Wednesday, November 28, 2007

Little Boys Love Me, Old Men Adore Me

Yes, I know that sounds creepy as shit, but it is true. I'm not quite sure why, but I offer up the following examples:

Example A: When I was teaching middle school, I was mostly well-liked by my students in general. I taught math, made it fun, and of course, my sassiness ropes most smartass teenagers in. However, there were many times that my little boys had, shall we say, strong and inappropriate feelings for me. My tutorials were full of boys, and it was not because they were struggling with math. They liked to hang out in my room and shoot the shit with me. At first I thought it was because I was knowledgeable about sports. I was raised by my father, and he never got much into Barbie and Ken, so I did a lot of boy stuff with my dad (except the lighting farts thing...I just don't get it guys!). We still do our NCAA basketball tournament brackets and bet a pounder of peanut M&M's on the championship. Anywho, I digress. So little boys were always hanging out, trying to give me hugs, and generally making the googly eyes at me. With 6th graders, they seemed more like innocent crushes, but with my 8th graders, it was as very different story. In my 12 yrs of teaching, 6 of them actually tried to kiss me! WTF? Several did a "boob graze" thinking I was unaware (of course I called their mommas!), and several also wrote me love letters in their math journals. Yes, they professed love between the lines that were supposed to be reserved for telling me what they did not understand about math and demonstrating what they did. Many times, I had to have schedules changed because some teen Lothario just wouldn't listen to my objections about unnecessarily touching me. Still creeps me out to think about it. My first year teaching, the high school brother of one of my 5th graders wrote me love letters and showed up at my school far too often until I finally had to call his parents in. And by love letters, I really mean filthy sex invites. I had to get a restraining order.

Example B: I think I just have a face that people feel comfortable talking to. Particularly old men people. I can be in the store, at work, or even on an airplane, and these grandpas start chatting me up (usually not in a lecherous way, but still). Of course, I'm a nice person (SHUT IT BITCHES!), and people in general tend to interest me, so I will converse with them. Recently, on the plane ride back from Denver, an older gentleman of 82 sat next to me on the plane. He was lovely, and I shared my iPod with him. It never fails that at the end of such exchanges with the old farts that they refer to me as "delightful" and "adorable". Not uncomplimentary, but I still don't understand how I end up in these conversations with men my grandfather's age instead of the hot backpack guy two rows up.

Example C: At my current job in Mayberry, I have a never ending stream of little boys wanting to see me. I can't walk down the hallway without several stopping me with, "Hi Ms. Sassy! Can I come and talk to you later?" or "I need to see you!" Do I appreciate the adoration of children? Absolutely. I love children. But today, one of the busiest and most hectic days for me in a long while, I had a steady stream of little boys vying for my attention. Some threw fits to get sent to see me...and told me so outright. Excuse me? That cannot be happening. I don't want anyone to think I'm some kind of little boy diddler! In this day and age, people are cutting eyes at educators who seem popular with today's youth (thanks for that, you stupid statutory bitches on TV!).

Now, I know you are thinking that I should really be grateful for such attention and devotion from boys and old guys, and on some level, I am flattered. BUT. Guess what? I'm not a little girl, and I'm not an old woman yet. Where the hell are all you bastards in between? I think we've established that I'm a sassy blonde that's more fun than a barrel full of fuckin' monkeys!

What gives? I want answers, and I want them now!
*I asked my priest what he thought while I was at confession. All I got from him was the "God has a plan for you, Sassy. Count your blessings!" Gee, thanks for nothing there, Father Liam.
**Shit! I just insulted my priest. Guess I'll see him again before the week's out. Being a Catholic is not easy, people.

Sunday, November 25, 2007

Did My Pants Text You?

Well, I'm back home after a fantabulous week-long jaunt to the Rockies! I had a lot of fun, discovered yet again that, I should just never drink again, and that I miss my friend there more than I knew. While I've been relaxing by a fire here trying to get myself excited about going back to Mayberry tomorrow, I found myself starting to giggle about our pre-Thanksgiving night on the town.

