Fluffy or Chubby bunnies

Okay, I hate to have to post twice in a night, but I totally forgot about this happening today. Our Student Council, after admitting that they knew this game was dangerous, decided to embark on a game of "Chubby Bunny." I have seen my share of Oprah, although I am proud to say I don't watch her anymore (reasons I hate Oprah are a seperate post entirely) but needless to say, there have been deaths attributed to this game because when you play a game where the object is to stick as many marshmellows in your mouth as possible and without chewing, say chubby or fluffy bunny or even pudgy bunny, that at the same time, the marshmellows are melting in the back of your mouth and causing an airway obstruction dangerous enough that once it were to happen, it would seal off your throat. It's not like choking on the quarter that you stuck in your mouth in second grade, it's like the grease that dries to the walls of your sink pipes. The irony is that while I am going to tell someone how lame it was to laugh about a game that really is deadly, I miss the portion of the "pep assembly" where students were playing with packing peanuts. They didn't get all of the peanuts off of the gym floor and when the pom girls came out to do their tribute to the nineties one of the girls went sliding on some of the peanuts and broke her ass. Overall, I thought the pom girl busting some tail was alot funnier than the kids choking down marshmellow bits.

Confessions

In the words of Usher, "These are my confessions."

I must confess,
I live most of my day thinking about what I will post to my blog. I'll see a strange sign and wonder if there are 50 words that would be worth combining enough to mention it.

I must confess,
I have been in the mood for Coldplay after a long anger break with the band. I don't know why, but when I used to get drunk in the bar, my favorite song to play was Scientist. If you have ever heard the song, you know it's not usually the bar anthem. It should also follow that my other favorite song was Black Betty by (should I pause long enough for you to recall?) Ram Jam. You know that it is pathetic when you used to take special pride in announcing your arrival to your favorite bar by playing that song on the juke and waiting for the bartenders seek you out. I knew it was time to quit going there when one night I was told, after deciding that I would just put on a t-shirt and shorts to wear out, that "it was weird seeing me in regular clothes." And what would regular clothes be, might I add? "Don't worry," she clarified. "You know what I mean. You are usually in bar slut clothes, but tonight you are in regular clothes." This coming from someone I had only seen in the bar, not someone that I had even known by name.

Let it also be told,
I bought a black statement band that says "revenge" on it from a store in DisneyLand. There's something dirty about getting a revenge bracelet from there. I know who it refers to. I also wonder how many people ever pay attention to what it says, because I have been wearing it since Christmas and only one person has done a double take.

I also hate to admit this,but
I did pick the outcome of the golden globes better than Angry Dissenter. Okay, yeah. This might be an open challenge. Maybe I have the strong need now to kick your ass at something, but I think I have skills. Mad skills.

It shall now be revealed that,
I still get insecure when my newest and bestest girlfriend doesn't call on a weekend. I am afraid she will eventually break up with me.

I should also mention,
Because of this friendship, for some reason, I now look for new board games that we can spend the evening drinking to.

This might have been mentioned before, but
Last summer my anxiety about flying turned into unadulterated fear. I usually cry and pray during one take off or descent into or out of a place. When flying alone, I have even stooped to holding a 10 year old's hand when I was scared. A 10 year old stranger too. Her dad was sitting in front of us and as tears streamed down my face I told her that we were holding hands because I didn't want her to be afraid anymore. It upsets me when someone doesn't tell me that they are flying because I like to watch the news for any possible plane crashes. It might be amusing, but there's always this part of me that isn't kidding and the part of me that grows more paranoid as each day passes by...

Okay, the real reason why I am confessing,
I spent roughly 90 minutes on a post last night that I posted for 30 minutes before I saved it as a draft. It's a really long and mostly just a wordy compliment to someone, well three someone's, but nevermind. It's a thank you for all of the work that this person did for me a week ago. Probably a thanks that isn't a big deal, but unfortunately, I still remember all of those times when I was dating someone and I confessed how important they were to me and then they looked at me like I broke all of the rules, ever had one of those? You know, you thought called him because you thought you were saying something sweet or genuine and instead, you find your name all of his friends' phones under the "psycho bitch, don't return calls" title? I think I might be too old now to make friends. It's really hard to say to someone, "You really rock." Nothing complicated, just, "I think you are cool." So after much contemplation, my paranoia and fear of being put on the "mentally unstable" list caused me to save it away. Sorry that my insecurities stood in the way of a post that was probably too long to be worth reading anyways...

