Customer Service

MyPoolBoy SLAYS me. He is not cut out to talk to machines. Pretty much he and machines of almost any kind don't get along anyway. At all. So he argues with them. Unsuccessfully, I might add. But he doesn't seem to catch on the futility of the situation. Which provides endless supplies of entertainment. So. Two of our cable boxes are not working with the new "upgraded channel guide" and he called the special customer service number to report a problem with our service. And he got a machine. And it's the usual state your name, account number, blah blah blah. But when they started the automated troubleshooting it went south pretty fast.

Automated Machine Customer Service Lady asked him if the trouble was with the programming or the cable box. He said cable box. (So far they are still on civil speaking terms.) Next. Automated Machine Customer Service Lady asked if the cable box was turned on. He said yes, dumba$$. Automated Machine Customer Service Lady caught the yes, but not the dumba$$.... I'm sorry, we could not process your response, please respond again - Is your cable box turned on? He said yes (with a decidedly frustrated look on his face). But she is unfazed and is able to continue with the process.

Then, Automated Machine Customer Service Lady suggested that he try something else: Have you turned your machine off and then on again to reboot? Now he responds with a short answer - yes - because he is mad at her and is communicating as little as possible (I know the feeling, Automated Machine Customer Service Lady). So Automated Machine Customer Service Lady says: was this successful in solving your problem? MyPoolBoy says - NO. Done tried that. Didn't work. And Automated Machine Customer Service Lady sweetly says again.... I'm sorry, we could not process your response, please respond again - Was this successful in solving your problem? So MyPoolBoy shortens his response again, only is louder this time: NO!

Wow. I'm thinking: This lady is a PRO! Cause he does that to me and I usually throw something or yell back or storm out of the room. THEN... She gives him some more suggestions that I begin to suspect he is not really listening to (again, Automated Machine Customer Service Lady - I know how you feel). Anyway - his responses begin to get a little bit unrelated to the cable box situation: What are you wearing? You sound pretty. Are you married? Do you have a boyfriend?

I think he was finally successful in breaking her icy, mechanical response mechanism, because she finally gave in and said Please hold - I will direct you to our next available representative for servicing. And he shouts: FINALLY! I get "serviced!" How much?

Then a live operator came on and talked to him and it was boring.

Why I Drink Reason #376

Actual conversation I had with a student today while trying to get them to COPY their research source notecards onto a Works Cited page.

ME: First put your cards in alphabetical order on your desk.
STUDENT: What's that mean?
ME: Alphabetical means ABC order.
STUDENT: I don't have anything that starts with A.
ME: (through gritted teeth) You don't need an A. Use the first letter of the cards that YOU DO have and put them in order. What one comes first?
STUDENT: This one? (points to the card that starts with M)
ME: The words on your cards start with M, L, and P. What is the first one?
STUDENT: The one with M
ME: No, no... in alphabetical order - which one comes first? Say the alphabet and think about the letters.
STUDENT: A, B, C, D, E, F, G, H, I, J, K, L, M
ME: Ok. Stop there. What card are you going to put first?
STUDENT: The M.

The State of Texas Owes Me a Big Bottle of Grey Goose

I figure I could just go to the liquor store, grab a bottle off the shelf and tell them to charge it to TEA.

I. Am. Tired.

Locked in a classroom with 16 8-year-olds until 2 pm for 2 days straight. And it is PMS week. Really. You think the state would have asked, "Hey, are you going to be PMSing this week, cuz, if so, we can reschedule the TAKS testing." No.

Also. Not allowed to say anything besides what is in the scripted freakin' "Administrator Manual" to the freakin' kids. And TODAY there was a big-a$$ horsefly in the room. First of all, I don't even know if he had been properly trained with the TAKS trainer modules to even be ALLOWED in the room. He was a big fly. I'm talking Food of the Gods big-s$$ Jeff Goldblum FLY. Let me just let you all know that there is NOTHING in the test administrator manual about how to go about executing a big-a$$ Food of the Gods Jeff Goldblum FLY during the "testing opportunity." Can't whack it with a student booklet cuz it might create an unnecessary mark that could be construed as an answer on the answer document. I was afraid to use the actual Administrator's Manual because what if I needed it later to read the "special phrases" for kids who didn't bubble in all their answers? I also was not sure that a flyswatter was an allowable instrument in the testing environment - the state doesn't issue them with the testing materials, so I was not going to request one -- you know, in case it was not approved by the state and could create a testing "irregularity." I also could not WATCH the big-a$$ Food of the Gods Jeff Goldblum fly because then I would not be "actively monitoring" the students.

Let me just clarify that I did not ALLOW the unauthorized Jeff Goldblum fly into my classroom (aka: the "testing environment") because, you, know he probably just teleported into the room anyway.

So what was I supposed to do? Freakin' unauthorized non-trained Jeff Goldblum was in my room for FOUR FREAKING HOURS and I was PMSing. I needed to kill something, but was in an intense quandary about how to go about it.

See? They need to issue me a voucher to the liquor store with the "secured testing instruments."

Breaking and Entering

HOLY CRAP! Someone broke into the travel trailer. Thunderduck is taking his turn at being the white trash offspring by living in it out in the back yard. With the pitbull mix dog that he adopted from the animal shelter. So he came home from work at lunch and went to get his new wimp-a$$ pitbull mix dog and take her back out to the trailer. And then he discovered the missing items that he had to subsequently report to the Peyton Place Police Department with a straight face: miscellaneous DVD's, old broken cell phone, deli-sliced lunch meat, cheese whiz, and a bottle of Boone's Farm.

Obviously, not criminal masterminds. My guess was stoners. Or middle-schoolers. I was right. On both guesses. Please read on and let me prove this point.

Like I said, Thunderduck came home from lunch, discovered the "crime", went into the house, and immediately took action as a responsible citizen of our community and called the authorities. After that, he went BACK out to the trailer and had lunch with the "petbull."

Now. HERE's where it gets really good. The "burglars" came BACK! Yep. I guess all we can get in Mullet County are mentally inferior burglars. Just so I can blog. They opened the trailer door while Thunderduck and Foxy, the petbull were having lunch. Thunderduck sat bolt upright and yelled "what the f*ck!" and Foxy the petbull stuck her head around the corner of the sofa to see who was at her door. She then proceeded to bound down the alley after one of the mentally inferior burglars. And Thunderduck chased the other one.

Yes, officers, I believe you can identify the perpetrators by the fear-induced crap in their pants and the pitbull slobber all over one of them.

Biker Night

First off. WOW. This is post # 666. Woohoo! It's official. I AM the Devil! I am playing a lot of old schlock country music on the jukebox and Thunderduck and the boys are not happy. Too bad. We are in a higher tax bracket than their little boy selves are and I can afford to play the jukebox more than they can.

Also. There is one of those effing Dr. Dumore flossing gadget thingies in the bathroom floor at the front of the bar. Look, people. I am all for personal hygiene. Especially if you are taking the idea of "get a room" to the next level. Good for you. However, if you notice the opposite side of the facility, there is a lovely trash receptacle provided for your convenience. Use it.

So. Last night MyPoolBoy got a text from an old poker buddy wanting us to go to Biker Night at the Laundromat/Bar - So we went. I wore my hooker boots that I bought at the thrift store for 18 bucks. They have officially been dubbed my "Get Off My Corner, Bi+ch" boots. I heart them. And I rode bi+ch.

Anyway. Where was I? Ok. There I was. At the Laundromat/Bar on Biker Night. With a bunch of old bikers. There was chicken and rice in some sort of old biker pot-luck meal thing of which I would have partaken if I had known that its origin, but since it was BIKER NIGHT, I was not taking any chances with my personal safety. Then they had a raffle. The big prize was 50/50 and the smaller prizes were a couple of biker DVDs, about 4 biker pictures, and 2 bottles of Jack. As in Daniel's. I was asked to draw the tickets because (I am not sh1tting you) I quote: "You have the most honest looking face here." Yes. This was from a guy who very obviously, did not know ME.

Ok. Now that you have stopped laughing... I go to draw the tickets and I swear, even though I have read the handwriting of 8-9 year-olds for a living for over a decade, I was completely unable to decipher the handwriting of these old dudes.

So, to sum it up, here's what I learned about myself from this experience. Drunken tasks I CAN do: Pee on fire hydrants. Recite alphabet backwards at ungodly speed. Drunken tasks I CANNOT do: Read drunken biker scrawl on the back of a raffle ticket.

For Thunderduck - Whose Heroes Have Always Been Cowboys

Here's the news footage:
RIP, Texas Stadium

Here's a tribute video some guy put together:

Ok. Wait. I Figured It Out.

Google is just pulling my blog address whitetrashprincess.blogspot.com and not a specific blog entry URL.  Furthermore, if I undo the Customizations setting on the Google search results, my blog drops down to #14 for "Jesus Pez" queries.  So the miraculous and awesome powers of updating the "Jesus Pez" results for which I was giving Google credit are unfortunately unfounded and I am utterly disappointed.  Crap.   The magic is gone.

Wow!

Google is totally FAST!  I was showing MyPoolBoy how if you Google "Jesus Pez" you get my blog as the second entry, and now it already is showing TODAY'S post as the result for "Jesus Pez."  

Is this some sort of personalized Google thing or is everyone getting every single post about "Jesus Pez" that  I write at super-lightning speed? 

