It looks as if Ninja Truck has met his doom. He went to the new mechanic yesterday, and after lots of looking and talking and a few tears on my part, I have decided that I just can't risk fixing him and having him possibly let me down again.
This is not a happy day. But more because the girls came home from school with lice. This means hours of combing and washing and laundry and I don't really even know what else because I can't even think about it right now. I soaked both their heads in vinegar, then again in olive oil, then wrapped them up in plastic wrap. They are actually pretty adorable, but I am completely overwhelmed.
After one dose of olive oil, I started combing through Madilynn's hair, just a few strands at a time. I realized that the first round hadn't worked and had to start over. I poured it all over their heads. They are going to have some shiny hair when this is all over with. And also really great shoulder skin, if olive oil is good for skin. If not, then really bad shoulder skin.
After the plastic wrap turbans were in place, the olive oil began to seep out all over their faces and down their backs. I just told the girls to put socks on and now they are walking wood floor polishers.
My mom made the late-night Walmart trip for me to secure tiny combs, bug spray, and whatever else you can use in a war with tiny bugs. I'm glad she did, because my girls' plastic beehive 'dos would have garnered more attention that I probably need right now.
They are excited because they got to stay up late, play hair all night, and they get to skip school tomorrow. Not shockingly, Warrick managed to develop a stomach ache as soon as staying home from school was mentioned. After all the trouble I got into last year with sick kids, that school isn't sending my kids back home without a doctor's note.
The search is on for a new truck, yo. We aren't going to name this one until we buy it this time, guys...I completely ran out of names for the last truck. What I want y'all to do is to start thinking of a really good name for my truck (and don't be all lame about it, ok?) It's probably going to be another Suburban, if I can afford it. Otherwise, it'll be a Scooby van, in which case we are SO calling it the Mystery Machine. But if I get the Suburban, you guys have to help me think of a name. We can vote and everything, yo. It'll be fun.
Showing posts with label things that make me stabby. Show all posts
Showing posts with label things that make me stabby. Show all posts
Aug 30, 2011
Aug 25, 2011
Westboro and Train Horns and other Thursday Stuff
Today some friends of ours buried their cousin, a young man with a family who died serving our country. The Westboro Baptist Church cult decided to show up in our town for the second time in the last month. This is not cool with us.
My little sister and I, along with a friend, drove by with my dad's truck, and there may or may not have been some train horn usage. We may or may not have made Westboro popcorn.
We joined a line of people leading up to the church who stood outside and waved their flags in support of this soldier and his family and friends. We got to see a lot of cool stuff, including these guys:
You can't tell from the picture, but there were about five or six of these, plus a few smaller ones. Very cool. These guys and the Patriot Guard are my new favorite people.
After that, I went home to get ready for class, and Shucks was freaking out. He was telling me that there was a member of the WBC in my backyard. I thought that was crazy, because how can popcorn follow you home? But he insisted, so I went to check, and sure enough....right in the middle of my backyard...............
May 19, 2011
A New Deal
I was going to take a break from writing until school is out, because honestly. But I had to come back to start a new campaign.
I have witnessed atrocities over the last week that are so unbelievable that I can't believe these things are still going on in our country. Young men and women who are desperately looking for a job are promised hundreds of dollars for a few hours' work every evening. They are expected to do hard physical labor with little rest and no complaining.
At the end of their work day, they are put before a committee of bored, wealthy individuals and berated for every mistake they have made. They are then put on trial for every mistake their fellow employees make, and even blamed for things that have gone wrong in the committee members' personal lives. The committee then docks their pay, many times until there isn't a single dollar left, for all issues -- real or perceived, and tells them to come back the next day and try again.
The young men and women are the people who work in the service industry in our country, and the committee members are the self-righteous idiots whom they serve. I watched a lady literally scream at a server for bringing too much food to the table. I see people set dollars at the table and dramatically remove one every time their server doesn't guess exactly what's going on in their tiny little brains. I seen men complain to managers about their service in order to get a free meal, then brag about it to their friends as the waitress is getting fired in the background.
I've seen tables of twenty people keep a server running back and forth to the bar to bring hundreds of dollars' worth of beer, and then suddenly run out of money at tip time. I've seen people sit at a table and complain about the rude people at work ruining their day while they simultaneously allow a human being to wait on them hand and foot without so much as a thank you.
When you are out to dinner, don't be an asshole. If you need something, you wait until all the stuff in your server's hands is set on the table before you expect her to get you anything else. You ask for everything you need at once, so she doesn't have to run back and forth for you. If you need a second thing, you freaking apologize for being inconsiderate, and ask nicely for the thing you forgot. If your food is cooked wrong or you don't like it, remember that the person bringing it to you is rarely the same person responsible for making it taste good.
And if you break any rule of etiquette, you can get out your little food journal and go ahead and note that you probably just ate spaghetti with spit-sauce. Ask your personal trainer (if you even speak to him) how many lunges you need to do in order to work off the extra floor-dirt that got mixed into your steak seasoning. Find out what diseases your waitstaff may have and have yourself tested for anything that can be transferred through ice or pickles or licking your spoon after you sent it back because it had a scratch on it. And know that anything "extra" you may have been served was absolutely deserved.
Grow up, people.
And if you see someone abusing their server, stand up and say something.
I have witnessed atrocities over the last week that are so unbelievable that I can't believe these things are still going on in our country. Young men and women who are desperately looking for a job are promised hundreds of dollars for a few hours' work every evening. They are expected to do hard physical labor with little rest and no complaining.
At the end of their work day, they are put before a committee of bored, wealthy individuals and berated for every mistake they have made. They are then put on trial for every mistake their fellow employees make, and even blamed for things that have gone wrong in the committee members' personal lives. The committee then docks their pay, many times until there isn't a single dollar left, for all issues -- real or perceived, and tells them to come back the next day and try again.
The young men and women are the people who work in the service industry in our country, and the committee members are the self-righteous idiots whom they serve. I watched a lady literally scream at a server for bringing too much food to the table. I see people set dollars at the table and dramatically remove one every time their server doesn't guess exactly what's going on in their tiny little brains. I seen men complain to managers about their service in order to get a free meal, then brag about it to their friends as the waitress is getting fired in the background.
I've seen tables of twenty people keep a server running back and forth to the bar to bring hundreds of dollars' worth of beer, and then suddenly run out of money at tip time. I've seen people sit at a table and complain about the rude people at work ruining their day while they simultaneously allow a human being to wait on them hand and foot without so much as a thank you.
When you are out to dinner, don't be an asshole. If you need something, you wait until all the stuff in your server's hands is set on the table before you expect her to get you anything else. You ask for everything you need at once, so she doesn't have to run back and forth for you. If you need a second thing, you freaking apologize for being inconsiderate, and ask nicely for the thing you forgot. If your food is cooked wrong or you don't like it, remember that the person bringing it to you is rarely the same person responsible for making it taste good.
And if you break any rule of etiquette, you can get out your little food journal and go ahead and note that you probably just ate spaghetti with spit-sauce. Ask your personal trainer (if you even speak to him) how many lunges you need to do in order to work off the extra floor-dirt that got mixed into your steak seasoning. Find out what diseases your waitstaff may have and have yourself tested for anything that can be transferred through ice or pickles or licking your spoon after you sent it back because it had a scratch on it. And know that anything "extra" you may have been served was absolutely deserved.
Grow up, people.
And if you see someone abusing their server, stand up and say something.
May 10, 2011
Not Sure What this is About
I thought yesterday was scary, but today beat it. I got into a little argument with someone who I do my best not to fight with, and I don't ever want to do that again. But I probably will.
Comes with the circumstances, I guess.
I also finished all my work for the rest of the year at school, so I get to spend the next four weeks doing the All Important Sitting in a Chair to finish the semester, or else I will get suspended. It makes sense, really. They are trying to prepare us for the workplace, and as of yet, I am the only student who hasn't figured out how to waste an entire day on Facebook and hide it from the boss. This, I hear, is an important corporate skill.
