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?

I'm Sick and I Sound Like Kim Carnes

***THIS JUST IN: I got in to see the doctor and begged for a penicillin shot. Yes, a mamby pamby measly lil MD is no match for Sickly Sassy! So he leaves me in the room, and in walks my nurse: a MALE nurse. So I had to drop 'em and lean over the table for my shot in the ass! After an what seemed like an eternity, he finally takes out the needle and starts to rub the injection site. Now ladies and gentlemen, you might think this is some kind of erotic interlude, but unfortunately the nurse looked like a 6 foot Howdy Doody...who was rubbing MY ass! Perhaps one day the sting of embarrassment will subside...***


This will have to be short. I'm sick, sick, sick. I'm sneezy, achy, sleepy, feverish, and bitchy. I kept telling myself and everyone around me on Friday that I was not sick. The only one who believed me was me and the Indian UPS guy. I've been taking all kinds of vitamin C, Theraflu, Halls cough drops, Nyquil, and none of it has made the gravel that has moved in at the back of my throat bust up and move on. My nose is sore from blowing (please, Dyckerson, I'm not in the mood), my throat is swollen, my body aches, I'm running a temperature, and I've slept more than Rip Van Winkle. Plus, I desperately need a shower...which I intend on having once I've finished here.

On an interesting note, however, I was watching television when this song came on that I liked. I thought I might sing it. What came out of my mouth shook the earth and sent my pups running for cover! I swear, it was frightening. Then I thought about that old "Bette Davis Eyes" song from my childhood (I'm in no mood for age jokes, people!) and decided to try that one. I might as well be Kim Carnes twin. Who knew? "Her hair is hollow gold...her lips are sweet surprise..."

Anywho, I'm sick, sick, sick. And I hate it. And I hate all you healthy people. And I hate all those brats who most assuredly breathed on me at work giving me this crud. I blame you all! I'm going to have a shower now.

*Of course I don't hate kids...I love kids...I'm just sick...and bitchy...and did I mention sick?

**I haven't seen Father Liam in a week! Do you think he misses me??

The Albino Behind Me

I'm of a "certain age", and while I've been many places and experienced many different things, I never thought my most recent trip to Walmart would yield me a new and somewhat creepy experience.

So, I had to visit Walmart for those most basic needs: food, drink, dog food, hairspray...you understand. I decided that since I was in my civilian clothes (no SpongeBob pants, mind you...I learned my lesson!), I could venture again to the local Walmart Neighborhood Market. All things considered, my shopping experience this time was very routine and nothing to write home about. Until I got in line at the checkout. As you might have pieced together by now, I tend to have some unusual experiences while waiting in lines. If you haven't pieced that together by now you are either new to this blog, or you're a complete fucking idiot. Take your pick.

Anywho, I was waiting in line perusing the latest rags that had either "Britney Spears Shocker! She wants another baby!" or "Thinner thighs and rock hard abs in 2 weeks!" headlines on them, when I heard someone roll up behind me. Being a curious and observant individual, I turned slightly to catch a glimpse of my newest linemate (I mean, it could be some hot guy who likes SpongeBob pants!). I was not, however, prepared for what I saw. The man behind me was a REAL LIVE ALBINO! Holy shit! I know I was staring, but I'd never really seen one up close and personal! I quickly turned back around and, heart racing, sent off a quick text about said albino to someone I knew who enjoyed the freakish and odd. Then try as I might, I could not help but to keep sneaking glances at him. I mean, the white hair, skin so light it was practically translucent (WAY whiter than yours truly, thank God!), the odd, red-rimmed eyes (but they weren't pink in color like albino rats or anything) that were surprisingly very dark. It was all too much to ignore!

Of course, when you are trying to be inconspicuous, you inevitably get caught. Dammit! So about the umpteenth time I snuck a glance, the unexpected happened: dreaded eye contact between me and my albino. Not one to be nervous in social situations, I was temporarily immobile. I just stared. Finally, after what felt like days of connection, I kinda just smiled. Then, he smiled in return, and the stuff of nightmares was born. His teeth were kind of a dull yellow, which contrasted sickly with his pasty complexion. I thought I might drop dead of a heart attack right there! I know, I know, it's sounds so mean, but what the fuck? This was uncharted territory for me!