Yes, Virginia

So.  After my post yesterday about the pulpit/bar and the possibility of Jesus Pez dispensers, and after one of the girls on Banned Camp posted a picture of her son's toy train set with a Jesus action figure tied to the tracks with Mardi Gras beads, I couldn't stand it any longer and I Googled "Jesus Pez."  

First, I am thrilled to report that my blog comes up second on Google if you type in "Jesus Pez." 

After THIS.

Sold!

Last night Felix and I went to an auction and she wanted to buy a big-a$$ telescope, but she saw some old dude looking at it who was going to outbid her. She was muttering under her breath that he needed to quit looking at it and that he didn't need it because he was too old. I told her he DID need it because he was old and maybe he had lost his reading glasses. So then we started snorting and laughing and causing a disturbance and we got dirty looks from MyPoolBoy and her ManSlave.

Then they had a huge-a$$ fan that Felix threatened to buy and put in her classroom to help her counteract the hot flashes because her a/c won't get down to sub-arctic or whatever setting it is that she thinks is going to make her comfortable. I told her to have at it - I didn't want it because I stay freezing all the time. So they go to put it up for bid and tried to demonstrate how it worked. It didn't. I told her that I needed that fan for MY classroom!!!!! And we started snorting and laughing and causing a disturbance and got more dirty looks from the boys. So we didn't buy that, either.

However, I DID buy a pulpit for 10 bucks at the auction - and, no, I am not going to start my own religion just so I can wear a hat. Actually I plan to make a bar out of it. Mr. Nasty Bear now has a permanent, logical home. I figured I could offer 2 choices at my bar: water or wine. Probably Blue Nun. And I may need some pie plates to take up an offering when we need to go on a beer run. I also plan to get some to-go cups for the bobsled ride to h3ll that I probably will be taking once it is all said and done.

So. I am bad. But I think this is not as bad as the cross-shaped Easter candy I saw at Walmart. 2 varieties - chocolate and grape sucker, which was near the empty PEZ display. Please tell me there were not any Jesus PEZ's or I will fall over.

April Fool! You've Been Rick-Rolled!

Happy April Fool's Day!!!!

Bar None

Do NOT switch bartenders on me.  I went from having a former student w/a "J" name be my bartender on Wednesday nights to having someone else with a "J" name be the bartender.  I knew it started with a J but for the life of me could not remember it. 

We tried Jake, Justin, Jeremy, Jason, Jacob, Jack, Jeremiah, Jerry, Jed, Jeffrey, and Jesus - pronounced the King James way and the Spanish way.   Turns out it is the same name as the 1st bartender.  So I just should have stuck to the usual routine. 

THEN.  Some Janice Joplin hippie chick came in and took over the jukebox and played worse music than me.  At which point some of the guys started offering me dollars to play "Jessie's Girl" as many times as I wanted just to escape the aural torture.  She had a bandana headband and braids.  And then she played like 3 Willie Nelson songs back to back and I figured it out. 

It was Willie Nelson's sister. 

She came to the table and asked everyone if there was any music we wanted to listen to.  And then, like a bi+ch, I said, "Yes, we would like to listen to ANY MUSIC." 

She left. 

But the guys laughed. 

Double Vision

Well. Yesterday, MyPoolBoy and Thunderduck and I went garage sale-ing in the next town over. Among our finds that we regrettably did not purchase was a tabletop crane machine that took plastic tokens instead of coins. It was only dollar, but we didn't know if it would work and it didn't have any toys in it so it was kind of like a sad-empty-one-night-stand-Vegas-marriage that probably would of sat empty and meaningless forever reminding us that we could never be winners.     Also almost bought a two-foot-long plastic "action figure?" frilled lizard.  Very realistic-looking.  Had toes missing off of the back foot that someone had painted red with nail polish to resemble blood as if this plastic reptile had been subject to plastic action figure animal abuse in an underground  plastic action figure lizard cage fighting ring or something.

Anyway.  We stopped to eat at a little place on the square of the Mullet County courthouse and we were just finishing up our sandwiches and peach tea when a couple walked in and were waiting to be seated. Thunderduck had his back to the door and did not see them come in, but MyPoolBoy who was facing the door, made eye contact with me and I was like, “WHAT?????” He nodded his head in the direction of the door and so I looked and I said something to the effect of “Oh My Gawd” or “Good Heavens” or "I'm blind! I'm blind!"  or something equally appropriate for occasions when you can't believe what your eyes are seeing and you wish that you had fresh-sliced jalapenos to rub over your corneas to briefly impair your vision so as to avoid witnessing what your brain has already committed to memory and will not let you forget... in which case, you then start fumbling around semi-blindly for an ice pick to jab into your frontal lobe to pierce your short-term memory center and erase all traces of  the image from your personal RAM.   Let me prepare you for this.  It is not your usual run-of-the-mill Mullet County sight... such as redneck dude with back hair wearing what is probably one of his illegitimate offspring's  Ed Hardy tank tops.  Or the road map varicose veined legs of the redneck dude's equally redneck overweight girlfriend wearing the offspring's cut-off jean shorts.  At which point you start wondering if the child was left at home naked because they have nothing to wear.

Oops.  I think this is the point where real respectable writers would say something meaningful like, "but I digress."  Y'all just know it's because I'm all ADD and sh*t.  So.  Back to the story....  What we saw was THE UGLIEST BABY ON THE WHOLE FREAKING PLANET I AM NOT LYING!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!  So, Thunderduck leans forward after I uttered/screamed out “Oh My Gawd” or “Good Heavens” or "I'm blind! I'm blind!" or whatever and wants to know what is behind him -- in case it was a giant minotaur or something that could potentially pose a threat to him.  I just lean in and whisper - your dad just spotted THE UGLIEST BABY ON THE WHOLE FREAKING PLANET I AM NOT LYING.  He shook his head and said that we were mean.  I told him if he didn't believe me he could look for himself but he just needed to be aware that it would be an emotionally  mind-shattering experience.   Because Thunderduck chose not to heed my warning that THE UGLIEST BABY ON THE WHOLE FREAKING PLANET I AM NOT LYING was indeed, right behind him, here in Mullet County, he turned to look.  So.  We had all been turned to stone at that point.  I think it is important that I interject here with an explanation of what I mean by THE UGLIEST BABY ON THE WHOLE FREAKING PLANET I AM NOT LYING.  Really, I bet that these parents adopted him, or at least the "mother" was a stepmom because if it had been my kid, I would have left it on a Spartan hillside somewhere at birth.  If you don't get what I mean by that, then Google it or pay better attention in history class - and don't come back here chastising me for being mean, because, remember, after Thunderduck saw it for himself he didn't think we were so mean after all. 

Thankfully, the waiter brought our check and we were able to head to the front and pay out -- knowing that we would have to pass THE UGLIEST BABY ON THE WHOLE FREAKING PLANET I AM NOT LYING as well as THE UGLIEST BABY'S parents.  Really and truly I was trying to avert my eyes like I was in some seedy back-alley circus sideshow tent - but I couldn't.  And that's when we saw it:  THE UGLIEST BABY ON THE WHOLE FREAKING PLANET I AM NOT LYING had a twin!!! An IDENTICAL twin. Or maybe a clone.  At any rate, he then lost his title as THE UGLIEST BABY ON THE WHOLE FREAKING PLANET I AM NOT LYING because now he was in a tie for first/last place. 

Seriously.  They should have some sort of filtering system when people choose to breed.  Sort of like a blood test for a marriage license.   If you cannot morph the two people's drivers license pictures into a picture of an aesthetically socially acceptable human, then they cannot be allowed to procreate.  Especially if there is a chance of a multiple birth.  So fertility drugs are totally out of the question.

I'm So Sorry

Uncle Albert.  And I let me just say that I am bemoaning the fact that I just had to explain that reference to a child/adultish child.

Ok that rant is over.  Now I am BWI and you are to be subjected to random blogness.  Why?  Because I am not faring so well at the poker tournament, and I have now digressed to playing poker with packets of sugar and Sweet n Low.  After just 2 glasses of Merlot, I have come to the decision that A) Someone should give me a dollar so I can play "Ode to Billie Joe" on the jukebox, B) I will kick anyone's a$$ for you (even your mother's) if the price is right -- btw, the price is generally a dollar so that I can play "Ode to Billie Joe" on the jukebox, and C) Cheesecake should be served in bars.

Basically, C) should sum up the fact that I have had it with people who are in positions of authority over me who know less about my AND their jobs than I do.  Pisses me off, I'm just saying. 

Example 1:  Received an email from a "specialist" wanting to know what topics we should discuss at an upcoming meeting.  I replied with a suggestion for a topic.  "Specialist" replied asking me if I would like to lead the discussion.  How do I nicely and professionally say, "F*ck, no, bi+ch, I don't want to do your job for you?"  Should I, for instance, say, "F*ck , no, bi+ch, I don't want to do your job for you, Hugs & Kisses, WTP?"   What if I add little X's and O's at the end?

Example 2:  Information that was supposed to be turned in for an assessment-type situation.  The person in charge neglected to tell me or Hyphen the criteria before we submitted our information.  Consequently, we had to scramble for the whole hour of our conference to make it all correct.  

Oh, crap.  There's chocolate syrup over in the bartender stuff.  They should give it to me.   Because nobody will let me mainline tequila to completely erase this day from my cerebral storage forever.  

