This is Timmy Turner; He's Got Timmy Turner's Disease*

Hello love. Where have I been? Where have you been? I couldn't possibly know, because I have been away from the blogomosphere far too much this past week. I have mixed feelings about that. On the one hand, I have often lamented this addiction of sorts when I had other things I was neglecting, and here it is one week into my student teaching and I have been so wrapped up in it that I have spent only a few minutes a day checking emails, looking at stats and all that. I am supposed to be happy about that, right?

I am sososososo glad that the bulk of my schoolwork this semester involves activities relating to my future career. I am sososo burned out on taking tests and all the grades and the studying that... uh, I can't wait until I can inflict the pain onto others?

I am actually loving being in my mentor's classroom. She is a super veteran teacher of 17 years. We have kids the same age and she is just two years older than me. It is a perfect match-up. I really like her. I can only imagine how I'd feel to be apprenticing with someone 15 years younger than me with no kids. Not that he or she would not be a good teacher. It's just that I'm bitchy like that. I don't much like being told what to do, and I can take it so much better when I don't think the thing I am being told to do is wrong.

I love my kids. As of next Wednesday, I will be their teacher for most of the rest of the semester. Poor dears. Starting the following week, I will be teaching an accelerated class as well. They are both cool groups of 6th graders.

I sat in on one of my teacher's classes that I will not be teaching..., thankfully (though I may be their sub from time to time), and saw my future more realistically. She's got a class with almost half special needs. It's an inclusion class, and oh my lord, after seeing the other classes all week, I nearly went into shock and saw the tears in her eyes when she was talking about what a challenge it is to her, veteran and all.

I can't fool myself. It is most likely that I will have to start teaching there, with the low-tracked, behaviorally challenged kids. NCLB, teacher pay incentives, and general fucked up fucked uppery have insured that. Those with the best experience often get matched with the advanced students- sometimes, they are given that choice, and then those well-performing students do better test-wise and that teacher might get a performance bonus in upcoming years, and the system perpetuates itself. The low-track students fall further behind when they go slower than their fast-paced peers and they may even have to be the group a brand spanking new teacher is learning on. I'm sure the bonding will be plentiferous, but after I saw my teacher's 6th period the other day, I started to get really nervous. I reported to my teacher that one child who was giving her grief flipped her off when she turned her back, and who wants to get paid to be abused like that? No one.

I also got annoyed by the learning specialist present in that classroom, as well. Every once in a while he would interrupt her and go to the side board and write out a not quite appropriate depiction of what she'd just said, and once he even stole her punchline, I knew from seeing her teach the same lesson earlier in the day. All around. Ughh.

But, that's not my class for now, and I am sure I will have my hands full enough dealing with the smarties. Not too surprisingly, the accelerated class is louder than the other class. Entitlement given their place in the social fabric of society is already in place.

I will likely try different approaches with my kids, more messy and hands on, than my teacher seems comfortable with, but she's really good. I am kind of getting off on all her classroom "systems." She has a system for everything: participation, homework, grades, late work, no homework, when they enter the class, how she dismisses them. Everything. I never realized quite how much of a teacher's job is clerical. I suspected that the majority of the work was done outside of the hours of teaching, but saw how my teacher streamlines things, so that she can focus on the content more in those off hours. Her emphasizing her insistence to post grades online (for students and parents) as to not have them expect them to be posted every single day is the kind of thing one wouldn't think about without having experienced it. Quite valuable.

One very bright girl yearnfully asked the teacher if they could ever go outside in her class. The teacher said there will be The Measure the Flagpole With its Shadow™ Day, and I made a mental note to have class outside sometimes. But, later when they're used to me.

Other Randomnesses:

Things are looking more and more like I will be able to manage going to France, and that would be great.

I fell down my front porch stairs on an icy day this week and have the world's biggest softball+ sized bruise on my ass.

Another thing I have had to do this week is iron my clothes, not wear pants I cut off at the botoom, and even wore some pretty comfortable heels one day. My brown boots are working for me best.

I missed Friday to stay home with a sick Snaggletooth, and a day off was never more appreciated.

I've got a thousand things to do today. Fortunately, about half include writing and school supplies, my two most prominent fetishes.

And, of course, there are the donuts to make.

* I laughed harder than I should have at that line on The Simpson's last night.

And, does the boy's name's being Timmy Turner on Fairly Odd Parents have anything to do with...?

Snaggletooth and I watched much of Vacation on Netflix last night and I can't imagine how funny Chevy Chase would have been in that with Will Farrell and Jack Black's underwear antics.