So, my friend, ATown, and her sister, JLove, took me to this bar that boasts "The Biggest Pre-Thanksgiving Bash in the Country!!" on Wednesday night. Now, I'm not exaggerating when I say that people wait HOURS in the bitter cold to get into this bar on this night. It's fucking crazy! Last time I visited, we were the crazy fucks who waited 4 hours in the cold to get in! However, this year, I had flown into town a couple of days early, and so we got there without having to wait more than 15 minutes. First, I want to say that I think it's stupid and pretentious for bars to make people wait outside in some vain attempt to prove they've got the biggest dick in town. That shit is all over LA and NY, but Denver? Plus, I've never been one to frequent such places anyway. Get a few drinks in me though, and well...let's just say that it was a milder version of my wedding behavior. And, evidently my pants were texting like crazy!

Anywho, the three of us got in, and yours truly headed for the bar. I mean, if I'm going to have to be at a bar/dance club, I'm going to need to drink. I really detest crowds, particularly drunk and handsy ones, as a general rule. I told the girls, "Hey, I'm just going to stick with beer tonight. No need for me to get rowdy." Yeah. Right. So I had a few beers, met some interesting gentlemen who are correctional officers at "the prison" (hell if I know which prison they were referring to), and then had a few more beers. During this time, ATown met a hot engineer (I know! It sounds so much like an oxymoron) who whisked her away for a shot, and JLove and I took it to the dance floor with the prison boys. Or at least that's what I thought! As I shook it to my love, J. Timberlake, with Prison Boy, I looked to my slight right and saw some toothless moron all gangsta-ed out draped all over JLove like a dirty shirt. Now I know that this doesn't seem amusing or otherwise interesting, but JLove is not known for her dirty least not to my knowledge. So, G-Money was behind her at first, and she was completely oblivious to his antics (or dry was a judgment call). But when she turned around, it got SO MUCH BETTER! He started by holding her waist with one arm and then just grinding on her so intensely that I started to wonder if he would start a fire. I swear that I smelled smoke! Then his arm left her waist, and he began to run his fingers through her hair and cup her cheeks (on her face, Dyckerson, you perv!)...all the while still getting the friction on below the waist. I thought I might literally wet my pants by this time because it was so fucking hilarious! As the spectacle continued, G-Money just disappeared from the vicinity of JLove, who starts looking around confusedly. It was like he was never there! I thought that I should've told JLove to check her pants for burn marks. If only I had thought to take pictures! ATown and I continued to laugh and ridicule JLove for days afterwards about her foray into the thug life.

Meanwhile, I had my cell in my pocket, and evidently my pants were texting random people from my address book as I shook my money maker. When I left the dance floor, my pants were buzzing with about 8 different, "Huh?" texts from friends. Plus, my sister texted me the following, "Tired and n bed. Is everything ok?" to which I responded "At bar dancing. Music is fkng gr8! Phone n pocket!" She texted back, "No shit, Sherlock! I just got a voicemail with the entire song, Holla Back on it! I think you've had enough, Blondie, when your pants start joining the party!" Now this information nearly did me in! Prison Boy returned with another Red Bull and vodka (umm, did I mention that somewhere during the course of the evening I broke my beer only policy?), and asked if I wanted to go upstairs for a bite (restaurant was upstairs you gutter minds!). I politely declined...and unfortunately had another couple of drinks before Prison Boy ran into me again, this time with a short, older Korean woman in tow. He gave me this look that said, "Please help me!", as the Korean midget said, "So are you REALLY his ex-wife?" Smoothly I replied, "Of course! We were together what, honey, 5 years? It was an amicable split." I think he kissed me out of deep and sincere gratitude. Then she asked, "Well why did you guys split up?" My reply: "Well, he wanted kids and I'm barren," delivered with a straight face and no emotion. She squeezed my arm with a look of pity and then walked away. Again, I thought I might wet my pants from laughing so hard after she left.

