The Chat

So, I'm sitting in the living room of Bratty's house, and let me tell you, it was something out of a dark comedy. There were religious paintings and statues everywhere; but not the smiling, friendly Jesus from my Grandma's church. Oh, no, these were graphic, horrific paintings of Christ nailed on the cross, blood gushing, face contorted in pain. The eyes of every painting seemed to follow you where ever you went- it was so creepy, I had nightmares that night! To start with, I wanted to talk to the mom, to find out exactly what my purpose was. It took a while to explain to her that I was  NOT going to tell Bratty that sex was a mortal sin and she'd burn in hell without confession and pennance. That seemed to be the only arguement the mom had for why her 14 year-old child shouldn't be having sex with a 17 year-old boy! I finally had to tell her that I am not of the Christian faith, and therefore, I don't know or understand all of the rules and regulations of it, and Catholicism in particular (ok, my ex was Catholic, and I know the highlights, but there are so many more logical arguements than religion).

Ok, exit mom and bring on Bratty. "Hi, Ms. Tsarina, blah blah blah". An entire ten minutes of mindless chatter. Finally I bring her to the reason I'm there. She tells me they're in love and they're going to get married as soon as they can. I ask about protection, she says if she gets pregnant, it's God's will! Ok, I'm forced to talk about God-- "Does God condone you having sex?" "Well, since we're in love, it's ok". I decide to let this go, as she's 14, and you have to choose your battles. I ask her if Dickwad has ever had sex with anyone before her. She reluctantly admits that he has not one, but TWO children by two different girls. *Heavy sigh* "But, he's not like that, Ms. Tsarina, he's really a good person". I ask if he supports these children (he dropped out of school last year), and am told no, he doesn't "make enough money". I ask how often she and Dickwad go out, which she tells me every Friday and Saturday. I ask why he isn't giving that money to help support his children, who should be the most important thing right now. She whines that then they couldn't do anything. I ask if they're so in love, why can't they just sit at her mom's house and watch TV together? She says mom watches her like a hawk (obviously, she isn't watching close enough).  This back and forth goes on for a while (I should tell you that as much as I try to avoid getting into arguements, I think on my feet really quickly, and can almost always confuse the hell out of the other person).  We discuss STDs (nothing will shut a 14 year-old up like a picture of female genitalia covered with herpes blisters, and I came prepared!) I have pictures and articles, each demonstrating dangers of unprotected sex.

Finally, I break out the big guns- I tutor a girl who is a 15 year-old single mom. Her family disowned her when she got pregnant, and the  18 year-old boyfriend who "loved" her was arrested when the father of another 15 year-old caught them together- he's now in prison. Mia lives exactly the kind of life you picture- she's with a foster family who keeps her for the money and don't give two shits about her or her child. Her son, Adam, is a beautiful 6 month-old with huge dark eyes and curly blond hair. I have arranged for Mia and Adam to come over when I call. So I make the call, and they arrive about ten minutes later. I let Mia tell Bratty what her life is like. She tells her how she loved her boyfriend and believed he loved her. She talks about the pain of his cheating, and her family turning their backs on her. She talks about being a pregnant freshman, missing out on everything fun. By the time she reaches the end, we are all in tears. It's really moving to listen to someone who has gone down the wrong path, and has been brave enough to turn around and try to find the right one. She tells Bratty about our tutoring sessions just to try to catch her up with her class so she can return to school next year, and how hard it is to take care of an infant while studying. (I notice that she has handed Adam to Bratty early in the conversation, and even when he becomes fussy and starts crying, she lets Bratty try to comfort him-- this is a smart girl).  To end the conversation, (and I had said this, too, but I think it has more power coming from Mia) Mia tells Bratty that if Dickwad loves her as much as he says, he wouldn't want her to go through what Mia is going through. She asks Bratty, "don't you think that the two girls who have kids with him were probably told the same shit he tells you now?" She reminds Bratty that she has the rest of her life to be married and have sex, but she only has a short time to be a kid and do stuff with her friends. Bratty assures us that she's going to cool things off with Dickwad for a while as she gratefully hands a screaming Adam back to Mia. Mia and Adam left then (they live two blocks away from Bratty), and Bratty went to her room.

I tried to sum up the conversation for her mom, but I also told her she needed to set limits on Bratty's behavior and enforce them. For starters, 14 year-old girls DO NOT NEED TO WEAR THONG UNDERWEAR! (sorry, but this bugs me, because they always have to make sure it is sticking over the top of their pants, and I don't want to see ANYONE'S undies). Secondly, I told her she should establish a curfew and have consequences if it's broken. Mom said, "but none of her friends have curfews". And yes, I had to say it, "if the rest of her friends jumped off the roof..." The woman then told me it was really hard to have to be a disciplinarian all the time since Bratty's dad left (why the fuck do you have a child if you didn't want to do the hard part, too?) I explained that the behavior Bratty was engaging in was risking her life as surely as if she were taking drugs, and that seemed to sink in.

