Green's Hill-Amy Lane's Home - News

Thursday, May 31, 2007

A Moment of Zen...

I was going to go off on this post--seriously, just let'er rip about work, about California education, about Kaiser, about everything...I was going to be a Mount St. Vitriol and just erupt, spewing venomous words into the ether with Zeussian impunity and I still might do that--seriously--I'm still pissed off, I'm still feeling better, which means I'm not feeling defenseless and indefensible and if I'm roaring, I'm mighty, and not so long ago, I believed that professionally, I was a mighty force to be reckoned with and I long to roar again.

But first, I need to show you these adorable pictures of my wonderful children because, really, their cuteness comes first. I suck at managing pix, and blogger hates me, so I'm just going to throw these in willy-nilly and hope blogger cooperates for once.

Tomorrow I'll erupt like Mt. St. Vitriol--it'll be surfing down an avalanche, really. Today, I'll just goo at my children. This is fun too.

Tuesday, May 29, 2007

No news is...

No news, mostly...

Okay, anybody out there think it should be criminal mal-practice for a doctor to mention the words "malignancy" and "colonoscopy" in the same visit, take blood, and then, hello NOT CALL FOR EIGHT DAYS?

It's just a thought, really...I mean, it's not like I have anything to lose or anything... oh...wait...maybe I do...

Honestly, I don't think I'd be so ticked about this, if it were not for the fact that I'm feeling better. My fever, while still spiking, hasn't topped 100.1 in about five days, and I actually had an, uhm, movement, this morning that had no blood, no pain, and no panic involved and aside from being REALLY tired because I haven't gone walking in forever and now I weigh, like, 20 lbs more (in spite of not eating anything near my weight watcher's points allotment per day--how fair is that?)I'm feeling less ill and more, well, like I'm recovering from illness.

And yet, my doctor has not called. Neither has my internist. I've left them two messages (which is harder than it sounds when you're talking about Kaiser) and I find myself fulminating at both of them--it's not fair. My bloodwork should be back, my colon is still, mostly, a suspect organ in this little operation, and, seriously, shouldn't we be, like, communicating or something? I mean, I'm only a lowly teacher, it's not like I know what words like 'malignancy' mean...


I do. And it's freaking me out.

(By the by, the fact that I could write this entry actually means I'm feeling better about things. If I'm pissed at my doctors, I'm not at their mercy, and I'm feeling well--or closer to it--and more powerful than I was. So don't worry too much about me freaking out...I'm feeling much more positive than I have been...this entry is actually proof.)

Oh--hey--off the depressing topic and on to something that proves I'm a bad mother--Every night the Cave Troll goes off to our room to watch a movie of his own--sometimes he rotates them, and sometimes he watches the same move for so long that...okay, he's 3 1/2, he never talks, I mean NEVER, people think he's a mute, and this kid can quote Shrek II verbatim...he even has the timing down. It's frickin' FRIGHTENING...

And more news on the kid front? Ladybug, bless her pudgy little heart, has discovered the joys of the kiddie pool--more specifically, she's discovered the joys of watching her brother play in it while she toddles around giving him toys and listening to her fat flat feet splat in the water on the concrete deck...other than that, she doesn't like being IN the water fact (and this is a first) she's the only child I've had that, after a certain period in the sun, puts her arms up, gloms on to the adult nearby, and asks to be taken inside to where it's cool so she can hang out on said adult and chill. It's almost spooky how much she takes after myself where the great outdoors are concerned.

I have pictures (not to tease you) but no time to find my cords to download, but be warned, there are naked baby pool pictures in the very near future.

Sunday, May 27, 2007

*ahem* And props go out to...

Okay...first of all, if you didn't get to it before, my last post was sort of fun (if you happen to be in love with yourself, as we all know I am...) so don't just blow it off because I'm on to something else...

And second of all?


Why are we hyperventilating and dropping our books and our purses in the middle of the Sunrise Mall Borders store, you might ask?

Because, ladies and gentleman (whomever he might be...), they are carrying copies of MY books. One copy of VULNERABLE, three of WOUNDED... Swear to Triane, as Chicken is my witness, I almost wet my pants.

I have an idea how it might have happened--a friend and a die-hard fan (LIR, you know who I'm talking about) mentioned my books in this book store, and the lady working the counter also did the book ordering--she said she would order a copy for herself, and if she liked it, she would order some for the store... I guessed I impressed someone, because the unthinkable has happened--I have spotted my own book in the wild, completely unplanted by myself. My head really has grown by at least two inches, which explains again why I'm all 'fingerless mitts' and not at all about hats...

And since I'm giving props... (and since we're all ready to kvetch about bad service and often forget to praise good service, I thought I'd give some other props...

First, to these people--the folks at Lantern Moon because not too long ago I was knitting on a very pricey set of sock needles, and one of them broke, and when I wrote to ask if I could buy just one (since they are really pricey) the company sent me two new free needles.

That, folks, impressed the hell out of me, and I thought I'd share.

And you know someone else who impressed the hell out of me?

These folks at Not too long ago, I ordered a total "I'm stressed so I'm buying yarn I can't afford", and the yarn buy was so shameless, that yes, dear bloggers, I neglected to tell you about it from sheer embarrassment. Anyway, after I sent in my order, they e-mailed me back and (get this!) told me they couldn't send me the two skeins of Lorna's Laces because they were from DIFFERENT DYE LOTS and asked if I wanted another color. When I said that I'd rather have another skein of the Schaeffer's Anne in Hermione (as in Granger...yes, I'm a geek, why do you ask?) for my phantom 'Lace Shawl' that I'm planning some amorphous time in the future, they set that up, sent me the pay-pal and got me my sock yarn in record time... it was AWESOME...all that lovely buying of all that lovely sock yarn, and no stress, which is good, because I was buying the yarn to GET RID of the stress, and I was most impressed.

So let's hear it for my friend Rebecca, who recommended me to Borders and let me loose on the unsuspected populace of Citrus Heights, and for the Lantern Moon and Simply Sock Yarn companies, for totally making us people with pointy sticks look good. Hip hip, HUZZAH!

Saturday, May 26, 2007

Carry On Your Wayward Son...

OKay, so music is important to me--always has been, always will. I remember when my (biological) mom sang "You are my sunshine" to me when I was little and I cried--it's a sad song. I remember the first time I heard "Puff the Magic Dragon" (also tears) and I remember the six-hundred times I listened to it to learn the words. I remember when I met my step-mom, how jealous I was that she and my step-brother had their own songs and I didn't know them--but I learned.

So music has been important to me--my dad was (is!) a die-hard rock-and-roll fanatic---redneck rock, Blue Oyster Cult, Kansas, Van Halen, Pink Floyd and Led Zeppellin. Unfortunately for me, when some of these bands were getting big, I was getting to the middle-school age of rebelling against my parents' music, and I spent some of the 20th centuries greatest musical moments listening to K-HILL-- Oldies but Goldies, Leader of the Pack, Teen Angel, Tell Laura I Love Her, and the man in black himself, Johnny-Cash-I-Walk-The-Line.

