Thank God She Had An Epidural

NBGH, Labor and Delivery

Nurse, Delivering mom, her sister, and their parents (Dad and Mom)

Nurse: Do you know what you're having?

Sister: No, I wanted to keep it a surprise.

Nurse: Oh, how sweet! What do you have picked out for names?

Sister: Liam Patrick if it's a boy, Josephine Catherine if it's a girl.

Nurse: Nice names! Does anyone want to call it?

KS: Girl!

Dad: It doesn't matter, as long as he or she is healthy.

Mom: I feel the same way.

Quiet while Nurse checks monitors.

Dad: Though it could be a hermaphrodite.

Mom: Tom!

KS laughs. Delivering mom, hopped up on drugs, smiles and rolls her eyes. Nurse keeps eyes on the charts.

KS fakes serious expression while trying not to choke on laughter.

KS: But sis, you haven't thought of any names if it's a hermaphrodite!

Dad: Hermie?

She's a beautiful, healthy girl.

Feels good to be back! Happy New year!

PISS!

You know what's absolutely hysterical? Farting into the toilet bowl at work and spewing anal blood from your hemorrhoid all over the pristine porcelain.

Good times.

Signs I'm overdosing on Scrubs...

As I was cruising down the highway this morning, I noticed a bald, well-dressed man carrying a thick briefcase battling the wind as he walked along the breakdown lane. Due to the frigid air, I considered picking him up.

My mind wandered off as J.D narrated the following...

I decided to pick up the balding man as an act of goodwill during this holiday season. He was initially quite appreciative and polite-until he pulled out the gun.

"Give me all of your money. Better yet, drive to the nearest ATM and take out all of your money."

I was confused for a moment, because having just recently seen the movie "Reality Shows That Never Made It" , I had an unconventional understanding of the acronym "ATM". Once it hit me that he meant "Automated Teller Machine" I began to laugh.

"Why are you laughing?" he demanded incredulously.
"My ex-boyfriend just stole all of my money. Well, not stole, exactly, gambled/drank it away under false pretenses, I know, it was a little naive to believe that he was supporting a tribe of Inuits in Australia-I'd forgotten they're not "Eskimos" anymore, so he tricked me, and there was the bail bond for the whole Mexican waitress/salsa/knife fiasco, and I consider the ensuing shopping/drinking/strip club visiting spree entirely his fault due to my emotional distress. So we can go to an ATM if you'd like, but you'd get about 33 bucks-wait, looook at these nails, just had them done, great manicure, love the Vietnamese better than the Koreans for nails-do you think they can tell each other apart?, but $33-10, plus tip, ok there's 22.19 left in the bank then."

He stared at me a minute, then yelled, "Drive me to a bank, you cheap bitch, I'll rob it, and you'll drive the getaway car."

My life had been leading up to this moment. I hadn't wanted to go to work anyway, but had already taken three sick days. This day would be excused, I wouldn't even have to call in, and I could fulfill a fantasy of breaking the law, and could probably get away with it under these circumstances.

I reached under the driver's seat and pulled out two black ski masks (one trimmed in black fur...so bad, that poor little mink, but, oh, so soft. I rubbed it against my cheeks as my eyes started to well. Finally, after years of being stored in that exact spot, it would be put to good use.)
"Yippee!" I screamed gleefully. "I'm in!"
Bald robber man was stunned for a minute, but once he recovered, he began rattling off instructions.
"Drive back to West H*******..."
"No, no, no, " I said. "Someone might recognize me, and it's a bad hair day."
"Fine. New B***** then. "
"Nope, my Dad does his banking on Wednesdays, and it would be rather awkward, you know, 'Put you hands up! This is a robbery...Dad.' And then there's his trick shoulder, and he can't really reach that high, and honestly, if you cared about me, you wouldn't ruin my first law-breaking opportunity."
"P******?"
"No go-my mom lives there."
"Goddammit, then, where?"
"Well, I'm kinda hungry."
"Great, we'll rob a Dunkin Donuts, and you can eat, too."
"I'm doing South Beach."
"Really? Me too!"

So bald robber guy and I bonded over medium-rare bacon burgers (hold the bun) and we shared life stories. We had so much in common. He was raised in an orphanage in Romania, I saw a Romanian once on TV (Well, I think. Where is that hot foreign doctor on E.R. from?) and both of our moms' have brown eyes (Well, my mom has one brown, and one green, but I wanted him to feel close to me.) We never got around to robbing the bank, because he blew a red light two feet from a cop, and when they ran his name he was wanted for many robberies, but bald robber man had taught me so much in the time we were together-how to sneak out of a restaraunt without paying, how to get Russian girls to marry me and give me money, how to make swans out of paper napkins...and as he escorted away in slow motion by the cops, he yelled, "P r o m i s e y o u ' l l w r r r i i i t e ! ! !" I knew that my life would never be the same, and that I certainly never would write-I mean, being from Romania, could he even read English?

I'll fly you to the moon

You go right ahead, cranberry BMW with out-of-state plates whizzing by me on New Park Ave. Go ahead, zoom on past. There are two cop cars stationed three blocks apart from 4:45-5:15 for people like you. Oh, you're going to the gym, huh? Please, take that spot. Go ahead. Hmm, a young twenty something with 60 dollar Abercrombie shorts-betcha Daddy bought the car, didn't he. Rush in to get the next place in line for the spinning class. Really. No skin off my ass.