So I quickly turned around and started clumsily putting my items on the belt thingy when it happened: I dropped my damn green tea carton! As I quickly bent down to pick it up, the white devil stooped down as well, and then we were face to face, only inches apart with our hands on my teabags! Jesus, Mary, and Joseph! I think I mumbled, "Thanks" and he replied, "No problem, sweetheart, " smiling his creepy smile. I think I flinched. Needless to say, I got out of there was quickly as I could. And I also did have nightmares about fanged albino killers!

Today though, I just feel shamed. I mean, he wasn't cruising the WNM for his next victim to cannibalize...as far as I could tell from his shopping cart, he was getting chips and beer for the football game. Why oh why had I reacted that way?? I'm sure he thought I was a complete batshit bitch who was off her meds.

When I went to see Father Liam this morning, I confessed my obvious prejudice, and he said, "We all fear what we do not know, Sassy. But he is also one of God's children. Being kind to those who are unlike us shows His grace." Motherfucker! Thanks for the guilt trip, Father Liam! And two Our Fathers included in my penance? Shit! He was an ALBINO for chrissakes!

*Father Liam may be leaving me! They may send him to a mission in Belize! BELIZE! How the hell am I going to deal with that? Do you know what it takes to break in a new priest?? I'm quite certain Father Liam already thinks I'm a little bit crazy, but he's not new to the priesthood and seems to be handling me quite well. Please God, don't send me an albino priest...I'll end up in hell in a handbasket for sure!

Another One Bites the Dust...and Can Bite Me While She's At It!

So I don't think I mentioned that there was this secretary in my office that totally tried to get me in trouble. She said I was "contributing to a hostile work environment" in a complaint to my old boss. Excuse me, bitch? Anyone who knows me or has worked with me would find this to be a completely ludicrous accusation! However, we had to go through the whole formal mess, but I was vindicated in the end. So since then, bitch secretary (BS) has had to be all nicey nicey to me. I've been professional and courteous but no longer warm and friendly with her after that ridiculous shit. Fuck her! I save my sunshine for people who deserve it!

So anywho, last Friday, the stupid BS turns in a resignation letter to both Big C and me. When we had a conversation with her, she cried around about not being happy with the job and that she just felt she had not been adequately trained...blah blah blah. Then she drops a bombshell: That stupid BS is over TWO MONTHS BEHIND in her work! Messing with average daily attendance (ADA), which is linked to state money for a school district, is a complete disaster! We are in noncompliance with state reporting regulations, and she took another day off today! WTF?? Now, this also means that she has also been LYING to me about truancy filings, 5-day absentee letters, and 10-day absentee letters! These are local policy requirements, which means I could be in trouble too! Stupid, lying, good for nothing sack of shit!

Today, I had a "pop in" impromptu meeting with one of the big bosses. And he was not happy. In fact, he grilled ME on why I allowed that stupid, fucking BS to get so far behind on such important reporting. Yes, I am the designated idiot stick in charge of overseeing attendance and residency on my campus. At first, I thought he must be out of his overpaid, motherfucking mind! Then, I had to spend the last half hour of the one hour ass chewing explaining how she refused to talk to me for nearly two weeks, and then continued to lie to me about having things done. I had to print out emails with directives I had sent to her regarding these issues, just so that he could see that my ass was covered! Needless to say, my day did not go well.

What I really want to know is how the fuck is this bitch's incompetency MY fault? I didn't hire her! It is not MY job to take, record, and verify attendance! That's what they've been paying her for! I simply make sure that we follow up on attendance issues..WHICH I FUCKING DID! I'm still not sure he isn't going to try to pin this on me, but in all fairness, he really can't do so. I just don't trust the slapdick Sheriff or his posse of accounting flunkies. Son of a bitch! I cannot wait to leave Mayberry behind!

But, that stupid BS bit the dust at least! I WON you stupid whore! Fuck you and your bullshit excuses! You just shot to the top of my shit list, and when Sassy ain't happy, ain't no one happy! Kiss my ass you sorry piece of shit!

*Father Liam will be seeing me this week, I'm afraid. Of course, he'll give me the whole "to forgive is the right thing" spiel. Fuck!

Well, DUH!

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So I know it's lame, but I'm busier than a lesbian at Lilith Fair right now! I got no time to write anything substantial. Besides, I'm sure you've heard about my legal troubles by now.