Now I have to go before this one becomes too long...

Trapped, Part 2

Still stuck at work, barely having time to read blogs, and unable to post to any of them. Still here reading, just not doing much posting. Hope all is well, later...

It's Kind of Like Pot Roast...

You start off this Sunday in the mood to cook. "What a wonderful day to cook," you think, "The weather is cold and if I cook something big tonight, I won't have to do anything tomorrow." You set out to get your ingredients. Looks like tonight is going to be a roast night for you. Little beef stew flavoring, little beef, little potatoes, little celery, little carrots. Despite the little portions you have put in, the crock pot is full. You wait for it to develop all day. You keep sneaking to the kitchen to "stir it one more time" even though we all know crock pot meals don't need to be stirred. You sneak a carrot at 1:00 only to find it still raw. Your stomach aches at 4:00 when the carrots are now cooked, but the potatoes always take longer and tonight they seem to be taking their time. By 7:00, you are ravenous. You devour your meal, yburning your mouth in no less than 3 places. "Good meal, good meal," you congratulate yourself as the winner of this little game. Time to push all of the beer and water out of the way to make room for the crock pot full of tasty leftovers.

Day two: You warm your food up in the microwave or your oven and while you are eating it, though it is tasty the second time, you hold to the reminiscing positive thought that yesterday's decision to cook roast was indeed a good decision. Belly full from the second night of animal, you stumble into the kitchen to do dishes. "Ach, I don't want to do them, I am full," you rationalize, "The whole purpose of having leftovers tonight was so that I didn't have to do work." It's time to make decisions. Time to start cleaning the dishes, but you decide instead of washing the crock pot bowl or instead of jamming it into the already full dishwasher, to just return it to the back corner of your counter where the warmer is. "Tomorrow when it is again a workday," you promise, "I will wash out that crock pot."

But Tuesday is busy. And so is Wednesday and you begin to think of all that has to be finished before the weekend, by Thursday, you haven't even entered the kitchen because LIFE HAS MOVED ON. At some point the thought of pot roast is gone. You remember eating it, you remember your good Sunday decision, but by the weekend, that crock pot is safely far from your memory.

It's now Wednesday of the following week. There's a chance of snow and the wind has taken that biting attitude with you where each time it blows it feels like it is scraping off your epidermis with a fine edged razor blade. "Chili," you think, "will be the perfect way to end this bitter cold." Quickly dashing to the store, you gather your beans and jalapeños (yes, there are supposed to be jalapeños in chili) and you drive home with the warmth of chili in your heart.

You race into the forgotten kitchen. Your ingredients have been lined neatly across the counter and there's a nano-second's worth of pause before you remove the lid to the crock pot. Then, "Ach, gulp, ack! Ack," as you choke on the smell. The outside is bitter cold, but the warmth of your house and the former condensation from the lid of the crock pot has trapped this cacophony of smells into your little place of heaven and now your eyes are watering and your mouth and throat keep doing that involuntary puking spasm. You step closer to it again, knowing now that something has to be done. "Gulp, ack, OOOOh! EEEEEWW!" You run from the kitchen again. All right. Sigh. Time to hold your breath and finish this. Face turning blue, you find the farthest corner of your back yard, hopefully close to the neighbors chows, where you can dump this moldy bloody mess. And, as you are standing outside, 10 feet away from the crock pot with your garden hose, spraying down this mess, you scold yourself and keep bitterly thinking, "Why couldn't I have just used the damn stove to cook my chili?"

And so let it be said: When you unexpectedly run into your ex in a public place, the one you cooed over, the one that for a moment in your lifetime that you would have died for, that it feels like running into the maggoty pot roast and I, oops, I mean you, are left with the thought that you will NEVER eat meat again.

Now, read it again, and tell me I am wrong. And, in the spirit of M. Night Shamalan, I have shaded red all of the places that are clues.

The System

As we speak, I am waiting for the bank to determine that I am not a criminal. Not your ordinary run of the mill kind of week I guess.

