2009

Welcome.

Merry Christmas!!!!!!

I'm leaving for Atlanta tomorrow and coming back on the 28th. Ah, time with the family! Thank God for my niece and my brother's two cats. And tranquilizers. Love to you all!

The Weather Outside is Frightful

And frankly I find it delightful...

Some randomness...

It's about 45 degrees and raining. Yes, in Southern California.

Yes Virginia, it also snows here. I looooooooooooooooooove it! (Sorry, V)

I have a head cold. As opposed to those nasty foot colds.

I am about to go to therapy. (C'mon people, it's CALIFORNIA!)

I'm leaving for Atlanta next Tuesday; I dread the flight. I'm hoarding Xanax.
The last flight home from Atlanta SUCKED. I cried during it. Can you tell I hate
flying? I'm just never going to get used to it.

My niece Ella has a cold. She's too tiny to have a cold! I honestly think my cat
Zoe has a cold. Ah, it's that time of year.

I stupidly subscribed to the Sunday L.A. Times and they have been calling me
nonstop ever since. Today I was sleeping, picked up the phone and yelled "Quit
calling me!" I hope they got the message.

I have discovered The Office. The American version. Now don't go and start telling
me how much better the original British version is. I've seen a few episodes of the
original. I think Ricky Gervais is a genius. It's funny. But I'm sorry, I am in deep,
profound LOVE with the American version. I've bought all the DVD's. I have an
extremely unhealthy obsession with John Krasinksi now (he plays Jim). He's too
cute for words. Yes, I know, I'm about three years late on this bandwagon. I have
never laughed so hard at any TV show, except maybe the genius "Arrested Development"
show, which was cancelled because most of America is too stupid to realize great
comedy. I'm surprised The Office even made it. Man, if you have EVER worked in an
office (and I'm so glad I don't anymore - this show reminds me WHY I don't) -
you will just relate to the tedium of office work. Office games? Totally remember them.
Wasting time? I was an expert at it. Sadly the Internet did not exist the last time
I worked in an office which was....drumroll...1991!

Teaching is so much better. When I actually do it. Haven't been working at ALL for the
last couple of weeks. Teachers are amazing going to work. They just want to collect
all the gifts they can before the break. Ha! I should know.

I finished almost all my Christmas cards and will be mailing them today. I am done
with shopping too, praise Jesus.

It's 3:23 p.m. and I still have to get dressed. Is this TMI? Man, I sound pathetic.

I am not going to wear any make-up today. I hope the screaming and fainting will
not be too bad, since I have to go the grocery store. I am so fucking sick of putting on
make-up.

I have lowered my Lyrica dose and am losing weight - hmmm, coincidence? I think
not. I am soooooo tired of fucking around with this medicine, which has started to
cause me all sorts of grief...besides helping me pack on the pounds.

I would desperately like to shave my head, but alas, I am getting my hair dyed and
hightlights done on Monday and I think my stylist might be a bit peeved if I did
that.

My life is so boring now - but after the year I've had, I guess that's a good thing.

Photo: Me, holding my niece Ella last August. This is the reason I fly.

Enjoy The Little Things, For One Day You May
Look Back and Realize They Were the Big Things

Yes, one of my favourite little pithy cliches. As the years go by,
I find more and more truth in this little ditty. Perhaps because my life has taken
turns towards great introspection and stillness that I would not have
experienced had my body not broken down on me so young...I don't know.
Here are some of my favourite "little" things:

1. The sound of my wind chimes on my balcony.

2. My sheets. They're like sleeping on a tiny slice of Heaven.

3. Starbucks black iced tea, unsweetened. Simple, simply delicious.

4. Watching my almost 14 year old cat Zoe in the dark bathroom,
chasing her tail - she thinks no one can see her.

5. Joni Mitchell's "Both Sides Now"

6.The scent of Yankee Candle's Christmas Cookie candles permeating
my apartment

7. The Japanese maples in my complex whose leaves actually change colour
and give me a tiny sense that our seasons are changing

8. The movie "Love Actually"

9. The fact that save for a few smile lines around my eyes, my face is
virtually line/wrinkle free at 41 (and considering some things I've been
through and the crying I've done - it's a miracle. Oh and hell yeah I'm vain!)

10. Listening and watching my niece giggle and laugh - the sweetest
sound on earth

11. Reading my friend's blogs - a not so "little" enjoyment! ;)

12. Deciding which book to read next

13. Students who ask if I can be their regular teacher when I'm subbing
for them

14. Accepting the things I cannot change (wait, this isn't little, this is
HUGE!)

15. A fabulous meal in an outstanding restaurant

16. The sound of autumn leaves crunching under my feet on an
overcast day

17. The perfect martini

18. Laughing at ANYTHING - the kind of laughter that leaves your
stomach aching; the kind that leaves you doubled over in pain and breathless

19. Coming across a van Gogh I've never seen before

20. Any single, unexpected moment of peace and contentment.

Woman's Skeleton, 26 Cats Found in Home

Oh dear oh dear the madness continues
I took a breath and waited for the pregnant pause
None came and chaos theory reigned
Science will out and faith is within
Should I trust my neurons and this mass they're in?
I fear I will depart and my two cats, though loving as they
may be
Will feast on my remains very very happily

So Monday we're told we are in a recession
Breaking news on CNN! Everything has become breaking
news on CNN!

Breaking news! Anderson Cooper burped! Wolf Blitzer
jammed the fax machine! Lou Dobbs' computer has come
crashing down
Talking heads continue to babble on
and Babylon and Sumer or later we'll all be numb
A recession, dear friends, that's old news to me
More like a slight depression - but we dare not say this word
aloud
For to frighten the already frightened masses is absolutely
not allowed
What did dear FDR say? The only thing we have to fear is fear itself
Oh and not being able to pay our bills, feed our children, drive our cars,
get needed medical care or insurance
A few minor inconveniences I'd say
But certainly Obama will save the day!

So now the Three Big Auto Makers
may not be bailed out
I feel for the thousands and thousands of assembly
line workers and all those who will be affected by this
Should we let Detroit go down in flames?
It's not the cars I want but a nice long list of names
The CEO's and the COO's and the fat greedy pigs in their
corporate jets
The ones who will cash out with millions - oh they'll be set
The Gordon Gekko's of the world should pay
But alas there is no justice on this blue speck in the universe
No matter what Congressmen do or say

The astronauts have landed
The dead are counted in Mumbai
The terrorists keep working
on new ways for us to die

Wall Street, a rollercoaster, means nothing to me
I've nothing invested in stocks - just CD's
48 days left for President Bush - the lamest of lame
ducks
The saddest leader in the free world
A massive failure on a monumental scale
My hatred for this man has turned to sadness and regret
For the 4,000 + soldiers dead in an unnecessary war
I can't count the number of Iraqi dead - collateral damage
I've been informed by the press
Who needs names or numbers or statistics

When Wal-Mart's Black Friday deals are a deathly good steal
Thousands of consumers line up in the night
Shatter the doors and trample a man to death
I hope your 48" big screen is something to assuage you
Was it YOUR feet pounding on his face, his chest, his arms and legs
As he struggled to breathe and no doubt tried to beg
for mercy, for help, which never came
I hope your cameras and DVD players
fill the hole in your soul
You all have blood on your hands
And I wonder, I wonder, I wonder in despair
What kind of world do we live in
where life is expendable and responsibility is a stranger
to masses of greedy shells of human beings
do not care, do not care, do not care about one dead
34 year-old Wal-Mart worker
After all, he was a foreigner, he worked at Wal-Mart
how necessary was he?
Collateral damage beneath the Christmas tree.

People Who Need to Go Away NOW

1. Miley Cyrus - Reserve a space in rehab now sweetie

2. The Jonas Brothers - a truly fugly trinity

3. Robert Pattinson (get a comb for Christ's sakes!) and anyone even slightly associated with that Twilight vampire crap

4. Britney Spears and all her fucking melodrama

5. Everyone from "The Hills" (why can't they all fall off a big steep one for Christ's sake)

6. Zac Efron and his High School Musical #24 buddies

7) Amy Winehouse - This chick's had more 'reactions to medication' (read: drug overdoses)
than a petrie dish in a pharmaceutical lab

8) Suri Cruise - Fucking creepy child. Why is everyone so obsessed with this child?

9) Brad, Angelina and their United Nations family - Stop trying to save the world and over-populate it with children at the same time

10) Jennifer Aniston - Boo hoo. What Angelina did was very uncool. Now get the fuck over it.

and finally...

11) Madonna - I've been waiting for this one to disappear for 25 fucking years!