All in all, I had a good time that night...what I can remember of it. The next day, Thanksgiving, I woke up and could barely walk. All that dancing following a day where I was tortured at the local gym added up to my legs being unable to support the rest of my body in any normal fashion! Anywho, I'm thinking Denver looks like it could be a strong contender for the next residence for this Sassy Blonde. Who knows?

*Thanks for a wonderful time, ATown! You gotta come to Dallas next time! XOXO
**I don't recall the cab ride home, and I hope I didn't drunk dial.
***I'm going to confession very soon.

Wednesday, November 21, 2007

Does This Mean I Need An Intervention??

Lets101 Quizzes - Fun Quiz

So, okay...for the most part, Astrology is a bit out there. However, I feel they've hit the nail on the head here with their assessment of yours truly....except for the lying part. I detest liars and do my best not to tell a lie when the truth would serve me better.


Monday, November 19, 2007

A Quickie Before I Go

Well, I'm leaving for my trip to Denver today (in about 7 hours! Woo Hoo!), and although I wasn't going to post anything, there's this song that I heard over two weeks ago, and it's stuck in my head. It's by a country artist named Miranda Lambert, and she just so happens to date another country artist, Blake Shelton, whom I've known since he was a bratty kid. I went to college with his bitch sister, was her dorm RA actually, and well...I forget where I'm going with this. Anywho, it's a connection that was unexpected. But it's a touching song of a woman waiting on her man to walk through the she can blow his ass away. So, this is obviously a love song:

Gunpowder and Lead

County road 233, under my feet
Nothin' on this white rock but little ole me
I've got two miles till, he makes bail
And if I'm right we're headed straight for hell

I'm goin' home, gonna load my shotgun
Wait by the door and light a cigarette
If he wants a fight well now he's got one
And he ain't seen me crazy yet
He slap my face and he shook me like a rag doll
Don't that sound like a real man?
I'm going to show him what a little girl's made of
Gunpowder and lead

It's half past ten, another six pack in
And I can feel the rumble like a cold black wind
He pulls in the drive, the gravel flies
He don't know what's waiting here this time

I'm goin' home, gonna load my shotgun
Wait by the door and light a cigarette
If he wants a fight well now he's got one
And he ain't seen me crazy yet
He slap my face and he shook me like a rag doll
Don't that sound like a real man?
I'm going to show him what a little girl's made of
Gunpowder and lead

His fist is big but my gun's bigger
He'll find out when I pull the trigger

I'm goin' home, gonna load my shotgun
Wait by the door and light a cigarette
If he wants a fight well now he's got one
And he ain't seen me crazy yet
He slap my face and he shook me like a rag doll
Don't that sound like a real man?
I'm going to show him what a little girl's made of

Gunpowder and lead

*Not what I'd call a lyrical masterpiece, but it's rockin' and rowdy...which I love. I'm not normally into pissed off girl songs unless it's old Alanis Morissette, but I like this Lambert chick's style! Plus, any man that would slap me around would get the end of my gun too.

**Stop bitching that it's country! Jeez! I have no patience for musical snobs! Just listen to it! Branch out and expand your narrow ass horizons...


Tuesday, November 13, 2007

No Mas, Por Favor!

Okay, people, I have to relate what happened on my drive home yesterday. I think I barely escaped with my life! I was almost killed by a drunken Mexican. Now, before you race baiters start flooding my inbox or sic LULAC and La Raza on me, I will explain why he will be referred to as the Drunken Mexican.

First, he had a"Viva Mexico!" sticker on the bumper of his 1960-something Ford Fury. (I really don't know when they made the Fury, but this car was definitely from the 60s in body style)

Next, there were 3 other indicators: blaring music from the Spanish-language radio channel, 2 Virgin Mary statues (one on the dash and the other in the back window), and a sticker in the back window that said, "Everybody loves a Mexican". He was brown of skin as well, although that proves nothing in the grand scheme of things.