I hope it all works out. I'll never understand why people choose to have kids without looking ahead to these situations. I don't have any because, quite frankly, I'm not sure I'd be patient enough to have a little person around 24/7, and I wouldn't want to fuck them up. But, it seems to me that the parents who have the fewest problems are the ones who have established boundaries since the kids were babies, who show unconditional love for their kids, and who treat their kids with the respect that they want shown to themselves.  I think I'm ready for my own talk show now- Mr. Demille, I'm ready for my close-up!

How I Spent My Summer Vacation

It's summer, people. While I know that most of you have jobs that are not affected by the seasons, I DO. Summer is my time to "relax" (you know, set up my classroom, work on lesson plans, locate resources, things like that). So, when the phone rang at 7:30 this morning, I was less than pleased. Looking at the caller ID, I realized it was the number for a former student, so I answered it. Mrs. Studentmom says, "Hello, Ms. Tsarina?" (these are not the real names, btw). Me: "Yes, may I help you?" no coffee makes Tsarina very uncreative!  Mom: "I'm really sorry to bother you, Ms. Tsarina, but you were my daughter, Bratty's teacher last year; do you remember her?" Let's see, pretty girl, dark hair, low-cut tank tops and thong peeking over the top of her 14 year-old's super low-rise jeans? Yeah, I think, I remember her.  I actually liked this girl, but got sick of giving her a sweatshirt to put on because her clothes violated dress code. Oh, yeah, and she has a 17 year-old boyfriend that her mom has no problem with.  Mom:  "Well, you see, um, the thing is, ahhhhh". Fucking spit it out! Mom: "Well, last night, I uh, well, I caught Bratty and Dickwad (the boyfriend) having sex! I never expected anything like that!" Ah, ignorance is bliss! Mom: "Well, Ms. Tsarina, I raised Bratty to be a good girl" (try not to laugh) "well, you see, she won't listen to me; she thinks I don't understand her. But, she said that you would be fair, so I was wondering if you would have a talk with her about, well, you know, S-E-X" (yup, she spelled it out). Ok, now I am trained to teach sex-ed, but to be honest, I have never had to do it, and I'm glad, because I'm still fairly immature myself, and tend to giggle when I'm uncomfortable. On top of that, most 14 year-olds probably know more than I do! So, just what exactly is she asking me to do? I ask for more clarification. She says, " Bratty has locked herself in her room and won't come out." I tried that once-ONCE- my dad took the hinges off the door and beat my ass! "She says she loves Dickwad and wants to move in with him".  Fucking tell her NO... why don't parents set limits any more? Mom continues, " But, she said she'd listen to you if you'd talk to her. Will you talk to her?" So, I agreed that I'd go over tonight and chat with Bratty. In the meantime, I asked her mom to tell her to pick up the phone, which she did. Me: "Bratty?" Bratty: "HI, Ms. Tsarina! I miss you so much! My mom is overreacting, but will you come over and talk to her?" Me: "Bratty, I am going to come over tonight. For right now, I want you to come out of your room". Bratty: " I don't want to talk to HER". Me (annoyed): "Bratty, I DO NOT give one single crap what you want at the moment. Open that damn door, tell your mother you are sorry that you hurt her, and spend today thinking about what you want to say this evening when we talk. Write an outline, that is an order." Bratty came out of her room and apologized to her mom. When we hung up, they were going to eat breakfast. GOOD MORNING, EVERYONE!

Not Just A Fool, but THE Fool!!!

My classroom is almost completely decorated, except for the curtains that I'm going to make. I bought a bunch of school supplies today- stuff I want the kids to have, but most families can't afford. I was thinking it would be nice if WalMart would offer some kind of teacher discount like Office Depot does. If the school were paying, I could get the tax number, and get it tax-free, but that doesn't help with this kind of crap. I need to get paper and notebooks, but I'm hoping to find them cheaper- when you have to get 130 of them, the cost adds up quickly! I'm getting excited and ready for school to start! I found a bunch of stuff in my room from last year (the teacher was a slob!) It looks like about 90% of her students failed the class. That makes me wonder, do that many kids not care, or was she an uncaring teacher? Let me tell you, I've only failed two students, and it nearly killed me both times! I try to create as many possibilities for them to be successful as I can- if they do their daily journal entries with any effort, there is no way they could fail. I make sure that is equal to sixty percent of their weekly grade, so if they work on an entry each day, even if they fail the weekly projects, they will still be passing. Some people think that this is coddling them, but I really feel like if they are putting in an effort, it should be rewarded. It's a lot easier to bring your grade back up from a 60 than from a 0!

Ok, I stole this from Seeker, who stole it from Esther, who got it from Vadergrrrl. However, since I always pride myself on being the "smart" one of my friends, I thought it was especially funny to see WHAT I am!


