I Fear I May Be A Bleeding Heart

UPDATE: A semi-not really-friend-who got my blog address from a mutual friend just called me to let me know that I'm a "johnny come lately" to this show. Evidently, I'm a complete reality tv tard and should give up my Tivo. After listening to her rather insulting rant, I told her that I'd nominated her for the show. She got all flustered and asked under what addiction could I possibly nominate her. I told her that I told them she was addicted to porn and neglected her children for her computer because of it (her husband is a deacon at their church). All I got after that was a click. Of course I would never do such a thing, but excuse me lady, I don't need your commentary on my viewing habits or otherwise. I guess I'm going to hell for that one.

I'm beginning to think I'm becoming, sadly, a bleeding heart. Shit, shit, shit! Why, you ask, would I fear this happening? Is it because something has rocked me to my very core and caused a shift in my values? No. I'm convinced it is because of one thing: Intervention. Have you seen this train wreck? It's a show on A&E. Here's how they describe it:


Intervention™ is a powerful and gripping television series in which people confront their darkest demons and seek a route to redemption. The Intervention Television series profiles people whose dependence on drugs and alcohol or other compulsive behavior has brought them to a point of personal crisis and estranged them from their friends and loved ones. Each Intervention episode ends with a surprise intervention that is staged by the family and friends of the alcohol of drug addict, and which is conducted by one of four Intervention specialists: Jeff VanVonderen, Candy Finningan, Ken Seeley and Tara Fields.


Here's how I described it to my dad yesterday on the phone: Hey Daddy, have you seen that show Intervention on A&E? It's a show that chronicles people addicted to drugs, alcohol, gambling, porn, eating disorders, you name it. The subjects agree to be in a documentary about addiction, and so cameras follow them around filming them doing the despicable deeds they do for their addiction. Then it profiles the loved ones in their lives and how they enable the addiction and the effects on their lives as well. They all meet with an intervention specialist and then ambush the bad seed fuck up of their family with an intervention. You gotta watch it!


Now, it NEVER FAILS that I bawl my eyes out every show. I fucking hate that it gets to me. There is always a back story of why otherwise promising individuals turn into raving crackheads. It's always the "poor me, my parents divorced when I was-insert age here" or " my father didn't love me" or other bullshit like that. Now come on people! I had quite an unstable and somewhat difficult childhood, but I can never remember a time where drugs alcohol, promiscuity, etc. had any allure to me. Shit, I didn't even really drink until college, and even then it was only about 2 semesters of partying. Yet these sad sacks suck me in with their tales of woe and mistreatment. It always breaks me up to see the parents and grandparents, brothers and sisters, whoever when they talk about how they've lost their fuck up family member to some kind of addiction. I am endlessly appalled by the things these people do to feed their addiction. They lie, cheat, steal, prostitute themselves, lose their children , and generally abuse themselves and everyone around them. What the hell? And I still cry for these people. I just can't fathom having an addiction that would cause me to go against everything I know is right and just piss my life away to get the next score. It really just doesn't compute. My brother had a drug problem. Thank God he realized it and got help. My estranged mother lost custody of us kids due to drugs and neglect. To this day, I don't even feel bad about not giving either one of them a pass for their behavior. I can't think of one good excuse from them that would fly with me. But when I see these people on TV, I just want to hug them. I want to fix it for them. I want to gather them up and put them on a fluffy cloud surrounded by rainbows and butterflies. I almost want to say that I understand why they chose to fuck up their life and take their families down with them. I don't normally have any sympathy for dumbass alcoholic drug-addicted prostitutes with eating disorders. To be brutally honest, I mostly feel disgusted that they waste their lives away and blame everyone else for their asinine choices. I'm a firm believer that you are aware of the choices you make and their consequences, and it's either deal with reality or escape to fantasyland. Have I gone soft in my old age? Quick! Someone try to persuade me that socialized medicine is a good idea. Maybe that will shake me back to my regular self.





*Side note: Some of you have asked, and I appreciate it more than you know. Yes, I had the big interview today, but I don’t want to jinx it yet. Keep the good vibes going. I will find out the end of this week.

More Heartwarming Childhood Memories

I love stories about people's childhoods. I think they are the most interesting stories that are told. I was over at JV's reading some of his archival stories about his brothers, so it got me to thinking about my own brothers, particularly the older one.

So, I think I've mentioned my older brother and cousin and the tortures that they would heap on me...mostly during the summer. They've held my little 4 yr old hands to a hot car tailpipe, shot at me with BB guns, hit me in the head several times with a Louisville Slugger, and then there are the bugs. Now, I was a rough and tumble kid for the most part, but I'm all girl when it comes to bugs. I. HATE. BUGS. The only bugs I can deal with are lightning bugs and roly poly type pill bugs. They don't make noise and as far as I know, they don't bite. Let me take you back...way back to the year 1976. It was the year of the bicentennial, the year before Elvis would be found dead on his toilet, the year that Wild Cherry's "Play That Funky Music" was the #4 song for the year, and the year we had what seemed to me an unusual amount of disgusting bugs in Texas. It was late summer, end of July I think. My Papaw was rebuilding his wooden fence, so there were contractors with lumber and nails around the place a lot during the week. But this happened on a Saturday afternoon. As you know, the summer days are long, and so unlike kids today, we would spend every moment of light outside. This particular evening, the Cicadas were singing loud and proud having emerged from their scary little houses. Do you know what Cicadas are? They are by far some of the freakiest insects. Okay, maybe not the freakiest, but still very unsettling. Plus the males make this horrible loud buzzing sound. Ugh! Anyway, my brother and cousin were complaining that I was following them around. My Papaw told them to shut it or he'd be forced to "kick them in the fat" or "bust them in the kisser" (I heart his lil sayings) if they didn't stop whining and be nice to me. So they decided that it would be fun to catch Cicadas and THROW THEM AT ME! Imagine a lil Sassy: skinny, small for her age then, long blonde wavy hair down her back, big blue eyes...very innocent looking. Now imagine her running like someone lit a fire under her ass with two mean ass boys chasing her with big, ugly, loud bugs and throwing them at her. After I made the block, screaming all the way, we got back to my Papaw's house (this was prior to his move to the lake, so we were in suburbia) when they made contact with the Cicadas. In. My. Hair. Those lil bastards started buzzing and flapping and getting all tangled in my hair. I freaked out even more and ran as the evil bastards were catching and throwing more at me. As I ran around the back of the house, I didn't notice that the contractors had left some of the old boards from the fence laying (lying?) on the ground. As my lil girl self was not paying attention to anything but the loud buzzing and movement on my head, no notice was paid to the fact that the boards had nails sticking up out of them. So all of the sudden, I stopped short. I looked down at my right foot, and there was a nail coming out of the top of it! Yes, I had stepped on a board with the nail that went all the way through my lil 5 yr old foot. Upon visual recognition, I immediately let out a blood-curdling scream, which did two things: froze my brother and cousin in their tracks and brought out my Papaw. He came flying out the back door, with my Granny, looking all wild-eyed and crazy. He came over to me, lifted me straight off the board, and tried to console me as my Granny said, "Moe, you get her to the emergency right away! I'll call P and D (my mother and father)." (My grandfather's name was actually Harold, but he was called Moe his whole life. I'm not exactly sure why though.) When we arrived, the triage nurse took care of my foot, but I wouldn't let her touch me until she got those fucking bugs out of my hair. They had stopped buzzing, so I could only hope they had suffocated in my hair. So, after 3 hours in the emergency room at Baylor Dallas, where they gave me all kinds of shots, a few stitches on the bottom of my foot, and used some kind of Q-tip to stick all the way through MY FOOT, we left with the pain meds and bandage changing instructions. Evidently, I fell asleep in the truck because I woke up on the couch and it was dark outside. I saw my brother and cousin sitting on the floor looking at me with very swollen eyes and other tell tale signs of some heavy duty bawling. They told me they were sorry. They brought me some chocolate milk. Later, I heard my Granny telling my mother that Papaw had taken the boys to "the woodshed". I didn't really know what she meant, but I was pretty sure they had gotten a whoopin'. Ha! Evil shitbags! The end of my summer that year pretty much sucked. I had to stay off my foot, couldn't ride my bike, and had to go back to the doctor about 4 times. There was a lot of worry about infection, and every time I winced in pain or cried because it really did hurt, my grandfather would look ominously at the boys, who would scurry out of the house as quickly as they could. It just wasn't summer unless I made at least one trip to the emergency room. Oddly enough, my Papaw never spanked me. But those boys got the strap a lot, I think. Anyway, I still hate Cicadas. They are so fucking creepy and leave their shells behind. Gross. I'm sure at some point my family was turned into CPS for fears that I was being abused. But as you can tell, I've always had that "accident waiting to happen" vibe going on in my life. And people laugh when I say I don't swim in the ocean because I'm afraid of being attacked by a shark. History supports that fear, people. If it's going to happen, it's going to happen to moi. You'll be happy to know that both my brother and my cousin grew up to be contributing citizens and not serial killers. Maybe I've forgiven boys, but I have not forgotten.