SpongeBob Might Get You Some Action (Unwanted, Of Course)

So I'm on the waning last days of my extended winter break until I have to return to Mayberry. Blegh. I always know that I've been off too long when I can't find enough stuff to do. Everyone else is at work, and you can only watch so much Lifetime TV (that sappy shit makes me bawl like a baby!). So when I got up this morning, I wanted to make pancakes. Pancakes and I have a rocky relationship...mostly because they are full of bad carbohydrates, and I get a little free with the syrup. Anywho, I love pancakes, but I only eat them maybe twice a year. But I digress. I got up and wanted to make pancakes, but I did not have the proper ingredients or any syrup. That meant a little jaunt to the Walmart Neighborhood Market. For those of you who don't have them, it's basically a Walmart supermarket only. Lucky for me, there's one just a short mile or so from the house. Now, I don't normally like to go out while still in my pajamas. And by pajamas, I mean SpongeBob Squarepants fleece bottoms (Christmas present from my cutie patootie 9 yr old nephew) and a Dallas Cowboys sweatshirt (please Lord, let them make the Superbowl this year). But I decided that this was an emergency. I wanted those fucking pancakes, and shitty McDonald's rubber disks were not going to satisfy my craving. So I put my hair up and threw on some shoes and a bra and headed out the door. It was 7:00 in the morning, so who would I really see, right?

As I walk into the WNM, I notice that one of the cart wranglers looks at me funny. I smile and say, "Woke up, needed pancakes." He replies, "I like those SpongeBob pants!" I nod and keep walking. Of course, I only went in for one or two things, but as everyone knows, Walmart always sucks you in, so I was there an hour...shopping....in my pajamas. However, I found it very strange that so many people were: A) in the WNM at 7am and B) felt compelled to talk about my pants. Men, women, and children of all ages seem to react to ole SpongeBob. By the time I was in there for 20 min, my reply to people's, "Hey! I like those pants!" was "You know, they like you too!" (Evidently, sometimes, Sassy says things that give the wrong impression.) While I was checking my egg carton for any breakage, an older guy in his 50s, I'd say, was doing the same near me. He looks over and says, "Those are some fancy pants!" I laugh and say, "Well, I like them!" He replies, "I like them too." My response: "You know, they like you too!" Hahaha. What happened next has NEVER EVER happened to me in all my life. This STRANGER reached down and rubbed my thigh and said, "And they are so soft too, huh?" I was dumbfounded! I kind of jumped back and said, "Excuse me?!" WTF?? Anyone who knows me is aware of my no touchy the Sassy rule if I don't know you. Talky: sure. Touchy: HELL NO! He goes on, " I was just admiring how soft they are. They must be very comfortable." I just continue looking at him in horror. "Listen, mister, you can't go around touching people's pants. It's creepy and weird!" His reply, "Well, you did say they liked me too. I was just being friendly." Wink Wink. I thought: Holy shit! I think Ted Bundy's brother is in my Walmart Neighborhood Market!! I couldn't say a word to that, so I practically ran to the checkout! Thank the heavens for those fucking self-checkout lanes! I must have checked and paid for my items in record time. As I was leaving, I saw TBB checking out, and HE SMILED AND WAVED as I passed. I ran to my car, threw my lil plastic Walmart bags into the trunk, not caring about my eggs and other breakables, and got the hell outta there.

How is it that I missed that maniacal gleam in his eye? Why am I a magnet for the weirdo shitbags? This just solidifies my resolve to NEVER EVER leave the house in my pajamas. SpongeBob attracts the creepy and odd. It's dangerous out there!

**I was just thinking about how uneventful my vacation has been, and so I thought I would have to wait to update the ole RofaSB next week since I'd be back at work and some crazy shit will happen for sure there. But I made my fucking pancakes! Yeah, those are the pants...

Rambling Reflection

I'm coming up on a New Year, and this is always the time I start really reflecting on what's happened the past year. I don't know that it's been all that exciting, save for one thing. But I won't talk about that. What I do want to talk about is what I hope for the new year. That's right, you bastards, this is not going to be funny or entertaining! It's going to be sappy and cryptic! Deal with it! Now join hands in a circle of love...

I hope that I do fewer things that compel me to go to confession (even though I do have a little crush on Father Liam). Shit, is that lust?! Damn! I'll get my keys...

I hope that I am a better friend to those of you that I've kind of neglected this year. You know who you are, and I'm sorry. I do love you. Now please stop laying a guilt trip on me every time we talk. It's not fair. I do have some semblance of a life of my own, you know. Bitches! (Sorry, just kidding...)

