I spy

I can find at least 8 things gut bustingly funny about this picture. Thoughts?

Wow, I needed that laugh. Today's been a day filled with weirdness. I have been waiting on a reimbursement from the school for travel expenses for a conference I presented at. Charges have been on my card since August. Finally found out there's a hold on my account because I never paid a $10 transcript fee at another freakin' institution 3 years ago (the one where I had to take classes for pisd)!!! I've been on the phone with 27 different voicemail systems (no one answers their damn phones anymore) and finally talked to a woman at my current school who told me that she was unable to speak with me since I was a delinquent of the state. I never got a bill for a transcript (could've sworn I paid online), and suddenly I am a delinquent of the state? And why does a $10 financial hold at one institution preclude me from geting my money at a different institution?

Anyway, I paid the damn 10 bucks and updated my address and so hopefully I am now in the clear. Of course, no one at UH will call me back and the people here won't talk to delinquent me, so who knows. But for now, back to awkward family photos.

I am a jaded ass

There was a time when snow used to make me happy. And part of it still does. I love snow at night, when I have nowhere to be, and I can just enjoy the nearly silent sizzle of the flakes gliding through the air.

Today was not that day. After walking 2 blocks to the bus stop and realizing I forgot my hat and gloves, I waited 30 min for a bus that didn't come. Then I had to walk back, get in my car, drive to campus, park 2 miles off campus, walk to campus and was 30 minutes late for my meeting this morning.

Everyone was cheerful, jolly, sipping cocoa and singing, "Let it snow." And I--I looked like a drowned rat, my $50 digital recorder just as soaked as I was. And suddenly the merriment stopped as one person said, "Wow, you look, er, moist." Moist?

I need coffee. Damnit, and I woke up today thinking I'd be one of those cheerful, oblivious types. It's just not in the stars, people.

Disgusted

You know, just when you think misogyny can't get any worse, it does. Someone I know became a fan of the LFL (lingerie football league), and I thought it was a joke. No, no it's not. Feministing says it best: "Women finally get a pro women's football league, and in order to participate, they have to wear their skivvies." Come on! Not only is it objectification at its finest, but it makes a mockery of women in sports.

I think I might vomit now.

Kimday Kickoff and doc crazypants

Well, the week has been pretty mundane, but I did kick it off with a little MJ. Well done. Showcases both the geniuses of MJ and Kenny Ortega. Choreography, graphics--amazing. My friend and I were singing and dancing in the back. Sadly, the place was bare, and the few people who were there sat stoically in their seats, munching popcorn like tools.

Since then, I've been working my ass off with midterms (last one due Monday) and other assignments. I present in San Fran next week, so I've got some last minute stuff to put together, and my research project finally got approved, so I've started recruitment.

Oh, Halloween was fun but again, barren. NO one was out.

And I'm still fighting off the funk, which doc crazypants says is allergies. I forgot to write about the doc crazypants saga. I went in for upper respiratory problems, and he was more concerned that I hadn't had a pap smear in 2 years, reminding me that women's bodies are like wet paint. Things, apparently, stick to us like little pieces of fuzz, lint, and dirt do to a freshly painted wall.

Ok, first of all, since when did pap smears become less about preventative medicine (read: cancer and the like) and more about cleaning out my insides from all the wild, crazy, "lint" producing sex women have? Isn't this why it is called a well woman exam? It's like that damn vaccine to protect against cervical cancer. Hello? A) why aren't men vaccinated; B) um, sometimes cervical cancer just happens! It's not all about a nasty cooch. And furthermore, I went in to have my damn ears, nose, and throat looked at! WTF? Ah well, chalk it up to all the fuckwit docs I've had through the years.

Ok back to midterming and hot tea.

Ok and just to fuel the fire

If you think I'm being hyperbolic here (which I admit I am often prone to be), just look at this master planned TOWN. Not community, mind you. TOWN. I know for a fact that there are 3 registered democrats in Vintage Township. They don't actively participate in anything, however.

Stepford family, anyone? I really encourage you to browse the site, especially the map of the town. It's astounding.

My apologies to Cole Porter

Every time I look down on this sad little town
Whether blue or grey be her skies
Whether loud be her cheers or soft be her tears
more and more do I realize:

I hate Lubbock in the springtime
I hate Lubbock in the fall
I hate Lubbock in the winter when it drizzles
I hate Lubbock in the summer when it sizzles

I hate Lubbock
Oh why oh why do I hate Lubbock
I really do not know.

