Gov. Schwarzenegger Seizes Opportunity Gustav Offers

Sensing the marital suicide Schwarzenegger would be committing to further endorse the presumptive Republican presidential nominee, John McCain, at the GOP convention, which begins Monday, the actor-turned-politician followed President Bush's and Vice President Cheney's suit in deciding not to honor his opening night speaking engagement. The executive branch blamed Hurricane Gustav's interference while Schwarzenegger cited his state's fiscal crisis for his necessary absence.

Bush is still upset by the cancellation according to some sources close to the President who overheard him saying, "It's tha least ah could do after all McCain's done to support mah war. Ah jes' hope Cindy still sends me mah free case a beer. Mah avisers tol' me it would be unsensitive for me to be smiling out in public while peoples might be dying in a hurricane. Even though ah disgree, they knows who tha d'cider is in this sitiation. Ah'm jes' glad ah'll get ta play me some golf Labor Day weekend after all, in honor a tha four fathers an' all, ya'll know." As Gustav approaches category 5 hurricane status, forecasters are expecting sunny skies at the Burning Tree Country Club in Greenwich, Connecticut where Bush intends to celebrate Labor Day.

Dick Cheney, who was unavailable for comment, has repeatedly expressed his opposition to the upcoming election by calling it "unnecessary." Rumor has it that the Vice President has scheduled his next heart transplant for January 21, 2009, the day he calls, "the day after he takes his historic third oath of office." Cheney's contempt for McCain and drive for power have never been a secret, but according to some sources close to the Vice President, who requested to stay anonymous for their own safety, "You have no idea to what extent Dick's planning to take this thing. Martial Law is about to look like a benign primetime television series is all I can say."

It appears that while Schwarzenegger is taking advantage of the oval cancellations, he still hopes to avoid recrimination from Republican extremists on the matter. "You know I love guns, no abortions, penalties vith death, and the late Charlton Heston, but I am married man vith needs and hoping Republicans vill not notice my vife supports Obama against my vishes. I simply vould never get the laid again if I gave speech for McCain." The California Governor's wife was recently heard saying at a rally before thousands of Obamanos, "Obama gives me hope that we can turn this nation around." In an effort to maintain his office, Governor Schwarzenegger has continued to maintain that he has no such hope, particularly after the defeat conservatives in California took quite personally and confusedly concerning gay marriage.

It can neither be confirmed nor denied that Schwarzenegger was seen crying in the TGI Friday's, where he reportedly first heard the news that he would not be the Vice Presidential nominee as he formerly presumed. The Governorator was seen leaving the restaurant muttering, "I can be a girly man if that's vhat they vant. Vhy didn't they tell me that is vhat they vanted?"
Convention organizers have decided not to cancel the Spanish translation services they've planned to offer to appeal to hispanic voters that may have tuned in to see Schwarzenegger or Texas Governor Rick Perry speak, saying, "We just want them to think we Republicans are their 'friends' and our tough immigration tactics are merely for their own good, but this does not mean that we acknowledge anything other than English as the official language of the United States." "We are very excited, because we know that Palin will represent us on this one. I loved it most when he used to wear those dresses. His English is impeccable and we are confident that Hillary Clinton's supporters will not even be able to tell the difference between the two," one Minneapolis convenience store owner said excitedly as he was stocking extra gay porn in anticipation of the upcoming convention.


If You Read This, I May Have To Kill You...

... by means of a slow, excrutiating recapitulation of the days I have missed blogging this week. I am morally obliged to commit such an act because I am going to tell you about how me and my veggie weiner gots us we's edumacation this week. According to Cristina with the most gorgeous accent evah! I am not to speak of the contents of our Real Analysis discussion WITH ANYONE outside the class. I haven't read Chapters One and Two, which seem to have been written specifically for this class (which is fortunate because I was able to return the $105 book the University Co-Op erroneously sold me), otherwise I might be able to know more for certain whether I can be held to some sort of consequence for mentioning an equation we discussed in class or not. Since I am a firm believer in the "Ignorance Is A Wonderful Excuse" school of thought when it pertains to myself, I will fill you in on my newly acquired skill, managing to discuss how to prove that any number times zero equals zero for 55 minutes. Impressive, I know. These are the skillz, or at least the tolerances, I will be required to possess by the time I am a math teacher, it seems.

In other news that I'm sure you haven't heard, John McCain just handed Barack Obama the election... unless Americans are as stupid as I think they might be. I technically find this picture offensive, but I'm not sure it's for the reason I think I'm supposed to. I have seen it circling the comments at Crooks and Liars and have heard it is most undoubtedly photoshopped, not that I could tell. But seriously folks. She's pretty. BFD. She hunts. She's a governor. She doesn't have lots of experience. She's got a four month-old baby. BFD. She is against abortion EVEN IN THE CASE OF RAPE AND INCEST. She wants creationism rather than evolution taught in schools. She will sell out our lands- you know her potential to be the scapegoat/ negotiator re: ANWR is a major tug here. Or maybe, Alaska's a swinging state? We all just heard on NPR last week how the Republicans themselves said offshore-drilling is their number one issue. We all heard how they refuse to acknowledge global warming's being human-caused. Gay marriage? Forget it. What we have here, folks is Mike Huckabee in a more visually pleasant package. The reason I find this picture offensive is because it's being used as a representation of a sexy image our cute governor of Alaska should not have.

Should she not have breasts? Should she not wear a low-cut shirt, a mini-skirt, high-heels, have sex for Gawd's sake? Good Lord, it's time we had a President, Vice-President, Pariliamentarian, or First Lady who gets naked and has sex already. My daughter attends an arts magnet school and last year she was given the assignment to re-create an ad of her choosing. She chose to draw an American Apparel ad for a tank thong. Her art teacher thought it was one of the better drawings and displayed it with others in the hall as is the protocol for such works. Oh no. No. No. No. She will undoubtedly be witness to nude art modeling if she attends an art school after high school as she wishes to do. BFD. Why did an arts magnet sensor the display of its student's art. C'mon people. This summer her school did stand up against the school district, however, and allow students to put on a play that the district thought was too risquè for promoting alternative lifestyles. The school presented the performance anyway itself, without the district's support. Last year my daughter was seen kissing a girl (and liking it- undoubtedly- sorry I can't say the one without the other ever again), a friend of hers, and though it is allowed in the same circumstance for a girl and a boy to kiss, the teacher attempted to shame the other girl by calling her parents and telling them, as though she was in trouble. Strangely, I was not called. I sure wanted to be. I wanted to ask that teacher if she would have behaved the same way if a boy and girl had kissed in the same location. According to my daughter, girls and boys' kissing happens all the time in the school, but this event was singled out- though they did make an announcement over the PA that students are not allowed to have sex in the library. Sheez. Life's so unfair.

Oh my, I want to pick a fight it seems. Watch out Mr. Bee, I'm coming home from work all feisty. I've got so much to say and so little time. My co-worker will be here shortly and then I shall leave the building. Sadly, I woke up with this little ditty in my head:
How much good would a good fuck fuck
If a goodfuck could fuck good?
A goodfuck would fuck all the good
That a goodfuck could
If a goodfuck could fuck good.

I'm sorry. I should not be admitting such things. Really. I'll post a poem I wrote the other day to make it up to you later. I just must post anything at all to get that damn puppy and reference to fucking appliances off the top of my blog, though I like the "spin" commenteurs put on the appliance aspect of the post. Adios.


Have I Told You I Want to F@#$ My Washing Machine?

Sorry. I do. Barely hearing it's 3-year parts and labor agitating goodness gets me hot. Oh gawd, this keyboard that the rest of my family's been using on our desktop sucks. Well folks, the whirlwind of Fall activity has commenced. I have been a listophile to the ultimate extreme the last few days, in many cases accomplishing things I have procrastinated all summer, because my summer ends tomorrow, officially, when my Fall classes start. If it weren't my last semester of classes, I would be absolutely dreading it, but since it is, I am only really dreading it. When upper division math classes are given vague names like "Real Analysis," I get more than a little scared.