I came to my senses in college--Mate helped, because Tesla was big and they were from Sacramento, and it was easy to just hop on that bandwagon, but Mate was also into Def Leppard and Van Halen and Night Ranger and, if you could forgive my Til Tuesday/Tori Amos fetish, I was right on board. It didn't hurt that one of the guys we worked with into the late a.m. in college had a two hour cassette tape with Dark Side of the Moon on one side and Houses of the Holy on the other--yes, I am an English teacher who can scream "We don't need no education" at the top of my lungs when it is called for.

I still love music--my iPod has everything in it from musicals (Seussicals ROCKS) to old rock and roll/new wave/ 80's to Death Cab For Cutie, Dashboard Confessional, Bowling for Soup and Blue October (and ALWAYS, ALWAYS Bruce Springsteen--could you doubt it?)--although my tastes are almost overwhelmingly white (I am, after all, a born-in-a-trailer, dyed-on-the-farm redneck) I can be pleased that for a white girl, I have fairly eclectic taste. If nothing else, I have rock & roll that was originially played in the last half of this decade--again, not bad for an old white woman.

But I was still prepared for my children to rebel. I expected the worst--gangsta rap, speed metal (although I pre-empted that with my own Linkin Park worship) and, horror of horrors, boy-bands. I wasn't going to belabor the fact, I wasn't going to pick on my kids for their music--I figured that they would take the influences the could find, and eventually their true roots would establish themselves.

I must say, that despite the occassional Hilary Duff and Eminem (edited) cd, my experiment in parenting and music has succeeded beyond my wildest dreams.

A couple of weeks ago, I overheard my kids talking about what they'd gotten from my i-pod list and what their favorites were. My first clue that we had done our job was this conversation--
"Do you like the Rolling STones?" asked T.
"Oh yeah--I love Paint It Black!" Replied Chicken. "You should listen to Shelter--that's a good one."

I was so proud I almost cried.

And I have a couple of outside influences to thank for this beautiful conversation--the first of which is "Guitar Hero II"--my kids are suddenly listening to Nirvanna and Guns & Roses and liking it--and liking that we, the grown-ups are getting excited about a video game--best game EVER. And my second influence is, of all things, mom's favorite guilty pleasure, her favorite under-thirty-object-of-her-old-woman's desire... Jensen Ackles. Or more specifically, his television show--Supernatural.

And the season finale featured Kansas--Carry on Oh Wayward Son. And suddenly, after crying over the season finale (awesome!!!) my daughter and I HAD to have Kansas. We absolutely had to--it was not negotiable.

I begged Mate, I nagged him, I figured out how to shop i-tunes myself and I wept when it seemed to have a glitch. And now, after much computer wierdness, we have it. And I can't explain why it's so important to me.

Except, do you remember your first song? The first time you heard that melody and that lyric that made you want to weep with it's perfection, that struck your heart like a tuning fork and sang that pitch into your soul until you were absolutely sure that song defined you and you alone of anyone on the planet, and the thrill of discovering other people whose hearts vibrated to that same pitch was like realizing that magic is real? Do you remember when music made magic real?

It still does for us. Music makes my kids feel what I felt twenty-five years ago--what is that if it isn't magic. Music makes my kids feel what I felt and what my father felt twenty-five years ago, and in twenty-five years, maybe some weirdo punk band called 'Doggie Farts' will be doing a revival of Kansas as an oldie-but-goldie thing, and my grandchildren will suddenly find their hearts vibrating like magic and that thrill is worth it.

Every year I ask my students to write a paper on the role of the artist in society, and to explain why we revere the musician, the storyteller, and the poet.

I hope I got an A.

Friday, May 25, 2007

No... really?

Okay...I admit it. I have three calendars in my room and I never know the date. I never read my calendar e-mails and I seem to have a phobia about time, watches and clocks too...

So imagine my surprise when I was talking to one of my most beloved/frustrating administrators of all time, (he's frustrating because I love him to pieces, and whenever he makes a blithe, well-intentioned decision that by-the-by makes my life completely frickin' miserable, it's really hard to tell him he just decimated your lesson plans and your life in one swell foop because he LIKES you and he wants you to LIKE him too and you just can't convince him that not wanting your classroom footled about with is not a sign of DISLIKE...and anyway) and he mentioned that we only had two four day weeks left.

Four days? No. We had one four day week and one five day week.

No. We have graduation on Thursday of the five day week, and no finals on that Friday... we're (theoretically--everyone's going to be here Friday, there's not a doubt in my mind) done on Thursday.

I swear to Triane, people, it was like Christmas in June...

Everybody start the count-down people... only seven hours in company with my 5th period class...canyagimmehallelujia?


Thursday, May 24, 2007

Take a Walk...

Okay, Roxie has this lovely picture posted of a most 'prosperous' kitty cat that totally cracked me up-- and I was thinking that I missed my cats.

No, not really my cats, just the cats I see on my daily walks--the ones I haven't been taking. There's this one cat--he's all black, and all furry and all love sponge, and I have learned from prior experience that he will run in front of my feet if I don't pick him up in front of his house, walk him four houses down (past his territory) and drop him off. If I don't walk him far enough, he'll follow me to this cut off point--we do know each other. Anyway, I miss him, and his poly-dactyl punching bag (every cat circle has it's hierarchy) and I miss my neighborhood--even the big gang house where young men strut in their red and white because they are truly the first and only teenagers since the Capulets and Montagues who have found themselves dispossessed and devalued by a system they don't understand.

So tonight, with a scant 99.8 fever (hey--it's an improvement) I took a teeny walk. Considering that six weeks ago, I would have gone a mile and a half in about twenty-five minutes (okay, there is a hellific hill) I was depressed to go, like, less than an eighth of a mile, but I still got to remember things like pre-sunset stillness and thick yellow sunlight and the sound of kids playing pick-up basketball, and that was nice. (It's funny--on one of my last full walks I walked by one of these games...there was a uniform line of cell-phone/keys on the stones behind the basket--sort of a new twist on an old sound...) And it was wonderful, if brief, and I feel a little bit energized, and maybe a little bit like scary words are just scary words and the rest of the scaryness can wait until I have something real to be afraid of. I'm really too old to be afraid of the boogeyman, right?

Besides--if absolute worst comes to absolute worst, I will never have to sit through a staff meeting again...I mean, there really is an upside to EVERYTHING isn't there?

Anyway...I finished one sock for the kid who hates me (maybe someday I will be able to explain why I'm doing this...) and it came out FABULOUS and I'm calling it Toxic Lemonade. I will post pictures. I'm about to finish one of the fingerless mitts for my TA--I'm calling it "Chocolate Tunafish" and if my pride can take the blow, I might post pictures of this too. When I'm done, I'm knitting whatever the @#$%I want for whomever the @#$% pops into my head with whatever yarn jumps up and bites me on the ass. Amen.