I Need YOUR Help

Hi all! I'm fresh off the phone from procuring an interview with "the" district I've been trying to get into! Yes, that's right peeps, I have an interview for Monday, 10am. Now, I'm completely qualified, have polished up my resume, and alerted my references of this opportunity. Here's where you come in: I need you to send out good vibes to the universe. It doesn't matter if you believe in "The Secret" or not, but I do know that no man is an island, and the more positive energy that goes out will result in good things. I'm still not sure if this is just a courtesy interview due to my friend in that district or not, but I'm choosing to believe that they liked what they saw given the recommendation to look at my qualifications. So light a candle, say a prayer, dance in the moonlight, whatever you do to make things happen. I need this break in a big way. Better money, closer to home, near future opportunity to move up.

So I need your help. I've already emailed family and friends to get on the bandwagon. Let's make this happen people! I'll do my part in being a great interview, but it'll be nice to know that I've got the support of many others.

Sassy B

I Want To Be a Profiler...

Confession time, people. I am addicted to crime shows. My Tivo is overrun with "Cold Case", "City Confidential", "American Justice", "The First 48", any CSI, "Dallas SWAT" and my favorite, "Profiler". It was really the predecessor to all the crime shows we have now, in my opinion. Have you seen this show? I watched it back in the late 1990s, and I hated that it ended..mostly because it was very abruptly with no decent resolution to the main storyline in the show. Lo and behold if my lovely Tivo didn't find it for me in syndication though! Robert Davi aka Bailey Malone...can you say sexy? A just off the soaps Julian McMahon pre-Charmed and Nip/Tuck...still want to have hot, steamy, dirty sex with him...and have his baby. The real person I watched the show for was the lead, Sam Waters, an FBI criminal profiler portrayed by the beautiful Ally Walker. Her job rocked on that show, even if some demented evil shitbag was ruining her life. I'm a person that likes puzzles and has an eye for detail, so I often try to convince myself that I'm waaay qualified to work for the FBI. Yeah. Right. But like Sam, how cool would it be to put away the sick and twisted and maintain the "Office Hottie" slot as well? But anyway, crime and detective work really fascinates me. I dated a homicide detective briefly in my younger days, but I think he felt I had an unhealthy obsession with his work. Maybe that's why it didn't work out....or maybe because he was 20 yrs older than me, I don't know. Does this mean I'm a police groupie? A crime hor? God, I hope not.

*But the real crime is why the Seasons 1-4 DVDs have been on my wish list for years yet not one of my family members has thought to purchase them for me. (Did I mention that I'm a big believer in wish lists and that you should never put anything you will buy yourself on one?)

What? How Can This Be?

This rating was determined based on the presence of the following words:
bitch (8x)
shit (7x)
dead (4x)
fuck (3x)
gun (2x)
bastards (1x)

I was over at Jenny's (867-5309 hehehe)blog and found this rater. I can't believe I got a dirty rating? Moi!

Stupid fuckers at the bastard Mingle something or other site. Shit! That's all the words that showed up? Damn! I'm going to get my gun...

*If you go over to the sight, just know they want you to online date.

Spanky's Revenge

This cute lil shit must know I found a virtual version of him because he has been quite the Red Menace as of late. The last time he did something really batshit, I posted it here: http://sassyblondie.blogspot.com/2006/01/good-dogs-gone-bad.html

But I think he may have outdone himself this time. I was out most of the afternoon yesterday (God, I love being off work for a full month!!) and only came back briefly to feed the dogs. Because I've been off work, the pups are a bit spoiled having me around the house more. That morning, I had popped a bag of popcorn in the microwave and ate about half of it before leaving it on the table. I gave the pups a kernal or two (it was Kettle Korn) while I was eating it, and so Spanky must have taken a liking to it. Anyway, I came back to feed the dogs and then dashed out the door again. When I returned much later that night, I walked into the biggest mess to date, and that's saying something. First, there was shredded paper EVERYWHERE, along with my two couch throw pillows WITHOUT their stuffing (which was all over the room). It looked like it had snowed in my living room. Then, I walked into the kitchen and noticed that my kitchen towel that hangs on the oven door was shredded. As I walked further into the dining room, the real mess was discovered. One of the chairs had been turned over and the entire contents on top of the table was now on the floor: candle, mail, popcorn, candy (what was left of it all anyways)...and it was all shredded....including a diet Coke can! Now, I have four dogs, but only the youngest two were destructive at all. So I'm yelling and cussing, and generally having a rage attack when I notice that, while Spanky beelined it out the dog door, I had yet to see lil Cricket. I went outside. Still no Cricket. I go upstairs and find her in the bathtub, shut in the master bathroom. WTF? When I left, the door was open! After I cleaned up her mess, I returned downstairs to start there as well. However, as I was descending the last couple of steps, I see that Spanky is back inside, ON TOP OF MY TABLE chewing another bill!! I think I blew a brain gasket somewhere because I freaked out and actually felt a bit dizzy! Cricket ran behind the couch and Spanky just froze on top of the table. I grabbed him and chunked him outside and put the dog door cover on so that he couldn't get back in until I was ready (well duh, how are the others supposed to get out to pee now, genius!). I cleaned up the fluff and paper, even cried a little, I admit it. Then I went and took care of the kitchen. As I made my way to the dining room, I really started to cry (note: I cry when I'm really angry and frustrated). Not only had he destroyed everything in there, he pissed on my chair cushions...ALL of them. Which means he had to hike his leg in four different directions! He also left me a little gem under the table, if you know what I mean. It was a giant "Fuck You, Bitch" to me from my lil red dog, my lil Spankyman! Heartbreaking! After an hour of clean up, putting things in the laundry, and steam cleaning, I felt sufficiently calm enough to check on Spanky outside. As I took off the dog door cover, he poked just his head inside to scout the situation. (I was sitting down on the couch with Cricket. I'm prettty sure he shut her in the bathroom upstairs, folks. She's not strong enough and the other two girls don't hang out upstairs since the vents are closed and it's warmer upstairs during the day.) As he slinks all the way in, he comes over to the couch, sits down at my feet, and just looks at me with his head cocked to the side (much like in the picture above). Of course, crazy chick that I am, I start talking to him, "Why would you tear up Mommy's things? Why would you be that dog?" etc. Of course, he hopped up, started to snuggle up to me, and I fell for it. How do you punish an animal after the fact? I mean, I made him stay outside by himself for a time-out of 1.5 hours. Was that enough? I'm definitely going to consider crating him the next time I'm out for that long this summer. He needs to be reminded of how to go about staying at home without me. He's always been a bit of a quirky dog. All I've read on Min Pins says this is normal behavior....but he's not a puppy. He's 3 almost 4 yrs old for the love of Mike! Now I'm wondering if all the destructive behavior I've been blaming on Cricket was really all her. And my older two: They just can't believe the young'ens haven't been put out for good yet. My Boston Terrier actually gripes at them when I do..it's so funny. She follows me around and "grrrs" at them with me. Anywho, Spanky is in the doghouse for now. As I write this, he's sleeping on his back with his feet in the air on the chaise lounge, as if he had not a care in the world. Fucking lil bastard is so damn cute....shit I'm a big softie! BUT...there will be no "chewies" for him for a week. I can't reward that kind of behavior, right?

Wanted: Standing Wedding Date

So this year alone, I've attended 4 weddings. The 5th wedding was yesterday. It was a nice wedding, and the bride and groom looked very pretty and very happy. Of course, they are all of 23 or 24 yrs old. But I have confidence in the union being a lasting one. But, let me get to the real meat of this post. I'm single, and as such, weddings propose (no pun intended) an unusual challenge for me. When I receive an invitation, there's the dreaded reception RSVP where you have to put whether or not you have a plus one. God I hate that shit! I actually took my friend (who is a girl) to the wedding yesterday because she at least knows the bride and groom, and we crack each other up. Plus, she drove and I loaded up on champagne. But what I really need is that one person who will just be my standing wedding date, preferably male. Someone who won't freak out that they are being asked to attend a wedding (read=this chick must want to marry me because she's taking me to a wedding). That is where the crux of the problem lies. I'm not Miss America, but no one would be ashamed to be seen out with me in public, and I clean up pretty nice. I tend to only go to the weddings that have open bars. I am social and tend to hook up with fun people to hang out with at weddings. I don't expect my date to kick in for the gift. Shit, I even prefer to drive. Plus, I'm one hell of a fun drunk, if not a bit touchy-feely. No strings attached, gentlemen. So explain to me why I can't find this one person to be my standing plus one? Come on, guys, get over yourselves! There's no real pressure here. As long as you don't insult the wedding party, dance on the table, or burp/fart loudly enough for anyone but the immediate table to hear, or have a stick up your ass, I'm pretty sure it would be a good time. So, if you are interested in interviewing for this position, which always includes booze and cake, please let me know. It would make my life a hell of a lot easier. I have 2 more weddings before August, so I'm looking to fill this position in a timely manner.