On Friday, I deposited an older check (By older, I mean that it was written in November) that my mom had given me. By Friday evening, the bank had suspended all ability to use the bank account. Saturday, Sunday, and Monday I continued to have NO ABILITY to withdraw or use one red cent in my account while the bankers enjoyed a three day weekend. I doubt that while any of them were enjoying their holiday that they took time to even think about MLK Jr.

By Tuesday, after making 5 phone calls and being on hold a total of 3.75 hours combined wait time, my account was still not up to par. Instead of speaking to a national bank representative (by the way, this should be reason enough why you should never belong to a banking chain) I decided to talk to a local bank rep. It was explained to me that the bank suspended my account for suspected fradulent activity. Nope not that someone ELSE was a criminal, but rather that I WAS THE CRIMINAL.

The reason? Because when I cashed the older check, my mom had already written 20-some other checks, so it looks like I stole a check from her and then waited to cash it.

The kicker? My mom holds an account with this same national chain. Not only that, but MY NAME IS ON HER ACCOUNT AS WELL.

So let me get this straight, I am being accused of stealing money from myself?

It gets worse.

After the "internal investigation" occured, the decision has been made that the check was suspicious, so now they have decided to close my checking account. "What about all of the money in the account?" I ask. "What about the fact that I have direct deposit and my check will be arriving at the bank tomorrow?" I demand.

Witty, shitty response? That I will recieve a check MINUS the $60.00 check account closing fee, will be sent to me in 30 days. "What about the bills?" I now cry, because anger has given way to defeat.

The response? "Thank you for choosing ______________ and have a nice day." Click.

I went to a local branch. I can't stop the direct deposit. My local banker thinks the national chain is full of shit, but when he calls the woman I was speaking to, she is out to lunch. Devastating lives seems to work up an appetite. He'll call me at 2:00p.m. It's 2:10p.m. and I have heard no response. The Local Banker Man told me not to fret as I bawled my way out the door. He says, "But while you are waiting you should go try to open a new checking account, because if our internal agency decides that this is fraud, they will fax the information to every other bank that is a chain in the nation and you won't be able to bank anywhere." I just look at him.

The comforting part? He tells me that I shouldn't allow this to get me upset, because even though he is an employee, the same kind of mistake has happened to him before.

The moral? Old checks from family members aren't worth it. Tear them up and ask them to write a new one or just move on with your life. Oh, that and if a bank advertises itself as the strongest and best nationwide chain with 24 hour bank internet access and nationwide ATM availability, spit in their face and put them on your shit list, because it is always too good to be true.

I've been Tagged

Ok, so I've already put this on Genderist's website, but it's no fair to tag me. I was never quick at anything except running my mouth. I was the kid that was slow like a turtle and only the fat kids would even dare to tag me because everyone knew that if I was tagged, the game would end because I couldn't catch up to anything. Kids would actually get bored. Just know I am only answering this because I am getting tagged and I want to be a good sport.



5 Jobs You Have Had in Your Life
lifeguard
Swim Team Coach
Childcare Worker
Debate Camp Counselor (sounds cool, doesn't it)
Teacher

5 Movies You Could Watch Over and Over
Elf
I Am Sam
The Nightmare Before Christmas
Aladdin
Signs

5 Places You've Lived
Herington, KS
Edmond, OK (at my Grandpa's House)
Edmond, OK (in the projects)
Edmond, OK (in a rented house)
Edmond, OK (in a small cottage)

5 T.V. Shows You Love To Watch
1.Raw
2. Detective Vic Mackey in The Shield
3. Charmed
4. Spongebob SquarePants
5. Lost

5 Places You Have Been On Vacation
San Fransisco, CA
Orlando, FL to DisneyWorld
Cancun, Mexico
Los Angeles, CA

5 Websites You Visit Daily
Haiku Of The Id
If You Can't Think of Anything Nice To Say...
The Tudor Rose
Google
My Bank Acct Webpage

5 of Your Favorite Foods
Macaroni and Cheese
Ramen Noodles
Chicken Pad Thai
Bean Burritos
Dan Dan Noodle Bowl

5 Places You'd Rather Be
Nude Beach
In L.A. with my Mom
In KS when it is snowing and sledding down Clay Hill
In the Sixth year of my life reading "Scary Stories to Tell In The Dark" with my best friends, Adam and Kaylee.
In August back on my Honeymoon in DisneyWorld getting accidentally drunk. (Can you tell yet that I have a thing for the small black mouse? )

5 Albums You Can't Live Without
Stone Temple Pilots-Core
Nirvana-Unplugged in New York
Tori Amos-Little Earthquakes
Tori Amos-Under The Pink
Deee-Lite-Dewdrops in the Garden
*Notice how precious few of these artists are even mentioned in my music post? Weird.