Ok, hate may be a strong word, but I've been here a year now, and it's really getting to me. I love the weather. And though they lack any form of decent technology or the wherewithal to do anything about the reason for which I might be calling, call centers are much more friendly here. They have sno cones year round, and that is always a plus. And the city is overrun with duck roosters and prairie dogs, which are dear to my heart.

But I just don't get these people here. They speak a language I simply don't understand. For instance, if someone here asks you, "Would you like to [insert something to do]," they aren't asking you for your preference. They are telling you to do it. I was ordering coffee the other day, and the woman behind the counter asked, "Would you like to pay for your coffee when it's ready?" I said, "No, that's ok. I'll pay now." And she looked at me, bewildered, and said, "No, I mean, I'm waiting on change so I need you to wait to pay later." Why didn't she just say that?
Another instance: I'm at my practicum. A woman says to me, "Would you like to push the baby buggy (yes, that's what she called it)?" I said, "No, thank you." And then the other woman said, "She's leaving. You need to push the baby buggy." Even more bewildering is that in my practicum, I'm there to freaking evaluate these people as teachers, and they are giving me baby buggies (sp???).

And holy red footed llama, the freaking smile. It's seriously like the kiss of death. If one of these bleach blond helmet headed women here smile at you and their right eye twinkles, you are a goner. Sign that will and move on because that woman is going to somehow passive aggressively ruin your life so that you will never work, eat, or live in that community again.

And this, THIS is Lubbock's idea of a feminist website. Are you fucking kidding me? Granted there are a few essays that have substance, but for the most part, if you don't puke from it, you can get a few laughs off of it.

And the men? They are like a bunch of giant necks prancing around, arms akimbo because they won't go straight anymore. Farm boys, corn fed, they call them. I call them ridiculously spoiled misogynistic pricks.

I'm trying to stay focused--trying to just maintain tunnel vision on my schoolwork. But it is just getting to me! And the more I get involved with the democratic group here, the more angry I become. We are ignored, forbidden to speak, and are too small in number to bitch slap these corrupt people in charge. What needs to happen is that we collectively grab our ovaries and balls and then place some of these jackass city council members in a camel clutch and make them humble like Brian Blair (like that, prax?).

Do you know that they are trying to turn one of the oldest art galleries in town into a visitor center? And they canceled the West Texas Music Festival (West Texas' version of SXSW) for fear that *gasp* it might encourage drinking. They had a biker rally here to raise money for domestic violence shelters in the area, and the city council wouldn't allow beer. How do you think the attendance was for that little fundraiser? OH, and here's the best, in 2004, they defaced a piece of art saying it was pagan. Here's the story.

The more I hear about it, the angrier I get, and what incenses me most is that our group seems to be powerless to do anything about it. And furthermore, some of the people in the group are too scared to make it known that they are, indeed, democrats. It's unbelievable. It's like the Democratic party in Lubbock is an underground movement.

Sigh. I need a white russian.

Fahrenheit wha?

Sigh. Rest is over. Back to the grind. But first, what would Her Crankiness do without letting out a little rant?

We step back to a week ago as I made my way through the LBB airport. All I wanted to do was get out of Dodge the simplest way possible and in one piece. This means I packed light--one carry on, no laptop, flip flops for an easy toss into the xray bin. I figured I'd be through the line in a jiffy, ready to head for the mesas. Wrong.

A husky woman and her little henchwoman stopped me with the flip of a blue latexed hand (two by two, hands of blue). Husky says, "Do you have books in there?" Stunned, I say, "Um, yes." She motions to Igora to start the ransack process.

"How many?"
"I'm sorry, wha..."
"How many books?" She's impatient at this point, adjusting her belt and sucking in her gut.

"Um, 2"
"Really? 2?" She looks at Igora who laughs a sort of half whimper--meheheh, meheheh
"Yeah, 2."
Husky cocks one eyebrow up and looks at me with the reprimanding teacher look.
"Well, I mean, I've got a writing journal and a notebook, too, bu..."
"Aha!"
[I'm thinking Aha what?]

So they flip through my books and begin questioning me about them. The conversation on my end goes something like this: Lolita, you know, Nabokov? Humbert Humbert steals a girl's soul? yeah, ok, well suffice it to say it's a classic. and the other? oh yeah, it's Reading Lolita in Tehran. It's written by a professor who teaches a group of students in her home...you know, really, they're just books, you know? I mean, can I have my books back?

I don't think I was much more eloquent than that. Perhaps I was, but as I recall, I was just in an absolute stupor, and every ounce of my mental reserves went to restraining myself from calling them both dumbasses and telling them to get their azure hands off my fucking books.