Sad

Last night my sister-in-law's mother Judy died. She suffered from pulmonary fibrosis (I think) for several years. I really don't know exactly what happened; she lived in Atlanta and her son Michael was with her. My brother has not filled me in on all the details; I just got a call early this morning that she'd died. We just saw her last month at Ella's first birthday. Mike (her son) had just come back to Atlanta from Portland about 6 weeks ago so I'm glad he got to see his mom.

My heart breaks for Mary, my sister-in-law because she lost her dad to pancreatic cancer in her 20's and of course, has struggled with having a seriously premature baby (my precious niece Ella) and now this. Judy was only 70. I say 'only' because today, people are living longer and in my warped mind (from having so many family members live well into their 80's and 90's) I think that is too young to go.

But I am not God right? Anyway, I'm very sad and sad for Ella, who only has one grandmother, (no grandfathers alive either) and sad for Mary, who was quite close with her mom. I wish I was religious, or had faith or believed in SOMETHING because right now I feel very hollow and nihilistic about life. Honestly, why couldn't I have been born with a brain that didn't question everything. It sucks.

I am posting a picture of Judy and Ella, taken last month at Ella's birthday party in Atlanta. Oh, Ella is wearing a helmet - she has had to wear this because in the NICU her head was flattened out and misshapen a bit from lying on one side a lot. The helmet makes her look like she's a little football player. She's (hopefully) getting it off later this month. Anyway, RIP Judy.

P.S. I have NO FUCKING IDEA why the first two words in this blog are so tiny. I've tried to fix them over and over. Sorry.

four things about me


A) 4 places that I go over and over:
work, therapy, bookstores, mom's house

B) 4 people who email me regularly:
mom, Jill, Cheri, Viagra ads

C) 4 of my favorite places to eat:
this Mexican restaurant in my hometown, The Polo Lounge, Brent's Deli, Souplantation

D) 4 places I would rather be:
in bed; Tuscany; London; on the Eurostar going to Paris


E) 4 people I think will respond:
no one - hahahahaha!


F) 4 TV shows I watch:
Fringe; House; Sons of Anarchy; Project Runway (although it just ended)

The Ruins of September

For the victims of September 11, 2001: dead and living

What great ruins now sleep eternally
on the broken ground of this gray city
Like souls prostrate in mighty grief
In all the world, black disbelief

Human eyes will never again see
the views to Heaven once conceived
in man's own mind
a three pound universe
the same which brought these giants down
tis now the view of Hell unbound

Who were the men, the hands indeed
that set in stone
the hopes, the dreams
birthed by Rome in concrete, stone

Of greatness built to Gods and men
and leveled in seconds by Hell's condemned
A city keens for fallen friends
Yet bent, not broken, in the final end.

Some Bizarre (and Not So Bizarre?) Things I'm Scared Of

1. Ending a sentence with a preposition. Yes, damn my 7th grade English teacher all to HELL - I still remember having this rule beat into me daily during first period. (When I wasn't sneaking around trying to read my V.C. Andrews' books - God, was my mother aware I was reading about incest at age 12? Crikey.)

2. Being run over by a train - Ok, well, this probably doesn't strike you as terribly bizarre on the face of it - I mean, who in their right mind wants to be run over by a train? (Not counting those who've decided to pick one of the surest fire ways to end their lives and idiots who always think they can beat the fucking train - hey, it's like the house in Vegas morons - it's gonna beat YOU - every stinkin' time!) But seriously folks. There's a train that runs right through the middle of my town. God I sound like I live in Iowa. Anyway, luckily it does run on tracks. You know, it allows the Metro to go through, and the Amtrak, and those ten mile uglier-than shit cargo carrying trains. The kind you want to run alongside...the wind in your hair on a hot summer's day while you jump inside an empty car just to meet a friendly but slightly tipsy hobo named Jeb...oh wait that only happens in the movies. Back to my fear of trains. Ok, so today as I approach the tracks, the lights are flashing and those wooden/metal bar thingies are coming down - you know THE WARNING SIGNS that a train is coming. Alls well and good. I see the bars, I see the lights, I hear the bells (it sounds like a much better and more pharmaceutically induced experience than it was.)...I stop. The Metro whizzes past. The lights stop, the bells stop, the bars raise, and I....slowly drive across the tracks LOOKING BOTH WAYS! Why? Because I am mental and I am utterly and positively convinced there is a PHANTOM TRAIN that is going to appear at the last second and mow me down so fast I'll be at the Gates with St. Peter before I even know I went over the tracks.

WTF? I do this even when no train has passed by in hours. I see the tracks. All is quiet. No bells or flashing lights. And yet....and yet...I have to look both ways. HAVE TO. I think a part of me is convinced my car is going either get stuck on the tracks, or stop on the tracks, and I won't be able to get out and a train will come. That and I've seen way too many episodes of The Twilight Zone AND read way too much Stephen King. I admit it. Plus my car has 130,000 miles on it and a lot of people die on train tracks in the larger environs of where I live - in the BIG city.

3. Pool drains. Do you KNOW how hard this is for me to admit? So stop fucking laughing and saying "Pool drains?" out loud in that holier-than -thou unbelieving sarcastic voice of yours. Shut it! DO NOT and I really mean that, or I wouldn't have used caps, do not ask me where I got this fear from. I've no idea. To my knowledge and that of my mother from whose bosom I never nursed (this probably explains it all - she didn't LIKE the idea of breast feeding back in the late 60's, heh) I have never had a bad experience with a pool drain. No, my hair never got stuck in one. No, not a finger either. No, when I was but a wee thing just learning the pool ropes, my swimming coach didn't take me from "Let's blow bubbles in the water" down to the inky depths of the 8' deep pool and push my little angelic face into the drain. So I DO NOT KNOW what happened. And just so you don't get confused, it's only swimming pool drains. Jacuzzis, spas, kitchen sinks, bathtubs, showers - I'm totally fine with those.

So you must be wondering - how does she express this fear? Well, I don't assholes! Do you think I want everyone at the hotel thinking I'm a raving lunatic? I can swim to save my life but that's about it. I'm no Michael Phelps. (I can eat like him however - people were soooooooooo impressed with his breakfasts and I'm like YAWN. Pass me another short stack will ya?). Oh and as long as we're on the topic of pools, even though I can swim only marginally better than an infant, I am however really, really fucking good at treading water though so if you ever want to have a contest at that, let me know. Because I. will. kick. your. ass. And I'll do it WHILE I'm treading water. People just don't realize the talents I have.

No, seriously, in order to appear normal and 'pass' in swimming pools all over the United States (sniff, sob) and the great humid insect colony of Hawai'i, I just swim happily across the deep end (where drains are normally placed) and pray to GOD, JESUS, BUDDHA, ALLAH and any angels, fairies or kittens that might be listening to let me pass over that fucking evil drain without it: 1) Sucking me down 2) Causing me to drown for no apparent reason or 3) sending Satan's hands up to tickle my toes - I mean grab my feet and start eating me from the bottom up. I also try to have as many cocktails as possible from the poolside bar before getting in the water. Kids, don't try this at home.

I really don't know what it is. But I hate pool drains, I always have, and I always will. Just thinking about them is getting me nervous. I don't know why more people don't think they're inherently evil. I can't be that batty can I? Don't answer that.

4. As long we're in the vicinity of water...yes, I am afraid of the ocean. And no, not just the ocean off the Santa Monica Beach because I'm afraid of all the shit and piss and poisons and toxins in it. Though I don't ever go swimming there precisely because of that. No, I'm terrified of any ocean I can't see through. Humid Hawai'i is usually OK for a while. Clear waters are good; dark waters = no go. No go, no way, no how. I may walk into the water up to my ankles, but that's it so stop fucking pressuring me! Unless you're willing to take me to the Maldives where I will happily immerse my entire body in its crystral -clear healing waters alllll day and then sleep deeply in my beachfront cabana at night.

I am somewhat convinced that this fear developed after my genius parents allowed me to see "Jaws" in 1975. Apparently I thought it was so cool, the next year I went to Universal Studios for my birthday and saw their version of "Jaws" (rubbery, not convincing at all) where everybody tried to do their best Roy Scheider (God rest his 1970's movie rocking soul) impersonation by saying "We're gonna need a bigger boat." Haha. I laughed! No, I didn't. I was a child you idiots. I didn't get witty movie references back then! But now I understand. Oh sweet mother of Mary (that'd be Ann for those of you not up on your Christian ancestry)...Roy, Robert Vaughn (RIP) and yes you too Richard Dreyfus - we are indeed gonna need a bigger boat. Because the only way you're getting me in the ocean past my ankles is by putting my on a cruise liner. Preferably Royal Caribbean because that's the one I took to go to Alaska and that was a damn fine ship. The Renaissance of the Seas or some such crap. Anyway. So yeah, any piece of flotsam or jetsam that happens to even look at my ankles in the ocean - I start screaming and running down the beach in mortal terror. And I try not to yell "shark" - the lifeguards don't like it too much when I do that.