You are the Fool card. The Fool fearlessly begins
the journey into the unknown. To do this, he
does not regard the world he knows as firm and
fixed. He has a seemingly reckless disregard
for obstacles. In the Ryder-Waite deck, he is
seen stepping off a cliff with his gaze on the
sky, and a rainbow is there to catch him. In
order to explore and expand, one must disregard
convention and conformity. Those in the throes
of convention look at the unconventional,
non-conformist personality and think What a
fool. They lack the point of view to understand
The Fool's actions. But The Fool has roots in
tradition as one who is closest to the spirit
world. In many tribal cultures, those born with
strange and unusual character traits were held
in awe. Shamans were people who could see
visions and go on journeys that we now label
hallucinations and schizophrenia. Those with
physical differences had experience and
knowledge that the average person could not
understand. The Fool is God. The number of the
card is zero, which when drawn is a perfect
circle. This circle represents both emptiness
and infinity. The Fool is not shackled by
mountains and valleys or by his physical body.
He does not accept the appearance of cliff and
air as being distinct or real. Image from: Mary
DeLave http://www.marydelave.com/

Which Tarot Card Are You?
brought to you by

Snack Time

Have you all been following Rita's story (Diary-A)? If not, you need to leave here immediately, go to the beginning and start reading. Go ahead, I'll wait. Nothing I have to say is as interesting; damn, that girl can tell a story! I love the way she includes a song at the beginning of each post to set the tone- I may actually steal that at some point. However, for today's post, I thought I'd share something that I LOVE--(minds out of the gutter)-- cooking! If I may boast a little, I'm pretty good at it too. My mom is a TERRIBLE cook, and it became a survival skill in our house. I rarely follow a recipe exactly as it's written, because, quite frankly, I'm arrogant about shit like that and I know I can make it better! In fact, I once had the new wife of an ex-bf call me to ask for a cookie recipe because she was sick of him telling her how much better mine were! Did I give it to her? HELL YEAH, I'm not one of those insecure women who is afraid to give away her "secrets". Besides, I felt I owed her for taking that jerk off the dating market! I also know that two people can follow the same recipe and get different results- my mom uses the same cookie recipe and hers are hard as hockey pucks! I don't know what the difference is...

One of my friends is a gourmet on the grill! She didn't have an oven for a year, and learned to make all sorts of things, even baked cakes, on the grill. I have not mastered the grill (well, the ex took ours, so I don't have one to practice with, but I really am not that interested).  I can, however, create masterpieces in a kitchen! These are not the extravagant, "which fork do I use" crap that the food channel is always pushing. No, ladies and gentlemen, I cook for real people who may or may not have mastered eating utensils. There is no pretension in my kitchen- anyone with an appetite and an opinion is welcome!

A couple of years ago, the ex wanted to have a Superbowl party. This gave me the opportunity to cook for a group of people who appreciated it, so I was happy. I made a buttload of food, and every bit was gone by the end of the game! My favorite was the jalapeno poppers, so I'm going to give you the recipe- it's easy, and they're MUCH better than the frozen crap you buy and bake. If you make them, and change the recipe making it better, I'd appreciate a note- I'm always looking for new ideas!

Tsarina's Jalapeno Poppers

25 fresh jalapenos, slice lengthwise and remove seeds and stems, then rinse and drain on paper towels
1/2 c. yellow cornmeal
1/4 c. yellow cornmeal
1 c. flour
1/2 c. flour
1 t. baking powder
1 T. corn oil
corn oil for frying
1 c. beer
grated cheese (I like a variety: pepper jack, colby, or mozarella)

Put enough oil for frying in skillet (3 1/2 " is good) and heat on med-low heat.

In mixing bowl, combine 1/2 c. cornmeal, 1c. flour, and baking powder. Add beer and 1 T. oil, mix thoroughly and set aside.

Mix 1/4 c. cornmeal and 1/2 c. flour in a separate bowl.

Stuff each pepper with cheese, then roll in flour mixture and dip in batter. Then roll in flour mixture one more time.  Carefully drop each pepper in the hot oil and cook for 1-3 minutes, turning frequently to brown evenly. Drain on paper towels and serve immediately.
**Note- most people serve these with ranch dressing, however, I like to also serve a sweet and sour sauce (I'll give you the recipe later)**

 

 