I'm still pretty miffed about this. What's ironic about the whole thing, however, is that as I got on the plane and opened up Reading Lolita, I read a passage about how her books were confiscated at the airport in Tehran.

Anyway, it's over, but it still puts me in the foulest mood. I cannot believe I am living in this place. I feel like Cincinnatus C stuck in a prison with a paper moon, a plastic spider and a jailer who wants to dance with me, defend me, and execute me simultaneously. Fucking ridiculous this place is.

They all love soup and talking and not talking

Ok, I can't go to bed without a minirant. No offense to big happy haired people (ok maybe a little offense), but Lubbock has taken big hair to a new level with this--the amazing Bump It. I call it the Sarah Palin do, but here in the Hub City, it is called beautiful. [shudder].

And fine, girls, if having a hump on your head the size of Quasimodo's does it for you, then so be it. But, Praxis, does it remind you of something?

Grumble

I think that subconsciously I want to sabotage my academic career and get the fuck out of Dodge. I lost a very important paper today and had to go to confession. Sadly, I was not absolved of my sin (no matter how many times I recited Hail Erikson), and now my prof hates me. Thank God evals were last week.

did I mention I'm sleep deprived? It's another long night ahead, too.

Oh, and then, to top it off with sugar coated cherries and syrup, I get a series of emails from people in my program bc I'm on some godforsaken distribution list. Obviously, they weren't talking about me. Here are some excerpts:

"Way to be positive ladies! you're awesome! I just want to give you a big bear hug and sprinkle you with... sprinkles! Kisses and Hugs all around! Love ya more than rainbows!" [mind you, this was one email]

" love you guys more than homemade sugar-free cookies with splenda frosting!!"

There were more about puppies and cupcakes and sunshine. God bless 'em. I had no real response. what do I say? Love you more than this assload of work I'm doing bc I actually give a shit about this program and don't plan to skate by on tears and plagiarism?

Sigh, perhaps I'm being too harsh. Perhaps I'm jealous because I want to feel the love of kittens and jujubees. Maybe I'm on my way to becoming the cantankerous old woman at the end of the street who picks bugs out of her hair. Maybe I'm there already.

Do you think I'd be blissful if I thought things like this? Really. I ask this as a true question with no sarcasm attached. I'm actually fairly happy with my life. I'd be happier out of Lubbock, but that's beside the point. I am average happy, not jujubee happy but you know, content. Would I just be as high as a crack whore in vegas (perhaps that wasn't the best analogy) if I had the capacity to say things like that in all seriousness? I just can't fathom it.

I really would try, but it just wouldn't come out right because I just don't feel that way. Maybe my heart is 3 sizes too small. Hmmph.

You know Cranky's tired when

she doesn't even have the energy to rant. And it's such a good rant about an incompetent dentist and a loose, jagged filling and a piece of floss stuck in my teeth. Sigh

back to reading. it's only the 2nd day of class. jeez.

save me from the nothing I've become

You know, I almost hate to write this on here because on this blog, I tend to unleash the ferocious inner ferret (my term for the bitchy part of me that gets mainly supressed all day long). In other words, I'm sharper with my pen than with my lips.

In real life, I think, I'm fairly even keeled, at least in a work setting. And especially at this "job," I keep Frida (my inner ferret) locked away where she can do no damage. I'm polite, articulate, conscientious--in fact, most of the professors adore me because I am the model student. My assistantship super, however, is a different story. I actually think he does like me, but he's just a fuck. He's a misogynistic, egotistical, fuck. As are many of the people in academia which is why I'm not going to even consider the idea of becoming a professor. Been there, done that, not gonna do it again.

So here's my vent. These people treat us like we are fucking subhuman. Imagine Full Metal Jacket meets The Ivory Tower, if you will. They don't call us maggots, no, they are too "nice" for that, but they might as well call us that and force us to do pushups. To them, we are grunts; we have no brains, no souls, no purpose other than to lick their assholes, and I don't particularly much care for that. They do not refer to us by name but by "you, graduate student," and they honestly treat us like shit. actually, here is the perfect analogy. I don't know why I didn't think of it before. Imagine a pompous socialite encountering a vagrant on the street. If the socialite does go one step past ignoring the vagrant, THAT is how they treat us.