Oh...on the kid babysitter told me today, "Ladybug is really getting her own personality, isn't she?"

To which I replied, "She's incredibly princessy, isn't she?"

"Oh yeah. That's the perfect word for her--princessy." what you name your children, people--name a kid after the last Elven princess of middle-earth, and suddenly she thinks she rules the world. (Someday I will re-explain how all of my children have lived up to their unusual names. I love the story--it sounds like Goddess laughing.)

Oh yeah--on the book front--PNR (Paranormal Romance Magazine--it's an online thing) featured Bound on their "Contemporary Urban Fantasy" page with other books in the genre and suddenly my sales have gotten pretty good--and I'm quietly pleased--bless them, they rock, and their staff is so nice about adding you to their author list etc. Dee Gentle is the nicest person ever. (She's the one who e-mailed me to tell me I was going to be one of the many books on the layout...) Anyway--that's exciting and I'm going to revel a little...

And Bitter Moon is still foremost on my mind...I want to finish this book like you can not believe--to bad I'm only half-way through. I have faith that this book is the one that could get me an agent and a publisher--and even if it doesn't, I have faith that it's important and good.

All told, a little faith, a little hope--really, what else do you need?

Tuesday, May 22, 2007


Okay... health still bad, doc still puzzled, only now they're throwing out scary words like 'malignancy' and 'colonoscopy' and I'm trying to keep my cool even as I keep you posted. That being said, I'm going on to some random stuff that has made me happy in the last couple of days...

*** I got stuck between Borat and two clones of my 6th period class nightmare kids today... it was actually pretty frickin' hilarious because they were both having conversations at the same time--and that Borat dude was having his with anyone who would listen...

(Imagine thick Eastern European Accent--from hereon, EEA) So, I don't think those whales are going to go back...

(Blonde clones) So Sunday's your birthday? Dude, we so have to party...

(EEA) I think we're just going to have pour ice on them and fly them to Alaska or something...

(Blonde clones) And I'm so glad I didn't go to my 2nd period class because, dude, everyone got kicked out...

(EEA) I mean, what is the big deal right, the whales will go home when they are ready, right?

(Blonde clones) And I hate that teacher, she is such a bitch! I don't know why we have learn sociology anyway...

(EEA) In my country, we would eat the whales, if they were not smart enough to go back...

(Blonde clones) BEcause it's not like it'll even help us to learn about other countries...who are we going to meet?

And I just knit through it all...

Oh... funny thing the second...

We've discovered the source of the unholy stench that was rolling through the house like the fart of a thousand demons eating beans and rotten cheese.

It came from Chicken's shoes...

I was sitting in my chair saying things like, "Holy God what is that stench?" when my daughter said, "It's my shoes."

"The hell you say!" If it had been her feet, do you think she would not have mentioned this?

"No, no--they're right there...Good God, mom, don't..."

"AUUUUUUUUUUUUUGGGGGGGHHHHHHHHHHHHH!!!!! It smells like vulture barf crawled up Satan's ass and died!!!!!"

"I told you not to smell's because I don't have any socks."

"I'll get you some socks..." I said weakly. "And some foot powder, and some shoe powder, and a freaking exorcist...just get those things away from me now!!!!!"

In light of today's doc ap, this one isn't funny, but it is heartwarming, so I'll leave you with it:

I was prepping my kids for the fact that I might be there and not there and there and not there, and suddenly, a student of mine--not an A student, but one of my absolute favorite kids this year because she's got a good mind and a better heart and she turns to me with tears in her eyes and says, "Oh, God, Mz Mac, you don't have cancer do you?"

God love her--she was really shook. I reassured her with more sincerity than I felt and thought, "Hey--this kid thinks I'm important." It made it worth it to haul my sorry, sweaty ass to work that day. And probably tomorrow too.

Sunday, May 20, 2007

Not too much to blog about...


The worst part about being sick as that you don't DO ANYTHING...I mean, I've been knitting, but one of the things I'm knitting I'm so embarrassed about...

It's hard to explain. My TA (and I make my TA's something every year) wanted fingerless mitts...and she wanted them lacy...and she wanted this one colorway I offered...and the result is...

quite horrible, actually. The lace is lost in the frantic color...but the separate elements are quite nice...the LACE looks good. The COLORWAY looks good. Together, it's like eating fish and just can't figure out why someone would put those things together.

I'm also making socks...I don't want to talk about those, although they're looking pretty good for a colorway I personally am not all chipper about but most other people have been complimenting a LOT. (I got a lot of work done on these socks in the doc's office--I may finish them in two weeks after all...)

Chicken stayed the night at her grandma's last night--this is kind of fun, actually. Chicken, who is a social outcast in her own school, and her cousin (well, my step-sister's son) Natters who is a social outcast in his own school, are both terrific card sharps, and they like to play with my grandma Flossie. Every now and then my mom arranges them to have a card night together--last night was the night.
We ate dinner at mom and dads (mmmmmmmm....) and I think they were a little surprised to watch my nighly fever set in...I visibly wilted, went into the living room, and sank into that 102 fever state where nothings quite real and everything is sort of pewter colored. They tend not to believe that sick people are really sick (A collective 60 years in the medical profession, I think) and I think they were kind of worried. Well, I guess so are we, so that's only to be expected.

Other than that and a trip to see Shrek 3 (too serious by half...) and a meeting with my crazy high school friend's...oh wait...yeah...that needs explaining.

Did any of you have a high school stalker? Anybody? I did, but I didn't really know it, and he was a sweet kind of kid, so it was no big deal. We went to the prom and stayed just friends. He was relieved to see I got really fat at our 10th year reunion--that sort of thing.

Well, my Crazy Friend (the one with the Las Vegas Hooker Shawl) had a high school stalker that she swore she'd never date, never in a million years. She hated him. She thought everything evil in her life spawned from him, and that he, in turn was the spawn of the unholy one.

Now flash forward 22 years, and she's been sleeping with him for two weeks, and, in her words, "He's not that bad."

And after years of enduring rants at how awful he was, I have no words for her, none at all. Anyway, we got to meet him when we brought the whole famn damily to see the mamn dovie. He didn't remember me at all. (Shhhhhhhhh--ocker.) But he seemed awfully sweet, and I can't remember for the life of me why she hated him.

But I still have no words for her, none at all. I can't decide if she's settling, if it's sweet, or if destiny is a rabid poodle in a clown suit, but, hey, at least if I'm not doing anything interesting, I can stress about her mental health, right?

That's what friends are for!

Thursday, May 17, 2007

Dear Ms. O

I totally appreciate the fact that you just dropped in today to observe me teaching after I had been gone for three days due to illness. Your complete lack of warmth or of facial expression was such a treat, too, especially because I get the same thing from your son, every day of the week.