5 Folks I'm Tagging
I'm the slow kid, remember? I can't catch anyone to tag, so game over.

The History of Music Through My Eyes

It's true. I started thinking about all of the movies that have been discussed online, and I was thinking that I would take time to share what music I listen to. So the last two CDs that I have purchased? John Fogerty-The Long Road Home and Nickelback-All the Right Reasons. Before I go any further, I should say that I have to admit, to most people, my music choices are lame. So I suck, I don't know what to say. Mostly, I like Rock. It drives me nuts when people say, "I like a little bit of everything." Mostly, I think that phrase annoys me because all of us usually like a little bit of everything. At some point, I tried to think of a better way to classify what I like. There isn't a particular genre that I don't like, except for punk and the newer version of punk-the punk-pop stuff. I don't know what that's called.

I have loved listening to music. Since about the time I was 7, I have paid attention to it. At about this time by brother was around 15 and he was into Metallica, Def Leppard, Motley Crue, and Cinderella. One of my favorite pictures is with him in his bedroom with all of his 80s metal posters on his wall. Because I was at that phase in my life where everything I did was to impress him, I learned to like all of these bands. When I played the ever popular game, M.A.S.H., I always opted to hope for the coveted job of bodyguard and the prized husband in Vince Neil. He was the great love of my life before I reached 10. In this way, I have found that most people are surprised that I was listening to metal at the time, but I'm proud to admit it.

It seemed natural, then, to transition from loving metal as a youth to falling into the grunge scene in the 90s. I was pretty sure that I was the only person in the world that truly understood Nirvana. I couldn't bring myself to read the suicide note left by Kurt when it was posted in Rolling Stone, I had myself convinced that he wouldn't have wanted that. For some reason as well, ages 12-15 happened to be the time when my mom had married a old dirty hippie (trust me, she'd have less positive things to label him now) and he would take me to all of these great concerts. I am priviledged enough to say that at the ripe old age of 11, I went to see my first concert: Guns'N'Roses with Smashing Pumpkins as the opener. **Yet another great Oklahoma moment was watching them get booed off of the stage because right after the first two songs, Billy Corgan had the audacity to scream "Hail Satan" in the middle of the bible belt.** Apparently, their manager must have told them to back off from that routine because the second time I saw them, they were more the cynical frail ultra liberals that were trapped in their own world of desperation, rather than the angry fuck authority band. I also got to see the Black Crowes, Megadeath, Metallica, Nirvana, Stone Temple Pilots, and Bush. I laugh now at the Bush concert, because that was about the time that everybody got a hankering to try the moshing and crowd surfing thing. Back in those days (now how much do I sound like an old cooter) only the really "hard core" concert goers would dare the mosh circle. Lesser known bands that were openers at this time included No Doubt, Reverend Horton Heat, and Candlebox. Whew.

After the grunge fog cleared, I was left in a musical limbo where I didn't know what to listen to. For the second time in my life however, I went through a phase of idol worship. My friend Sara, was into the club scene and Oklahoma City used to host this under 18 club, Star Seven. I started going to the club with her at 16. And for some reason I really caught on to the music. I started my now infamous collection of Deee-lite CDs, and then I started going to the "darker" house electronica, such as Chemical Brothers and Underworld. From there I followed a boyfriend into the P.J. Harvey, Mazzy Star and Liz Phair world. By then, rock started making a comeback, but it was these new lame bitch-bands like Blink 182, Weezer, and Presidents of the United States of America. We needed a cheerier version of rock after grunge, I guess. I got angry and started listening to pop.

This began the demise of music coolness. I missed the heaviness of rock and I couldn't figure out any new good electronica bands to listen to, so I turned to Justin Timberlake and crew to become my new block rockin' beats. I don't know what the hell I was thinking. At some point, I even turned to listening to Hanson. Which, to paraphrase Scott Ian, lead singer of Anthrax, there's no good reason to hate Hanson, they were a talented group of young boys. If a rocker the likes of Scott Ian can love Hanson, then so could I.