And yes, what did I expect? I'm a grunt again. My vita means nothing. Fine. But give me some fucking credit. Today my super calls me in to discuss an important meeting with the women's shelter on Tues. We're administering an assessment. Now the only reason I even get to do this cool project is bc I am a woman, so I am way excited about the opportunity. He, however, is miffed that he doesn't get to do it himself and doesn't see me as qualified enough to read out some questions and circle the corresponding number. So he looks me dead in the eye and says in the voice only the Chotchkies Manager from Office Space could use, "Understand, your conduct is going to be of utmost importance in this meeting. It could make or break us." yes, master. I'll get my hump straightened out and refrain from picking my nose and screaming out obscenities. I have 15 years of professional experience, many of which are on the supervisory level and have served on the board of directors of numerous nonprofits. I have been volunteer of the year at several agencies and have been an educational administrator. I've presented at national conferences. You think I can't handle an hour meeting with a woman about an assessment?

Ok and if this weren't enough, we start talking about the assessment process itself. he begins talking about kids like they are morons, asserting that an 8 year old child wouldn't understand the words, "in the past year" or "threat." HOnestly the way he talks about kids just infuriates me. They are all 1 1/2 years old to him. And then, THEN, when I ask about maybe including some rapport building questions at the beginning of the interview, he has the audacity to say, "and well, of course this is just a possibility and not necessarily normalcy but just for the sake of argument let's say you get a girl (he stresses in this slow drawl) and you ask her about dresses and such and you get her going and then she gets all gabby and then you just can't get her to focus again on the questions. That would be a problem and probably, this is just a possibility, you wouldn't have that same reaction from a boy, you see, therein lies the danger of rapport building" (punctuation errors intentional to show how quickly he slurs these phrases together).

Oh, I'm just livid. LIVID! I'm gonna quit and become Alice in Fucking Wonderland at Disneyland.

Oh, and just to throw this in, he's got a fucking can of "Creamed Possum [sic]" on his desk for lunch. Blurk.

Door 2 door

Three, count them, three individual evangelists have come to my door this morning between the hours of 9am and 1. The other night, 2 came to my door at 9pm. Come on!

You just earned yourself another detention, Bender!

Would someone please remind me that I am in graduate school getting my PHfuckingD because I forgot today and thought I was back in fucking high school.

1. I got to "work" today for a meeting at 9am. I take my backpack with me because we've had some theft problems in our little cubi land they call a grad office. I also keep my area pretty neat and put away for the same reason (nosy people who go through my stuff). Get back to the office, and the person next to me (a 2nd year PhD student) says: "Um, we've been talking (we being the other grad students). See, 1st years aren't supposed to the get the desks on this row (they are 1/4" bigger, literally), and you lucked out by getting it. People have been waiting for that desk for years, so if you aren't going to use it, we're going to have to report you to the graduate secretary." Now this girl is a 2nd year PhD, but she's been in the fucking program for 7 years getting a masters (5 fucking years for a masters full time??? are you fucking kidding me?), so she thinks she "owns" the program. And she *is* all snuggly with the grad secretary who is all snuggly with the dean, so she has some backing for this, but WTF? So I explain to her that I do use the desk but that I know for a fact that people sit in it when I am not there, and I put all my stuff up when I leave, and she says, "Well, throw some papers around so it looks used, or I will be *forced* to go to 507 (the dept office)."

2. One of my classes has a graduate (2nd year PhD) TA in it. I find it ridiculous that my work is graded by a peer who has one year over me (and has a massive power trip), but I've learned to live with it. Today, though, she crossed the line. The prof was up talking, and the girl next to me was chattering away. The TA turns around and looks at me and then sends me an email apparently. Class ends. She keeps me after class in front of other students and asks if I got her email. I said, Um, did you send it earlier? She said, "No, during class." I said, "I don't check my email during class." She said, "Well, it said Shhhh." And then she proceded to reprimand me for talking. She says, "I didn't see you talking, per se, but I did see Tamara talking, and I know she wasn't talking to herself." Tamara sits next to me (name changed to protect the guilty).

3. For my "job" i have to do interviews with people in the community. The bitch who is in charge of it is a 2nd year MASTERS student and sets up the interviews. It's for her thesis, but in order to get paid, I have to help her with it. Ridiculous. Anyway, she sets these things up but is so fucking obsessed with her boo boo (her boyfriend) that she forgets to tell people and forgets everything. She's twentyfuckingtwo and spoiled rotten. And she will call us up at 3 for an interview at 4, and we have to show up. Well, the first 2 interviews she fucked up and got lost, was 2 hours late for one and didn't even show to the other. She also forgot forms and such, but we just won't go there. So today, i am performing the interview, and she says, "Um, so that you get *experience* why don't you work with the parent this time (I usually interview kids since that's my area of specialization). Yeah, you know why she wanted that? Because she failed to tell me this was a reschedule. The parent spent an hour yelling at me and telling me horrible stories about how her daughter cried for hours and bought a new dress for the interview and feels rejected blah blah blah. and then shows me a fucking email from the prof in charge who apologized for "our" incompetence. OMfuckingG!