'Cause when you got pulled out of line for owing $17.09 and I sauntered upstairs to get one of the last remaining bikes, it felt, ooooooooooooh, so delicious, you over-tanned anorexic bitch bag.

And, oh, on the relationship front. What I've discovered is that, yes, indeed, I can love again. Trust? Nope.

Five a day

My pussy is like bagged baby spinach-triple washed and trimmed.

My point is...

Possible reasons that I haven't been posting.

1. Drunken, greasy weasels oiled up my keyboard in a frenetic orgy.
2. It's been so long I forgot the password.
3. Despite the fact that I now have DSL, this computer still works as slow as molasses.
4. I'm, uh, ahem, like, happy, and don't have much to bitch about, except for the usual work/sister-in-law stuff.

The real reason, I think, is because I have been watching hours and hours of Scrubs, and much like J.D., have a running commentary on my life in my head (in his voice), so writing anything down seems redundant. (KS's eyes roll to one side, dream sequence with pudding commences.)

A Personalized Offer Just For You

Would anyone like first dibs on the mouse stuck to the sticky paper in the basement?

Kink

Mom calls.
"Hi KS. Your brother from CA called!" (Happy news, CA brother used to have a drug problem.)
"Great. What's new?"
"He's doing well, but he has strep. He's so happy that he has insurance-his copay is only $20!"
"Great, Mom. Hope he's feeling better."
"Well, he missed Monday and Tuesday, but he has sick time, so it was ok. He went in on Wednesday, but they sent him home because he looked terrible."

And I just have to go there.

"Well, they probably didn't want the actresses to get sick."

She ignores that.

"He sounds so happy. He loves this job, and they're happy with his work."
"Great, Mom, that's awesome."
"They have him doing a little of this and a little of that."

I can't help it. I start to laugh. Big, guffaws, belly laughs, drop the phone and pitch over on the bed laugh. I feel my mom's silence and disapproval through it all, but I can't stop laughing.

My brother designs and builds sets for on-line porn sites.

Originally, he was going to be Al Gore

My 16-year-old son shaved, put on his best suit and tie, and made a sign that said, "I dressed up for Halloween" before going out to trick-or-treat with two 16-year-old girls.

Hmm, I wonder where he got his sense of humor.

Boo

I no longer think I have a mouse in the kitchen but rather a saltine seeking poltergeist.

Hey baby

I want a line in your obituary, but not as the cause of death.

Eight and one half hours of uninterrupted sleep, and I feel like a new person. Yesterday's post could have only been the result of sleep deprivation. That pick-up line I thought of? Before I got some sleep. The apple cider donuts? Before I got some sleep. The high waisted, wide-legged jeans? Ok, that was just stoooopidity.

Clumsy

Hell No! I ain't insecure! Watch me march into any place, my strides long, confident, shit-eating grin on my face, witty banter at the ready. Hey, you talkin' to me? Huh, I thought so. No, the tattoo did not hurt. Mm-hmm, yep, own my own home, have two degrees, a son on the Honor roll. Alimony? No, the judge wanted me to pay him, but he knew better than to accept. Uh, yeah, I date, but guys usually annoy or bore the hell out of me after two months. Sure, yeah, I'd like to meet your daughters. Wow, they're beautiful, and smart. And thanks for calling when you said you would, and for the rose, and the sweet message. The way you hold me feels incredible. I love the way you pull me close at night, and the way we laugh together. Wow...um, hey, ah...you still seeing other people? Cause, um, you know, I could easily...I could easily...nah, never mind. Oh, my God, I won't say this out loud, but I...please, God, let him say it first, and soon, because I'm fit to burst. I hope he feels it too, and if not, have him tell me that before it really, really hurts.

Ewwwww

Remember Bloom County? I think there was a huge roach that used to sneak into the kitchen and eat peanut butter out of the jar with a spoon. I'm afraid I'm going to come home and find a rat has donned my silkiest thong and is licking my vibrator.

.

Whacha gonna do

3:30 a.m.
Rustling in the kitchen, and what sounds like ice clinking in a glass.
"A****, is that you?"
Silence.
"A****?"
The hum of the refrigerator ebbs, and I think, "Oh, must have been the motor."

4:00 a.m.
More noise from the kitchen.
Oh God, I think, Crazy ex-Boyfriend has finally broken in. I'm scared for a minute, then think, No, Fuck that shit, after all he did to me? ONE of us will leave this house, and it's gonna be me, singing Cell-block Tango at the top of my lungs.

But part of me is very, very scared. SO scared, in fact, that I realize constipation will not be one of today's problems.

More rustling, but I can't fathom the exact location from atop the pile of blankets and pillows that raise me on the bed as far as possible from the floor. The cupboards? The porch? The oven?

It's probably a rat, I decide, but what do I do? I sleep naked, and I should act quickly. My knee high black boots, those could protect me against rat bites. But what if I have to call the police? What if it IS J***, and the police come and I'm naked in high black boots holding a knife against his throat? (Yeah, the irony.) What if it IS a rat, and I call the police, and they think I'm one of those weirdo pervs that likes to stomp rodents? (I swear, all of this went through my mind.) And boots without stockings make me feet sweat-do I have any stockings nearby? What do I do???