5) Being locked up in an old prison cell and left to die. Surely you're thinking, "She can't be serious. How likely is this to happen to her?" Well geniuses, look at the title of this blog again. It doesn't read "The Things I am Scared of That Are Highly Unlikely to EVER Happen to Me." And anyway, have you BEEN to Alcatraz, suckers? Do you KNOW how spooky it is on that island? Do you know how windy and cold it is? Wear a fucking parka I tell you! Especially for the boat ride over. Mark Twain was right about San Francisco. Colder than a witch's tit in summer. Don't shiver all yer timbers off and then come crying to me. I warned you! (What the hell are 'timbers' anyway?)

Alas, I digress. I gotta say whenever "Escape From Alcatraz" comes on TV, I must shamefully admit I am ROOTING for Clint and his posse to get the hell off that island. Of course I pretty much always root for Clint no matter what he's doing. Especially if he has a gun. Go Dirty Harry! :) Anyway, I'm not rooting for him because he had to dig a giant hole with a spoon or papier -mache his own face while looking pretty hot and sexy doing it. I am rooting for those men, those rapists and baby killers because not only were they in prison (wait, isn't that where rapists and baby killers should be? See how TV has messed me up?), they had to brave the icy, jet black waters of the San Francisco Bay! I mean anyone able to do that probably deserves their freedom. No, seriously, I'm sure they all drowned or perished from fear when a dolphin tried to get a little too close and their coronary arteries just started exploding one after another. Ok, I admit. I only had this fear once, when I went to Alcatraz in 1993. But that doesn't make it any less bizarre or any less valid. Everybody wants to walk into one of those old, dilapidated prison cells. "Hey Ted, look, I'm a prisoner! Take a picture Bertha, so all the folks at home can howl over this at the family reunion." Uh no. Not me. I was convinced my own BROTHER was going to slam the door on me, lock it and run laughing down the corridor...the corridor where suddenly all tourists had vanished. Needless to say, unless I plan to go back there, this fear doesn't keep me up too many nights, but it's bizarre so I thought I'd mention it.

6) Clowns. Is this considered bizarre or have enough of us finally come out of the closet about the goddamned clowns? Mom, Dad...no, they were NOT funny or cute. They scared the shit out of me and apparently many other clown-scarred people out there as well. WHY DID YOU LAUGH AT MY TEARS?? That would've saved you at LEAST three years of therapy. Future mothers and fathers of America - and the world - keep YOUR CHILDREN AWAY FROM THE CLOWNS! Take your child to the circuses at your own risk. I also blame Stephen King AGAIN for just reminding me how very, very much I HATE clowns and am terrified of their child-eating grins when he wrote the book "It" and then some assholes made it into a movie and yes I read the book and saw the clown in the movie and don't go blaming me. Blame a fucking clown! Those idiots on their unicycles and their dumb-ass horns - beep- beep- aren't we funny? Big shoes and flowers coming out of our sleeves, hahahahaa! ALL THE WHILE...the clown community sat roasting small children on a large rotating spit far off in the distance...miles from the circus tent or carny trailers. Sure you never SAW IT or God forbid even SMELLED IT - but it was HAPPENING PEOPLE! And speaking of the midway, carnival clowns were even worse! They weren't even allowed to form a clown UNION! So they were even MORE pissed off. It took a lot of energy to slap that happy face on every night when all you wanted to do was chainsaw the dick off your boss and eat a couple of 5 year olds for dinner. BTW, have you ever seen the movie "Funhouse"? It's really bad, but it's also kind of scary. I like it. Now with On-Demand and DVD's and HD and all, they rarely play ANY old, really bad movies anymore. Shame.

7) Mausoleums. You know, the places where they bury people INDOORS. This may have started around the first time I saw the movie "Phantasm." If you haven't ever seen that movie, do yourself a favor, go rent it, but before turning it on, take a lot of Xanax and Nitroglycerin, keep all the lights in the house on (plus lights in the houses on your left and right) and keep 911 on speed dial. It's also an older movie. But Holy Mary, it's scary. Ew. A rhyme. Anyway, you'll be taking the name of the Lord in vain a lot whilst watching this movie, so keep the windows closed if your neighbours might get a tad offended at something like that. This will also help when you go to bed and cry and whimper like a colicky baby because you are too scared to even take your arm out from under the blanket to turn off the light next to your bed.

Anyway, why mausoleums? I mean, you'd think I'd be scared of graveyards! Hell no! Half my family's in a graveyard. I've spent a lot of time in a certain graveyard over the last 12 years. Going there is like going to a family reunion! A really, really dull and quiet family reunion. Can you BLAME ME IF I GET BORED AND WANT A CHEESEBURGER? Christ, we all have our own way of coping people, stop being so judgmental! Now to be honest, I wasn't visiting the graves in the dead of night. That might be a tad spookalicious. But alas, no, I am more fascinated by graveyards than anything else. One of the coolest graveyards I saw was in Savannah, GA and the graves dated back to the 1700's - which for America, is ancient.

But mausoleums. They're sooooo....white. And quiet! I mean, I don't expect Muzak or Mick Jagger singing "Paint it Black" or anything but the quiet...just...isn't...right. And you walk on the WHITE marble floors and you have DEAD PEOPLE in the WALLS to your right and your left. IN THE WALLS. I don't know. Are they in coffins or are they shoved in there solo like mail in my mailbox slot? And if there all over the walls, it begs the question, why not put them in the ceiling too? Why waste the space? We've got them in the ground, in the walls...let's break through to the...ceiling. Anyway, so you're walking down the white, marble hallway and your shoes are going 'Click, clack, click, clack" and you listen to the echo of your shoes (unless you're wearing rubber-soled shoes to which I say having a little fucking respect for the dead will ya - dress up a little!) and then you swear you hear TWO pairs of shoes....I don't know! It's all so antiseptic isn't it? I think there are some famous people in mausoleums. Like Lucille Ball and Marilyn Monroe. They have bronze plaques and places for flowers and one nice thing is you don't have to pull the weeds off their graves (like you do at SOME places where they are TOO LAZY to manicure the lawns properly). The deer can't come down from the mountains at night and eat your $50.00 bouquet. That's a plus. However, like the old prison cell, I think I am convinced someone is going to LOCK ME IN a mausoleum and laugh maniacally while doing it. Notice I have a fear of being locked in places? I'm slightly, ever so slightly claustrophobic. Also, don't care much for heights. But those are far more common, pedestrian fears. Not that I'm a fear elitist mind you. I just consider myself...unique. I think there are some shitty movies out there where a bunch of teenagers have to spend the night in a mausoleum and then they all start dying, the only survivor, of course, THE VIRGIN! (Didn't you ever see Scary Movie? It spells the formula out, dimwits!) So of course myself and all my friends would be dead. You know, the last time I was in a mausoleum was in that new-ish (it's not so new now, but it was when I visited it) Catholic church/eyesore built in downtown L.A. My mom and I went to visit it and I think it's called Our Lady of the Smoggy Ass Saint of Los Angeles and Fuck Santa Anna We Don't Need Him No More We Are Taking Back Our Land You Racist White Mother-" actually I can't even remember the name. I blocked it out, just like I blocked out the hideousness that is this church. Have you been to Europe? Have you even been to St. Patrick's Cathedral in New York? Now THAT'S A CHURCH! The architects for this monstrosity must have been BLIND! If I'd reviewed the church on purely aesthetic grounds, my review would be short, sweet and Biblical. "And Jesus wept."

But alas, my mum and I actually accidentally ended up in the bowels (don't you just love writing that) of the THING and realized we were in the mausoleum. And Gladys, you'll never GUESS who's buried down there!! What, you mean besides a bunch of priests/possible pedophiles (give it up Cardinal, we know what filthy lies you hid for years)...none other than Gregory Peck! Yes, we stumbled upon a famous person's grave. I didn't know old Greg was a Catholic. I wonder how much he had to donate to that concrete hideousness to score himself a place down under. I'll admit it. That mausoleum wasn't as bad as others I've seen/been in. But only because I was preoccupied with looking for other famous people. See, come to L.A. and you can even run into celebrities when they're DEAD!