:::sigh::: almost there....almost there....
The kids are excited for the end of homework and waking up early, which, hell yeah! I can't wait, either. It looks like we're going to spend the summer converting Ninja Truck into a water-powered vehicle. Or can cars go on screams? Because when the kids are in the car, there is always a surplus of screaming. Or maybe hair. Donovan always gets out of the car with a fist full of hair he pulled out of one of the girls' heads. Anyway, something more inexpensively replenishable, is my point.
My roses are blooming. The first time I saw my house, there was this beautiful rose bush covering the fence, and it was a large part of my falling in love with the place. It quit blooming the week we moved in, and I have feared for its life ever since. I am no green thumb, and can kill plants just by association. Anyway, it looks like it'll be in full bloom by tomorrow, just in time for tornadoes, so I'll try to snap a pic before the flowers blow away.
And I think that is all for today. Except this piece of advice: never fight with your mother-in-law on the same day you have to get groceries. It makes you all stabby.
Comes with the circumstances, I guess.
I also finished all my work for the rest of the year at school, so I get to spend the next four weeks doing the All Important Sitting in a Chair to finish the semester, or else I will get suspended. It makes sense, really. They are trying to prepare us for the workplace, and as of yet, I am the only student who hasn't figured out how to waste an entire day on Facebook and hide it from the boss. This, I hear, is an important corporate skill.
:::sigh::: almost there....almost there....
The kids are excited for the end of homework and waking up early, which, hell yeah! I can't wait, either. It looks like we're going to spend the summer converting Ninja Truck into a water-powered vehicle. Or can cars go on screams? Because when the kids are in the car, there is always a surplus of screaming. Or maybe hair. Donovan always gets out of the car with a fist full of hair he pulled out of one of the girls' heads. Anyway, something more inexpensively replenishable, is my point.
My roses are blooming. The first time I saw my house, there was this beautiful rose bush covering the fence, and it was a large part of my falling in love with the place. It quit blooming the week we moved in, and I have feared for its life ever since. I am no green thumb, and can kill plants just by association. Anyway, it looks like it'll be in full bloom by tomorrow, just in time for tornadoes, so I'll try to snap a pic before the flowers blow away.
And I think that is all for today. Except this piece of advice: never fight with your mother-in-law on the same day you have to get groceries. It makes you all stabby.
Apr 19, 2011
potpourri
Yesterday kicked my bootay, which is kind of pathetic, because nothing really went wrong. It was just an alarmingly long day, and I had to go to the bank, and I hate my bank so much that I don't even want to have to go there to mess with closing my account, so I just avoid going there until my debit card quits working. I went to put more money in the account, which apparently takes 45 minutes. You would think people who work in a bank would have a lot of experience taking money and would be a little bit more fast about it, but they're not.
We are also going on week eight (I think) of the ex being in the hospital, which really sucks because the kids aren't understanding why they can't talk to their dad, and why they can't go see their other grandparents, and in all honesty, there just aren't answers for those questions. Do you know how exhausting it is to have to answer questions for which there are no answers? Because if there's one thing kids can do really well and without stopping, it isn't chores or homework but it is definitely asking question.
Also, it seems that I have finished all of my easy courses at school, and now I have to do a bunch of hard stuff. I am working on corporate accounting, two words that can make someone fall over from tedium by merely being in the same sentence together.
I don't like corporations, yo. Not because of the evil empire take over the world thing, but mostly because they require a lot of counting and stuff.
This is why I can't seem to write more often. When I sit down, I am suddenly tempted to Google "calculating amortization on 20% of the premium on bonds payable" just to see if it's actually a "thing" or if it's a trick. Because seriously, does that sound like a thing? And does it really seem like something I should know how to do? I say never retire bonds early -- make the world a better place for the people who have to count everything.
We are also going on week eight (I think) of the ex being in the hospital, which really sucks because the kids aren't understanding why they can't talk to their dad, and why they can't go see their other grandparents, and in all honesty, there just aren't answers for those questions. Do you know how exhausting it is to have to answer questions for which there are no answers? Because if there's one thing kids can do really well and without stopping, it isn't chores or homework but it is definitely asking question.
Also, it seems that I have finished all of my easy courses at school, and now I have to do a bunch of hard stuff. I am working on corporate accounting, two words that can make someone fall over from tedium by merely being in the same sentence together.
I don't like corporations, yo. Not because of the evil empire take over the world thing, but mostly because they require a lot of counting and stuff.
This is why I can't seem to write more often. When I sit down, I am suddenly tempted to Google "calculating amortization on 20% of the premium on bonds payable" just to see if it's actually a "thing" or if it's a trick. Because seriously, does that sound like a thing? And does it really seem like something I should know how to do? I say never retire bonds early -- make the world a better place for the people who have to count everything.
Feb 26, 2011
It started out as a post, then turned into I can't think straight
Our family has had a rough couple of days. I have spent quite a few hours trying to write about it, but Interwebz, I just can't do it! Instead, I'll throw it in my book, and you can read this....
Police, Field Trips, and Why Emma gets Left at School from Now On...
I took the kids to the police station today on the way home from school. I thought this would be a great way to break up the screaming/fighting/murdering that goes on in the back seat all the way home, and also be a chance for the kids to learn something. We all piled out of the car, went inside and sat in the lobby.
Officer: Ma'am, can I help you with something?
Me: :::looks closely at the officer::: Prolly not...got any big scary officers back there we can talk to?
Officer: Is there something you need help with?
Me: Yes, but I just don't think you're quite the right public servant...I need someone scary.
Officer: Ma'am, I'm not sure what you think you're doing, but if you are here for a reason, you can tell me about it and I will direct you to the right person.
Me: Well, my kids were trying to kill each other on the way home from school. After my ears started bleeding and I was tempted to just get out and let my fourth grader take the wheel, I decided to bring them here.
Officer: We don't arrest children.
Me: :::puppy face::: pwwweeeease????
Officer: :::sighs::: I think you need to leave.
Me: Wait! I've seen those talk shows where you guys get a big scary officer and have him yell at the bad kids until they cry and then they change their ways and their moms are so happy and relaxed after that...can I get some of that?
Officer: This isn't a drive-through.
Me: Aren't you a public servant? Well....I'm part of the public, right? So fix my kid, I order thee!
Officer: Ma'am, if I have to go get a big scary officer, he will be coming after you, not the kids.
Me: Oh. :::sad face:::
Officer: :::taps foot:::
Me: Ok, wait, I have one more question...
Officer: ...
Me: Oh, well, uh, see, my daughter Emma? She screams all the way home, and she's like, unnaturally loud. I thought maybe you could give her a job? Help her work out some of her frustrations? She's four, but she's very precocious.
Officer: A job?
Me: ....yes?
Officer: Are you serious?
Me: yes?
Officer: You want your four year old little girl to be a police officer? I'm calling CPS...
Me: No! :::grabs the phone from him and hangs it up::: :::chuckles::: Of course not! I thought she could be a siren.
Officer: A...siren?
Me: Yeah, like the thing that makes all the noise when you need people to get out of the way? She's good at that. When we left the school today, we didn't have to worry about traffic because she was pulling people over all the way here.
Officer: Are you talking about (my kids' school) right when it got out? Because we did have an emergency in that area, and there was a minivan that would not get out of the officer's way. Would that have been you?
Me: No, I saw that van, it wasn't me. I was in the van who pulled that officer over because even he thought I was an emergency vehicle.
Officer: You need to go. Now.
Me: So, we'll just get back to you on the job...? No?
Police, Field Trips, and Why Emma gets Left at School from Now On...
I took the kids to the police station today on the way home from school. I thought this would be a great way to break up the screaming/fighting/murdering that goes on in the back seat all the way home, and also be a chance for the kids to learn something. We all piled out of the car, went inside and sat in the lobby.
