A Skanky Swanky and Übersexy It's My Fucking Birthday Post

No pressure though, right Randal? We don't want to scare off the 40 year-old virgins. Do we now? Now that I'm 40 and er, single, maybe it's time to reclaim my virginity. If it'll attract the likes of Katherine Keener, it might be worth it. Or, maybe I can buzz on through life on the graces of my new good hair and stay slutty, in theory, at least.

I may or may not have good excuses for not posting much lately. Sundays will still work for me. Will they work for you? Yesterday, I worked for hours and hours (I mean real work, ya'll) at work on my free job I don't get paid for. Got it? I was observed in the classroom twice last week and though I can't say I necessarily thought I did great jobs those two days, I am getting positive feedback from my observers this time. Thank you, Sexy Jesus. Can't leave him out of this, you know. He get's pissy. Also, and, there might be a job opening at my kids' school where I'm student teaching and I would so love to work there, so hold me in the mashed potatoes, k.

So, my mentor teacher started an exclusive little social network for the 6th graders we teach and now I can utilize my blog chops by way of a weekly summary post of what we learned in math the previous week. "You better learn, dammit!" I am about to grade papers here in a bit. I had a stack of papers in my room that I caught my cat gnawing on, so it's gonna be really fun to tell the students, "My cat ate your classwork."

I've been listening to my usual podcasts, watching too much Big Love and Six Feet Under while I diddle my way through boxes. I was gonna treat myself to something nice from Adam and Eve.com, and probably shall, but at my new apartment, packages have to get picked up in the main office. I wonder if there will be a nice strapping picture of a dildo on the box. That would be awesome to go pick up.

What else? What else? Oh, Mr. Bee wants to take me out to eat on my birthday and my girls want me to take them out for my birthday. Aren't they cute. I'll probably combine the whole thing, especially because I now semi-erectly er ficially do not wish to use Mr. Bee to have sex anymore. Of course, I can't see ever having time to meet anyone else since all's I can do is manage to sleep, teach, eat cafeteria food, and grade, create, and help folks with their homework. My dog now needs me to hold her hand when she poops and that's going ok, but she peed on a rug recently, which really perturbs me. She misses the country.

I'm sure you'll want to know that some jerk put a note on my door that said, "Clean up after your dog!" with a fat exclamation mark. I had one there back for a while that said, "Please don't put harassing notes on my door. I am not responsible for other people's dog's poo just because I have a dog." I'm not real crazy about living around other folks, and I swear the woman upstairs must have hard wood floors, 'cause I hear her shoes on the floor. They told me there were no hardwood floored apts. Grr.

I got's to go for now. Simon Pegg is also 40 today, so don't make him feel left out, ya know. Wish him a good one. I think I'll be back later with FFF. Until then, "Live long and whisper."


Surrender and Something Will Come... or Not

Oh dear bloohoho. How many days have you lain in wait whilst I, prickly, merely glanced on your being, unbothered? Some fortnightery or peck's worth of kibble remains, yea. That, indeed, is my proper due at points such as these, but I do have doctor's notes and kitty notes and absconded notes (not yet, actually on this, but ask me later) that can verify my whereabouts on the night of November 45, 2005. I was with Professor Peacock in the study. She will deny this, understandably, so what good will it do me now, will it?

In this last week, my dear kitty Applesauce has become afflicted with the bite of a reclusive spider, brown, The Genius and I have had sore throats and fevers reaching 102, mine with a worrisome bright red rash on tops of thighs accompanying that Male Nurse and I both think warrants showing my nether regions to a male doctor at the Student Health Center tomorrow, since I was wasting away on smoothies and garlic yesterday when my calling in sick from work would have made such a feat timely. I could again walk by then, true dat, but since I called in Friday evening to work, I would be more in defiance to not go to the doctor, so there you have it. Plus, the recording said, "If you have flu-like symptoms, we suggest you don't come here to see us." I abided, but then called on further today since it looks like someone permanently bitchslapped the very tipsy tops of my upper, not inner, thighs. It's strange enough to need to be shown off, and one Dr. Latimer is about all the action I'm gonna be getting in such realms, sooo....

Now that I have leisure time not, talks of new blog digs have ceased, and the sporadic updatery of this fair locale shall be the limit of mine efforts in such realms. Student teaching is going quite well. I'll not drag a dead horse before a cart of fruit, but as of yet, I have little to complain about. Give it time. I seem to have forgotten how dramatic going to sixth grade is, however, and have joyously been reminded these past two weeks exactly how important Valentine's Dances and carnations are. I will be one of three bearers of strikes which can, when added up, sum one's not attending said disco funkery. Such power is both intoxicating and misplaced, indeed.

Until this past week, my brand new apartment, which may have come with a bonus brown recluse, was neat and tidy. While it is on one level, today is the final final day for Mr. Bee and I to get out of the old house (I thought I was done two weeks ago) but now find myself with some 17.34 boxes in my living room, the result of someone, obviously, doing me a favor. Soon, I will be liking the 30 second walk to the dumpster more than I might have expected.
  • Was this sufficiently cryptic? Yes.
  • Was this sufficiently productive? 5
  • Can I bounce back, better than ever? Probably not.
  • Will I fall asleep right here and now? Yes, I think I will.
  • Did I bump my head on my trunk yesterday? What do you think?
  • Have I left out some stuff? Oh, you left out how you watched the pilot and episode two of "Big Love" and are now hooked.
  • Smutty mormons are so kinky.
  • Will I be turning forty in a week's time? Magic eight ball says, "Decidedly so."
  • Did not one, but two of my new students with whom I eat lunch daily say I look like I'm in my twenties or early thirties?
  • A's for the both of ya's, dear sweets with no concept of aging.
  • Do I miss my Mr. Bee? Well, yes, but that one and only time someone was a jerk to me last week stood out as an anomaly (it was him) and I refused to participate and that is what's right-- even if I am now sickly with bitch-slapped thighs about to be forty.
  • I lost 7 pounds in one week from the being sick, the scale said this morning.
  • I'm liking things being more simple.
  • I now have the internet and a printer at home, so my world is nearly complete.
  • I got several sixth graders hooked on that evil π song. Muwhahaha!
'Tis time for me to say goodbye, even if you know not yet of my success with $7.00 glasses ordered online.

Plus, Here Come Cowboys:

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