Hmmm

Weird.

Happy Happy Joy Joy!

Inservice tomorrow. Yippee!

ROARRRRRRRRRRRRGH!

The title is my spelling of the scream at the beginning of Sick of Life by Godsmack. And that, my fellow blog readers, is a one word summary of my day. Strap yourself in for another Cranky ROARRRRRRRRRRRRGH!

My day in bullets, shortened bc my roarrrrghs take too long to download:

• Coffee at work has been changed to decaf secretly for 2 weeks. Found out when they announced that coffee is a drug. [note: they've already limited the entire faculty to one shared pot of coffee a day--now it's one shared decaf pot]
• Walked in late bc my car is being fixed in the auto shop, and I had to drop off keys and talk to head mechanic. I don't have a first period, but they frown upon us not getting there early anyway. Was glared at by principal, who knows better than to confront me.
• 3rd period: students filing into class; bell hasn't yet rung. student asks me if she can run down to the counselor's office to drop something off. I say yes. She leaves and comes back right after tardy bell rings (no more than a min). I hear yelling in the hall. Think it's a fight. Student leans head in, "um, ms Corson, can you help here?" Prepped to break up a fight. Nope. It's a fellow teacher screaming at my student to follow him to the office. I speak up: "It's ok. I gave her permission to go. She doesn't need to go to the tardy room" "She's not going to the tardy room. She's going directly to the office." [he grabs her arm]. I say, "No, she had permission. She's not going anywhere but in my class." [mind you, this is all being said right in front of my open door, so all the students can hear and see]. He says, "She doesn't have an admit." I look at her, "Where's the hall pass." She forgot to take it. I said, "Well, it doesn't matter. I gave her permission to go, so everything's fine." "IT'S NOT FINE. AND WE SHOULD START THINKIKNG ABOUT USING OUR HALL PASSES FROM NOW ON FOR OUR STUDENTS, SHOULDN'T WE, HMMMM?"
• K, that was it. I can take a lot from people, but never do I allow someone to undermine my authority in front of my students and speak to me in the royal we by doing so. I told the student to go inside, start the video for my class, and walk out, shutting the door. I call after him, and he refuses to turn his bitch ass around. Another teacher is in the hall and heard the commotion: "OMG, what the hell was that? He was so loud!" So I explain the situation, and as I do, this fucking bitch whom I can only describe as a female Vern from Stand byMe (corpulent and tries to fit in with the cool stripys) stands at the end of the hall and eavesdrops with mouth agog. She runs off like a cartoon hippo in Fantasia and pulls the coworker over. At this point, I am talking about something unrelated, purposefully, to the other teacher in the hall, and we both listen to their conversation. Verngirl is telling PsychoCoworker that I am angry, and he goes off about me and my teaching style--that I teach literature in class and not TAKS and that I am not teaching math or science right now, when I know perfectly well that it is my job to do so.
• 4th period: A kid comes into my class, former student, during lunch and tells me, coincidentally, that she has PsychoCoworker for English this year and is pissed at him bc he gave her an F on a project. I asked her what the project was, and she said that she had to make a TAKS poster with "parallelograms and rhombuses and other shit on it" and that she "didn't do it right."
• 5th period: email comes out from Asst Principal: "As you may have noticed today, at the beginning of 3rd period, we made tardy sweeps on the 4 main wings of the building. This is something that we are looking to do more regular for multiple reasons. Please be in the hallways and close your door when the tardy bell rings, also don’t allow anyone out of your room for the first 5-10 mins even with a hall pass. This helps the sweepers in sweeping the hallways." [would've been nice to have had this prior to the sweep]. PsychoCwkr whined to AP.
• 6th period: Another coworker comes in crying bc Vern told everyone that she was having an affair with some guy at work who is always in her 5th period class. Cwkr is engaged and is teaching a coteach class, which means that another teacher is in there with her 5th period teaching.
• 7th period: Student comes in my class: "Ms. Corson, are they sweeping the halls because you got yelled at this morning by that bald man with a loud, squeaky voice?" Turns out, she was in the hallway, along with several other students of mine, while the confrontation went on.
• class tonight: I've already finished my big project for next week, but now I have to completely redo it because she decided to give us "the rubric we discussed last week in class." Um...no, this was an entirely new rubric, and we all stared at her in horror. Most of us have to completely redo our projects even though we spend 3 hours last week discussing exactly what would be needed on the project. I'm not redoing it. Fuck it. I don't need this class anyway since i have a new fucking job next year! Whoooooooo!