Coming Next Week: The heavy politics of using the copier in the teacher workroom.


This is a Test. This is Only a Test.

You'll never guess what I just spent my last two productive hours here at work doing. Seriously, you would never guess, and as fun as it might be to just wait and hear what you think it might be, I'm going to narrow the field with a few multiple choice choosin's.

Complete the following sentence.

Besides conducting my sexy security guard rounds in my long-sleeved black t, sexy black tuxedo pants, denim Wrangler western shirt with ESD smock atop, for the last two hours I have been:

a. Torturing the stray kitty I met on my rounds by alternating between petting it, running from it, chasing it, and dragging string across the back dock area.

b. Watching porn on my (less traceable) laptop and taking necessary bathroom breaks, fantasizing about my former co-worker.

c. Doing my Real Ananlysis homework to please my very awesome professora quien usada ser un hombre. (Es verdad, pero la parte del mis estuve trabajando.)

d. Arguing on the phone with Mr. Bee en Spanglish™ so nos baby Bee's no pueden comprender que we're saying.

e. Drifting in and out of consciousness while I wait for the coffee with crappy powdered creamer to kick in, (since I left my giant jar of milk on the kitchen counter this morning.)

f. Looking at ~10,000 short haircut pictures, so I can get my hair did this week.

g. Failing to resist the urge to eat the two remaining pieces of pepperoni pizza (on whole wheat crust, at least) that remained after I was included in the IT guys' Saturday pizza romp (as I am in nearly all food exchanges that take place here, since my desk is in the gynormous break-room of the facility, hence the alt. name of my positions' being "perma-break.")

h. Reading the mini-bio of every single Miss America since the dawn of time.

i. Becoming self-actualized and completing my life's journey.

j. Actually typing this, after packing up my belongings, from the nearby coffeeshop while I figure out what the hell I'm going to tell Mr. Bee.

k. Pulling out 200 of my gray hairs. One. By. One.

l. Writing my self-help book, inspired by
this post, entitled How to Re-claim Your Virginity in All Areas of Your Life.

m. Trying to figure out what are the differences between mathematical induction and strong mathematical induction (if there really are any- I'm skeptical).

n. Cranking music and getting all sweaty to the oldies.

o. Being locked out of the building when I left my keys and my badge at my desk, waiting for an employee to arrive rather than call my boss.

p. Sticking it to a the man.

q. Trying to catch M&M's in my mouth with very little success.

r. Practicing my juggling with the three tennis balls that are inexplicably here for me to "guard."

s. Wiping down every surface I touch (including each doorknob in the facility) with isopropyl alcohol wipes.

t. Froodling the naughty bits of aliens.

u. Reading blogs, and leaving estute comments. Business as usual.

v. Having a panic attack, because it seemed I may have overdosed on Xylitol from chewing an entire pack of Orbit gum.

w. Making up a jingle for the Brady Bunch sequel. It includes the line, "Here's the real story...."

x. Watching Diary of a Callgirl on Netflix, crushing real hard on the lady from the first season of Dr. Who.

y. Pondering the meaning of the universe and how the hell it either a.) all started out of nothing, or b.) how the original instigator came out of nothing.

z. Other (Must provide in comments).

Winner(s) get(s) (a) Froodle(s). You may state your Froodle request with your answer or after you discover your fortuitous fate.


The Rambly One

I am having a writer's block moment. The feelings I am having as I write are intense. I have felt a little like this for the last two weeks, ever since I firmly decided to submit the first 12500 words of a book to the major contest they conduct at the university I am in the last semester of attending.

I am fairly familiar with this sort of emotional wall. I face it quite frequently, but usually pertaining to things like taking a shower or doing the dishes. I can feel rendered immobile at worst, passive at best, anti-social nearly always.

School started this last week, and I am going to try and keep the complaining down to a minimum. I am retaking Real Analysis, and that's good. I lovelove my teacher and the class is not being taught Moore Method this time, so I am sure to glean much on the subject. Writing a book has been boring me though, and I seriously doubt that I can write anything that bores me and have it not come off the same.

I have all sorts of issues coming up, or remaining up, more appropriately. I'll just finish off the school thing. Starting next week I will observe a 6th grade math classroom and the next week take over one of the classes, and then the next take over a second (different level) class. It will be a ton of work, I'm guessing, and I'm doing stuff like submitting substitute teaching applications in the event my cooperating teacher wants me to sub, and signing up for certification tests and completing a portfolio.