So.  I just told the bar owner to add "Once-a-Month-Cheesecake Week" to the menu.  It should be scheduled around my PMS whims.  Everyone else should synchronize their biological watches with mine, so that we can KNOW when the cheesecake will hit.  However,  the menus are laminated, so if I really and truly want to observe "Once-a-Month-Cheesecake Week," I will be forced to smuggle in a Sharpie and write it on the menus myself. 

Also Starring

Well the Tucker Max blog that was turned into the Tucker Max book that was turned into the Tucker Max movie has gotten me to thinking that I could publish all this crap on actual paper like a real writer and then get some great middle aged movie stars to play all the Lucilles.

I would have to be played by Nicole Kidman or Raquel Welch (my supposed celebrity twin) - somebody tall who is willing to show off a tramp stamp. 
Felix would be Sally Field - that's the only one that seems perky/short enough to pull it off.
Hyphen needs to be that chick Karen on Will and Grace  
Bi+chslap is Meryl Streep because she did such a good job in Mama Mia and Bi+chslap loves that movie  
Baloney should be Beverly DeAngelo (of National Lampoon's Vacation, etc.)
DownUnder has to be someone with an accent -- All I've got is Julie Andrews... does anyone know somebody else that has an accent??????? 
TrailerTrash will be played by Lucille Ball except she's dead so we have to pick someone else.  CRAP.  Ok.. Bette Midler. 
FrenchTickler will be Rosie O'Donnell.  DISCLAIMER: FrenchTickler is NOT a le$bisan just in case any of y'all get any crazy-out-there ideas. 
CrocBuster could be Tatum O'Neill.  

Well, CRAP!

I was TOTALLY going to blog and I have had too much red wine and I don't remember what I was going to blog about.  I have alcohol-induced attention deficit disorder.

And I love Rick Springfield.  

And the song Ben by Michael Jackson.

And incidentally, judging by their reactions to the currently-playing jukebox selections, my fellow bar patrons apparently do NOT love either Rick Springfield OR the song Ben by Micheal Jackson.

Assume the Position

So.  I have been musing over the notion of why I am more attracted to lineman than backs.  Because they are bigger and more muscular.  I need someone who can step in front of me and stop any threats to my physical safety that may cross my path.  Or beat the crap out of guys that talk trash about me.  Or beat the crap out of guys that I talk trash about and need someone to bail me out of the messes that my mouth creates.  Plus, they're pretty handy to have around if you need something moved.  That's all they do on the line is move shi+.  It's second nature.  There's that.  And I just really like someone with some flesh on their bones to grab onto, if you catch my drift.  

And:  Linemen are dumb and easier to control.

wow

MyPoolBoy just told me I aged better than one of his high school ex-girlfriends.  Kind of a nice compliment, I guess. 

AND -- that he really does love me.... sometimes he wants to hit me with a baseball bat, but he loves me. 

I Have Decided to Write Country Songs

About school. 

It just came to me.  I can't let it go without writing it down, so I cracked up Duckit COMPLETELY before she went to bus duty. Here's the chorus of one:

There's no vodka on this campus, I have looked  
Not in the teachers' lounge,  
On the playground,  
Or behind the library books  

I have to make it day to day, and you expect me not to pray
There's no vodka on this campus...

You get the idea. 

Dessert Menu

I think that they should sell Girl Scout cookies at the bar. 

The Best Part of Being an Adult on Facebook

I don't have a virtual farm, order any virtual mafia hits, or raise virtual fish.  But today I saw a picture of an old junior high crush who did not age well. 

I heart Facebook.

Birthday Invitation

Here's what I sent to the Lucilles the Friday after my birthday:  

I have decided that we need to go somewhere this afternoon and celebrate my birthday.  After being invited to 3 birthday parties this week (none of which were mine) and getting frustrated over my family’s lame idea of a birthday dinner at the gourmet catfish buffet in the ambiance of the fabulously fishing/hunting-cabin decorated Inn in beautiful downtown Mullet TX which, incidentally, has bathrooms down a frigid, stark hall that was not unlike the hallway to the elevators in The Shining, I am taking matters into my own hands.   Let’s just say that the highlight of the evening was walking into the parking lot and seeing somebody’s huge Weimaraner sitting behind the wheel of a ’72 Buick (not to sound ungrateful, but my guys ARE SOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO impaired by testosterone!!!!!!!!!!).

 I don’t care where…. Name the time/place and I will be there with my tiara on. 

You have to come… remember, I am the devil.

Take 5

Remember how the Grand Marshal told us we needed to give 101%???  Today it was posted in the gym -- a big cut-out red 101% on the wall.  Then, right during the moment of silence (after one of the fifth graders farted and I told him he was supposed to be silent and we got the giggles...) it hit me.  101% is not possible in a base 10 mathematical system.  That 's a given.  Why is it bothering me so much????  

It's BINARY!!!!!!!!!!!!  OMG we only have to give like FIVE PERCENT. 

And, incidentally, I pi$$ed off one of my students today, and he told the Grand Marshal what he thought of me.  I have evolved (or devolved) from Big Fat Meenie.  So GrandMarshal came into tutoring today and whispered to me in my ear that now, I am the Devil. 

Laughter is Never in Short Supply

To add to the neverending aggravation that is being imposed upon us by the GrandMarshal, we are having to sign out for our classroom supplies at school now.  So if I need a red pen to grade papers with I have to write down the kind of pens I am taking from the cabinet and record the quantity on a little form on the counter.  Duckit was looking for large paperclips but there weren't any, so she took one of practically everything else and then added the note "who took all the large paper clips?"  Felix went behind her and got some stuff and added the note "I did" below Duckit's note.  I followed and accidentally wrote the quantity on the wrong box so the note "clearly you didn't read and/or follow directions as usual" was added to my entry.  Then Hyphen took "1 single solitary rubber band."  We fell the h3ll out laughing.

Later, Duckit noted that someone had written "tape (scotch)" - I wanted to write "tape (vodka)" but she is trying to keep me out of too much trouble so that dream was squashed. 

Duckit Loves Me

Well, there have been a few "incidents" involving staff members at various campuses in PeytonPlace ISD lately that have made our little hometown newspapers' front pages.  So, today the superintendent came and wanted to speak to us about protecting our reputations when we are out and about town, and, although we should have a personal life and protect our personal time as important, we need to remember that we never stop being a school employee since we are in a small town. 

After the meeting, Duckit and I were in our hall outside our classroom doors talking to a few folks and Duckit expressed her dismay at the message that was delivered at the meeting.  She basically said that she felt a little upset that it was directed at the whole faculty -- if he had a problem with her partner's behavior he should go to me directly and straighten it out with me!!!!!!!!  BWAHAHAHAHAHAHA!!!!! She kills me.

Lost

I think the GrandMarshal may have managed to completely and utterly confuse two groups of kids recently:  First - he gathered up all the 3rd, 4th, and 5th graders in the gym and lectured them on working hard and using their strategies and doing everything their teachers tell them to do.  He told them that if they don't listen to us it will be "bueno" - and I leaned over to B1tchslap and whispered.  "Ok, he just totally screwed things up for the ESL kids - cuz now they think that it is "good" to not listen to us."

Then, today he told us at the faculty meeting that we needed everyone giving 101% -- He knows we are doing our best, but we just need to give 100% more, etc. etc. And he announced that he would be posting a big 101% for all the kids to see as a reminder of how they need to give us more effort.  Which is mathematically impossible in a base ten system. 

Now he's lost all the 5th graders who are struggling with decimals and percentages in math.

Lesser of Two Evils

The BEST choice right now is to drink a bottle and a half of Merlot, and a 6 pack of warm beer, and a fifth of vodka, and whatever is left in the bottle of brandy at the back of the liquor cabinet... and then regurgitating all of it back up through my nostrils.  As opposed to the day that I ACTUALLY had.  I, honestly, am tired of being on the same planet with people who are dumber than me.  And I get tired of other people's negligence suddenly becoming my emergency, and I am tired of "being Jesus."  And WHY in the name of holy Peter himself does my son think it is necessary to load the jukebox with songs about TRACTORS for crying out loud on a day like this?   It's a TRACTOR - a farm implement.  Granted, an important development in the industrialization of American farming and horticulture, but - IT'S A TRACTOR.

Is it a penis metaphor? 

If he, in fact, takes the tractor for another round (and assuming that we are still metaphorically referring to the "tractor") - eventually the "tractor" is going to contract some sort of STD that will put it out of commission for at least one harvest season. 

My Metaphor

School is a big showy parade.  Our principal is the grand marshal, and he is riding on his high horse, leading the way.  He is oblivious to what is REALLY going on behind him -- including the horse shi+  that is dropping behind his horse all along the parade route. I surmise that the horse's name is TAKS.

The poor kids are the marching band that have the unfortunate task of plodding along behind the horse and are dodging and side-stepping the piles created by said horse -- remember, we think his name is TAKS.

I, however have decided that I, the eternal princess of whatever I want to be the princess of at the moment, am getting on a big-a$$ float with my tiara and throwing candy and waving ("elbow elbow wrist wrist").  And I'm driving right over the horse shi+ and not paying attention to any of it.