Officer: Ma'am, can I help you with something?
Me: :::looks closely at the officer::: Prolly not...got any big scary officers back there we can talk to?
Officer: Is there something you need help with?
Me: Yes, but I just don't think you're quite the right public servant...I need someone scary.
Officer: Ma'am, I'm not sure what you think you're doing, but if you are here for a reason, you can tell me about it and I will direct you to the right person.
Me: Well, my kids were trying to kill each other on the way home from school. After my ears started bleeding and I was tempted to just get out and let my fourth grader take the wheel, I decided to bring them here.
Officer: We don't arrest children.
Me: :::puppy face::: pwwweeeease????
Officer: :::sighs::: I think you need to leave.
Me: Wait! I've seen those talk shows where you guys get a big scary officer and have him yell at the bad kids until they cry and then they change their ways and their moms are so happy and relaxed after that...can I get some of that?
Officer: This isn't a drive-through.
Me: Aren't you a public servant? Well....I'm part of the public, right? So fix my kid, I order thee!
Officer: Ma'am, if I have to go get a big scary officer, he will be coming after you, not the kids.
Me: Oh. :::sad face:::
Officer: :::taps foot:::
Me: Ok, wait, I have one more question...
Officer: ...
Me: Oh, well, uh, see, my daughter Emma? She screams all the way home, and she's like, unnaturally loud. I thought maybe you could give her a job? Help her work out some of her frustrations? She's four, but she's very precocious.
Officer: A job?
Me: ....yes?
Officer: Are you serious?
Me: yes?
Officer: You want your four year old little girl to be a police officer? I'm calling CPS...
Me: No! :::grabs the phone from him and hangs it up::: :::chuckles::: Of course not! I thought she could be a siren.
Officer: A...siren?
Me: Yeah, like the thing that makes all the noise when you need people to get out of the way? She's good at that. When we left the school today, we didn't have to worry about traffic because she was pulling people over all the way here.
Officer: Are you talking about (my kids' school) right when it got out? Because we did have an emergency in that area, and there was a minivan that would not get out of the officer's way. Would that have been you?
Me: No, I saw that van, it wasn't me. I was in the van who pulled that officer over because even he thought I was an emergency vehicle.
Officer: You need to go. Now.
Me: So, we'll just get back to you on the job...? No?
Nov 18, 2010
Dear Electric Company
To Whom it May Concern (probably nobody):
I have been dealing with you for quite a few years, now. I believe the two of us have reached an impasse and should part ways. However, this is impossible until I am able to build my windmill and solar panels. Therefore, I am writing to you to address some of the issues we have had in the past. I realize that you do not care that I am unhappy with you as I have less of a chance of leaving this relationship than I do of remembering to pay my bill on time. But lets face it, neither one of those things is going to happen.
I realize that I forgot to pay you, even after you sent me the notice on the pretty colored paper. I had to put cash into my account so that I could call a payment in, but the problem lies in the fact that I also had to take all six of my children to the grocery store that same day. This lasted from the minute school got out that afternoon until after my kids' bedtime that evening, which meant that dinner and homework were done around midnight and the kids finally fell asleep just as our alarms were going off the next morning. Somehow, in all of this shuffle, I forgot to give you a call. I sincerely apologize.
When I came home yesterday ten minutes before your offices closed to find my power out, I was not impressed. I had just been listening to the weather man say that the temperatures would be in the twenties over night, and there was no way I could keep all the kids warm in that house with no power. Yet, still, I know I am to blame because I did forget to call you.
I just have one question. You see, over the last few years, due to my inability to pay you on time, you have cut off my power numerous times to demand more of a deposit. You are currently in possession of over two thousand of my dollars. Dollars that could buy me a truck so that I have something to drive every day, but instead, are sitting in your pocket earning me one dollar a month in interest. While I appreciate you storing my dollars for me, I would like them back before you cut off my power again, please. It doesn't make sense to me that you can cut the power when my bill is just over one hundred dollars. Essentially, you own me two thousand dollars, and I'm the one crammed into a hotel room with six screaming children. Somehow, this doesn't seem fair.
Does this have to do with the time I flipped you off for cutting my power and then telling me you were too far away (ten feet from my house) to turn it back on again? Because I thought we were over that after I sent you another five hundred dollars to add to my deposit. But if that is why you hate me, please tell me what I can do about it. Feel free to come to my house and I will point all my other fingers at you until the one finger is cancelled out. Maybe you would like to come over for Thanksgiving or Christmas? We could be like family. Only, half the time, I don't have electricity for those holidays, either, because hell, it's a stressful time and rife with opportunities for forgetting to pay you.
That brings me to my final issue, and frankly, the only fault I will admit to having where you are concerned. I just can't bring myself to pay you on time. I don't have a problem paying my other bills, it's only you, Electric Company. And it's because I don't like you. If I had a million dollars in my account and a check all written out in a stamped envelope sitting right in my lap as I went to the mailbox, I wouldn't put it in. Because I have a mental block when it comes to paying you and I'm pretty sure it's because of the things you have put me through over the years.
So in order to work toward a better relationship with you, because I just don't see a way to move on to greener pastures, I propose the following:
1. I will go to therapy and try to work past my electricity issues so that I can actually pay you on time.
2. You don't turn off my power until I am the one who owes you money and not the other way around. OR, you can just send me all but five hundred dollars of my deposit back and I can promise you I can find a good use for it.
Thank you, I look forward to a better future for both of us.
MannyRee
I have been dealing with you for quite a few years, now. I believe the two of us have reached an impasse and should part ways. However, this is impossible until I am able to build my windmill and solar panels. Therefore, I am writing to you to address some of the issues we have had in the past. I realize that you do not care that I am unhappy with you as I have less of a chance of leaving this relationship than I do of remembering to pay my bill on time. But lets face it, neither one of those things is going to happen.
I realize that I forgot to pay you, even after you sent me the notice on the pretty colored paper. I had to put cash into my account so that I could call a payment in, but the problem lies in the fact that I also had to take all six of my children to the grocery store that same day. This lasted from the minute school got out that afternoon until after my kids' bedtime that evening, which meant that dinner and homework were done around midnight and the kids finally fell asleep just as our alarms were going off the next morning. Somehow, in all of this shuffle, I forgot to give you a call. I sincerely apologize.
When I came home yesterday ten minutes before your offices closed to find my power out, I was not impressed. I had just been listening to the weather man say that the temperatures would be in the twenties over night, and there was no way I could keep all the kids warm in that house with no power. Yet, still, I know I am to blame because I did forget to call you.
I just have one question. You see, over the last few years, due to my inability to pay you on time, you have cut off my power numerous times to demand more of a deposit. You are currently in possession of over two thousand of my dollars. Dollars that could buy me a truck so that I have something to drive every day, but instead, are sitting in your pocket earning me one dollar a month in interest. While I appreciate you storing my dollars for me, I would like them back before you cut off my power again, please. It doesn't make sense to me that you can cut the power when my bill is just over one hundred dollars. Essentially, you own me two thousand dollars, and I'm the one crammed into a hotel room with six screaming children. Somehow, this doesn't seem fair.
Does this have to do with the time I flipped you off for cutting my power and then telling me you were too far away (ten feet from my house) to turn it back on again? Because I thought we were over that after I sent you another five hundred dollars to add to my deposit. But if that is why you hate me, please tell me what I can do about it. Feel free to come to my house and I will point all my other fingers at you until the one finger is cancelled out. Maybe you would like to come over for Thanksgiving or Christmas? We could be like family. Only, half the time, I don't have electricity for those holidays, either, because hell, it's a stressful time and rife with opportunities for forgetting to pay you.
That brings me to my final issue, and frankly, the only fault I will admit to having where you are concerned. I just can't bring myself to pay you on time. I don't have a problem paying my other bills, it's only you, Electric Company. And it's because I don't like you. If I had a million dollars in my account and a check all written out in a stamped envelope sitting right in my lap as I went to the mailbox, I wouldn't put it in. Because I have a mental block when it comes to paying you and I'm pretty sure it's because of the things you have put me through over the years.