I hope that I can quell the restlessness that really grips me about every 2-3 years. I came "home" to stay, I thought. But home isn't as sweet as it used to be. (Hor, I'm coming to the Ghetto next! Maybe it's "sweet"?)

I hope that I'm not kidding myself about being restless, and that it's more about me being less happy than I think I am. That would totally suck.

I hope that I've met the last of those people who would manipulate and abuse me. I've worked in earnest to purge those people from my life the past few years. I need the peace. (Dyckerson, I said PEACE not PIECE!)

I hope peace finds those of you who desperately need it. (You know who you are!) I've heard everything you've said, and I care. Stop looking for the worst that is happening in your life this next year.

I hope that my tendency to take good care of others extends towards myself more in the new year. I just feel at my best when I'm taking care of someone else.

I hope that my grandfather truly knows how much I love him, even though my weekly visits have been haphazard lately, at best. It scares me how old he looks every time I see him.

I hope I can find the job that is right for me. I want the freedom to do what I know is right every day without always having to ask for permission. And I want a bigger office. And better pay. And more people to boss around. I'm not afraid to admit it.

I hope that I never see another Red Bull and Vodka. (Okay, maybe I don't REALLY hope that, but they are the devil, people!)

I hope I can finally make a decision on something that has been on my mind constantly. It just scares the living shit out of me.

Happy New Year! If you make resolutions, I hope you can stick to them. If you don't, I hope you know that other people don't think as much of you as you do of yourself. Everyone should have some kind of improvement plan for a new year! XOXO

PS-I also hope I don't have any injuries this next year. My torrid (albeit brief) affair with the physical therapist aside, I really thought it sucked to be on crutches and in a finger splint.

Dear Santa

Dear Santa,

Sassy is not happy, you fat bastard! It's been quite a while since you brought me anything worth a shit! I've given up this "being good" business all year long in hopes that your ginormous ass might bring me something I actually asked for at Christmas. And while we're on that topic, who the hell died and made you the final decision on what is deemed naughty and what is deemed nice? That mean ass little shit Jimmy Turner tortured me in kindergarten, and he still got the fucking motherlode that Christmas while I got a black eye and scabby knees, courtesy of that "nice" little shitbag. Screw you and the sleigh you rode up on, you pathetic excuse for an elf!

And I'm putting you on notice: If you try to stuff your bloated, stocking-clad self down my chimney this year, be prepared for a crotch fire! And I really don't appreciate the reindeer shit you tracked in on your stripper boots last year, so if you are stupid enough to try the chimney even after my above warning, wipe those things off, or I'll shove them down your damn throat! Yeah, you heard me, you jolly, junk-tucking piece of shit! Stop trying to act like your "marriage" is for real. So, you know what it is I want for Christmas, and unless I see it on December 25th tied up with a nice red bow, just keep walking, mister! And stay out of my nog too! And don't try to sneak in here while I'm at my sister's either, like you did last year. Your stench lingered long after you had gone, and I noticed I was missing some panties. Remember: I'M watching YOU.

Love,

Sassy Blondie

Proud member of the NRA since 1996

*Just want to wish all of you non-Jews and believers a Merry Christmas! I hope you get what you want in your stocking and don't end up in the emergency room. Also, don't drink too much and throw up on your Aunt Gertrude's Christmas sweater...even though it would truly be a vast improvement to it. XOXO

Team Up! Whatever..

Big happenings today in Mayberry. My boss is leaving to take over another school and Big C got the interim job as Head Bitch. Now while I am sad to see my boss leave, I'm ecstatic at the things Big C and I can do now! She'll be fabulous! Onward and upward, right?