Today I Am a Big Fat Meanie

It was put in writing.  By one of my little darlings.  On a TAKS test practice sheet no less.  Actually it was spelled "meenie" and it was underneath the words "I Hate Ms. WhiteTrashPrincess"  and he had spelled my last name incorrectly, too.  One of the things he was in trouble for today was not paying attention.  Guess if he ever DID pay attention he would've spelled stuff correctly and I wouldn't look like the world's suckiest language arts teacher.  Anyway, I called him into the hall to discuss it with him and he starts denying that he wrote it!  Except that he said "I didn't wrote it!"  When Duckit tried to correct his grammar by saying "You mean you didn't WRITE it,"  he retorted - "I swear, I didn't wrote it!"

Learning. Nothing.

There goes my teacher of the month nomination.

Anyway, the vehement denials continued until I was near tears with laughter.  He accused the kid in front of him of writing it on there while he was taking a bathroom break.  Since 4 of the boys (including him and the kid he accused) sit in a traditional row seating pattern down the middle of the room, and they have cardboard study carrels around their tests, AND I was walking around the room "actively monitoring" the TAKS practice, it is impossible for it to have gone down the way he claimed.

 I want to put the letters B.F.M. at the end of my name like M.D. or something.

On the bright side, however.... today was the last day of TWO - yes TWO - of the big trouble-making discipline problem refuse to follow directions and don't want to be at school and I'm gonna make everyone else miserable while I'm at it kind of kids.

Somewhere in the world there are 2 other teachers who are about to become Big Fat Meenies also.

Sealed with a Kiss?

Based upon the sign-out point sheet records, my own personal flawed (inebriated) perception of reality, and anecdotal reports made by MyPoolBoy and Thunderduck, this is what happened last week at poker:  I vaguely remember bluffing for the first time in my life -- pocket 10s and I made all the boys think I had kings.  I don't remember playing well enough to place for points. 

And I don't remember that I signed out on the points sheet with LIP GLOSS. 

Christmas Is Over

Turned on the radio this morning and the first song on was not a Christmas carol:  

DELTA DAWN!!!!!!!!!!!!!  That is an omen to get my Lucille-karaoke voice back in shape.  And my mood can swing back to unfiltered heartless Bi+ch instead of caring giving loving sentimental crying-jag WTP.

NOW I can tell you what happened in the UPS place.  We went to ship gifts to everyone that we weren't supposed to buy gifts for (Rule #1: There are no rules for me), and there were 2 lines.  I got in the first line - why?  Because it was shorter (stupid stupid silly naive me - if the laws of lines at Walmart have taught me nothing, it should at least be that you NEVER get in the shortest line because there will be price checks and coupons and change shortages - I digress), I got into the short line and began to figure out that the girl in front of me with her unboxed stack of gifts, arranged on the counter in front of her as a towering monument to capitalism, has no box to ship in and did not check the website to see which shipping method would be fastest/cheapest.  The fool jerk idiot  a$$hole in a cowboy hat with a Santa hat on top of it - and thought he looked cute, but really he just looked like a moron - who was waiting on her. Anyway CowboyA$$hole is A) going to charge her $7 for a box B) going to charge her $4 more dollars for packing materials and C) tells her that ground service won't get to point X in-state by Christmas, so she better send it air service, which was $60 or $70 something dollars!!!!!!!!!! I KNEW this was crap because I had checked the website and my package was going to make it to Florida to Trainwreck by 7 pm on Christmas Eve.  And I bit my tongue.  HARD- just in case Santa was watching.  Because I figured my odds of making the "Nice List"  were getting slimmer and that it would not behoove me to suddenly burst into accusatory fits of screaming "LIAR!"  at CowboyA$$hole. 

Then I told MyPoolBoy that I was going to call the FedEx place and I would be in the truck.  I went and called information and the little guy at information said that he didn't have a listing for them, I told him that I thought it was under a name with Mail in it and it was on the highway.  He came back with the name and also offered that there was a UPS store in our town also.  I sweetly as h3ll tried to reply that I was at the UPS store and they were pissing me off, so I was trying to get the FedEx place on the phone before the words "in custody" became attached to my name in the local news paper.  He laughed and said, "I'm sorry."  I laughed and told him, "It's not your fault that the guy at UPS is an idiot, hun."  He laughed again and said, "I'm gonna connect you to the mail place - try to have a merry Christmas, ma'am." 

Now, I get ahold of the mail place, and because I live in Mullet County, there is no ground service available in our area.  Crap.  Of course.  So I was stuck with UPS.  I went back in and MyPoolBoy nudges me over to the line that had formed at the back of the store where a very sweet lady was waiting on customers.  YEA!!!!!!!!! Santa brought me a non-moron to wait on me for Christmas!  She weighs our box and smiles and says, "Wow!  This is saying that it will get there by 7 pm on Christmas Eve!"  And I, in my best LOUD no-shi+-Sherlock voice, reply, "Oh, I know.  That's what y'all's website said last night when I checked." and I shot a mega-bi+ch death glare at CowboyA$$hole.   CowboyA$$hole suddenly felt the need to trade spots with the guy who had been working in the back part of the store. 

Yep, holidays are over.  Peace and goodwill - OOOOOHHH Goodwill - let's go thrift store shopping!!!! 

ADHD and PMSly yours,
WTP

You Know What?

White trash knows no cultural boundaries. "You are on the STUPID 100% of the time."  Dirty laundry aired on-air:

http://a1135.g.akamai.net/f/1135/18227/1h/cchannel.download.akamai.com/18227/podcast/PHOENIX-AZ/KZZP-FM/snake-dontusethemouth.mp3

Hormones and Holidays Don't Mix

Please refer to rule #8 of "My 12 Rules of Christmas" post.   Yesterday was fruitcake-baking day. So I was already a bit of an emotional mess.  Thank goodness for waterproof mascara.  And then this happened: 

I went to Bealls to get cologne for Trainwreck. While standing in line, a guy comes through with a sales girl and he's dragging a suitcase and carrying a bouquet of flowers. He had a buzz haircut, and even though he was in civvies, I figured he was military. He and the sales girl were looking through the sale jewelry and she was scratching off some savings coupons trying to find one that was more than 20% off that he had. She got one and handed it to him and they go back to searching with another sales girl. They looked at necklaces and rings and finally I caught on that they were looking to find something that could be combined with the discount (that he was not supposed to use for sale items, but they didn't care) to meet his budget.

He told them he had spent everything on a plane ticket from South Carolina to surprise his  girlfriend, and he just wanted a little something for under the tree. I couldn't stand it any longer. I got out of line and went over and tapped him on the shoulder and asked him if he was military.

He said, "Yes, ma'am."  I told him I was sorry for eavesdropping, but my son was in the Air Force and I was actually  buying his present right now - and I asked if he minded if I helped him out.

"Oh, no ma'am it's ok," he said... I interrupted him and told him that he wasn't going to be home for Christmas this year, and I would just like to think that someone would help out my son while he was away. So, he went and picked what he wanted, and we got in line together and talked a bit.

Then we got to the cashier, who had heard the whole thing, and it was a lady I knew.  So she asked about the boys. I told her we had the other 3 home for Christmas but we just couldn't get Trainwreck home this year. Then she said, "Kind of a bittersweet holiday, I guess."

When she rang up our stuff, I handed her his coupon. She looked at it, then looked at me and winked - and even though she wasn't supposed to take the discount off of fragrances or sale items, she discounted it anyway. So that was kind of cool.

Then she handed us our sacks and I turned to tell the young man Merry Christmas and he hugged me and said that he hoped a hug from him would take the place of being able to hug my own son at Christmas.

I had a hard time letting go of him.

Someone commented that I gave him and his girlfriend a Christmas present that they will never forget.

Actually, it was the other way around. 

See there, Baloney? I'm not COMPLETELY heartless.  You can resume listening to your "Christmas Shoes" song again. 