Anywho, I commute 45 minutes to and from work, so by the time I'm closer to my house, I'm so ready to get there. So I'm driving down a busy road called Belt Line when I notice this old car weaving a bit. My first thought was that some fucker was on his cell phone trying to text while driving. I really hate that shit, and so as I continued to drive, I started noticing all the adornments to his vehicle. Then, the weaving got rather much so that I had to act quickly to avoid him swiping me. It was then that I had to make a decision: Speed up and risk a ticket from a bored city cop, or stay the course and let Jose Cuervo put me into the wall. Then we came up on a red light. He came to a quick stop...the kind that makes a little tire squeak. As I was thanking Jesus that there were no pedestrians in that crosswalk at that moment, the light turned green, and I hit the gas to get around him. Unfortunately, Johnny Bravo wasn't having it! He punched the gas and continued his drunken weaving along the road. I'm starting to panic because I really need to get over to take the right onto my street. As I continued to check my mirror and slowed down to look for an opening, I was momentarily struck dumb because the Holy Virgin toppled over and bounced out the back window! Holy SHIT! That right there almost caused a 5-car pile-up behind us! I finally regained my senses and slowed down to a crawl to try to get behind him so that I could turn on my street...which was answered by a furious cacophony of foreign and domestic car horns. When I finally did get over, I drove 10 miles under the speed limit to distance myself from the Drunken Mexican. Of course, this was viewed rather odiously by my fellow road travelers. I got 3 fingers and a loud, "Get the fuck out of the way, bitch!" My response was to point and sing. Finally, as I pulled into my garage and turned off the engine, I was sorry that I didn't get a chance to snap a photo. But it was a bit frightening, and so I thought I did the right thing by keeping both hands on the wheel. Who knows?

So, Drunken Mexican, wherever you are, I have just one thing to say: No mas, por favor! No mas!

*He's lucky I was listening to Sugarland and not my Metallica....that's all I'm going to say. And he better go to confession for both his drunken escapade and for throwing the Virgin Mary into traffic. God sees that shit, Drunken Mexican. God sees that shit.

Sunday, November 11, 2007

A Little Sugarland Is Good for You

Folks, I went to an excellent concert last night: Sugarland. Yes, I know it's country, but you can't argue with true talent no matter what the genre. Magic Man got the tickets, and we were front and center for the concert. Anway, I can admit that I have a girl crush on Jennifer Nettles, the lead singer. I mean, just look at her...and she can wail! AND I got to meet her! Talk about a nice, down-to-earth person. She's from Georgia, so her accent is thicker than mine, but her voice is very low and throaty. (No, we didn't make out or anything...I'm just a fan, okay?) Plus, she said she loved my earrings (so glad I wore some since I almost NEVER do!), and we talked about having naturally wavy/curly hair. In girl world, it was pretty damn cool. Now you should know that I'm not one to get starstruck. Mostly because living in LA and working at the fancy school I met so many. But I'll admit it: I gushed a little once I got backstage...but just for a moment.

Anywho, they started the set off with a song called Speed of Life, did a version of Beyonce's Irreplaceable that was pretty cool, and finished out with a song called Sugarland. A kid named Jake Owen was the first opener, and I think I agree with the judgment that he's one to watch. Little Big Town came next, and they were amazing! I bought both of their CDs before we left, and they were so much fun backstage. But back to Sugarland: What I really love about this band is that they seem so normal. The show was not in what I would consider a small venue, but I felt like I was at a VH1's Storyteller gig. They made it much more intimate simply by the way they introduced each song. They also peppered the performance with songs from their first CD, which I LOVED. And I don't know if you caught the CMA's on Wednesday night, but they performed a song called Stay that left people looking dumbfounded and awestruck because it was so fucking brilliant. Well, I got to hear it live, and I was again awestruck. Everyone went crazy for Baby Girl and Settlin' as well. And okay, I admit I made out (not a big make out in public kind of girl) with Magic Man when Want To came on...I fucking love that song. Two thumbs up, people! If there was anything that one could criticize, it's that Jennifer just can't dance, and she sometimes (okay all the time) looks a bit awkward jumping around.

