for the DIRECTOR OF EDUCATION POSITION.

Today, she begins asking me what age group I'd like to work with. Flustered, I said that I had been the director of education previously and worked with 0-12. She said, "Yes, but what age would you like to teach?" I said, "Well, I'd teach any age, but I was actually applying for the director of education and training position." Here's the rest of the conversation:

Director of education and training. That's my position. you want my position?

Um...

It's ok. I'm not offended.

Um...

Hmmm well, in 2007 we're going to open up 4 more facilities, and we might need a director education then, but probably one person will be over all of the facilities, so unless I get promoted, which I'm not saying that I won't and that you don't stand a chance, then we probably would need you as a teacher, but you could start as a teacher and promote from within. There is room for promotion, but of course, I can't promise that you would receive a director position because there might not be one. Are you interested in doing that?

Well, I hate to be blunt about it from the start, but it would depend on the salary, really. I would need to stay relatively where I am.

Oh, well I'm glad you're being perfectly honest. I don't think that we could pay you that salary.

Well, I can negotiate a little. What would your salary range be?

[shuffle shuffle shuffle] Well, probably around $33,280. We can't count your experience because though you've taught for 10+ years, your facilities aren't licensed under the same agency as ours, so you start at ground zero.

I don't think I can do that, but let me ask here, the ad did specifically mention a director position open. Was it an old ad?

No, it was for the position at the other schools in 2007.

Ok.

Well, I'll write down that you want to make around 40, and you search your heart and see if it is something that you would reconsider. If you do, call us back and we'll bring you in. Our facility is top notch, and all of our staff is very happy. And if you do move here, and you aren't happy, then you should just call me, and I'll make sure you are happy.

Ok.

Hope to hear from you soon. Bye.

Bye.

Weirdorama. The only weirder experience I've had in an interview was when a lady was looking at my writing sample and said, "You write much better than I do. I don't think that I can hire you." She hired me. I quit 6 months later because she puked every 5 minutes in the bathroom and talked about the smell of her bowel movements. Plus, she held fundraisers in the company name and gave the money directly to her freaky megachurch. Funniest thing that happened, though, or really the saddest, was on 9/11 when she pulled us all into her office crying and said that she felt that we all needed to give her church money and made us watch a video about how much the church needed funds and then held out a collection plate.

well, I'm off to eat fish sticks and two buck wine. My life sucks. And don't go telling me about how shitty fish sticks are or about how the fish once frolicked in the sea. I know all of this, but the fucking things were free with a purchase of light mayo (go figure), and I need to eat them before they get worse with flavor.

Things that make me Cranky--an entry in fragments

Freaked out all day. Took off work. Prepped for the interview. Locked the cats out and gave them yummies to keep them from bitching that they couldn't be in the same room as me. Sat down and waited. Waited. Waited. Waited. WAITED! 5:00 comes. Call Bean Tree. Owner anwers. sounds like someone off of The Bachelor. Owner tells me that exec director was supposed to call me to cancel. "I'm sure she did." I'm fucking sure she didn't. Wants to reschedule tentatively for 10 tomorrow. told her no. I already took off all day today. not taking off two days in a row. tentatively scheduled for 4:30 tomorrow (the second I walk in from teaching all day) but I should check my phone all day to see if she cancels. Poured a glass of 2 buck Chuck. looking for a job.

AAAAAAAAAAAAAA!

I'm a little bit stressed. 1 hr 45 min until my phone interview with Bean Tree Learning. I need chocolate.

Auld acquaintance did forget

to blog about New Years. Highlights:

• Driving down to Kemah for the cruise, only to realize, as we were almost there, that I left Edgy's shirt hanging on the light switch at home. I had bought him a new one for the event.
  