My 12 Rules of Christmas

1.  The first rule of Christmas is that there are no rules for me.
2. The second rule of Christmas is that I reserve the right to go around making rules for everyone else.
3.  The third rule of Christmas is leave your crying-a$$ kids at home if you decide to go to Walmart.  I have a to-do list with items that must be accomplished, and there is probably a self-imposed deadline on those items, causing me huge amounts of neck-tensing anxiety.  I probably know the "Santa" in the garden center and I cannot guarantee that I won't bribe him with a six-pack to tell your brats that he won't bring them anything.
4.  The fourth rule of Christmas is everyone gets fruitcake.  And likes it. Or pretends to like it.
5.  The fifth rule of Christmas is tell me when we are out of Scotch tape. I cannot be held responsible for my actions/reactions if I get all merry and jolly and go to wrap a gift for someone and there is no tape because one of you used it all up trying to hold the batteries into the remote control because you lost the back. 
6.  The sixth rule of Christmas is don't give me a crappy Christmas gift (salt and pepper shakers shaped like the band members of KISS) or send me a sappy Christmas letter and not expect me to make fun of it.
7.  The seventh rule of Christmas is to stay out of the chocolate candy that my students gave me at the Christmas party at school.  It had my name on it.  I may have taken it out of the bag or box that had my name on it and laid it onto a beautiful Spode Christmas tree candy dish in a fabulous presentation in our home, but you will pull back a nub if you reach your grubby hand in to snatch a piece of it.  Unless it is cheap stuff.  And incidentally, truffles are not considered CHEAP STUFF.  
8.  The eight rule of Christmas is monitor your own behavior in accordance with my hormonal imbalances and mood swings.  I will cry if I hear "O Holy Night" while I am making cookies or fruitcake because it reminds me of my grandmother.  I will laugh if I hear "Christmas Shoes" at anytime because it is stupid.  If you can't discern the difference, too bad for you. 
9.   The ninth rule of Christmas is I do not like winter, but I do like Christmas.  You are not allowed to run the A/C during the month of December - I don't care if it is Texas and the wind chill is 94 degrees. I will turn on the electric fireplace and drink hot cocoa and you MAY be required to sit on the couch with me and "snuggle,"  subject to rule number eight (see above).   An amendment to this rule, also subject to rule number eight, is if I get the whim to go out in an unpredicted cold snap and look at Christmas lights, you are obliged to haul your a$$ out of the warmth of our cozy home and drive me where ever I command you to go. 
10.  The tenth rule of Christmas is the Snoopy ornament goes on the tree FIRST.  It has been this way for most of my life.  It has been this way longer than most of the inhabitants of my household have been alive.  Get out of the way and let me do it.
11.  The eleventh rule of Christmas is don't touch the radio.  It is set on the Christmas channel because I WANT it on the Christmas channel.  If I get a wild hair and decide I want to hear something else, I will change it.
12.  The twelfth rule of Christmas is if you have a know history of gastrointestinal dysfunction (including flatulence) you are limited to one serving (equivalent to 8 fl. oz.) of eggnog  per week.  If you would like more than one serving of eggnog per week, I suggest you space it out in this manner:  Drink 1 oz. per day, and you can have two 1 oz. servings on Saturday or Sunday as a special holiday weekend treat.

I can't even think of a title for this post

Ok, I was on BannedCamp this morning and the ads at the top of the forum were alternating between a FlyByNight University and a Christian World Charity organization of some sort asking me to please send money to buy a goat for an underprivileged third-world child.

A goat.

Goat.

NO.  I said GOAT. 

And there was more than one version of the ad rotating through.  Then a little while ago, I got on again and now the ad wants me to buy a SHEEP for little Diwali or whoever the heartstringtugging child in the ad is supposed to be.  And I'm wondering why he couldn't just ask Sinter Klaas or Father Christmas to fulfill his livestock wishes.  I guess a goat won't fit in a stocking.

And how could Santa get something like that down the chimney without making the whole hut smell like barbacoa and ruining the surprise for little Diwali?   

Then -- I got on Facebook, and this was in the sidebar of my profle:

"Mom" looks a little bit like a serial killer to me.  Or Jesus.  I'm pretty sure I could at least find "her" photo in a registered sex offenders lineup.  Is this "Mom" from a Slavic country?  Perhaps they got the scholarship ad copy intermingled with the photo layouts for the depilatory cream ad campaign.  I'm really not sure.  What the H3LL am I surfing on that makes this sh1t come up?

That's IT.  No more vodka while I'm on the web.  I don't even want to know what my Amazon recommendations would be this morning.

Pipsqueak

MyPoolBoy doesn't get me AT ALL. I am hereby sufficiently caffeinated and in the right mood that I am dancing along in my seat at the bakery watching this -- He is rolling his eyes at me. He may need slappin'.

Anyway.... The moves! The harmonies! You can't beat the Pips! This version is a little skewed (warning - not the original Pips!) But I freakin' love this song!!!!!!!!! So, let's recap for the morning: I'm a Pip, but I'm a Pip with cramps.



http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=gj_BbsOp7wY

Bric-a-Brac Theater Christmas

"Pudding, pudding, kill, kill!" BWAHAHAHAHAHA!!!!!!!!!! http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=nn6rsDb_2Ws

Half Wit

One of the BannedCampers just posted that a Facebook friend of hers from high school was spouting off about her brilliant 3-year-old that the preschool is telling her is "pre-reading," and that the ditz wondered if the child was so gifted because she is half Korean.

After having a good laugh about what "pre-reading" is (recognizing the golden arches and assigning meaning to that letter as McDonald's, or the "Happy Meal Place") everyone launched into an assault on the chick's racial profiling of her own offspring.

Upon further determination that some of us (like me) have wonderful unlikely crossbred/inbred bloodlines such as Irish, German, and Comanche (shot of whiskey, chase it with beer, get uncivilized) -- one of the ladies told the original poster to tell the ditz that studies show Korean kids will peak early like that but level off after 3rd grade or so, and the to tell her that since the kid is only half-Korean perhaps she had a shot at making it all the way to middle school before tanking completely... with a reminder about Long Dong Whatshisname from Sixteen Candles.

To satiate my search for another fabulous comeback, I googled Half-Korean.

The first result was porn.

Virtuality

Chatting on Facebook with MyPoolBoy at breakfast this morning I realized that online chat is a great way to communicate those feelings that you otherwise couldn't utter in a public place. H3ll, we could have an entire knock-down, drag-out domestic disturbance right here in the bakery and as long as I don't go after him with a golf club, no one would ever know.

Postponed Thanksgivng Post

This post was postponed because I spent the last 3 days of my life in holiday/relative h3ll... and holiday/relative h3ll only has dial-up.

Went to MonsterInLaw's for Thanksgiving. MonsterInLaw has been through several medical issues lately, so the plan was for all of us (me, MyPoolBoy, and various relatives that managed to show up) to do the cooking this year. We arrived about 9 pm Wednesday night, upon whence we were given the word by MonsterInLaw's brother and “wife," that they had already shopped for the big meal and were getting a few things ready so we wouldn't have much to do in the morning, and we could all just sit down and visit. "Wife's" son, 40-something-year-old-Rainman/Forrest Gump-with-a-comb-over-mullet-and-still-lives-with-his-momma was with them. I am not making up the comb-over mullet part. Wish I could. Also wish I had a picture. ANYWAY. Was told that he has an actual name, but that he goes by Thumper or Peanut or Pequot or Peathump or some crazy bullshi+ like that. Was further informed that this is the son that "wife" does NOT have a restraining order against.

FFWD to Thursday. After sleeping late (for me) on Thanksgiving morning, assured that it was all "good to go," I strolled into an empty-except-for-me-and-MonsterInLaw kitchen at 9 a.m. to find a HUGE-A$$ roaster pan of cornbread made and about a dozen hardboiled eggs. I had gone to bed Wednesday night with the erroneous feeling of security that the other 3 adults had it all under control. Looks like we're having deviled eggs and cornbread, folks.

Luckily, the turkey was being smoked by a neighbor and it arrived shortly. I ran in desperation to the computer (on dial-up, mind you, which took 8 minutes) and pulled up my holiday meal checklist/schedule (because the first part of being analytical is "anal") and checked to see how far behind we were before I officially started to panic. MyPoolBoy woke and came in shortly after I did, so MyPoolBoy peeled and put the sweet potatoes in the oven, I peeled the potatoes and put them on to boil for mashed potatoes, MyPoolBoy boiled the onions and celery for the stuffing, and then I looked through the dozen or so boxes of mason jars of canned food in the back bedroom closet to find the last surviving jar of green beans in the entire house. Threw in some of the onions from MyPooBoy's pot and a couple of crushed strips of pre-cooked bacon. Yes, it's lazy. I was stressed. Eff you.

At 10:45 the rest of them awoke to inform us that they probably needed to put the ham in the oven. We had looked for the ham. We couldn't find the ham. We assumed they had forgotten the ham. No, no, it's here somewhere... after more senseless and futile searching, Peathump says he might not have gotten it out of the truck yesterday. Peathump had, indeed, not gotten it out of the truck yesterday. It was thawed, at least. That's alright, we can cook it up pretty quick. No hun, it's a 10 freakin' pound ham. It will take at least 4 hours. It should be ready about 3 pm - I'm not waiting that long for lunch. We'll have turkey for lunch and ham for supper.

That decision made, we were then told that the rolls still needed to be baked. This was about 11:00. Frozen yeast dinner rolls. Still frozen. And they remained unbaked until the ham was ready. So much for having everything done ahead of time.

Then MIL's brother used ALL the chicken stock to make the world's largest effing pan of dressing - leaving none for me to make gravy, so I improvised with some bullion. At 11:25 it was decided that the 3 of them could not work another single solitary minute without more cigarettes so they set out to town - 30 minutes away, on a holiday no less - on a quest to procure cancer sticks. Thank God.

"Dear Lord, today on this auspicious holiday, I would like to pause and give thanks for other people's nicotine addictions and for the good fortune of me discovering a half a flask of Crown Royal that MyPoolBoy forgot to take out of the door of his truck before we hit the road."

Oh, yes I did. I started drinking prior to 11:30 a.m. On Thanksgiving day.

I yelled at MyPoolBoy and Thunderduck and Chunk to set the table quickly before they got back because I did not intend to spend another second of my thread-hanging-on sanity in the kitchen with any of them.

Here's the REST of the story:

Peathump was wearing a hospital bracelet because he had gone in for an injury to his arm or something and they wanted him to remember what day he was there in case he needed to go back for a check up or something. Which we thought to be odd. Then we found out why. Peathump is bipolar. And ADHD. And something else. And on multiple medications.

He was bemoaning that he couldn't get enrolled in one of them computer courses down at that there community college so he could use their computers for free because they wanted him to have a GED.

