Condoms Don't Grow On Trees, Do They?

So, I'm only back for this post because after about a week, I'm compelled to share with you my discovery.

It's getting warmer in Texas now...fantastically sunny but chokingly humid. Then there are the storms. But one day last week, it was a beautiful sunshiney day here, so I thought I might take the pups for a nice walk in the park. So I outfitted the crew with their harnesses and retractable leashes and set out for the wooded footpath of a local park. It was actually really nice, as everything is turning green again since the advent of spring. So I'm walking trying frantically to keep from being brought down by the excitement of four dogs on retractable leashes (I mean really, what the hell was I thinking??), when Spanky, the lil red menace, darted off the concrete path into the wooded part of the wooded footpath. As I'm calling to him to get his ass back to the pack, he emerges with something in his mouth. At first, I think it might be some food wrapper that some dumbass discarded because he was too much of a lazy ass to put it in the some 50 trash cans located along the path. Nothing like killing the local wildlife with a Snickers wrapper, eh shithead? But where was I? Oh yes! When I reeled him in to take a closer look, I was a bit taken aback at what it was: a condom. Unused and in the wrapper, you freaks, so don't even go "there". Curiosity got the best of me, and so I guided my little menagerie off the beaten path and let Spanky take the lead. Lo and behold, he led us to a suspicious looking paper bag behind some shrubbery. As I got closer, I picked up a stick and started poking the bag. I mean, what if it was a bag full of disposed of needles left by some whacked out junkie? I wasn't about to become some freakin' statistic! Anywho, as I used my extended arm to upturn the paper bag, out fell about 25 condoms! There seemed to be an assortment: ribbed, flavored, colored, you name it! Now, I don't know about you, but this seemed odd to me. I knew from health class in 6th grade that condoms didn't grow on trees...or in the bush either, so to speak. I know what some of you are thinking: "Holy shit! She hit the mother lode! What park was that? Can she draw me a map?" Alas, I was more perplexed than anything else. Who left this little treasure trove behind? Was it a new species of whore? I mean, I've heard of lake whores, truck stop whores, and other types of whores, but a park whore? Was there a whole new underground of bitches peddling pussy at the local park now? And then I thought, am I standing where some skanky bitch bent over for a little park action? So after I got over the first reaction of disgust, I got mad. What the fuck?? Is no place sacred anymore?! Why must these people ruin the tranquility and family atmosphere of my park? And what obscene things must the ducks have seen and had to endure? Isn't that animal cruelty? And what if that nasty snatch had left a used one lying around that might have choked and killed my beloved dog? So you know what I did next? I took my stick, dug a hole, and buried that booty! Ha! Serves 'em right for defiling my sanctuary! And I hope the next time some lame ass idiot who goes to the park to get a hummer thinks twice and takes a good long look at whether or not the park whore has a fever blister...or blisters elsewhere. Listen asshole, go sign up for Match.com to get laid like everyone else!

You Can't Make Me Do It

I'm taking a blogging vacation. A short (hopefully!) hiatus, if you will. I need some solitude. It could be days, weeks, or even months. I'm not sure yet. Feel free to write something for me and send it to me. I'll be glad to post it. Seriously. And I'll still be reading all y'all...

Shit! You Should Just Stay Home...

**The above title was given to me by a friend while having dinner. And he doesn't even know I have a blog!**

Recently, I've had the opportunity to travel via airplane twice in the past two weeks. What's that you say? Lucky me? Well, while I would tend to agree with you overall, I seem to have somewhere gotten stuck under the dark cloud of travel. Here's a short synopsis of my trips:

1. I was stuck at the airport in Dallas for some 8.5 hours due to storms and possible tornadoes. When I finally did get my ass on a plane, I missed my connection in Atlanta, the black hole of airport cities. I made it to Asslanta about 1am, and while the airline graciously gave me a discounted hotel room voucher, the luggage jockeys at the airport lost my bag. Finally, at 2:30am, they located my bag (it had apparently been stuck in the chute, and I got to spend a whopping 4 hours at the hotel, sleeping for 3 and showering and such for one, only to have to return to the airport to catch the first available flight to my destination. On the way back, I got delayed again...in Asslanta. That airport sucks huge, hairy balls! Plus, they weren't very friendly. Now this wouldn't have been so bad if I hadn't been on my way for a fucking job interview. So I basically looked like hammered shit for the all -day job interview at some fancy school in Maryland of which I didn't end up getting the job anyway.