Thank god I discovered professional wrestling. It is there where I found Disturbed, Godsmack, Saliva, and Drowning Pool. And no, I've never been a Korn fan. Nor have I ever been a big Tool fan. So now, I ask, why have I ended up with such lame music tastes? I'm not proud to say that I own Nickelback, it seems like pop-rock to me, if it wasn't for damn song Photograph, I would have never requested the album. I don't know when I started hating everything I heard. Now, just like every other krusty old-rocker, I would rather listen to the "bands from the old days" rather than try to like some new band. Even now, I would prefer to give Poison's Greatest Hits a spin in the dusty CD player rather than try to give Aviril Lavine a chance. As a matter of fact, I was pretty disturbed when I gave Papa Roach a whirl after the single, "Getting Away with Murder," thinking that the rest of the CD would have a harder flavor, but instead I got songs like "Scars" where the band talks about their weaknesses including thins such as "caring too much." At the risk of sounding like one of my students, WTF, man. WTF.

So here ends my History of Music. I have started going back in time and listening to the old rock foggies (no pun intended) and I have actually enjoyed the CCR classics. New rock pisses me off, I don't have the energy to find all of the underground club groups and Brittany Spears and Ashley Simpson have effectively turned me away from pop. It sounds crazy to say that the last two concerts that I graced were the Van Halen concert and the Motley Crue: Red, White, and Crue Tour. It was odd, because while we were standing in line to get into the Ford Center, we were whispering about how this hard core couple had brought their daughter, who couldn't have been more than six, to the concert. My counterpart thought this was amusing, considering that this girl is now no older than I was back when I was a huge Crue fan...Such is my history of music. I'm open to hear what you think I should be listening to, at this point, I'm willing to try anything new so that my music coolness can once again be established.

Retraction And the End of the Whole Mess

While I'm not one for going back, especially after the post like the one I put forth last night, I will say that I recieved a post from Antique-esse. It was a description of how I was mistaken in the way that I interpreted comments that were made to my fat bet post. In response, I will say this: First, I didn't intend to the delete the original comments that you made to this blog. In fact, I read and re-read the comments that you made, trying to interpret them in any other way in an effort to understand why someone would be rude and yet pleasant at the same time. I stand by what I said last night. The comments that I made to you were rude and offensive, and I intended them to be because what was said hurt. Before I decided to lash out with the angriest post that I have managed in history, I will say that my first thought was to delete the comment and then forget about it. My bad. But I do not feel that I, in any way, re-interpreted the quotes that were posted by you to my website. They were almost word for word. I can't apologize for my anger and I stand by everything that I said, but if I have been mistaken this entire time, and I have truly grossly misrepresented another person's statements, then it is wrong for me not to apologize. If that is the case, then it is I who owes the apology, and not you. I've never been as pissed off as I was last night, and honestly, I can't say that I'm not still pretty pissed off now. But when you are around people night and day who criticize you for who you are and what you believe, it becomes more and more likely that you are less likely to believe that others have a benevolent intent when they make strange statements that somehow amount to something less offensive than what they were. If this doesn't make fucking sense to any of you, sorry, it barely makes sense to me. For the sake of all of this being over, I will say that if someone like Antique-esse can be the kind of person to read all of the shit that I posted last night, and still manage to respond with a kind and gentle "I'm sorry," then I suppose it means that I, too am rational enough to say that if there was a misinterpretation on my part, that I have behaved like an ass. For the sake of the four of you that did read my anger last night, I am sorry if what I said was truly a misunderstanding. For the sake of equality, I too deleted all of my comments from last night, in hopes that only the few people that viewed my blog will be the only ones who remeber it. I am ready to move on, and still for the sake of what's best, I understand if you never even come back to read all of this. It's times like these that I think back to the rage post and I remember why I abandoned all of my anger in the first place. I give up. From here on out, a much nicer girl...