So in order to work toward a better relationship with you, because I just don't see a way to move on to greener pastures, I propose the following:
1. I will go to therapy and try to work past my electricity issues so that I can actually pay you on time.
2. You don't turn off my power until I am the one who owes you money and not the other way around. OR, you can just send me all but five hundred dollars of my deposit back and I can promise you I can find a good use for it.
Thank you, I look forward to a better future for both of us.
MannyRee
Nov 16, 2010
Doin all the Right Things Wrong
Today I learned that I completely suck at not being perfect. Yes, that is what I learned, and yes, it makes sense.
I got a Bad Grade. And the fact that I am telling you, Interwebz, just shows what leaps of character I have made in my life over the last six hours, because when the teacher talked to me about it, I was gonna' punch her.
Well, I was going to punch her after I figured out how I could blame it on somebody else. See, the last couple low grades I got I was able to blame on DHS and stuff. This time, I don't really have much going on as far as stress, so I couldn't blame it on anyone else. Which sucks. Ya' know, because that means it was just me. Me? Yup...I'm still coming to terms with it.
After I decided not to punch anyone, the teacher laughed at me because she knew I was pissed, which, is it ever smart to laugh at the pissed person? I don't think so, but she's the boss, so I didn't yell at her or anything. She said "I knew you'd hate this. Um...did you read the book?" I'm all "Yes, I read the book....ok, well, no I didn't read the book. Because it was boring. Also, I already know how to do this. And also, the book was really, really boring." She laughed some more. I'm not sure why my demise was so funny to her.
As it turns out, I made corrections too early. Yes, I was supposed to pretend like I didn't see the mistakes and make all corrections later. So, since I made the corrections early, pretty much everything was off except for the final total. Which meant I only got about forty percent of it right. OR....I got a hundred percent of it right and the stupid book people messed it all up from the beginning...I'm not sure. Ok, well, had I read the book, I would have known that I was supposed to pretend like I didn't see the mistakes, which makes it all my mistake. There, I'll admit it. Psh.
I need a beer.
Anyway, My grade was bad. Very, very bad. I hate that. Especially because it got averaged in with all of my non-sucky grades and muddied up the water. Rude grade. That grade was an a-hole.
Luckily, my teacher is the opposite of an a-hole, so she's letting me do it over the "right" way. Psh again. Also, I have to read the stupid boring book. Grrr....even though I got a hundred percent on the test without reading it, I still have to read it. Actually, I'm not going to read it. That'll show 'em. I don't know who "them" are, but they shall be shown.
I also missed more points on all that Excel BS because I didn't bold some things. Really? Here, lemme show you. Would you like your titles to look like this:
NOT BOLD
or like this:
BOLD
Here's the deal...I like the bolded better, too, but I was copying off of a sheet of paper (not cheating, that was the assignment) and it was hard to tell if it was bold or not. The teacher couldn't even tell and had to pull up my document on the computer to check the format and see if I pressed bold or not. Yet, I have to do it over, because no, I did not press the freakin bold button. Grrrrrrrr....
She said "If your boss gives you a spreadsheet to recreate, and you miss something like this, you would be chewed out for it." I'm all "Really? That is the kind of job I'm training for? Because in my world, if my boss gives me a spreadsheet to recreate, I am going to ask him why the hell he didn't hit the little save button instead of having a stroke over my not hitting the bold button. But whatever, I'll go back and hit bold if it's going to make everyone happy."
Summing up today, I hate being wrong, I hate reading the boring book, and I hate the bold button.
I got a Bad Grade. And the fact that I am telling you, Interwebz, just shows what leaps of character I have made in my life over the last six hours, because when the teacher talked to me about it, I was gonna' punch her.
Well, I was going to punch her after I figured out how I could blame it on somebody else. See, the last couple low grades I got I was able to blame on DHS and stuff. This time, I don't really have much going on as far as stress, so I couldn't blame it on anyone else. Which sucks. Ya' know, because that means it was just me. Me? Yup...I'm still coming to terms with it.
After I decided not to punch anyone, the teacher laughed at me because she knew I was pissed, which, is it ever smart to laugh at the pissed person? I don't think so, but she's the boss, so I didn't yell at her or anything. She said "I knew you'd hate this. Um...did you read the book?" I'm all "Yes, I read the book....ok, well, no I didn't read the book. Because it was boring. Also, I already know how to do this. And also, the book was really, really boring." She laughed some more. I'm not sure why my demise was so funny to her.
As it turns out, I made corrections too early. Yes, I was supposed to pretend like I didn't see the mistakes and make all corrections later. So, since I made the corrections early, pretty much everything was off except for the final total. Which meant I only got about forty percent of it right. OR....I got a hundred percent of it right and the stupid book people messed it all up from the beginning...I'm not sure. Ok, well, had I read the book, I would have known that I was supposed to pretend like I didn't see the mistakes, which makes it all my mistake. There, I'll admit it. Psh.
I need a beer.
Anyway, My grade was bad. Very, very bad. I hate that. Especially because it got averaged in with all of my non-sucky grades and muddied up the water. Rude grade. That grade was an a-hole.
Luckily, my teacher is the opposite of an a-hole, so she's letting me do it over the "right" way. Psh again. Also, I have to read the stupid boring book. Grrr....even though I got a hundred percent on the test without reading it, I still have to read it. Actually, I'm not going to read it. That'll show 'em. I don't know who "them" are, but they shall be shown.
I also missed more points on all that Excel BS because I didn't bold some things. Really? Here, lemme show you. Would you like your titles to look like this:
NOT BOLD
or like this:
BOLD
Here's the deal...I like the bolded better, too, but I was copying off of a sheet of paper (not cheating, that was the assignment) and it was hard to tell if it was bold or not. The teacher couldn't even tell and had to pull up my document on the computer to check the format and see if I pressed bold or not. Yet, I have to do it over, because no, I did not press the freakin bold button. Grrrrrrrr....
She said "If your boss gives you a spreadsheet to recreate, and you miss something like this, you would be chewed out for it." I'm all "Really? That is the kind of job I'm training for? Because in my world, if my boss gives me a spreadsheet to recreate, I am going to ask him why the hell he didn't hit the little save button instead of having a stroke over my not hitting the bold button. But whatever, I'll go back and hit bold if it's going to make everyone happy."
Summing up today, I hate being wrong, I hate reading the boring book, and I hate the bold button.
Oct 24, 2010
New Priorities
Due to the fact that the last six years have finally caught up with me, I took the weekend off and spent some time reorganizing my life.
I had to fix my priorities...
They are:
1. Don't die.
2. Don't kill anyone else.
3. Don't do stupid shit.
That's as far as I got, because so far, I haven't had time to get to number three since maybe 2004, so until I do, there is absolutely nothing else going on my priority list. Here is a list of things that will go on my list if and when I am ever not overwhelmed with numbers one through two:
Answering my cell phone.
Teaching my kids different things about manners or whatever, how to tie their shoes, and what their middle names are.
Fixing up my house too look all pretty instead of like the place where we live for two hours a day.
Cooking a real dinner.
Planning ahead for anything.
Worrying about who is pissed at me.
Worrying about why they are pissed at me.
Pretty much anything that people think I should be doing, and also I know I should be doing, will be going on the list just as soon as I can freakin handle it, mmkay?
Until then, please refrain from telling me what I should do, or even telling me what would help me get through this, because my schedule is literally crammed up for a long time with not dying.
Here are some rules I have given myself in order to reserve more time for surviving:
1. I will not answer my phone after ten pm. If you want to talk to me, please do it at a decent hour. If I want to talk to you, I will call you whenever it is convenient for me.