2. On my second trip out east, my connection was in Memphis. Memphis, unlike Asslanta, is a great airport full of friendly and helpful souls. My only mistake there was deciding that I needed some coffee at the Starbitches for the first time in over a year. So I'm waiting in line, and there is a couple in front of me arguing. They appear to be Latin, as the expletives were in both English and Spanish. As we reach the waiting area to collect our beverages, the crazy Latin bitch takes her scalding hot coffee and throws it at her boyfriend/husband/lover, whatever. Turns out he's quite agile, and jumps quickly to avoid most of the hot liquid...so the rest hits me on the right side of my goddamn face! Evidently, I must have called out and jumped back, causing me to lose my balance and fall on my ass. As I'm sitting there thinking I've most likely been disfigured by some crazy bitch, the airport people bring the first aid kit and put me in a chair. As it turned out, I had streaked, angry red scald marks across my left cheek and lip. Thankfully, none of it got to my eye. Yep, it was starting to blister and hurt like a sonofabitch! While all of this was happening, myself and about 6 others were being paged at the gate. It was quite a ruckus, and so I was wheeled to the gate (oh, did I forget to mention they put me in a ridiculous wheelchair??), I arrived to find out that the flight I was on was severely oversold, and so they were putting me and a half dozen others on a flight that left later. Fabulous. So when I arrived at my destination, the rental car counter was already closed, so I had no way to get my rental car. Yes, stuck at the airport again. On my return trip, I got another weather delay. I made it home almost exactly 12 hours after arriving at the departure airport. Another fantastic trip, ladies and gentlemen.

So there you have it. And in case you're wondering, I'm looking like some reject from Extreme Makeover with my face all peeling and disgusting looking, particularly the right side of my upper lip. So now, I'm more hideous than ever! Want a lil kiss, y'all?

**Father Liam will most definitely be seeing me this week, but I'm tempted to wait until my lip heals and is less noticeable. I don't want him to think he needs to heal any lepers.

***Some children today asked me if I had a staph infection on my lip. WTF? EWWWW!! I'm a monster!!

Sassy Blondie: Crime Stopper (almost!)

HOLY SHIT, you guys!! I just witnessed a crime! I was coming back from running a simple errand (okay, so it wasn't simple...I went to get bent over at the gas pump), and I turned onto the street that eventually leads to my townhouse "village" (Fucking HOA bastards! I wonder how much that stone and metal sign cost me!), and I spilled my diet Coke. So, I pulled off said street into a bank parking lot to get the lid back on my Route 44 drink (I heart Sonic). That's when I saw it! At the drive up ATM, I saw a Ford Escape parked there, it's owner getting cash. Then as I watched, the perp strolled from behind the hedges and came around to the driver, pulling a huge fucking knife! Jesus, Mary, and Joseph!! I didn't know what else to do but start honking my horn and dialing 911 on the Crackberry! I just laid on the horn, and much to my amazement, I started coasting my Nissan in that general direction! While all of this was happening, I was thinking to myself, "Sassy, you know you'll run that motherfucker down if he starts heading your way, so shut your mouth and hit the gas!" As I hollered into the phone to the police (I was still leaning heavily on the horn), I saw the shitbag criminal run off, and the young guy in the SUV jumped out and started running towards me. I assured him through my cracked window that I had called the police and they were on their way. Then he just sort of crumpled. Being a bit too soft-hearted maybe (or stupid...it's a toss up!) I quickly threw the car in park and got out to go over to our victim. He looked to be in his early 20s, skinny, harmless enough that I could take him in hand-to hand, so I just started talking.

Me: Are you alright??! He didn't cut you did he?

Him: No, uh...I don't think...uh no.

Me: I have water in my car, would you like me to get it for you?

Him: Fuck! That scared me shitless! Thank God you came by!

Me: I can't believe this! It's 10:30am...broad daylight! Are you sure you're okay? What's your name?

Him: Jeff. Did you see that knife??!

Me: Yes, Jeff, I did! I'm Sassy. You're so lucky though! Why don't you let me go get you that water? You gonna be okay for a minute, sweet pea? (patting his shoulder)

Him: Uh...yeah...okay, thanks. I need to call my parents.

So as I went to the car to grab a water bottle, the cops showed up. One was African-American, the other Hispanic (you'll see why this is relevant as you read on). As I was bringing the water over, I heard the young guy say, "That lady saw the whole thing! She scared him off honking her horn and driving at us!" At this point, I start to think that maybe I should have just called the cops and then took off! I mean, I don't have the best track record with the city's finest.

Cop: Ma'am, did you see what happened?

Me: (pausing to decide if I should admit it or not) Um, yes sir, I did.

Cop: Can you start from the beginning?

Me: Told him the story.

Cop: Can you describe the man you said had a knife?

Me: I think so, but you're not going to like it.

Cop: I would just like a description if you can remember, ma'am.

Me: He was either a lighter-skinned African American or Latino man (I was really hating giving my statement, and I wanted to be as politically correct as I knew how), about 6 feet tall, wearing a red shirt, white hoody with some writing on it that looked silver, and blue jeans. He had on red basketball shoes. (What the hell? How did I remember all of that???) I have no idea how old he might have been.