Ok, really, I'm floored. WTF kind of PhD program is this? It is filled with fucking people who have never worked a day in their lives. They live in this little academic bubble. I feel not only immensely smarter but more cultured and experienced than these people, and even though I have perfect scores on most everything, I am thinking of not coming back in Dec.

The thing is, though, I want to write and be my own boss, and I'll get more credibility with the Dr prefix. Maybe I'll just change my first name to Dr.

It's not Project Runway, people!

I am so annoyed. Here we Americans made history last night, and all anyone can talk, blog, write about is Michelle Obama's choice of attire. Give me a fucking break.

First of all, all eyes should be focused on the country, not on her dress. Secondly, why is it that appearance is the first fucking thing anyone notices when it comes to women? It was the one thing I felt sorry for Palin for--the fact that they focused on her attire. Hillary, too. Seriously folks, we are more than just a pair of tits and a pretty dress. I am so goddamned tired of the patriarchy. Third, nothing she could've worn would have avoided scrutiny. Hillary's pantsuit, Palin's Neiman Marcus, Barbara Bush's pearls... seriously folks, move on!

God, I'm just fucking LIVID!

Two by Two, Hands of Blue

Ok, really, I'm not getting this. No offense to our fine people in blue, but I'm just not getting something. There's an intersection in the neighborhood near my apartment where, daily, there are at least 2 officers standing in the middle of the street radaring people and pulling them over. Today there were 3 of them.

Seriously, why does there need to be 3 of them? There are commercials and PSAs on TV all the time about how the crime rate in Houston is up due to the lack of police on the force. Perhaps it is because they've got them in 3s standing in a suburban neighborhood, where apparently people aren't racing past since they feel comfortable standing in the middle of the street to pull people over.

This just irritates me!

Stupid Bootyheads

Today I got in trouble for using foul language. I was at lunch with two ADULTS, and I used the word stupid in a sentence, as in, "He would be pretty stupid to make a move like that." I was told that I should cease using such profane, mean spirited language in these people's presence (or something along those lines).

A few months ago, I was reprimanded for using the word booty, as in, "I fell down smack dab on my booty."

These are both words my parents, both staunch religious conservatives, use frequently. I called them up and informed them that in actuality, they were not conservative and that their liberal, hippie parenting is getting me in frequent trouble. Mom laughed.

you know...

people should just kiss my ass.

I need Catbirds.

The girls, Vajeesus and Don Eduardo

So I've been too cranky to post, but since my little Clustrmap thing started over recently, and now I don't have those cool giant red dots all over the country, I feel like I should provide some posts. (That was the longest sentence I've ever written on this blog).

So I'm looking at past August posts for inspiration, and I found that August of 2006 was a wonderful year. I finally came to terms with my boobs, after making the resolution to on Jan 1, 2006 via phone to Glinda. In fact, my post on Aug 7 was all about how I patted them in the shower to show how much I loved them. AW.

Then there was the post on Aug 17ish, when G and all of the angels were hanging out at the birthplace (and birthtable) of Don Eduardo and someone, I'm thinking SFV, named her hooha Vajeesus.

Then there was this night. Ah, I can still smell the pre-puke. And the day after.

And that was also the month of the mysterious bruise that G gave me when I tried to haul her ass up the stairs and into her bed safely! Said bruise got me many looks at work and even a comment from my boss. At least she didn't nail me to the wall.

And all I can say is that this August, I've spent most of my nights at the hospital with grandma, most of my days at work with the crazies and with the cp who makes my ass twitch (and not in a good way) and my week off moving grandma and trying to find a place in the cool part of town. Alas, there is no said place, so my ass has to move to the only freaking apt in Stepford...er, i mean Clear Lake, and THEY can't even decide if I'm good enough for them. Seriously, they have called references, and it has been 5 days since they took my money, and they still haven't made a decision as to whether or not I'm cool enough to live in their Disneyfied crackerbox. Vajeesus!

So in 2 weeks, I may be homeless. Seriously. Homeless.

I WANT AUGUST OF 2006 BACK!

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.

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????!!!