The Land of Misfits

Ok, so I know I told you all about the "promotion" I just got last month. More money is good. The actual position: not so great. First, I have a crappy staff that no one had the cajones to get rid of in prior years. When I say crappy, what I mean is fucking shitty. These morons would make you question how the hell any one of them could have gotten out of kindergarten much less a 4-yr plus degree program! There are a few bright spots in this vast wasteland, however. *Here's the rundown:

Pops: 65 year old guy who has done everything from coaching to being an interim superintendent for a podunk district.  He's one of the two-man team of certified teachers on my staff. The most capable of the group, but it seems obvious to me that he doesn't really like kids. Particularly the kinds of kids he'll be working with for 7 hrs a day. He's very polite, but he strikes me as the kind of guy who will "Yes, ma'am" me and then rip me to shreds behind my back. He has already tagged me as "too soft on the dredge that will darken our doors this year".  That dredge he's talking about? Kids. Granted, they are the more difficult kind, but I wouldn't ever characterize them as "dredge".  Fucker! I hate people who lack compassion because they have no real understanding of adolescents. I seriously want to kick him in the face every time I speak with him. Asswipe.

Pathetic Pickled Pete: The second of the stellar certificated staff. He's a burned out alcoholic with maybe one brain cell left. The man can't put a coherent sentence together. I'm not exaggerating for comic effect here either. He's famous in the district. He evidently finally kicked his alcohol and drug habit about 10 years ago. Unfortunately, that was far too late. He's not as anti-kid as Pops, but I think that's because he's very possible the only walking vegetable I have ever known. He reminds me of this guy from high school who used to huff paint and freon. He told me this bizarre tale about his mother's garden that was completely out there. He's 45 but looks 20 yrs older. Oh, and he lives in his mother's basement. No people, I couldn't make this shit up! He has to be told specifically what to do like a 4 yr old child. And then still, I don't think he gets it. I live with the desperate hope that he at least remembers some of what he learned before the drugs and booze. The man has a masters degree for the love of Mike! (Oh, and his name is not Pete..even I'm not so cruel as to out him on the internets!). He has an extensive "growth plan" with all kinds of things he has to do by a certain deadline, which he isn't even close to completing. But because this is education, I probably still won't be able to get rid of him at semester. It's fucking ridiculous! Public education, my friends, public education.

The Bossy Hypochondriac: This woman is a teacher's aide. The PC term is "Paraprofessional", but I'm not particularly PC. First, she does have some serious health issues. However, she invents 3 times as many more so that she can bore me senseless with her descriptions of it. That's time I'll never get back, people.  NEVER. To say she is bossy may be an understatement. In the week I've worked with her thus far, she's pissed off 18 different people who have called me infuriated. Did I mention these people range from the Director of Curriculum and Instruction (a bit like an asst. superintendent) to the district textbook coordinator? I've had 25 different conversations with her about her authority (or lack thereof) and professional behavior. She just fucking doesn't get it. I feel like stabbing myself repeatedly in the eye with a sharpened pencil every time I have any lengthy exchange with her. I'm certain to continue to piss her off because I can't imagine she'll make it through the year without me having to write her sorry ass up! She's also told me all about the "bad kids" that are coming and how she'll be laying down the law with them. Talk about someone who really has a distorted view of her own position! Holy Jesus! Pray for me, people! I don't know that I will make it 6 weeks before I kick her in the gut and beat her senseless with an Algebra 2 textbook. I've asked her very nicely on repeated occasions to stop saying, "But that's how we've always done it!" Stupid bitch...I want to shank her with a filed down toothbrush. I'll get to work on that shank the first day of school. 

The Gentle Hindu: Now this guy just makes me sad. He's a 70 yr old Indian man who was once a college professor in his home country. The man is brilliant and working in a job that is not only entirely beneath his qualifications, but he's so unfailingly kind and unassuming that you rarely notice he's in the room. Not a great match for a disciplinary alternative school. He has a beautiful accent and impeccable manners...all of which render him useless with difficult adolescents. They just won't respect him. I'll be fighting a battle with the kids all year about being respectful to this man who really deserves so much respect that I'm awed by it. He's the other teacher's aide. Yes, that's right. He's a teacher's AIDE. So this brilliant man will be mostly responsible for grading completed work and filing. He's very slow and shows no initiative. He's just a meek guy. For some reason, I feel guilty and ashamed when I have to ask him to do anything. The man is really too old to be working in this setting. He should be enjoying his grandchildren! 