Cop: Could you see his face?

Me: No sir, he had the hoody on, so I didn't even see if he had hair.

Cop: Any tattoos, earrings, a watch?

Me: Not that I recall. Sorry. I know that sounds like just about anyone. How much did he make off with?

Cop: The kid said he took out $200, the guy took that, but then ran when you started driving up and honking.

Me: Well, at least no one got hurt. I can't believe he was out robbing in broad daylight! What the hell? And surely he realizes there are cameras at ATMs??

Cop: Yes, ma'am. We have seen quite a few of these lately, and based on the ones we catch and the victims who get the same thing while pumping gas, we believe a lot of it has to do with people desperate for gas money.

Me: Excuse me? Are you serious? That is unbelievable! What the fu--uh hell??

Cop: I know, Ms. Blondie. We've apprehended teenagers, old men, women, you name it.

Then he took my information and said I could go. I checked on the kid again, he thanked me for the water and my savvy crime-busting skills (not really...just thanked me for helping), I gave him a quick hug and pat, and I got in the car and made my way home. As I walked into my money pit, I began to feel a little bit more proud of myself. I mean, I did act when I saw a crime happening, when most people these days don't even think twice about ignoring it. I hope that poor kid is okay. I thought he was going to pass out, and he had the shakes and was crying a little too. Poor baby!

So there it is! My crime-fighting skills at work! Whew! That was pretty scary though. I hope they find that slapdick criminal, but I don't have much faith in that. I mean, how many resources are they going to use to find $200 for that kid? I fucking hate criminals...

*I know I promised a post about my misspent youth, but this JUST HAPPENED! Watch yourselves at the ATMs and the gas pump! Be safe my babies!

I'm A Failure (At Least Right Now)

So as I'm sure you have surmised by now (and if not for the fact that I've said as much already!!), I've been extremely busy in Mayberry. Because I am currently the only AP, I'm doing the job of 2 people on a campus with 800 kids. Then, the Alliance (which is my new moniker for upper admin) went and moved our lady counselor to another school that is "in crisis", leaving us even more so short-handed. So I'm now splitting counselor duties (did I mention that I'm nowhere near being qualified as a school counselor?) with Big C. And I'm failing at all three jobs miserably. There just isn't enough time in the day to deal with all of my work, and it's getting to me. Not because I now have 3 months worth of important paperwork backed up. Not because I'm over scheduled with meetings and other campus duties. Not because I've fallen behind in my teacher appraisals, which should have been completed in February. Not even because I can't seem to do anything that pleases my teachers. What's really getting to me is that I'm failing my kids. (And by "my kids", I'm referring to the students on campus since everyone knows I'm a childless spinster.)

I'm behind in discipline. I've been unable to meet with my at-risk student mentees regularly. Matter of fact, I saw one for the first time in 2 months today, only to notice that he's literally walking out of his shoes because the family is so poor, he doesn't have any others. This sent me over the edge. So I left the building and cried all the way to Wal-mart to buy the poor boy some decent shoes. Then I cried all the way back. Several students came in today asking why I didn't want to see them. The lump in my throat almost choked me. I tried as best I could to explain that it wasn't that I didn't WANT to see them, but that I had not had sufficient time. Who tells a bunch of little kids that they don't have the time to care? I hate not being on top of the things that matter most.

As we approach Spring Break, I have another week with a ridiculous schedule. And I'm even going to work over Spring Break to catch up on the mountains of paperwork that must be entered into the computer. My only hope is that I can somehow do something right this week that will make a positive difference to someone on campus.

No, I'm really not whining. I'm a realist and understand that this is just temporary until the new guy comes on board with us in April. I just don't like feeling like such a failure, when only I know how fucking hard I've been working.

*Sorry that Debbie Downer got a hold of my blog post. I hope everyone is well, and I'll stop in and read y'all when I can!

**I promise a post detailing ridiculous stories from my misspent youth very soon.

The Return of the Nutty Buddy

Yes, I'm still alive. Stop your bitchin' via email and recognize that I really am busy (Hor, it's true!), and blogging still doesn't make the top of my priority list.

Anywho, I decided to share something rather interesting that has resurfaced at work. As you know (or you should by now!), I am an administrator at a school. I handle all kinds of tasks, student discipline being just one. Early in the year, I saw an inordinate amount of the phenomenon known as the "Nutty Buddy" pop up all over my campus. Are you familiar with the Nutty Buddy? Gentlemen? Here's the gist:

Young boys run up to each other in the hallways, in the gym, in the classroom, at lunch...wherever there is a free minute....and they punch each other in the crotch and run away squealing with laughter. They have just made their victim a "nutty buddy." Now correct me if I'm wrong, but I thought boys were more leery of touching each other's genitals unless they have a bent to that particular gender. Harmless fun, you say? I think not. Often, the person being punched drops everything they are carrying, and they all the time let out a scream of agony and collapse in a heap, writhing and holding their junk. And sometimes, there are even tears. What the hell is this madness?? But it's when the witnesses to this crime come forward, or I get a call from the school nurse, that I come into this ridiculous situation because a disciplinary referral then gets written.