So, from atop my perch, I reach over to the bureau and throw a water bottle into the kitchen. Then a flip flop. And a sneaker, and a vitamin water bottle, (hey, you should keep hydrated, even at night) then a shoe box and a deodorant.

Nothing for ten minutes, then rustling. By this point, I'm pretty sure it's from the oven or stove area.

I turn on the light in the bedroom. Nothing happens. I put on one flip flop and creep into the living room to turn on the light. Nothing. I sneak around into the far side of the kitchen and turn on that light. Nothing. I step forward and trip on the sneaker.

I walk gingerly closer to the stove, and keeping back as far as possible, naked ass sticking out Betty Boop style, sporting one neon green flip flop, reach over and turn the oven to broil.

Smells like chicken, I think, laughing, but close to tears.

Piss

Dear stupid fucking diary,

Forget it, where's the tequila. Not having liquor in the house seems like a good idea 95% of the time, except for...now.

Too late for the guard up thing, so now I'm more into him than he is into me, so to speak, so I have to do the talk thing, then explain why it's probably better that we don't see each other because (well, I may just love the guy) but one knows when it's not reciprocated, even if there is a genuine fondness and whole lotta of fun being had. Maybe some women would give an ultimatum, but if after 4 months the guy is still active on the personal sites that pretty much says it all. If you have to ask or tell him to take down his profile, it's probably not agonna work, and waiting much longer will just bring more insecurity, and wait long enough, heartbreak.

This sucks.

Confused...

as usual.

OOps, my bad

Men for sex, women for emotional connection.

Come on, KS, you should know by now-romantic relationships don't work for you. Guard up! Smile on! Now go!

Go

I come in peace.This past weekend, I had an extremely vivid and very frightening dream that you and A**** were seriously hurt in a very bad car accident. On Sunday, I drove past your house several times, and I didn't see your car and for some reason it seemed to have an unusually quite feel.I don't expect a response, but even after all the pain and heartbreak I think about you and your family every single day.I pray that you're ok.Jeff

Fuck you Jeff. Fuck you. Fuck you. Fuck you fuckyoufuckyou

You want to know my dreams Jeff? I hardly have them because I can't sleep. The best one in recent memory-after taking a sleeping pill and barely getting any sleep-was this.

My father is working in a mammoth restaurant kitchen that somehow the public can occasionally see into. I approach him because I am terrified that you are using drugs and I hope that he can help. I plead with him for advice, action, anything. He looks at me and says,
"Maybe he likes the drugs. Maybe he likes the way it feels. It takes him away. What's the big deal?"

Crushed, I turn away and begin to leave. I turn back one last time and see that he has bent down and is furtively snorting a line of coke. I am terrified and immobile. He straightens up, shrugs, and snorts another line in plain view.

Fuck You. I doubt you had that dream. I know why you wrote. Despite everything, despite your body bereft of a soul, despite 8 months, despite that everyone may think me absolutely mad, "magical thinking" is the term, despite it all,

you feel it,

you feel it,

I'm falling in love again, and it's not with you.

Double Stuff

I can't tell whether I'm falling in love or whether it's gratitude for saving almost 100 bucks a month in crotch waxing.

I'll have the...cyanide

After much emailing, calling, and baby sitter bribing on the "girls'" part, we finally found a night to meet for dinner. Someone suggested a chain restaurant new to the area and a few blocks from my house. (Think large state and rodeo.) Not exactly my cup of tea, but after all the wrangling everyone went through, I was happy to see any of them, anywhere.

Three of us made typical small talk in the lobby ("You shouldn't have to swallow after you finish your undergraduate degree") while waiting for Notorious Late KLJ, when I was distracted by a quick motion in the corner of the foyer. Sure enough, a small black form scurried from one end of the benches to the other.

Rats, we had to go to another restaurant.

Another teacher in my school has relatives that live in my neighborhood. One of her nephews snuck (sneaked, snake, snuck) outside for a smoke and clandestine phone call to a forbidden girlfriend when a rat (drum roll) FELL FROM THE SKY and landed at his feet. The rat was still alive, writhing in pain. Evidently, a hawk had dropped it.

Gotta go, time for breakfast.

Low ri-der

In honor of today's holiday, I'm off to declare myself a god, steal some gold, and enslave a village. Toodles!

This is me...

...bouncing back.

Nevermind, relax

"So I hope you're looking forward to seeing me, 'cause I'm so ready to see you."
"Yes," I said, but thought-then why...
"Whatever you want to do baby, let me know."
"Ok," I said, but thought, then why...
"I should learn how to dance, 'cause you love it so."
"I do," I said, then thought-

Why, why did you update your "other" profiles with new pictures?

Why can't I be someone's? I don't need to be anyone's "world"-I have too much in my life to meet that obligation, but as pathetic and sappy as it sounds, I long to be someone's only. I know there must be something wrong with me that I just can't see, but I can't, I don't know what it is that I do, or don't do, or lack.

Even when I wait a while, I just end up being a piece of ass.

Signs the end is near

MJ "Hey, girl, what's new?"
KS "I'd marry him and have his baby."

Friend's jaw drops as I clamp my hand over my mouth with such force that the smack is heard down the block. We look at each other, speechless, then slowly back away toward our cars before speeding away to the nearest Wal-Mart for duct tape and bubble wrap.