In the last few days, I have: spent a sad amount of money on back bills, purchased $400 worth of books for my classes, $100 worth of kleenex for back to school, and literally $600 on clothing, shoes and backpacks (and that's splitting the teens' costs with their dad.) Am I complaining? I shouldn't, I know, but I am predicting the resurgence in popularity of knickers and prairie dresses and I am a little discombobulated. I have mastered the art of selecting the clothing my daughters will like from the racks of over-priced thrift vintage stores. I merely select the kinds of clothing I would have seen in Seventeen magazine circa 1984 that I would have not been caught dead wearing. I never took to knickers, leg warmers, or Prairie skirts myself. I was more of a skinny tie, vest and spiked hair chick, though the likes of black and punk were nowhere near my Arkansan pseudo-suburbia mentality or I would have been spared the years my life will be cut short due to cancer from spraying FInal Net™ (too proper a name, isn't it?) and Sun-In™ on my former big bangs. I don't think those baby oil sunburns are gonna help me too much either.

Have I told you that my sons have discovered the beauty that is The Pink Panther? Well, they have. I might as well be as well, since, though I know I watched it in my young beedome, I don't recall them one bit. The episode called "Super Pink" had me laughing my ass off the other day. Truly, the humor is exquisite. How the artist managed to depict the little nuances of The Pink Panther's moods baffles me. In addition to Pink Panther episodes, Mr. Bee and I have resumes our Rescue Me addiction for a couple of weeks. We are incapable of turning on one DVD of four episodes without watching them all straight through and it is inevitable (though extremely unpc of us, I'm sure) that we will be all hot to have sex by the end of the dvd. It has even occurred that we'll have sex and then have to later rewind what we missed. It's like porn to us. Mr. Bee is not a big porn fan, so we really never use it together or anything. He's kinky like that.

Alright, I have quite sufficiently provided Too Much Information™ while juxtaposing it against some all too wholesome family subjects for the comfort of many, I imagine. I think that I am legally required to comment on the DNC. The subject matter which has caught my attention is the whole third party vs. Democratic party debate. Let me just say, "I'm in favor of the debate." The Democratic party is not left-wing enough for me. The two-party corporately-sponsored rigged elections are so 2004 it's ridiculous. I want Green Party viability. I want a little more socialism. Ok, I want a lot more, but I'll take me some health care and ending homelessness and malnutrition for starters. I want me some government-sponsored kicking some corporate greed/ oil company and polluters' ass. And, in particular, I want my future hybrid car to cost less than my oil-guzzling current one. I want out of foreign countries yesterday. I want BushCo™ tried for war crimes in one hour and I want a moratorium on the death penalty begun in 10-20 (minutes, that is.) Do I think McCain wants to do these things? Of course not. Do I think Obama does? Meh. More-so. Do I think Nader or McKinney do? Hell yeah. Am I going to vote my conscious here? No. Am I happy about that? No. These are the issues which will make or break our cuntry and I do not have the answers, folks. WIll slow gradual change as is possible with Obama's election be enough or will McCain's quicker running this country into the ground be the more transformative course of action? Don't ask me. I know, you didn't. But, I was obligated to say these things according to the FISA™ expectation codes of 2012. It's just too boring to be spying on my Free Speech™ without such essential regulations, and, even then, it's lacking. In the near future I am about to be required to say more incendiary statements else Guantanamo will be forced to have it's out-of-business sale prematurely and that could adversely affect our thriving economy and I am far too patriotic for that.

Well, I'm off to watch Rescue Me with Mr. Bee as we do it on top of our new, gently undulating appliance. I'm just kidding. Mr. Bee's not even home from work yet, but don't tell him about me and Mr. Maytag or he may have to go into one of his cabinet accruing benders to prove his machoness, and I just couldn't handle it, not with Bissell's current jealousy level.


Dear America and Other-Worldly Affiliates™,

Well folks, I finally had an opportunity to wear these shoes a second time. Exciting. I know. These are the shoes that I capriciously bought with my mother's credit card when I was visiting her to attend my 20-year class reunion in June. I think it was because she saw the dress I was planning to wear that she said, "How about you let me buy you an outfit?" "Do you mean not from a thrift store?" I asked puzzledly. She did, and I didn't even refuse. After being überpractical re: the outfit (I chose a linen skirt which looks like denim and a neutral-colored button-down shirt which both match everything), I then bought the offending shoes to wear with them. I felt tall in them and I was even able to dance, though I was willing to go shoeless, as we did at our high school in Arkansas, if need be, to the 80's boycoverband that played music that really didn't make its way to them parts until the 90's anyway. (Fortunately, by that time, I was long gone.) Of course, I have had nowhere else to wear my new, classy high-heeled shoes with faux denim and metallic silver.

So, I thought nothing would make a better first impression than to wear the most impractical shoes I've ever owned when I met The Lass on Wednesday evening. Fortunately, we had far more to talk about than shoes (and I don't even think she judged me), but I realized as a huge crowd and ever-increasing salsa rhythms cropped up around us at the iconic coffee-house we chose as our meeting place that I really don't get out enough, do I?

It was a truly lovely meet-up. In proper blogger fashion, we offered up and asked all, but I must agree with her assessment that one of the highlights of the night was most certainly when she and I were very candidly and non-discretely (I think that's redundant) discussing gynecological issues of a few sorts, menstruation, birth, menopause (like women usually do when they go off to the bathroom together. Right. But..., we found it suitable table fare), when it seemed we had a listener. I found this pretty funny since earlier in the conversation TL confessed to me her trade secret writing technique™ I shall employ from this day forth (and reveal to all of the 40 readers I am likely to have today- the guy in Hong Kong being 30 of them and the person googling "let me see a human weener" being one of the other nine) of sitting in public and writing about overheard conversations. I love it, and am afraid no pics will be revealed lest you be able to identify who we two eavesdroppers are on future missions (Ok, we just didn't go to the trouble), but be wary if you see two sexy women, one in ridiculous, gawdy shoes, the other in cozy Birkenstocks, poised in an enthralling conversation. It's just a cover.

As luck might have it, last night was the third time in my life I have been fairly adamantly mistaken for somebody else. Fortunately, it was extremely benign, even blog fodder, but one time this was not so. Scarily, my 15 year-old had something similar happen to her just last week when taking the bus with a friend of hers; she literally had a knife pulled on her when a woman mistook her for someone else, she, uh, wanted to pull a knife on. Seriously, and kept insisting my daughter was this other person. My daughter's friend yelled something distracting and they successfully ran away from the scene. Smart. (It's this or teens in cars, folks.) Austin is not known to be the danger capital of the world or anything, but these sorts of things can happen anywhere (that's why I'm always advocating that you cover your windows with duct tape). Since she did not tell me of the incident until a few hours after the fact, all it seems I can do now is to continue to have her wisely companioned, on as safe a routes as possible, traveling in daylight hours, and never leaving the house.

The first time I remember being mistaken for someone else was in a bar in 1989. My dorm neighbor was gay and I blame him for shattering my Arkansan naiveté by taking me to the f'awesome gay bars of the late 80's club scene in Austin. On the night I kissed a girl and I liked it, the taste of her cherry Chapstick™, a rather rude woman approached me and started yelling at me for ignoring her. There had been no possibility whatsoever (unless I blacked out far more than my usual one night at a time back in those oh-so lovely drinking days) that she was accurate in mistaking me for a former girlfriend! Seriously folks, I have wondered across a crowded AA meeting if I was actually seeing a former lover, but I would never yell at him or her, and insist he or she were someone they weren't even after he or she denied it, in public, even if those around me were awkwardly sworn to anonymity by an oath of sword. It was a bit disconcerting.

