A Potpourri of Thoughts
Potpourri
I never realized how weird this word looks when you are the one typing it rather than reading it.
The Blog
I know. I keep changing it. The worst part is that I am really obsessed with messing around with the template. I am convinced that at some point, I will get it to look exactly like I want it to. This is the same reason why I would NEVER have a tatoo. I keep things the same for about 10 minutes, and then it's time to change it again. I know, it's annoying. However, I did discover that I am really blessed to be able to have a huge moniter at home with which to view my blog. I went to check my blog from work and I realized how shitty it is to have to look at my blog with a smaller moniter. It was driving me nuts! I haven't fixed that problem yet, but I am really hoping that I will be able to make it how I want pretty soon...I don't know, I'm still working on it.
The Joy of Being An Oklahoman
The past 48 hours have been eerie. I walked outside yesterday, amid 80 degree weather. There's no air conditioning on right now in the school and I was sweating all over, including underneath my boobs and buttcheeks. I stood outside, when walking to my car, and there was a slight breeze. I noticed that it was sunny and yet somehow also pitch black outside. While standing there, I realized that there was a chill to the wind. Uh oh. This only means one thing. Tornadoes. By the time I made it to my car, the wind had picked up substantially and it was whipping my car all over the road on the way home. It is really scarry to feel a storm brewing. The sky gets this funky greenish yellowish color when tornadoes are coming. I got home and braced for the storm. Even Oklahoma's most famous meteorologist, Gary England, was sending out the panicked reminder about how to take caution in case the twisters strike. All for not. The tornadic winds blew, the lightning made itself appear more ominous by flashing orange instead of white, but alas, there was no storm. Sigh. We are still waiting for some rain. Now I know why 40 years in the dessert was a long time. Chinese water torture my ass, I would kill for rain, even a few drops. We're all tired of the nose bleeds. Better yet, if yesterday was a cock-tease, then today was the mother of all fucking cruel jokes because it is still thundering, it's humid, the wind is whipping, but there's still not a drop of rain. This has to end before my sanity does...
The Lunch Bunch
It all starts with Nurse Nan. Like the old television series, Emergency! I have given our school nurse this name. I hated Nurse Nan when she was on that t.v. show. I never had a good reason, or at least not one I could put my finger on, but man, I hated her. It's the same thing with the school nurse at my school. I keep trying really hard not to say something about her because I don't really have a good reason to hate her, but I can't help it, this woman drives me nuts. Mostly because she believes she is HARD CORE. She's the nurse that would love to sell you the thought that her job at the school is just as hard as triage on a battlefield in the middle of an epic battle and that she's the last living nurse to handle the dawn of the dead and dying. Every drink she has at lunch: Coke, tea, water, juice, all comes from a styrofoam cup and a straw. A cup that has no lid, mind you. So the straw isn't a result of needing the protection of a lid. Hell no. It's like she's the one that's sick, so she sips on the straw like her lips couldn't handle the force of tilting her cup up another 2 degrees to reach her mouth. Maybe she had a bad drink spill when she was in middle school and as a result now has a complex, I don't know, but just once I want to see this bitch drink out of a glass or even a can or a bottle. OH, OH, OH and I saw her drink out of a can and she used a straw then too! What's her major fucking malfunction?!? I enjoy a straw as often as the next guy, but c'mon, Nurse Nan, you are killing me softly with your straw...
I do think, however, that it might be guilt by association. Nurse Nan is accompanied by her best friend, The Handicapped Silver Spoon Princess. You know this woman, too. She's the one who worries tirelessly that there might be too many germs involved in putting cooked chicken on top of a caesar salad the night before because that situation would probably spread a sea of germs and germs cause BACTERIA, god forbid, we get ourselves INFECTED with BACTERIA. I call her The Handicapped Silver Spoon Princess because she surely feels like the whole damn school is too dirty for her, the world itself is just too filthy now-and tainted. Dust bunnies everywhere! Dirty thoughts, dirty places, dirty people, dirty business this whole trying to teach kids thing. There isn't enough Purrell in the world that could disinfect her brain from the high-minded society burden that she carries on her back. Oh wait. She wouldn't ever do heavy lifting. She must keep it in her handbag, not purse, too common. Maybe that's why she walks around with limp wrists all of the time. The weight of the world all stored in her coin purse. She is emotionally too frail to do her job well. I don't know how to describe it. I have struggled for a metaphor for days and one just refuses to come. She carries herself like a 70 year old woman because she is so DISGUSTED by her surroundings. He can't even handle using the plasticware that the school provides for lunch. She's the person who grumps up her face when she has to talk to custodians because that's like talking to patients from the leper colony. Ugh. I think I just threw up in my mouth a little thinking about how disgusting her personality is.