I know I have other bizarre fears. One of them is not getting to sleep in, so I'm going now. Next time I'll tell you about how sometimes I fear I'll be accused of a murder I didn't commit. Yes, I DO have an active imagination, and I AM paranoid.

P.S. Check out the picture of the mausoleum - what'd I tell you? It's all WHITE and BRIGHT but that ain't foolin' me! Notice how they threw in the nice purple mid-century couch, the table, the plant and even CHRIST ON THE CROSS to make ya feel all cozy...well it AIN'T WORKING! Sorry God.

P.P.S. I am SO excited. Only one month and 25 days until Halloween! And no, I'm not kidding! I'm dusting off the Jamie Lee Curtis DVD's as we speak! Scream Queen time!

Don't Read Anything Into This

He doesn’t appear to be an imposing man – maybe 5’10 or so if that. Slight frame, a nondescript form. You’d pass him on the street and never look twice – if it wasn’t for the eyes. Two of the saddest eyes I’ve ever seen. He's a nobody, he's anybody, he's somebody now; a first generation Irishman, born and bred on the blue-collar streets of Dorchester, Massachusetts. His parents emigrated here from Ireland God knows when; Irish and Catholic and there were two things in his house you never did. You never took the Lord’s name in vain and you never crossed a picket line. Jesus didn’t look kindly on scabs. Dad was a union man to the core.

He wears the face of an unpainted clown. Gunmetal gray-blue eyes deeply set and profoundly curved in a downward, melancholy turn. If he adorned his visage with white Pan-Cake, or even the garish wide-set blood red smile of circus clowns of yore, he'd make one of the saddest clowns I’ve ever seen. And yet…and yet…there is something intriguingly playful about this face.

His hair is short – a close-cropped afterthought the color of wheat on an overcast day. He's only 43, but his hairline is profoundly receding - the disappearance and thinning fit more for of a man ten years his senior. A myriad of lines are etched deeply into his forehead and down into his furrowed brow, as if his face were clay and someone had dragged all his years straight through. Hell yes, there's character in his face in spades, but again, these deep trench marks create the aura of a man far older than his 40 plus years; far older, far sadder and far more worried than he probably is.

His mouth is rather small, his lips a bit thin, even his smile melancholy. He isn't handsome in a conventional manner; hell, he's pasty and slight – a boyo from the Old Country who’d made his fortune steadily, over the years, using what he’d learned from the lads and bums of Dorchester and its environs. Sometimes he grew a goatee – or the hint of one I guess. Almost looked like it took him half a year just to do that. It made him look a bit devilish. He has it in spades – the boyish face, the sad eyes, the furrowed brow and a face far too old for its time.

He'd captured me, unawares, and completely, but how?

Biggest oil price drop in 17 years

Crude falls $6.45 a barrel - 2nd largest price drop in dollar terms

Ok, so I go on CNN and this is one of the headlines. Like this is going to make any difference to me. Still, I'm reading the article and I get to something that has driven me insane for years. Why haven't I just Googled this you wonder? I don't know. I wonder the same thing.

The article said "Light, sweet crude dropped over $6.00 a barrel - " and there's where I stopped. We're talking oil here, right? Not the kind you cook with. Fossil fuels. Energy. The shit that turns into gasoline. So why in the heavens is it called "light, sweet"? Is it light? Does it have 50% fewer oily calories than heavy crude? And the sweet part! I always picture a giant barrel of black gold,oozing out, and some guy taking his finger and licking it, going "Mmmm...kinda sweet."

Or is it another kind of sweet? Is it affectionate crude? Is that even possible? Is there something called "Heavy Sour Crude?" Look, I know these are fucking stupid questions. But that's Ok because I'm stupid now. It's summer, I'm stupid, all my smarts dissipated back in June when I at least pretended to give a damn.

Enough with the oil and for the love of Jesus Christ on pogo stick - ENOUGH with the IndyMac disaster. And I'm NOT being insensitive as I have quite a bit of money with IndyMac in a CD. But I'm holding on and not running to the bank because well, I am NOT going to stand in line for 5 hours, and I trust the FDIC shitheads will still have my FDIC INSURED money next week and I'm going to deal with it when I get back. So there it is in all its glory: A bank that gave too fucking much money to too goddamned many people who didn't deserve it, couldn't pay for their fucking bloated variable rate sub-prime mortgages and now a LOT of people are gonna lose money that is NOT FDIC insured. Probably responsible people. So I see the IndyMac sign and I want to choke someone.

I just hope they put enough fuel in my plane on Thursday. Yes, I'm that neurotic. I hope they're still paying their mechanics - oh wait, never mind, I got off a Delta flight in Atlanta (Delta's hub BTW) about three years ago and all the news people were there because Delta had gone into bankruptcy. I don't know - is the government propping them up? How did that work?

Never mind. I'm going to find out what light, sweet crude is. It kind of sounds sexual. Or...maybe that's just me.

The Woman With the Golden Toe

The bills are coming in for my toe surgery. Or should I say the procedure to remove the fluid-filled ganglion cyst on my right foot, second toe.

Surgery Center Charge: Close to $10,000 (On the bill, when they break it down, it says: "Supplies - $6,000.00." What fucking supplies were six grand? SIX MOTHERFUCKING GRAND? The paper napkin I wore as a gown? The boot they sent me home with? The blood pressure cuff? The cotton they wrapped my foot in? The saline drip? The needle? The bag? The liquid valium? Mother of God, I should've just taken a truckload of Xanax and let him give me the numbing shot and jerry-rigged my own boot to wear home.

Doctor Bill: Close to $2000 so far (Don't know if/where the anesthesiologist's bill is included anywhere in these bills)

Pre-op appointment: $150.00

Pre-op physical, including blood work and EKG: Close to $300.00

Experiencing health care in America AS ONE OF THE LUCKY FEW WHO CAN ACTUALLY AFFORD MY OWN DECENT PPO PLAN: Furious BEYOND BELIEF

It is a fucking TOE. Granted, I lived with the cyst for years, watching it grow bigger and getting more and more inconvenienced by it, and suffering with more pain from it, each year. But Jesus God, it wasn't CANCER. It probably would've cost less to simply amputate the fucking toe.

Are we talking about AT LEAST almost $13,000 to take off a tiny cyst from my toe? I do NOT CARE WHO YOU ARE OR WHAT YOU DO OR WHAT YOUR POLITICS ARE - if you cannot see that this is JUST PLAIN FUCKING WRONG - I don't want to even know you.

This is MORALLY and ETHICALLY and LEGALLY WRONG. This is criminal. This is highway robbery. This is rape. I am lucky enough - LUCKY LUCKY LUCKY enough to be able to sit here and I am not even angry for myself - I am angry for all the people who can't even GET health insurance because they had the bad luck to get sick or have a pre-existing condition and they can't even get rated (that'd include me - I'd be flat out turned down with fibromyalgia - fucking scary, huh?) or they lost their job and can't find another and can't afford COBRA...I have to hang on to this private insurance FOR A LONG, LONG time...until I am a tenured teacher and even then if I get laid off and I've let go of my private insurance...it isn't a pretty picture.

No, I don't want the government to fully control my health care, nor do I want the government to make me wait 6 months to see a specialist if I have a problem. That's why I've always had a PPO - so I could make my own medical decisions. Lucky me. I AM lucky. But I am getting less lucky. My general physician stopped taking my health insurance - Blue Shield. I am currently insured through my job with Blue Cross. He doesn't take that either. He takes Medicare and Cigna. That's it.

Years ago I had to leave my long-term ENT - a doctor whom I adored. But he dropped my insurance and I needed sinus surgery. I found another doctor. Now I will find another GP. I suppose the doctors are not getting decent contracts with these insurance companies anymore? I mean, Jesus, it's got to be about the MONEY right? It's ALWAYS ABOUT THE FUCKING MONEY, isn't it?

No, I'm not sure I want fully socialized health care. BUT BUT BUT BUT BUT - this country can NO LONGER CONTINUE ON THE WAY IT'S GOING. And yes, I am tired of every fucking illegal in America coming to Los Angeles and essentially closing down our ER's and our hospitals because they use them as general practitioners. It sounds cruel - but the system is caving in Los Angeles under the weight of too many people and what - am I paying for their health care? No offense, but I don't think I should have to do that. No, I DO NOT have all the answers. Maybe I don't have any of the answers.