A few years later one of my co-workers at a brick-oven pizza joint where we worked approached me one day, after I had worked there a month or so, "Why didn't you tell me you were in that band, blah blah blah?" Back when I was the same age as the woman in this picture and I had similar bitchin' locks, I did have to admit, I looked kinda like her. That wasn't so bad. My co-worker did not want to beat me up, at least, but it took me a while to convince him I that I was not strictly a lesbian with a talented split-personality. Maybe I sang for him. I can't remember now how I convinced him as such.

That was a long time ago, and I have had some less memorable being sited's, but finally, I now have a witness to this quirky minor phenomenon in my life. As luck would have it, our eavesdropper, a blogger himself surely, said he recognized me from the play I was in the night before at our local downtown arts theater. He commented on how refreshing it was (and no, we weren't talking about douche too) that I was just a "regular person." (Looks can be deceiving, folks.) Fortunately, I actually have no acting talent whatsoever. I know, I know, I was asked to be the female security guard in that Hillary Clinton campaign video, but declined as I have a hard enough time faking it when I really am a female security guard in real life (Like, right now. See.) If I did have an ounce of an acting gene, it would have been great timing for me pretend I actually had starred in a play the night before, whatever it was (I hope there was a sex scene), as our inquisitor was a rather Jude-Law-too-pretty-sort-of-fellow for me to normally, without such false advantages, have any chance in hell of actually conversing with.

I know I also made a glamorous impression on The Lass, how could I not have? Five minutes into our talking, I received a text message. (Yes, I am one of those young hipsters who texts all the time. Not.) It was my then pink-haired daughter texting me to pick up brown hair dye when I went to the grocery store before I picked her up from the concert where I had just dropped her off fifteen minutes before. It seems that word of my impending grocery store visit had spread far and wide as, not ten minutes later, The Genius also called to convince me that because he had made a weapon out of the cardboard of a paper towel roll, I needed to get another roll for Snaggletooth, apparently finding it necessary to assure me the roll would not be wasted. I could use the paper towels first. Yes, dear. Yes, dear.

I did manage to refrain from whipping a notebook out of my purse to start a grocery list right then and there, as I was already holding cans of soup for Mr. Bee and toothpaste in my head as it was, but only narrowly. Conversing with The Lass was most engaging, enough so that we are going to "do coffee" again soon. I am ready to begin my conversation-stealing training and look forward to our doing our fake British accents to fool the masses. I bet with two people in on the deviousnesses, we could ensnare some innocent bystander into being the subject of a plot instigated by his mistaken long-lost adopted sister's tripping in her high heels as The Lass spills her coffee on him, requiring him to go into the bathroom and hand us his pants out the door. Yes folks, we shall re-enact long-lost, nefarious Three's Company episodes for your imaginary pleasure... or, maybe not.

We'll let the shoes decide.


Let's Just Kiss and Make Up, Mmmmkaay?

For U. Savage.

Player's Baby Come Back

Housewife Log: Stardate Insomnia 0400

Honey, I can't sleep. I've got things on my mind, some good, some bad. Summer is ending and it is hitting me hard at this wee hour. There are so many things I did not get done in the summer time I had at home. My last semester of classes starts in 5 days and it promises to be a toughie. I'll have the hardest math class I'll have to take, I have to bone up and take my other last math course from a professor I dislike as he is still the only one teaching the class and I can't wait and see again, I'll have a very fun, but labor intensive semester-before-student-teaching teaching class, and another class that I am looking forward to related to adolescent development. Barring events beyond my control, gross time mismanagement, or utter failure, I will be finished with all of my classes in December and can take something fun, creative writing, scuba diving, underwater basket weaving, while I student teach in the spring.

And then, the kids start back and I feel so conflicted. I have been very active at my kids' elementary school in past years as The Lip Model and The Former Future President went all the way through the same wonderful school as well, but last year I just wasn't. I know it can make a big difference in an elementary school class for parents to help and I get conflicted as to how much time I can afford to give without my blogging being affected. Right, like that's negotiable. Actually, since I have been very inactive on my memoir and am battling urges to start over AGAIN, I am feeling very confident that as the flurry of Fall activity gets under way, I can rely on the urge to write to present itself full-force again. It always does.

You don't know it, but you had to wait a minute while I went and warmed up a left-over homemade hash brown with melted Mediterranean cheese (a cheddar containing sun-dried tomatoes and olives) on top. I'll take this moment to thank OkJimm for planting the new microwave seed in my head after my recent vacuum purchasing scandal. I have found that purchasing a new microwave can be postponed years longer than it should by positioning said archaic device on top of your refrigerator so that you have to tippy toe to get your food in there. There is no way to see in that sucker, to know exactly how bad things are, plus it makes it easier to visualize the radioactive goodness raining down to nourish your brain cancer that way. It just occurred to me that this is the ultimate test in Mr. Bee's tolerance for filth. There are some areas where I score far higher than him. For instance, the compost sitting on the front porch waiting to be taken out to the pile simply doesn't bother me. On the other hand, a toilet that makes me grateful Snaggletooth peed on the seat again (and then denies it again) because I didn't have to touch it to lower it, finally gets to me after a month or two. (I caught you believing that.) The microwave is a pure, unjaded test. He can't help but see how gross it is. I can refuse to. i think he'll win though. While a new microwave is about 604th on my list of things we "need," Jimm has caused me to reminisce on the days of yore when Jesus had to roam the earth with his inedible Hot Pocket.

I think there were two events in recent days which brought on my Ennui™: my recent blogger meet-up (which reminded me of what having a real 3-D friend is like) and Meet the Teacher Night at the elementary school. I like to save the best for last, so I'll tell you about MTTN. Firstly let me say, I love my kids' school. It will certainly be first on the list of schools I will apply to since teaching 5th and 6th grades will be within my middle school certification possibilities, though they've got it pretty going on in that way as far as teachers are concerned. I have loved my kids' teachers. Let's see... my kids have had 18 collective years at the school (holy shit- I never thought of it that way) and in all that time, granted there have been several years of the younger ones having the same teacher as the older, and granted the f'awesomenesses of some of the teachers has spoiled me for life, there has only been one teacher's classroom I have come to loathe The Genius's time in. Them ain't bad odds, I know, but I am not believer in the idea I've heard that goes something like, "Kids just have to learn to deal with bad teachers when they roll around. It prepares them for life, for entering a workplace where they are bound to get a boss or co-worker who's a dickwanker (I know- that's not really a bad thing, but just play along with the crazy lady and she'll go away faster) and then they'll be better able to take the punches that life inevitably throws them." Bullshit. A bad teacher is a bad teacher.

In order to avoid Snaggletooth's being in her class this year, I sent a polite, but curt email to the principal, who has taken to a policy of not honoring parents' classroom requests, that either of the other two teachers would be very strongly preferred, even to the point that I would feel the need to move them to another school (I left out the part about it being either an alternative school or the school in the district in which we actually live rather than this one we anxiously continue to use the former Mr. Bee's address to keep them in- with his consent, of course). So, when we showed up to MTTN, I almost cried when I saw Snaggletooth had been placed in her class. I like the principal. He's a hard ass; I'll give him that. I don't say that because the ex Mr. Bee, who is a gym addict, sees him at the gym frequently, though this is true. I mean he's former military and has managed to survive being rather conservative amongst very liberal and demanding parents. I don't think he's conservative in a Republican way or anything, but he has to do tough things to get monies the school very much needs and he won't let any pandering to the parents stand in his way, even to the point that some have come to dislike him. I like him, honestly. I have talked with him many times over the years in matters good and bad and he's very reasonable, really.

Anyway, I approached him and said softly, "We can't stay at ¢∞£¢∞§." Now, I am no super catch in the parent department and though my kids have always been amongst their commended TAKS score performers, something he counts very closely- that's one of those ways I meant, I would never expect him to change policies for me unless the feeling was mutual or something. But, he did seem concerned. I asked him if he got my email (which I was not surprised he did not respond to, as that is another of his ways some parents have complained of- he's only got, let's see, 350 or so students' parents' needs to contend with) and he said he, in fact, did not receive it.