That's it. Now I'm drinking a homemade raspberry lemondrop and I'm about to watch a feel good movie--maybe Breakfast at Tiffany's; maybe Serendipity; maybe caddyshack; or maybe office space to get ideas for a new screenplay, Teacherspace.

As if I don't have enough decisions to make in my life

My credit card sent me an important announcement (open immediately) that I could customize the design of my card by choosing from over 150 designs. A. Like I have time to look at 150 designs. B. Like I could choose one. It's like 31 flavors, I can't ever decide so I just choose mint chocolate chip for the color (always a hit). C. I doubt they have Hello Kitty, and I would only waste the time changing my card for Hello Kitty or perhaps godwarrior. and D. if I did change it, they'd probably screw something up and send me the wrong one anyway, prompting me to spend hours on the customer service line listening to Lionel Richie covered by John Tesh, only to talk to some low paid CSR rep (I feel your pain) who doesn't really want to be there and is probably playing freecell while talking to me anyway.

I have my plain card and a sharpie--it's not that hard to draw the warrior!

Devil Box Confessions

I rarely watch TV, mainly because I'm never home to watch it but also because I find that I get sucked into mindnumbing shows. In fact, before the Warrior, I only watched The Simpsons and and reruns of Mad About You.

Post Warrior, however, I've found myself spending some (ok most) Friday nights watching Trading Spouses. This led to Wife Swap, a similar show on ABC Monday Nights. After WS comes SuperNanny, which I "closetly" watched before really. Now that it comes on after Wife Swap, however, I watch it more often. And now, the show of the century, Miracleworkers, a much better show than that Makeover Waaa my nose sucks and I can't be seen in public show on Fox. This show actually helps people with serious problems, and now I'm addicted to it. I just spent from 7pm til 10 watching TV, getting up only to make myself a Toffeecoffeetini (my new creation) and to "wee wee," as Jo, the SuperNanny, calls it.

Oh, and I think I ate an entire bag of pizza goldfish.

I'm so dorksided.

Final escape

So after a church sermon against the Houston Megachurchstrocity, Edgy and I headed out 290 to Brenham. It was a much more relaxed trip than the New Braunfels one. My suggestions if you want to visit:

• Historic Downtown: it's quaint but artsy enough to interest the 21st century shopper. Several artist guilds and studios; antiques if you're into that sort of thing; coffee shops and restaurants (note: many are not open on Sunday).
• Made in Heaven: a cafe and ice cream bar with phosphates and Blue Bell (the ice cream made right down the street); best broc and cheese soup I've ever had. It beat Wisconsin (Sorry, cheeseheads).
• Pleasant Hill Winery: The Sauvignon Blanc was actually pretty good, but the reason for going is Bob and Bob's Wife (as she's called on her parking spot); ample samples (hee hee) and a nice little tour; plus, the cellar is kept at 64 degrees, a nice escape from the Texas heat. He's a former Midwesterner, too, so that's nice.

We also hit Independence and saw the ghostly ruins of the original Baylor University. Baylor, btw, is the oldest university in Texas, so it was neat to see stone columns still standing from the mid 19th century. Also interesting is that Baylor began as a co-ed university under the leadership of Graves, until Burleson stepped in and sent the boys off to the more updated facilities. Also interesting is that Burleson is the name of several buildings on the current campus, and Graves got nothing out of the deal. Yeah, that's what forward thinkers get--nothing. The ruins are also close to Gay Hill, for those who want a photo opportunity of this irony. Down the street, one can also see the Baptist church built in the 1850s and the creek where Sam Houston was baptised, or so it says on the historical marker. There's a Baptist museum, too, but I figured I saw enough about the pink light on Glinda's blog.

Tried to stop by Chappell Hill on the way home, but the town was closed up. In fact, the only moving objects out were two, um, I'm not sure what type of animal it was, pheasant, turkey, I don't know. They were frolicking, though. Plan to go back there because there's a tobacco/coffee shop, and the combination intrigues me.