No More Oprah

As you have probably figured out by now, I am not a 'girly-girl'. I don't go to the bathroom with my friends, I only own three pairs of shoes, and I'd rather watch the Terminator blow shit up than watch Meg Ryan do... anything. However, sometimes I feel the need to torture myself by watching Oprah and try to figure out why women love this show so much. Today's topic: Growing Up Rich. I don't understand our collective fascination with these trust fund tots who have never had to earn anything and who contribute even less. Topping it off was those vacant, useless blond blow-up dolls, the Hilton sisters. First of all, one of them couldn't remember the name of the machine that washes her clothes. Then they have the nerve to say that they earn their money (they ARE models, for God's sake), and they like feeling like productive citizens. Let me explain something, ladies: firefighters are productive citizens. Parents who care for their children properly are productive citizens. The busboy who cleans up your dirty dishes is a productive citizen. YOU ARE FUCKING MODELS- you are a hole with blonde hair (sorry, I'm annoyed) . You inherited more money than my school receives annually from the government, and you earn way too much for WEARING CLOTHES. This is not a productive career. Shit, even Paris' porno was more productive than modelling! I didn't see it myself, but many of my guy friends have found it very entertaining. The other rich kids were just as obnoxious, "I can't imagine dating someone who's not from my same background"-  um, because it's called incest, hon, and that's what was causing many royal heirs to die out.  Maybe that's the solution we need: if you can't pass a common sense test, you can only breed with a close family member, and within two generations, your bloodline will be too thin to support life.

I must also say, I can't stand Oprah's phony ass any more, either. She used to be funny and interesting. Now, if she's not telling you how to be perfect like herself, she's sucking up to some brain-dead celebrity who probably drools during commercial breaks. God, I was in a good mood before I watched that show- see, that's why I avoid daytime television.

Moving In Day

Yeah, big day today- I started taking stuff into my classroom!!!! It's gigantic; I don't know what I'll do with all that space! I realized today, though, that when school starts, it will take me over an hour to get there once I allow for traffic and road construction.

I also realized again how important manners are. My class was not equipped with a teacher's desk. I decided that I could deal with that, I'd use one of the tables, no biggie. However, I did want a softer chair (I'm a wuss, I know). So, as I was leaving for lunch, I saw two of the janitors and asked them if there was possibly a desk chair that I could have. They didn't think so, but said they'd look. Ok, fine, I'm really not one to complain about little shit like that, so I told them not to worry too much about it. I then (and this is where my manners come into play) asked them if they wanted me to pick up lunch for them while I was out so that they wouldn't have to spend their whole lunch waiting in line somewhere. They said, "no thank you", and I left, thinking little about it. When I got back, not only did I have the NICEST desk chair in the building, I also had a huge desk!!!! I think I'm going to take them milkshakes on Thursday when I go back- maybe I'll get the 50 ft. extension cord I want, too!

I have a couple of friends from Chicago who are so freaking arrogant to service people that I refuse to go to dinner with them any more  (I'm not saying all Chicago people are rude... just the ones I know). They always wonder why they get so little help when we're in a store, or when they take a cab- one of them couldn't believe when I told him that the cab driver had stopped the meter several blocks before the stop because he missed his turn. I attribute it to the fact that I looked him in the eye and said, "hi, how are you", instead of barking an address at him. I never understand people who have the attitude, 'I'm better because I have...' fill in the blank- more education, more money, whatever. Honestly, the smartest man I ever met only finished third grade. Anyway, it again proves that karma works- sometimes it takes forever, but everything you put out there always comes back!

A couple of other notes- I'm not really feeling intellectual, but the picture looks so damn much like me that I may leave it there forever! Ok- I need to cut my bangs like that, but it's like a cartoon of me, and I thought it was cool (I know, I'm a dork). Also, we saw I,Robot this weekend. I really liked it- kind of like The Terminator meets Demolition Man. My friend, Diana, hated it. I'm not saying it should win an Oscar, but it was fun and exciting, and to be honest, that's all I really ask for my seven bucks! And yes, I am feeling better... apparently I have developed an allergy to shrimp. This sucks, because that is one of my favorite foods, but after the past few days, I don't think I'll ever crave it again! Anyway, I'm going to get to bed early so I can get stuff done tomorrow- hope you all have a great day!

Child of the Corn

Ok, I'm sick, so if this sucks, it's Seeker's fault, he made me post!

To many Native Americans, corn was sacred because it meant the difference between life and death. I always feel a deep reverence when I look at a corn field, when I walk through it. There's just something indescribably magical that happens this time of year; the corn is suddenly six feet high, with golden tassels waving in the breeze. The first thing you notice is the smell. There's a deep, sweet, earthy smell that comes off the fields. I always imagine that Heaven must smell like a corn field after a strong rain. There's a tranquil hush that falls over you in a corn field- you can hear the leaves whispering as you pass. All other sounds are distant, like in a dream. The first few rows in will deceive you with their coolness, because after you're in about six rows, where no breeze reaches, the heat becomes oppressive. At first, each corn stalk looks the same; each one a soldier standing at attention. On closer inspection, though, they are each as individual as soldiers. Their leaves are a rich, true green, rough on top and with edges that can inflict cuts to put paper to shame. Right now, the corn itself is tiny- like a baby cradled in the arms of those leaves for protection. Soon, though, almost overnight, the corn will grow. It will be fat and yellow, and it will provide another year of life to the family that has tended it from a seed. I guess in that way, farm families are not much different from the Native Peoples who lived here for centuries; a healthy crop means survival. It means their children will have food on the table and a roof over their heads. I don't know if any of you from other areas will understand the beauty and romance of this, but I was out at my parents' today and walked the field to see the tornado damage. I love the fields and the mud and even the tiny cuts on my face and hands from moving through that ocean of green. I hope all of you have someplace that makes you feel like the fields make me feel.

