Monday, April 30, 2007 

Pookie's Surprise

Today I had a very good job interview, which is good, because last week I had a very baaaaaad job interview. This one might work out. I should know within a couple of weeks, hopefully sooner. Cross your fingers, say a prayer, send some vibes-- whatever makes you feel empowered. Give a damn. That's basically what I'm asking you to do. Muster up a little give-a-damn for the Mean Teacher to find her way back to the classroom. The children, and therefore the future, depend on it.

Actually, my sanity is what depends on it. Not working sounds great, but in reality it etches away at those little intangible things we take for granted, like self-worth, sense of purpose, and self-esteem. It also doesn't hurt to earn a little money, even if your husband does a good job on his own. It's a pride thing. More importantly, it's a greed thing. Imagine all the things I can buy without asking permission.

When I get my first check, I am going to have a gooooooood time doing the following (not necessarily in this order):

1. Pedicure. I have only had one in my life, and that was before my wedding, but my feet have never felt so soft and pretty. Now I'm spoiled, and can't stand the feeling of crusty feet.

2. Lowe's. Our house is in dire need of some redecorating. More specifically, there is wallpaper all over the place and the general theme is "1991."

3. Shoes. Got to have some new shoes. While I was living in the middle of nowhere last year, my then-dog (now deceased) chewed most of my shoes. I now have 1 pair of dressy-ish brown shoes, 1 pair of dressy-ish black shoes, 1 pair of old, dirty sneakers, 1 pair of newer, but ill-fitting and very ugly sneakers. (Never buy shoes online.)

4. Clothes. As I've gotten bigger, my wardrobe has gotten smaller. Funny how that works.

5. Jenny Craig. Or something. I mean, damn, who can do it alone?

6. Entertainment system. Our t.v. is balancing precariously on some kind of Wal-Mart furniture contraption, circa 1989. When The Husband moved into this house, he couldn't figure out how and where to set up the t.v. He put it on said Wal Mart furniture contraption and said the following words: That will do for now. I'll have to do something about that soon. That was 2003.

I could go on, but I think that'll more than exhaust one check on a teacher's salary.

Now for the This is Not a Cat Blog cat blogging.

Pookie has discovered that there is another cat living in this house, and I don't mean the calico that hates him. (She slapped him today, btw. And hard.) I mean another cat. It's tiny and black and furry, just like him. It appears every time he walks past the full length mirror in the bedroom, but for the life of him he can't talk it into coming out to play. Earlier tonight he forgot about the other cat, and walked past the mirror. He must've caught a glimpse of his reflection, because he jumped about ten feet straight back, then ran under the bed and hid for a good five minutes.

He threw a fit last night when I put him in the laundry room for the night, so we let him out. TH slept in the guest bedroom, and I slept in our bedroom. (We're not fighting-- we just sometimes sleep in separate beds when TH is on a long work stretch, because we both sleep better.) Pookie started out with me, but got up and went to join TH. I think TH rolled over onto Pookie at some point, and he decided to come back to bed with me. This morning I woke up to the sound of a crying Pookie, but I couldn't find him anywhere. I finally found him, squatting in a pile of clothes in the bathroom. I picked him up, and there was a giant pile of Pookie dookie. I walked him to the litter box (which is on the other end of the house, so I kinda couldn't blame him, what with him still being little and new to the house) and started the washer for the pair of pants that had received the Pookie pile. I laid down on the bed to read for a while before starting my long day of picking up pine cones so the ever anal husband can mow without dulling the lawn mower's blade. A few minutes later, Pookie crawled back into my bed. A few minutes after that, I rolled over into a wet spot that was not of the human sort.

Let's review. The little shitter shit on my pants, and I forgave him because the litter box was far away and he's tiny. But he made the trip from the litter box back to my bed and promptly pissed on it.

So much for forgiveness and understanding. He can cry all he wants-- that bastard is sleeping in the laundry room tonight.