Stopped off in Hempstead on the way home at Dilorio Farms for some fresh produce. MMMM, I got some juicy red tomatoes that will be chopped into some Cranky pasta soon. Also bought some fresh green beans waiting to be snapped and steamed. Yummy!

That's it folks. Back to hell tomorrow. Wish me luck!

Strange as it seems, there's been a run of crazy dreams

and a man [or woman] who can interpret could go far--could become a star [Joseph and the Technicolor Dreamcoat]

So who wants to be a star? Thanks to the Davenport, I had a huge run of vivid dreams last night. Here they are in succinct form:

1. Edgy and I were driving on a back farm road and stopped bc there was a cow in front of us. It wasn't quite dead but had been injured pretty badly. We walked over to the local vet where they put me in a room and hooked me up to IVs and then went to tend to the cow. They rigged some contraption to bring koolaid to the cow and then drew straws to decide who was going to operate on it. In the meantime, they wouldn't give me any status results because they said I couldn't handle it in my weakened condition. Instead, they served me tea in rabbit teacups.
2. I was on Fear Factor and had to go underneath the earth through these sand tunnels. They collapsed one of the sand tunnels and we had to get out through this hole that was covered in spiderwebs. I made it out in 2nd place. First place guy was covered in sand in a way that made him look like Triton.
3. I was on a plane and had to transfer to another plane, but they screwed up my ticket and gave it to someone else, a girl named Charity Williams, young, African American with bows in her hair. They gave me a replacement ticket, but I had to run to the other end of the airport and through this maze of escalators. I finally thought I had made it, but realized that i was on a private jet with Paris Hilton, Nicole Ritchie, and all their emaciated cronies who all complained about being "sooo fat." Nicole snidely told me that she knew I was from Texas because of the way I dressed and talked. They were on their way to Madagascar, and I couldn't figure out how I was going to get back home to Chicago for work the next morning. They didn't seem to care and didn't really understand the concept of work. Paris handed me her cell phone, but she told me that i had to talk to her mom first, who started wailing about how her little dog Fufu was in trouble and dying. I had to console her. Then I woke up.
4. I was in my childhood church with my dad who suddenly went buck crazy and started saying all sorts of "Turretsesque" things. He kept saying his heart was burning and then would blurt out insanities. We had to take him to the ER, but I woke up before I figured it all out.

Thoughts?

I'm Tainted--ahhhhhhh

Sweet mother of God. Everytime we go to the Devilport, I am reminded of why we don't go there often. It's because the next day, I'm resigned to eating baked lays, salsa, and "Co-Cola's new energy drink." I've got a Warrior sized headache (going away now that I'm drinking my Co-Cola). Plus, at about 7 this morning, the Warrior took her revenge (something akin to Montezuma's revenge, if you get my drift). Still, an excellent way to celebrate the inaugural year of Warriorday. Here are highlights:

• The trip to Michaels the day before. It's like the poor white trash girl's Tiffany's. I quote Holly Golightly: "Well, when I get [the mean reds] the only thing that does any good is to jump in a cab and go to Tiffany's. Calms me down right away. The quietness and the proud look of it; nothing very bad could happen to you there. If I could find a real-life place that'd make me feel like Tiffany's, then - then I'd buy some furniture and give the cat a name!" Everyone was so nice in Michaels, and they even gave me 40% off of my purchase, even though I didn't have a coupon.
• Fried pickles and ranch dressing, dubbed "Warrior Spears"
• Glinda had a Guiness because it was "darksided." I had a 5th avenue because I wanted a 5th avenue; Chuck had a Manhattan (I guess our drinks could represent the East Coast where all the tainted people live); Twoshirts had iced tea (I'm starting to think that he is on the other side--LIGHTSIDED!)
• Discussion of firearms at dinner, just like any redneck family from Ponchatula Parish
• The unveiling of the official Warriorday t-shirts (Edgy's--Gorgyles!; Mine--Slykicks!; Glinda's--Tainted!; and Twoshirts got shafted because I accidentally bought the wrong size. Praxis, your iron on transfer will be in the mail soon).
• Wearing of such tshirts--Glinda in a crew neck--HA!
• Parking situation at Devilport--there is no parking. I don't know where we all parked.
• The menu--very little tainted material to work with. We had to get creative. Twoshirts had Barbie's Bathwater, a drink which he felt "shrunk [his] testicles to the size of [something, I don't remember]." Glinda and I had Pitbull in the SKYY because she is most definitely a Pitbull hovering above everyone. Chuck had Sex at Sunset, when he should've remembered her pithy saying at the radio station, "I promise you won't go blind." During this time, Praxis was fighting with the dryer and Beelzebounce.
• Watching fish porn on TV and screaming, "Get it, Nemo--UH!"
• Some guy from the Merc in NY who flipped his business card at us and begged us not to take his picture just so that we would take his picture. He represented the 15 minutes of fame that the Warrior should've had but that we keep dragging out for her.
• This part didn't happen last night, but I just have to wonder if Corpus Christi will erect a statue of the Warrior. Why, you ask? Because Corpus already has 3 statues in the main square, apparently: Columbus, Jesus, and Selena. Why not the Warrior? Her gap toothed smile and portruding boob would forever be cast in bronze.
• The pictures. ungodly. I'll leave you to Glinda for those.
• Second round of drinks: G--same; Me--Antarctic Blast (It was blue and made no reference to the Warrior, but it was tasty); Edgy--what did Edgy get? And Twoshirts left--LIGHTSIDED. Praxis inadvertently left, too, because both my phone and G's died. We will have to wait for his post.
• Second and a 1/2 round of drinks: Some Pentecostal looking woman came up and offered us an Apple Martini, which Edgy gulped down, the warrior that he is. She wanted 2 ciggies in return, so maybe she wasn't Pentecostal. I think she was a plant from the Warrior--a test of sorts. We turned her dorksided anyway. G and I split another Pitbull. This was bad because any ounce of liquor over 2 drinks in the Devilport is ungodly. [Minor tangent here: One night I was drinking a martini at the D, and Edgy wanted some. We asked for a rocks glass with very little ice. I poured him a full rocks glass of the toxin, and then looked back at my martini glass. It looked virtually untouched. That, my friends, is the power of the Devilport. Do not mock us for only having 2 1/2 drinks]
• discussion of Mary and priests and the This and the That. No moon, though.
• Final departure, with G inviting us over for some wine (good god, I would never have recovered)

Well, folks, Co-Cola did me right. That Vault drink did the trick, and I am "healed." Time to finish cleaning my house now.

Are you ready for some WARRIOR???

Yes, my friends and fellow Warrior addicts, tomorrow is the night that we celebrate the Warrior's birthday (really her bday is Friday, but we all have plans).

I have prepared the celebratory t-shirts for the evening, complete with quotes from the lady of the night--er, I mean evening. Yes, you must wear them. I made a special trip to Michaels, and I called for permission first, but TwoShirts was the only one who answered (Glinda was snuggling under a tree or something).

Glinda, are you making halos? ;o) TwoShirts, your job is to actually watch the show. Click on the "clip of the show" section. Praxis, your job is to text us and send us pictures all night of you and your celebration. Edgy helped me make the shirts.

And the drinks of the evening? Some ideas: Four Horsemen, Shot From Hell, Three Wisemen, Absolutely ScrewedUp, Adam and Eve, Get the Hell out of my House, Bible Belt, Black Magic, Dark Indulgence, Devil's Piss, Dixie Stinger, Fallen Angel, Flaming Jesus, Gin and Sin, Her Name in Lights, Hillbilly Highball, Moon Quake Shake, Southern Hospitality, Time Bomb, Ugly, What the Hell, White Trash, and Witches' Brew.

Of course, I don't know if we can get those at the Devilport, but we'll see. So what time are we meeting folks? I've got class until about 7ish.

Forget part 3

I'm too Cranky to write part 3 to the Escape, so suffice it to say that we expected to stay in a posh resort and ended up in a bug filled A framed metal cabintent overlooking the slime ridden Comal river.

Here's today's bitch. The first part of this happened last week.