First Kiss

Do you remember the first person you kissed? I ask because I saw the first guy I ever kissed on tv last night. (Unlike most of my ex-boyfriends, it wasn't Cops or America's Most Wanted.) No, this guy is now a cop, who was helping with the cleanup of the tornado damage. It took me back to the summer I had just turned 14...

I used to babysit every night for a family down the street. The kids were terrible and the pay was worse, but at least it wasn't my house! Chad would ride his bike over every evening and talk to me on the front porch while the kids terrorized the neighborhood. One night, he came over after I had put them to bed. The knock on the door scared the Hell out of me, so my heart was already racing when I saw him. I was nervous letting him inside, but I did. We sat on the couch and watched tv for a while, saying very little. The whole time, random thoughts kept racing through my head, "does he like me? How could he, I'm ugly. Did he mean to bump my hand?..." As I look at old pictures of myself, I realize that I was not ugly, but a lifetime of being told that I was had eroded my self-confidence. Finally, he got up, and said that he had to go. I got up to let him out, when he turned around and planted one on me! Full tongue and everything. My head started spinning and my ears were ringing. He turned bright red, muttered, "bye", and left. I spent the whole evening replaying that moment over and over in my head. I couldn't wipe the smile off my face for hours! The next night, I waited, but he never came back. In fact, he never, EVER came back. I was convinced that it was because he could tell I had never kissed anyone before, and that I did it badly. I never told any of my friends- I had learned that almost anything can be twisted and used as a weapon against you, so I kept it to myself. When school started a few weeks later, Chad avoided me like the plague- in fact I don't remember him ever talking to me again. When I saw him on tv last night, I didn't immediately think of how hurt I was by that; I thought of how happy I was for one evening when I was 14. I can still remember how my lips tingled and my face flushed. I remember being ecstatic that a boy liked me! When you're that age, everything that happens is a major event, and the emotions are amplified a million times. Thinking rationally, the kiss was pretty bad- he flopped his tongue into my mouth like a dead fish, and got slobber on my cheek. But, to my hormone-drenched brain, it was Romeo kissing Juliet all over again (good thing I hadn't read it yet, so I didn't know how it ended!) I noticed that he was wearing a wedding ring on the news: I hope for his wife's sake, he's learned to kiss by now!

Tornadoes and WalMart and Care Bears, Oh My!

I'm exhausted: today could be called Tornado Tuesday. Storms and tornadoes raced through the area today (fortunately, my county was spared the worst of it). However, there was a tornado on the ground for about 20 minutes in area where my parents live. In fact, if you were to believe the weatherman, it was tearing through their living room. I really hate it when the fucking bastards say shit like, "well, at least it's not near a heavily-populated area". I mean, for Christ's sake, people live there- are they any less important than some fucking city-dweller? So, I spent about an hour trying to reach my parents, with no luck. While I may have had an occasional dark thought (or frequent, whatever) about them, I don't really want them crushed under their house. Finally, I was able to get through, and my dad (who was strangely sober) said that the tornado went through the field about 50 yards behind the house, and he had 4" hail come through the garage roof. But, fortunately they were fine. My sister's house ( I didn't even know she was in a warning area) sustained a lot more damage from winds and hail, but they were all ok, too. I was on my way to town to grocery shop when I heard the sirens go off in the distance. As I imagined being herded into the middle of WalMart with the other shoppers to wait out the warning, Jay's post popped into my mind. I turned around immediately- I decided if today was my day to die, I'd do it in my car or my own house, and not there!

This was a cute quiz that I liked; you can decide for yourself:


Bondage Bear


Which Dysfunctional Care Bear Are You?
brought to you by Quizilla

Peaceful, Easy Feeling

Sometimes such simple things make me really really happy. This evening, I sat on my patio, eating a popsicle, reading a textbook and watching my dog play. The sun was setting, and for a few brief moments, I really felt peaceful. It was the first time in my life that I remember not having a nervous knot in my stomach without being high. For a few beautiful, tranquil moments, I knew peace. Then, of course, the inbred goatfuckers down the road had to ruin my zen-ness with firecrackers and drunken laughter... I remember why I don't own a gun.