Ding! Dong! The Wicked Witch is Dead...

Well, just gone really. I don't ever wish for anyone to die because karma is a bitch. This past week, the Jealous Bitch co-worker who has consistently tried to set me up to look stupid finally got a job somewhere else. I could never understand why after nearly 2 years, she still couldn't get over the fact that I got the job she thought she deserved. And it's not like I hired myself, right? However, she really gunned for me a lot, and has uttered many a foul word about me...many times right outside my office door. Granted, she gave me some puky fake apology (mostly because she was worried that the reference call would hit my phone first), but I was burned too many times. Silly bitch. Here are the highlights:

1. The first 3 months I was there, she refused to acknowledge my presence. When she finally did, she asked me how old I was. When I told her, she said, "Oh wow! We're the same age. I thought you were younger." I know, it sounds nice right? But then the follow up: "You're not married? Really? No kids? Do you not like kids? I guess that's why you got the job. They don't have to worry about you missing work or working late since you don't have a husband or kids to worry about. " And it wasn't said in a nice way either. BTW she has a brood who are sicker than any children I have ever met, and she trashes her husband all the time. She missed like 38 days this year because her kids were sick.

2. In a discussion with the math department (of which I was over seeing as how I have 12 yrs as a math teacher under my belt...all levels), I made this suggestion when she commented about how the students didn't know their multiplication tables. " I know exactly what you are saying. However, we can reinforce multiplication skills by remediating at TAKS level (TAKS=Texas Assessment of Knowledge and Skills) so that we do not use the bulk of instructional time to teach tables. Use homework and warm up times to support their deficiencies. " She then stood up and YELLED, "I KNOW HOW TO TEACH MATH!" I remained calm and responded, "I'm sorry, I didn't mean to imply anything personally directed toward you. I was just making a suggestion to the group." Her: "I KNOW EXACTLY WHAT YOU MEANT, AND I DON'T APPRECIATE YOU BELITTLING ME! YOU DON'T KNOW WHAT I CAN DO!!!" At this point, I simply told her that I was sorry if she felt I was doing any such thing, as it was not my intention at all. She promptly stormed out, and I was left with 5 more people looking like they had just seen a car wreck. I found out that she went directly to the other AP and "tattled" on what I had done to her. Then she went to my boss. They both told me later.

3. She came to my office a few weeks later and grilled me about my certification. When I told her that I had to take the TX test, she said, "You mean you aren't even certified yet?" to which I replied, "Yes, I am certified as a principal in the state of CA. So they gave me an emergency one-yr cert here, and I only have to take the TX test to certify here. " She replied, "I can't believe they hired you and not me. I'm taking my test at the same time!" I replied, "Yes, but I don't have any coursework left. I have a matriculated masters. " She left in a huff and went straight to my boss to complain. He told me about it later that day.

4. As mentioned above, I was over the math dept., so I was set to evaluate/appraise most of the math teachers...including Jealous Bitch (JB). So I actually let her tell me what day and period she would like me to come for the 45 min appraisal. Then, about a month later, I was gone for 2 days at a conference, and she went to my boss. She cried big crocodile tears to him insisting that she did not want me to appraise her because she just knew she wouldn't get a fair shake. HUH? WTF? And even worse, my boss fell for it and told her he would do it. No one called me. She didn't come to me for a month to tell me that she felt that way or anything else. AND I hadn't had much to do with her for the most part because I simply felt I should give her space.

5. This school year, she has complained to everyone else in the building nonstop that I am too soft on the kids when they come to my office, and that I always ask for her to explain referrals. WTF? I HAVE TO ASK! I'm the one speaking to their fucking parents, dumbass!

6. This spring, she has emailed me incessantly with information on other positions closer to my house. Now before you labor under the false idea that she was being nice to me, think again. She was not getting any interviews, and so she just knew that if I found another job, she would get my job (sorry, that wasn't going to happen either way). Of course, every email and conversation I had with her was about how far I had to drive, and that she understood why I was looking elsewhere. When I told her I wasn't leaving back in mid May, she finally stopped emailing me job alerts. Then she just recently took this job at a charter school in south Dallas.

7. Any time I sent an email to the entire staff, she would reply to ALL to correct any spelling or punctuation mistake I might have made (there were a few here and there).

8. She forced my hand finally when she tried to get me to bail her out during a difficult parent meeting. The fact is, if the teacher is wrong, I can't bail them out. I can say how we will rectify the issue. Had she given me all the facts BEFORE the meeting, I could have helped her out with suggestions on how to approach the parent with her side of it. I didn't let her get attacked, but she did have to answer some pointed questions. After the meeting, she burst into tears and YELLED at me for not helping her enough. I calmly explained that she came with info that I really needed BEFORE the meeting in order to steer the conversation towards resolution, but she did not do that...even when I asked. Again, she went to tell on me to my boss. He told me later.

9. She was the #2 detention and referral writer in the entire school. I wanted to ask her if she really liked kids. She would write kids up for "talking in line" or "making paper airplanes" (not flying them, making them), or the generic favorite "talking". Whenever I questioned her, she would of course go to my boss...and he would tell me later. Dysfunction junction anyone?

10. She would pop in to "chat" about my love life (or lack of) about once per week. She was always fishing for personal stuff from me. It must have been frustrating for her. I'm a vault.

There were several other small issues with her trying to undermind my authority, but I can say confidently that I handled them with grace. I never was rude to her or mean. Oddly enough, she sent me a nice email about how much she had learned from me. She also put in her home email and a "promise to keep in touch" tag. Again, HUH? Anyway, I do hope she is happy...FINALLY.

I will say that when my boss told me she was leaving, I did a little happy dance in my head. I'm a straightforward person, and all that behind the scenes shit she was pulling really made me tired. I don't really hold grudges, particularly when I don't really care about the other person in any significant way. How funny and poetic it would be if I did get another job before the summer is out. Like I said, karma is a big ole bitch.

HELP! My Blog Has Lost Its Mind!

Okay people, WHAT THE FUCK is up with my blog? I logged on this morning to find that half of my linked stuff and all of the archives have a strike through line! HUH? What is going on? I need more savvy experts to help me solve this problem...I have no idea how to do anything really, and when I link up things, I always have to go to help to tell me how. They did not have a solution or even a situation yet that I could find like this. And it's not MY computer...she's drug and disease free. If you can help, I would very much appreciate it and give you a huge virtual hug and and kiss. Gender not important in this particular situation.

Love,

Sassy B

All You Had To Do Was Ask

So I've probably not mentioned to anyone that I've been looking for a new job that is closer to home. Right now, as much as I love my job, I'm driving 45 minutes one way. I put 350 miles per week on my car. I've gotten 3, count 'em, 3 speeding tickets the past 18 months. So needless to say, I'd like to cut my commute in half or better. I actually went on a few interviews, but here's the scoop:

1. I interviewed at a 7-8 middle school in an affluent area. Generally, if you are allowed two assistant principals, you want a male and female. Since there was already a female principal and assistant principal, I was already starting at a deficit. I did, however, make the cut to the final three. Only it was me and two guys. Guess who didn't get the job? Am I bitter? No. The interview committee wasn't too nice, and one asshat was completely aggressive with me. He evidently was trying to crush my hand rather than shake it. I'm all for a firm handshake because no one likes the dead fish shake. But his was over the top! I refused to wince, however. Fuck him! Then he never really asked me a question but more or less through out, "Around here, we do things.." Some men really have inferiority issues...or else they are just complete dicks.

2. Interviewed at a K-5 elementary school at a small but growing district. It was the principal, me, and that's it. Very odd considering these kinds of interviews consist of a committee of some sort nearly 100% of the time. Anyway, he was a complete idiot, and I think I inadvertently insulted him. He made some lame joke that was inherently racist, which both shocked and angered me (Yes. Me. The lil blonde haired blue eyed Irish girl with freckles)I guess I made a face or something because he all of the sudden got rather curt with me. So no job there...thank God. I can't work for an idiot...especially if the pay ain't so great.

3. I went to several job fairs for various school districts, but not much came of them. I figure it's the universe's way of telling me to stay put, right?