Actually I do have one answer. I know that a $13,000 toe surgery is just wrong on every count. Who's getting rich off my toe? Who profited the most? Who made the most fucking money? Despite what you think of Michael Moore - and I often think he is an over-rated blow hard who shoots his films fast and loose with the facts - there were a couple of stories in his film "SICKO" that I recall so clearly - I will never forget them. The man who had an accident and his insurance essentially told him, I believe, he could choose which finger to have sewn back on...they weren't going to pay for both... "Which finger do you think would be best honey?" "Well, geez, I don't know, let me think a minute..."

I certainly know what finger I'd choose to give my insurance company. I take several medications to keep my fibromalygia in check so that I CAN work and I CAN be a productive member of society - but these medicines are not generic and they are NOT cheap. Again, I thank GOD EVERY DAY I can afford them. But knowing I am essentially uninsurable if I lose my private insurance and don't get another job with group insurance has scared the hell out of me.

It's laughable really. I am uninsurable by a filthy, stinking, greedy industry because I have a 'disease' that actually cannot even be proven medically to exist. So.....geez, can I just tell them I've magically recovered from fibromyalgia and no longer have it? How can they prove I don't have it if they really can't prove I ever had it? I mean, there is still a large part of the medical community that doesn't even believe it exists. Pfizer must be shitting itself with glee over FDA approval of Lyrica - but hey, even if those idiot women come on TV at night complaining of sore muscles and talking about how Lyrica has enabled them to start gardening again, we still can't even prove fibromyalgia is REAL. But I can REALLY be DENIED insurance FLAT OUT because of it.

So who got the most money off my toe? I really want to know. My doctor? The surgical center? The insurance company? And how in God's name could they DARE charge $10,000 for a 15 minute procedure? Someone in health care is making the bulk of the money here. And they're making it on people who are helpless to do anything about their situations - who can't say "no", who don't have other choices, who are in much, much, much worse situations than I am in. God help those people. And God help the bastards profiting off the pain, fear, loss and desperation of the American people. I don't know how they can face themselves in the mirror, or sleep at night. I really don't.

Almost Finished

Today was the last day with the kids. A very emotional day. I am so hot (it's blazing saddles hotter than hell here) and tired I can't write more now. I still have to go back tomorrow and do the cum files so they can be sent over to the middle school. It ended much, much, much better than I expected, that's all I'll say now.

I'm off to see the wizard, better known as my therapist.
More later when I'm not ready to collapse.

FINIS!

News of the Inane

Today whilst shopping at the grocery store, I was in the checkout line, gazing at the multitude of magazines with Angelina Jolie on the covers. Then something far more interesting caught my eye. You know those tiny, cheesy books they stack at the checkout line - usually they're about food or astrology or something? This one was about cats and had the best title ever:

Why Does Your Cat Sulk?

You know, I can attest to the fact that indeed, my cats have and do sulk, especially Zoe, when she doesn't get her way (which isn't often because she's so massively spoiled and I've NO idea how she got that way.) I just had to laugh. With everything going on in my life and the world, I had to say: I just don't give a shit why my cat sulks. Not on the top of my list.

Right now, things that top my list:

Three more days with my kids. Monday we're going to be at a camp for a party all day, so essentially two more days in the classroom with the kids. Kudos to me for putting up with a bunch of immature, rude, classless hacks all year. And yes, I'm talking about my colleagues and boss. NOT MY KIDS - who I finally realized, are just simply a product of their parents and environment.

Report cards: I'm working on them this weekend. They suck, let me tell you. College report cards were much easier because I was only grading two subjects, not four, and I didn't have to fill out an entire half a page on behavior. I mean, really, what am I gonna say? "I basically hated your bratty kid and can't wait to see his smirky, ugly face gone from my presence and I hope the door doesn't hit him on the ass on the way out.

Weight: Joining Curves when I'm done with school. My sis-in-law has lost 12 pounds doing NutriSystem too. I never, ever, ever, ever, ever thought I could get this heavy or feel this horrible.

Ella: She's gained a tiny bit of weight since being on the new formula; the last two months she's struggled to gain basically 6 ounces or so. That is NOT right and my brother called up the doctors and read them the riot act, rightly so, about why his daughter is not gaining weight. Oh, and by the way, I'm in love with her. I can't even imagine what I'd feel if she were my own child. I'd go insane. This is probably why I never really wanted kids. I knew my head would explode if I had one.

Tutoring: Somehow I agreed to tutor one of my boys at his home - starting June 24th. Ugh - why did I do this! The money obviously. These people are stinkin' rich. She was talking about having me stay two hours, come twice a week, whatever. It'll pay for my gas.

Tim Russert: My mom told me he died yesterday after school while I sat in my classroom. Needless to say, like almost the entire nation, I was shocked. I LOVED him. I admit it, I cried like a baby watching Tom Brokaw's tribute to him. He was only 58. I think everyone is freaked out, including me, about how he went. His heart just went KAPOW and that was it. Lights out friends. I didn't know he was such a devout Catholic. I feel so sorry for his wife and especially his son, who just graduated from college. The shock of finding out your parent is dead, especially when you are so young, is utterly horrifying.

Old Father's Day: Well, this the 13th Father's Day without my dad. I'm good. Soon I'll be unemployed, overweight, single and living with a couple of spoiled cats. I'm still good. I think that might be part of the answer, if not the answer. I can be good despite my circumstances. I think about my dad but it's like a far-off dream. My dad would've HATED hearing about Tim Russert. Since all my dad did for years was watch TV, he watched just about every news show there was, including I'm certain, Meet the Press. My dad would be really, really sad.

New Father's Day: It's all about my brother now. He is a new father; this is his first Father's Day and although he can go a bit overboard worrying (although considering what he's been through having a preemie it's almost understandable) he is an amazing father. He loves his little "sweet pea" more than anything and yes, he worries about her welfare all the time. He is a wonderful father. I wish he wouldn't weigh Ella so much though; she's going to have weight/scale issues as a toddler! She looks so much like him in some ways - especially the eyes. It's like looking at a picture of my brother when he was a baby. So Happy Father's Day Steven. You are a fantastic father and your daughter already adores you I'm certain.

Picture: My cat Zoe, possibly sulking, though I really don't give a shit.

Hell Has Frozen Over

It's true! So I finally asked my colleague/master teacher for a letter of recommendation today and she happily agreed to write one. I *hate* asking for those kinds of things. Now with all the strife I've had with my principal you'd think I wouldn't dare ask her for one. But I did. I just found some balls, strapped 'em on and went in her office. And guess what? The woman is Sybil. She acted nice as pie, congratulating me on 'making it' to June, blah blah blah. She happily agreed to write me a letter too. Again, I heard the theme from The Twilight Zone. I thought, either I imagined everything or she is nuttier than a fruitcake. I was totally prepared to tell her I didn't expect her to write I was a great fifth grade teacher, but that I AM a good teacher - but she was fine and dandy with it all. Maybe she's back on her medication? Hell if I know.

Does it matter? I am so freaking close people! Eight more school days! I also received my portfolio notice back in the mail; my portfolio, according to the County, is complete and I have met all the bullshit standards they wanted from me. Praise GOD!

The best news of all: I went to the Dr. today and finally got my stitches on my toe out! Dang, I've never gotten stitches removed before. Anyway, the dr. said "The cyst hasn't grown back - it looks great." And I'm sitting there going "Wait a minute, it's been about 2 weeks since the surgery - they can grow back THAT fast?" He said yep. Unreal. Why can't GOOD things grow fast on the human body? Like a stack of $100 bills coming out of your head or something. Keeeee-rist.

So good news, good news. Then I come home and that psycho mother I wrote about in my last blog blasted me with an email because her daughter can't keep any homework straight and somehow this is all my fault. Her daughter got a bad grade on a test. Boo hoo. She didn't know when it was due. Funny, the other 3o kids knew. I apparently still had the balls strapped on, because I finally wrote her back and told her (nicely) that her daughter, yep, HER DAUGHTER needed to be the one to tell me she didn't understand the homework...he daughter needed to come up to me and TALK TO ME IN CLASS LIKE SHE IS 11 YEARS OLD AND NOT AN INFANT. Can you imagine your MOTHER speaking FOR YOU all the time? I actually wrote to her something about how it was only going to be harder next year when she has 6 different teachers. What's the mother going to do, email 6 different middle school teachers? I can hear those teachers laughing their collective assess off now.

