Friday, October 28, 2011

story time

some of you may know this already and some of you may not. either way putting this story in writing just seems like a must. here goes.

i left at 12:40pm and began the 214 mile trip to swampscott, massachusetts, which should only take a maximum of 3 1/2 - 4 hours, leaving me to arrive in reality no later than, say, 4:40 the latest. here i am, on i84, 20 car lengths from a tractor trailer engulfed in flames at 2:40pm, approximately 10-15 miles from i90, i was well on my way to an arrival time of 4pm when this happened. don't get me wrong, i'm glad i missed the accident, who knows, i could be dead, i could have been engulfed in flames, i could have been burning myself. the time now, 3:40 and i, small bladder girl has been sitting in park for an hour and listening to music enjoying the sunny september new england weather when i have to urinate. i of course am no where near a facility to allow such a thing to occur, but everyone is coming out of the woods on i84. i decide, 'hey, when nature calls, right?' so, i grab some wet naps, lock my car and head up a steep hill into the woods. struggling to make my way, i step... oh wait, i have left out some key details here, 1. i can't squat to urinate, i mean i can physically squat, however, i need to squat, hold on to something and lean back (do the rockaway), 2. it had rained (heavily), the previous night along the eastern seaboard... so, i step into an ankle deep puddle of mud. now, anyone who knows me, knows this doesn't bother me, the mud isn't bothering me, i'm a 'dirty hippie' as my husband so sweetly refers to me as, its natural, normal, it smells a little, but it's mud, so who cares. i lift my foot out, almost loosing my shoe in this puddle, and find a place to step that isn't a puddle, i do this successfully this time. i now step with my left foot... into an ankle deep puddle of mud. i am still okay with this. i get this foot and shoe free, and begin to unbutton my pants because i still have to urinate.

please take this moment to pause and picture all of this in your head...

pants are around my muddy ankles, i am squatting as low as i possibly can while holding on to a nearby tree branch and blissfully relieving myself when the state police drive by and begin to announce, "Everyone back into your vehicles! Everyone back into your vehicles!", i've had to go for so long, i can't stop, but my car is parked on i84, i am covered in mud and using nature as my toilet, so i lean forward to get a closer look at the highway in hopes to see if we are moving and two things begin to happen; the first is, i begin to fall, so i inevitably put my hand down to brace myself placing it into a forearm deep puddle of mud and secondly, 'piddle' or slightly begin to pee on my leg and pants. i finish my business and book it down the hill almost taking a digger down the hill onto i84 where everyone is now back in their cars with my pants still unbutton because i am still pulling them up, only to realize that the cops just needed everyone back in their cars to bring more fire trucks onto the highway.

i am now covered in mud, and a little bit of my own urine. i smell. it's 4:15, i should have been in swampscott already, and i am in the exact spot i have been since 2:40pm. the police turn everyone around on the highway and make us all get off an entrance ramp because the fire department cannot put out the tractor trailer. as soon as i get off the exit ramp, everyone scatters, like cockroaches when you turn on the light. i begin to laugh, this is laughable, June always says, 'life is funny, so laugh' and she's right. here i am, middle of bumblefuck connecticut, i decide, plug in the gps and hit 'detour', brilliant! not so much. stupid machine kept re-routing me BACK to the same entrance ramp i just got off of. i take matters into my own hands. i head north. massachusetts is north, and i figure as soon as i get into massachusetts, i'll find my way. time now, 5:10pm. guess what kids, i need to urinate and i look down at my gas gage which is screaming, 'um hello, i'm on E', so, trusty gps, find me a gas station. gps does just that, 1 miles down the road. CLOSED. Laugh, it's funny, all of this is hysterical and if you're not laughing that stop reading. by the grace of everything beautiful in this world and my ability to not be directionally challenged, i manage to find a gas station, shiny, bright and clean just a 1/2 mile away, no thanks to that gps. fill up my 'lucy-tank', use the facilities, and get on the road again. time now, 5:30. sweet mary, i can be in swampscott by 6:30 with any luck!!