• Pulling over to SteinMart to pick up a shirt because the drive back home was too horrendous to think about, and the mall in suburban Clear Lake on New Year's Eve was ungodly
• Walking around SteinMart trying to find a shirt. I can't explain this store, but I think that the parts of my body that are still youthful and moist started immediately crusting up with age. It looks like my ex-boyfriend's grandmother's house.
• Leaving SteinMart because there was no shirt to be found
• Heading over to Marshall's. I thought that Walmart was the epitome of hell, but Marshall's takes the cake. Found a shirt at Marshall's that was passable. No tie. I think that there were only 12 shirts and 3 ties in the whole store anyway.
• Burlington Coat Factory--Oh sweet god this one took the cake. Worst store ever. Usually I don't mind BCF much, but the one in Clear Lake looks like Armageddon bitch slapped it. Found a tie, though and was hit on by a 19 year old butch woman buying white linen bellbottomed pants (how the hell she found them in winter, I dunno) and a wallet on a chain and who was higher than a kite on a mid March day and said things like, "I like the sound of the beeping machine, don't you? It gets me all hot".
• Driving down the wrong damned country road while trying to find the resort hotel. Starving to death and singing a soon to be hit by Cranky and Edgy, "Doing the Samba Chicken Dance."
• At this point thinking that we could have driven home and gotten Edgy's shirt by now.
• making it to the hotel where they tell all of us that we won't get our king sized bed because they overbooked, even though we booked a month in advance
• Waiting for 2 hours for the "cruise line provided" taxi. getting on said taxi and while driving off, the driver says, "Oh by the way, it's 10 bucks a head and won't be covered by the cruise line."
• Fabbo food. I'm still dreaming about bacon wrapped shrimp in grand marnier cream sauce. No, the eclairs were better. mmmmm
• The lemon bar from hell--tasted like floor cleaner
• open bar and a man at our table who brought a bottle of scotch as long as my calves
• dancing on the top of a boat in the middle of the Gulf of Mexico
• Edgy calling TwoShirts to pick us up and bringing the phone back to me. Almost everyone in my phonebook had been accidentally dialed before he got to TwoShirts.
• TwoShirts picking us up at the dock
• party on the 6th floor with people we didn't know who then kicked us out of their room so that they could have crazy monkey sex and then one of the men looking at me and saying, "You look so much better when I'm drunk." Did wonders for my self esteem.
• celebrating New years at 12 Eastern, Central, and Mountain time thx to text messaging
• Edgy locking us out of the room and then us calling Glinda to tell her about it
• Watching "I'm a whore" on tv with TwoShirts and Edgy. Weirdness.
  
• Edgy passing out and TwoShirts leaving and me still watching tv.

Yeah, New years hasn't changed much really.

Tournament of Bozos

Had to go back to PISD today. I'm more lugubrious than ever. Tomorrow the kids are back. God help me.

Here are the highlights from today so that you may bask in my misery:

• Faculty meeting at 7 in the school cafeteria, complete with stale bagels and fat free cream cheese.
• Coffee at said meeting served in bathroom gargling cups, you know what I mean?
• 10 minutes of "praises and prayer requests," which boils down to 10 minutes of people saying they are pregnant (that goes under praises, though I would put it under the latter). I quit drinking the coffee, in case the water is contaminated.
• Line of the day: "The TAKS test is like the Rose Bowl of the high school world. It's important that we get our kids as prepared as possible. English folks, your test comes in February, so you should've already been prepping them as much as possible, and remember that your time isn't over after Feb. You'll then need to prep them for the other subject tests in April." So basically, after I finish teaching them how to take the innane English portion of the test, I will need to teach them science, history, and math, as well. Yeah, that's why I got my master's degree in LITERATURE AND CREATIVE WRITING!!!
• The Chancery grading system. Our grades were due at 2 today, but the system was so overloaded (it's internet based) that it took 45 minutes to load each class. Then, they announced at 11 that Chancery would be completely down from 11-2 but that grades would be due at 2. [???????]
• reminder that we might want to "play around" with the computations a little bit to make sure that our failure rates were low.
• Leaving in the middle of the workday to go home without permission--PRICELESS