Then...I happened to be checking school websites today, and I saw an Elementary Assistant Principal position just posted in a district that I would practically kill to get into. It's 10 minutes from my doorstep, pays great, and is really on the leading edge in terms of technology and pedagogy in schools. I taught with a guy years ago that is a principal in this district currently and has been for the past 8 yrs. So I took a chance and emailed him my resume, explaining that last time around, I couldn't get my foot in the door. I asked him to look at my resume and give me some insight. Only he went one step further: he forwarded it directly to the HR Director with a personal note vouching for what a great candidate I was, and that they should take a serious look at me. Wow! So people, keep your fingers crossed. This could be the best opportunity for my future advancement. Of course, I may not get an interview. Often postings this late mean they had some movement within the district and have someone from within in mind. They have to advertise by law. Anywho, I'm choosing to feel positive about it.

So when I emailed my friend back to thank him for going the extra mile, he replied, "Sassy, all you had to do was ask! I'm more than happy to help! Let's get together soon."

Life is about asking for what you want. The worst answer you can get is no, but you won't know unless you ask.

Dear Texas Rangers and MLB

You suck BIG TIME! No, I'm not a fan...I hate baseball. It's for pussies. But you take up an unfortunate amount of time on Sportscenter and my local sports news. I'd rather hear about Paris Hilton and her skags (skanks + hags = skags). Sure, Teixeira is somewhat of a hottie, but watching baseball these days is like watching paint dry. Golf is more exciting. Watered down pitching, overpaid "players", too many games, drugging, and no more Nolan Ryan, Cal Ripken, Jr., or other noteworthy retirees.

And Rangers, the brilliant big brass in your front office is paying another player TO PLAY FOR SOMEONE ELSE WHO ALWAYS KICKS YOUR ASS. (A-Rod? More like A-Hor) That's right. The Yankees pimp done took your best bitch, and you're footing her bills while she's on her knees for New York.

Baseball blows!

A Stick Situation

That Hor is up to it again, so I was reminded about another childhood mishap that my family still does not let me live down. It involves me, a stick, a fire, and total annihilation of my grandfather's toolshed. So, let's go back, back to the carefree days of 1979. It was summer in Texas: hot, humid, and neverending. I was 8, and my older brother, cousin, and I were at my maternal grandfather's house in East Texas near Cedar Creek Lake. Papaw had some acreage and built a little house for he and Granny some time before after he retired, so we were always thrilled to get the chance to stay for weeks in the summer time. I was the youngest and only girl in our little family gang that summer, so to say I was a tomboy was an understatement. It also meant that I was constantly tortured by my sadist brother and cousin. They would shoot at me from behind trees with BB guns, laughing maniacally when I would run in circles screaming getting scatched up by tree limbs trying to get away from them. Ah, such love between family members, eh? That summer, my grandfather was building an addition to the house. He and his contractors had cleared the area of trees for the planned addition, including removing the stumps, so there was a big pile of tree parts that my Papaw intended to burn. He'd been building up the idea of a bonfire to us all that week, so we were super psyched. We had bugged the shit out of him all day since the contractors had left, and so after dinner he finally told us it was time. As we looked on, he went to the toolshed and took his gas can out. He came over to the pile of trees, which was about 3 feet high but with a diameter of somewhere around 6 or 7 feet, and threw a little gas around the pile. We all stood about 5 feet away as he threw a match on our bonfire and it began to burn. Once the burn became steady, he allowed us to get a little closer. My brother grabbed a limb from around the edge that had a smoldering tip, and of course, my cousin followed suit. Then I watched them go to the gas can and pour a little gas on the tip and return to the fire to to "light" the end. Of course, this all occurred when my Papaw took had to go inside for a minute to take a piss. I also want to explain that this was one of those old, heavy metal cans with the word GAS in red letters. As the two boys started playing Star Wars with their sticks, I went to the edge of the fire and grabbed my own stick with a smoldering tip. Now don't get me wrong. I'm no pyromaniac, but there is something that is mesmerizing about fire. My Papaw came out the door yelling at me to get back from the fire, which I did immediately. Then I watched him take the gas can back to the toolshed just as my smoldering tip was dying. So, like my brother and cousin, I went to the gas can. Only, I didn't pour the gas because the can was too heavy for my puny 8 yr old body. I could tip it just a little, so I just touched my dying but still alive smoldering tip to the gas can spout. All of the sudden, there was fire on the tip of the spout! Needless to say, I ran my ass out of there as fast as I could! As I'm running toward my grandfather and the boys with my smoldering stick, I start yelling that there is a fire in the shed. I swear, it was like a movie where the main character gains information just by the reaction of the people she is looking at. Just as I reached them, I heard a huge "whoosh!" and everyone's mouth fell open. I turned to see the shed completely engulfed in flames. All I remember about the next part is a lot of screaming, cursing, and the water hoses from the front and back of the house. Luckily, the shed wasn't too large, and so my Papaw was able to put the fire out without having to call the local volunteer firemen. While all this was happening, I swear I didn't move from the spot I was in. Once the shed was reduced to a mere charred skeleton, my brother, cousin, and Papaw came back over to me. I quickly said, "I didn't do it!" to which all three looked at me, and then looked at my right hand. Yes, I was still holding my stick...which still smelled suspiciously like gasoline. I explained threw my tears that I only went to the gas can so that I could catch my stick back on fire like the boys, but that I couldn't lift the can, so I just tipped it and touched the spout. Once I got this much out, my brother and cousin started yelling, "Way to go stupid! The tip was still hot! You're so stupid! Ha ha ha! You are in SO much trouble!" My grandfather's face was controlled, but I noticed that the murderous expression softened just a little. Once I saw the crack in his reaction, I shamelessly used my little girl cuteness. I threw myself at him grabbing his leg (the man was 6'4), and he picked me up and told me that he wasn't angry, he was just so scared that something could have happened to me, or that we could have set off a fire that spread to other people's land, etc. Once he called me "Baby girl", I knew I was in the clear. The bonfire had pretty much burned itself down, and so my brother and cousin threw what was left of their sticks on the pile. Then we all turned to survey the damage. The shed was a loss, as well as everything else in it. The only thing that was recognizable was the silver gas can where the red letters told us it was GAS. Oh, and my stick was still in good shape...and it was still smoldering a bit at the tip...in my hand. He began to look at bit cross at that, so I made sure to tell him that the boys had been shooting at me with the BB gun too. (Ha! Take that you mean little bastards!) So, when the contractors returned on Monday, they added a new shed to their To Do list. I'm pretty sure Papaw told them what happened too because they would smile and kind of laugh when they saw me from then on.

So that is my stick story. And until my grandparents passed, it was told EVERY time that side of the family got together. Hot Stick + Gas=Shed Inferno courtesy of Sassy. My brother and cousin still bring it up to this day when we are all together, which fortunately (or unfortunately) is not often. When I remember it, I just remember how much I loved my Papaw and how much he loved us. The three of us did some crazy shit, but Papaw had one giant sense of humor. RIP Papaw. I miss you.

I'm a Little Bit Country, He's a Little Bit Rock-n-Roll...

So my sister calls me last night and says she just has to tell me about the dream she had involving me, her, and Donny Osmond. Yes, I said Donny Osmond. WTF? Oddly enough, in her dream, he was stalking ME! Yep, the Donny was a bad, bad man. I wish I could elaborate more, but she could barely get it out due to her hysterical laughter, which in turn made me laugh, and so all I got was that Donny Osmond was my stalker, and now she's scared of him. She ended the laughing fit with, "I was so upset when I woke up. I thought he was a nice man?" Obviously, she hasn't heard enough of his singing to make a clear judgment. All I can say, Sister, is why couldn't you have had Michael Vartan or Matthew Fox stalking me? Even in your dreams I'm connected to losers. What the hell?