I am so glad to be leaving elementary school. I can't stand the coddling of children today. Tomorrow we are having a pizza party at lunch. Woohoo. Doesn't get better than that. Coddle, coddle. On the plus side, I am LOVING teaching English literature; today our conversation somehow went straight to the law and we veered off into a whole different arena of thought. Yet I thought "Wonderful. Some kid is going to go home and tell his parents he has to be given his Miranda rights, he has the right to due process/ a speedy trial and if he kills someone and is acquitted, he can't ever be tried again because of double jeopardy." I just love talking about all this shit because the kids don't know any of it - and I will say it's really neat to see their faces light up when they hear new concepts and ideas - ha - like double jeopardy.

My friend S, has begun a wonderful new relationship and it's really got me thinking and honestly, I am envious. I am sooooooooooo happy for her - honestly, she SO deserves this joy and happiness and giddiness, but I am greedy and I want some too! I want to feel like she is feeling now; I want to just be delirious for a little while, haha. I am committed to attempting to make that happen this summer. OK, well I am committed to at least having a date, how's that?
I'm trying to stay somewhat realistic.

8 more school days. I am prepared for the crash and burn, but I'm also prepared for sleeping in, sleeping in, sleeping in. I will say, having vacations IS an awesome part of teaching.

Surreal

Wow. It's June. I can hardly believe it. In a way, the last six months have flown by. And yet so many days were so agonizing for me at my job; so many tears and feelings of total disenchantment, disillusionment and depression. Now June is here - I've almost made it to the finish line. I feel as if in some strange way, I'm graduating too. Graduating from a nightmare work environment where no matter what I did, I just simply did NOT fit in. Graduating from the hardest year of my life, work-wise.

My boss has barely spoken to me in the six weeks since I wrote her a note explaining that yes, I had student taught (after she had the fucking gall to ask me if I'd ever student taught - in April no less!), and included with the note my four spectacular letters of recommendation from my student teaching supervisors and about 20 glowing emails from parents of my kids. Yeah, so it was kind of a "Fuck you" to her - but she deserved it for asking me such a goddamned insulting question.

I can't wait to get away from that arrogant bitch who thinks because she taught for FOUR years in fifth grade she's some expert in education. If you count all the years I taught college, student taught and this year, I've taught 8 fucking years - twice the amount she's taught. God I don't even want to think about her; sadly she's going to be in my face because of all the activities going on with the fifth graders. They're going to a camp for the day on June 16th for their 5th grade party, and then on the 17th we're having class parties and then on June 18th, they are having a culmination - not to be confused with a graduation mind you. The district won't allow the fifth graders to have a graduation because they think it infringes on the graduations of the 8th graders and the high school kids. I can kind of see that. I've seen pre-schoolers in caps and gowns. It does get kind of nuts with almost every grade having a graduation!

As we wind down I have SO MUCH TO DO at work. I have a lot of paperwork to do for all my kids in their cum files - their academic files which have to be transferred over to the middle school. And speaking of...last Wednesday we took them to their new middle school. Luckily, our school is just across and up the street from the middle school so we walked. This was only a day after I got the bandages off my foot and my toe was free - well as free as it can be in a band-aid and a sock. Yes, I have to wear a SOCK with my sandal until this Thursday when I get the stitches out. The doctor doesn't want any dirt infecting my toe. I see his point - but still, I felt a tad bit weird wearing one sock with my sandals. Anyway, so I walked the kids to the middle school. They were actually really good. I think they were scared, haha. They are getting nervous. These are the absolute most catered-to children in the world. Remember they live in a totally protected womb-like existence with helicopter parents and professional mommies hovering over them attending to their every whim and need. As life goes on, they're going to encounter some things mommy and daddy won't be there to fix - or can't fix.

One mother constantly emails me asking me about the homework and classwork for her daughter; her daughter should be able to ask me about this in class. Hello lady! Stop crippling your child. Middle school is going to smack her upside the head, hard. Naturally she's an only child. Now my dad was an only child and my best friend is an only child. My best friend is one of the most independent people I know - so her parents did NOT cripple her and overprotect her. But a LOT of these parents have only one child and the culture has changed - especially in this um, city, where I work. These only children are treated like highly expensive and rare crystal that might crack or break at any minute. I've spent the entire year trying to make these kids more independent and tough.

Anyway, the visit to middle school was fun. Reminded me of my visit to what we then called junior high. I am naturally having a LOT of mixed feelings about the end of this job. Relief that I will no longer be in a place where I so do not fit in. Relief that I do not have to be surrounded by teachers who admit they don't read, don't pay a whit of attention to current events and are intellectual ciphers. Relief I will not have to be around the fucking bitch who essentially fired me in January; I'm convinced now she wanted me to quit back then. She made a gamble and it didn't pay off. She had NO fucking idea how stubborn and persistent I would be about finishing out this job. Relief I will not have to walk around a workplace where I wonder what everyone really thinks of me. Talk about being the black sheep somewhere.

I do feel sadness at leaving some of my kids. I have bonded with some of them a great deal and I know I will cry on the last day; I've already warned them. They know I'm an emotional powder keg, haha. I will miss them. I will wonder how they're doing in middle school. Life will go on but we've been together for 35 hours a a week for 9 months.

I'm scared - I'll be out of work - especially NOW - in this horrifyingly frightening economy with gas and food prices soaring. I'm really scared. I'm also at a point in my life where I finally feel I'm being faced with some big decisions. I've been wanting to leave California forever it seems. Well, maybe I don't want to leave it per se - but hell, I can't live here anymore. It's too damned crowded, it's too third world (sorry but I can't take it anymore - I go into L.A. and NO ONE SPEAKS ENGLISH!), it's too hellish...there's too much traffic, too much smog, and the prices are sky high. Even with falling housing prices, the prices for real estate here are insane. I've thought about moving to Phoenix where my cousin lives (and a good friend lives there too) and I think about moving down to Atlanta where my brother and niece live. I really, really, really want to be near my niece. I want to watch her grow up. I want to know her and I want her to know me. Atlanta wouldn't be my first choice if I had my druthers (haha, love that word) but I have to admit I like the city a LOT more now than I did when I first visited it in August fo 2002.

I believe my words then were "Sherman needs to come through here and just burn it all down again." There's actually a lot of great stuff there; the city is really sread out like L.A. though and it's not the prettiest city in the world. It's got fabulous food, great dining, hotels, shopping, and actually has some culture believe it or not. Museums, the largest aquarium in the world, botanical gardens, you name it.

Anyway, I am going to fly to Atlanta in mid to late July to spend some time visiting with my niece - and oh yeah, her parents. I can't wait to hold her. God, it must be biology because normally I have NO INTEREST in babies at all. I see a baby, I see a puppy, I want the puppy. I see my niece, I go nuts. I think I'll make a visit to the Atlanta Board of Education or whatever and see what kind of job I could get with my credential. It's all just thinking now. Nothing is set in stone. I may end up here, or in Arizona or in Iceland. I don't know. I also need to get my health together once and for all - lose this weight and I want to start dating again. Listening to S, I can only imagine what it's like to actually LIKE someone - to have someone LIKE YOU...oy, it's just been too long.

All I know is my life is going to change drastically come June 18th, the last day of school. I have money from the PFC (parent faculty council) and I wanted to do something for the kids for their non-graduation so I bought wooden frames and we're going to paint and decorate them; I want them to put the name of the school on it and the year 2008 - and their names if they want to. I bought a massive amount of cute stickers and glitter and stuff they can decorate their frames with. I have a TON of pictures of the kids I've taken over the year so once they're done they can choose a picture to remember their fifth grade year.

In my heart of hearts, I know I did the right thing this year. I know I wasn't the most perfect teacher. I made a thousand mistakes. But I truly cared about these kids - as spoiled as they are - and I know the kids know this. I stayed at this job for 2 reasons: one, I didn't want to quit my first contracted teaching job - so yeah, I did it for me. But the second reason is my kids. Fuck my principal, fuck my fellow teachers, fuck everyone else. These kids LEARNED from me this year. We spent many days having amazing conversations - out of the box and out of the book thinking went on in my class. I am currently having a BLAST reading and teaching The Witch of Blackbird Pond with my kids. At a meeting we had last week I met the parent of one of my English lit kids (this kid is not in my normal class) and she told me how much her son loved my class and how much he loved reading the book and he didn't even like reading; shit I wish my principal could've heard THAT.

I've learned I love teaching literature. I'm really giving the kids a lot of homework and they don't like it - but hey, they came into the class with the attitude that they were the smartest of all the 5th graders and I said "OK, you're the cream of the crop - I've got HIGH expectations of you." I'm making them think. I'm forcing them to write (0ne kid complained to his teacher "But it's reading - why am I writing so much??) LOL! Wait until he gets to a real English lit class. It's not just busywork - it's really high-level critical thinking work. It's a lot of grading - and it's going to be down to the wire. Report cards go home with the kids on the 18th.