The Fat Bet

I am really sorry. I know that I haven't been doing this at all lately. I must admit that I am the weakest person in the world when it comes to schedule changes. I start acting like Kyle's cousin Kyle in South Park and I am worried about meanial things like hemrroids rather than relaxing and going sleddin'. The start of the year has been strange. First of all, we had to return to school with the same students rather than switching because our semester doesn't end until next week. It's crazy because I've spent alot of time over the break creating new units and lesson plans. Now, when it's time to go back, I have to go back to the same shitheads and try to re-teach them how to tell their heads from their asses. To make matters worse, one of my bosses who I will name the Mega Beast(think Drop Dead Fred + 100 years of life and you will have mentally stumbled upon one of mine enemy) makes the decision to evaluate me the day that we come back from break. Fun times. Let me tell you that if you are ever in aposition of power over someone and you want to be able to totally mess with their minds, right before they go on vacation, tell them that you will be doing a huge evaluation THE DAY that they return to work. It leaves a lasting impression. It's like what Dane Cook was talking about when he said that the best way to leave a lasting impression on the world is to find some small kid and their ice cream and go up to that kid an smash it. Look at him in the eyes and say "You will remember this forever." And that's about what happened. The Mega Beast smashed my Christmas ice cream and when I cried, she laughed and walked away, saying, "You will fucking remember this forever." My Christmas vacation became the good moments sprinkled on top of my waking and sleeping nightmare. I'd be laughing or giggling, smiling, playing, and then it would rush through my head like a premonition (mega beast) and I would lose a couple of beats. Try to continue what I am doing (mega beast) but any time there was a moment's pause (mega beast) and during commercials or long moments in the bathroom (mega beast). I don't know why she is such a tall demon to me now. The worst part is that she conjured some kind of sleeping curse where at night I wouldn't dream about the evaluation, I would dream about (mega beast) students. Sometimes the students were being (mega beast) bastards and I couldn't get them to respect my authoritae, and others, (mega beast) were about the students that I hate most, I mean the ones that I fucking loathe, were confessing their love to me and coming on to me. Considering that I was reading a James Patterson book about murder, I doubt that my dreams were coming from what I saw everyday, but regardless, that bitch is going down for doing this to me. Fine then. I guess I will just bring it. Much like Cartman, when he realized that Scott Tennerman must die, I know now what I must do. I must beat the beast at her own game. Plan devised. No one will get in my way. So it's definetley time to get a break from work. I get the call that Brokeback Mtn. is at the mall. Remember: I live in Oklahoma, getting this movie has been a battle of epic proportions. Before this conglomeration of whatever all of this is continues, I should say that I intentionally waited until this morning to talk about it. It's that hard to watch. And not akward hard. I think I'm gonna cry until I throw up hard. I don't want to try to describe it. If you want an accurate description of the movie, no one does it better than Angry Dissenter. So, if you want to know more, check it out here. Needless to say, I lost a friend because he decided to run away from me rather than tell me he was gay, and I cried for the loss of him last night as much as I cried for the movie. It was strange because for that moment in time I remembered what it was like to be the girlfriend of someone who loves you, but who isn't attracted to you. Lots of memories from the other side of that experience, I guess. I really can't talk about this film without crying. See it. You won't be dissapointed, unless you are THAT kind of Republican. And then, I wouldn't pay you to see it, because you'd just mess it up. Moving right along to the GRAND FINALE. Are you ready? In the middle of my day sometime after Ticket to Hell #7 and sometime before Brokeback, I stumbled upon a new competition. Remember my love for competition. Think Back. If I had my old blog I could link you back, but that still tastes like bitterness, so I'll move on. Apparently, there is some new kind of competition at work where all of the teachers put $10 into a pool and the person that loses the most amount of weight by March 10th gets that pool of money. Hmm. One teacher, bless her heart, put her money into the pot, "not because I think I will win, but to encourage the other teachers to take care of themselves." Wow. Needless to say, I have this thing in the bag. I'm young and they're old. They're fat but I'm fatter. Their body can't lose the weight, but I just had a wedding and so I know how to diet and there's nothing they can do about it! wuahahahaha! The money is so mine. You'll be calling me for money soon, I can feel it. I just can't help but think that asking teachers to do things for money is kind of like enticing the retarded kids by providing a laser light show, but I'm down for the ride...

The Final Christmas Present

So, I found out that when you purchase a DVD Recorder, that the one thing that it doesn't do is record DVDs. This will be fun to explain when I return it...