Good Dog


Sunday, April 29, 2007 

Writing for a Purpose

I'm having trouble coming up with a good blog topic today, because the only thing I can think about is how much better I feel now that I seem to be recovering from whatever bug I've had for the last three days, and I finally got the monthly "you're not pregnant" memo-- a delay that was making me more nervous by the hour. I'm guessing people don't particularly care to hear the details of my illness or my tardy female processes, which were probably related.


The only other thing on my mind right now is this site. The old site chronicled a journey. It started when I was at a rock bottom place in my life, otherwise known as my parents' basement, and it covered everything that happened to me from then, to my first teaching job, to getting married and moving, etc. It covered a key period of my life. That is part of the reason that I was so hesitant to take the site down, and it's part of the reason I'm still not sure this one is needed. I like writing, but not much is happening these days, really. No make or break moments. Nothing that will stand out in ten years.

When I was in college, I took several creative writing classes, one of which was a poetry workshop. Once, in a crunch, I wrote a poem about the difficulty of producing poetry on a deadline. Write what you know, right? Well, the professor slammed it, and insulted me in front of the class, saying that writing about writing was pathetic, more or less, and that if I had nothing more to say there was no point in writing at all. She was kind of a bitch, but she liked 90% of everything else I wrote, and I did get an A in the class. Anyway, blogging about blogging is probably equally pointless.

Speaking of writing on a deadline, I have to write a 20 page paper on the history of education in America, which is due in five days, and which I have not started. Also, it has to be cited in APA style. I only used APA once, when I first started college as a psych major. I got F's on all my papers because I couldn't get the damn APA correct. I spent hours comparing my paper to the manual, but never got it right. I would have an A on the content, but after they got done taking points off for screwed up citation, I would fail. MLA makes so much more sense.

I'd better get started. I've got hours of procrastination ahead of me.

Friday, April 27, 2007 

Nice to Unmeet You

For two years I operated a blog at another address, which had about 400 visits per week. The problem is that I occasionally revealed too much, and after a while I was no longer anonymous. That was unacceptable because I am in a political profession in a place where most people expect a person in my profession to go to church on Sundays and never say words like shit or damn or fuck. While I do sometimes go to church on Sundays, I also occasionally like to say shit, or drop the f-bomb if I'm in the mood.

I also enjoy writing for the purpose of criticizing strangers that I encounter in my daily life, because it makes me feel better after a long day of being treated like a bitch at work.

Blogging without being able to vent basically defeated the purpose for me. Still, I haven't figured out yet how to write about my life without mentioning what I do or where I live, but I have seen blogs where the writer did this successfully, so I'm going to give it a shot.

Now for a few semi-truths about myself.

I'm from the South. I'm a teacher. I'm a newlywed. My husband is in the medical profession. My biggest personality defect is moodiness. My best personality trait is my sense of humor, and even though I take great joy in criticizing them anonymously, I actually have a great deal of compassion for people and am mostly a kind soul in real life. This is my place to bitch, and I do so shamelessly.

Although this probably won't go very far in convincing you that I am a mean teacher, here's a picture of a cute kitten. He just came to live with us today. We're not huge cat fans, per se... (TH and I both have a soft spot for them but would rather have a dog) ....but there was a void in our home because our beloved dog was recently killed in a tragic accident involving a broken fence and a busy highway. The person who asked us to take the kitten caught us in a vulnerable state, and we agreed.


The Husband doesn't know he's here yet, because we weren't supposed to get him until Saturday. The Husband wants to name it Lucky, because it's black. I think that's gay, and I want to name him Boogie. We will surely debate this tonight when he gets home.


We already had one cat, which I have had for 5 years. Her name is Milli, but we call her "pocket Satan." She is a beautiful calico, and her hobbies include shedding, eating, sleeping, and hating us. She is even more pissed than usual since Boogie got here. UPDATE 4/29: He shall be called Pookie.

I promise this isn't a cat blog, but I had to start somewhere.

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