So the weekend before I will be grading, grading, grading and doing final report cards.

I know there must be some word out there that I am not coming back; I have no idea what exactly the parents and kids know or don't know. I'd love to let the parents know their kids are at a school where the principal totally fucked over their teacher in JANUARY - totally demoralized the shit out of her - and hasn't set foot in the classroom since December to see what's going on. But I won't do anything that will make the kids feel bad; it's not their fault they got a new teacher who apparently isn't up to the standards of this woman. I refuse to say anything that might make the kids think I don't like them or my job - even if it's true, haha.

The upcoming week is an exciting one I tell you! Thursday I get my stitches off my toe - yay! It looks like a big black spider is living on my toe now. Ick. Wednesday night my mom and I are going to see "Wicked." Everyone I know has seen it - and I truly mean EVERYONE I KNOW! Anyway, I don't normally like musicals but I was finally convinced to go. So we'll see. I have to make my airline and hotel reservations for Atlanta. I'll probably have to sell an arm and a leg just for the airplane ticket. Well, speaking of my bitch principal, I have to go write her an email. It's too long of a story to go into - suffice it to say it has to do with one of my students and she has purposely kept me out of the loop but I have some information she needs about him. She's such an unprofessional pig. And with that, I'm off, until the next blog and God knows when that will be!

Photo: My niece Ella; her expression is pretty much how I feel right now about everything.

Happy (Little) Endings

So things are actually starting to wind down in The Job That Came From Hell and Almost Took My Sanity. It's hard to believe. Friday was the last day we switched classes for math. On May 21st we're going to build a math city called Polyhedraville. Lord help us. Tomorrow begins the infamous No Child Left Behind (cough, vomit) CST/STAR testing. It's the state testing that tortures - I mean - measures - how well we've um, taught the kids the curriculum and schools live and die by their scores. The school I work at has famously high API scores and therefore is of course, a "good" school, whatever the hell that means. Last year in student teaching I proctored the CST exams for my second grade class. Second grade is the first year that the kids are given these massive exams and let me tell you, I may not know as much about kids as my Perfect Prissy Principal but I can tell you that those kids were NOT developmentally ready to take those tests. It was so hard on them. I felt like I was torturing them. How did I ever get through school without being tested to death? I don't know.

Also - joy of all joys - I'm a real teacher now. One of my students had head lice. Yes - at MY school too - the wealthy, perfect school with no scary immigrants! Well, except for the immigrants from Iran and Israel. But none of those nasty Hispanic immigrants. Please note the extreme sarcasm here. Anyway, it's very unusual for a fifth grader to get head lice. Normally it happens in the lower grades. I've no idea where she got them. Needless to say we had TWO nurses checking every kid's head the day she came back and I made them check my head too! I'm paranoid now. I feel my head itching all the time. I'm sure it's psychosomatic but I'm so grossed out. Naturally it's a kid from MY class, haha.

Also, praise the gods - I finished my BTSA portfolio. I have to submit it for approval and go to some boring ass colloquium on Tuesday but at least I'll be DONE with year one of that waste of my time.

Some parents threw me a birthday party on April 28th - the Monday right after my b-day. We had cupcakes and juice and they bought me one of those tiny cakes and there was a plastic cat on top! Oh god it's happened - crazy single teacher cat lady! LOL! It was really sweet though. Wow, not every parent hates me! Amazing. The kids made the cutest birthday card for me and wrote some really nice things and the parents that threw the party gave me the most gorgeous necklace. One of the mothers makes them. I can't even describe how beautiful her work is. She uses silk thread and everything is real - pieces of smoky quartz, amethyst, shell, gold, silver....the necklace is really just like one long thin rope with these gorgeous stones woven in this beautiful lavender silk thread. You can tie it around you any way you like. I don't know what it costs but I have a feeling it's quite expensive. Don't think I'm not going to go see my principal one day without wearing it and casually mentioning where I got it from! Bitch.

We're also done teaching the regular Language Arts textbook crap curriculum and actually get to teach a REAL LIVE BOOK! LOL! I am teaching the "high" students and the book was one of my favorites as a kid - The Witch of Blackbird Pond. I'm excited to be able to have some freedom now in the way I want to teach this. The 'high' kids will be nice for a change but there are some with serious, hardcore attitudes. Truly, they think that they're smarter than the teachers and some even told Michelle, my master teacher, that she was essentially a shitty teacher. I've decided it's their parents talking out of their little mouths. Speaking of...

If I can just survive to May 16th I really think I might make it. Thursday, May 15th is Open house. I just have to deal with the kids and their assinine parents (well, except for the few nice ones, haha) all in one place for an hour and a half and then - no more. I am really frightened about the economy and there are going to be NO teaching jobs in California this year thanks to the budget. Right now I am feeling like Scarlett O'Hara though. I'll just think about that tomorrow.

In other happy news, I've been feeling like death warmed over lately with the fibro. No shock there right? I mean, it's been a BAD BAD BAD BAD BAD BAD BAD long-term flare up. I'm sleepy all the time, have massive trouble getting up in the morning...am in severe pain almost all the time, blah blah blah. I went to the doctor - aside from my weight, things are OK. My blood tests all came back normal. Normally I managed to have a pretty decent attitude about it - I mean, after 15 years what am I going to do? But when it gets this bad, I get pretty depressed. Who wants to live in severe pain and be this tired all the time? Jesus. Plus, you get the added benefit of having to hide it from everyone. If I was the Devil Himself I couldn't think up a worse way to torture someone.

I went out with The Humans last night and went BOWLING! That was some crazy ass fun. I almost didn't go because I felt so lousy. But I just keep having to push myself to go out or I'll end up in bed all the time. Anyway, really, I haven't been bowling in 30 years. Some things never change - except the scores are all digital now. But bowling is a nice retro throwback.

Oh! Almost forgot. Guess who sent me an e-card for my birthday??? Gena!!! Yes, the friend who, almost a year ago this month, flipped the hell out on me because she thought I hung up the phone on her, refused to see me or speak to me and then changed the locks on the door to her house. Unreal. My mother kept saying she would contact me. I said no way. Guess I was wrong. I do know that last August they moved and they live in Livermore, CA. I got a gift subscription renewal from Oprah and it had her new address on it. Anyway, in the birthday e-card, she said she missed me. Man, I was so devastated over what she did to me. Last summer was brutal because of that shit. But she has me pegged all wrong. You don't treat me like that and expect me to go back. Yeah, I'll forgive and I'll even forget (the job shit has been so prevalent I haven't thought about her in forever) but I ain't going back. She must be desperate for friends. I'm not that desperate.

I'll leave with a new picture of my niece. She's having trouble with her feedings still. I'm worried about her growth. Yet she seems like such a happy baby. I hope she is and doesn't remember how hard it's been for her to simply BE in this crazy world.

Photo: My niece Ella, sitting on the couch in her polka dot pj's. I love the look on her face.

41

Not much to say today. It's my 41st birthday. Not having any blowout bash like last year. At peace with turning 41 - ha what choice do I have? Celebrating the fact that as difficult as the last year has been - and God, it's been hard (losing a best friend, sliding into a despair last summer that almost brought me to the brink of feeling totally insane and then...getting what I thought was a dream job - and well, you know the rest)...I am still here

I am still alive
I am still relatively healthy
I still have my wonderful mum
I have a gorgeous new niece
I have two spoiled but loving, life-saving cats who brighten my every day and night
I have about 12 students who bring me joy on a daily basis and who I shall miss dearly come June
I have my integrity
I have kept my dignity
I have perservered
I have not quit
I have tried my best to take the high road at all times
I have money
I have a place to live
I have enough food to eat
I do have some beautiful people
who enrich my soul and keep me going
A shout out to those kind beings -
Veleska, S, Thomas, Cheri, Brittany
I have someone I can talk to professionally about my job
I have the ability to get a fabulous massage every now and again
I have a brother who does make an effort to care
I have a cousin who's fought cancer and sends me a birthday card so rich with kindess and sentiment I am brought to tears
I have books to read, the eyes to read them with
I have the meds I need to keep my chronic pain at bay so I can work and function
I have a fabulous hairdresser who charges me next to nothing to make me a beautiful blonde goddess - Ok, so maybe not a goddess, but keeps me in highlights and out of the dreary gray mess my head would normally be in
I do have some parents who've been nothing but supportive of me at work
I have the knowledge that I'm human, I've made mistakes, but I've done nothing but try my very best for 31 young beings that depend on me 7 hours a day, five days a week
I have the luxury to spend time seeking spiritual enlightenment and fulfillment and not have to spend every waking moment simply tryng to survive


I have an uncertain future, I have doubts and fears and insane feelings of being out of control but I have the means to deal with all of these

Another year has passed. I am still here. I have the present moment and nothing else. For this I am grateful.
Thanks to all who write me, support me, encourage me, call me, put up with my flakey-ness, my falling off the face of the earth...