Happy Daze

Dude, playing Fur Elise, or trying to play Fur Elise after taking a Tylenol p.m., even at half the dose, is interesting. Well, slow. Very, very slow.

The beau has passed the three month mark and I haven't dropped him out of boredom or annoyance. I hope he sticks around.

I think a better word for "boredom" would be "snoredom".

Hee hee hee. The lawn guy just called. I think he had a Tylenol p.m., too. We just had this conversation that involved a lot of giggling from both ends. Can I afford lawn care? Nope, but when I started to do the end-of-the-season shit this afternoon I thought, "Screw this. It looks like crap when the offspring and I do it. I'll splurge." Splurgee splurgee splurgee. What the hell is in this stuff? I took half the recommended dosageness. I was going to go shower, but now I'm afraid that I'll wake up in an hour pruney, giggling, soap foaming from my mouth with a rat perched on my should singing Oh, Susannah!.

And I won't even mention the chewed up pumpkins

Oh, and Manolo, how are your twins these days? Precocious little cuties, aren't they? Just asking because the trunk to my car won't open. Both the automatic opener and the inside button don't work. Also, ahem, ah, the cat is strung up in the tree again and my trowel seems to have disappeared...Hah, those practical jokers! Was the neighbor's baby ever returned?

So anyway, no worries about the cat (it's not mine) or the trowel, but if I could open my trunk again, that'd be great. No questions asked, and I'd even though we're not supposed to leave food out due to the rats, I could leave some cashews accidental-like at the back of the garage.

Thanks so much.
KS

P.S. Love their new colors.

Turn out the lights

Dear Squirrels,

We regret to inform you that one of your own was recently gruesomely murdered in front of our house. Out of respect and in appreciation of your ongoing offers to rid us of rats, we sprayed the corpse with the sprinkler to shoo away the flies, and chased away the neighborhood boys who were poking it with a stick. We are so sorry for your loss.

In Sympathy,
KS and company

On a personal note, songs that I never thought would make me tear up: Rehab by Amy Winehouse, and I Can't Make You Love Me by Bonnie Raitt. And I'm not even premenstrual.

Peach and Black

It is truly amazing to see what a classic, well cut black dress with a pair of killer heels can do to a guy. Even better is when you're walking up the stairs in front of him and he just barely catches a glimpse of what might be-nah,...no wait, yes it is, black thigh high stockings trimmed with lace.

My favorite part is watching his face as he tries to chit chat while concentrating on not getting hard.

A cape, a sarong, and cowboy boots

Kinky Friedman is speaking at the Mark Twain House tonight, and I can't go due to a family obligation. WAAAAAAAAAAA!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

Ratwurst

I never thought I'd get so excited over a new garbage can, but our town-delivered anti-rat trash receptacles are awesome. I'd like to decorate them to taunt the vermin-photos of cheese, big smiling cat faces, pictures of innocent babies with chubby pink limbs chained helplessly to cribs while they thumb their noses. Stuff like that.

Totally Tubular

Like, I think I like, like like the beau. Like, really like. Like make one of those origami-esque triangular paper thingies with the questions and stuff and put his name in it like. Not that I'd like, admit it or anything, but here, I'll say it, yeah, like, yep, a-huh.

TMI JFY

I couldn't figure out if my back was sore due to a wicked workout or menstrual cramping, but after a fistful of Advil, I no longer care.

They also say that orgasms may help relieve cramping, so if you'll excuse me for a minute...

She's so bad at math, her ovaries can't count to 28

In my classroom after lunch: a 3 foot high hard rubber rat and and plastic mini rat attached to a trap that squeals, courtesy of the band of prankster lesbians.

My giggling but confused students watched from their seats as I pulled a large Simba from the closet, glued a black string to its mouth and added a post-it that said, "Mmmm. Tasty." We placed it in a large green canvas bag and *snuck it into the gym. At the end of the day, I removed the batteries from the trap and attached a note."Sorry about the batteries...but I'm a lonely woman."

Our contract clearly states no horseplay on school grounds, but it doesn't say anything about Tomfoolery.

*fine, not a real word. One of our regional "accents" is that we drop medial t's, and have non-standard past tenses. For example, "We pet the dog yesterday" is common usage in town, even among the edumacated.

My car is burning oil, so I'm off to sacrifice a goat

This, THIS is what gets me into trouble. I am dating a perfectly nice guy who is funny and intelligent, there is sexual chemistry, but am I content with that? Nooooooo. As my sister so aptly observed, we seem to have a great time together, but she doesn't see it as IT for the two of us. So here I am, my ride all pimped out (i.e., eye liner and lipstick in addition to blush and mascara) in case I run into cute Landscaper Guy at the bagel shop, who, (whom?) though handsome and well spoken, is probably not nearly as funny as the beau, but am I going to leave it alone? Noooooo, I'm going to poke at it the way you use a stick to poke at a rat that is not quite dead just to see if it'll bite or foam at the mouth.

Big Birds Don't Cry

Gee, I play footsies in the lav all the time, but does a cop ever come along and bring ME down to the station? Nooooooooo. All I ever get is some old, leathery octogenarian who borrowed her grand-daughter's Jimmy Choos.