I miss getting high- that's probably the biggest sacrifice I've made for my teaching. However, the desire is part of what makes me more reliable than the drug-sniffing dog they bring through the schools now and then. I can walk by a locker and tell you if there's green refreshments in it from a foot away! One of my kids last year would show up high, we all knew it, but no one could prove a thing. Coincidentally, the stoners and skaters all seem to like me best, so I was elected to talk to him. After a long conversation with the principal, where I was cautioned not to accuse him of anything, and a lot of other legal bullshit, I was trusted to talk with this young man. I laugh at the wording that they want me to use; "it has been brought to my attention that you have been having some difficulty with concentration lately..." Christ, if I said that to him, he'd think I was wearing a wire and never open his mouth! So, I get him in the conference room, and I ask him what's up? He looks at me knowingly- "he's been expecting this conversation", I think. He smiles and assures me nothing is up. Disregarding everything the principal has just said, I get in his face and say, "Don't give me that crap. Do I LOOK stupid? I have eyes and a nose that work very well, and I KNOW what's up". He stops smiling; I rarely get mad at the kids, so for me to get serious like that is a big deal. He assures me that everything is under control, which I disagree with. We talk back and forth for two class periods, me explaining the damage he is doing to his body, him maintaining that "it's no big deal". Finally, I think he got sick of my voice (I know I was sick of hearing it), and he agreed to speak with the counselor and tell his parents. He asked me to sit in when his parents came- that's an awkward situation, but I did it. As it turns out, he was not only using, but was also the second biggest dealer in the high school! Who knew? Anyway, as the other teachers were congratulating me on a great job, I felt like such a fucking hypocrite- if I could, I would have gone home and smoked a joint right then!

Laundry Day

I am not a person who is easily embarassed. In fact, I can count the number of times I've been really embarassed on one hand. I have just been forced to add another incident... I was outside talking to the neighbor and his 14 year-old son. Their dog comes over and plays with mine a lot, Kevin maintains my yard, and the dad is really nice and has fixed more stuff in the one year I've been here than Joe fixed in almost six years together! I've been having problems with the ac in my car, so Neighbor told me he'd take a look at it. I went inside to get my keys, followed by my dog. Now, our usual routine when going somewhere is that I pick up my keys, and he grabs one of his stuffed animals and we go to the car. He loves car rides, and becomes really hyper at the prospect. So, I pick up my keys to take out to Neighbor, and Baxter apparently assumes we're going for a drive. However, instead of picking up a stuffed animal, he sticks his head into the basket of clean (thank God) laundry, and runs out the door. I didn't really pay attention until I got outside to see Neighbor bent double laughing, and Kevin looking as embarassed as I've seen him. It seems that instead of picking up Mickey Mouse, or any one of his million other toys, Baxter has chosen to pick up a lovely red lace thong and bring it outside, where he and the neighbor dog can play tug-o-war with said panty. At first I was just pissed off: that is part of a set that cost me a pretty penny (some women buy shoes...). After the laughter began to penetrate my brain, I realized what was happening and the embarassment factor went way up. It took about five minutes to finally wrest the undies from the dogs; by now they were torn and slobbery. I couldn't look Neighbor or Kevin in the eye as I carried the ruined underwear inside. I spent about ten minutes composing myself before I went back out. Kevin was gone. His dad politely told me that the ac problem was no big deal and should be working ok now. I asked him if I owed him any money, to which he replied, "Save your money, you'll be needing some new bloomers", winked and walked away. Is it really possible to die of embarassment?

Money

Ok, doesn't it seem like a matter of common sense that someone who has chosen a profession where they will never make any money (such as teaching) is probably not money-oriented, unless they are stupid? Tell me then, why my friend would try to set me up with someone whose entire life revolves around how much he spent on SHIT? My friend, who will hereafter be known as "Bitch", invited me to a cookout because she wanted me to meet this guy her husband worked with. Now, I explained to Bitch that while David (her hubby) is a very nice man, he's an ACCOUNTANT, and dull, even by accountant standards. If I'm going to have a steamy summer fling, I'd like it to be with someone interesting and/or exciting, right? So, I am introduced to said co-worker, whom I shall call "Blah", and the first thing he does is show me his car. It's some sort of SUV, which immediately makes me think "gas hog". When I smile and politely say "it's nice", he seems disappointed, so proceedes to tell me how much it cost! First of all, that is fucking TACKY. Secondly, if you tell me that you paid that much for something without a basement and running water, I not only think you're tacky, I also think YOU ARE AN IDIOT! He must have mistook my look of disgust and horror for interest, because he proceeded to tell me about his new house in [the newest, snottiest subdivision around], how much it cost, AND THEN, bragged to me how they worked hard to keep "undesirables" out of the neighborhood. Never one to keep my mouth shut, I innocently asked who was deemed "undesirable". He stammered a little then gave me some crap about "people who would commit crimes". I was intrigued, and asked if Miss Cleo was now sitting on the neighborhood association, so she could tell them exactly WHO was going to commit crimes. He laughed, like he didn't realize that I was on the fast track to loathing him. All through dinner, he talked about money- how much he spends on things, how much he'll have accumulated in fifteen years, when he can retire, who makes less than him... It was, quite possibly, the worst dinner I've ever had that didn't involve my family. Afterward, I made an excuse to get out of there fast, shooting Bitch the evileye on my way past. Blah decides to walk me to my car (Ford Escort). He actually said, "I think we've really hit it off, don't you? I don't have a pen on me, but I'll get your number from [Bitch}, and give you a call". I imagined us on a date, visiting the vault with his money in it, maybe swimming in it, a la Scrooge McDuck (Donald's uncle). I couldn't take any more, I began ranting crazily about how with the money he spent on that car, he could have fed and clothed an entire village of Tibetan refugees for several years, and about the environmental and human toll that using all that gas was costing. As I was getting to the "undesirables" he was working so hard to keep out, he said, "you're nuts", and walked away.