2. I will not care who gets mad that they see my post on Facebook after I don't answer my phone.
3. I will not explain past this blog that Facebook helps me fall asleep, but phone calls wake me up.
4. I will not say yes to any social event that I cannot handle.
5. I will learn to say no and not feel like I have to spend hours phrasing the perfect "here's why I can't."
6 . I will print out my daily schedule onto little cards that I can pass out to anyone who wants to bitch at me for anything.
7. I will quit saying everything I think out loud, and will try to keep it all on this very private blog where nobody will ever have to hear about it.
I had to fix my priorities...
They are:
1. Don't die.
2. Don't kill anyone else.
3. Don't do stupid shit.
That's as far as I got, because so far, I haven't had time to get to number three since maybe 2004, so until I do, there is absolutely nothing else going on my priority list. Here is a list of things that will go on my list if and when I am ever not overwhelmed with numbers one through two:
Answering my cell phone.
Teaching my kids different things about manners or whatever, how to tie their shoes, and what their middle names are.
Fixing up my house too look all pretty instead of like the place where we live for two hours a day.
Cooking a real dinner.
Planning ahead for anything.
Worrying about who is pissed at me.
Worrying about why they are pissed at me.
Pretty much anything that people think I should be doing, and also I know I should be doing, will be going on the list just as soon as I can freakin handle it, mmkay?
Until then, please refrain from telling me what I should do, or even telling me what would help me get through this, because my schedule is literally crammed up for a long time with not dying.
Here are some rules I have given myself in order to reserve more time for surviving:
1. I will not answer my phone after ten pm. If you want to talk to me, please do it at a decent hour. If I want to talk to you, I will call you whenever it is convenient for me.
2. I will not care who gets mad that they see my post on Facebook after I don't answer my phone.
3. I will not explain past this blog that Facebook helps me fall asleep, but phone calls wake me up.
4. I will not say yes to any social event that I cannot handle.
5. I will learn to say no and not feel like I have to spend hours phrasing the perfect "here's why I can't."
6 . I will print out my daily schedule onto little cards that I can pass out to anyone who wants to bitch at me for anything.
7. I will quit saying everything I think out loud, and will try to keep it all on this very private blog where nobody will ever have to hear about it.
Sep 27, 2010
Kiss Off, OTA
Dear Turnpike Coin Machine,
As much as I have enjoyed our twice daily visits, I am afraid they must come to an end. You are a liar and a cheat, and I will not be used by you anymore.
Many a time I have sat in line waiting while you hold up one car after another, flirting with them, asking them for more and more of their change while you tease them and make them think they're going to win your green light, but ever flashing only red while they search for more silver change under their floor mats, because you are too good for copper change, and they covet that green light so.
So I wait, knowing that you save your green light only for me. I smile at you as I pull up, knowing that I have the exact change you want, and that your green light will surely be mine forever. I expertly toss my one quarter in your bucket, along with the dime that you began asking for last year. I have to admit, I hate you a little for that dime, but I sacrifice for you, my darling, because I want to move forward, and this is the only path I know to take. There is a part of me that despises you for knowing that I will give you whatever coins you ask of me, for knowing that you have all the control in our relationship and that, even if you asked me to drop diamonds in your bucket, I would do it, because I have to get to class on time.
I drop in the coins, and wait for what I know will come -- your green light. But you don't give it to me. Instead, you mock me with red, just as you did all the cars before me. You ask for more and more from me, but you're not getting it anymore, baby. After all, you're only a little machine perched on the side of the road. You can't hurt me. You can't even talk. I am through with your pitiful cries for more, more, more. I am through with accidentally dropping my last quarter on the ground, and trying to decide if I want to search for it or just throw in pennies and hope you don't notice the difference. It makes me sick every time I finally get the green light, only to be fooled by your non-stop "road construction", which consists not so much of constructing anything as it does orange cones, a lowered speed limit, one less lane and twenty men eating lunch. If I had only known that you were nothing but a lunch stop for men who drive big un-nameable equipment, I would never have given you my love or my quarters or my dimes, even.
So, I'm through with you, Turnpike. You are dead to me. I have seen what you are and it's not pretty. You will never trap me into giving my coins to you again. Until tomorrow when I have to get to class.
But for tonight, it's over. Forever. Till tomorrow.
As much as I have enjoyed our twice daily visits, I am afraid they must come to an end. You are a liar and a cheat, and I will not be used by you anymore.
Many a time I have sat in line waiting while you hold up one car after another, flirting with them, asking them for more and more of their change while you tease them and make them think they're going to win your green light, but ever flashing only red while they search for more silver change under their floor mats, because you are too good for copper change, and they covet that green light so.
So I wait, knowing that you save your green light only for me. I smile at you as I pull up, knowing that I have the exact change you want, and that your green light will surely be mine forever. I expertly toss my one quarter in your bucket, along with the dime that you began asking for last year. I have to admit, I hate you a little for that dime, but I sacrifice for you, my darling, because I want to move forward, and this is the only path I know to take. There is a part of me that despises you for knowing that I will give you whatever coins you ask of me, for knowing that you have all the control in our relationship and that, even if you asked me to drop diamonds in your bucket, I would do it, because I have to get to class on time.
I drop in the coins, and wait for what I know will come -- your green light. But you don't give it to me. Instead, you mock me with red, just as you did all the cars before me. You ask for more and more from me, but you're not getting it anymore, baby. After all, you're only a little machine perched on the side of the road. You can't hurt me. You can't even talk. I am through with your pitiful cries for more, more, more. I am through with accidentally dropping my last quarter on the ground, and trying to decide if I want to search for it or just throw in pennies and hope you don't notice the difference. It makes me sick every time I finally get the green light, only to be fooled by your non-stop "road construction", which consists not so much of constructing anything as it does orange cones, a lowered speed limit, one less lane and twenty men eating lunch. If I had only known that you were nothing but a lunch stop for men who drive big un-nameable equipment, I would never have given you my love or my quarters or my dimes, even.
So, I'm through with you, Turnpike. You are dead to me. I have seen what you are and it's not pretty. You will never trap me into giving my coins to you again. Until tomorrow when I have to get to class.
But for tonight, it's over. Forever. Till tomorrow.
Sep 10, 2010
I am *not* going to use this blog to slam my ex...
Even though I have been harrassed all day. Even though I didn't get anything done today because I was dealing with "issues". Even though I am exhausted and need to sleep, but I won't be able to...I'm not going to do it, ok?
So stop. asking. me. Because it's very tempting.
Stop.
I mean it.
Ok, I'll make you a deal. Tomorrow, I will tell you the story, and I have a feeling it's going to get more interesting in the next ten minutes, so I'll just tell you the whole thing all at once, ok? Tomorrow, though.
So, glad that's over with. It's now nearly two in the morning, and I am way too tired to write anything. I would like to thank my merry band of rednecks for always being ready to come screaming into my driveway in their purty pickups. Because, really, my life is incomplete without this.
I should also thank Donovan for locking my keys in my car tonight, along with my ciggies and my LAST SODA. Dude. Because if that hadn't happend, I wouldn't have been able to...well, actually, I'm a little upset about that. See, I was going for a silver lining there, but it didn't happen. Surely the effort counts for something, though, right?
Also? I was really needing this weekend to happen, and now it looks like it won't. So, to whoever screwed that up, the rednecks are coming after you next, because that just wasn't cool, yo. I gosta' have my Saturdays or I get all murdery.
So stop. asking. me. Because it's very tempting.
Stop.
I mean it.
Ok, I'll make you a deal. Tomorrow, I will tell you the story, and I have a feeling it's going to get more interesting in the next ten minutes, so I'll just tell you the whole thing all at once, ok? Tomorrow, though.
So, glad that's over with. It's now nearly two in the morning, and I am way too tired to write anything. I would like to thank my merry band of rednecks for always being ready to come screaming into my driveway in their purty pickups. Because, really, my life is incomplete without this.