I informed him of the gist and he said he would see what he could do. What happened after that was all in my head and in my heart and I'm still not sure what I think about it all. I saw Snaggletooth's best friend's mom and we were sad the two are not in the same class, and I felt super gossipy to say under my breath that they may yet be. I pulled Snaggletooth over in a hall and had a little talk with him about how I felt and let him know that he may be switching classes, but we would go meet his teacher. I was careful not to say things about the teacher that were disrespectful, but did inform him there were things I did not like about The Genius's being in her class in the past and I had hoped for a different teacher.

We met The Genius's teacher, who has her foibles; The Former Future President had her assist in the classroom in her semester of student teaching and then the next year in her first year of teaching. In fact, she was even my mentor the following year in one of my teaching classes and I got to go in an teach a couple physics lesson in her classroom. I like her quite a bit. I looked at the overgrown garden I'd helped dig outside of her portable building knowing that I could communicate my needs to her and be a supportive parent. Then, we went on to Snaggletooth's assigned teacher. I am disappointed. It's obvious, and then I saw an old friend of mine from before she had kids, who had told me her children would be attending and one of her children is in Snaggletooth's class. I saw another pair of very nice parents with a son I know Snaggletooth to like quite a bit and already felt the pangs of taking him out of the classroom.


I saw the principal and met the new assistant principal and said, "Ok, maybe we can just talk about this sometime soon." I said I saw some great kids and parents in the classroom and maybe it could work. He assured me there had been some improvements in the last couple years (he was as disappointed as I was with some things I brought to his attention a couple years ago- separating the boys and the girls into sides in the classroom and just overall having a sexist attitude, in my view, in how she talked to her students, in addition to some fairly serious disciplinary issues). We agreed to give it a go and he agreed if it wasn't working, we could work something out. The thing is that I know the thing for me to do here is to be open minded and to think of ways I can help this teacher rather than be less involved because I don't like her much. I have been a room parent in the past once and think it might be a way not for me to be controlling, but for me to transform my thinking about the situation. Having an inside line on what she might need to be a better teacher might help us come to an understanding that benefits us both, particularly in a way that makes me a better teacher in the end, but crap, I am not as altruistic as all this. I have my hands full as it is. But still, something makes me think helping a couple specified times a week might relieve some of my anxiety in the matter, plus her being isolated is one of the things I sense is going on with her.

Well, I have a much more fun thing to relay. A blogger meet-up post which I wrote most of a post about yesterday, but seeing as it's 5:18AM, I think I shall be back off to bed and pretend I posted this Thursday and post that one for Friday. This was one of those therapeutic ones that I needed to get off my chest. I've got a post in mind for later, a Flo Joe brewing in a PBR keg, a short story idea, and the memoir tugging at me right now. I've got a school matter to take care of tomorrow for me, school supplies and new tennis shoes to buy the baby bees, not to mention all the things teenage girls want and need for back to school. I'll get to those things after I clean my desk (which took a hit again), totally revamp the boys' room, clean and put new contact paper down on the kitchen shelves (believe me I wouldn't if it weren't sorely needed), plus the usual cooking, dishes and dog washing. Right. On the bright side, we may buy a new washing machine tomorrow.

Did I mention that somehow I have lost three of the four bras I own. I think it may have something to do with The Lip Model's helping with laundry the other day, but nothing else seems to be missing and I just don't think someone was out to get their kicks stealing granny bras. It was probably the bra police. See. You thought I was joking.

Uh-oh, I hear roosters.


Two Great Tastes Taste Nasty Together and a Thing and a Thing

Quick, quick, quick. I know Utah's gonna think I'm in a manic upswing, (the whole state, yes) when I talk like this, but I must or I won't get anything done, particularly when I've come here with nothing particular in mind. I have two good million dollar ideas, free for the taking, but am just not in the mood to set it up as such...
CatVac™ is a device that looks like a hairdryer with one of those comb-like attachments that actually sucks fleas off instead. I would never admit that perhaps the idea occurred to me when I was considering vacuuming our kitten with our new vacuum. I would never actually try it, even just a little on the top of the head with the super narrow attachment even if it was just for a millisecond. Nope. Anyway, someone needs to invent one of these, 'cause it's silly to wash a cat with water when they have those fancy tongues and all.

Pre-Ringed Wranglers™ are disgusting, but there's probably a market for rednecks who dip to buy their Wranglers with the Skoal can ring in the pocket already, kinda like stone-washed or pseudo-holey poser jeans. Comes in two orientations, left pocket or right. (Don't ask me what they mean.)
Oh no, I was beginning to relax. Gotta speed it up here. After fucking around, I've got to drop The Lip Model off at the laundry mat, help her start the clothes, go pick up the Former Future President and her pal, a couple things and a couple things, including pizzas and movies, go back and pick up The Lip Model and take her to her boyfriend's house and be back home before The Genius and Snaggletooth (who lost another tooth- Awwww) burn down the house. Yes, I have taken to leaving them home with my cell phone (when I am with my daughters and their phones for small jaunts). My justification is that it is safer than my driving them around talking on my cell phone. Seriously. Seriously. Stay in the house, don't try to cut your ropes and watch tv and you'll be just fine. Don't mention this to a soul and the tooth fairy will be just fine.

It's just another way I'm a bad mom and a lousy wife, I know, but I really need to go out and buy new aprons though. How can I cook meatloaf without them? I also need to go pick up some new hair rollers and cunt douche or else how am I going to wake up in time to make bacon and eggs and and lay back and take it before Mr. Bee rushes off to make money for me to buy aprons? You see the dilemma I'm in, I'm sure.

I discovered in my browser's history last night that The Lip Model viewed my blog for 25 minutes and the world did not implode. Ha, I just heard The Genius ask in the living room, "Did Mommy leave already?" See, they can't even tell if I'm here or not, except when I am futilely asking them to do chores. "That should teach you not to ask me for something to eat, 'cause if I'm gonna cook, someone's going to have to help me unload the dishwasher, scoop out the catbox, bring up the trash can from the end of driveway which is a mile long. Hmmm, now that I'm looking at you, I am noticing you haven't showered in a week. School starts in a week and you should really shower before that, you know. Yes, ok, ok, you can just go jump on the trampoline with the sprinkler raining down on you, but only for a little bit, 'cause when I finish this post, I'm going to go get some stuff done. Seriously. Seriously.

So, you see my dilemma, I'm sure. It's that I'm lazy and my motivation is all purely extrinsic and superficial. Can't we just sleep on dirty sheets another day? Oh yea, I had the laundry sitting on the front porch when it rained yesterday and I'd better go wash it, or it will mildew. Oh, wait, this is one of those Damn, That's Sexy posts, isn't it?

I was going to make it a Two Great Tastes That Taste Nasty Together, but I couldn't find anything... because I didn't look. Ok, I'll look. Here.

Bill Cosby covers The Beatles' Sergeant Pepper's Lonely Hearts Club Band

Jim Carrey covers The Beatles' I Am The Walrus

Actually, that second one confuses me. Ok, now I gotta go, 'cause I'm in trouble. The bra police just showed up and said my boobs aren't pointy enough. Arrgghghgh.


The Gold Medal for Sucking Goes To... American Idoltry

Once upon a time long, long ago in a land far, far away there was a baby who was destined to do great things. While others called him a bastard, his mother called him Jesus. She was extremely proud of her son, and for good reason; he invented the vacuum cleaner, nothing less than the single most wonderful contribution to the advancement of women and the eventual invention of carpet. All across the magical land of fairies Jesus wandered with his upright walking friend, Kirby, wondering what purpose he might have in this world without a father, but for the one which visited him in his mind from time to time. In a time when dumpsters of lore were slim to none, a young, adolescent Jesus, hungry and dirty, searched high and low for a Double Chocolate Chip Frappuccino Creme w/whip and a source of power with which Kirby might suck the scum from the earth so that it could more properly sit in a bag in a pile of bags. What baby-faced Jesus found was nothing less than a miracle.