Now I realize that you might have had a few questions about our lesson You understood it all? That's excellent. I stopped by your son's desk and he seemed to have written nothing--perhaps you could help him with...oh. It's my fault he couldn't do it because of all the talking. I understand. You do realize that most days, your son's a part of that? But then it's not his fault because he doesn't understand the assignment. I'm sorry, I don't know why he doesn't understand the assignment. Perhaps if he were to attempt...? No. He can't try because I'm not a good enough teacher to make him want to try. Okay. So I suck on a LOT of levels. I hear you. I'll see what I can do about that. Yes, I know he liked Ms. Ava better. Yes, I know he hates me. I'm sure he'd like me better if I were twenty-four, blonde, and size eight, but that's neither here nor there, he hates me, his grade is all my fault. It's starting to come together now.

I must add, that I'm especially thrilled with your threat to my administrator to complain about me for calling in sick. You know, you're right--taking that time off for my kids' orthodontia, well-baby appointments, and toddler snots really was inconsiderate of me. I mean, I should have just ignored them growing up and then tried to figure out where I screwed up along the way and made them threaten to flunk out of school--it seems to be working so well for you! And as for this last fever thing? Well, I can see your point--the doctors and their silly notes be damned, I was really just taking a mini-vacation, there was no reason on Goddess' green earth for me to be absent earlier this week--no wonder your son can't learn. I mean--I left sub plans for substitutes--how dare I? I should have been there, so your son could have continued to be rude, disrespectful and indifferent to me while I felt like complete shit, since obviously that's what I'm there for.

So I'm sorry, Ms. O--I mean, it's obvious that I suck and your little gang member is all that a teacher could ask for in a student. How could I ever think differently, than to expect the little fuckers to talk constantly while I'm talking, sneer openly at what I'm saying, and mock with mean spirited derision when I ask them how they expect to pass this class.

It's obvious how your son expects to pass my class--he's going to cry to his mommy.


Ms. Lane

Tuesday, May 15, 2007

On being a giant slug...

Well, I called in sick yesterday and today. Yesterday was a doctor's appointment and two very extreme signs from the universe, and today, I've been a giant banana slug--except I understand those things move sometimes.

Yesterday's 'calling in sick' was precipated (as you may have guessed) by the constant low-grade fever with the evening spike of 101.5 or above, and the doctor saw me, said, "let's run some labs" and after an hour wait for the lab and one REALLY uncomfortable blood draw (after four kids, you get to be sort of a conoisseur of these things) I was told, "We'll get back to you..." apparently, tomorrow. Of course, tomorrow will be three days out in a row and I'm just not doing it. I've been dragging my sorry ass to work feeling like crap for two weeks, and I can do it tomorrow while I wait to see what exotic disease is draining me like a freeloading relative. It's probably something stupid, like I'm allergic to my shampoo or something, but I tend to 'dream big' so I've already thought of at least four deadly ailments that are going to take me away before my time. Forgive me if I get maudlin in my own head--I've been writing my own epitaph since I was eight. (Those of you who have read the books, you know exactly what I'm talking about!)

But now to the two extreme signs from the Goddess at large...

I got an ipod for mother's day--bless Mate and the kids, they even bought a bright pink skin to go over it, it's very cool, and not nearly as big as the last one. (Mate told me that when I lose this one, the next one's going to be even smaller until finally I'm just getting the Shuffle...) It's got an inscription on it--From Mate and the Kids, Mother's Day 2007--although (and those of you who watch that show psych may remember this) I half expected the inscription to read, "Don't lose this. Love us." Anyway, I was listening to the i-Pod which was plugged into the car's stereo system on the way to pick up the kids from the babysitters, where they went for the Doc appt. This is important--trust me.

So, after the doc ap, I haven't eaten. It's 1:00 pm and I haven't eaten, and on top of everything else, my body is telling me that food would be really freakin' wonderful to help stave off the 10 ricter scale headache emerging from behind my eyeballs. I stop at a fast food place--by chance, one we don't have too many of around here and ordered. (Long John Silvers, okay? Breaded fish... for some reason I was CRAVING salty breaded fish. No, I don't understand it either.) I get to the window, realize my hands are actually SHAKING I am so hungry/ill and then (oh the freaking horror) I realize that I don't have my fucking wallet. Yes, ladies and gentleman (there may be one out there) I have left my wallet at the lab for the third time in the same building that I had to show them I was who I said I was. And I'm ready to cry--besides being hungry, I am also, now horribly embarrassed and I look greenly up into the eyes of the clerk and see...

The smiling face of a student I had one or two years ago, and she is so happy to see me it is practically rolling off of her in waves. She's thrilled, and she acts as if giving me my food for free is the best thing that's happened to her all week, and I am just weak enough to let her do it.

And as I pull into a parking-spot to eat and to call Kaiser to see if my wallet is still there (it is, another 30 min. of driving to add to that headache, thank you very much) I'm thinking, "That's it--the Goddess is telling me I should teach. Clear as a bell, she's telling me to hang in there because students like Samreen don't come along every day...hold up...what song am I hearing?"

And here's the kicker...because the song I'm hearing from the i-Pod on shuffle mode is Coldplay's Kingdom Come--which I decided right before the ipod got stolen is THE theme song of BITTER MOON. Now, mind you, I can't actually find this song on the i-Pod unless I hit it by accident--it doesn't seem to come through on the album's playlist...I have to listen to both cd's to hear it because I'm an idiot and can't remember whether it's on XY or A Rush Of Blood To The Head. So having this song pop up out of 1800 other choices right when I decide that maybe I should give the writing thing a rest and the teaching thing is apparently my fate forever...

Well, it is, for those of us who are weirdly superstitious, a pretty extreme sign from the universe.

I'm just not sure how to read it.

But I did write a couple of pages today. And slept, a lot. And laughed at the baby, who laughed back. And let Kewyn tickle me. And knit (more of that later...I do knit every day... just not a lot...) And slept.

And wondered...should I live when I awake, which path the Goddess wants me to take...

It is a conundum...

Saturday, May 12, 2007

Tag, I'm it....

Okay...Mother of Chaos tagged me with a meme of 8 random things. I've been tagged with this one before, so I think the challenge will be to see how truly random I get. I'm sort of the world's most boring human--it's gonna be tough. I'm tagging Catie, Roxie, Netter, Knittech, Lady in Red, Rae, Samurai, and bells--if you guys get this, gimme a heads up in the comments, otherwise I'm hunting you down to your own blogs and harrassing you to jump on the meme wagon:-) (Needletart, I know she already got you, darn it, otherwise you would have been first on my list... I know you love these things;0)

Lessee..8 random things...

1. I've gotten so intense about my crafting passion that I've chased people down in craft stores to try to give them advice. Yes. Just like the Yarn Harlot said real knitters do...I try not to do that anymore.