Another True Story Involving a Gun and ME

So I was over at my favorite Hor's blog, where I was reminded of yet another ridiculous story involving one Sassy Blonde and a huge piece...uh gun, I mean. So, with little hope of looking smarter than the village idiot, I'll continue.
My sophomore year of college, I was home for the Thanksgiving Break. My sister was about 14 at the time, and my dad was dating a woman who would become, for a decade, my 3rd stepmother. Anywho, after arriving that afternoon to the small town my father and sister had moved to just before I started college, we all had a lively dinner and headed to the homestead. My dad told me that he would be sleeping over at the girlfriend-stepmom to be's house, so he wanted to make sure I knew where the home protection system was kept. Well, it wasn't hard to find: there was a sawed off 410 shotgun leaning against the wall behind the kitchen door. It was not loaded, but it had a little fanny pack type thing velcroed to the stock with some shells. After demonstrating to him that I knew how to load it, he left feeling less worried about us girls at home alone. About 8pm, my sister asked if she could have a friend sleep over. I didn't see a problem with it, so her friend was dropped off by her mother about an hour later. We all watched a movie in my dad's room on the king-sized bed and ate a bunch of junk food, generally having a good ole gal's time. After all the carb loading, we began to get sleepy. By the time I finished watching tv, the girls were fast asleep, so I went to sleep in my sister's room (by this time, I had no room at "home"). My sister, at the time, had my old bed: a twin-sized water bed. After washing my face and taking out my contacts, I hit the sheets and was quickly off to dreamland. First of all, I need to say that I'm a light sleeper, and so at times the slightest noise will wake me up...particularly if I'm not in my normal bed. Anywho, I was disturbed by a rustling noise near the window. At first, I groggily thought it was the puppy (dad's new Samoyed husky..so cute), but as my eyes adjusted, I began making out the outline of a shadow at the window. That's when I started to breathe a little more quickly and try, unsuccessfully, to move to the far edge of the bed so that I could get up and get the hell out of there if I needed to. For those of you who have never experienced a water bed, this is simply impossible. And not at all quiet. As I squinted at the shadowy figure at the window, I saw the screen being removed. Holy shit! At this point, I couldn't hear anything but my heart beating in my ears. I struggled to get up out of that damn rippling contraption, sloshing around like a fish on the shore. Frankly, I was thinking that I would be murdered in that bed simply because I wasn't a good swimmer. Fuck me for never agreeing to those damn swimming lessons! So I finally edged onto the wooden bed frame, all the while staring at the window. When I saw fingers come through the mini blinds, I nearly shat myself. I double-timed it to the kitchen to grab our home security system aka the shotgun. I cracked the barrel and loaded up two shells and ran back to the bedroom after taking a quick peek at my sister and her friend, forever known after this incident as Lil Skanky Ho. As I entered the doorway of the bedroom, I aimed as best I could at the window. Now, some of you lucky bastards may have 20/20 vision, but I am 20/200 at best without my corrective lenses. So by this time, the window and blinds were raised, and I yelled, "Freeze motherfucker!" (It was the age of Die Hard, so I can only assume that's why it came out of me.) Then I saw the shadowy figure kind of lurch, so I squeezed off a round. Now the kick knocked me backwards on my ass, so I guess you can say I was a bit unprepared for that little bonus. The blast, of course, woke up my sister and LSH, who came running and screaming through the kitchen and around the corner to find me, shotgun in hand, sitting on the floor. I yelled, "Call Daddy!" So my sister dialed up Daddio, who told her to call 911 and stay together with the gun loaded (I don't think she told him that I had that covered already). About 5 minutes later, the policeman arrived (it is seriously a small town), and after I told him I saw a prowler, he started looking around outside. Two minutes after that, my dad arrived looking like an escapee from Bellvue, all wild-eyed and shit. Before he could ask us what happened, the policeman came back inside. When we turned on the light in my sister's room, we all went to look at the window. Other than a nick in the frame, the window was in tact because it had been opened nearly all the way. The blinds were destroyed, but the policeman pointed out that my dad's metal storage building directly in line with the window about 1o yards away was riddled with buckshot. The policeman said he found footprints and that yes, the screen had been removed. He then went over my story with me, looked at the papers for my dad's gun, and left with his night's paperwork. He actually had to hold back his laughter when I recounted the story, especially when I got to my shouted expletive. The next day, my sister confided in me that LSH had told her boyfriend where she was staying that night and to come over and sneak in the window! Stupid hobag! Little slutty bitchface! I wanted to kill her! Needless to say, my father made sure that my sister was minus one friend after that little episode. Now that story is one that people in the family decide to tell for a big laugh: "Remember that time Sassy went all crazy and shot up the shed?" (It runs a close second to the time I caught my grandfather's toolshed on fire,..but that is another post for another time) COME ON, PEOPLE! It wasn't like I was playing around and using it for target practice! I thought a psycho murdering fuck was trying to break in to kill me and my little sister! And to add insult to injury, I couldn't raise my effing right arm for 3 days due to the kick from that bad boy! If I'd carried an effing pen around, I could've been Bob effing Dole! It was useless! What the hell? The bruise took nearly two weeks to finally disappear.
So there it is...another true story involving a gun and me. Don't judge me, people. I've got a gun.

Fun Times in Mayberry...

I work in a relatively big school in a relatively small school district. I call the town Mayberry because it can often be very backward and old-fashioned. The majority of people are really nice, but there are some I would love to chain a concrete block to and throw over the side of the boat. We have this discipline plan, and it is based on teachers giving kids signatures. Every 2 signatures = a step on the plan. Steps 1-4 are detentions; Steps 5-7 are increasing days of in school suspension with 5 days being the limit; Step 8 is three days out of school suspension, and Step 9 earns the kid a trip to the alternative education program for 15 days. The steps are cumulative throughout the year, so no kid gets to start over. Once they've earned a step, it is burned. This time of year, the discipline referrals increase exponentially. As do the number of sour grapes and bad attitudes. Everyone is worn out. Today was a banner day in Mayberry. Here are some things said directly to me or overheard as they stood outside my office:

"I don't think it's right for him to be upset just because I took it that far." (I'm not sure what "it" was, or who "he" was, but my mind sure did ponder)

"I'm so tired of the absolute defiance of gum-chewing! And she just gives them lunch detention?" (The outrage! Children chewing gum even though it's prohibited? What is the world coming to!!)

"Well, this is something I developed and I just don't think you should mess with something just because you changed things last year. You've only been here a little over a year, and that's not how things work around here." (Yes, and I'm her BOSS people!)

"She told me to take the work to ISS and not to come back to the room for the rest of the year. I mean, gosh, she really is out of it. It sure wasn't the Christian thing to do." (Uttered by the dumbest instructional aide who has done nothing but disrespect her supervising teacher and the children in the classroom all year. All because she got the new assignment. Not to worry...she won't have to worry about such nonsense next year. Hope she finds a new job far, far away from me and my school)

"I heard that she was leaving. Just as well since the job should have been mine anyway." (Overheard outside my office after she asked me how my most recent interview went. Still her effing BOSS though!)

"I can't do hands-on activities because the librarian told me that I couldn't do projects in my room." (ESL teacher who has a room off the library with a door that shuts. She was explaining why she doesn't do much with her kids in terms of TEACHING..her JOB)

"I think they are monitoring my email." (No shit, Sherlock! It's not your email, it's the district's email network. Get a clue! They are also monitoring your internet usage...so get up off your ass and start doing your job!)

"Have you seen the two girls about the gum issue yet?" (Same person who said the above gum stuff)

"We are not sending kids to AEP or ISS for chewing gum. Tell them to spit it out. I'm not going to address this subject again." (My BOSS...guess he's tired of it too)

"Who do you want to fire this year?" (My boss again...I heart him when he's in this kind of mood)

"Houston, we have a problem." (Big C, my colleague and cohort)

"Are we really suspending kids for "talking in line?" (Big C again...after receiving an office referral for a Step 8, which is three days out of school suspension on our discipline plan)

"No problems, please. I'm trying to quit. " (Oh...that was me)

"Grrrr" (Cricket upon my arrival home)

Now, not too terribly exciting, but those were the ones that I decided to write down since I was hearing stuff all day. Summer vacation, anyone? Anyone?

*Days like these are when I think there just aren't enough bottles of wine in the cabinet. I did come home and make myself one strong Grey Goose dirty martini. I licked the glass dry.

Confession

I have an addiction. I'm ashamed of this addiction. I'm addicted to Dancing with the Stars. Yes, I know it's sad. Yet, I will rearrange my whole schedule on Mondays and Tuesdays to make sure I see it in real time. No TiVo version does it for me. Watching all the dancing and the criticisms, I find myself most often wishing that I could be a professional ballroom dancer. Then, I could "dance with the stars". The only problem? I can't dance. Sure, I can do the Wham! or Belinda Carlisle dance from the 80s, but real dancing would require grace and elegance. Two things I do not possess. Plus, my legs are too short. Yes, I was a decent athlete in my younger days, but dancing on these chicken legs? I think not. They work for basketball but not ballroom. Edyta and Julianne have the most amazingly long legs. Sure, my brothers and sisters were blessed in the gene pool and got long legs, but what did I get? Stumps. Thanks, mother. It's more shit I can blame you for. That list is getting longer and longer. Now I'm adding your messed up genes. But I digress...Who will win? Will it be Joey? Apolo? Laila? I can't stand it! I love Joey, but Apolo is amazing! I like Laila, but I wouldn't necessarily say she's the winner here. She's a bit cocky. And yes, I vote. I have voted every week online. How big of a tard does that make me? I don't vote on any other shows. I think it's stupid. But Dancing with the Stars? I. Must. Vote.