In a couple months I will be hosting a female grad student who is becoming a teacher herself... from France. And, I am going to make it happen that I go there and stay with her. Our teaching program does this exchange and the cooperating folks are in the region of the French Alps. I could stay there for two weeks. Dude. I'm broke, but I'm gonna. I'm going to set up a Paypal thing and promise to blog from France. That should get everyone hanging on the edge of his and or her seats with suspense.

These things are all exciting, and I got myself a cool denim Wrangler shirt with which I have become inseparable, and The Future President' red Justin cowboy boots that she found at a thrift store are fitting me right fine and even making me a little sassy, what with the 70 degree weather we've been having (though not today, CDP ;).

Mr. Bee and I even had some of the most stellar sex we've ever had. Ever. last week, and I wasn't fully there to appreciate it. Oh, I was there for him, but it wasn't for me, what I was doing. I completely enjoyed it, but things have been different for months.

Last weekend I met a woman that I really clicked with. She's gay, and were I single, I would have been asking her out pronto. She's a friend of a friend and knows my situation, but I am mostly just in awe of the way I felt for several days. I can only recall feeling that way once before, about another woman I really dug and did it with on an isolated bridge by a river many many years ago after we'd known each other for several months. She was one of the midwife apprentices during my second pregnancy; I was single then, but, alas, she is/was not gay, nor really bi, though our sexy adventure was quite lovely for us both.

This woman I just met I will likely see again, and the unique thing about it all, is how utterly not-neurotic the whole thing is, and yet, the utter surface compatibilities are amazing. Our mutual friend is one of the few people in my day to day life who knows of my blogging, so I'll not say much now, though it is not a secret, but rather just a whole deal I am observing about myself.

And, it makes me sadder than ever re: Mr. Bee. I just had to talk to him, and the urgency I am feeling to come to some sort of workable solution for us both has gotten very strong. I could probably have categorized myself as a serial monogamist in the past, but in these past ten years, I have only been with one other person sexually, and though I have suggested threeways with Mr. Bee and have encouraged him to screw the lady at his work who is crushing on him hard, he has declined and I'm rather glad.

Cheating hasn't really been an issue for us, and I'm pretty sure that it is something we could not have withstood with all of the other challenges we've had. So, whatever we work out needs to be (as the whole season of Swingtown I watched in three days on Netflix last weekend reiterated over and over again) open and honest. I'm not all that hip on following traditions mindlessly, and see no reason not to make our thing be whatever we need in order to be able to stay together. But, it's scary.

I feel like I'm drifting away and that the inevitable changes that I have partially sought, and partially merely allowed, I am not necessarily ready for. Yet, I cannot turn back.

It's kind of abstract, and none of it certain. I am not really comfortable acting on any of this now, but the inertia is affecting me on many many levels.

Though I am being very specific, I know I am being very vague, partly, because I have to leave work here in a few minutes and want to get this post done.

This is the sort of writing that maintained me for years and years. Journaling. I have volumes of journals, and I can almost guarantee that if I were to pick up any one of them, I could open it, and read about myself going through nearly the same issues I am now. There has been progress on many levels, maybe regression on others, but changes nonetheless, no matter how excruciatingly slowly they have occurred.

I don't know the voice from which to write my memoir- thing (Since Sanjaya has written a memoir, it's become so trendy.) Whether 10 people end up reading it, or 275625893985781745091745, it matters not. I just need to write it, and I keep rewriting Chapter One's (nearly the same one) over and over again, needing to pin down my voice in order to proceed..., I think.

I've thought of:
  • writing each chapter in a different voice
  • writing in my blog voice (which is different somehow with you, my established, and superbly savvy audience)
  • writing it to my children (I agree, Cormac. I want to be very explicit- though PG'ing it would have been part of writing to that intended audience- not very natural for me.)
  • writing it in the third person (Though, I am interested in writing a play I have in mind from the voice of a man, Kev, not this very very personal object- so much of it is about gender identity issues.)
  • writing it to a lover I crave
  • writing it as an explanation to my husband or my mom
  • not thinking about it so much, (but I don't feel focused that way and think it most boring, a recounting of facts).
I am wishing right now (and mentally resolving to pursue tomorrow) that I knew more about writing and this subject, not so I can contrive something unnatural, but to move forward.

Even if it's just a mental construction built around a scenario which only holds a 2% chance of occurring, the idea of winning that writing contest holds within it my best chance of feeling financially like my choices can be mine and most true.

Gots to go.

Don't Hate her Because She's Dutiful

Mimi stopped in to let us know what she's up to during this stressful time in her life. Fortunately, William has decided to allow her to continue blogging in between her bacon buying, transporting, frying, and presenting to William's co-workers. Even Miranda.