Goshdangfreakin' nabbit. My house has turned into the suburban version of the Bermuda triangle. After a long and aggravating day, I foolishly decided that I would COOK, and not only would I cook, I'd pan blacken salmon. Hmm, hmm, hmm. Some spicy Mrs. Dash, a little cayenne pepper, and some cornmeal. Of course, when I reached for the cornmeal, my fingers fumbled and the cornmeal came a-crashing down upon the counter, stove, floor and feet. My feet. With the still damp touched-up pedicure. My Yahoo messenger icon is smiling at me, but is refusing to open, and my cell phone is saying, "Wait a minute" as it flashes every color of the rainbow, which is scary, 'cause believe me, no-one is special enough to me to get rainbow flashies.

As an aside, we have a new librarian in our school. Very tall. Very dark. Very handsome. Mr. Professional with a diamond earring that just hints at a little thug. Oh Mr. Librarian, have you Chaucer, Rabelais or Ballllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllzac?

And then...there's this. http://www.courant.com/news/local/fv/hc-whdrats0822.artaug22,0,441687.story I USED to be afraid of the squirrels. NOW I am willing to bribe them and enter an unholy alliance if they will just...keep... (ugh, can't stop shuddering) ...them...away.

In your general direction

I love speaking French with a snarl (and, admittedly, a Spanish accent, but that's a story for another day). I was just reading the back of a Band-aid box and had myself in hysterics by using a raspy, rude voice. "Mise en garde! Demandez l'aide d'un professionnel de sante!" Of course, it probably just sounded bizarre to the other house inhabitants because I was sitting on the crapper while doing it...

Paging Dr. Katz

KS, leaving message for therapist:
Oh, hi B. I'm looking at the appt. card, and I can't believe this, but we had a session scheduled for Monday, and I thought it was for today. I'm sorry. If we can reschedule...

Return message:
Hi KS. Yes, we had an appt. for Monday. I missed you! I have...

Sound of needle screeching across record. "I missed you"? Is that allowed?

She couldn't make another day

I'm terrible at emotional intimacy. Although I joke about sex and dating with friends, and occasionally write about feelings, I rarely express them. Christ, I can barely identify them.

I'm in a new relationship thingie and am at a complete loss. After two months, can I ask him if he's still dating others? Do I want to know? If he is, I'll be hurt, but if he's not am I someone's girlfriend? That freaks me out. I'm so accustomed to emotionally needy men that I feel insecure that he's not all up in my shit, and dumbfounded that I'm not needed as a rescue dog. Our senses of humor meshed right away, the sex is fun, and we have a fair amount in common, but I'm obsessing about stupid stuff. I hate talking on the phone, so I sound awkward whenever we talk. It must be loads of fun to call a chick and hear, "Yeah, that's cool, that's cool, good, uh-huh."

I wish I could talk to people. It's gotten a little better, especially with my sister, but unless an absolute crisis happens and I have to tell people what's really going on, I'm usually the one with the crazy dating stories or light hearted anecdotes that make everyone laugh, but a part of me is really just asking, Could you help me out here?

Shit. Out of the blue I said to him as I was leaving, "My brother called from CA to say Happy Birthday. It was cool to hear from him." He looked at me blankly for a moment, and who could blame him, and said, "Oh, nice." What I was thinking was, "Oh, God, my addict brother actually remembered to call me, remembered my birthday. He said he's coming off the meds that helped him to get over his addiction to Oxycotin. I hope he's ok. He sounded a little distraught, but not high. God, I hope he makes it this time. He's been through so much."

Or..."Bye, babe. Yep, school starts next week, will try to keep you on my calendar." I think I wanted to say, "Hey, my life is about to get busy again, and I'll have my son back for all but two weekends a month. You're important to me, so if you're interested in continuing a relationship, we'll have to get creative about seeing each other. Your daughters seem great; maybe we can do things altogether once in a while? I don't have overnight guests-even the guy I dated for 3 years didn't stay when my son was home, but I'd be willing to talk about it in the near future if it feels right for the both of us."

And for reasons I won't get into right now, I'm sitting here hating myspace, overanalyzing his parting comment of the phone conversation we had after I forced myself to call ("We'll touch base about Friday." Sounds promising...not.), and thinking what's the point of even bothering. Ever, with any of it.

Snarklepuss

Happy Birthday to me! (Don't round my age to the nearest ten or I'll bitch slap you. Four more years!) Happy Birthday to me! (What? How could 1989 call me to ask for these bangs back?) Happy Birthday to me-e-e-e-e (Taboo? You mean the Brady Bunch episode in which the family is on vacation and...) Happy Birthday to meeeee (NO! I DON'T want any sugar poured on me!) (Hey! Which one of you assholes gave me the can of Aqua Net and the day-glo green mesh shirt? Go to Hell!) One more time! Happy Birthday to...

Id's on first, Ego's on second

I knew 10:15 p.m. Buzzed Kamikaze Squirrel was going to hate 5:00 p.m. Leave Taking Out the Trash and Making Your Bed Until Later So That You Won't Stop for A Glass of Wine or Two After Dance Class Kamikaze Squirrel. 10:21 Kamikaze Squirrel hates both of them, but is loving herself, because she is going to sleep in the "guest room". Great thinking, KS! (Fine, it's the computer room with an old mattress, but at least there are sheets already on the bed.) Yes, 10:17 Kamikaze Squirrel had to bring the can to the curb, but at least the putrid salmon smell is no longer being pumped into the kitchen by the air conditioner.

Look at me! I'm...