***LAST WEEK***WTF is wrong with people? That crazy place I worked last summer still hasn’t sent my 1099 because every f’in time I give them my ssn, they lose it. So I wrote them and asked for their accountant’s phone #. He doesn’t have voicemail, so I called him last week(during my 10 min lunch), and his secretary, a syrupy sweet woman with a crackly emphysema voice answered. I ask for mr. effi…she interrupts me and says, “he’s walking out the door and won’t be back until 4.” I asked if I could leave a message for him, thinking it would be voicemail. She said, “you shore can.” So I wait and she says, “you shore can.” I said, “oh, with you. Ok. “ and give her the info. With everybit of the info, she acts (in a sugary sweet way) like it is such a pain in the ass to write it down, so after I finish, I say, and can you have him call me to confirm that it is in the mai…she interrupts again, “and that number is…” still sugary. I give it to her, and I say that he should just leave a messa…she interrupts again, “I will give him every single “wittle” bit of the information you gave me, I promise. You have a nice da…she interrupts herself by hanging up on me.

It was everything within my power not to call back and tell her to march her wittle ass to hell, but she has all my info, so I won’t. Instead, I will email the nutjobs and tell them that I gave the secretary the info and ask if they will follow up to make sure I get the information.

***TODAY*** I check my work email from home (on spring break). The nutjobs fwded my email to the accountant who replied saying that he never got my information and doesn't know what happened since his secretary is usually good about giving him messages. BITCH didn't give him the message just to spite me! WTF???

SEE? SEE why I’m cranky? I mean, why do people act like that? I was polite, respectful…I don’t get it. I really don’t get it. I SWEAR TO GOD I GAVE THAT WOMAN NO REASON TO BE SPITEFUL! WHAT THE HELL????!!!

We interrupt part 3 for an important announcement

Remember Holly Hobbie, the girl in the blue chintz bonnet. I had a Holly Hobbie play house growing up and even bought a blue chintz bonnet at a garage sale which I wore every night to bed just like Holly, and coincidentally, just like the Ingalls' girls.

Well she's back. Please note that Holly still lives in the little country town of Clover, has a horse named Doodles, and loves to do "country things." I actually got word of this on my email through American Greetings, and they made it a point to tell me that she's still the same country girl, just updated. Um...how many country girls wear bell bottoms, jewelry, and a little J-Lo hat? I mean, according to her journal, she has fun with Carrie and Amy at the cafe, sports a cell phone, and representz her secret club with bandanas. Oh, from reading on in her secret diary, we find out that she is actually the real Holly's great granddaughter. Jeez almighty, those Hobbies sure do get busy poppin' out babies. great granddaughter? The original Holly was only about 7 in 67. No wonder my parents keep hounding me about babies.

Still, why did they have to make her so disgustingly tee-hee girly? She knits, for god's sake.

Escape Part 2: The background story

I used to enjoy camping. I was even a camp counselor at a summer camp while I was a freshman in college. It was at this camp, though, that I lost my desire to ever camp (real camping) again.

The camp did have cabins. In fact, my first week there, I was on cabin duty. It was a pain in the ass. The director of the camp would come in at 9:00 in the evening to make sure that all counselors and kids were asleep in their beds. They would honestly poke around with a flashlight. well, one time, I was awake when they came by and was reading a book with a flashlight (no electricity). I got reamed out and, like a bad little Christian woman, lashed back at the man. OOOO...that didn't fly well. For the remainder of the week, they watched me like a hawk. I was called into the office everyday for something, generally because I hadn't earned my star yet (a star was given everytime you won a camper over to Christ). It was a contest. Finally, they made the decision that I was to be placed on outdoor overnight duty--camping with tents.

I was ok with this, excited even. The Texas hill country is gorgeous, and the thought of getting to sleep outdoors in the middle of it was wonderful. Plus, no one would come out to make sure that these campers got any sleep--no flashlights. We actually had power as counselors, and our job was to teach survival skills and only inadvertently win our stars. So the next group of campers came in, and my two partners and I packed them up and led them out into the hills on a day hike. One of my team members was in charge of inventory, and she said that we had everything. We set up camp and helped the girls put up their tents. It was then that we (one of the counselors and I) realized, we had no tents. We asked the girl who inventoried (a veteran counselor), and she said, "Oh, we don't get tents. We sleep open air to make sure that the kids are safe." GULP.