A Blogger's Lament with a Smattering of Rapper's Delight

How hath I forsaken thee?
Let me count the ways.
It has been three days since I last posted here,
Fourteen at another,
And there are the three of which we must not speak.

You crept into my dreams to remind me
Of our gentle creed,
The one that demands my every waking hour,
Without exception or refrain.
Three then it is thus far.

Let us not forgetteth that I have committed the mortal sin.
I shall forever remind you of that, that I have lusted after another.
While you laid here in wait, loyal and worse from wear,
I have cast my mind's eye upon that which is shiny and new
When a few format changes and a froodle or two would suffice.

So, sloth and lust my avarices, greed no doubt the cause.
Even now, I have plans to return to sleep
On this the final day of such petty indulgences,
Until a summer's eve comes and washes it all away,
Fertility break with topless beach romps aside.

I know not the distinction between gluttony, greed and lust
In the implementation of such,
Or rather it is that I am too lazy then to make it.
Which raises the question, as it were,
"Whose omission be it then to slight neglect, my BFF?"

I know that, even in this lamentuous refrain,
You mock me and my lack of fortitude.
For I cannot, even now, seal the deal which would deem this through.
And, all the while, allowing a preposition there to linger... unrequited.
How cruelly I treat you, Queen of teh Sacred Drama, dearest blog.

And yet, you know I make vows to no one, myself included,
So upon this you can rely, my twisted promise upheld at last.
Be that as it may, and let us not forget to mention my sweet badunkadunk
Else it feel the need to grow larger still and demand its proper due,
The reminder to yield to more substantial matters was not unnoticed, merely unheeded.

Herein lies my redemption unto you.
Resist a chance to neglect that which more important calls itself I cannot,
And so, you know I shall return, even if in tears
To beg your forgiveness, as I have lost count of all the ways;
I shall rather call the matter petty and, in its stead languish here in anthropomorphic reverie...

... and ultimately funk.


Many Have Looked Forward to This Day

This is the Genius's homework agenda...

This is what he wrote in it for this day two weeks ago.

I'm proud of that boy, and us.

Maybe next time the hypocrisy embodied in swearing to uphold The Constitution on a bible will be overcome.  Aaaand..., that announcer who called him Barack H. Obama, rather than Barack Hussein Obama kinda pissed me off.  Well, thank Sexy Jesus we're not perfect, or what would I have to complain blog about?

The Weekend at Bernie's is Over.  Let the court proceedings and brush clearing begin!


Officer Randal and His Merciless Meme

So, yesterday I was just sitting at my desk, writing my future bestseller...

...when I got a hunkering for something tasty.

I decided to head on over to my favorite store.

I always wear protection, doncha know.

But, that couldn't protect me from Officer Randal and his clever ways.

I fought the law...,

...and the law we all won.

Then Officer Randal took me downtown for some "official business"...,

But, I was tricked.

Next thing I knew, I was all alone...

The Rules:
1. Link to the sexy manshrew who tagged you.
2. Post the regulations on your blog.
3. Write six random things about yourself:
a.) I am a contrarian. In fact, I will argue right this very second that it is nary impossible to write 6 "random" things about myself. I've already written six other things and erased them before this one, and because I am a contrarian, I feel the need to point that this lame list was carefully crafted;

These are some gifts I have given to my kids and their fathers (yes, there are multiple fathers invoved, and I'm callin' that one c.)): a strobe light, a tamborine, a drum set, a collage which featured the face of a giant Barbie choking down the most phallic course of asparagus topped with salmon and caviar that you ever did see, as well as or not parts of a dollar bill that I cut up, an iPod (thrown, rather than shaken or stirred), a hairbrush (seriously, that was the lamest gift I ever gave Mr. Bee. It was about seven years ago; we were quite poor in times when Mr. Bee used to lose his jobs due to his drinking habits (and, I had just kicked mine and was an ever-loving shrew about it), and I was working two jobs (three if you count martyr extraordinaire) and I picked the brush up at the grocery store when I was food shopping. At least, I didn't throw it);

Even though I seriously doubt there is any way I just punctuated b.) - c.) correctly, and I make up words all the times, I consider myself a grammar snob. It's rather pitiful, really;

I stole every one of the above pictures from
here and looked through every damn one in that category, even laughing out loud a time or two, quite obnoxiously;

I may or may not be wearing underwears right now. (Ok. I am.)
4. Tag six people at the end of your post and link to them.
5. Let each person know they’ve been tagged and leave a comment on their blog.
6. Let the tagger know when your entry is up.