Seriously folks, are you not addicted to this show too? Please tell me you can relate? If not, what is your guilty pleasure? I might need more shows for my TiVo.

*Phoning this one in because I'm more worn out than a one-legged man in an ass-kicking contest. Like The Boss I want to kill everyone who opens their mouth this week. But my reason is because they are all asshats.

Why I Hate Truckers: A True Story

I was over at Sgt.'s blog where I was reminded of a story that I don't tell often. Mostly because it's so bizarre and some because I did spend 4 years in Los Angeles (if you don't know what I mean, I can't explain it). So here goes...

Around 1999 I was traveling south towards Waco, TX on Interstate 35 to visit a friend that was coaching at Baylor. I have done a lot of road tripping in my day, and so my father bought me a revolver for my 24th birthday. I grew up around guns, and we were always taught to be responsible. So, my uncle the cop took me to the shooting range to get me ready to get my license to carry. I passed my test with flying colors after the instruction phase. So, I since I was hitting the highway alone, I took my gun (not loaded, mind you...bullets were in glove box) and threw it in my purse (which many felt was more of an overnight bag than a lady's purse). On one of my gas stops, I pulled into a truck stop and decided to grab a bite to eat at the Stuckey's diner. After I finished eating, I went to the cashier to pay, and in the process of digging for my wallet, my gun fell out on the counter. The cashier immediately took a huge step back and kind of went into a semi-duck. All eyes in the place turned to stare at me. After a nervous laugh, I picked the gun up and returned it to my purse. I said, "Hey guys, I'm traveling and have no intention of robbing or shooting anyone. The bullets are in the glove box in the car..hehe..hehehe." I paid quickly, leaving about a $8 tip for a $12 lunch because I didn't wait for the change, and hopped in the car like a bat out of hell. After about 10 minutes down the road, I started to reflect on the " incident" and started laughing. About 2 minutes later, a Texas Highway Patrol car was behind me flashing lights and saying over the megaphone thingy to pull to the side, please. Yes, even the police are friendly in Texas. Glancing at my speed, I knew I wasn't being pulled over for speeding, which is the only reason I ever get pulled over. So, I pulled over and put the car in park. As I was leaning over to get my insurance and registration info, I hear the megaphone thingy say, "Please exit the vehicle with your hands where I can see them. " At first I thought there must have been hashish in the BLT I had for lunch. Huh? So I slowly opened the car door with my hands up. The megaphone thingy then said I needed to walk to the back of the car very slowly. I did so. At this point, I see there are two HiPos with their guns drawn yelling at me to stay where I was, so I was sweating like a whore in church. I was then told to turn around with my hands on top of my head. One of the HiPos came over to me while his partner "covered" me with his weapon. I actually got PATTED down! By this time, I'm crying and becoming hysterical. The patter downer asked me if I had a weapon in the car. I said, "Yes, officer, I do. It is in my purse with my wallet where you will find my permit to carry in this state...sir. " I watched him get my purse, pull out my wallet, my gun, and empty the rest on my car seat. Then he searches my entire vehicle. Now I'm all for being safe, but I definitely don't A) look dangerous and B) look like a drug runner. Finally, they have me sit in the backseat of the first cruiser while they run all of my information. I'm visibly shaken at this point, and I actually need to exit the car to throw up. After everything checks out, they apologize and explain that they had several reports from the Stuckey's up the road that there was a gun-toting crazy "chick" on the loose. They were kind enough to give me one of those wet nap things and a drink of water from a thermos. Fucking truckers have some nerve is all I can say. Mr. HiPo 1 then gives me the gun safety lecture and tells me that they did not mean to scare me, but they have to take precautions in such situations. I assure him that I am a completely responsible gun owner and only take it on my person when traveling alone, as I was that day. After offering them both further assurances that I would leave it in the car for my next stop, they let me be on my way. I sat there for about 20 more minutes collecting myself. What the hell? What if one of them had an itchy trigger finger?

And that, my friends, was my 2nd brush with the law and by far the scariest. That's why I really hate fucking truckers. Some of the perviest assholes on the road, but I'm the "Crazy Gun-Toting Chick" at the Stuckey's? To this day, I still travel with my gun on extended trips, but I never carry it in my purse, nor do I eat at Stuckey's. They've lost my business for life. No need in coming across a pimply-faced rookie cop with a shaky hand who sneezes and sprays me with a round, right?

*This is a prime example of why I do not blog with my given name. Who the hell would ever believe this shit but people who could have me fired?

What the Hell?

Okay, so I admit my last post was more a rant than a rambling, but it's been a trying week. I'm just barely recovering from my Stars losing in the first round of the Stanley Cup playoffs, and then Thursday night the Mavericks failed to show up for the game. Effing went down to Golden State and the supreme ass that is Baron Davis. Golden State? Nellie fucked us again, Dallas. And now, it's all baseball all the time. Merry Fucking Christmas to me! Baseball blows! Plus, the Rangers suck big time. (I think my sailor mouth has gotten worse with each team loss...I'm not normally so profane.)

If you don't already know, the last four weeks at a school in Texas are the worst: state tests are done and it's open season, kid style. Kids are off the rails right now, and teachers are close behind them. My colleague and I have our hands full with 850 kids and some 90 staff. And my boss seems to have checked out for these last four weeks. I really think he's hiding in his office. It would be funny if it weren't so effing aggravating. Now don't get me wrong, I truly love my boss. He's laid back and has the driest sense of humor. But dude, get your ass up and help us out a little. We are only the ASSISTANT Principals. You're the head honcho around here, the big Kahuna. Let's find your cahones and put them to use. I'm effing tired and so is Big C. And my mother effing finger hurts like hell. (Okay, that's not really his fault.)

Whew..I feel better now. Just had to unload that. Hope all y'all are not experiencing issues at work. If so, I feel your pain.

Shut IT!

Listen up, you whining bastards! Yeah, you know who you are! I've had all I can possibly take from your dumb asses! This past week you have taken me from my normal, positive, perky self and turned me into a ill-tempered, no patience-having, complete bitch! So SHUT YOUR EFFING pieholes. If I wanted to strain my very last nerve I'd either call my mother or listen to Dead or Alive over and over. Both are akin to your pathetic excuses about ill-treatment or the like.

If you'd done this shit last week, my PMS would have forced me to go medieval on your asses. This week, you've just worn me out. So shut the ef up, or I'll be forced to embrace the dark side and tell you what I really think about such petty bullshit. And effing knock before barging into my office!

*On a lighter note, yet another friend is pregnant. I think God is laughing at me and giving me the finger.

Defensive Driving is for Sissies

So I finally completed my online defensive driving course to erase my last speeding ticket a few months ago. Nothing like barely beating the deadline for when it's due, right? I have an issue, however, with how long it takes. Here in Texas, the course is required to be 6 hours, which is completely unreasonable. I mean, you can pass the damn final exam after 2 hours of instruction (reading). So I completed the course on the I Drive Safely website, but it took too damn long. It used to be that you could just read and continue to the next page, but now they have this annoying little timer that won't allow you to click to the next page until it is at zero. It's just like those stupid professors in college who would take attendance and mark your final grade down if they felt you were absent too much. Come on! If I can read the book and make an A on your lame ass tests and quizzes, why be an asshole and lower me a letter grade because I didn't show up everyday to feed your big ass ego? But I digress...

Unfortunately (yet not surprisingly), I've had 2 speeding tickets this year, so deferred adjudication and defensive driving were the only options I had to erase those bitches. Is speeding really so wrong? It's not like I was driving 100 mph. As long as I'm only endangering myself on such lonely stretches, I think I should be able to drive like Dale Jr. It's my life, right? And why do cops insist on giving you a side of lecture with the "citation"? I don't argue. I say "yes, sir" and "thank you". I don't cry, throw a tantrum, show my boobs, or otherwise try to get out of it. Where's the bonus points for honesty? Actually, I'm rather entertaining when pulled over for speeding. So since I don't do anything to otherwise piss off Mr. HiPo or the Local Yokel, why does he feel obligated to wag his finger at me? Don't get me wrong, I respect the police immensely, and both of them were relatively pleasant guys. I just want to get my ticket and get to work on time. No muss no fuss. I always put on my contrite face. Is that too much to ask? I commute 45 minutes to work one way every day. All of this said commuting is on 4 major interstates. That's 37 total miles of wide open, little to no traffic, prime roadway.

Damn I hate speeding tickets and defensive driving courses. Bitter, party of one.