NOW. The title explanation: As I mentioned in some earlier writings, Mayberry got a new Sheriff this year, and he's really rocked the boat since his takeover. Heads have rolled and shit lists have been made. One thing the Sheriff has pushed this year is the idea of the "Administrative Team". His motto has been, "Team Up!" No more secrecy, no more warring factions, just one big happy team holding hands and singing Kumbaya. So today, 5 minutes before the big staff meeting to tell everyone of all the changes, I get the information. Yes, I fucking said 5 goddamn minutes (Yes, I'll be seeing Father Liam again this week!). Never mind that this decision had been made final at 8am this morning. Never mind that those fuckers had ALL DAY to let me in on this shit. My boss tells me at bus duty, "Sassy, I wanted to tell you before the meeting so that you wouldn't be surprised, but I'm going to the other school. I'm sorry that I couldn't' tell you before, but I was told I couldn't tell anyone. " Excuse me? I'm part of the motherfucking administrative team, aren't I? And if that wasn't bad enough, when giving his farewell speech to the staff, called me by someone else's name. The lady who was there before me. The lady whose fucking shadow I've been struggling to get out of for the past 2 fucking years because she was the goddamn Super Assistant! Everyone in the room jerked their heads at me when he did this, and he didn't even realize he'd done it. Huh? I know it was an emotional time for him, but it made me feel completely shitty, and I fucking despise the pity looks the staff gave me. Then when Big C spoke, she did say something really nice about me. (Thanks, Big C! I can't wait for us to get started after the holidays.) Later, she came to my office to tell me how horrible she felt that she wasn't allowed to tell me. Then she told me how hard it was to hear him call me by the other name yet again. I really appreciated that.

So it's yet another shakedown in Mayberry. I'm sad to see the boss move on, but I'm excited about the work I can do in what I hope is the last 6 months I am there. We have a great staff, and I know things can only get better. At least I know Big C won't hide out in her office.

Still, somebody find me another job. Mayberry needs to be my past in the very near future.

And a big middle finger to the Sheriff! Team up, eh? Whatever, you asswipe!

*I'm okay, I just hate hypocrisy.

Evidently, the Post Office Always Delivers Something

So I'm at the post office today after being sent home from work all sickly. I thought I might just be able to time it right so that I didn't have to wait in line. I mean, people still work at 1:00 in the afternoon, don't they? Apparently not. That bitch ass line was out the door! And it's colder than a witch's tit out today too! So I'm waiting in line with my package trying to fill out everything so that people don't get all shitty from the line when I make it up to a postal person, and the old guy with a cane behind me starts talking to me.

OGwC: What ya got there, sweetheart? Sending out some Christmas gifts?

Me: Well, I guess it's sorta like a Christmas gift, but it's cookies.

OGwC: Oh how delightful! Nothing says, "I love you" like homemade stuff.

Me: Umm...I wouldn't say that these are the "I love you" type of cookies! Ha ha

OGwC: Well darlin', you just remember that they can! Pretty girl like you should have a lover.

Me: Uh huh...well, thank you!

OGwC: You are a sweet girl! (Pats my arm and smiles warmly)

Me: Why thank you. (Smile warmly back at him)

Then I let the old guy in front of me because I was still trying to address my package. Then I drop my car keys. As I reach to pick them up, my head collides with a Good Samaritan who was also trying to pick them up for me. After the initial, "Doh!", I see that this is a tall kid of about 21 or so. Here's the conversation:

Me: Thank you so much! I'm so sorry that I knocked you in the head! Ha ha

Him: No problem! Ha ha It was my fault. My mother always said to help out a lady in need.

Me: You're mom is a smart lady. But really, thank you.

Him: You sure got your hands full there. Do you need some more help? (Winks at me)

Me: I'm fine, thank you again.

Him: You sure have pretty eyes. (He was more or less ogling my cleavage, however)

Me: Thank you. I had nothing to do with them. All my father's doing.(I turned back around)

Him: (Taps me on the shoulder) Are they real?

Me: No, they're glass. I'm blind.

Him: Ha ha! That's funny! I meant are they the real color?

Me: Yes.

Him: They sure are light.

Me: Uh huh. (still keep turning around after answering him)

Him: Does your boyfriend like them too? Do you have a boyfriend?

Me: Listen, Romeo. I'm at the post office so that I can get some things sent off. I'm not here trolling for some ass. I'm not sure where this conversation is going, but I do know it will not be having me as a passenger. Thank you again for helping me with my keys, but you're too young for me, and I'm out of patience.

Him: Uh...well...sorry. "Bitch...must be a lesbian" (under his breath)

Okay people, what the hell was that? The old guy, he was pleasant, and I'm normally okay being up for a chat. However, I don't need Grandpa Jones to tell me to find a lover. I have grandparents to remind me that I'm single again. Secondly, what was Junior thinking? Is the post office the new singles hot spot? What a freak! And to think that, in the beginning, I was thinking how nice it was that someone his age was a gentleman! I will never understand why not being interested makes one a lesbian. Surely you boys grow out of that?