His Mom told us that she had a friend that had a tattoo on her belly of some guy's name and she wanted to get it removed. She said her friend had wanted to just cut it off with a knife and then bandage it up and she told her that was a bad idea because it would get infected. Her friend talked her into a compromise – to get the knife blade hot and burn it off. She told her that she would do it but she couldn't tell anyone who had done it. So her OTHER friend held her friend's arms down on the couch and she got the blade glowing red hot and laid it down on her stomach and then she saw her the other day in the pharmacy downtown and the friend was getting something for the scar... here I was ASSUMING it was something dumb she had done in a drunken dare as a teenager. No. This was apparently done RECENTLY and they saw fit to discuss it in the middle of their local neighborhood RiteAid.

At this point, I went to get a bottle of water out of the back fridge. I wasn't really thirsty but I had to leave the room to process this information. And to let Thunderduck know that he was missing the free entertainment that his common-law-second-cousin was providing for the holiday.

Then Peathump announced that he wants a male lion cub but the humane society won't let him keep it unless he can prove he can take care of it long-term. --- tried to tell him that no one would sell one to him, he retorted that you can buy them off of the computer... he thought that Bubba H. back home had one at one time and that's where he had gotten it. (hand to Gawd - the guy's name was actually Bubba)

This is where I went to go get pie. I wasn't particularly hungry, but I had to leave the room before I peed on the couch.

Peathump complained that he couldn't see the numbers on the phone to dial anyone because his lithium makes his vision blurry.

This is where I left the room for no particular reason whatsoever. And I just stood in the laundry room and tried to freakin' BREATHE!

Peathump told us that he met some girl off of “that fubar on the computer” and he talked to her on the phone a couple of times, but he wanted to make sure that he wasn't going to meet or date her before he knew if she was gonna be able to hit him as hard as a man could and she told him that she was schizophrenic and he decided he didn't want to talk to her anymore.

I think I need a t-shirt that says "I survived holiday h3ll with Peathump and all I got was this lousy t-shirt." And I need another drink.

Bohemian Rhapsody - Not Queen

Animal: Mama..... BWAHAHAHAHAHAHA!!!!!


http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=tgbNymZ7vqY

Coming soon.... the Thanksgiving post that was postponed due to the fact that MonsterInLaw still has dial-up.

Team Work

MyPoolBoy came up behind me and started kissing on the back of my neck. Very romantic. Then he bit me. Hard.

I told him I felt like I needed to rush out and get a Team Edward or Team Jacob shirt before the moon got full.

Holy Vaca - This is HILARIOUS!

Put on your Depends before he gets to the second verse because it will cause you to laugh till you pee .... you've been warned --

If I'd had known this caliber of educational material was available, I would have had MyPoolBoy watching it in lieu of going to Spanish class.  We could have saved all that gas and tuition money!

Second Semester of Spanish Love Song - YouTube

bored

here is how boring my house is right now.... Thunderduck just asked me how to use the spot upholstery cleaner.

Toil and Trouble

Thunderduck and Chunk were at school with me last night while I cleaned up my table and graded a few papers. Thunderduck and I made a reference to Macbeth, and Chunk popped up with "what's that?" We laughed at his expense, of course, and then I told him that it was a Shakespeare play. He said "How was I supposed to know that?" I told him he needed to get some culture. Then he asked me, "How am I supposed to do that?" Thunderduck told him it was easy: he could just "Google that shi+." To prove his point, Thunderduck did exactly that. He Googled "how to get culture" on one of my classroom computers. He called Chunk over and said, "Here, look at this" and proceeded to click on the first link. Which brought him to this:



That's right. Access Denied.

Peyton Place School District will educate your child, but we will not expose them to culture!!!!!!!!!!!!!

Dance Instructor

Pretty much decided tonight that Def Leppard's Greatest Hits should come with a pole-dancing how-to booklet in the CD case to get your potential stripping career off to a fabulous, successful start. I figure we could get rich quick, $1 at a time.

Prize Winning Idea

DrunkenFelix and I decided tonight that we are like the Mother Theresas of abandoned beers and shots we should get Nobel Prizes for rescuing them from their orphaned state when they are left - paid-for - on the bar.

My 13 Rules of Halloween

Well, here I sit out in my yard and I have decided that I need to set some melon vodka-induced ground rules for the freeloaders, I mean trick-or-treaters, that trespass, I mean come trick-or-treating, at my house:

1) If you are taller than Lurch, you get ONE piece of candy
2) If you have bigger boobs than I do, you get ONE piece of candy
3) If you are wearing a high school class ring, you get ONE piece of candy
4) If you are wearing a WEDDING ring, you get NO candy.
5) If you say anything smart-a$$ other than "trick-or-treat," I will not think you are clever or cute because I put up with that shi+ all week long, and you get ONE piece of candy
6) If you pick up and touch the decorations I have set out on my candy table, you get ONE piece of candy
7) If you reach into the candy bowl to help yourself, you get ONE piece of candy
8) If MyPoolBoy recognizes you from his after school detention duty at the high school, you get ONE piece of candy
9) If you shove and push your little brother or sister where I can witness it, you get ONE piece of candy
10) If you are old enough to create your own costume and you have not made even a remote attempt at wearing one, you get ONE piece of candy.
11) If I recognize you because you have dated one of my now-old-enough-to-vote-and-be-drafted sons, you get NO candy.
12) If you were on a sports team with one of my sons, you get NO candy.
13) If you are an obnoxiously loud precocious 6-year-old dressed as Wonder Woman loaded with what is obviously already more than enough sugar for the evening and you see fit to yell out at my orange lights that it's not Christmas yet, why are my lights out, and then proceed to argue with Lurch about whether Santa Claus brings candy or presents or both, you get ONE piece of candy and hopefully a lump of coal from Santa.

And a little kid just asked if the fake hand on the candy table was a real hand. I told him that it was the hand of the last kid that reached out and touched stuff on my table.

One in Four

Why is it that the feminine product commercials are getting stupider and stupider? At least it gives me something to blog about, so I guess I shouldn't complain. Of course I am going to have a smart-a$$ comment for anything remotely stupid that dares rear its head in my line of sight. There's this one on tv right now that proclaims one in four home pregnancy tests are misread. I actually like these odds. That means I misread ONE of my four positive results and the subsequent resulting births were, in fact, misread.... and I can send one of them back!!!!!!!!!!!!


And, I just overheard one of the boys that works with Lurch in the bakery make a comment in an unrelated conversation -- "that's the fun part of being a parent." Of course he has no children (he's in his 20's) -- Silly boy. There IS no fun part of being a parent.

Star Crossed Lovers

Today one of the worst spellers in the class sent a jaggedly cut-out notebook paper heart artfully decorated with garish stripes of bold Crayola marker and a semi-legible message of love and admiration enclosed inside. Complete with a shaky third-grade pseudo-cursive signature.

The object of her affection happens to be one of the worst readers in the class. And for all his might, he could not read it. Let's just say "Hooked on Phonics" was not working for him at the moment. He brought it to me, and before I had a chance to read it to him, another (and, I'm sure *well-meaning*) "friend" snatched it and began to read it out loud.

Now not only was the sendER red-faced, teary-eyed, blowing snot bubbles and hiding her head on her desk, but the sendEE was equally mortified and turned bright red, and felt as if he needed to apologize to the SpellingChampion for being unable to read her profession of adoration, which only set her off again, as more *well-meaning* "friends" gathered 'round to stick their noses into the midst of the daytime drama.

Geez. Now I guess I've gotta teach these little darlings to read and write or their romantic lives will be screwed up forever and I'll be watching their a$$es on Jerry Springer in 15 or 20 years.

Or should I selfishly let their paths continue, like ships that pass in the night, missing this opportunity for romance so that they don't grow up, get married and cross-breed their writing/reading talents into the generation of students that finally makes me throw in the towel and retire?

Way Better Than Cougar Bingo

Photo courtesy of Bi+chslap's husband's IPhone.

Now the idea for THIS game has promise! It's like Extreme Cougar Bingo or something. We simply must discover/create the rules of play.

Hands Down

MyPoolBoy has another round of poker going at a new place downtown. I am out early, as usual, and I am sitting here surveying the lay of the land. Looked over at the bar just now and noticed one of those bar-top video games... the tracing of someone's hand and a virtual knife trying to stab all around it for points. Craziest sh1t I hav seen tonight? Who PLAYS these games???? Who INVENTS these games? btw: the answer is not ME, those of you playing the home version of our game can shut up.

So. Poker continues. I got frustrated with one of MyPoolBoy's "friends" and I swear the testosterone was as thick as some of them's dayum heads. When they started counting each other's chips on the blinds I decided it was time to go away for awhile. Went all-in without counting my chips, then folded. I told B1tchslap that I was going to go concentrate really hard on all things female (flowers, Lisa Frank pens, episiotomies) to force myself to start my period just so we could get some estrogen flowing to counteract them slapping their pen1ses on the table.

I think that he's wearing a National Guard shirt. Perhaps he IS in the National Guard. I hope they ship him to somewhere sucky and boring where there is not any fighting or anything going on. Somewhere where he has to patrol a dried-up lake or some bullshi+ to protect a weird, endangered blood-sucking insect that feeds solely off of human flesh. And that he gets eaten alive by that same weird, endangered blood-sucking insect that feeds solely off of human flesh.

Am I bi+chy and bitter???

Bi+chy maybe. But not bitter.