Teacher of the Decade: I love this woman! She's in her 50s and has been in the district for 20 yrs.  She's also a legend in the district. She was a master teacher and could write her own ticket in just about any other district she would even think of choosing, but she stays in Mayberry. She runs the credit recovery program as well as several other programs for home bound students. She's smart and seasoned, but she has a love for kids that rivals my own...if not surpasses it. The credit recovery program, however, is bleeding money. When I got the financials two weeks ago, I went into shock. She seems more than willing to work with me on the changes I have outlined to make the program better. She and I worked together the past couple of years on some other projects, so I feel I have an ally in all of this. We'll probably do happy hours together too. Did I mention I most likely will become a lush this year. The worst part? She mostly works out of an office in a completely different building. Yes, my shit luck just gets better, doesn't it?

The Organization Queen: I love this woman too. She's real. She's the "paraprofessional" that does the day-to-day running of the credit recovery lab. She's been moved out of her little domain into mine and is not so happy about it. Mostly for the same reasons I'm not happy: those top three from above. She has lost her own room and is now relegated to a corner in the main disciplinary program classroom. While she's not happy with that, she's at least happy about having me as her new boss. Thank God for small miracles! She's very outspoken, a bit rigid, but she's willing to see things in a different way. She's quite possibly the most organized person I've ever met, next to my BFF ATown.  I do feel, however, that I'll be breaking up smackdowns between her and the Bossy Hypo. She's in the happy hour crowd with me as well. 

So there you are. Quite a year coming up for ole Sassy in Mayberry. My office is an odd rectangular shape that feels cramped with my stuff in it. I still have no phone or computer. The bitches at the high school will prove to be difficult because they are not at all concerned about the kids they send over. But hey, I wanted high school experience, right? At least they moved in our furniture last week. Finally. Only less than a week before school starts. Yeah.

I'm thinking now that I most definitely should have asked for more money. 

*No names, of course. I have to invent little nicknames that are neither clever nor funny, but they are exactly fitting. 

Under the Bridge

As you may or may not know, I moved recently. And as always when I decide to travel in any way, the dark cloud of travel once again followed me. Let's set the scene:

It's Texas...in August...otherwise known as the 7th level of Hell. To say that it's fucking hot here...well, that's just not enough! It's hotter than two rats fucking in a wool sock, that's what it is! 107 degrees? WTF? This isn't Phoenix, people! 

Anywho, Derk and my BIL along with close friends of the family were kind enough to show up to throw their backs out for me. I had rented a 24' UHaul  monster truck that my BIL was kind enough to offer to drive even though the man has screws in his leg from a recent house painting injury (yes, we're a graceful lot, my family). Now I'll skip the 4 hours of loading all my shit and get to the real issues of the move. Derk, my niece  and FoF are in my car, and my BIL, his nephew,  and Dewey are in the monster truck. About 12 miles from my house, Dewey (strapping young friend of the family) calls me on my cell to tell me that the truck is running hot, and we need to take the next exit off the freeway. So we exit, and as I take the turn to the gas station, we look back and see that there is smoke and steam rising from the monster truck and there is a big bailout by the boys driving. I mean, who knew a guy with a broken leg could move his ass so fast? Yes, the UHaul blew up, which caused my niece to have a panic attack and me very nearly a heart attack! So, we ended up having to park my car under the underpass and wait 2.5 fucking hours for the mechanic from the roadside assistance to show up because you know I couldn't just leave that bitch there. But hey, we had beer and a sense of humor. Of course, we weren't in the best part of town, but several Mexicans waved at us as they drove by, and a Dallas County sheriff asked us if we needed any help. Did I mention it was 2,000 degrees out that day? So, what should have been a 6-8 hour smooth operation turned into a 14-hour nightmare. Yes, the mechanic showed up and fixed the truck. Yes, I called the UHaul place and ripped them a new asshole. Yes, my move was free save for the $37 in gas I put into that piece of shit. Yes, I can hardly move as a result of moving my shit. I hate moving. It sucks big, hairy, dirty balls. Next time, I'm selling everything and starting out fresh!