I apologize to these people who are all newly devoted followers, that I have only recently met. I am tagging you, because I want to know every little tiny single thing about you all. (Ok, six things will suffice):
Barack Obama (He follows me on Twitter™, doncha know!)

(If you've been tagged with this already or hate me now, then ignore it, step away, and nobody gets hurt..., except Officer Randal. I've been threatening to make up a killer meme and send it his way, but seriously, I just remembered that and I'm gonna get right on it.)

((Ya gotta love how I spelled merciless mercilous in the title, given d.), where it's immortalized from now until 2309.2 in the link to this post. Well, I do.))


How Hard Can it Be?

Ahhh, the power of advertising. 

My favorite headline of the day, you ask?

Last night, we thought Bones might be coming on, and turned on the tv to hear some lame-ass reporter smacking it up in the pre-cap of Bush's (hopefully) final address (unless it's the formal apology he's court-ordered to make before his sentencing at The Hague).  I blurted out to my kids, "We're not watching that crap," and turned off the tv.  But two hours later when The Genius wanted to show us The Mean Kitty Song?  We all watched.  Life lesson?  You've got to have priorities.

My favorite article yesterday, you ask?

I can't summarize the appeal better than just reprinting this excerpt:
The Dallas Morning News reports that the city council "unanimously approved gating Daria Drive." And, in case you were wondering, an article from KERA quotes a council member as saying that the new gate will "be done at his [Bush's] expense." Nobody seems too sure who is going to pay for Dallas police to "provide around the clock security."
I sure hope it's not us!  Maybe Haliburton will feel indebted.

My title was in reference to actually posting.  I have a buttload-and-a-half (that's an uncomfortable amount, I assure you) of domestic duties to accomplish, the most urgent of which is getting a haircut.  Oh sure, my family might say it's folding all of the clothing and bedding I've obsessively been washing since Snaggletooth's most recent acquisition of poison ivy kept him home from school the last two days.  If you call me, I may not answer because I want to get stuff done today and am afraid the school will call and ask me to bring him home.  

Actually, it's much, much better, and since he got it along the school fence this time, I think they should be the one's convincing him that Caladryl won't sting his penis (a lie), bubblegum Benadryl is yummy (maaaybee), and taking oatmeal baths is all the rage.  At least I strained the gynormous pot of oatmeal I cooked, so that it was only the slimy broth I asked him to squirm in.  In a heroic feat, Mr. Bee squeezed in the bath with him.  It was the only way.  It was too cold to implement my "Oatmeal Warriors" game plan yesterday, in which I was going to attempt to convince The Genius and Snaggletooth that covering their bodies in the remaining oats and then having an oatmeal throwing contest is the way all native North American tribes used initiate their young men into manhood.  

It may have even topped the "Partyboy Dance" The Genius performs in some sort of strange persuasive appeal to get Snaggletooth to join him in wearing boxers.  Snaggletooth must have a firm resolve to resist all the false advertising he is presented with day in and day out.  

I think he's got it though.  

Despite all the hype, he still goes commando..., 

and the dog got the vat of oatmeal.



An open letter to Israeli citizens, who are in too similar a situation to us, though far closer to their own homes.

Watch it.  Embed it.  Here. And, here.

As per my sell out status (thanks, Randal), I also posted this at Daily Kos, but that's just because I know it'll turn on Utah.


¡Mis Obamicones!

Where it all began...

Where it bee...

Where it's going...

Where it's at...

Where it came from...

Where is it...?

And, finally, the Lip Model.

Don't touch this...

And, of course, it's very important that you vote for your favorite, or The Lip Model's gonna kick your ass!


25 Ways to Coddle Your Man (and Earn His Appreciation)

Inspired by Lisa's post, and the great comments which followed, she and I have created a list of our own. In the spirit of feminism, this is a list by women for women. (Of course, men, you can use this list to gauge how satisfied you should be with your woman.)

25 Ways to Coddle Your Man (and Earn his Appreciation):

1. When your man spends six hours grilling meat for dinner (that you make the sides for, set the table for, and clean up after), be sure to thank him for making dinner by rewarding him later with a blow job (with a little barbecue sauce on the side, of course).

2. Never poop, never indicate that you poop, take great pains to cover up the fact that you produce and expel solid waste, even if it means you have to leave the house to go to a public place to do your business when he is at home. (Alternately, you could break something on purpose, so he must go to Home Depot, and then you can poo while he's away.)

3. Hide all feminine hygiene products, both used and unused. Make sure to double wrap any used products and take the further step of burying them deeply in the trash, so he won’t accidentally see them when he empties the trash.