2. I've owned a cat for most of my life. Love the furry little flea-bags, what can I say...

3. My first best cat was Squinter. When Squinter died, we got Matthew, who looked just like Squinter (a gray tortoishell) and who also had the personality of a mouse-eating purr-machine. Matthew is Mate's real name--I told him it was destiny, because damn, did I love that cat. (Matthew the cat had his eye enucleated because of an unfortunate fox-tail incident, and died soonafter crossing the road--he had no more 3-D vision. I don't talk about that much to Mate...that part doesn't have to be destiny.)

4. My parents split when I was seven. When I talk about my mom on the blog, I am USUALLY talking about my step-mom, who is one of the world's five greatest people, period, the end. Goddess was really watching out for me when I got her.

5. I was going to be an actress for about two years in college. Then I realized that A. I hated dieting, B. I was not that attractive, (you have to be real when you're in the theatre--I was neither pretty enough for leads nor good enough for character roles) and C. I wrote better lines than I delivered.

6. Mate and I went cross country by bus once. I learned how to give myself a bath with a banadana and boraxo in a bathroom stall. I don't ever want to do that again.

7. Twice during finals week when I was in college, I spent my 2 hours of sleeping time nursing kittens dropped off on our doorstep by psychotic mama-cats. Most of them died. I don't know why those dumbass critters picked my doorstep, but that vet that yelled at me about taking care of animals until I was in tears has some serious karma coming to bite him on the ass.

8. I've had a fever of 101.5 for the last 3 weeks. I have no idea why, but it's making me tired, useless, and grumpy. I want it to go the @#$%away.

Friday, May 11, 2007

A poll taken by a heretic...

I hesitate to do this because I'm afraid nobody will read yesterday's post, which offers a teaser to BITTERMOON that I'm particularly proud of. But I can't help myself...

I'm such a sucker for a poll--I got this one from Samurai, and I'm going to outrage the purists and fill it out including my crochet experience...any art that utilizes fiber can not be despised!!!

You copy the list, and italicize the stuff you've done...I haven't done that much...

Afghan I used to knit and crochet NOTHING BUT afghans...
Garter stitch

Knitting with metal wire - I'd like to try this but I'm afraid it would destroy my hands (Samurai's words, my sentiments...)
Stockinette stitch
Socks: top-down
I'm on a sock tear right now!!!!
Socks: toe-up
Knitting with camel yarn
Mittens: Cuff-up Both knit and crochet!!!
Mittens: Tip-down
Hat Are you shitting me? After this year? Damn straight I've knit hats...
Knitting with silk
Moebius band knitting
Participating in a KAL - Not sure--did the knitting olympics count?
Sweater - you think?

Drop stitch patterns
Knitting with recycled/secondhand yarn
Slip stitch patterns--haven't found one I like quite enough...
Knitting with banana fiber yarn
Domino knitting (=modular knitting)
Twisted stitch patterns
Knitting with bamboo yarn
Two end knitting same basic crochet idea...have done that
Charity knitting
Knitting with soy yarn
Toy/doll clothing
Knitting with circular needles
- can you knit for a time and NOT?
Baby items
a few...(snark!)
Knitting with your own hand-spun yarn -- will never happen
Slippers --I've crocheted quite a few
Graffiti knitting - isn't this that Mason/Dixon big fiber/small fiber/big needle thing?
Continental knitting
Designing knitted garments
Cable stitch patterns
Lace patterns

Publishing a knitting book--I've published a FICTION book where knitting played a part in the plot!
Participate in an exchange Scarf
Teaching a child to knit
American/English knitting - I've tried it
Knitting to make money I've actually knit stuff to sell (by request) and HATED it.
Knitting with alpaca
Fair Isle knitting

Norwegian knitting
Dying with plant colors
Knitting items for a wedding
Household items (dishcloths, washcloths, tea cosies…)
Knitting socks (or other small tubular items) on one or two circulars
Knitting with someone else’s hand-spun yarn--I have some waiting at home, but not yet
Knitting with dpns !!!!
Holiday related knitting I don't even want to mention how many holidays I've @#$%ed up by working on impossible deadlines.
Teaching a male how to knit students...
Bobbles crochet bobbles are such a picnic compared to the knitting variety...
Knitting for a living-- ah, if only...
Knitting with cotton
Knitting smocking
Dying yarn
Knitting art
Knitting two socks on two circulars simultaneously
Knitting with wool
Textured knitting
Kitchener stitch
harder than you'd think for a lefty...
Knitted flowers I'm counting crochet here--because, quite frankly, I like the look of the crocheted flowers better.
Knitting with beads
Long Tail CO

Knitting and purling backward--it happens if you teach people sort of learn to do this stuff so that they see how it's SUPPOSED to look.
Machine knitting
Knitting with self patterning/self striping/variegated yarn ? Someone hasn't?
Stuffed toys both crocheted and knitted--although there's this knit teddy bear that's essentially all rectangles and some sculpting--PERFECT beginner's project.
Knitting with cashmere
Jewelry I'm counting the cave troll's wrist things w/the buttons.
Knitting with synthetic yarn
Writing a pattern--suck at it, but yes.
Intarsia both knit and crochet
Knitting with linen
Knitting for preemies
Tubular CO
Free-form knitting
Short rows you have to with socks...
Cuffs/fingerless mits/arm-warmers and weren't they pretty...
Pillows--now I always thought this was pretty useless...I think that's because I'm not the pot-pourri/matching throw-pillow type.
Knitting a pattern from an on-line knitting magazine curiously enough, Lion Brand...all my Knitty stuff is on my to-do list:-)
RugKnitting on a loom
Thrummed knitting - I'd have to see snow.
Knitting a gift Almost nothing else...
Knitting for pets I made the ugliest sweater for the neighbor's dog. I"m so glad I don't talk to that neighbor anymore.
Knitting with dog/cat hair--eww. I mean, seriously, I saw a booth doing this at a fiber convention--I swear to dog, I smelled wet-pet before I figured out what the booth was for.
Hair accessories the crocheted scrunchie--it's a staple.
Knitting in public - Especially at staff meetings where I hope my freakin' vainglorious prickweenie chokes on his own freakin' bile...

Thursday, May 10, 2007

A Wee Taste For Needletart...

Okay...I've hit the 1/2 way part of BITTER MOON, and I promised Needletart that I'd use her story of how she learned how to knit in someway, because I was so very enchanted with it.

The religion in the book is based on the three moons of the world--Oueant, god of honor, Dueant, god of Compassion, and Triane, Goddess of joy. The people of Eiran tell 'Goddess Stories' in which the gods and the other heavenly bodies are used to illustrate points for the characters in the story itself. This Goddess story is told by Yarri's Aunt Bethen to Trieste, the current lover of the young man that everyone believes to be Yarri's 'moon-destined' for Yarri herself. At first, Yarri, at eleven, was less then receptive to Torrant's college sweetheart, but when she learns that Trieste herself is betrothed to an older man she has never met, she relaxes a little, and Auntie Beth has a chance to do what Auntie Beth does best--mother the dispossessed, tell stories, and knit.