After forty days and forty nights of this, his hyper-caffeinated state, he finally knelt down in despair and lamented, "Father, I cannot carry this, your useless tool, another minute. I shall leave it here at this very bathhouse if you do not give me a sign." At that very moment a fairy God mother appeared to Jesus, who was now sixteen and a half and asked him, "Young, sexy Jesus, why do you shake your fists at your father and threaten to forsake Kirby, your only friend?" "Fairy God mother, I have been carrying around my father's useless tool since the first day of school. The young virgins have been laughing at me and the throwers of the sacred calfskin have taken to taunting me, 'Look at Jesus who sayeth his father is God and yet he walketh around with a useless tool.' I can't take it anymore. I'm quitting the team and I'm running away."

"Jesus, sweet, sweet Jesus, to where will you run? Far and wide people have heard of you and your useless tool. You cannot escape your destiny. You must stay and face your fear." At that very moment tears ran from Jesus's eyes to the dusty earth, rain came down from the sky after a long drought, and a fierce bolt of lightning struck the kite Jesus had been flying, sending a jolt of electricity through his now erect penis into Kirby who sucked the scum of the earth for the first time that day. A great cleansing fluid emerged and Jesus knew deep down in his heart what he must do. "Come hell or high water, Father, I shall show all of the peoples of the earth your tool, my tool, or my name isn't Jesus Christ Superstar." From that day forth, the scum of the earth were on the run from Jesus, but Jesus did not give up. He and his band of merrymakers have been spreading the gospel of Kirby and God's almighty cleansing fluid door to door, restoring virginity to thousands of satisfied customers, for centuries.

Many have wondered what happened Kirby over the years, and the secret has long been kept. Until now. Kirby has been in my care now for over three years. He was not in very good shape. My grandmother-in-law could not take care of his needs it seems and the time was nigh that I set forth to carry on the legacy of Jesus's seed, sucking the scum of the earth. Jesus came into my heart and guided me to Target where he said I would find my Bissel, a bagless wonder, for only $79.99. My faith has been restored. Last night Bissel sucked for me like no other ever has. He sucked places I did not even know needed sucking. He was thorough, he was powerful and he lasted until the job was done. After I was satisfied, Jesus said to me, "Ryan, now you know what God's tool is capable of. Kirby died and Bissel rose from the ashes. This is my new testament, the world is now ready for you to suck the scum of the earth so that disease, famine, and war can be no more, so the virginity of the earth's forests may be restored, and so all suffering will be ended. It is now time for me to come again and this time you are going to help me do it. Go be my tool."

What could I do? What could I do? I got all choked up and I gave him a hug. I powered up my Bissel and he cleaned my rug. It's virginity's been restored and I came right away with a different point of view. I promised Jesus I would spread the word through my top forty radio show and he said, "Yea. Go forth and speak the truth sexily. When more people suck the scum of the earth like you, impeachment will occur. What a glorious day that will be. Care Bears will slide down rainbows into vats of Jello™. The simulcast will be hosted by you, Ryan Secrest, and America can text 'HOTDAMN' to 21187 to decide if it should use margarine or real butter in the chocolate chip cookies that each and every American will receive in scheduled mailings over the course of the next 13 months according to the last four digits of their social security numbers and democracy will be restored.

Amen, and so on and so forth.

(Um, I got a new vacuum. Can you tell?)


What's Better Than a Good 'Ol Kick in the Ass?

Two good 'ol kicks in the ass!

Asskickers extraordinaire Ok Jimm and the Dr. Zaius have given me the extremely esteemed "Kick Ass Blogger" Award.

But, don't forget to read the fine print:
1) Choose five other bloggers that you feel are "Kick Ass Bloggers"

2) Let them know that they have received an award.

3) Link back to both the person who awarded you and also to mammadawg.com

4) Visit the Kick Ass Blogger Club HQ to sign Mr. Linky and leave a comment.
I've actually already made a list of "Kick Ass" Bloggers. It's called my blogroll, but there are a few special bloggers to whom I'll pass the award.

While he is ultra "Kick Ass," I'd rather think that's not exactly what he'd do with such an opportunity. This very special award goes to M. Yu:

Another blogger who has been known to kick an ass or two in her day can kick my ass any time. I do hereby offer this award to the ever bouncy and sometimes perky DCup:

Now Randal, I know you are most capable of kickin' some ass, but I'd hate for you to have to go to all that trouble, so why don't you just sit back and let me do all the work as I offer you this award:

Now, this very special blogger does not ignore the negative signs. He's countin' heads and callin' 'em like he sees 'em. iSplotchy™ most certainly iKicks some iAss and deserves this special iAward:

And lastly, but never leastly, I'd like to offer this very special award to one of this first bloggers who kicked my ass. With. His. Mind. the ineffable Dr. Monkey von Monkerstein:

Thanks for kickin' so much ass, you guys!


A Mother's Work is Never Glum

I am reunited with my baby bees and, though the week and a half long break was good, it is good for it to be over. Things have been nice at my in-laws, relaxed and minimally filling. We are starting the transition into a 9:30 bedtime as school approaches, to begin the last week of August. I laid with The Genius and Snaggletooth as they went to bed last night, an activity that sometimes holds within it some of our most precious moments.

I appreciated the new and improved back scratching scenario, as the old and unimproved one involved my lying between them, scratching both of their backs. The Genius had the idea that with Snaggletooth in the middle, we should make a back scratching chain, taking turns calling "Switch." The fact that I was able to get my back scratched for a change was great, but paled in comparison to the conversation. The Genius has been asking lately, even pre-olympics how he could break a world record, but even more inquisitively,

"Mommy, what do you think I could set a world record in?"

"I don't know, love. What would you like to win a world record doing?"

"I don't know. Is there a world record related to playing World of Warcraft?"

"I don't know about that. We should get a book of world records and you can look at it."

Duh, there's the interweb. The Guiness Book of World Records is probably as obsolete as the pristine set of children's encyclopedias from 1997 that I can't even give away, much less get $5.00 for at Half Price Books. I told the bees I'd just watched four men from the US set a world record, in fact one of the men was the man who is likely going to win more gold medals than any other person in the history of the Olympics.

"What did they do?"

"They swam faster in a relay medley than any other team has ever done. "

Of course, a discussion of what a relay medley was ensued. Snaggletooth was disappointed there was not a fifth leg responsible for swimming the dog paddle. And we discussed what other Olympic sports there were.

"Is there archery?"

"Yes, and weightlifting and ping-pong and even badminton."

("Badminton is the sport with those racquets and those little birdies. Birdies are those little....")

"Is there a competition to see who can play the computer until his eyes melt?"

"That doesn't sound like a competition with any winners."

"There's even a competition to see who can do crossword puzzles the fastest."

"Oooh, crossword puzzles. That sounds exciting."

"Actually, there's even a movie about that competition."

Thinking about eyes melting reminded me of this story (h/t to The Omnipotent Poobah. I proceeded to tell my children that if a person that finds something that looks like Jesus or the Virgin Mary (go down a bit- the link was quinky), that person could sell it on eBay. Of course, the most pressing question was:

"Who's the Virgin Mary?"

"She's the mythical mother of Jesus."

"What's a virgin?"

"A virgin is a person who hasn't had sex."

(There was a brief, but noticeable learning moment, and then, with incredibility...)

"How can she have a baby if she didn't have sex?"

"I know. Well, she couldn't have. The myth is that the Virgin Mary was Jesus's mother and God was his father."

Of course, I was glad they didn't try to make any more sense of that than that and that Snaggletooth had the insight to point out that no one really knows what Jesus looked like. We did some fake noises, coughs, snores, meows, sneezes and eventually, with my help, they went to sleep.