4. There is no question that a woman must douche, preferably twice, after having her period. Nothing good will come of reminding him that you have bodily functions.

5. After having children, consider vaginal rejuvenation.

6. Make him feel like you're new again by occasionally purchasing and using the artificial hymen. If he's squeamish about blood, you may want to do this only in the dark. Don't forget to make the appropriate “first time” sounds.

7. Be sure to use the "skills" other men have taught you, taking special care not to mention where you might have learned them.

8. Don't expect him to read your mind. The onus is on you to leave clues and drop hints so that he knows what you want. By no means, state it directly. No matter how much he asks for it, don't tell him directly.

9. Be sure to leave the toilet seat up. Why should he have to lift the seat? You're the one who sits on it.

10. If you really want to know what your man wants sexually, snooping is required. You should check his computer's recent history and search his porn stash. He'll thank you later.

11. When faking orgasm, be sure to call out his name, not the name of your last boyfriend. (Using a foreign accent is a bonus!)

12. You'll know your man is satisfied when you hear him snoring softly. Before that, there's no way to be sure.

13. When your man goes to sleep right after sex, be sure to tell him that you are pleased by this, because it shows that you've done a good job.

14. When dressing for an evening out with him and his friends, it's important to dress in a revealing way, so that his friends will envy him for getting to sleep with you. Just let him decide what is too revealing.

15. If you want to cuddle, buy yourself a stuffed animal or a dog. Cats may be nice to have around, but they like cuddling almost as much as men do.

16. Never use the following words: snuggle, cuddle, tampon, period, vagina, baby, or marriage.

17. Never criticize his mother. She was his first love, after all. And never question her judgment.

18. When your husband has his buddies over to watch sports, dress nicely to make him proud. He will reward you in his own way, for such an obvious show of affection.

19. Please ladies, when your man is “in the mood” avoid mundane topics, like bills, children, work, or your emotional needs, for instance. After he wakes up, he will be far more receptive to (and perceptive of) your indicative clues.

20. “Not being in the mood” is no excuse. Period.

21. Men love massages after a hard day at work. Enough said.

22. Listening to your girlfriends will get you in trouble. They want more of your time too, and they are no doubt jealous that you’ve landed a man. Besides his mother, there is no woman whose advice you can trust when it comes to your man.

23. Let him pick the restaurant. You get to select what he eats every other evening, since you go to the grocery store and make dinner. You need to avoid being overbearing, at all costs, and this is a great way to show your flexibility. (Letting him choose your entrè as well may be the perfect recipe for getting yourself a mouth-watering dessert!)

24. If you’re not attached, this list may be painful to read, as you’ve no doubt got a lot of love to give. Try spending a game day at a sports bar to land yourself a great catch!

25. Lastly, and not leastly, when you’ve got a man who will put up with you, NEVER LET HIM GO!

I'm not Sure if It's More Properly...

"Hear ye. Hear ye," or, "Here ye. Here ye," even after googling™ it. I can see a case for either, but in either case, be alerted to the fact that I have just posted my first diary entry over at Daily Kos. You might want to check it out before they remove it. Apparently, they require substantive posts.

Be back soon,

Your friend,
Fred of the Bush

Oh, and even before I finished posting this, I saw my first comment over there was that I had misspelled Israel throughout. Classy. I couldn't fix the poll.


The Lord Points the Way...

... to FluffPo, where Mimi ponders the meaning of it all.


Housewife Log: Stardate -i (with a lil' side 'o OOTMOB)

I've been a bad blogger.

Please don't respond to that with that old "There's nothing wrong with having a 3-D life" consolation prize, please.  

I've been bad, pure and simple.  I'm not quite sure how real housewives do all this helpin' their kids with homework, cooking real meals, filtering through their children's clothing that is 3+ years too small for the youngest, reading bedtime stories, crocheting in the dentalist's office when their baby Bee's are so big they don't need them fretting beside them anymore  because the dentalist is simultaneously drilling on their children's teeth and judging them for their obvious lack of brushing every single tooth 40 time 2x a day that he's going to misadminister the lydocaine dosage (Snaggletooth is lithe for his age) what with all the multi-tasking.

I am a bad blogger, because there is no way that last sentence is correct, and I don't care.

I am a bad liberal even.  Though I want no part of helmut head's pretty boy antics, and I've done no research into the matter, I can't help but think of witch trials when I think of impeachments which occur before trials.  Isn't one's unalienable right to have a fair trial by a jury of one's peers the order of the day.  It's like the impeachment thing is backwards.  Shouldn't they vote after he has a trial.  I guess the impeachment vote brings it to trial and I understand the heinousness of the charges, but to an uninformed political dabbler, the matter appears to be 37% hype.