But look what I got in the mail as a housewarming gift (minus the puny, girlyman arm):

Dyckie, in the future, I should let you know that I prefer diamonds...

And I'm too tired to make this funny...

*Seriously people, I don't really talk like this in "real life"...I'm not nearly as profane. But it's really fucking hot here!

Soundtrack of My Life...For Now

Recently, I read an interesting post at Okay Seriously where she completed the "soundtrack" to her life. Being quite a music buff, I started thinking immediately what my soundtrack would be. So without further ado, I give you the Soundtrack of My Life as it is now (I can't say how it will be tomorrow):

Opening credits: Extraordinary-Liz Phair
I love this song even though I know she got a lot of flack for supposedly "selling out". With "I am extraordinary/if you'd ever get to know me", I think that's how everyone should feel about themselves.

Waking Up: Here Comes the Sun-The Beatles

Average Day: Everyday America-Sugarland
I work in Mayberry. What else can I say?

First date: Take a Chance on Me-ABBA
God I LOVE this song, and I don't care who knows it!

Falling in Love: I Bruise Easily-Natasha Bedingfield
I also thought "I'll Be"by Edwin McCain. I love him. That song is amazing. And then I also considered "I Think I Love You" by the Partridge Family. Really.

Love Scene: At Last-Etta James
This song has such a sexy vibe. It's definitely on my "sex songs" list along with "Possession" by Sarah McLachlan.

Fight Scene: Eye of the Tiger-Survivor
Other notables were "We Will Rock You" and "Another One Bites the Dust" by Queen.

Breaking up: No Ordinary Love-Sade
Holy shit! This must be one of the best songs ever recorded! I also thought of Puddle of Mudd's "She Hates Me"...I love that song.

Getting Back Together: I Will...But-SHeDAISY
Ladies, if you don't know it, you should really take a listen.

Secret Love: I Love You-Sarah McLachlan
This song just ACHES.

Life’s Okay: I Could Not Ask For More-Edwin McCain

Mental Breakdown: Crazy-Patsy Cline

Driving: Hotel California-The Eagles
I will sing this song at the top of my lungs with all the windows down! I love it! Also in the running was "Drive My Car" by the Beatles, "Heads Carolina, Tails California" by JoDee Messina, or "Fast Car" by Tracy Chapman. And what about the classic Roger Miller "King of the Road"?

Learning a Lesson: Say-John Mayer

Deep Thought: Thank U-Alanis Morrisette

Flashback: Footloose-Kenny Loggins

Partying: Blue Monday-New Order/Blister in the Sun-Violent Femmes
What can I say? I can't tell you how many times in college I was drunk, and the Violent Femmes were playing in the background...

Happy Dance: Pocketful of Sunshine-Natasha Bedingfield
I think I might have a girl crush on her. I also like "Bust a Move" by Young MC and "It Takes Two" by Rob Base for a little happy dance.

Regretting: It's Too Late-Carole King
This was before my time, but the woman is incredible. This song always makes me a little sad.

Long Night Alone: Here With Me-Dido

Death Scene: My Immortal-Evanescence
This song is so depressing yet I still love it. Also, "It's So Hard to Say Goodbye"-Boyz II Men.I'm a sucker for harmonies..

Closing Credits: 100 Years-Five for Fighting

*Bear in mind that there were so many songs that could go with any label. It was really difficult...try it yourself and let me know!

Reversal of Fortune

I have to relay a very interesting story about some things that took place early this week. As you may or may not know, I'm STILL working my contract days in Mayberry. Some genius thought it would be great to make sure all campus offices were open all summer...which basically means that those of us working an 11-month contract had our vacation time broken up so that you end up doing two weeks on and then two weeks off all summer. Anywho, when I got to work on Monday, I received a brief email from the Sheriff's secretary which summoned me to a meeting in his office later that day. CCed in the email was the name of one of the Asst. Big Bosses, so I must admit my fertile imagination began to conjure all types of scenarios as to why this meeting was taking place. 