I should also thank Donovan for locking my keys in my car tonight, along with my ciggies and my LAST SODA. Dude. Because if that hadn't happend, I wouldn't have been able to...well, actually, I'm a little upset about that. See, I was going for a silver lining there, but it didn't happen. Surely the effort counts for something, though, right?
Also? I was really needing this weekend to happen, and now it looks like it won't. So, to whoever screwed that up, the rednecks are coming after you next, because that just wasn't cool, yo. I gosta' have my Saturdays or I get all murdery.
Sep 2, 2010
How to deal with awkward situations...
My advice on how to deal with awkward situations...because you didn't ask, but I know you wanted to.
#1. TMI Chick. The person who tells you something way too personal or awful within the first few minutes of meeting them. This is one of my pet peeves. I usually like people when I first meet them, and when I don't, I usually find something to like about them the second time I see them. But when people do this to me, they get an automatic probation for at least six months before I will even consider liking them again. Have you ever had this conversation:
Me: Hi, I'm Mandy, nice to meet you.
TMI Chick: Hi. I'm TMI. Aww...is this your dog? What's his name?
Me: Yes, his name is Shucks
TMI: I love dogs. My sister has two who live with me now.
Me: Oh, that's cool. I love dogs, too.
TMI: Yeah. She died. My sister, I mean, died last month and I have to watch her dogs.
Me: Oh, no, I'm so sorry.
TMI: It's ok. My mom and Dad were killed last year, and I'm the last person in our family, and I had a hysterectomy so I guess it all ends with me. *sigh* :::looks at me questioningly as if I might be able to fix this situation:::
Me: Oh, uh...that's too bad...
TMI: ...
Me: ...so...well, I guess I better go...get some beer. Really nice meeting you, though!
Not that this isn't a sad story, but c'mon! This is less than one minute of conversation! What are you supposed to say to this?
Solution: Always carry a drink. If someone you just met mentions death, surgery or AA, hurry and swallow a chunk of ice. You need to choke a little so that your eyes water and you turn all red, then wave your hand like you'll be right back after you clear up your little "problem". Avoid running into TMI from then on.
#2. The Trapper. The person who catches you at a party and tries to hold you hostage. I never sit in one place at a party. I pretty much time my conversations, and if they last longer than five minutes, it's time to move on. I don't do this to be rude, but mostly because I rarely go anywhere without my kids, and if I don't check on them every five minutes, they're bound to be doing something terrible.
At every party, there are known "talkers", and most of us know who to avoid. But sometimes, people just turn into Trappers out of the blue. They are like predators, cutting you away from the rest of the crowd, trapping you in a corner, and standing directly in front of you, teeth bared, daring you to try to get away before they've finished talking your ears off. No amount of subtle hinting or body language works on these people.
Solution: First rule, never sit down. If you're sitting, you're very vulnerable, and you'll be eaten alive. If you sit down and get Trapped, don't come crying to me, because I warned you already. Second, if you are innocently standing and mingling, and you still get caught, you'll have to sacrifice a friend. You wait until you make eye contact with someone (anyone), and call their name loudly and wave them over to you. You have to be very aggressive about this, because if they can pretend they didn't hear you, they will, because they know exactly what you're doing. Say "Hey, Buddy! Have you met Trapper? He was just telling about blah, blah, blah, and it reminded me of when you blah, blah, blah...hey, I'll be right back, I'm gonna' go get us some drinks!" Then run like the hell and don't come back. (Don't sacrifice a buddy you really wanna' keep -- trust me on this.)
#3. The Proximity Person. These are people you don't know, yet are forced to chat with because of proximity, such as on the elevator, standing in line, or in a waiting room. Elevators seem to cause the most anxiety, because you're all at eye level and in a few small square feet of space, and you have no control over when you may exit.
I try to say hi when I get on an elevator, because I find it rude when I'm the first one, then someone else gets on and ignores me. I was there first, so it's like it's my elevator, which pretty much means the same thing as my house, and you don't just walk into someones home without saying hi, right? But after hi, there isn't really much else to say. If I have my kids with me, I just look at them and smile, like "isn't this exciting??? We're on an ELEVATOR, kids!!!" It worked for awhile, but now they're older, and they're all "Mom, shut up." So, yeah, that kinda sucks.
Solution: First, say hi, like I said. If there are ten people on the elevator, look them in the eye and say hello to each of them individually. If the mood seems right, go ahead and shake their hands or even hug them. Occasionally, even a little kiss would be appropriate, but never any tongue unless you've been together for three or more floors. At this point, clothing is optional and you should be throwing winks at the security camera, because you know the guys who watch that video all day have to be pretty bored. If the people on the elevator are all people you don't want to be that friendly with, you should immediately push the button for every floor between the current one and your ultimate destination, so that you have a possible escape every few seconds in case anyone tries to make out with you or say anything besides hi.
These are tried and true methods of coping with awkward people, but they aren't fool-proof. If you find yourself in a situation you simply cannot escape, then look to the experts for advice:
Old People: Old people don't care what anyone thinks about them, and they have no problem just saying they are done and walking away. If you aren't this bold, you could also try sudden incontinence.
Babies: Babies use incontinence, as well. Again, if that's not your thing, puking on someone is a sure-fire way to get rid of them.
My three year old niece: When she feels awkward, she does one of two things, and I think we grownups should adopt both of these as a way to deal with these kinds of situations...
Hook the sides of your mouth with your fingers and pull. You may stick your tongue out if it feels right to you.
Also, raspberries. Like, the kind with your mouth, not the kind you eat. It works like magic for my niece.
#1. TMI Chick. The person who tells you something way too personal or awful within the first few minutes of meeting them. This is one of my pet peeves. I usually like people when I first meet them, and when I don't, I usually find something to like about them the second time I see them. But when people do this to me, they get an automatic probation for at least six months before I will even consider liking them again. Have you ever had this conversation:
Me: Hi, I'm Mandy, nice to meet you.
TMI Chick: Hi. I'm TMI. Aww...is this your dog? What's his name?
Me: Yes, his name is Shucks
TMI: I love dogs. My sister has two who live with me now.
Me: Oh, that's cool. I love dogs, too.
TMI: Yeah. She died. My sister, I mean, died last month and I have to watch her dogs.
Me: Oh, no, I'm so sorry.
TMI: It's ok. My mom and Dad were killed last year, and I'm the last person in our family, and I had a hysterectomy so I guess it all ends with me. *sigh* :::looks at me questioningly as if I might be able to fix this situation:::
Me: Oh, uh...that's too bad...
TMI: ...
Me: ...so...well, I guess I better go...get some beer. Really nice meeting you, though!
Not that this isn't a sad story, but c'mon! This is less than one minute of conversation! What are you supposed to say to this?
Solution: Always carry a drink. If someone you just met mentions death, surgery or AA, hurry and swallow a chunk of ice. You need to choke a little so that your eyes water and you turn all red, then wave your hand like you'll be right back after you clear up your little "problem". Avoid running into TMI from then on.
#2. The Trapper. The person who catches you at a party and tries to hold you hostage. I never sit in one place at a party. I pretty much time my conversations, and if they last longer than five minutes, it's time to move on. I don't do this to be rude, but mostly because I rarely go anywhere without my kids, and if I don't check on them every five minutes, they're bound to be doing something terrible.
At every party, there are known "talkers", and most of us know who to avoid. But sometimes, people just turn into Trappers out of the blue. They are like predators, cutting you away from the rest of the crowd, trapping you in a corner, and standing directly in front of you, teeth bared, daring you to try to get away before they've finished talking your ears off. No amount of subtle hinting or body language works on these people.
Solution: First rule, never sit down. If you're sitting, you're very vulnerable, and you'll be eaten alive. If you sit down and get Trapped, don't come crying to me, because I warned you already. Second, if you are innocently standing and mingling, and you still get caught, you'll have to sacrifice a friend. You wait until you make eye contact with someone (anyone), and call their name loudly and wave them over to you. You have to be very aggressive about this, because if they can pretend they didn't hear you, they will, because they know exactly what you're doing. Say "Hey, Buddy! Have you met Trapper? He was just telling about blah, blah, blah, and it reminded me of when you blah, blah, blah...hey, I'll be right back, I'm gonna' go get us some drinks!" Then run like the hell and don't come back. (Don't sacrifice a buddy you really wanna' keep -- trust me on this.)