I have organized just enough stuff in my house that the other half is strewn about so chaotically that all the people I don't invite over are virtually falling all over it when they try to escape.

I am supposed to go walking and before that drop off teh Genius's homework by school.  This is his one freebie.  I won't do it again.  He will be duly warned later.

I have to buy 30 vats of white vinegar in order to rubberize chicken bones for a science fair project that should have been worked on all during the break, unbeknownst to me.  I had to bribe the genius with a real-live rubber chicken to settle on a project idea Monday night after all thirty of his ideas required $10,000 research grants, a staff, and a year.  

I am a bad blogger because I started that new Canadian OOTMOB series and had the perfect one come my way and this is all the foreplay you get...

The genius got a new computer game yesterday with his christmas monies.  We had to go to Fry's Electronics™  to find a version for Macs and you have never seen to little boys drool harder in your life, if you were spying on them with hidden cameras, as we know all you Fry's spies have the technology to do.

It's The Age of Mythology™, the game, and I had hounded The Genius to make his lunch for school the next morning (as good moms do, rather than make them themselves) and brush his teeth and his retort?
"I will.  I will.  I just have to go look at my Medusa one more time."
To which I replied, "NOOOOOOOOOO!"

See ya laters.

Love, Her



This is a new series that I will be featuring here.  

Unfortunately, many previous opportunities are of the past, but Snaggletooth is a veritable fount of verbal guffaws, some too hilarious not to blog.


The boys were discussing the word dick.  Snaggletooth quite perceptively asked, "How can a person's name be a bad word?"  Yes.  Yes.  I have been hearing the "Words (and Fingers) Are Not Bad" defense for years now.  In fact, I have skirted the issue of profanity quite adeptly for some fucking time.  My stance is, "It is your business what words you use, but it is my role to teach you the appropriateness of utilizing profanity, and one must learn not to use profanity around his or her mother when one is 6 or nine years old, as it puts your mother in a very awkward position.  She agrees with the afore-stated defense, but also has to live in society... at least, until you are grown and she can go live naked in the rain forest with a tribe of furry public masturbators.  

So, "Dick"  was the word of the day, and we laughed that people were not going around calling certain men "penis," but that is another meaning the word has.  The Genius cited near verbatim a conversation had between Moby Dick and Peter Griffin in the eternal classic, "The Family Guy."

Well, moments ago, Snaggletooth ambitiously tried to apply his new cultural knowledge in his public (in the living room) statement to The Genius and me,
"That's like Moldy Dick."
Since he's full of 'em, I'm makin' it a series...

Out of the Mouths of Babes

Not a very original title.  I know.

Use it in a sentence: "Suck my Moldy Dick!"

A New Year, A New Tradition, or Some Such BS

For some strange reason, my house is trashed, we're out of milk for coffee and my kids want to eat.  I've got to fetch milk from the quickie stat.  There isn't even any time to make that a sexual innuendo.

I'll be back later to tell you all about how yesterday I wrote three thousand words into the newest  version  of my memoir that will win me $50,000 in the literary contest that this is my last semester to enter.  Mr. Bee and I are counting on it.

I've assured him that my book will piss him off, but he said if I win $50,000, he'll forgive me.  I can sense Woody Harrelson and Demi Moore stalking around in my back yard, waiting to get their hands on the movie rights.

Since you are jonesing for some substance (why else would you be here?), I'll refer you to Mimi's newest post over at FluffPo.  (That's the new tradition, that little speck of self promotion.)  Actually, Mimi's just going to give me a free beauty consultation, but that was supposed to be a surprise.  At least, don't tell Mr. Bee.  I want to see if he falls for the strange woman who he will come home to next week as I have been  suspecting he would these past ten years.  Tha cheatin' bastard!

Oooh, my children are speaking in British accents again.  The Genius keeps begging me to homeschool him, at least in their days out of school.  If he keeps up that British accent, I will not be able to resist, I'm afraid.


Mr. Bee Goes to Hollywood

I can think of no better way to have rung in the New Year a day late than to have spent it with The Lasses (or perhaps more properly, The Lass and The Lad). Because I am such a good planner and like to make my mistakes many extra times in order to make my lessons really stick, it did not even occur to me that Mr. Bee and I might need to purchase tickets, to see The Big Lebowski onthebigscreen, online in advance. On several occasions we have overlooked uncomftrability™* and settled for front row seats because we'd showed up last minute and a few times we had the foresight to purchase tickets for a brand new movie online, but it's The Big Lebowski and it was the day after New Years, a Thursday no less. Has some new hangover remedy come out in the past few years I don't know about? Maybe, The Alamo was serving Bloody Mary's. If they weren't, they should have been- though, in the name of honesty, I must admit I've never been so classy as to have drunk a Bloody Mary in my life.