All in all, I had a great time. It was a concert with mostly grown ups, which was a twist from just about every other one I'd seen in the past, oh, 5 years. Even if you aren't a country music fan, you should check out Sugarland and Little Big Town. The songwriting alone is worth a visit to the websites.

**I broke it off with Magic Man last week, but he still took me to the concert. It's an amicable split, and we have plans for the Stars games too. Too bad I couldn't bring myself to tell him that he needs some help in the ole bedroom department. I tried, but the male ego can't take it. He's a good guy nonetheless.

Monday, November 05, 2007

What The Hell Is Wrong With You?

Listen up, people! Newsflash: I am a perky and happy morning person. I bounce out of bed at 4am each morning to get my workout on, hit the shower, and get myself beautified for work. I don't complain about your bitchy non-morning person asses, so don't shit on my sunshine day with your bad attitudes. Here are the comments I received this morning upon arriving at work:

Big C (colleague):What's up with you? You seem extra perky this morning. What the hell is wrong with you?

SB:I am normally perky, aren't I?

Big C-:Well yes, but you are extra annoying this morning just bouncing in here that way.

SB:Thanks! Have a good one! (exit her office)

SB:Good morning, Head Cheese (boss)! Have a good weekend?

HC:I'm a bit tired. I spent the whole of the weekend working on..blah..blah..blah...project for my daughter and her lab group for Physics. What's up with you? You seem extra perky this morning! What's that about?

SB:Had a productive weekend, HC.

HC:Well okay then. You might want to stay away from Big C, she'll be annoyed more than usual with your morning self.

SB:Thanks! Have a good one! (exit his office)


Secretary 1:What are you on this morning that you are so annoyingly happy and perky (that word again) on a Monday?

SB:I'm high on life, S1, high on life! lol How are you this fine morning?

S1:Get away from me.

SB:Thanks! Have a good one! (walk away from her)


Ditzy Brunette:Someone seriously needs to give you some downers. I can't take all this pep and smile in the morning.

SB:Thanks! Have a good one! (walk away from her)


Okay, so you can see why I returned to my office a bit deflated but not too much so. So then I hear Coach Pappy walking in (he's a loud talker but one of my favorite people):

CP:Glad you could make it! How's it going this morning?

SB:I'm fabulous, CP! How was your weekend?

CP:Well, I did a little deer hunting, but I didn't get me anything.

SB:Good! Leave the woodland creatures alone!

CP:You sure have a shine about you this morning...more so than last week!

SB:Thanks! I'm looking for it to be a good week! Plus, it's countdown until my trip to the Rockies, so I'm excited!

CP:Damn! You better tone it down,'s Monday!

SB: Thanks! Have a good one! (he exits office)


What the fuck? Is it a crime to be a positive person? I was a bit tired last week, but it was a busy fucking week! Why do people feel the need to shit on my good humor? It's not like I'm some raging bitch all the time anyway. It just seemed today that I was "extra annoying" with my sunny disposition. Whatever! Since when did it become a crime to wish people a good morning? Luckily, the day picked up! No less than 8 people said these exact words to me:

"Girl! You are getting so skinny! What are doing?"

That trumped all the stupid shitbags that had some negative opinion of my "perkiness". Fuck all y'all! I've lost 30lbs since May (and none of it from my boobs!)!

See what a positive attitude can get you?

**I'm not really what you would call skinny and will most likely never be what is considered skinny, but hey, I can dream, right? I'll settle for "built like a brick shithouse" if I can get it. It beats the alternative of, "Girl! Your ass is getting HUGE! What the hell are you eating?"
See? I look for the positives in life.