This morning (Well, it's after midnight now; you know what I mean.) there was more, more conversing and an advertisement on Nickelodeon for a contest to create a character and story line. We discussed the ramifications of winning and when asked what kind of character he should create, I suggested he start drawing or writing a story and see what he came up with. As I got up to do something, I told The Genius to be careful standing on his head on his grandfather's giant cushy chair. He showed me some standing on his head stunts and how he could put his foot over his head.

"You're very limber."

"What's limber?"

"Flexible. You would be very good at yoga."

He quietly concurred and, a moment later, declared, "Daddy's more fun than you, but you're more supportive."

I don't call him The Genius for nothing.


An Effective Letter to The Editor

Dear Editor,

I'd like to complain. I think I may be bleeding internally. Maybe. I'm not sure. There seems to be a red discharge coming out of my vagina. It may be a symptom of being bitten by a Florida wolf spider. I think I may be dying; I've been holding my breath for the last four hours and I feel a little lightheaded. The best I can figure is that the spider was either afraid of my leg as I was not wearing my usual camouflage, hair, or thought my leg looked tasty (it is) and decided it wanted to eat it. Either way, I'd like to file a complaint. It hurt for, like, 10 seconds. Now there's a maniacal Floridian wolf spider roaming free. What about the children? This sort of thing cannot be tolerated.

And Ed (you don't mind if I call you that, do you?), I was supposed to leave 24 minutes ago to drive up to the DFW area to pick up my baby bees from my in-laws. I did the thing and the thing and I don't want to drive for that long. While it is true that I used to write my best poetry while driving, listing my favorite words from songs on the radio or maybe this time from that Spoon CD, until a theme, phrase, or emotion emerges. I haven't written a poem in months and am feeling lucky. It's probably because I got lucky in a recent dream. My former professor and I fell in love with each other and she and I were naked and I had a penis and I wondered if it was actually gay sex if I penetrated her. I can still feel her naked body on top of mine and I think that I may be a bad person because in my dream her husband had volunteered to be the subject in a huge corporate medical company's secret experiment to attempt to transplant his head onto a new body, I think a cloned one. There was major risk involved, but major advancements to medical technology if the operation was a success. The thing is, it horrified me and I was very worried when I found myself on the floor of the facility with people trying to quickly and carefully move the body to the head at the appropriate time having to step over me because I was annoyingly lying on the floor. I don't know if the surgery went well, but I didn't trip the handlers. In my dream, I told Mr. Bee about my and Dr. C's kissing and he wasn't all that happy, but I was. Will you ask Dear Abby what all this means?

I may or may not be able to post tomorrow, but I will be able to do the following:
Get my cuddle on with some super cute munchkins. √
Watch sports, Matlock or Andy Griffith with my father in-law. √
Eat 99.9 cookies.
(Strawberry shortcake and ice cream)
Have it pointed out to me that my vehicle registration expired and/or √
Be reminded again that the tape over the break lights will have to be replaced by January.
(I overlooked the oil change discussion.)
Take a shower with no water pressure.
Hear what the weather will be like on my drive back two days in advance. √
Assume that my in-laws have a sexless marriage, lest some major cognitive dissonance occur. √
Secretly blame them for the overly-platonic nature of my marriage. √
Remember that my mother just moved six states away from my step-father, though they're not divorcing. √
Wonder if my mom is gay. √
Joke with them about my and their son's upcoming wedding (after 10 years together). (I actually like this one.)
Wash a few dirty clothes I am taking with me.
Make the curtains to cover the closet with the best sewing set-up ever.
Feel bad that I broke my mother in-law's sewing machine.
Notice my skinny six year-old gained some weight at his grandparents' and wonder what I'm doing wrong.
Be late for dinner tonight. √
Crap. √

So, as you can see, it is probably best I get these issues out in the open like this, where no one I know in my 3-D life will read them. Your attention in these matters is appreciated.

Your Loyal SomethingSomethingist,

Freida Bee

(I updated the post to √ things off the list and/ or amend it.)

I'm Not a Free Thinker. I Just Play One on TV.

You guys (probably) know I'm licked (and not in a good way). I will (most likely) use my feeble, corruptible vote to attempt to stave off the rule of McMuffin, but I agree with these messages wholefuckingheartedly. I am the epitome of the disenfranchised voter. Quick, someone sell me a cream for that.

Check out The Largest Minority or watch Manila's videos at his YouTube channel, then come back and remind me why I'm voting Democratic.... I blame Kucinich.


The Semi-Official Kindamazing MegaSpastic Meta-Blogtastic Post of the Upcoming 2008 Fall Olympics

If I don't act fast, something bad's gonna happen. If I do, then it's gonna rain puppies from heaven and be the most spectacular day evah! In the interest of interest (mine), I have to make this speedy or all hope of pulling myself out of this lateral spiral will be temporarily misplaced.

Freida. Freida. Freida. Chillax. Eat another donut. Follow the little dancing blue pill and repeat after me:
"The American Flag is watching after me and it's all gonna be okay, unless it's not.

"I do solemnly pinky swear to shut my mouth and stop complaining. So, help me God.

There, there, that's better now. Those painful erections should be gone in a few hours and then you'll know that prayer works wonders and you can get back the important chores you must do to protect all your American freedoms:
Mow your yard.
Curl your hair.
Practice your fake smile.
Double tie your Nikes™.
Rubber stamp your trash heap.
Trim your nose hairs.
Eat all your Pigs in a Blanket™.
Learn your Bible Verse of The Day™.
Power spray your cunt.
Rinse your mouth out with Clorox™.
Put on your big foam finger.
Help a rich person throw away his extra food.
Fill up your Tank.
Get out the boat.
Have a Coke™ and a Smile™.
Say The Pledge of Malfeasance™.
Apologize to Sara Lee™.
Hug an astronaut.
Brush your breath.
Shit a brick.
Super Glue™ your eyes shut.
Count to 10:30.
Blow your priest.
Tip your cable server.
SuperSize™ it.

And last, but never least...

Press your straight jacket.

Stay tuned for when someone finally asks, "What the fuck?"


Thank Gawd It's All Fo Schizzel: Hairdate TMC (Too Much Coffee)

Do not ask me what is motivating me to blog at this ungodly hour, 6:40 AM, but let's not look a gift donkey in the ass. I think my teenage angst is showing. Maybe it's guilt for going to and shopping at IKEA, TX for the first time yesterday. Plus, have you ever had your eyelids licked by a bunny? It's hard to sleep through, not that you should want to. Trust me... unless you then recall catching the bunny eating kitten shit from the litter box the little varmint insists on sharing with him (or her- I haven't stared at bunny genitalia recently (If I get a Google hit from that, that's it, I'm shaving my eyebrows)). I took The Former Future President with me (making it a double sin), as she is a veteran at getting lost in IKEA, TX with her father. At least there was "The Guy Who Has $500" walking around being an ass espousing what a bargain $700 such and suches were and announcing, "I've got $500." My daughter developed a healthy loathing for him as we were apparently in pace with the fella as we made our way through the rat maze.

I must say that in addition to being over-qualified to be a foreign policy expert, if the device of contrast is employed [h/t to The Omnipotent Poohbah (and that's not the meager Omnipotent Poohbah of Punctuation (this is some sort of redundancy is it not, WM (**)))], I am eminently over-qualified to design curtainry for IKEA, TX. I simply wanted some $.99 curtains for our closet doorways, though I was even willing to negotiate, but thought the $1.99 twin sheets in natural cotton ecru were prettier than anything I saw being sold as a curtain and purchased a flat sheet that I'm gonna get all Martha Stewart on (if you donate the money, I will videotape my rolling in the $15 I saved) and embroider. Did I just write that? "Don't thank me, yet," is my catch-phrase with Mr. Bee.