When my boss, Big C, came in later that morning, she looked a little off. I thought it might be related to the less than stellar test scores we had received back that morning. I asked her if she knew why I was summoned over to Alliance headquarters, and I received a curt, "I was told not to talk about it, " in response. Now this is when I really started to worry about my continued employment.  Don't get me wrong, I have done excellent work in Mayberry. I'm relatively well-known and liked  around the district. However, I have seen 5 people unceremoniously shown the door in Mayberry since the new Sheriff took over. Without any elaboration as to the context of this meeting and Big C slapped with a gag order, I admit I was starting to sweat a little. For 3 agonizing hours I wrung my hands over what I could have possibly done to get terminated. Did they find out I'd violated the acceptable use of technology policy when I blogged that one time from work? Did I forget to sign something that had resulted in a lawsuit against the district? Had I managed to fly so far under the radar that he thought I was just coasting along without doing any real work? Had (God forbid) there been some kind of accusation been made against me of inappropriate conduct? Time just ticked by painfully slowly, and I was thinking up all sorts of horrible outcomes. You can imagine how I worked myself into a fucking lather waiting for this mystery meeting!

Now cut to me arriving at Alliance headquarters for the ill-fated get together. I was shown to the Sheriff's office where I found not only him, but the Asst. Big Boss AND the HR Director! I thought, " Holy shit! The HR Director?  I'm SO getting fired!" Somehow, I remained outwardly calm and stumbled to the chair I was offered. Here's a transcript of the initial few minutes of the conversation:

Sheriff: Sassy, thank you for coming. 

Me: Mmm hmm...no problem. 

Sheriff: Well, I'm sure you're wondering why I asked you here on such short notice.

Me: Yes sir! Umm, are you going to fire me?

Sheriff: Of course not! (much hearty laughter followed) I asked you here along with Asst. Big Boss because we want to ask for your help. We have a need in the district that we feel you are the only person that can help us. 

Me: Okay...

Sheriff: Sassy, I'd like to offer you the position of Head of Important Other Programs.* 

Me: I'm sorry, what? You aren't going to fire me? 

Sheriff: Oh no! I'm offering you a promotion. What questions do you have for me?

After I regained consciousness, I asked several pointed questions, and the Sheriff and Asst, Big Boss began to gush about me, my skills, my job performance, and how they had spent weeks interviewing outside candidates that they just didn't feel would be the best fit for the position. I then asked why me for this position. What followed was another gush of compliments about how they had decided to look at people already in district and that my name came up over and over.  I thanked them, and then I asked another very direct question: "In my experience, this kind of position is where districts often dump the mediocre or assign people whom they hope will quit because they don't really want to have to fire them. This isn't the case here, is it? Because if so, I can say with confidence that I have done an excellent job, am far from mediocre, and if you wanted me to leave, you'd just have to ask. " His reply, "Sassy, if I thought along those lines, I'd just terminate your employment here. Surely you know by now that I don't tolerate mediocrity? And with someone of your caliber in this position, we hope to eliminate that perception and get the various programs up to snuff. I , well we feel that you are the best person for the job." 

After I regained consciousness a second time, I accepted, thanked him for the confidence in me, and was ushered off to the HR Director's office to discuss the benefits of said promotion. Along with some added status, and a newer, bigger office, the position comes with an big ole pay raise! HOLY SHIT!!!! Do you think they read my blog?? 

So there you have it! I got a promotion! And a big raise! Yay ME! Although I'm very sad to leave  my current campus, I'm extremely excited about the possibilities and the broader experience my new job has to offer. Although the next two weeks will be extremely busy for me with my residence move and now setting up a new office, I just want to say THANKS to all of you for your support and encouragement. I heart you guys...

XOXOXOXOXO

*Name changed to make sure I can't be searched and fired! :)

Don't You Want Me?