Ok, I'm still kind of ok with this. I set up my sleeping bag in front of the circle of tents and prepped for bed. The stars were fantastic, and the coyote howls helped lull me to sleep--almost. It was then that I heard it--the BUZZ. Yes, that's right, the one thing that ruins camping in Texas, our state bird, the mosquito. I had sprayed the entire sleeping bag and myself with off, but it didn't matter. They seemed to like the smell. I was wearing my jeans, and put on a long sleeved shirt, zipped up the sleeping bag to my neck, lay on my side, and put my hand over my ear because that's where they were trying to enter my body. I can't tell you how unbelievably hot it was--end of June in TX is muggy and about 90 at night.

I woke up the next morning ill with pain. My face and hands were swollen. Here's the bite count: 32 bites on one hand (the one inside my sleeping bag), 72 on the hand covering my ear, and a total of 56 on my face. We rounded the kids up and hiked all the way back to base, I got them settled and then went to the infirmary, where they scolded me because they had to waste a benedryl shot (For 2 hours they tried calamine lotion). The swelling finally went down, and it was then that I could actually count the bites I listed above.

That night, the counselors had to do a skit. In this case, it was a cheer. The head counselor, a cheerleader, made us form one of those crazy ass pyramids, and when they put me up on the top, a girl lost her balance and kicked her leg upwards into my knee. we crashed, and my knee had popped out of joint. I came down to the ground screaming, "FUCK." The crowd hushed, and all eyes were on me. I had said the F bomb in a church camp. Off to the infirmary again.

They wouldn't even start helping me. 10 people stood in a dark room with one lamp in my eyes (I know it sounds like an interrogation room, but i swear it's true) and yelled at me. When they asked if I had anything to say, I moaned through the pain, "Um...can I get my leg fixed?" They popped it back into place, gave me an ace bandage and sent me off on crutches. For the rest of the month, I was still on outdoor overnight. That's right, I hiked miles in the hills on crutches with a pack on my back and slept outdoors with a pillowcase over my head and socks on my hands. It worked.

A week later, I finally got to make my first phone call. We only had 1 week "off" (That meant that we were on day duty at the camp (my duty was working in the stables--They thought it would be punishment, but I loved it) and at night we could go out to the local Dairy Queen from 5-9 and make any phone calls. I called my parents for the first time in a month and a half. My dad said that he had been trying to contact me all day. Apparently, my mom had been in a car accident that day. The car was totalled, and she was in the hospital. He wanted to come pick me up. I asked the director for leave, and she told me that I couldn't--that I was under contract. Told my dad to pick me up anyway, and he said, "Nope. Can't break the contract." I was stuck, and couldn't make another phone call until 5pm the next day.

I sneaked out of the camp and hiked on crutches to a pay phone to call my dad for the update. Not 5 minutes into the phone call, a bright spotlight shines on me, and they tell my by megaphone that I am to put the phone down and come back. That was it. I wouldn't do it. I finished my phone call (finding out that my mom was ok, just bruised and scraped) while they pulled me away from the phone, and finally hung up, kicked them, and told them to go to hell, drop me, or I would bite them. Apparently, they believed me because they dropped me. I picked up my crutches, threw them down a hill, and hobbled back to camp, refusing a ride.

I was then pegged a "problem." They pulled me off of overnight duty and onto day camp. Day campers were 2 1/2 and 3 year olds who came to the camp for arts and crafts and the pool and then went home at 12. For the rest of the day and evening, the day camp staff had to clean latrines, cook meals, and do all the other dirty work. Yes, I had signed a contract with a prison camp, not a fun summer job. We shared a small cabin with stones missing and thus overrun with scorpions (literally big enough for two bunk beds and that's it) in a remote part of some woods off base. It was a 9 mile hike to the main camp, a hike we made every morning and every evening. We had to be on base at 6 am, so you can imagine the time we left the cabin and at night, the director had to inspect our cleaning work and clear us to hike back to the cabin at whatever time that was.