I had one such nutty buddy incident today, which the likes of I hadn't seen since at least October of last year. The crotch puncher was brought to my office with an ice pack on a rapidly bruising cheek, and the crotch punchee came to my office from the nurse with an ice pack for his family jewels. Here is the conversation:

SB: Nutty Buddy Victim, please tell me what happened. (I took out my legal pad to record this exchange.)

NBV: Ms. Sassy, he punched me in the nuts!

SB: Okay. Then what happened?

NBV: I punched him in the face! He-

NBP: I didn't hit him that hard! And anyway, he punched me in the nuts 3rd period!

SB: So what you guys are telling me is that we are back to performing "nutty buddies" on each other? Why? Didn't I make it clear last fall that when you put your hands on someone else, my options for how to deal with it are few? NBP, why would you even think about touching him there in any form or fashion? NBV, DID you punch him in the nuts 3rd period?

NBV: (mumbling) Yes. But I was just playing!

NBP: (beginning to cry) But I didn't WANT to touch him there, it's a GAME!!

SB: So tell me, is it fun now?

Both boys: No! But we were just playing around...(crying and more crying)

SB: I understand that, but I'll be calling your mothers to explain how you are both going to In School Suspension for touching each other in the privates! I will not tolerate this kind of inappropriate behavior on campus. Just STOP touching each other, and for sure stop hitting each other in the nuts! It can cause some very serious health problems for you!

This statement caused all out sobbing. As you can tell, neither had a good explanation for why this is considered the thing to do. After some uncomfortable calls to their poor, beleaguered mothers, I set them up for a couple of day s of ISS. But what the hell? And then one parent calls me to set my hair on fire about how her kid has bruised testicles?? Excuse me? How the holy fuck is that MY fault?

Listen gentlemen (and you too, Dyckerson!) I know how pleased and proud you are of your junk, but this kind of behavior is just fucking stupid. Punch your own berries all you want, but for the love of Mike, give us all a break and keep it isolated to your own crotch area. I've had all I can take of crotch-related incidents!* Now go call your mother and tell her how sorry you are that you were a nasty ass lil punk for causing her so much grief! And if you have boys, take the strap to them because I can guarantee they are not the sweet and precious baby boys you think they are! Jesus, Mary, and Joseph! I need a drink...

*The past two weeks, I have dealt with incidents of boys getting caught in the bathroom rubbing themselves, coming from behind one another and grabbing the family jewels from between the legs and running off, and general filthy language about sucking dick and bitch-slapping their "girlfriends".

**I need a vacation. And a new job. Please help me.

***I love my job. Really.

For The Boys

Okay, so I'm still too busy to put down anything original here, but I thought I might share some information that would be helpful to my clueless male readers. I received this information via an email from my beloved little sister. Gentlemen, the myth about women being complicated is just that, a mere myth! Below, I offer you the 9 words women use and their true meaning. What can I say? I'm a giver...

1. Fine:This is the word women use to end an argument when they are right and you need to shut up.

2. Five Minutes: If she is getting dressed, this means a half an hour. Five minutes is only five minutes if you have just been given five more minutes to watch the game before helping around the house.

3. Nothing: This is the calm before the storm. This means something, and you should be on your toes. Arguments that begin with nothing usually end in fine.

4. Go Ahead: This is a dare, not permission. Don't Do It!

5. Loud Sigh: This is actually a word, but is a non-verbal statement often misunderstood by men. A loud sigh means she thinks you are an idiot and wonders why she is wasting her time standing here and arguing with you about nothing. (Refer back to # 3 for the meaning of nothing.)

6. That's Okay: This is one of the most dangerous statements a women can make to a man. That's okay means she wants to think long and hard before deciding how and when you will pay for your mistake.

7. Thanks: A woman is thanking you, do not question, or faint. Just say you're welcome in a warm manner. (I want to add in a clause here - This is true, unless she says "Thanks a lot" - that is PURE sarcasm, and she is not thanking you at all. DO NOT say "you're welcome" ... that will bring on a "whatever").

8. Whatever: Is a women's way of saying, "FUCK YOU and the horse you rode up on, you stupid bastard!"

9. Don't worry about it, I got it: Another dangerous statement, meaning this is something that a woman has told a man to do several times, but is now doing it herself. This will later result in a man asking "What's wrong?" For the woman's response refer to # 3.

So, am I right, or am I right? You can send cash in lieu of your thanks, however.

*Hope you all have a sweetheart for V-Day...give 'em a kiss and say it's from me..