Again with the little boys and old men!

Hey Junior, a little piece of advice: Don't be talking about a girl's eyes while speaking to her chest. Newsflash: They don't talk! Also, don't be running your game at the post office. I'm sure there are much more interesting places in which to proposition the ladies.

Do I just have a sign on my forehead? It's not like I'm super hot or anything. Jesus! Although I've had quite a run this past month or so, men don't regularly hit on me. At least, I don't think they do...not in any serious manner anways. Whatever...

*Yes, I know I shouldn't have gone to the post office if I was running a temperature, but I had shit to mail! And I never get off work soon enough to actually get to the post office, bitches!

**And I know I was rude, but I'm sick and tired. Give me a break!

Taking His Balls For A Ride

Really, gentlemen, what the hell is this:

I'm not sure if this phenomenon is catching on everywhere else, but this douchebag had a fake silver set of balls hanging off the rear of his truck. How did I notice this? Well, first of all, he was driving like 12 mph...just to annoy me, I think. Otherwise, ole Blondie here could not have had the time to search out her Crackberry and snap this little photo. What you can't tell from the crappy cell picture is that they are shiny and silver. Was this a Christmas statement? Silver Balls? Ha. Ha. You dumbass loser. Worse yet, when I passed his stupid ass, he had a pair of what looked like foam titties hanging from the mirror. I think I even threw up a little in my mouth. Classy.

Really, what the fuck? Is this supposed to make other men feel inadequate and the ladies swoon? What part of such an action would make sense? Has there been a staggering increase in douchebaggery in the last few years, or am I just getting old (Don't you DARE answer that, Dyckie!)? Am I supposed to see this tasteful display and drop my panties, panting with desire? What it really makes me want to do is take them and shove them down his shitbag throat! Better yet, grab my pistol and put the poor wanker out of his misery.

Gentlemen, a word of advice: if you have to advertise you have a pair on the backside of your truck, that's pretty much an indicator to us gals, and the gay parade as well, I'm sure, that you are afflicted with one or all of the following:

1. You evidently have no balls, so you bought some cheap ones at the Gas & Sip.

2. Your balls are indeed small and inadequate (along with your penis).

3. You are proud of your 5th grade edumacation.

4. You think you are incredibly cool and all the ladies love you...but you are still living with your mother and working the drive-thru.

5. You dropped your dick in the dirt, and now no chick wants your rotten, herp-afflicted ass. Therefore, you have to act like you are Jimmy Big Balls to save face.

Seriously. Just stop. You're embarrassing yourself. And stop popping your fucking collar while you're at it. Jesus....

*Where the hell would you get something like that? I shudder to think of the Google search phrase. Hor, I hope this isn't a hillbilly thing. If so, you should check the vehicles of all your male kin. ;)

A Dilemma: Short, Sweet, and To the Point

Well, it's just 29 more days until the New Year's Eve mess. Yes, I said mess. This is another time of the year where I have struggled the past couple of years. About this time, invitations and questions of what my plans are start to trickle in. What to do? Where to go? Take someone with me? There are so many decisions that go into navigating New Year's Eve. Do I accept and invitation to a party at a friend's house (did I mention married friend with ONLY married friends besides me and her husband's 65-yr old uncle Bert that will attend?). Do I risk my life and take the celebration to the street with other single party-goers and risk groping, drunk bitches spilling drinks on me, and certain death on the highways on the way home? Or do I sit through Dick Clark and that stupid little dick Ryan Seacrest here at homestead?

Decisions, decisions. I need some help, people. This is only the second occurrence of New Year's after the fiance's death (going on 3rd actual year). Last year I simply couldn't bring myself to do much of anything, and sadly went to bed prior to midnight. This year, however, I'm not feeling the same way. It's just been a long time since I have had anything other than standing plans for this event.

Got any suggestions? I'm listening...

*I know Christmas is next, but that's a family time. I'm a planner, and as such I need to get my plans in order well in advance.
**I would take this question to Father Liam, but I think we all know what he'd say.

Little Boys Love Me, Old Men Adore Me

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

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

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

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

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

What gives? I want answers, and I want them now!

*I asked my priest what he thought while I was at confession. All I got from him was the "God has a plan for you, Sassy. Count your blessings!" Gee, thanks for nothing there, Father Liam.

**Shit! I just insulted my priest. Guess I'll see him again before the week's out. Being a Catholic is not easy, people.