As a tattooed, pierced and spiked hair thirty-something, whoda thunk:
1. I'd buy a Gap polo shirt.
2. It would look good.

At least it's black.

Trying...to...stay...nice

ONE poorly chosen extra stop at the bagel shop after a tremendous workout on a hot and humid Sunday (complete with swamp crotch) has resulted in a candida infestation of previously unknown proportions.The necessary one day, one ovule antidote feels as if I have mixed baking soda and vinegar and pored it into my, well, you know. On the agenda for today? A trip to NYC with a newish beau. With my period due any second.

Can you make change for a ten?

Pole: 4, KS: 0

Dagnabit, I can jog 3 miles comfortably, do ten "guy" pushups without sweating, kick almost as high as a Rockette, but could I slide down a pole without bruising every single freakin' limb on my body? Huh, evidently not. It surely takes a completely different skill set than what you learn during a Master's in Special Education. Any stripper who can do pole dancing should be tipped with fives and tens, and when you escort her to the back room for a lap dance? Take five minutes and rub her shoulders and lats.

Things I hate*

1. The song "You've Had a Bad Day". You know why I've had a bad day? YOU.
2. Mini-vans.
3. UPS men that block the Dunkin Donuts entrance when I have exactly 4.3 minutes to get a small iced French vanilla with milk and two sweet-n-lows before I have to drive an hour to tutor.
3. The DD employee who gives me a hot coffee with cream and sugar.
4. Norton anti-virus.
5.Insufferable fools.
6. Quite possibly you.
7. Lists.

Dammit, there's more, much more, but I must away to work. Which I hate. But, you know what I LOVE LOVE LOVE? The angry fist, shaken high in the air.

*besides kitty cats, puppy dogs and the Easter Bunny

Bloodsucking Fiends

"Jody thought, They don't get it, that cuddling afterward has nothing to do with the warm, fuzzy feelings; it's just the most intelligent way to ride the wave of post-coital depression."

First time for everything

Four hours of tutoring? $280.00. Five minutes of driving 85 in a 55 m.p.h. zone? $294.00. I really, really thought I was doing 75 in a 65, but, huh, guess not.

When condolences aren't enough

I wasn't a supporter of the death penalty until I read the front page this morning. He was my mom's, her partner's and my sister's doctor. His parents employed my cousins when they were teenagers. He and his family touched so many lives in the most important ways-caring for others, and not just through medicine. The loss of his wife and girls in such a horrific fashion is unfathomable, and as C put it, no words do justice to the loss. Prayers and tears.

Slipping by

He could have been reading the newspaper; I could have been changing the station on the radio. Instead, I glanced to my left while paused at a stoplight to catch him staring out the bus window. We saw each other at the same moment.

Does time stop? Yes, regularly, for seconds, sometimes years. It stops for individuals. The world continues by them, oblivious to the pause in a life. Time scoops you up, drags you back then hurls you forward. In the time it takes for a light to change, I was in his arms in the woods at sunset, by a hospital bed holding his hand, curled in his lap in the blue glow of a television, drunk, prostrate on his kitchen floor, handing my savings to a bail bondsman... then swirling in a vortex of water, choking, without air, until the passenger in the car was shaking me. "What happened? What happened?"

You know that love. It's time messing with you. You become encased in a bubble, it's just the two of you, nobody else understands what you have. You are each other. Nothing, nothing else matters. You become poisoned in that bubble, breathing each others' toxins, until one day, if you're lucky, you're expelled, thrown to the curb, bruised, battered and wondering where three years went.

I gasped, sucking oxygen in short shallow spurts, and with a lurch and a burst of exhaust, he was gone.

What kind of f*ckery is this?

State representative to school children:

"...and boys and girls, we're all here because we want you to read good."

May I eat your eyeballs?

Heard often: "Oh my God-your skin is so soft. What do you do?"
Emerging from my pod every morning is a natural exfoliant.

Inequality

There's just something so wrong about making $70 an hour tutoring a child who lives by the shore in CT when, a few hours previously, children the same age were being served moldy apple juice and Cocoa Puffs for breakfast in an "inner-city" summer school program in the same state.

Hot time in the ole town

Vaginal Spermicidal Inserts $3.99
Cell Phone Bill $55.63

Answering the phone to discover it's your mother as you're withdrawing your finger from your vagina...

NOT FUCKING PRICELESS AT ALL!

When the Easter Bunny is still magical

Tutoring...after an hour session in which the child has truly worked hard, he looks up at me, makes real eye contact for the first time, and blushes just a bit....

"Do you know Zach and Cody?"
"Yes, I know who they are."
"That's 'cause you're their mom."
"Oh, sweetie, no, I thought you meant...it's the hair, honey. I'm just a teacher."

He looks at me a minute, then smiles as if to say, "OK, I'll play along, but I know who you are."

Trippin'

Making $70 an hour tutoring don't mean shit if the ho ain't cut you a check. Where my cash money?!?

Talk to my pimp

"Seven easy meals for the week"

Hah, that's what dating is for.

Like ghosts and Morgan Freeman

Walking around Yale's campus to see the store fronts and cars set up for the filming of the new Indiana Jones film was way cool.

It was topped only by the oral sex that followed a few hours later.

Joe Cool

I just fell into a shrubbery...in front of a restaurant on the busiest street in town.

Who needs sleep?