Well folks, it's back to Mayberry for another year. Now this isn't necessarily a bad thing. I mean, I love the fine folks in Mayberry! They are not only kind, they are mostly a lot of fun. However, Mayberry is not a place that will allow me to move forward professionally before reaching my 50s. A dead end you say? Yes, I'm afraid so. I'm sure at some point, I'll tire of the kindness and fun...and the small paycheck. But hey, I'm taking steps to move closer to Mayberry if for no other reason than to stop the senseless rape that occurs to me endlessly at the gas pump. I cannot continue to be a victim of such violence! So my new commute will be about 10-15 minutes versus the 45 minutes I've maintained for the past 3 years. I'll no longer be a homeowner, but ask me how sad I am about not pouring anymore of my hard-earned cash into this godforsaken money pit. Anywho, the real reason for this post is to ask you for a job. (No, Dyckerson, not THAT kind of job! Jesus H. Christ you're a perv!)

So here are my qualifications: I'm an experienced educator. I have an enviable and impressive amount of diverse experience that should make me attractive and valuable to most any organization. I have a masters degree and will be working on my doctorate in the next 3 years. I'm a problem solver and damn good at it! I'm dependable, responsible, and extremely loyal. I care about my coworkers. I am excellent in crisis situations (ask anyone!). I have no police record, and my driving record is surprisingly clean.  I'm certified to restrain you, and I can do so without hurting anything more than your pride. I am certified to deliver first aid and CPR. I'm certified to teach and manage and evaluate both adults and children. I read pretty well and quite often. Most people think I'm the shit (seriously, most people do like me). I'm in relatively good health (maybe a little chubbier than I would like, but I'm committed to taking care of that), but I've only filed one workers comp complaint ( a rotten board at a stadium was certainly not MY fault). I have low blood pressure and high energy. I have a strong work ethic, and a sunny disposition.  I love dogs, and well, they love me too. Well, most animals really. Children of all ages love me. I'm generally told that I make people laugh, both at me and with me. I'm all the rage at weddings and barbecues. I have a Tivo. I have big boobs. I'm a hugger. I wear clean underwear. I bake. I go to confession (although to be honest, that's dropped off a bit since Father Liam took that post in Bolivia). I look people in the eye and have a firm handshake. Although I do enjoy alcoholic beverages on occasion, I'm drug and disease free. I'm from Texas, but I've lived on both coasts and actually want to move away again.  I mean seriously, why wouldn't someone offer me a position with more money and a bigger office? What the hell is going on? What does a gal have to do to move up around here? 

If my qualifications might meet your needs, please inquire within. Serious inquiries only, please. I'm pretty busy around here as it is. 

*You might also remember that I own a gun and know how to use it. Thanks!

Champagne Wishes and Smalltown Dreams

If you've strayed over to this blog periodically, you might know that I love, love, love champagne. LOVE. IT. Now, this is not your passing romance with a beverage. It ranks up there with Diet Coke and dirty martinis. However, it is a wonder that I ever developed such a love for the bubbly considering my first experience with it. Let's go back in time, shall we? Back to a time where the innocent were still innocent....

It's the late '80s, and I had pictures of U2 up in my locker. I wanted to be Madonna. I felt she and I were kindred spirits. Picture a small, country-type, BFE town  in the bible belt and a young, fresh-faced, curly-haired,  high school Sassy. A blonde with a yearning for greener pastures than Podunk, USA. In the small town where I went to high school, the big event was to go out to someone's daddy's pasture with a keg in the back of a pickup truck and drink beer and smoke for 4 hours...or cow tippin'. But not me, I had bigger dreams! 