One morning, one of the day camp counselors and I decided to leave earlier than usual for work (about 4 am). We were tired of walking with the other counselors who were these two overly peppy twins from Baylor. Their peppiness hadn't won them enough stars, though, so they were outed to day camp life, but they were determined to still impress the Establishment and thus told on us for every indiscretion. We sneaked out before they awoke and took a leisurely hike without singing cadence (sometimes the director would drive behind us in a jeep making us sing, and even when he didn't, the bobsey twins would sing anyway). Suddenly, though, I stopped dead in my tracks. The woods were only lit by the stars and my flashlight, and about 4 feet in front of us, I saw an animal the size of a german shepherd but the shape of a cat. we stood there in silence for what seemed to be an eternity. I have no idea how long it was, but we just stood there, paralyzed. I was fairly calm because at this point it had not occurred to me what I was looking at. I'm thinking, "big--cat--what is it?" Then it made eye contact with me, the most piercingly beautiful eyes I've ever seen. They seemed to glow, and I was filled with a strange reverence for this creature--this creature--omg this creature is a mountain lion. I couldn't speak or move, just stare. It was as if she had me in a hypnotic trance. If I could paint what I saw, it would be the most magnificent piece of art. She moved a foot, leaned closer, and with a sniff and one last look directly in my eye, she made a graceful circle and walked away.

We were transfixed. I swear we didn't move for about 30 minutes. At some point, I whispered, "That was a mountain lion." My companion said, "yes, yes, I think so." I actually don't remember the rest of that morning. Somehow we made it to base, and when we told the director, he didn't believe us and scolded us for lying. That evening, though, we were justified. A local ranger came in and said that they had found a den of mountain lion cubs right next to our cabin and a mama on guard. We were asked not to return to that part of the woods. The director placated the ranger until he left and then just sniffed and grumbled that we had to return anyway. I mentioned something about breaking the law and calling a ranger back and blah blah blah. We moved back into cabin duty for the remainder of the summer.

Stay tuned for why this story is important.

Escape in three parts--part 1

The weekend is too lengthy for one post, so here's 1 of 3.

As we're pulling away from the house, we realize that we forgot something, so Edgy pulls into the empty space in front of the neighbor's house--the one with the "guest parking". Everyone remember this story?

He comes out of his house with his pasty kid in hand, bald head and goofy yuppie glasses reflecting the hot sun, and stares. He stands on his porch and stares. I'm in the car with sunglasses on, thank god, and E is upstairs getting whatever we forgot--oh yeah, the directions. E comes back to the car. Neighbor makes his move toward his black Audi parked in his driveway--the driveway that coincidentally is gated and also boasts a 2 car garage. E still hasn't found the directions, so he looks in his car and trunk and then goes back upstairs. Neighbor begins to panic. He paces back and forth between his car and his door, scratching his bald head with fervor. His pastiness is being replaced by a red line that starts at the neck and begins to rise like the mercury of a thermometer. At this point, I'm thinking that there's going to be a confrontation. Actually, I'm excited by the prospect of a confrontation because if he makes one comment to me about being a "homeowner" and owning his "guest parking" space in front of his ugly ass house, I'll just unleash the furor of 1000 days at PISD on him. His pacing, though, is more like a frightened rabbit than a stalking leopard, so I figure I won't get the privilege of unleashing.

E comes back out at this point, and we begin to drive off. Neighbor gets into his car, kid in lap, backs out of the driveway and into his guest parking. Then, he walks off with kid on his shoulder in triumph. What a pud!

The Great Escape

I am in the midst of packing my favorite little duffel bag because Edgy and I are getting out of town. Yes, my friends, it's the first spontaneous road trip this year, and who knows where we'll end up. I'm sure it will have something to do with the Weird Texas book, though I don't plan to visit the creation museum, and I'm avoiding stuffed bugs at all cost. [shiver].
We only have this afternoon and tomorrow because E works for the devil.

We're thinking New Braunfels. It's off season, so that means hiking along the river with no crowds! Of course, NB is only 30 min away from San Antonio, so I may go hang out at Kubrick's bar or search for the long, lost Man Hands.

Whatever we do, we're escaping Pewston, and that's all that matters.

Bring out your gargyles and slagkicks

'cause it's time for a party. The Warrior's birthday is March 10. Though we Warrioraddicts are not all in the same hood, we have the magic of text messaging to bring us together. So, what are we doing to celebrate?