The third woman that makes up this little triad of joy is Soccer Mom X. The X clearly stands for extreme. Soccer Mom X has a student teacher following her around. One she feels the need to talk to much in the same way that she would talk to a deaf mute dog. Regardless of who you are, you are just another retarded child in need of advice. I was bitching about a policy change at the school, and she just wanted to jump in and fix the problem for me. When I explained that I could handle the problem on my own, her response was something like, "Well good for you! You are learning how to be like the big teachers and handle problems on your own!" I'm sorry, I'm sorry. What I meant to say is, "How would you like to suck my balls, Mr. Garrison?" (There's a South Park reference here. Don't want to be too ambiguous.) I can't handle being the baby. "I'm not a baby!" I scream as I stamp my feet on the floor, slam my fists into my legs and storm from the room. "Gah! I hate school! I can't wait until I'm done!"
Oh. Wait. Dammit, nevermind.
Women 4-7 are worthless in terms of mentioning. To me there is only an Axis of Evil. I have ignored them, and I have started eating alone in my room, but even the 5 minutes that I have to spend heating up my food in the teacher dining room is too much. The worst part is what I mentioned before, which is that there really isn't anything wrong with these women except for the fact that their personality nuances make me want to put toothpicks under my eyelids. I would take a razor blade to my retinas before I would spend another full day in the lunchroom with them...
The Oscars
For some reason, Blogger is joining in on the fun and choosing to also be a pain in the ass, so I will post my most recent thoughts here instead of on Angry's blog. I agree. That's all. Most plainly, I think Brokeback was given the shaft-truly no pun intended, I just caught it reading the 2nd time throught- for a more palatable movie.
The Vinegar
In Genderist's hair is hand's down the funniest story I have heard all week. I am still giggling a little at your pain. Well played, my friend. Well played.
I never realized how weird this word looks when you are the one typing it rather than reading it.
The Blog
I know. I keep changing it. The worst part is that I am really obsessed with messing around with the template. I am convinced that at some point, I will get it to look exactly like I want it to. This is the same reason why I would NEVER have a tatoo. I keep things the same for about 10 minutes, and then it's time to change it again. I know, it's annoying. However, I did discover that I am really blessed to be able to have a huge moniter at home with which to view my blog. I went to check my blog from work and I realized how shitty it is to have to look at my blog with a smaller moniter. It was driving me nuts! I haven't fixed that problem yet, but I am really hoping that I will be able to make it how I want pretty soon...I don't know, I'm still working on it.
The Joy of Being An Oklahoman
The past 48 hours have been eerie. I walked outside yesterday, amid 80 degree weather. There's no air conditioning on right now in the school and I was sweating all over, including underneath my boobs and buttcheeks. I stood outside, when walking to my car, and there was a slight breeze. I noticed that it was sunny and yet somehow also pitch black outside. While standing there, I realized that there was a chill to the wind. Uh oh. This only means one thing. Tornadoes. By the time I made it to my car, the wind had picked up substantially and it was whipping my car all over the road on the way home. It is really scarry to feel a storm brewing. The sky gets this funky greenish yellowish color when tornadoes are coming. I got home and braced for the storm. Even Oklahoma's most famous meteorologist, Gary England, was sending out the panicked reminder about how to take caution in case the twisters strike. All for not. The tornadic winds blew, the lightning made itself appear more ominous by flashing orange instead of white, but alas, there was no storm. Sigh. We are still waiting for some rain. Now I know why 40 years in the dessert was a long time. Chinese water torture my ass, I would kill for rain, even a few drops. We're all tired of the nose bleeds. Better yet, if yesterday was a cock-tease, then today was the mother of all fucking cruel jokes because it is still thundering, it's humid, the wind is whipping, but there's still not a drop of rain. This has to end before my sanity does...