You are the best gift a gal could ask for.

Thank you.

Mea Culpa, Bitches

So let's see - I think I went two whole days without a major incident at school. My principal finally sent me my green staff development form back - after I wrote her a very sweet note asking for it.

My class won the school-wide trivia contest for the second time in a row - I'm sure it just burned her up to have to say my name outside at the assembly on Wednesday.

But alas, today, I'm sitting at my desk at work, and BAM! Explosive email with fireworks attached. On Tuesday I let the kids have about 15 minutes of 'free time' at the end of the day. They were basically just sitting around telling stories. One kid decided to tell a ghost story. I was at my desk, doing paperwork. I said "Nick, do not tell something really gory or inappropriate please." I figured he'd tell an inocuous ghost story. All the kids were oooooohing and ahhhhhing and laughing and squealing and shit, I wasn't even listening to the story. I had no idea what he'd said. So they go home. Two days pass.

I get a SCORCHING - I mean, FLAMING MAD AS HELL email from a mother - the same mother of the kid who wrote me that lovely letter I emailed someone. Ironically, this mother has ADORED me the whole year. She's been one of my biggest fans. So it was a SHOCK to see how angry she was. I could feel the intensity of it coming through the damned computer. Apparently her daughter has been unable to leave her side for two days, can't be left alone in the house anywhere and is now crippled by fear because of this ghost story. HOW DARE I LET THIS BOY TELL A GHOST STORY IN CLASS! This has noything to do with their studies, blah, blah, blah. WHAT WAS I THINKING IN LETTING HIM DO THIS? NOT EVERY CHILD IS AT THE SAME MATURITY LEVEL, BLAH BLAH BLAH.

Motherfucker. Christ, I didn't even know what the ghost story was about! When the kids have free time, I don't pay that close attention to what they talk about. So I wrote her the expected 'I'm sorry - so sorry, do you want my blood, my bank account, my first born child, it'll never happen again" bullshit letter. I should just have a standard "I'm sorry" letter ready and waiting. I can just fill in the dastardly deed I've done and send them out much more easily this way. I had the kid tell me the ghost story. It was fucking stupid and not even that scary - but OK, I'm not 11 years old - so I'm sorry it scared her kid. Her kid is a bit of a basket case anyway. She's 504 - meaning she as ADD and has severe learning development problems. Plus, she is immature and very clingy. And on meds, like half the students I have.

I really thought I could get to June 18th, if I really really really tried hard not to do anything to offend anyone - I thought I could get to June 18th without getting anyone upset. I was wrong. I expect now every day when I go to work that I will upset someone. I will do something wrong. I will indeed damage a child for life. I don't trust anyone. No parent is on my side, no parent is my friend, no colleague, no boss, nothing. I don't trust anyone but my mother. That's it. I don't even think I trust my brother. Everyone will turn on you eventually. That's how I feel.

Let's see what tomorrow brings. Who can I piss off on Friday! Because believe me, apparently I don't even have to try. Never in a million years did I think some kid would go wacko over a ghost story and I'd get a new one ripped via email.

I love the part where she says it isn't part of their studies. Oh shit lady, we talk about a lot of things that aren't part of their studies. Those kids are talking about things you wouldn't believe.
Try gay porn between fathers and sons for one. I ain't kidding. This is my class, these are my kids, these are the conversations that go on.

Fuck 'em.

Tell Me Why I Don't Like Mondays

Ok, so this was my day. Did my formal lesson for my BTSA mentor. I really must stink at teaching because half the class managed to screw up a 2 question quiz. GOD ALMIGHTY HOW??? How can they be so stupid? They can't do anything! My mother told me she saw this on a church sign the other day "Bubble-Wrapped Children." Oh yeah, that describes these kids. Totally and utterly unable to do anything. Crippled.

So the day proceeds. My math class comes in. We have a test tomorrow. I tell them anyone who didn't get an "A" on the last test has to stay for my math lunch. Michelle, my mentor, told me to hold math lunches the day before the test. The kids can bring their lunch in, and we go over the concepts that will be on the test. My class is not exactly the brightest bunch of crayons in the box, so I insist they all come in for the lunch. One smart ass 11 year old girl says "Isn't that illegal?" Meaning, isn't it illegal keeping her in for lunch. I said "No. I'm letting you eat, you can use the restroom and I'm not keeping you the entire time.' So then the rest of the babies start whining. WHINING! I just said "What are you gonna do - hire an attorney? Forget it. Don't come to the math lunch. It's not my grade."

Then the class decides they're bored with going over the review for the test. Now, crazy me, at their age, I would've sat there with my mouth shut, probably daydreaming. Not kids today! Nooooooooooooo sirrreeeeeeeeeee! About 5 different kids start suggesting "other" things we can do. "Why don't we do this...." "Why don't we do that...." Why don't we do the other...."

Oh my Sweet Jesus I could've stroked out but I didn't. I just calmly SCREAMED "That's ENOUGH! This isn't a democracy. I'm your teacher and I decide what we will do and what we won't do. If you don't like it go back to your classrooms (these are kids from the other 5th grade classes." I mean, Holy Cow of All Cows, can you believe the audacity of these creatures? WHAT PLANET AM I ON? WHOSE CHILDREN TALK TO THEIR TEACHERS THIS WAY?

I am just not made for this.

After lunch, we go down to art. I think one of the Judas parents is there, volunteering. I smile/sneer at her and in my head I say "Hey you chicken-shit betraying bitch, what up?"
Art is ending. Half the kids are in the class, half are now outside playing basketball (no one gave them permission to do this) and one kid tells me he's gonna throw up. He looks bad so I have another boy walk him to the nurse. Next thing I know the other boy is back telling me Ben is throwing up in the trash can. All hell has broken loose, because for a posse of 11 year olds, nothing is more exciting than spontaneous vomit in the afternoon! Especially if a trash receptacle is involved. So I run over and stand next to Ben and watch him throw up. I tell the other boy to go get me some wet paper towels. Ben wants a new shirt - he's thrown up on his shirt. I run back to the art room to ask the art teacher if she has an old shirt. Maggie, the girl who panicked out last Friday, is about to get right back on the Anxiety Express. She tells me if she knows about someone throwing up it makes her want to throw up (wow, such empathy - just KNOWING about someone else vomiting will do it to her!?? Usually I have to see it or smell it.) I try to calm her down. I ask if SHE wants to see the nurse. She starts stuttering no no - she wants to see - get this - the psychiatrist. The what??? We don't have a psychiatrist at this school, although honestly, I think we should have one. I finally figure out she means our part time counselor. I give her the bad news and tell her the counselor is not here this week. I try to calm her down again. But I've got 28 kids outside on the loose. So I try to gather up the rest of the 28 nutcases. I send vomit kid and another kid up to the nurse; vomit kid is babbling on and on about having bad Nutella at lunch. Whoa boy, keep it to yourself, I just stood there next to you, watched you puke and didn't bat an eyelash - but don't push me. I try to discourage one demented kid from looking in the trashcan and describing the contents in technicolor.

The Judas mother says "Oh the joys of being a teacher." I felt like saying "Yes, especially in this, the single most fucked up school I've ever been at." But I don't. I finish the day with geometry and some girl whailing "When am I ever going to use this in real life?"

I used to say that in high school. Oh I don't know kid, I want to say. Maybe you too can grow up and get a nightmare job where you'll find yourself waxing poetic about isosceles triangles again. Life's funny that way.

So tomorrow is Earth Day, not that I really care, but one of my room mothers has created this giant paper tree in our room where we're all going to hang 'leaves' with wonderful ideas written on them on how to save the planet. I told the kids I'd come in with some ideas too. Actuallly, it's just going to be one.

I think I still have an old pack somewhere, maybe in the bathroom cabinet. A tiny round case full of 'em. Tiny pale, pink, peach, green, blue pills. That's right. Birth Control. That's my answer for Global Warming, Greenhouse Gases, the Energy Crisis, our dependence on foreign oil, fossil fuel issues, carbon footprints. DON'T FUCKING MAKE ANYMORE people. I beg of you. And I mean, BEG. Of. You.