Sassy had a best friend in high school named Kathy. (We're not friends now, so I can use her name) The Kathy-Sassy mix always tended to lead to some kind of incident that neither one of us would tell our parental units. Oddly enough, they never suspected that we were doing anything untoward. Huh. Anywho, when we were 17, Kathy worked at this pizza place with all of these older guys that we thought were just oh-so-dangerous. They often invited us to party with them after hours, and we thought we were the shit. Now please understand that we were very naive compared to them. I didn't even have a drink until I was 15, and even then it wasn't something I did regularly. One night (was it New Year's? I forget) we went to a house party with a couple of the guys (ok, it was a date but at 17, a guy that was 23 was way over my head). At the house, there was any assortment of liquor, beer, wine.... and then they brought out the bubbly. The chick that owned the house thought it would be a fucking great idea to serve champagne and strawberries to minors who weren't, shall we say, experienced with drinking much of anything. After the first glass, I thought to myself, "Self, this shit is fucking fantastic! Get that guy to pour another!" About 4 glasses in, I decided that I would sample the strawberries, and besides, the idiot cradle robber I was with was more than happy to push more liquor on me. Piece of shit high school dropout pizza delivery boy...oh yeah, SEXY.   But I digress. So after about the 6th glass, I lost count of how much champagne (and yes, it was rather inexpensive at that) I actually imbibed, and I'm pretty sure I had strawberry seeds in my teeth. (And hey, the bubbly-strawberry union really tasted fanfuckingtastic!) Plus, the fuckwad I came with was practically giving me a tongue bath that he mistakenly called "kissing". 

Note: Fellas, you really need to control your spittle and tongue. There's a right way to kiss, and then there's what I refer to as the leaky spigot. Eww. Just ewwww. 

So around about 1:30 am, I'm completely loaded and want to go home. Guess what? That's right! The "gentleman" told me, "Hey babe, you can sleep with me. I won't touch you. Hehehe" Yeah. Right on, shitbag. Not wanting to be the next statistic that would ultimately become a Lifetime "Moment of Truth" movie on date rape, I went in search of my "best friend" Kathy. I found her in short order...having sex with the other guy we came with. (Did I fail to mention that Kathy was a bit of slut? No?) Since she obviously wasn't going to be getting a ride home, I called up a friend who graciously came to get me and drop me at home. (Her mom was our lesbian pharmacist in town.) Now at this time, my sister and I shared a room because my loser pothead brother got a room to himself. My father was away working a lot, so we pretty much took care of ourselves. Anywho, I got home and managed to get myself (somehow) into some pajamas and decided to call my friend Steph (we're still friends, but I have several friends named Stephanie, so no one will be able to really know which one I'm talking about) for a play by play of my evening with the shitbag. I started babbling away about my night, and my poor baby sister, Derk, was trying unsuccessfully to go back to sleep. Then it happened. I got this terrible stabbing pain in my gut, and I said, "Uh, Steph, hold on a minute!" and then I leaned over the far side of my bed and promptly threw up all over the carpet. Projectile-style. Strawberries and champagne, my friends. I don't even know if the pinkish tinge ever really came out of that spot on the carpet. Derk jumped out of bed and started freaking out (she's a freaker outer type), and so I got up and ran to the barfroom, uh bathroom, to finish what I had so casually started. Now I don't remember much after lying on the floor next to the toilet once my dry heaves had passed. The next day, however, the evening's events flooded back to me along with the absolute worst hangover I have ever had to this day in my life. Derk was kind enough to bring me some water, but there was a funny smell in the air in our bedroom. No dumbass, not vomit smell. Gross. It was a clean smell. Turns out, my 11 yr. old sister went the extra mile and CLEANED UP MY VOMIT. Yes, we're THAT close. She was worried (and apparently I had indicated my own worry that night...for quite a long stretch) that I would get an ass whoopin' deluxe from dear ole Dad if he found out. Especially since I was supposed to be home with Derk. 

So, apart from the 3-day hangover, the projectile vomiting, the tongue bath from a fuckwad, Derk freaking out, and the pink tinge to a 3 x 3 area of the carpet on the far side of my bed, it was quite an entertaining evening. It would be quite a few years before I even thought about trying champagne again. But alas, change was inevitable in smalltown Podunk. Steph graduated (she was a year ahead), Kathy dropped out and ended up a couple of years later having to dry out and detox in a "center", and I eventually went on to college and moved out. Derk, however, never let me forget that night. But that's okay....she cleaned up my vomit. Of course, she got me back by coming out to stay with me for a few weeks when I was in college and having sex with her skanky boyfriend on my livingroom floor. I'd say we're even...

*Seriously, Derk! Did you think I didn't know?? XOXO

**Kathy is now happily married with two kids and lives in the same area where we went to high school. WTF? The bitch goes to rehab and still comes out ahead?? God is giving me the finger!