It Was the Terrier That Took Me Down

So I get up pretty early, usually around 4 or 4:30am. I like to work out before going to work and since I commute 45 minutes and start work at 7:20, I have to get up at the butt crack of dawn. So this morning I got up, did 40 min on the treadmill, two sets on the Ab Lounge (laugh but that shit is working!), and then went through my daily routine to ready myself for work. As I was heading downstairs to get my purse and head to the car, my four dogs raced down the stairs in a formation which I can only describe as "the wall". The puppy got tangled in my legs, and so I took flight and tumble down the stairs. As my face smacked the wall, blood came gushing out of my mouth! Not one to panic, I got up and ran back upstairs for a wash cloth to put in there. I wasn't sure at first if I had cracked my lip or lost some teeth! I decided it was my teeth, somewhere in the back, and I couldn't get it to stop bleeding. First, I made that emergency call to my dentist (luckily an old friend of the family), and he said he'd meet me at the office. Then I called work where the secretary had a difficult time understanding anything other than, "I fell and hit my teetch and haf t'go to denist. I be late." Then I got in the car and over to the dentist's office. Turns out that the fall split my gums from the teeth furthest back in my mouth, including a pesky wisdom tooth that has a date with the oral surgeon this summer. So, after big needles and some stitches in my mouth, I'm about ready to leave when my dentist says, "Hey, I think you might want to get that hand checked out." I looked at my right hand and the finger next to my pinky was swollen and scary looking. So, I hopped over to a Care Now to see about that (funny that I didn't really notice it because I was overly concerned with my teeth...my true vanity both scares and embarrasses me). I only waited 10 minutes (a medical miracle in itself), and they got me in to see the doctor. They took an x-ray and sure enough, I had a small fracture in the knuckle. Fuck, fuck, fuckity fuck! So they tell me to head over to the nearest hospital to get it casted. I refused and told them to give me some tape or a sports splint so I could go.

No, I'm not overly tough and wasn't trying to prove anything. I just didn't want to take that kind of time when I needed to get to work.

Now, I know I should have probably just done it, but there's more to the story. Every month at work, we have a birthday luncheon for the people on staff that have a birthday that particular month. At the beginning of the year, each team of teachers and staff signed up for a month to provide said luncheon. Well, April is the office staff and administrators' turn. We decided on taco salad, so I had to take home about 4lbs of hamburger meet to cook and season. So, this morning on my way out, I put the crockpot with this meat in my back seat. That crockpot of meat would feed one of the three lunch periods we have at my school. Now, if I didn't show up, one lunch would not have the meat for taco salads. That damn meat was taunting me from the back seat. I was unable to think of anything else but that meat and how I would be the office hag if I didn't show with it in time. So after much argument and an extracted promise to go get it casted if it worsened over the weekend, I left for work with the injury in a nice little sports splint. It was 9:30 by this time, and the luncheon started at 10:45. So, I hit the road (still a bit drooly from my dental work) and luckily made it there. By God, the teachers were getting their taco meat, or I would die trying to get it there! (Did I mention I was a bit obsessive about this taco meat?)

All day long, people kindly asked as to what happened to me since I had a swollen jaw, was drooling a bit, and had a finger splint. One person asked me if I was hungover, and one kid asked me if he could "touch it" (referring to my finger). Odd. Anywho, after telling the embarrassing story several times, I finally just shortened it to me tripping over my dogs. Thus, it was the terrier that took me down. (Say hello to my lil Cricket. Isn't she cute? She's a bit older now, but this was the only pic I had on my laptop.)

PS-My colleague finds the ridiculous things that happen in my life to be quite entertaining and continues to tell me to write a book. However, if I told her all the stupid shit that happens, she'd think I was making it up.

Dear NHL Commissioner and the Dallas Stars Organization

With roughly 4 minutes remaining in the Game 7 of the the first round of the Stanley Cup Playoffs, I'm a bit confused as to your commissioning of the officials for tonight's game with Vancouver v. Dallas. Never have I seen a ridiculous amount of questionable penalties in a Game 7. Please explain to me the second period phantom high sticking call on Joel Lundqvist. How can it be a high sticking when the stick never made contact with the other player? Even in my limited knowledge of hockey, I could see that was not the call. But Joel went to the box and Vancouver scores to even it up. Cut to the third period where hooking calls seem to be the flavor of the period. And the holding the stick call on Juri Lehtinen? Is there a love triangle going on between the Sedin twins and our officials? What about Linden knocking the net off "accidentally" when the Stars where really swarming big nose Luongo? Where oh where are the calls the other way? Granted, hockey players do all they can to make things look dirty, but come on. Dallas digs out of a hole to get to the Game 7 and the officiating seems to have decided the game. Of course, it's a bad workman who blames his tools, and ultimately I know my beloved Stars really lost the series by digging the 3-1 hole in Game 4. Can't lose two straight and skate on through most of the time (no pun intended).

Now it's over..4-1 final on two empty net goals. Vancouver will most definitely get swept in the next round: they have to play Anaheim. Boring. Can't wait to see my Niedermeyer boys carve them up. Go Ducks! What a disappointment. I would have loved to see Giguere and Turco square off in net. Of course, I'd like to suggest not using this team of officials in that series, or any other in the next couple of rounds. Hockey fans deserve to see the decision of the game be decided by athleticism and skill. Of course, I realize you are hoping against hope that a Canadian team will take the Stanley Cup this year. You've said it in two interviews now. But I'm a good sport. Through my disappointment and disgust, I can congratulate Roberto Luongo. He was fantastic, as was Marty Turco. Goal tending was outstanding in this series. Vancouver and Dallas will battle it out next year at some point, I'm sure. (Damn those Sedin boys!)

I would like to thank you for the wonderful All-Star Game here in Big D. Working it was a highlight for me. Thanks also for the overtime shoot out rule during the regular season. Wow...who knew it would be so exciting to watch?

Finally, thank you Dallas Stars. It was a good run. I would like to request that we don't bow out in the first round for a 4th straight year next year. How about we try to win and get ahead in a series this next year? By the way, although I can't believe I am saying this, keep Big Eric Lindros...he turned out to be quite a plus. Pay Norstrom, Robeiro, and Lundqvist more. They were amazing! And finally, make sure that Mike Modano regains his sanity and does not go through with the farce of marrying the giggling idiot a decade younger than him. If so, stick a fork in him. He's done and should go ahead and retire with his solo Cup. Dumbass is contagious.


Forever a fan,

Sassy B.


PS-If I could, I'd like to request an Anaheim-New Jersey Stanley Cup Final. See what you can do about that.

PSS-Please hurry back in October. I don't like baseball (snooze), and football doesn't do it for me compared to hockey. I'm just sayin...

Dear God, Thank You

STARS FORCE GAME SEVEN!

Dear God,

Thank you for Marty Turco. Yes, I know he's been known to choke in my beloved Dallas Stars' quest for playoff glory the past couple of years, but he has kept his ass in the net the past few games, and we even won a pivotal game in Vancouverland tonight. Thank you for bringing us Mr. Mike Ribeiro. It is because of him that I have forgiven you for allowing the exit of Billy Guerin and the addition of Eric Lindros (although Big E has been a pleasant surprise when healthy). Mr. Ribeiro has changed the very definition of tenacity over this year. I don't want to forget Jeff Halpern or Brendan Morrow, as they have some wicked good hockey skills too. Also, please continue to bless Sergei Zubov, Trevor Daly, Stu Barnes, Stephan Robidas, Darryl Sydor, Philip Boucher, Ladislav Nagy and all the Swedes and Finns whose names I cannot spell but love nonetheless wearing the black and green, Lehtinen most particularly.

And as always, my ultimate thank you for Mike Modano. Even though he has yet to realize that I am his one true love and future wife, I know you will not allow him to marry and procreate with that dumbass bitch.

In the name of the Father, Son, and Holy Spirit, Amen.

There is a God...

And He is Good...

Sanjaya booted off Idol..let the real competition continue!

Take that, Bitch!

Here's the continuation of my last post. I decided to send out my mass email. Read on...

Hi Everyone!

To those of you who don't know or remember me, my dad is married to JuJu. Just wanted to send out reminders about the upcoming happenings:

April 28-I'm taking my defensive driving course to cancel out my speeding ticket (yes, the 2nd one this year!)
May 13-Mother's Day
May 15-My oldest brother's (John) birthday.
May 18-My oldest brother's son's (Michael)birthday.
May 21-Victoria Day (Canada)
May 22-J and D's birthdays! Big 25! Woo hoo!
May 28-Memorial Day
May 30-My last day of school
June 17-Father's Day
July 4-Independence Day
July 11-Lisa's Birthday (you don't know her)

By the way JuJu, don't forget to send J a birthday card at boot camp. I have the correct address. I'm sure he'd like to hear from his mother! Also, John and Michael would want you to call on their birthdays as well. Make sure you write down these dates though, don't want you to celebrate or send out the wrong date to the family like you did with Daddy's birthday (his b-day is 3/31 by the way and not 3/30 as you told everyone in your last email).