The Lunch Bunch
It all starts with Nurse Nan. Like the old television series, Emergency! I have given our school nurse this name. I hated Nurse Nan when she was on that t.v. show. I never had a good reason, or at least not one I could put my finger on, but man, I hated her. It's the same thing with the school nurse at my school. I keep trying really hard not to say something about her because I don't really have a good reason to hate her, but I can't help it, this woman drives me nuts. Mostly because she believes she is HARD CORE. She's the nurse that would love to sell you the thought that her job at the school is just as hard as triage on a battlefield in the middle of an epic battle and that she's the last living nurse to handle the dawn of the dead and dying. Every drink she has at lunch: Coke, tea, water, juice, all comes from a styrofoam cup and a straw. A cup that has no lid, mind you. So the straw isn't a result of needing the protection of a lid. Hell no. It's like she's the one that's sick, so she sips on the straw like her lips couldn't handle the force of tilting her cup up another 2 degrees to reach her mouth. Maybe she had a bad drink spill when she was in middle school and as a result now has a complex, I don't know, but just once I want to see this bitch drink out of a glass or even a can or a bottle. OH, OH, OH and I saw her drink out of a can and she used a straw then too! What's her major fucking malfunction?!? I enjoy a straw as often as the next guy, but c'mon, Nurse Nan, you are killing me softly with your straw...
I do think, however, that it might be guilt by association. Nurse Nan is accompanied by her best friend, The Handicapped Silver Spoon Princess. You know this woman, too. She's the one who worries tirelessly that there might be too many germs involved in putting cooked chicken on top of a caesar salad the night before because that situation would probably spread a sea of germs and germs cause BACTERIA, god forbid, we get ourselves INFECTED with BACTERIA. I call her The Handicapped Silver Spoon Princess because she surely feels like the whole damn school is too dirty for her, the world itself is just too filthy now-and tainted. Dust bunnies everywhere! Dirty thoughts, dirty places, dirty people, dirty business this whole trying to teach kids thing. There isn't enough Purrell in the world that could disinfect her brain from the high-minded society burden that she carries on her back. Oh wait. She wouldn't ever do heavy lifting. She must keep it in her handbag, not purse, too common. Maybe that's why she walks around with limp wrists all of the time. The weight of the world all stored in her coin purse. She is emotionally too frail to do her job well. I don't know how to describe it. I have struggled for a metaphor for days and one just refuses to come. She carries herself like a 70 year old woman because she is so DISGUSTED by her surroundings. He can't even handle using the plasticware that the school provides for lunch. She's the person who grumps up her face when she has to talk to custodians because that's like talking to patients from the leper colony. Ugh. I think I just threw up in my mouth a little thinking about how disgusting her personality is.
The third woman that makes up this little triad of joy is Soccer Mom X. The X clearly stands for extreme. Soccer Mom X has a student teacher following her around. One she feels the need to talk to much in the same way that she would talk to a deaf mute dog. Regardless of who you are, you are just another retarded child in need of advice. I was bitching about a policy change at the school, and she just wanted to jump in and fix the problem for me. When I explained that I could handle the problem on my own, her response was something like, "Well good for you! You are learning how to be like the big teachers and handle problems on your own!" I'm sorry, I'm sorry. What I meant to say is, "How would you like to suck my balls, Mr. Garrison?" (There's a South Park reference here. Don't want to be too ambiguous.) I can't handle being the baby. "I'm not a baby!" I scream as I stamp my feet on the floor, slam my fists into my legs and storm from the room. "Gah! I hate school! I can't wait until I'm done!"
Oh. Wait. Dammit, nevermind.
Women 4-7 are worthless in terms of mentioning. To me there is only an Axis of Evil. I have ignored them, and I have started eating alone in my room, but even the 5 minutes that I have to spend heating up my food in the teacher dining room is too much. The worst part is what I mentioned before, which is that there really isn't anything wrong with these women except for the fact that their personality nuances make me want to put toothpicks under my eyelids. I would take a razor blade to my retinas before I would spend another full day in the lunchroom with them...
The Oscars
For some reason, Blogger is joining in on the fun and choosing to also be a pain in the ass, so I will post my most recent thoughts here instead of on Angry's blog. I agree. That's all. Most plainly, I think Brokeback was given the shaft-truly no pun intended, I just caught it reading the 2nd time throught- for a more palatable movie.
The Vinegar
In Genderist's hair is hand's down the funniest story I have heard all week. I am still giggling a little at your pain. Well played, my friend. Well played.
posted by Unequivocal_Prowess at 6:19 PM
3 Comments:
I like the new skin!
We should get together sometime; you can smell my hair.
Am I the only person who didn't love Brokeback Mountain? The subject of a homosexual relationship was well-presented, but the movie's pace was SO slow... and actually kinda cheesy in spots... I thought...
Okay, I'll admit, I am very obsessed with this movie...as a matter of fact, I have a hard time seeing any flaw in that movie, I don't know, it really touched me deep. However, I do understand what you are saying because I hated Walk the Line and I continue to take crap from everyone because I am not that fascinated with it!
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