Please don't get me wrong: I firmly believe that everyone has the right to spend their money in any way they choose. I also really think that we all have to treat ourselves to something special sometimes. But, DEAR GOD, know your audience before you spread out your financial statements! Perhaps if I were some bimbo who was impressed by the Rolex on his wrist (he pointed this out- was less impressed when I pointed out "Timex" on mine), this would have been an appropriate conversation. However, I am an intelligent, socially conscious human being who does not bow down to the Money Gods. Maybe I AM nuts, or maybe I'm a freak, as has often been suggested. Whatever the case, I can't help but think that there are others like me out there who buy things because they like them, and not to impress strangers at BBQs. Bitch called to apologize. I let her do it on the machine: I'm not calling her back for a while.

Dr. Richard M***** died over the weekend. That means nothing to you, and in fact, when my friend shoved the obituary in my face, it meant nothing to me, either. However, as I read, I realized that this was a man I had known only as "Chub" several years ago, at the real Loser's Lounge. He was a nice older guy who always sat on the same stool and drank whiskey and Cokes. We first became acquainted the semester I took anatomy & physiology: it was kicking my ass. I had managed to maintain a 3.8 GPA in addition to a 40 hour workweek up to that point, but a&p was threatening to ruin that. Because the bar was close to my job, I would often go in there for lunch and study until I had to go to work. One day, I just lost it, and sat at my table, crying over my books. Chub walked over, sat down, and calmly picked up the book. When I looked at him, he had a really gentle smile on his face, and he said, "I've been watching you for weeks. You're as stubborn as a goddamned mule, and if you really put your mind to this, you'll be fine". He glanced at the page I was on, and began asking me what was so difficult that it would make me cry. I told him, and he began drawing on a napkin, illustrating what I couldn't grasp. Seeing the image there, it was so clear, and I was embarassed that I hadn't understood before. He explained that I was obviously a "visual" learner, and the book had few illustrations. After that, I met Chub daily and he drew pictures, complete with labels, and we'd chat. I knew he was from somewhere "out east", and that he had a son and two grandchildren here in town. When I asked him what he did for a living, he looked a little sad and said, "I'm retired". It never occurred to me that he had been a well-respected professor of biology at an ivy league school. Looking back, I can't believe that I didn't guess that he had a background in education; he was so patient and knowledgeable. But, if you've spent much time in bars, you know that there's someone there who knows a lot about almost any subject. He might be a garbage collector, but he can intelligently discuss the coming-of-age rituals of some tribe in the Amazon with an anthropologist. I passed a&p with a B (not perfect, but sometimes you have to accept your limitations), thanks to Chub. I was so happy the day I got my final grade, and I took it in and showed it to him. It was the only time I ever saw him really happy; he hugged me and told me I had worked hard and deserved it. My last year of college, I spent very little time at Loser's; I had an intense internship and then student teaching. But, whenever I could find the time, I would stop by to say "hi" to the regulars, including Chub. They were all glad to see me, and we'd share dirty jokes and gossip. But, Chub was genuinely interested in what I was doing and learning. He would pat my arm and say, "You'll be ok; you like the kids, and that's the most important thing. Kids are like animals- they know who's real and who's fake". His words always gave me comfort, but I never told him. They tore Loser's down about two years ago, and I haven't seen any of the guys since. When I went to the funeral, I met Chub's son. He recognized me (surprising, because I'd never met him), and he told me how much it had meant to his father to "be teaching again". I must have looked surprised, because he told me that his father had been a biology professor at a prominent east-coast college, but was forced to resign after he had an affair with his graduate assistant. He told me that Chub had gone to my college graduation, and had a photo of me receiving my diploma in his wallet. I stood there in shock, finally sobbing out, "I never knew". His son smiled, the same gentle smile his dad had, and patted my arm. He said, "You helped him as much as he helped you", which of course made me cry harder. I guess the moral of the whole story is, well, I'm not really sure- maybe that you only know as much about another person as he/she will share with you. Or, maybe that we should tell the people who mean something to us that they are important. Or, maybe that you shouldn't judge a book by its cover... I don't know...

