Archive for June, 2008

Oh Frabjous Day!

Things that make me happy this weekend:

  1. Three purring kitties
  2. Cooler weather
  3. Cat chimes jangling on the porch
  4. Sean’s slow improvement of homemade tomato sauce
  5. Finding Red Dwarf Season 1 and Strangers with Candy Season 1 at the library
  6. Two awesome new rag rugs
  7. New foster kitty,  Morgan, is getting dropped off on Monday

The most common search leading to this blog is tied between “ball-cutting” and “ball-smashing”.

Ahahahahaha. Testicular torture is so weird. I’m all for BDSM (please don’t let my mom google that…), but testicular torture? Makes them look like sad, sad gargantuan grapes.


The Only Way to Kill Me is a Stake Through My Heart

The heat has been killing me. We don’t have an air conditioner, and live on the third floor of a fourplex, so it can get pretty stuffy up here.

I burn easily in the sun. Ten minutes outside can give me a painful sunburn if I’m not wearing sunscreen. I also don’t sweat very much at all, which is definitely not an asset during the summer. I remember sitting miserably in the house as a kid, watching my brother and sister play outside while I had to sit inside to avoid sunstroke. My brother and sister have never gotten sunburns in their lives.  My parents don’t burn easily, either. I seem to have gotten all the sunburn for everyone in my family. I’m now married to a man who also does not sunburn, and worries about me in the sun.

You see why I prefer winter? I always forget how much I hate summer.

Oh, and despite the sun’s ill effects, I do not have any of the awesome powers of vampires.

I have some tips for keeping (relatively) cool, however:

1. Cold showers

2. A spray bottle filled with water. Just spraying the back of your neck and armpits really helps.

3. Margaritas

4. Wearing sunglasses at night (ahahaha)

Quttin’ Time

I quit my job today.

I love my toddlers, yes. I loved taking care of them, watching them learn, and giving them hugs.

I didn’t love the center I worked at. I didn’t like that the “i” in the alphabet stood for “Indian”. I didn’t like the project we did yesterday, with the accompanying booklet that said “Eskimos live in houses made of ice called igloos”. I especially didn’t like that the same booklet listed a bunch of arctic animals (uhh, penguins? I don’t think they live in the arctic), and on the page with Inuit people, said “People are animals, too”. No. No, no, no. I will not be responsible for another generation growing up and thinking Inuit live in igloos. I will not be responsible for ingraining racism against native people, nor pity, either.

I didn’t love what they fed the kids. Breakfast was fruit loops and canned, heavy syrup fruit. Lunch was 5 meals, the same meals every week. Monday was fish or chicken nuggets, either carrots or broccolli, and that same canned fruit. Tuesday was meatballs, the same two vegetables, and the same fruit. Wednesday was lasagna, the same vegetable, and the same fruit. Thursday was tuna casserole, the same vegetable, the same fruit. Friday was pizza, and again, the same vegetable and fruit. Snack was some horrible “juice drink,” and sugary cookies.

Playground equipment was not in good repair. They could no longer use the teeter-totter, as it had huge cracks on it, causing it to bend.

The classrooms were reasonably enriching, I admit, but the books were horrible. They had NO pop-up books, and the science books were really outdated. The apatasaurous was still listed as “Brontasaurus,” and they had some of those horrible Christian “dinosaurs lived with people” books.

It is not that the center could not afford to feed the children any better. The directors all drive expensive cars (think jaguar or something like that) with custom paint jobs. Their hair is always freshly done, and they wear nice clothing. It made me sick to think that this low-income daycare, where quite a few of the children’s tuition is paid by Hennepin County assistance, has directors, who instead of making things really enriching for kids whose parents work long, tiring hours and can’t provide that enrichment, spend the money on themselves.