So I had thought that the little building that went up with the sign "Spin Cycle" was going to be a mini-gym for spinning. I even went so far as to ponder how it would work-would they have classes, a rotation system like Curves has, or just a free for all?

Boy did I feel like an asshole walking in with my little cushiony bike seat. I looked around for a moment, and, after realizing my mammoth error, began to whistle nonchalantly while walking over to the nearest sink to carefully rinse the seat as if yes, I had stopped by to launder a 4 by 8 piece of rubber padding.

Company Halt

Help! This is what gets me into trouble. Because I enjoy hanging out with guys and have many male friends, when a man asks me to do something I don't automatically think it's for dating, I assume it's to hang out. I just received an email from one of the dancers asking if I would like to help cook for an upcoming event. This makes sense because in a past life I was, indeed, a line cook. My first reaction is cool, what fun. But after the whole Mr. Monotone incident, I'm a little worried. Most of me thinks, "Well, who the hell do you think you are! Just because you are the Hotness and Queen of the Universe, you should not assume this guy is interested. He needs help cooking." And boy, would I feel like an asshole asking, "Is it a date?" Then I think, "Yeah, sure, don't ask and when he shows up with LAVENDER scented oil, natural lamb skin casings and a wireless beater, what are you going to make with those, huh? Do you want to recreate the scene from Stripes with THAT guy?"

Disc Deux

A handsome, funny, intelligent man.
A funny, favorite, classic (alright, maybe not a classic) movie.
An invitation to watch this movie with this man in his condo on a big screen TV. (Modify THIS!)

And a cat. A cat, a cat, a cat. Oh, the cat.

Although I do not go into respiratory distress around cats, the eyes water, I sneeze constantly and even occasionally break out in a hive or two. (Heh, partying with the bees.) What, oh what, do I take that won't have me snoring on his couch within the first 30 minutes??? My doctor has not called me back. (I wish I had gotten the PA. He's hot as hell, and the last time I was there, we compared tattoos. Ahhhh....) It's the third date, and feels a little early for excess snot, ya know?

Mr. Monotone

"So, I have this extra ticket to a play because my friend cancelled. Would you like to go?"
Dumbfounded silence on my part because I had only danced with the guy twice.
"Think about it. It's at (very close to my home). Otherwise I'll have to go by myself."

I thought about it, and decided to meet him there. Going to a play alone can suck, it was near my house, and since he was at least 15 years older than I, it couldn't possibly be a date.

Of course, once I got there, I realized it was a date, and had to pull the "Gotta get home early to feed the dog/cat/piranha or else they'll poop on the floor/scratch up the couch/strip the flesh off a cow in 5 minutes" excuse.

Two weeks later at dance class...
"I had a really good time with you."
Ok, from the guy who said, "The play didn't feel too long. It passed the time," as if death were right around the corner and had to be waited for patiently. Occassional activities weren't for pleasure, but to kill time before the descent into the eternal abyss.
"Thank you. It was very kind of you to invite me to the play."
"Would you like to plan something again?"
"That's sweet of you to ask, but I'm dating someone."

Two weeks later at dance class...
"Maybe we can meet for coffee sometime."
I pretend that the music is too loud for me to hear him, smile politely, and beat it with my dance shoes still on. I walk rapidly to my car, figuring that since the music is still playing and that most people take the time to change footwear, I can make a clean getaway.

Tap tap tap. Unbelievably, he's at the window. I roll it down an inch.
"This is your car? I thought you had a green one."
"Nope. Gray. Have a great night!"
I smile tightly and drive away.

Two weeks later at dance class...
His first words: "Do you barbeque?"
I think, what the hell random boy, at least a hello if you have to talk to me, but my mother's etiquette lessons are too deeply ingrained, so I respond politely and accept his invitation to warm up to a song before class. After the dance, I leave the floor and walk across the room. Although escorting a follower off the floor is polite, engaging her in conversation after the dance while there are unpartnered followers is bad form. He follows me to the seats.

"So are you still dating someone?"
I am, but someone new, and I certainly could date others and could have dated others with the last guy, but I choose the glazed smile and say,
"Yes, I am."
"So I can't call you?"
"Not for dating!"
He smiles at me blankly. "So, do you barbeque?"

What did I do to deserve this

Yoga Chick strikes again.. This is after she invited me to a strip club to check out the poles she wants to buy for her studio.

...as she teaches us how to "Awaken the Heart" in H******. By visiting the chakra points in the land, and awakening them to their highest potential, we learn how to balance the energies of the land and return them to their true sacred purpose. Recognizing that H****** is a sophisticated business center, the potential for change is substantial. Be one of the workshop attendees' venturing into the city on the final day to anchor the balancing Sacred Feminine energies into the grids of the area.
Groups around the world have been using this mode of prayer and our special connection to nature to reverse pollution, reduce crime, and lessen damaging storms around the world.
Using quantum technologies, sound, sacred geometry, and implosion products, learn how ...

Slap the cheese on the sandwich, put the cap on the mustard

Moi? Met Mr. C for a first time coffee date at a Starbucks at 4:55. Five hours later left the Chinese Buffet as the orange clad waitresses waved goodbye to us from the windows. Haven't laughed that hard in a long, long time. Smart, funny, and loves dogs. Not that I do, but that seems to be a big deal these days.

If anyone knows what song the "title" came from, please let me know!