Just female.

A First

Here's a new one -- even for me. Last night the waitress came over to our table and asked my tiara wearin' self if I had a ride home. I pointed at MyPoolBoy and told her that I was with him. She said, ok, good, because TABC had just been in and saw all of us and told them they wanted to make sure they weren't overserving anyone.

In other words, they thought I was drunk. Imagine that. Me. Drunk.

BWAHAHAHAHAHAHA!

Grave Mistake

So. Seriously. I almost drove into a curb when I saw this. I simply must get a picture to post on here to prove that I absolutely, positively cannot make this sh1t up....

As I passed the local nursing home on the way home from work today, I noticed their Halloween decorations and couldn't miss the life-size huge-a$$ blow-up lawn ornaments they had on display - one of which was a HEARSE!!!!

What freakin' disgruntled-employee sicko got ahold of the corporate credit card and made THAT inappropriate purchase??????????????

Or an Aneurysm

Lurch pointed out during the Michael Bolton song that was playing on the radio at dinner that Ol' Mike sounds like he needs to settle down a little bit or he was gonna hurt himself. Or have an aneurysm.

I think it's just that he has taken to recording live from his very own bathroom because he is passing a kidney stone and that's how he hits the high notes.

BTW stone and notes are spelled with the same letters... I'm just sayin'......

I'm Speechless

Seriously. I have laryngitis. Felix thinks it is the funniest thing ever that something finally got me to shut up.

Wore a sign on my shirt all day that said "I can't talk." It totally cracked the kids up.

It wasn't this bad yesterday --- yesterday I had a smooth, deep, throaty Kathleen Turner sexy voice. I was thinking of becoming a jazz singer.

Today I sound like a helium-sucking cartoon character.

Fiction

Lurch and one of his little teeny bopper friends is sitting at the table next to us, and they are having a freakishly serious conversation about their DS's. TeenyBopper has just made the comment that she will get hers back in 3 months and she can't wait. WTF? This girl has already graduated high school, and she's a pretty good kid, so I can't imagine her being grounded from her DS. My 2-beer-limit-mental-capacity brain has therefore concocted its own story for what might be the reason for the separation from her beloved video console:

Her pimp has been taking more than his fair share of the cut of her earnings. She needs some quick cash as she is jonesing for a crack fix. The DS is at the pawn shop and she won't have enough money from her "dancing" job saved up until Christmas or so to get it back out.

MyPoolBoy says no. And now he's cutting me off and making me go home.

Kathleen Turner Quote

"More man than you'll ever be, and more woman than you'll ever get."

The Long and Short of It

Two things.

One: Apparently I have erroneously thought that I was 5'7" tall for like the last 25 years of my life. In fact, I have unknowingly perjured myself to the DPS on my driver's license since I was 18, because I recently discovered that I am 5'8" tall.

Two: I can't see myself in the mirror from the shoulders up if I am wearing heels in the ladies' room of our local Chinese food restaurant.

QueenB said that's what I get for measuring myself at 7-11 because those door jambs vary from location to location.

Dumb as a Doormat

Went to the local hardware/home supply store today to get a new welcome mat for the house. Now, it is not the week o' the month to be trying to have any sort of civil interpersonal dealings with me, so it's not that I want anyone to feel like I am welcoming you into my house. I just wanted a green one to match the shutters.

So.... MyPoolBoy and I are schlepping to the back of the store to procure the aforementioned welcome mat. I whine at him to carry it, and because he values his life and/or manhood parts, he obligingly carries it to the register for me. We get to the front and the dumb@ss inbred mf-ing stupid bi+ch at the check out inanely grins at me and says, "Oh *giggle giggle* there's not a scan code on it" I look at her. I look at MyPoolBoy. And? So I say, "well, they were 9-something" and StupidBi+ch says "Oh, *giggle giggle* I have to have the scan code."

Again... I look at her. I look at MyPoolBoy. And? At this point, really and truly, I figured she would take the hint and call someone in the flooring department to do a price check. Apparently she was getting a mani-pedi on the day they covered THAT part of the training. I mean, truly, it was not going to enter her petite little brain AT ALL.

That's when I decided to "become an advocate for my own customer service."

Let me reiterate a completely relevant point here: It is not the week o' the month to be trying to have any sort of civil interpersonal dealings with me, especially if you are a StupidBi+ch. And in my own defense, I had elected to enter the world of retail during the course of this week without the aid of Midol or vodka. For me, that's like doing stunts without a net. I honestly did not have, nor did I care to have, the patience to tutor this idiot on how to obtain a price-check. Instead, I stormed off to get another rug - one with a scan code so that StupidBi+ch could do her dayum job.

And I did my storming off NotQuietly, getting louder as I went so that my volume was adequately proportionate to the distance that StupidBi+ch was from me. OH SURE I GUESS I'LL JUST TRUDGE ALL THE WAY TO THE BACK OF YOUR STORE (stares from the guys looking at the lighting display) BECAUSE YOU CANNOT SEEM TO MUSTER THE CRANIAL ABILITY TO PICK UP YOUR LITTLE WALKIE TALKIE PHONE DEALIE AND (stares from the poor lady picking out paint samples in the paint department) CALL SOMEONE IN THE FLOORING DEPARTMENT (stares from the 2 guys working in the flooring department - which, incidentally, pissed me off worse to discover that there was more than sufficient staff on duty to have done the price check) TO FIND OUT THE PRICE OF A DAD-GUM FLOOR MAT! AND BY THE WAY IT IS NINE-SOMETHING!

I resisted the urge to pick up all the mats in the stack and haul them up front so that she'd be responsible for having them all hauled back. (Restraint. I do possess it.)

I dropped the everlovin' doormat on her counter on my way out of the door, remarking to MyPoorEmbarrassedDumbfoundedPoolBoy: "pay for it, I'll be in the truck."

I later confided to him that I harbor a deep loathing for stupid people, and this particular week, it meant he needed to keep anyone whose IQ is below mine out of my way.

He said he didn't think that information was a real big secret and besides he can't keep 98.8% of the population away from me.

Then he went and bought me stuff to shut me up. I *heart* him.

The Breakfast Club

Lumps in old school stovetop style Cream of Wheat = good

Lumps in instant Cream of Wheat = sawdust

The Object of My Ridicule O' the Day

She is 40-50 ish, red-brunette hair (can't pinpoint the actual Miss Clairol #, but it is from the box, nonetheless). This chick is WHITE. And wearing shorts and a tank top (God help us - I need my shades) So. Let me just describe for you the tank top and the surrounding body parts to give you an idea about the trainwreck that I am trying to look away from... the seams of her black and white leopard print tank top are being stretched to maximum capacity while she reads what I assume obviously to be the fashion pages of the newspaper. This garment is NOT sufficient to hold in her bra-less size 42 D's, as she keeps tugging at the deep V-neck in a futile attempt to cover up the girls. Completely laughable, but I am containing myself well.

MyPoolBoy nudged me and wanted to know how many cougar bingo spaces I would get. uh... none. Alas, she is not a cougar, just trashy (I am secretly a bit jealous of her brazenly open trashiness). THEN she starts gazing into her tired-looking manfriend/husband's eyes singing along out loud to some 70s folksy sounding song on the radio. He appears to be trying to will her to stop with his indifferent expression.

It's not working.

OK now wait wait wait ... I just got distracted by a woman at the table next to her with a broken arm who just chugged her (I guess) pain pills straight from the prescription bottle before taking a swig of coffee. Oh hayul yes! She just did it AGAIN!!!!!!!!!

I'm so easily amused...

Eel-ated Fishermen?

This fish story was sent to me by Bi+chslap, who was forwarding it to me from her husband with the message that it sounded like my blog (I'm guessing he was thinking of the Bubba and the Skunk story). It starts out mundanely enough. Once you start reading past the photo, though, you will probably have beverages exit your nostrils.

http://seabreezenews.com/issue/Page_01c.pdf

Dear Middle School Cheerleaders

I have a few points of advice on cheer choice I would like to share with you -

1) The "Defense /clap clap/ Defense /clap clap/" cheer doesn't go over real well if we have the ball. Here's an idea: WATCH THE GAME!!!!!!!!!!!!!

2) Two Bits. Limit it to once per game, please. Unlike you, who has the energy level of an ADHD howler monkey hopped up on Mountain Dew, most of us in the stands are old and we just got off of work. We really don't feel like "standing up and hollering" too many times.

3) R-O-W-D-I-E is actually NOT the way to spelling "rowdy." Your English teacher should be shot for letting such ignorance loose on the unsuspecting masses. By yelling this gross misspelling at the top of your lungs, you are further perpetuating the decline of literacy in our country. At the very least get a dictionary prior to going ahead with any more "cheertastic" ideas for cheers, ok?

The Way to a Man's Heart is Kool-Aid and a Push-Up Bra

"It's dramatic, but less ghetto..."

More Pop Video

First of all the poor S.O.B. has THREE BEERS in front of him to allow these girls to do this to him.

The retching and screaming OH MY GOD! and describing the smell that the girls do in the background only adds to the disgustingness of it all.