#3. The Proximity Person. These are people you don't know, yet are forced to chat with because of proximity, such as on the elevator, standing in line, or in a waiting room. Elevators seem to cause the most anxiety, because you're all at eye level and in a few small square feet of space, and you have no control over when you may exit.
I try to say hi when I get on an elevator, because I find it rude when I'm the first one, then someone else gets on and ignores me. I was there first, so it's like it's my elevator, which pretty much means the same thing as my house, and you don't just walk into someones home without saying hi, right? But after hi, there isn't really much else to say. If I have my kids with me, I just look at them and smile, like "isn't this exciting??? We're on an ELEVATOR, kids!!!" It worked for awhile, but now they're older, and they're all "Mom, shut up." So, yeah, that kinda sucks.
Solution: First, say hi, like I said. If there are ten people on the elevator, look them in the eye and say hello to each of them individually. If the mood seems right, go ahead and shake their hands or even hug them. Occasionally, even a little kiss would be appropriate, but never any tongue unless you've been together for three or more floors. At this point, clothing is optional and you should be throwing winks at the security camera, because you know the guys who watch that video all day have to be pretty bored. If the people on the elevator are all people you don't want to be that friendly with, you should immediately push the button for every floor between the current one and your ultimate destination, so that you have a possible escape every few seconds in case anyone tries to make out with you or say anything besides hi.
These are tried and true methods of coping with awkward people, but they aren't fool-proof. If you find yourself in a situation you simply cannot escape, then look to the experts for advice:
Old People: Old people don't care what anyone thinks about them, and they have no problem just saying they are done and walking away. If you aren't this bold, you could also try sudden incontinence.
Babies: Babies use incontinence, as well. Again, if that's not your thing, puking on someone is a sure-fire way to get rid of them.
My three year old niece: When she feels awkward, she does one of two things, and I think we grownups should adopt both of these as a way to deal with these kinds of situations...
Hook the sides of your mouth with your fingers and pull. You may stick your tongue out if it feels right to you.
Also, raspberries. Like, the kind with your mouth, not the kind you eat. It works like magic for my niece.
Aug 23, 2010
School is an A-Hole
I miss the good old days (before I was alive) when people were just good at stuff and that's what they got paid for. When school was an option. Because I hate school.
I was home sick today, which means that I have to make up the hours I should have been there or I won't get my full grade. Being sick is not an excused absence, even though they ask that you please refrain from germing up the classroom. I'm gonna' try to limp my way through tomorrow so I won't be more behind, but I'm wondering if they'll let me bring my bed.
Also, my kids hate school. They are so intimidated by this huge snobby school they're going to, and I don't really know what to do about it. The oldest wants to go back a grade, because the teacher moves too fast. Is it selfish that I want him to stay where he is because she is my favorite teacher any of them have ever had? Prolly.
The second son loves school, but he's "gifted" (whatever that's supposed to mean), so of course he loves school. It's smart-kid crack for him.
The third son is having fun with his friends, but he's upset that he's not making more friends. Am I wrong for telling him that I don't really want him being friends with those kids anyway? (again, prolly)His best friend is in his class, so he's happy with that, but he's used to being a big fish in a little pond at his old school. He doesn't really know how to handle people not automatically wanting to be his friend. So of course, there must be something wrong with those other kids, because I agree...who doesn't want to be his friend? He's like the coolest kid ever.
My kindergarten daughter doesn't like her teacher and can't ever find her classroom, which is right inside the front door of the school. I'm thinking she gets scared when she goes inside and then forgets what she's doing. She's also not making friends as easily as she did last year. What's wrong with these kids?
The pre-k super-aggressive daughter is doing awesome. She likes it, she tells her teachers what's up, she takes care of her cousin who is in the other pre-k class...she's all over school. She's been very busy writing new curriculum and coming up with better schedules, as a matter of fact. I should let her shadow each of the older kids for a day. She'd beat up anyone who doesn't want to be friends and tell the teachers to slow it down a little. She'd be all over that.
I'm thinking of farming from here on out. Who cares about readin' and 'rithmetic when your kids are being tortured on a daily basis? Not me. I think there's a better way.
I was home sick today, which means that I have to make up the hours I should have been there or I won't get my full grade. Being sick is not an excused absence, even though they ask that you please refrain from germing up the classroom. I'm gonna' try to limp my way through tomorrow so I won't be more behind, but I'm wondering if they'll let me bring my bed.
Also, my kids hate school. They are so intimidated by this huge snobby school they're going to, and I don't really know what to do about it. The oldest wants to go back a grade, because the teacher moves too fast. Is it selfish that I want him to stay where he is because she is my favorite teacher any of them have ever had? Prolly.
The second son loves school, but he's "gifted" (whatever that's supposed to mean), so of course he loves school. It's smart-kid crack for him.
The third son is having fun with his friends, but he's upset that he's not making more friends. Am I wrong for telling him that I don't really want him being friends with those kids anyway? (again, prolly)His best friend is in his class, so he's happy with that, but he's used to being a big fish in a little pond at his old school. He doesn't really know how to handle people not automatically wanting to be his friend. So of course, there must be something wrong with those other kids, because I agree...who doesn't want to be his friend? He's like the coolest kid ever.
My kindergarten daughter doesn't like her teacher and can't ever find her classroom, which is right inside the front door of the school. I'm thinking she gets scared when she goes inside and then forgets what she's doing. She's also not making friends as easily as she did last year. What's wrong with these kids?
The pre-k super-aggressive daughter is doing awesome. She likes it, she tells her teachers what's up, she takes care of her cousin who is in the other pre-k class...she's all over school. She's been very busy writing new curriculum and coming up with better schedules, as a matter of fact. I should let her shadow each of the older kids for a day. She'd beat up anyone who doesn't want to be friends and tell the teachers to slow it down a little. She'd be all over that.
I'm thinking of farming from here on out. Who cares about readin' and 'rithmetic when your kids are being tortured on a daily basis? Not me. I think there's a better way.
Aug 16, 2010
When I Asked You to Stock Me, I Wasn't Serious
First of all, let me tell you that I do know how to spell stalk, but I find it extremely funny that Internet thinks you spell it "stock". So, now that we have that cleared up...
Dear Stalker,
I thought it was weird when you followed me home the other night and did a u-turn as soon as I pulled in my drive. I was slightly concerned when you showed up in my driveway at 5 on a Sunday morning, sat there for a second, then left. But when you didn't come in and stab me or steal my trash, I let it go.
When I saw you creeping down my dead end road last night, after I knew all my neighbors were locked down for the night, I started to worry. When you parked your car behind the trees near my house and turned off your lights, I knew I was right to be a little freaked out. When I saw nothing for a few minutes except for what looked like someone lighting a cigarette, I started to think I was a little full of myself and maybe I just wanted a stalker so badly that I imagined one. But I called my brother anyway. Actually, I called my mom, and said "Send Brother and his gun over, please...don't worry, probably just some kids making out in their car, but just in case."
When my dad, my mom and Brother showed up, and after I attached the dog's leash to my jeans (with the dog on the other end, of course) (because I couldn't let him eat any chickens when I was expecting him to save his appetite for stalkers) and stuck my Giant Killer Super Dangerous Gun in my back pocket, I finally got the nerve to go outside and see who those rascally teenagers were and if they were indeed making out or if they had any pot they wanted to share in exchange for not getting eaten by Shucks. Lo and behold! It wasn't teens at all. I do have a stalker. It's you. Ass.