Love y'all,
Sassy

*No response yet except from my sister in-law to let me know I left off her birthday in May as well. (I don't really like her either though! lol)

It's Drama...I Know

My stepmother really bugs the shit out of me! I find it so difficult to believe my dad and she are married. Now, a little backstory: My father has been married 6 times (although he married two of the women twice). So to say that the problem could be him would not be a stretch. However, after he lived 49 years as a bipolar before being medicated, I tend to give him a bit of a pass on some things. Anyway, in 2006 my father married my second stepmother again. They share my twin brothers together, so there's a stronger bond than most of his ex wives other than my own mother (though my mother has never been any real part of my siblings and my lives since I was about 8 yrs old). So after not speaking for nearly 20 yrs, my father and my stepmother reunited and swore to all of us that they are truly "soulmates" (gag). About 3-4 months after they remarried, they moved up to Idaho. My father lived in Idaho through most of my college years, and he loved it. He only moved back to Texas after his last divorce. Ever since they've been gone, she has been controlling the information. I swear, if I didn't call him and speak to him directly, I'd think she killed him and was covering it up! She sends out these mass emails to everyone in her family (like I know them or care!) and to my brothers, sister, and me. Now this would seem really nice to most people, but the tone of the emails just pisses me off. My father had a serious liver problem about 6 months ago, yet she DID NOT tell my sister or myself. Somehow, she told her two sons and my older brother, but when my sister and I found out, her excuse was, "Your dad didn't want anyone to know" bullshit. My father could have DIED, and this bitch keeps that information from us? She didn't seem to have any problem with her vow of silence when she was spilling the beans to my brothers! After it was out, then came the emails that were more about how she was holding up through his illness! After about the 4th email, I called my sister and told her that throughout all of these emails there was this "poor me" victim song when it was our father that was ill! Now I know this all sounds so dramatic, but she's a bit self-centered.

So, my sister and I have always been close to my dad. We took care of him just as much as he took care of us. For most of my adolescence, he was single, so the women who did show up and date my dad often tried to do two things: 1) be our best girlfriend and 2) compete with us for my dad's attention/affection. Stupid activities, both of them. We always came first, and if we didn't like one of those hussies, she was gone pretty damn quick. But we were good kids, and we were never overtly rude or nasty to any of them. When I was 10, my dad was dating and then married my stepmother. It lasted about 4 years, and we were close to her and our twin brothers. Then my dad pretty much ruined it, and she up and left, babies in tow. That would start a bitter, 20 yr silence between them. Only lawyers talked to one another, and she kept the twins from my father for 15 of those 20 years. In the process, she kept them from us too. I'm not sure I have forgiven that, even if my father has. Long story short, now it seems that this second time around, my stepmother is really on some kind of strange power trip with my sister and I where my father is concerned. She even answers his freakin' cell phone! About 1 out of every 3 calls I make to him are answered by her. Stupid bitch! Like she's the information control officer or something. Here's a typical conversation with her when she answers my dad's cell phone (she has her own cell phone, you know):

Me: Hey Juju, I was trying to reach Daddio.
Her: Oh he's taking a nap. We worked late and my back has been bothering me....blah blah blah (for about 10 minutes).
Me: Yea, great. Let him know I called.
Her: Well how are you? How is work? What about the love life?
Me: All is well. Just let Daddy know I called.
Her: Okay sweetie. We love you! Bye!

Ugh! Either my father does not know she's answering his phone a third of the time, or he's got some form of narcolepsy. NO ONE naps that much! My dad is an active guy. He's only 57 for the love of Mike! Damn, she gets on my last nerve! So the last time she sent the mass email, she reminded "you girls" (referring to my sister and I) not to forget to call my father on his birthday (even though she knows we are so busy). WTF? I've yet to miss wishing my father a happy birthday yet in the 30 plus years I could talk no matter what was going on in my life, so I need that bitch to remind me? And in a mass email to EVERYONE on both sides of the family...as if my sister and I are somehow ingrates and birthday haters?? We were LIVID (maybe I still am a little)! So what I've decided to do is send a mass email to both sides of the family with a list of things she shouldn't forget to do this month, since she's so busy with her head up her ass! Perhaps I'll publish it here later with the replies I get back from the family. Should be riveting!

Hey Juju! Kiss my big white ass, you stupid bitch!

I'd Adopt Him...I Really Would

As I may have mentioned before, I work in a school. I've worked in schools for nearly 14 years now, first as a teacher and now as an administrator. In my 12 years of teaching, I can count on one hand the number of children I would have taken home to raise myself. Let me preface this with the information that I do not have any children of my own, and I am sorry about that. It's just not happened for me yet. So I've spent my professional life with other people's children. Don't get me wrong. I have enjoyed most of the children that have been my students, but every once in a while, I meet one that grabs my heart and won't let go. CC is one of those kids. He's a bright kid, but he's been in all kinds of trouble in his 12 short years. He's a diagnosed and medicated bipolar, considered to be emotionally disturbed, and he's very street-wise. A few months ago, he was even arrested and taken out in handcuffs from my office. I know. He doesn't sound so heartwarming, eh? But what most people don't know and don't take the time to find out is that he's really a good kid. He is slow to trust others, and I know why. He doesn't know who his father is. His mother is a little bit "off" and has now taken a job that requires her to be gone weeks at a time. His oldest brother is doing 25 to life for robbery. His "good" brother is now in trouble with the law. The only bright spot in his life is his older sister, but she's away at college. There's more, but I don't want to say. It's heartbreaking to hear him tell it all. Recently, he had such a bad day at school (later my suspicion that he hadn't taken his medication was confirmed by the babysitter) that he spent most of the day in my office. The conversation, as always, broke my heart. This last one though...it was about all I could take.

CC: Ms. Sassy, you got any kids?

Me: No, CC, I don't yet.

CC: Do you want any?

Me: Most definitely, but it just hasn't happened that I've had any yet.

CC: You have a boy..man that you are with?

Me: That's probably not the most appropriate question, CC, but at the moment I do not. My fiance passed away last year.

CC: What happened? Did he get killed?

Me: No. He died of a heart attack.

CC: Oh...sorry. Did you love him?

Me: Yes, I did. Very much. Thank you.

CC: Don't worry, Ms. Sassy, you'll find someone else. You're a nice lady.

Me: Thanks! (with a laugh)

CC: I bet you wouldn't want a son like me, huh?

Me: What? Why wouldn't I? I like you.

CC: Well...because I'm crazy and get in trouble a lot and stuff.

Me: First, you're not crazy, CC. You have a medical condition. I told you my dad has the same condition. Your brain just has a chemical imbalance that affects your moods. Second, if you were my son, I'd make sure you didn't have time to get into trouble! (laugh)

CC: I think it would be nice to have you as a mom. (Then embarrassed) I mean, your kids will be smart and have to behave and stuff.

Me: Ok, but you're pretty smart, and you know how to behave too. But...Thanks.

Me: CC, what do you think you'd want to do when you grow up? Do you have anything that you think you might want to do for a job?

CC: I want to be a mechanic...or a singer.

Me: You sing? Really?

CC: Yes. And I play guitar too. I'm pretty good.

Me: Wow! I didn't know that! Well, when you get rich and famous and win your Grammy, make sure you thank your old principal for giving you such inspiration (with a wink!).

CC: (laughing) Yeah..

The above is a typical conversation. He asks me a lot of questions and always inserts the question about not wanting a son like him. I know that it's his way of testing me a little...his way of seeing if I think he's bad and if I care or not. After the day had finished, I was on my way home and reflecting on the conversation. I cried the whole 45 minutes home. It made me sad that this kid has a good chance of being locked up or dead before he gets out of school, if he doesn't drop out first. I don't mean to be a doomsayer or negative, but the statistics are against him. Emotional problems, little to no support at home, no real male role model in his life, no real supervision at home, a craving to be important and to be cared about by someone...it all adds up to tragedy. I truly wish I could bring him home with me to live, and I would gladly raise him, problems and all. I would adopt him with no reservations. Unfortunately, that's just not going to happen. If CPS hasn't taken him away by now, they never will. He's almost a teenager. Sometimes, I wish that I had an office job somewhere...just me and my cubicle. But then I wouldn't have the chance to meet and hopefully make some kind of small difference in the lives of kids like CC. I just wish I didn't have to take one in the heart every time. God, please take care of CC when I cannot. He's pretty special.

*Sorry that this has turned into an After School Special. My mind and heart are just heavy right now.