Princess of the World

Ok. So there is this contest on the site for that 2012/end of the world movie to give you the chance to become the honorary leader of the leftover world if, in fact, the world ends in 2012. Just so you know, I am entered. To celebrate, I drank a bottle of wine and ran around the house screaming at MyPoolBoy and Lurch and Chunk that I was the Princess of the Leftover World and they had to do what I say. Decided to have a "White House" only paint it pink when I came into power. Made plans to go to Sherwin Williams to find the perfect lovely shade of ballet pink to accomplish this task. Announced that the national bird will be a flamingo. Told them all to start addressing me as "Your Highness" to be in practice for when the big day comes. Sang 1/2 of "Jessie's Girl" at the top of my lungs before proclaiming it my national anthem. MyPoolBoy said he is going to study where the asteroid is going to hit because he wants to be at Ground Zero to avoid living in a world with me in charge.

Told them all matter-of-factly "Y'all are no fun, and I'm gonna make you stand in the corner of the Oval Office." Then I passed out.

Y'all should totally vote for me if you survive the apocalypse....

The Sure-to-Be-Infamous TMI Post (Seriously - TMI, People - You Have Been Warned)

Woke up this morning and had to shi+ like 3 times. Told MyPoolBoy that if I, in fact, did shi+ myself to death my dying wish was for him to flush it, pull my britches up, and drag my body into the bedroom and make it look like a heart attack or something.

WTP Gift Idea

Somebody that truly loves me should seriously buy me this. I've also seen ones that you plug into the USB of your computer...

Pole Dance Doll

Da Bomb

Today they posted in my classroom an FBI bomb threat checklist presumably to use as a reference in the event that a "bomb threatener" calls me while I am in the midst of molding the young minds of America. No shi+.

It includes a list of questions to ask the caller, numbered in the order to ask them, and in their "raw" state...by raw state I mean they contain typos and grammatical errors. None of the questions address the issue of getting fair warning for comfortable shoes rather than the spike heels I suffered with during our last bomb threat. Duckit and I want to know if we don't make it through all the questions will we get in trouble? (Please, sir, I really need you to calm down and answer each of my questions - we may be being monitored for quality assurance.)

The second part lists voice characteristics to check off....I like to think of these as "character traits" (h3ll, I can turn anything into a TAKS lesson!), lisps and stuttering and accents -- then later on down you are supposed to evaluate the voice's tone such as loud, angry, and incoherent. I'm just guessing that if the bomb threatener had a lisp AND stuttered AND had an accent we could check the incoherent box!!!!!!!!!! (Perhaps there should be a separate form for the lisping, stuttering, incoherent threatener with an accent to be referred for Speech and/or ESL assistance.)

Then we noticed we are supposed to record time -- Wait! Mr. Bomb Threatener!!! I need to go get my fluency timer. Can you repeat that at an acceptable rate with expression and accuracy so I can record it???? I'm thinking 118 words correct per minute -- it's what 3rd graders have to read... I can evaluate that pretty accurately.

Also -- while we are timing this and asking the guy 20 questions and marking off his voice qualities, we are also supposed to listen for and record background noises. Crockery. wtf????? Pottery? Excuse me sir, is that crockery I hear smashing in the background of your threat or is it merely ceramicware?????

WAIT!!!!!!!! Is it BINGO???? We see how many of the boxes we can check off if a bomb threatener calls us. Will we win a prize???? Will it be a lovely set of crockery ??????

I keep telling the Lucilles that strippers have a much less stressful work environment. Duckit finally agrees. She said she bets no strippers are having to keep bomb threat phone log documentation.

OMG ESL PMS TFLN LOL

Well. This is a long post, but very enlightening. The day started normally enough. I went to breakfast as usual for a Saturday at the bakery with MyPoolBoy. Then I drank FOUR cups of coffee. I guess I was trying to fill the void I felt from lack of studying with some caffeine. See, I had to go take the ESL teacher certification test yesterday and let's just say it did not go well. I started off jittery (could it possibly have been from all that java?) and, as I later discovered, PMSing. So by the time we drove to the BigCity and spent 30 minutes looking for the place, MyPoolBoy yelling at me because we were lost, I was not in a testing mood. Ran in to find what room I was supposed to be in and then dashed like mad for the nearest bathroom, as my bladder and kidneys were sufficiently caffeinated for a rhinoceros. Came out and reported to MyPoolBoy (who I was still mad at for yelling at me right before a test) that my urine smelled like coffee and frustration.

Went and took the test in a room whose air conditioning unit was sucking all the electricity in the western hemisphere because it ran CONSTANTLY and must have been set on about 35 degrees. DownUnder was there -- she was nervous -- said that she was just considering it her "trial run." 9 questions into the test, I found crap that I had never heard of before. Confidence levels, already shot from being yelled at, went to an all-time low by question 21 when I discovered more shi+ that was not covered in the training academy. Question 26 was something we were told we didn't have to worry about, this was ESL, not bilingual, blah blah blah --- guess they were wrong. I was ok with it, but I was expecting to see DownUnder have an episode that would get her removed from the facility and cause her test scores to be voided without refund.

In all, I counted 7 questions that were not covered in the training or in the training materials/manual. I knew 4 of them just because I know some Spanish and I teach Language Arts. But I was pissed off. And I was freezing. I had taken a sweater, but I was STILL LITERALLY SHIVERING, sitting cross-legged with my feet tucked up under my legs to keep my toes from getting frostbite.

Finished 70 questions in less than 90 minutes. Changed about 25 answers 3 times. Left feeling less confident than I ever have about a test. Wow. Mediocrity sucks.

Met MyPoolBoy at the truck and instructed him that I needed alcohol -- STAT! Went to an Olive Garden and began by ordering a glass of chianti and stuffed mushrooms. Then I figured it would be a good idea to text some of the Lucilles and my new teaching partner, Duckit (there is a whole story here that I will have to explain later). Here's what I discovered on my phone this morning:

(5:33 pm - Me) Done with esl test. Exam was administered in a meat locker. Core body temp fell to nearly debilitating low. Will continue in next text. (first glass of chianti was gone at this point)
(5:38 pm - Duckit) 2 bad u didn't freeze nto a popsicle stick we could make a documentary about the trials & tribulations of exemplary teachrs (there's a story with the popsicle stick, too -- lord I'm behind on blogging!)
(5:41 pm - Me) Pt. 2 - fat bi+ch administering exam did not care that i had frostbite. 10 --wtf there's no percent sign-- of the stuff we did not cover in training.
(5:45 pm - Duckit) Probably field ?s no worries if i passd so shall u grab a coffee on your way home 2 thaw out (here she is still sweetly and naively responding to each of my texts, silly girl! I laughed at the coffee suggestion - partly because I was NOT drinking coffee, and also because I was just starting to get my urinary tract to end its quest to visit every restroom on the east side of the BigCity)
(5:50 pm - Me) Pt. 3 - i'm screwed. Glass #2 of chianti has arrived at my table. Im warmer and i don't give a shi+. Oh well All i get are psycho students, not esl anyway (punctuation and capitalization rules are clearly beyond my grasp by glass #2)
(6:07 pm - Me) Pt. 4 - if i get arrested at olive garden 4 public intox i can just sit it out cuz i have 49.5 days of state leave. TeachingPartner, ur blog name is gonna b Duckit! (I now have lapsed into full-blown middle school cheerleader texting mode)
(6:10 pm - Bi+chslap) Im sure u/it will b fine enjoy wine & food & as da mob would say foget about it
(6:13 pm - Me) Pt. 5 - (the second glass of chianti is gone) MyPoolBoy won't carry me out of olive garden - Duckit, rustill in the BigCity to come get me? (notice I have now added lack of spacing to my phone text error repertoire)
(then we went across the street so MyPoolBoy could shop for tools and I found a thrift store!)
(6:17 pm - Me) Am now ddrunk shopping at a thrift store. This shi+ is not in dress code. Felix the bra sniffer guy is not here today (note the double d in drunk -- loss of keystroke control!)
(6:18 pm - Duckit) I thought of alcohol it would warm u up but im not one 2 push people towards drnkng please dont get arrestd...
(6:19 pm - Me) this was a picture mail, inspired by a Crayola Crayon maker. I had decided that my friends needed to see the first thing I saw that was interesting to my drunken self. The message read: Pt. 7? Who wants it?
(6:21 pm - Felix) What is it and how much
(6:23 pm - Baloney) What the heck is it WTP you are my saturday night entertainment its this or watch the little league world series
(6:24 pm - Me) Crayola maker 5 bucks
(6:24 pm - Felix) Buy it
(6:25 pm - Me) no message, just a photo of the infamous sniffed black bras
(6:25 pm - Felix) no
(6:25 pm - Duckit) I vote u buy it we r actually home but heading 2 school now would be a good time 2 leave a Packmule Trail (omg I have to explain THIS one too!) u can always blame it on the alcohol
(6:36 pm - Me) another picture mail - this was where I went all Vogue on them and began a fashion shoot in the dressing room stall. I was wearing leopard print pants, a brown camisole with FUR around the bustline, a white fur hat, and leopard print platform heel shoes that I couldn't get in the shot. Duckit later told me that she thought I was in the men's restroom!
(6:37 pm - Felix) omg
(6:38 pm - Bi+chslap) what the h3ll is on ur head
(6:38 pm - Me) picture of the shoes
(6:39 pm - Felix) double omg
(6:43 pm - Me) I probably now have lice from putting that hat on but who cares? I have 49.5 state days
(7:09 pm - Duckit) U look cougarlicious

Cougarlicious. I love her.