Why there is yogurt in my nasal cavities

Staff room, lunchtime, Public School 429. KS, Married 50 yr. old woman, closeted masculine lesbian. KS is quietly eating yogurt.

MW: I guess I'll bring corn to the picnic.
CL: I LOVE corn, but only corn on the cob.
MW: Me too. Sometimes I'll cook 6 ears and that'll be dinner for me and my husband.
CL: How do you eat corn on the cob?
MW: I'll go around, but my husband eats big hunks a section at a time. What about you?
CL: It depends. Sometimes I'll munch a little area at a time, (KS starts to blush) but sometimes I like to munch all around in little circles, (KS starts to choke on yogurt), and then sometimes, usually after a beer, I'll go munchmunchmunch all along rows as fast as I can- (KS spews yogurt all over table, red faced, laughing hysterically and gasping for air) WHAT?!?

The Man is ALWAYS on my case

Apologies, Cute man on Yahoo, for this email because it is not truly for you. Evidently, my early morning inebriated (damn you, vile Budweiser swill, and the can you came in) attempt at levity using a convoluted Monty Python quote has resulted in me being flagged by the Yahoo Personal police and an accusation of trying to send you (an "unpaid subscriber") a code.

Well, dear Code Cracking Carl of Yahoo Personal Special Unit 46789, that is EXACTLY what I do. In my precious spare time, I contact all the unpaid subscribers and shhh, give them codes! Here, come closer....can you hear me tapping on the computer screen? Tell me where you hid your treasure. Wait...the camel has left the spaceship.

Next time, Carl, instead of an email, how about, hmm, some discipline? Spank me for being naughty. Spank me, Carml, you know you want to. Step outside the box. Better yet, put me inside it clad in a leather bustier and fishnet thigh highs...

New Math

Um, boys, when you play Rock, Paper, Scissors, YOU'RE NOT SUPPOSED TO USE ACTUAL ROCKS! (The mail carrier and her supervisor were very unhappy about the cracked windshield.)

Favorite lesson of the week.
"So, boys and girls, if there are four quarts in a gallon, how many quarts are in a half gallon?"
"Two quarts."
"Excellent job. If there are are 12 inches in a foot, what would be a half-a foot?"
"Toes."

Unfavorite lesson: Actual objectives from the teacher's manual.
Students will use informal language to discuss ratios.
"Dude, the numer-ay-tor, the numerashalicious, wassup?"
Students will use ratios to solve problems.
"Ms. Squirrel! Ms Squirrel! Johnny keeps hitting me!"
"Well, Sally, have the two of you discussed a ratio yet to solve your problem? Remember, no tattling until you've tried to find a solution."

OMG! That's my cousin!

Jumpin' Josephat, Moses! I just realized that the one ear phone thingie that I shoved into a drawer is NOT a defective walkman headphone as I had suspected, but rather a doohickie that attaches to my cell phone. Who knew? I tried using it last night. I got into the car, plugged the, uh, thingie into the hole and clipped the wire to my shirt. Of course, when I tried to raise my head I couldn't because the cord was too short. I fixed it while I was backing out of my driveway. I called my sister, and although I could hear her OK, I was concerned that the phone would drop off the passenger seat or get crushed by my gym bag, so I had to move the bag to the back seat while I was completing a lane change on 84E. I was fine until I noticed that my iced Latte was dripping on the cord. I'm still not sure if you can get a shock from a wet cell. I disconnected the phone from the cord before I got out of the car, but I forgot to disengage the clip from my shirt and consequently tripped over the wire after exiting the car. I am SO glad, though, that I am being responsible and helping to keep the highways safe.

Oh, Gee, match.com, do you know WHY he's in Soccerville, looking for me and has viewed my portrait 1,369 tines? BECAUSE HE'S STALKING ME!

Our reading specialist is the nicest person I'd like to kill. She acts all sweet and a little stupid, but it's just to make you feel guilty. I realized today that, since I'm in a new grade and program, I need different literacy folders. It's, um, a bit late in the year to broach this topic with said literacy specialist, so I drew her a picture. (Here, I wish I had the MS paint.) Caption: "Me" (stick figure with spiky hair.) "BAll" (A ball) "Me dropping ball" (Stick figure with spiky hair and unhappy face dropping ball.) Of course, she brought it to lunch with one other note she received from another teacher and announced, "These are my two favorite notes from this year." Stick it in your ass, you passive aggressive vegan freak. (This is too funny-I've fallen off the wagon, drunk as hell, and every other word has needed a spellcheck fix. Fuck you, spell check!)

I'm on random

So my hypochondriac sister, who isn't really a hypochondriac because she has a ton of stuff wrong with her, has a leaky aortic valve. She's done too much reading on the Internet and is worried that she will need a replacement.
"And it will be with a pig's valve!"
All I can think about is bringing her tanning and shouting, "Smells like bacon!"

I've been drinking a tea called "Smooth Move", believing that it would help me become a better dancer.

I probably shouldn't wear my white linen slacks to work tomorrow.

Welcome, welcome, by the way, to my new blog, where, hopefully, I can post anonymously. A little about me? Oh, you're so kind. Since you've asked... A hot drunk guy walked me out to the parking lot last week, and ended up exposing himself to me.

I went back a few days later to see if I would run into him again. And THAT, darlins, sums me up.