It seems the bug of domesticity hit me this week and when I'm not re-upholstering porch swings and lounging in hot tubs, I am getting back on the coffee sauce and untangling balls of yarn and What Not To Wearing it up with The Former Future President. That's true. In the interest of de-clutterization, I thought it best to get rid of a few items that I hadn't worn in the last six years. Face it, the thyroid surgery's coinciding with the post-pregnancy weight cannot be undone and can no longer be denied. I'm trying some of that Secret mojo on the whole deal (I swear I don't know what it really is, but I am versed in affirmations well enough to know that I think it means this) and am letting go of the old, so that the new can move right in now that I've found a material source for my future moo-moos by way of cotton sheets Made in Sweden™ in IKEA, TX. Prompted by a new dresser my in-laws gave us, in addition to the utterly excessive "Brew Station," I have gone batshit crazy moving guano around. In order for Bravo not to sue me, I cannot post the home improvement pics right now (ok, I'm lazy, but just believe we me, the improvement is awesome- or, at least noticeable).

The Former Future President was so unspeakably bored in her final days of grounding that she helped me by sorting my clothing and shoes into three stacks: One, the approval stack; Three, the disapproval stack; And, Two, the stack of disapproval that I contested. Interestingly, the piles were a pretty even mix. I was ready for this. We negotiated that I got to keep half of the contested pile and that was that. My closet is much lighter and my clothes fit into the new dresser and no one was hurt in the process. I did come back to her later, after I'd been bagging the clothes to be donated, and insisted on a swap out of about three items that she'd selected for me to keep for ones that I was set to give away. The only thing I have missed so far is the old holy t-shirt I was going to wear to bed last night until I discovered it among the casualties, but I just raided Mr. Bee's drawer, mostly because I was too lazy to fish it out of the bags which are now on the staging ground between my room and the carport, aka the porch. As far as the hairdate goes, perhaps some uninterestingly intimate pics shall be divulged at a later date, but for now just take my word for it that my current haircut would look remarkably like Katie Holmes' new do if Carrot Top were her stylist.

I was so uncomfortable with a four-paragraph essay that I have added this fifth paragraph to decrease the teenage angst, to increase my SAT score, and to pose all the important questions: Did you know IKEA, TX has its own restaurant and probably zip code? Did you know that bunnies are nocturnal and that once they are acclimated to their environments, they eat them? Did you know I don't like raisins? Did you know that when I was 6, my neighbor and I had matching white, bell-bottomed, polyester jumpsuits with colorful polka dots on them? Did you know that Carl Jung usually considered the astrological charts of his therapy clients? Did you know it wasn't really butter? Did you know that Texas Mountain Laurels smell like grape soda? Did you know that it is best not to inquire of the lady with the purple eye shadow at the Popeye's drive-thru if the mashed potatoes are instant and contain bacon? Did you know that thrift store clothes stink until you wash them? Did you know that pumpkin pies that accidentally contain too much salt rather than too much white sugar taste nasty? Did you know Mr. Bee's dad is 6"6' and tries to imply that Mr. Bee is short at 6"2'? Did you know that it will ruin your lefty blog cred to admit that you watched So You Think You Can Dance, even if it's because you have a fake crush on Twitch? Did you know that it says in the Bible that when your tongue is tired when oral sexing your woman that sucking will give it a little break until you can get back to it? (I think Jesus said that.) Did you know the HEB at Congress and Oltorf was out of carob almonds? (Why didn't you tell me?) Did you know that if you save a stack of bills and wait 6 months, you can just throw it away? Did you know that if you teach your 15 year-old daughter to drive in your country neighborhood, the most dangerous part is not where she sideswipes the van on trees in the driveway, but rather the part where she almost careens into the 30-foot ditch? Did you know that going to war is not conducive to peace? Did you know that killing people to teach that killing is wrong is hypocritical? Did you know that I could go on and on with this shit? Did you know that if you saturate fabric that is blood-stained with hydrogen peroxide before you do anything else to it, the stain will then wash out with a normal washing? Did you know that those green corduroy pants that sat in my closet for two years would make the best cut-offs ever? Did you know that if you give your daughter-in-law a bulk box of country gravy, she will think you are trying to kill her? Did you know that I would rather do this than go to the laundry mat? Did you know that if you read The Velveteen Rabbit as a child, you will be thrilled when a bunny snuggles in bed with you when you are almost (but, not too close to) 40? Did you know that if you tell your children that there are no such things as "bad" words (or "bad" fingers for that matter), they will have no qualms about using them. Did you know that if you wash your child's mouth out with soap for cussing, she will only have a secret blog that she will not tell you about. Did you know that there comes a point when all good things must come to an end? (I'm not sure whether I believe that or not, but that is neither there nor here when I'm hungry).

Actually, maybe 6 paragraphs will defy convention just enough to boost my SAT score another 2 points because those who judge will think I think outside the proverbial box, I think.


Just Have a Seat, Relax...

And Listen to Fluffy by Ween

While I work on some home improvement projects.


It's Gettin' Hot in Here...

So Take Off All Your Clothes.

I need an occasion, any occasion to say it's time for some gift-giving. My half birthday's coming up in a week and a half. McMuffin looked like an ass this week comparing Obama's popularity to Paris Hilton and Britney Spears and then Hilton's mom who gives him the big bucks got pissed. Ha. Ha. My sons are out of town and my daughters are at their dad's 'til Tuesday, so Mr. Bee and I are gonna do some romantic hot tubbin' in the yard with an old tub he brought home from a rich person's house. Schwaank! Do I need a reason to give out gifts? Why can't I just admit that after I saw OKJimm's post yesterday, I severely coveted his having that picture of an angry mob action figure set on his blog, went to McPhee's and got Teh Urge™ (U. Savage- I don't know about Randal, but I have to look such things up) to virtually give some gifts to some dear blog friends.

So, without any further ado and the like and so forth and so on and an on and an on on on on. Since we're taking our clothes off, I first want to bestow this little gem to the Jonestown crew. I know you've been doling out the Kool Aid™ to all of us, but I know you've secretly been drinking a lot yourselves. Since that shit runs right through you, you're gonna to need enough room for that big-ass diaper...

DCup, despite your being an official member of the Jonestown crew, I haven't seen you over there lately. I think that due to your being a woman of finer taste, you may need a little more coaxing, and since I will not be able to make it on over to Georgia in time for the festivities, I'd like to offer you this 'lil assistant to help you out (only when Mathman's too busy mathing of course)...

For Whiskey Marie. If I'm going to imaginarily go on a vacay with you, I want to be sure our mouths are good and bacony. Mmmm mmm...

Randal, I wish you endless hours of entertainment with this Edgar Allan Poe action figure...

Oh no, I gotta leave work in a few minutes...

Romius, to pick up tha ladiez!

Well, there were many many more gifts to be given, so this will have to be the first in a series.

The last gift is not from McPhee's, and I was going to email it to you, Liberality, but I do not have your email address, so I'll give you this childhood picture of your adopted actor, Keanu Reeves.

He's so cute.

It's time to go pick up Mr. Bee from the visit with his parents.


"God™ Loves You Just the Way You Are, But Too Much to Let You Stay That Way." *

Take heed, folks, lest you be caught in your dirty underwares in a terrrrist attack. Though it might be flattering to myself to think the reason my blog was reported as being a potential SPAM™ blog is because I am one of those subversive leftists types, I hardly think my Housewife Logs and sickeningly cute bunny posts of late would cast me in such a light. Was it my SPAM Singles™ post or my feeble attempt to brainwash people with a seductive Barbarella™ pic?

Anyway, since it is not all that uncommon for me to have to skip a day or two posting, you may not have noticed I was gone, but I was. My posting abilities were frozen for two days until Blogger™ was able to determine that Freida Bee™ is not just some gimmick to sell free being(s). Thanks Blogger™ for the email notifying me that my abilities had been restored. Not. Thank you to those of you who linked to me in the interim as well. I hear the SPAM blog syndrome's been going around and I hope it doesn't happen to you. Be sure to duct tape your windows.

It probably wasn't all bad that I was not able to post yesterday as my in-laws came to pick up my sons for a week-long visit and I decided to clean my house for a change. Generally, I am a lot more talk there than action, but a little deadline like that helped me to get quite a bit done. I wish I'd taken a before and after pic of my couch because the change is riveting... astounding. Geeez.