The knitting fascinated Trieste—it seemed so very simple, two sticks and some string, but when Bethen offered to show her how it worked, she put her hands behind her back like a guilty child and shook her head.

“No. No. I’m not good at that,” she said with such absolute conviction that Yarri looked up from her own knitting in curiosity. Yarri had been exceptionally quiet after her swim with Torrant, and almost frighteningly gracious as well.

“And how would you know if you’re good at it or not if you’ve never tried it?” Bethen asked with a smile and a raised eyebrow.

Trieste flushed enough to make the swimming hole look suddenly inviting again. “I had nannies…” she said uncertainly.

“Like goats?” Yarri asked in honest surprise, and Trieste laughed, feeling better about the conversation.

“Like baby-sitters who were supposed to teach me,” she explained. “I couldn’t go to Triannon until I was your age, so I had nannies to teach me how to dress and how to read…”

“What about your parents?” Yarri asked, so surprised she’d actually put her knitting down, and for the first time since their fight and the quiet that followed, Trieste actually felt older than her rival.

“You’ve been very lucky, Yarrow Moon,” she said gently. “Not every lord’s daughter gets her first lessons in her father’s study on her mother’s knee.”

Yarri made an indeterminate sound in her throat and Bethen met Trieste’s eyes and smiled, nodding for her to go on.

“Anyway…they kept trying to teach me things…embroidery, sewing, crocheting, tatting, spinning, weaving…I…” she tried to laugh because, after all, she had been younger than Yarri the last time an impersonal pair of hands had tried to guide her stiff fingers along unfamiliar, unwanted pathways. “I wasn’t very good,” she finished, wrapping her arms around her knees at the last. Wistfully she looked out to the swimming hole—Aylan was taking turns with Cwyn and Starren, submerging himself in the water and putting their feet on his shoulders and letting them dive off as he exploded out of the water. Aldam, Roes, Stanny and Torrant were playing monkey in the middle with a hollow wooden ball, and Lane was across the river, toweling off and talking only partly seriously to the man Torrant had told her was the mayor of Eiran—they were probably discussing the Beltane celebration the next day, and whether or not there would be enough food.

A part of her wanted to be out there, with her friends and her lover and his family, but then she heard Bethen’s needle’s click again and she was drawn irresistibly back to the magic with the sticks and the string.

“Do you tell Goddess stories, Trieste?” Bethen asked, giving the fine lavender yarn in her hand a little tug. Bethen’s graying red hair had escaped its band, and it hung in little ringlets in the humidity, and her pleasant, freckled face was set serenely. Only her twinkling, lively eyes betrayed that she had anything in mind.
“I’ve heard Torrant and Aldam tell them,” she responded, staring unabashedly now that Bethen had seemingly changed the subject.

“Well,” Bethen began, peering at Trieste’s rapt expression, “When Triane was young, she was sent from the brothers to learn how to be a lady, did you know that?”

“Mmm-nnn,” Trieste said negatively, watching one stitch become the next, and the next one become the one after that.

“Just like you, she was sent from Auntie Star to Auntie Star—she had seven in all, and each had something to teacher her. One taught her to read, which she liked very much, but then she said, ‘I will teach you to embroider, and it will be your duty to embroider for Oueant and Dueant, because you are the woman,’ and Triane didn’t like this very much at all. Her fingers became as stiff as her lip and her jaw and her thread snarled and the colors knotted together, and soon her embroidery looked like a child’s watercolor where all the colors run to brown. The first Auntie Star got angry, and huffed Triane off to the next Auntie, who taught Triane how to cook. Triane liked cooking very much, but when the same Auntie Star said, ‘You will learn how to sew, because you are the woman and it is your duty to sew,’ Triane’s back grew ramrod straight and her brows drew in and her shirts grew extra arms and flounces where no man should have flounces and a side of shirt that no one, god or human has ever had a side of body before. And this Auntie got impatient too, and shipped her off to the next, and the next one taught her how to sing, which she enjoyed very much, but then she brought out a loom and said, ‘You will weave fine blankets, because you are the girl, and it is your duty to keep your men warm,’ and…do you want to guess?” Bethen cast wicked eyes at Trieste and Trieste laughed back.
“And her wrists were suddenly limp and moving in several hundred different ways, and before she was done with the weaving loom she had managed to weave in her dress, her hair, and the tail of an unfortunate cat.”

Yarri spit laughter hard enough that she had to put down her knitting and hold her hand up to her mouth. “Did you really?” She asked, gasping, and Trieste found her first real smile for the girl blossoming on her face.

“My hair and my dress, yes—the cat barely escaped.”

Yarri laughed some more, and then Bethen picked up the narrative thread as easily as she picked up her next stitch. “And so it went,” she continued, “From Auntie Star to Auntie Star—one taught her to paint, but failed to teach her crochet, one taught her figures, but failed to teach her to tat, and so on until the seventh Auntie Star. Now by this time, poor Triane was over and done with the routine. She was tired of learning beautiful things only to be told that things that should be beautiful were her duty. She was very grumpy with this Auntie Star. ‘So, what duty are you going to try to teach me now?’ she asked. ‘I warn you, I’m awful at everything—I’m a spiteful, disobedient girl and Oueant and Dueant will never love me.’

“Now, this seventh Auntie was very wise, and she just nodded her head and tended to her knitting and said, ‘I don’t want to teach you anything, my darling. Just sit at my knee while I make you your sweater, and we will talk of all your days, and all the things you can do to make Honor and Compassion happy.’

“Triane was very surprised at this—in fact, she was so surprised that her legs went right out from under her, and she found herself sitting at her Auntie’s feet and pouring out the sadness of having fingers that were stiff and wrists that were floppy and brows that were drawn so tight against her head that they hurt. And Auntie Star the seventh stroked her night and sea dark hair and continued to knit. Eventually Triane looked up and asked,”

“What are you knitting?” Trieste supplied to Bethen’s nod.

“Well, I am knitting a lace shawl for someone who will look spectacular in lavender,”

“Not me!” Yarri rolled her eyes.

“But Auntie Star was knitting the most brilliant silver gold cloak. And she looked at Triane and said ‘I am making you a gift, dear heart. Anyone who has tried so very hard as you have to make other people happy—you deserve to be loved.’

“And Triane began to cry, because she hadn’t been trying very hard to make other people happy at all, but the cloak was so very pretty. It was perfect for her prettiest time, in the early summer and late spring, when her face is golden/silver on the sea. And she tried on the cloak, and it was lovely, and when her Auntie Seventh Star wasn’t looking, she picked up the needles and, after watching her Auntie for so very long, she found that when she wanted to cast-on, her fingers found a way. When she wanted to knit, her wrists stayed right where they should be. And when she needed to purl, her brows relaxed after a couple of successful tries. The next day, Auntie Seventh Star came to her…no no, dear, knitting is from front to back—that’s right…and said, what are you knitting, my darling? And Triane said…” Bethen, who had moved closer to Trieste as she talked so that she could show her what to do with needles and yarn, looked at her new pupil to finish the story.