 

Hit and Miss

So I went for this job interview out in the Carolinas. It was unexpected, and they flew me out and put me up for a few days so that they could send me to various groups of people who asked me the same questions over and over. Seriously, answering the same questions from 9am-6pm nonstop is exhausting...and I know that they must think I had canned answers. But seriously, ask me a new line of fucking questions then! Jesus, Mary, and Joseph!  Anywho, long story short, I didn't get the job but another invitation to come back to go through another round of interviews in the fall. Huh? WTF??! Turns out, they did a quickie search for the position, got my file from my recruiter and thought they'd only interview me. Now, this could be rather disturbing, eh? I mean, I'm the only person they interview, yet they don't like me enough to give me the goddamn job? I was a bit upset...okay, I threw shit and cursed their names...I really wanted this particular job, and they had thwarted my ambitions! But my recruiter called to talk me off the ledge with an explanation that made much more sense.  And he also said that I have the edge when I go back for a second round of interviews since I've met some people and they "know" me in a way. Of course, then he followed it up with "if you are still available when they finally decide to pull the trigger." I heart my recruiter. He thinks I'm the shit..for real. The trip was generally a good one except that I got stuck overnight at an airport (will the dark cloud of travel always follow me??) on my way back home. The bright spot there is that I got to enjoy the company of several officers in our fine military. Cute boys in uniform? Who am I to complain? These poor guys had just spent 30 hours coming back from Iraq! Seems sandstorms delay flights there. Who knew? 

Next on my agenda is a move to a new place. I'm leaving my current shit hole money pit and moving into a tiny rental near work. It might as well be a dollhouse, but it has a fenced yard and the lady loves my dogs. Finding somewhere to live when you have 4 dogs is not as easy as one might imagine. I'll have to store A LOT of my stuff in a storage unit, but the rent is dirt cheap, and my credit cards are screaming in agony for some relief. Maybe some sucker will buy this pit of hell along with its bastard demons..um HOA. I'm going to let them know I'm number one when I drive away from here! The only thing I'll miss terribly is the pool. I do love to float around and work on my skin cancer. *And I'll live kinda more in the boondocks, but being 10 minutes from my work is a good thing in terms of time and gasoline since we are being bent over by the oil companies. 

So sorry folks, I got nothing funny going on right now. Perhaps a childhood trauma...I mean story soon. 

*My friend out in Lost Angeles says gas has officially hit $5/gallon. Holy shit! I'd have to walk everywhere or hitch a ride with the day laborers to get to work around there!

Fat Dads in Minivans

I fucking hate minivans! HATE THEM! First, they are really ugly. They just are. Second, please don't try to say it's an "all purpose vehicle"...just another name for a minivan. Lastly, people who drive them seem to think they can drive however they want and no one will care because they might contain small children on board. They pull out in front of you on a 45 mph busy street. They change lanes without using a signal. It's like they think we are saying to ourselves, "Oh no! I better wreck my own vehicle before I plow into the dumbass minivan that just pulled out of that parking lot in front of me as I'm going 45-50 mph. They might have kids in there!" Chaps my ass! Now it's been a while, and you may have forgotten that I have quite a lengthy commute to work. The positive in my commute is that it's all mostly interstate driving...four interstates to be exact. Now aside from the county sheriffs that are now acting as traffic cops (which is a whole different issue that chaps my ass) and ruining my pedal to the metal, there are couple of other things that really piss me off on my drive to work. One of these things: Fat assholes in goddamn minivans that drive as if they are on the Indy circuit! Do you know who I'm talking about here? The slightly pudgy, middle-aged balding guy who is driving a maroon or green (do they only make minivans in those colors??) minivan like he's being chased by the demons of hell? Ring any bells?

So anywho, it's THAT guy that tries to kill me at least 3 out of 5 mornings. He's pushing 95 mph, weaving in and out of the four lanes, tail gating, ignoring construction and signs that warn him that traffic fines double in work zones (Where the fuck is that county sheriff when THIS slapdick is on the road??), and he's cutting in on cars with barely an inch to spare between bumpers. And when someone has the audacity to honk at him, he gives them the social finger! WTF? Any given day, he's going to be the reason that I sit in bumper to bumper traffic due to an accident caused by a minivan driver who cut off an 18-wheeler, who lost control of his rig (because jeez, the poor man can't seem to stop on a dime), and now they've shut down 3 of the 4 lanes on my interstate! I can't TAKE IT ANYMORE!! Get that shit under control, man!