Holiday Traditions

Ah, the celebration of our nation's birth... what would it be without a trip to the emergency room? Fortunately, this year's visit had nothing to do with alcohol or fireworks, which I believe is a first for our Family Fourth Celebration! One of my nephew's friends had a minor injury (ok, he was running away from a lit firecracker, but it still doesn't count as firework-related). One of my uncles (who is obviously nuts) makes fireworks... yes, I said MAKES them. Real ones- he actually has a license to do this, but it's frightening nonetheless. Remember the scene in Willy Wonka when they're in the boat and images are flashing like crazy and Gene Wilder's eyes are all crazy?? THAT is my uncle who makes fireworks. Well, imagine combining that "creative genius" along with 10-20 other testosterone-driven men fueled with Budweiser, and you have an idea of what our usual ER visits entail. Me: "Hi, Kelly, they made you work the Fourth again?" Nurse: "Well I wouldn't want to miss your annual visit! What have we got?" Me: "Drunk idiot with burns in groin from dropping a cigarette spark on firecrackers in his lap" (this was a real conversation, people). Nurse: "Sir, how much have you had to drink?" Uncle: "huh? I drdn't shilly drnk much". Nurse: "I understand. If you want to wait for him in the staff lounge, there's cake, help yourself- you remember where the staff lounge is?" Me: *sigh* "yeah, I remember. Thanks, Kelly".

EEK

Ok, I think my anxieties have developed into neurosis. Not that this would be hard for anyone who knows me to believe, but I am totally freaking out. I have to have a bunch of lesson plans and a classroom management plan done by the first of the week, and I'm frozen in terror. Of course, I'm not so frozen that I couldn't play video games all afternoon! The thing is, the teachers who will be reviewing this are older, and while experience is a wonderful thing, oftentimes, it leads to stagnation, especially in teachers. My lessons almost exclusively involve about ten minutes of me talking, and the rest of the class time with the students working on whatever we're doing. While younger teachers recognize the value of self-direction and group interaction, older teachers often 'poo-poo' it as a fad. They want butts in the seats, quietly taking notes while a teacher yammers on and on. I mean, I get sick of hearing myself talk after ten or fifteen minutes, and I LIKE the subject! I think I need chocolate!

Next complaint: fireworks and the hillbillies who play with them CONSTANTLY. I do not for one moment believe that our forefathers would be pleased to note that we celebrate their struggles and sacrifices by lighting bottle rockets and trying to burn down our neighbor's shed with them! I have explained to the stupid fucking losers about four times (much more nicely than I wanted to), that there is gasoline in the shed, and if they continue landing flaming things on the roof, a spark could fall through one of the large holes in the roof and ignite the gas. I think if it happens one more time, I'm going to dump some gasoline on their shoes, then let Darwinism follow its natural course. As I mentioned, I am a little stressed, and I don't understand this national fascination with fire and noise. Ok, real fireworks are pretty, but do we REALLY need to play with firecrackers, Roman candles, and bottle rockets for two weeks before and after the Fourth? I think I need LOTS of chocolate! Have a Happy Fourth!

Thursday July 1

I am sitting here smiling like an idiot. Not the "I finally got laid" smile, but almost that goofy. You see, today I signed my contract and got my textbooks! I love new books; even textbooks. It takes me back to the beginning of the school year when I was little. While everyone else was grumbling about summer ending, I was almost giddy with excitement. Finally, an end to being trapped in that house with my family. Assuming that everyone's family was like mine, I could never figure out why my friends didn't want summer to end. It wasn't until junior high that I realized how truly fucked up our lives were, and grew to secretly despise all of my friends for everything that they took for granted. I hated the way their parents told them they were smart and pretty: some of them even said "I love you" as we walked out the door! When I was eleven, one of my friends' mom hugged me. I just stood there, not knowing how I was supposed to respond. She was a wonderful woman who always had something nice to say to me, and I remained friends with her daughter much longer than I wanted because of her (the daughter did NOT inherit the 'nice' gene). But, for me, school was a refuge. It was a place where I didn't feel pressured to make everyone happy so things would stay under control. I was good at the game of school- I understood the rules there, they never changed. For me, that was the only consistency in my daily life: home may be chaotic, but school always remained the same. At school, teachers loved me- I had learned how to be pleasant, no matter how I was feeling. I was never disruptive and always got good grades (this was all before high school, but that is a story for another time). Despite the fact that my personal life is calmer now than when I was a child, I still always look forward to the beginning of the school year with enthusiasm and hope. I can't wait for August!

When I last spoke to Jake, he was happy. It was scary. While I'm not a doctor, and do not claim to be able to diagnose medical conditions, his behavior reminds me of my sister's at that age. (My sister is bipolar, and suffered through years of suicide attempts and anguish because my parents refused to admit that she needed help). It frightens me that he could have to face the misery she went through- she's in her 30's and has just finally gotten her meds right. Anyway, we played chess in the park for four hours (I can't believe he wanted to hang out with his teacher in public, but I'm glad). My chess game is improving, but as he keeps reminding me, I need to concentrate more- story of my life! So, Dark Angel, and anyone else who has worried about him, wish good things for him, for although he's ok right now, I worry about his future.