Let's get this straight. When I asked for stalkers, I only meant to please follow my blog, and, if you're really feeling crazy, comment every once in awhile, because blog comments are like crack for writers. I did not mean to literally show up in the middle of the night, scare me to death and make me invite armed relatives over for a little family reunion. Dude, seriously.
So, stalker, please go home now. Please leave me alone. In case you haven't heard, my dad is crazy and likes to shoot at stuff. Also, Brother is very angry, and I once defended him from Scary Old Dude, so he owes me one. If you happen to get past them, you'll have to deal with My Mom, and she's a pretty bad mama bear when someone messes with her babies. And Shucks hasn't had chicken in a veeeerrrry long time, and also has Death Bark. Last but not least, I'm not dealing with it any more. This is my town, yo. I have surrounded myself with rednecks for a very good reason, and son, you're that reason.
Very Sincerely,
Me
Dear Stalker,
I thought it was weird when you followed me home the other night and did a u-turn as soon as I pulled in my drive. I was slightly concerned when you showed up in my driveway at 5 on a Sunday morning, sat there for a second, then left. But when you didn't come in and stab me or steal my trash, I let it go.
When I saw you creeping down my dead end road last night, after I knew all my neighbors were locked down for the night, I started to worry. When you parked your car behind the trees near my house and turned off your lights, I knew I was right to be a little freaked out. When I saw nothing for a few minutes except for what looked like someone lighting a cigarette, I started to think I was a little full of myself and maybe I just wanted a stalker so badly that I imagined one. But I called my brother anyway. Actually, I called my mom, and said "Send Brother and his gun over, please...don't worry, probably just some kids making out in their car, but just in case."
When my dad, my mom and Brother showed up, and after I attached the dog's leash to my jeans (with the dog on the other end, of course) (because I couldn't let him eat any chickens when I was expecting him to save his appetite for stalkers) and stuck my Giant Killer Super Dangerous Gun in my back pocket, I finally got the nerve to go outside and see who those rascally teenagers were and if they were indeed making out or if they had any pot they wanted to share in exchange for not getting eaten by Shucks. Lo and behold! It wasn't teens at all. I do have a stalker. It's you. Ass.
Let's get this straight. When I asked for stalkers, I only meant to please follow my blog, and, if you're really feeling crazy, comment every once in awhile, because blog comments are like crack for writers. I did not mean to literally show up in the middle of the night, scare me to death and make me invite armed relatives over for a little family reunion. Dude, seriously.
So, stalker, please go home now. Please leave me alone. In case you haven't heard, my dad is crazy and likes to shoot at stuff. Also, Brother is very angry, and I once defended him from Scary Old Dude, so he owes me one. If you happen to get past them, you'll have to deal with My Mom, and she's a pretty bad mama bear when someone messes with her babies. And Shucks hasn't had chicken in a veeeerrrry long time, and also has Death Bark. Last but not least, I'm not dealing with it any more. This is my town, yo. I have surrounded myself with rednecks for a very good reason, and son, you're that reason.
Very Sincerely,
Me
Jul 1, 2010
The Chewing
So, if I had to pick a pet peeve, I think it would be Hearing People Chew. At least, that's what it would be today. Other days it could be Bad Drivers, Gossips, Other Peoples' Kids Screaming, My Kids Screaming, and most of the time it would be Pretty Much Anything My Ex-Friend Greg Does. But today, it's the chewing thing.
I made a Ruling today that no child would be leaving their room until it was clean. I made this Ruling shortly after lunch, before I remembered that I had been up till five in the morning and didn't have the stamina to enforce said Ruling. Most of these situations end after about one hour of my kids screwing around, then two hours of me furiously "showing them how" (read: doing it for them), but not today...I was just too tired. So they stayed in their rooms all day long and didn't get anything done.
How does this tie in with the Chewing Peeve? Hang on, I'm getting there...
Because they weren't allowed out of their rooms, they didn't get anything to eat after lunch AT ALL. But, about an hour after dinner time, I started feeling guilty and let them out for dinner. They were starving, and I made tacos (their favorite).
Most evenings, I cook something fantastic that my children won't eat, and dinner is spent in loud conversation sprinkled with mommy yelling at everyone to eat their food. BUT, when it's something they like, it's a normal dinner with normal conversation...
BUT...
If they are starving, and it's something they like, and I'm too angry and tired to yell about anything, well, that leads to chewing. My daughter made the most massive taco I have ever seen and I was rolling my eyes wondering why she thought she would ever be able to eat that much. Two of her brothers saw it and couldn't be outdone, so they made tacos roughly the size of Texas. I was simmering in my chair, just waiting for the day, nay, the WEEK, to be over and thinking up a good lecture (to be delivered after sleeping) on why we don't put more food on our plates than we can eat. I was wrong. The three who made giant tacos finished them and asked for more. The other three made smaller tacos, but ate way more of them than I could count. But, since they were all starving, there wasn't time for talking or manners....which left....Hearing People Chew. Six people. Six little kids. With only a basic knowledge of manners. Manners that go away when they are starving. I nearly fell over dead. It was awful. If I hadn't had to run to the store before I put them to bed, I would still be sitting in that chair shell-shocked from all the chewing. YUK. I don't ever want tacos again. Maybe next time I will puree them into smoothies and I won't have to deal with the Chewing Thing.
To top it off, I put the stuff away after dinner, but the boys got it back out to make one last snack before heading back to their room. Then, Sweet Puppy came in, climbed onto the table (he's a little new at the whole being-in-the-house thing), knocked over a new bottle of taco sauce and feasted on ground beef and cheese. He's outside, now, because I have no desire to see what sort of disgustingess he manages after a meal like that. Also, he's got taco sauce all over his head.
I made a Ruling today that no child would be leaving their room until it was clean. I made this Ruling shortly after lunch, before I remembered that I had been up till five in the morning and didn't have the stamina to enforce said Ruling. Most of these situations end after about one hour of my kids screwing around, then two hours of me furiously "showing them how" (read: doing it for them), but not today...I was just too tired. So they stayed in their rooms all day long and didn't get anything done.
How does this tie in with the Chewing Peeve? Hang on, I'm getting there...
Because they weren't allowed out of their rooms, they didn't get anything to eat after lunch AT ALL. But, about an hour after dinner time, I started feeling guilty and let them out for dinner. They were starving, and I made tacos (their favorite).
Most evenings, I cook something fantastic that my children won't eat, and dinner is spent in loud conversation sprinkled with mommy yelling at everyone to eat their food. BUT, when it's something they like, it's a normal dinner with normal conversation...
BUT...
If they are starving, and it's something they like, and I'm too angry and tired to yell about anything, well, that leads to chewing. My daughter made the most massive taco I have ever seen and I was rolling my eyes wondering why she thought she would ever be able to eat that much. Two of her brothers saw it and couldn't be outdone, so they made tacos roughly the size of Texas. I was simmering in my chair, just waiting for the day, nay, the WEEK, to be over and thinking up a good lecture (to be delivered after sleeping) on why we don't put more food on our plates than we can eat. I was wrong. The three who made giant tacos finished them and asked for more. The other three made smaller tacos, but ate way more of them than I could count. But, since they were all starving, there wasn't time for talking or manners....which left....Hearing People Chew. Six people. Six little kids. With only a basic knowledge of manners. Manners that go away when they are starving. I nearly fell over dead. It was awful. If I hadn't had to run to the store before I put them to bed, I would still be sitting in that chair shell-shocked from all the chewing. YUK. I don't ever want tacos again. Maybe next time I will puree them into smoothies and I won't have to deal with the Chewing Thing.
To top it off, I put the stuff away after dinner, but the boys got it back out to make one last snack before heading back to their room. Then, Sweet Puppy came in, climbed onto the table (he's a little new at the whole being-in-the-house thing), knocked over a new bottle of taco sauce and feasted on ground beef and cheese. He's outside, now, because I have no desire to see what sort of disgustingess he manages after a meal like that. Also, he's got taco sauce all over his head.
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