I also didn’t like the way the directors encouraged us to treat children. A child in my classroom recently pulled down his diaper and pants, and deliberately shat on the floor. This is the same child, who along with his brother, comes to school crying inconsolably. This is a kid who is the 5th of a very large family. My first thought was that there was something wrong either with his emotional health, or something wrong at home (obviously, maybe both). I mentioned to the director my suspicions, and she responded with “You need to control him. He’s 2. He can’t poop anywhere you don’t want him to.”  I brought the kid down to her to show her he had been sobbing for about half an hour, and she grabbed his face, shouting “You need to shut up. No one cares if you cry. Shut up!.” He was obviously terrified, and swallowed his sobs. The director smugly smiled at me and said “see? They need to know they aren’t allowed to cry. He’s a baby. You can control him “. What. The. Fuck.  Yeah, he’s a baby! Babies cry when something is wrong, not because they are “spoiled”.

This is the same director who advised the mother of one of my students to “spank her harder” if she was acting out. She advised this, without actually having any in-classroom time with the girl. The girl is a very inquisitive, sweet child who loves to test boundaries. Scolding her (and I imagine, spanking her) only causes defiant, angry behavior. She responds really well to time-outs, especially if something really fun is going on while she’s in time-out. I told her mom about the time-out strategy, and she was skeptical. She tried it at home, and lo and behold, it worked!

I cannot work for racist people in a center where the directors are getting fat off the sweat of the poor.

Fuck that.

He Loves Me, and “The Rats, the rats!”

On Saturday night, Sean sang karaoke for me. In a crowded bar. Without being THAT drunk.

None of his friends can believe he did it. Sean, my very shy, very opposed to public singing husband, sang Creedence karoake. He really does love me.

I sang “Creep” by Radiohead (a nice farewell to teenage angst, and also very appropriate for the little hick bar we were in) and “Best Friend” by Queen (dedicated to my honey, of course).

The bar had an insanely awesome karoake selection. They even had the Jayhawks!

Drinks were very, very cheap, but the clientele was horrendous. Oh Mondovi, I had forgotten thee.

We later visited the White Pig, which is a notoriously trashy bar I have dreamed about entering since I was a small child. It has a sign that is a neon pig with a top hat! What isn’t to love?!…Oh yeah, the people who frequent it!  A lady sat at the end of the bar, sobbing into her drink. We overheard some snippets such as “I pulled the trigger,” and “the rats, the rats”. Hmm.

I wasn’t hungover the next day, but I did get some sort of food poisoning (har har, no really I wasn’t hungover) and suffered Effexor withdrawal again.

Edited to Add…

I would never make boots out of a Maine Coone! Hahaha.

For all of you who don’t obsessively read cat breed books/talk about cats with cat breeders, a Maine Coone is a large, beautiful breed of housecat. My Maine Coone happened to be named Boots, because he had white paws.

Boots embodied everything that Maine Coone enthusiasts (okay, crazy cat ladies) love about the breed. He was huge (22 lbs at his heaviest, easily taller than a beagle), very friendly (any friend who visited my house can attest to that!), fetched toys, and was very talkative. Boots made a very cute sink decoration.

He was also the world’s biggest cat bastard. He jumped on tables when playing board games, ripped open any cigarette packs he found, and ate all the cigarettes inside, and obsessively humped blankets. Oh yeah, he was also a fan of fighting other male toms, and woke us up by growling out the window.

He was a murderer of mice, a lover of inappropriately young kittens, and everyone’s favourite cat.

I’m pouring a glass of champagne to you tonight, Town Mayor (one of his many sick nicknames, due to his charisma  and greasiness).

Birthday Gluttony

I’ve eaten so much sushi and tempura ice cream I think I might explode.

Sean made a really awesome card, too.

By far the most amusing part of my birthday was earlier when I told my class it was my birthday. J (one of the mischievous ones) responded with “Happy Birthday, here are my nipples,” and pulled up his shirt.

Ahh, if only Sean could have celebrated my birthday that way.

The nipple episode led to J telling JD that her nipples are “stupid,” and me having to reassure JD that her nipples are not, in fact, stupid.

My job is so weird sometimes.

Hilarious Hometown “News”

Front page of my tiny (2,550 people) hometown’s newspaper

“Two Men Suspected In Possession of Illegal Moose”