“And she said, ‘I am making a bag for my lovely Auntie Seventh Star, so that she doesn’t have to put her needles in one pocket and her yarn in another when she goes to the swimming hole to teach silly young women how to knit.’”

Bethen smiled from ear to ear. “Darling, that would be a wonderful project—we can find the yarn for you when we get back to the house. Are you sure you wouldn’t like to go swim with all the young people now?”

“In a minute,” Trieste murmured, looking down at her hands, “After one more stitch.”
Yarri stood and stretched. “Well, I’m going to swim—I’m tired of sweat running down my armpits.” She bent and kissed Bethen on the cheek. “That was one of your best, Auntie Beth.”

As Yarri left, Trieste looked up to where she’d sat knitting, and the dark blue tube she’d been working on, that was now decorated with bright orange/yellow gold as well.

“What is she knitting?” She asked curiously.

“Fingerless mittens,” Bethen said serenely. “She heard they’re all the rage in courts this year.”

“Really?” Trieste gave Bethen back her work gratefully—it was lace fine, and she thought that maybe stouter yarn would be easier to work with. “What’s that it says across the back?”

Bethen laughed. “If I’m not mistaken, it says ‘Trieste’. Now go swim, my dear, I’ll be with you all in a moment.”

Tuesday, May 8, 2007

I am Jack's Bleeding Ulcer

First of all, shout outs to Catie (boooyaa!) and S.Northrop (huzzah!) for giving me wonderful write-ups for their own respective amazons...I'm finally represented in Canada, and since I've had sort of a crush on the country since they served us take-out pizza in a phone booth during our school trip to Victoria, I'm pretty psyched! In fact, these two things have pretty much gotten me through a couple of days so horrible, I'm not even going to blog about...well, ALL of them, because I love you all and I want you to sustain the will to live.

Have you all seen Fight Club? I hadn't. I let a kid talk me into showing it for class--they all had R rated permission slips--what the hell?

Now honestly, it could be one of the most worthwhile literary experiences they've had all year--they've talked animatedly about it, we've touched upon personification, unreliable narrator, foreshadowing, imagery, diction, and metaphor--and because it was all about Fight Club? My Juniors may actually remember it.

Today we did the "I Am Jack's..." exercise that I made up when I saw the movie--those of you who have seen it may remember that this was a catchline...whenever the Narrator felt something strongly, he would personify the feeling with the metaphor, "I am Jack's...cold sweat," or "I am Jack's...smirking revenge."

What I was making the kids do was describe a scene (imagery) in which they felt so very much emotion that this feeling took over their entire body--they BECAME the emotion, and when they were done describing the scene, they would write, "I am Jack's..." The best one I got was from a dancer who emerged from the prom victorious and happy, and she was "Jack's sense of style."

Pretty cool, huh?

Yeah...while they did that, I continued doggedly at my grades, refusing to look at my 6th period. Why you ask? Because I came back on Monday morning (late because of some ugly traffic) and pulled up my grades, hoping for the best. There was a tag next to my computer that said, "I have replaced your grades with the ones from the server. I hope it worked." For the most part, it did, except for my 6th period--yes, THE 6th period. Every grade in every category had been replaced with an EX, which is Demonic Grading Computerese for "EXCUSED". Everybody's grades had completely disappeared.

Today, while my 4th period worked on the "I Am Jack's..." I pulled out my post-its, and wrote, "I am Jack's Bleeding Ulcer." Then I left it on my computer.

I'm pretty sure my tech has watched Fight Club--but if not, I get the joke.

Sunday, May 6, 2007

The whining will stop here...

Or maybe I'll just post some pictures to reward you guys for all of your wonderful and warm words of encouragement--Catie, I can't wait to read your review!!! Don't worry about my last post, guys...there's an axiom at our hs--don't quit in the first six weeks or the last six weeks... or two weeks before Christmas vacation, or that long stretch in March or the day before school starts.

It's amazing that we have such a huge turnover, isn't it?

Recovery Time

I was cruising on Friday--just cruising. I had been working pretty steadily, entering grades--my grades were not stellar, they were not pristine, but after six weeks of computer outage in 14 weeks of school, well, they were at least UNEMBARRASSING...

I had two things to do. One, enter the late work that my more inconsiderate 6th period students threw at me at the beginning of class, (I knew they were going to do it--I was just thrilled the little goombahs weren't waiting until Monday morning)and two? There's this thing we have to do, where any kid with a C- or lower gets a comment put on their report card of 'in danger of failing' next to their grade. It's a Cover Your Ass sort of thing--say that C- kid doesn't turn in a ginormous project at the end of the semester and his C- grade turns into an F. We need to put that mark there (or make phone contact--not always as easy as it sounds, btw.) so mom and dad don't freak out and accuse us of not being in contact with them about their little procrastinator's precious grade. Anyway, I had to do that.

6th period, on Friday--I'd been working my ass off for two weeks to catch up. No real surfing, (okay, a little, but compared to what I'm doing in despair when the damned grading program isn't working? de nada...) no blogging, only a little writing, after school, as a reward for working my ass off with a whole heart and taking pride in my job when I thought that ideal had become some sort of chimaera, or the dish of the chameleon, promise crammed. (Yes--I am teaching Hamlet--why do you ask?)

6th period on Friday--my inconsiderate goombahs had handed me their last-minute-sub-standard make-up work, including some half-assed attempts to make up for a project presentation so awful that nothing, in years of teaching regular twelfth grade, could surpass the total suckage of what these supposed honors students produced, and I had a timed writing planned at the end of the period. The work would be graded, it would be entered, a half an hour after school to put in the little in danger of failing mark, and I was free and clear. I might even (because the Cave Troll has been having suck a sucky time of it) call in sick on Monday and give the poor critter a chance to chill our and lose that flesh eating beetle that is still apparently firmly lodged where it should not be.

6th period on Friday.

And my fucking grading program falls to the earth and burns with a crash that could probably be heard in Canberra... (bells, did you hear it?)

Whatever happened was so bad, I'm left wondering how much of my data, that painstakingly entered data, will be left when I get back.

I spent the second half of Friday numb and exhausted from sudden onset depression, I'm sure. I spent the first 1/2 of Saturday stuck in one of those brain loops, where, if left too long to myself, I'd start picturing the worst case scenario, and my subsequent public meltdown. I started wondering, if this fucking thing drove me to a nervous breakdown, could work pay for the years leave of absence that it would take me to recover from this horrible, horrible year?

And then Mate came through.