Look, I know I have been pitifully short on teh politicos for a while now. Last summer Mr. Bee and I were sharing a vehicle and half of the time I would drop him off at work so I could use the car and would listen to NPR™ tons, but in this past year, his employer has been providing him with a vehicle (and ga$) and The Lip Model has taken to co-opting the radio for her own jammonic purposes. I don't usually complain as I am better versed in the ways of a hipster, but I am woefully less informed newswise, but for what I read online, what little I'm there- uh. Watching the local news gains me zilch plus nada as far as information goes. In fact, sometimes I feel dumber after watching it, but what else am I going to watch after Are You Smarter Than a First Grader™ before I encourage my children to explore good olde fashioned family values™ with The Family Guy™?

It's summer. I just realized that while The Genius has definitively mastered the Nestea Plunge™ and leading a WOW™ guild, perhaps I could have done a better job of reading with him and such this summer. Actually, he has read the first few Harry Potter™ books this summer; it is more so Snaggletooth who needs to practice his reading. He's halfway through his new Indiana Jones™ Lego™ DS™ game and he can spell Mechquest™ in a Google™ search. How's that for summer accomplishment?

Having not been very political lately, I'm even thanking someone for calling me SPAM™ because see how this here's blog fodder. I won't let the terrrists win. I just don't know what there is to say about it all. Certainly, there are things to be said. I just don't know what they are. I agree with Ralph Nader's policy stances and yet, I am planning on voting for Obama. That about sums it up. I figure this is one of those times when it is most effective to act on a local level, and in particular this summer, right in my own house, so I can be more effective come fall.

In past years, I have worked with kids at my sons' elementary school to grow gardens and helped out with a math education research group at UT, but this last year I was too overwhelmed in school and in my personal life to do such things, much less participate in a Kucinich campaign on campus, or join the roller derby. I like to think that becoming a teacher is a way to combine my activist inclinations with a paycheck. I know I will be up against The Man™ and not necessarily in a warm and squishy way, but my forms of activism have shifted over the years.

When The Lip Model and The Former Future President were little, I was resolute not to let them attend public schools. I was able to find an affordable bilingual Montessori school for them to attend. In fact, one year they offered one of my daughters a scholarship and I helped them plant a vegetable garden, but the ex-Mr. Bee and I disagreed on the public school debate. We tried having The Lip Model in public school in Kindergarten, but I was most unhappy with the experience. I wasn't so much dissappointed with the book learning stuff as I was with the types of messages I heard the teacher relaying to the children, reinforcing sexism mainly. She clearly expected of the boys to be more precocious in an intellectual and physical way, while the girls were allowed the space to be emotional at the expense of the boys.

This sort of thing happens oh so subtly and frequently and it has not happened in every one of the many many classrooms I have since seen my children inhabit, but the damage done in those in which it has is unmistakeable. I have seen my sons contend with the Boys Don't Cry™ mantra and my girls wear pink tutus- wait that was before they started public schools. I have seen one of The Genius's teacher be lax with him under the guise "Boys Will Be Boys"™ while she expected the girls in her class to be on their best beahvior... and they were. These things benefit neither gender and I am hoping that these are some of the issues that I can, one interaction at a time, confront being a teacher. Classism's another of my hot button issues and I am well aware that the media and peers have a big impact on the pressures children face.

The Former Future President has been angling to go to an alternative school for a couple years now, which feels so full circle to me, because I originally thought that teaching would be a good way to send her to a private school back when she was very seriously competing in the tennis circuit™. Her dad really did so much for her that way, and she was (likely, still is) ranked in the state of Texas™ and nationally, but decided to drop out of competing when she went into middle school. I try my best to encourage her to play for her school team without pushing her, but it's her life. Back when she was playing, I thought that teaching at a particular school in the Austin area that has a very strong tennis academy might be a way I could afford to send here there.

But, it turns out that it's a wonderously creative alternative school she wishes to attend rather than the elitist path to a tennis scholarship (though it's expensive, so it's elitist too, I suppose). Ironically, she has been the child of mine who has performed the best in public schools, doing the GT program, getting into the math and science magnet, all the while making (mostly) good choices and good grades and being a cooperative yet inventive person in our family. Truly, she rocks and I have been thinking more and more that teaching at some super awesome alternative school that enabled my own kids to go there for free or at a reduced price might be the way for me to go.

I'll just put in the applications next spring and see what my choices are. DCup's post this morning caused me to recall how I met Mr. Bee. I first met him when I was sitting on the stairs between the house and the outdoor kitchen at a house where I lived with some other mom friends when I was a single mother of just my daughters. I also happened to be a full nine months pregnant when our mutual friend brought him out to our ruralish house for a visit. It was not love at first sight or anything of that sort. We have since figured out that one of his closest friends was one of the closest friends of one of my closest friends (huh?), but we didn't see each other again until a few months later when I was one of the coordinators of a collective homeschool group (my daughters attended in lieu of The Lip Model's being in 1st grade) for which he volunteered.

Later, he helped me by watching my son a couple times and got me stoned a few times after our school outings (good creds for the b-sitting, I know), but it was at a Halloween Birthday party I attended with my then girlfriend that our first real flirting occurred. I was dressed in man drag with a mustache and he was dressed in woman drag in a dress and we sat in a playhouse in the back yard talking and smoking pot for some time. A couple weeks later I had a dream that I kissed him and when I did, I levitated a few feet up in the air. When I saw him later that day, I did instigate a kiss (no levitation occurred- I've been waiting ever since). Things weren't working out very well with the lady I was seeing, plus she was pissed (understandably) when I told her about the ki$$. There was some other stuff and then some other stuff, but in the interest of moving right along, we've been shacking up for coming on 10 years.

I can't say that I would not do things differently if they were presented before me now with what I have learned, but there's not much to be done about that. Hangin' out and smoking pot or even drinking beer or wine together has no part in our relationship now; I'm coming up on 6 years of sobriety now, and that has been a difficult transition for us to make together, but something sappy and something else sappy and here we are.

I'm not really looking forward to starting my last semester of classes here in a few weeks. It promises to be difficult. Sometimes I am quite nervous about the prospect of being a teacher though and know I will miss this time in career limbo. The fact that I will have a math degree as well as teacher certification gives me some solace that I could wile away my pasty-skinned days behind a desk crunching numbers if teaching drives me absolutely batshit crazy, but there would be little humanitarian satisfaction in such endeavors for me.

Even if I suspect that public schools are only in place to be the Happy Meal™ socialist solution corporations have manufactured so they can have an available workforce, I have been operating on my formerly loathed stance of "changing the system from within." Isn't this the choice we are faced with at this moment re: our presidential election? There are very few people I have encountered, Democrat, Republican, or Green Party who think Obama is the best president we could have, or that we even have any choice in the matter at this time, except to vote for Obama, McCain, or a sure-to-lose third party candidate that may hand the election to McCain.

So, for me, writing about the personal is a microcosmic effort on my part to write about my ineffectivenesses on a macroscopic level. I am a mother who wanted no part of video games for her children, who wanted my children to never be emotionally stifled (except by me, damnit), who said I will not inflict those poisons (vaccinations, hormones, preservatives) on my children, who I will never yell at (ha) or spank (I think I have tried it out of desperation or in a drastic situation about once per child- never with a good result, so this one I can say I uphold). I envy people who do not lose their counterculture edge. I could easily be mistaken for a middle class wife at times and when I can't, I feel the pressure to get my act together.

I am of the belief that this is one of my issues (It's hypocrisy, isn't it?) and being such, it manifests itself in differing realms of my life: political action, career, parenting, sexual..., blogging? So, verily I will be back to the utter innanity of the difference between dusting and scrubbing toilets in two-thirds a fortnight, however long that is.

*That's my favorite line from Junebug, which I watched last night in a clean house that I had all to myself.