There are some things in this life I am willing to go without. Having had to pick up my fifteen year-old daughter from a kind 18 year-old stranger's house in such a drunken state that I had to check her breathing from time to time and sleep in her sister's bed lest she puke in her sleep (according to the EMT), I am reminded exactly how thankful I am to be sober these days. She inherited her mother's black-outs, it seems.

Oops, that wasn't the direction I was going to go.

So, Mr. Bee and I met up with The Lasses, who were very graciously willing to give their tickets to some other poorly prepared couple and walk to a mediocre restaurant with us instead. I thought it was very cool how The Lass and I got along so well, and how, despite not being able to get together as often as we might like, it's all been symbiotic. I mean, we're bloggers. We're both reclusive by nature and when one of us has cancelled, I bet we both know that while it would have been good to be sociable, there's always a bit of relief to have to interact with the 3D world a little less. We've established that level of compatibility, and the level that we're both just gonna talk. A. Lot. We have lots to say. That's why we're writers, 'cause we think people want to know the shit we know.

Uh-oh, I'm speaking for her. It's all cool. (I speak for her again.)

Anyway, what happened last night was a little weirder. It was like an episode of The Twilight Zone, though far more snarky and benevolent. If I were of a scientific mind, I might have formed an hypothesis that the spouses of bloggers are compatible with each other to a degree directly proportionate to the degree the two bloggers are compatible. I haven't told you guys yet that I am actually getting my online Ph.D. here on Human Nature, have I? Anyway, I'll be running future studies on the matter, but that was all a long-winded way to say that Mr. Bee and The Lad were destined to be friends. Fo Shur.

Another thing that made the night seem fated, from our bad planning on, was the fact that we unknowingly were being Froodled while we were eating dinner. No shit. After we were done eating, a guy named Art walked up and gave us a Froodle. Of course, he was open to tips, but he did not require them and we walked away with this keen memento from the night.

Those are The Lasses on the left and those are we Bees on the right. I don't think he adequately captured my cleavage (unless I truly was resting it on the table), and The Lass is far prettier than he drew her, but still. Damnnn.

That's cool.

Well, I think that's all I've got for you today, internets. I picked up my Baby Bees from being with my in-laws this past week and had a lovimous day of doing thing after thing after thing, and I have to "work" in the morning, so I shall be off to catch my beauty sleep. I'm trying to grow my sideburns longer, and that takes a lot of work, you know.

Be swell, ya'll.

*uncomftrability™ belongs to The Lad, yo.


It Always Starts With a...

Hey Cha-cha.  Happy New Day!  I was buried in Clothings.  Clothings dirty, Clothings thrift, Clothings old, Clothings stored.  Next, I will be in the world of hurt known as The Paper Works.  Paper Works trash, Paper Works aw shit, that's where that is, Paper Works I need to hang onto that one for another ten years.  Right.

It was boring here at The Bees, but tonight Mr. Bee and I are going to meet The Lasses at the dinner theater for a showing of The Big Lebowski.  Nothing will get us more revved up to turn over a new leaf, no doubt.

I have tossed around the idea that I would make these three resolutions: 
1)  This will be the year I get in shape like I was when I was 32 sans pot sans, sans froth.  I have recently figured out that my friend Zoloft and my friend Levoxyl may have been competing for my lovimous booty.  Levoxyl likes 'em thin.  Zoloft likes 'em soft and he be winning.  I'm gonna see if we can't pursue this three-way relationship (like how I slipped threeways into this completely non-related post?) in a way that satisfies us all.

2.)  I.  Will.  Write.  A.  Book.  This.  Year.  Word.

3.)  I thought I might start saying "No" to sugar.  I need to.  He's not so friendly to me. 

I need to take these things day by day, I'm sure.  I thought about having the goal to do something toward the above ends each day, big or little, but I'm not too hip on promises or dogma.  Now that 2008, The Year I Vowed to Give up Dogma, is over, maybe it's high time I did.

I gotsta go, because the resolution I should be making involves timeliness, particularly since this is the year which will find me increasingly becoming a teacher, apprenticeship teaching this spring and hoping to be hired for the fall to have a whole classroom entrusted to me.

New territory is scary.

Fortunately we'll be there together, Cha-cha.

Love,  Me.