The kids wanted to see Spiderman. I was going to stay home with Ladybug. But I wanted to see Spiderman. But I'm ALWAYS the one who stays home with Ladybug. So I said, what the hell--we'll see if maybe we can't get Ladybug to sleep or sit or didn't work of course. Ladybug was her usual charming self, but that doesn't mean she sat still, and between her excess of personality and the entire bag of popcorn I dropped on the head of the unsuspecting 3rd grader the seat below me, Mate was pretty happy to pick her up and take her out, leaving me to watch the movie. (That popcorn thing was pretty funny, actually--the best part was the fact that the kid ATE most of what got dropped on him--and I'm not kidding about it being a full bag! Oh yeah--and the fact that the kid's mom giggled hysterically through the whole movie about it. Goddess bless her, she really did.) So Mate gets up, takes Ladybug and...

And I watched a movie. My neck relaxed, my smile relaxed, my FACE relaxed...and I liked the movie. I wish the 'Venom' part hadn't gone on so long, because Topher Grace made an excellent Carnage, but really? I got to watch a movie.

About 1/2 way through the Cave Troll came and took Mate's empty seat. AT the end, at the sad part, he pat my shoulder and said, "It's okay, mom...don't cry." But I did cry, and it felt great.

I only wish I could bring him to school on Monday, because I have the feeling I'm going to need that pat on my shoulder then.

Thursday, May 3, 2007

A few words on Project Monogamy...

It sucks...

Wait, wait, there's more.


I do this every year. Every year I commit projects to students because I want to do it all. And then, once I've JUST ABOUT filled my project roster so that I, if I work very hard and ignore my family, might just finish my commitments by June, I fall completely out of love with the projects I'm working on, get stressed, hate my life and need to START ANOTHER PROJECT in the same, dreadful, urgent way that I NEED TO BREATHE.

But see, I CAN'T! I can't, because I'm COMMITTED. It's like committing to a bad marriage for five years--you know it's going to end, you'll know you regret it (brother, do I regret one of the projects I've committed to--it's for one of the kids in the AP class who has been snide and behind my back all year, and the only reason I committed to it is that I wanted to take the high road and be the better person, but I've got to tell you that the high road is fucking dry, because that's what the HIGH ROAD IS!!!) but, darn it, we're knitters, and we don't back out on a knitting commitment... we knit that baby blanket (longest black hole known to man...) we knit those leg warmers (lion brand Thick & Quick--'nuff said) we knit those socks (their one saving grace is that I picked an ultra cute pattern so I could be proud of them) and we knit those fingerless mitts (I'm dicking with the pattern. I can't knit the same thing twice, even on request. Enough is enough.) And we knit them, and smile, and realize that the high road may be dry, but MacDonald's is making diet coke in the X-Large size now, so we may just survive.

(And then we cast on something with no redeeming social or gift-giving value in the car, because it doesn't count in the car. I'm sure that's an idea that has wrecked many marriages, but this is knitting. We can have rules like that in knitting.)

The Wheels on the Bus (as I remember from my days taking the 10 o'clock Muni in San Francisco I didn't sing the ENTIRE version the Cave Troll:-)

The...wheels on the bus go round and round, round and round, round and round, the wheels on the bus go round and round, all around town...

The driver on the bus goes 'pay your fare...' all around town.

The wino on the bus goes, 'used wine here, put used wine here, all your used wine here' all around town.

The hooker on the bus goes 'up and down, up and down...' all around town.

The yuppie on the bus shouts 'fix my car, fix my car, fix my car...' all around town.

The teacher on the bus goes 'shoulda been a banker, shoulda been a banker, shoulda been a banker..." all around town.

The crackhead on the bus goes, 'eat some horse, gotta eat some horse, gotta eat some horse' all around town...

The horse on the bus goes 'let me off, let me off, let me off...' all around town.

The driver on the bus goes 'Don't shit here! Don't shit here! Don't shit here!...' all around town...

The chicken on the bus goes, 'shoulda took a cab, shoulda took a cab, shoulda took a cab...' all around town.

The mama on the bus goes, 'don't look there, and don't look there, and don't look anywhere,' all over town.

(Just for you, Catie!)
The grad student on the bus goes, 'let me sleep, let me sleep, let me sleep', the grad student on the bus goes, 'one more stop...' all over town...

(For Knittech:-)
The knitter on the bus goes 'click click frog, click click frog, click click frog' all around town...

(For Roxie:-)
The teenager on the bus goes 'dude this sucks, dude this sucks, dude this sucks...' all around town...

The chaos on the bus goes round and round, round and round, round and round, the chaos on the bus goes round and round...

Tuesday, May 1, 2007

How to Keep a Narcissist Humble

Dear Diary, today I...

* Argued with the Cave Troll all the way to daycare. Pried him out of his carseat and gave his hand to the babysitter (who was holding Ladybug in the other arm) so I could flee out the front door without him following me, sobbing.

* Bawled all the way to work.

* Wondered how badly the prickweenie is going to fuck up the perfect schedule my (at the moment) beloved and canonized department heads have built for me next year.

* Tried to assure the other people at lunch that yes, the prickweenie does hate me worst of all.

* Managed to bring some of my grades to a level I shall define as 'unembarrassing'. Note that the lack of embarrassment is on my part. It should not, however, be felt on the part of my students.

* Took a picture of a student's hair-- he had his hairdresser carve a Spiderman spider + web into his hair. This was actually pretty awesome--I wish I could download my camera phone into the laptop--alas, no cords.

* Apologized to custodian as he came in--my 5th period (which I had for two hours today) had left the place looking like an orangutaun's literbox. Fucking oranguatauns.

* Left late from school to pick big T up from track. (He didn't do his homework while he was waiting. I guess we both had something to apologize for.)

* Picked up an ecstatic Cave Troll. Pried a despondent Ladybug from that nice daycare lady's arms. Told the daycare lady (a former student!) that yes, somedays, it sucks to be mom.

* Succumbed to T's enroute convincing that we really needed a bucket of nice non trans fat. Tried unfruitfully to convince T that the 'non-trans fat' part of that bucket didn't necessarily mean it was healthy. Bought it anyway. Fucking dishes.

* Succumbed to the Cave Troll's imperious order that I sing "The Wheels on the Bus" for the last 15 minutes of the one hour journey home. I can really only sing that song twice without losing it, so I started taking liberties with it. For example, I bet you didn't know that there's a crackhead, a wino, a bitter yuppie, a retired teacher, and a big fucking horse that doesn't know where to shit on that bus, did you?

* Got home. Took two minutes to read my one, beautiful, touchingly written and inspiringly timed fan letter from my up and running web site. Called Mate up, read it to him. Mate asked, "Well, can your head fit through the door still?"

* I told him we'd see in a minute, I had to bail, there was an accident involving Ladybug's futon and a chocolate milk that needed my attention immediately.

* As I hauled out the futon, with a yet-again-despondent Ladybug hauling ass after me and bitching at me in 1 year old for stealing her favorite seat, I thought that after two pieces of chicken my ass was another lb. closer to not fitting through the door.

* My head, however, fit just fine.