Listen Pops, I know the old lady carries your berries in a box in her pocketbook, but this idea that you can grow new ones by driving like a complete bastard maniac in the minivan that was meant for your wife is not the best. I can get behind a little speeding, and granted, you do have much more to make up for than I since you're driving that vessel of emasculation, but the weaving in and out at excessively high rates of speed, the tail gating, the bird shooting...it's got to cease and desist. I still have some things I'd like to do in this life, and you are precariously close to killing my dreams with your fucking mini van and checkered flag mentality. I mean, YOU married her. Don't make the rest of us pay for your mistake. I'm just sayin'....And dude, the spoiler is just pathetic.

*No offense to you gentlemen who give the newer car to your wife and kids for safety reasons...unless you are driving like an asshole. In that case, I hope I offended you deeply.

**School's out, but I'm still working and counting the days until I can just float on my floatie at the pool and work on my skin cancer.

Condoms Don't Grow On Trees, Do They?

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

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

You Can't Make Me Do It

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

Shit! You Should Just Stay Home...

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Sassy Blondie: Crime Stopper (almost!)

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Cop: Can you start from the beginning?

Me: Told him the story.

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

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

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

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

Cop: Could you see his face?

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

Cop: Any tattoos, earrings, a watch?

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

I'm A Failure (At Least Right Now)

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

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

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

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

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

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

The Return of the Nutty Buddy

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

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

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

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

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

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

SB: Okay. Then what happened?

NBV: I punched him in the face! He-

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

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

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

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

SB: So tell me, is it fun now?

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

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

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

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

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

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

***I love my job. Really.

For The Boys

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Givin' It Up

Today is Ash Wednesday, which means for Catholics and other Orthodox religions begins the Season of Lent. (No, Dyckerson, L-E-N-T not l-i-n-t! Pay attention, man!) What is Lent, you ask? Well, Lent is a forty-day period before Easter. It begins on Ash Wednesday. We skip Sundays when we count the forty days, because Sundays commemorate the Resurrection. Lent begins on February 6, 2008 and ends on March 22, 2008, which is the day before Easter. Lent means I have to give up sinful activities until Easter. Moi? Sinful activities? Sometimes I just don't understand my religion of choice!

So I had to visit Father Liam this evening to receive my cross of ashes on my forehead. Technically, I'm not supposed to wash it off until sunrise, but I had to take a bath, right? So in receiving the blessing and talking with my beloved Father Liam, I asked him a few questions for clarification:

SB: Father, are you sure I can't wash this off until the morning? I mean, I didn't stop at home to wash my face before coming here, so what about my makeup?

FL: The cross of ashes represents visibly your reverance of your relationship with Jesus. It is not a sin to wash it off.

SB: Great! Thanks! But Father, what should I give up for Lent?

FL: Perhaps you should pray to Him and seek guidance on that.

SB: So God will tell me what I have to sacrifice for 40 days? Couldn't you just help me out? I mean, aren't you my spiritual guide on Earth?

FL: It is not for me to choose your sacrifice. Would you like to sit for confession?

SB: Umm, that might take a while, Father. I've had a rough couple of weeks at Mayberry.

FL: As you wish. Just remember that your sacrifice should be meaningful.

SB: I KNOW that, Father! I just think there should be some kind of example list to help people out who are struggling, you know?

FL: You always amuse me, SB. I know that you know what this Season of Lent will mean to you. (This was said with a raised left eyebrow)

SB: You're right, Father! I'm just givin' you a hard time. Hehehe.

FL: So I'll see you next week for confession then?

SB: It's a date! (wink wink)

So readers, this Season of Lent, I've decided to give up...wait, I'm NOT telling you guys that! Just know that I'll be sacrificing some sinful activity and continue to pray for me.

*Okay, I've decided I definitely should give up flirting with my priest too. I'm thinking this might be a good idea. It's only 40 days, right?