...6:20pm, i95 crosses, i90, sun setting, i have to urinate again, (i drink A LOT of water, and gaterade throughout the day people), and i'm in traffic all the way to watertown massachusetts.

..."hi mom",
"where are you?!"
"just got to June's"
"yeah thanks for that mom, can i call you tomorrow?"
"ok, say hi for me, goodnight."...

...screen door opens, June's husband stands at the door staring at his dear friend, covered in mud, her own urine, and hands her a beer, just before she even passes through the thresh hold, she's almost halfway through, June, sad faced and tilted head walk over to give me a hug and says to me, "you poor thing, you stink, and smell a little like pee"

arrival time, 7:40pm.
what did i do it for? one of my best friends sons first birthday. i'll always be there, you can bet on that. without me, where would we have these stories?

Thursday, October 27, 2011

complaint department.

first things first: hide your children this post may contain some graphic language- I know that it has been said that people who use foul, inappropriate, curse words are just unintelligent people who do not have a wide range in their vernacular, limited vocabulary or a sharp wit to have a quick come back; that statement is a complete an utter falsehood so... fuck them and lets move on.

complaint department
in my experience and opinion (most) anyone who uses the phrase, "now, I'm not one to complain, but...", is in-fact, full of shit. if by prefacing a complaint that you do not complain, you have just given yourself away as a complainer. with that being said everyone is a complainer, and there isn't anything wrong with it. the sweetest, nicest, bestest, (yes asshole, i know that is not a real word), people in the word complain. its natural. it's the perpetual complainers that give complaining a bad wrap, or is it rap? whatever. all I am saying is don't pat yourself on the back too quickly there pal, complain away, rant, throw a hissy-fit, just come back to reality and admit what it was, be done with it and move on.

my own ACTUAL complaints:  
the list for me here is long, but today due to hunger, fatigue, timing and the ability to think straight, I'll do my best to keep it short and get down to the nitty-gritty. I have lived in 2 places; Massachusetts for college- great place to go to college, miss a lot of things about the state, and my besties *Jan and *June (*their names were changed for their own safety) live there and I miss them terribly and of course my home state New York. here lies the complaint. if you are a transplant to any city or state and you don't like it there, get the fuck out! MOVE! GO! no one is making you stay. stop whining about it. if you wish you were elsewhere, your home town/city/state, Europe, Timbuktu, go, leave, flee, be happy elsewhere, just stop bashing that poor city/state you have transplanted yourself to. It is rude to the people who actual like living there. Next, I walk around NYC and I listen to you asshole transplants (and not all transplants are assholes *JD, *MM, *NZ, just to name a few), oh I know who you people are, you all talk like you are from here but you're not. don't introduce yourself to me, and say you are from here and when I ask where you went to HS you say some school in Maryland or wherever the hell you're from, THAT means YOU ARE NOT FROM NYC, DICK. Lastly pertaining to transplants and geography, New York is a State, New York CIty is a City that is made up of 5 Boroughs, the 5 Boroughs consist of Bronx, Brooklyn, Manhattan, Queens, & Staten Island NOT just Manhattan shit for brains, so don't look at me you damn transplant, when I say that I am from the city, then say Queens and your cognitively impaired response is, "that's not Manhattan", Queens is the city, dumb ass.

on an unrelated note; Whining. I have noticed a lot of whining recently, and i'm not just referring to the rant I just had above, I mean in general. people are so unhappy and baby like. they whine about everything. there are so many awful things in this world, so many awful things that I have seen and experienced in my short life thus far and I am sure there will only be more.... perhaps at a later date i can explore the whining crisis.

please leave your complaints in the box below.

Wednesday, October 26, 2011

teach your children well... is the first of what I am sure will be many posts about being a teacher. I am hoping to stay away from discussing my job in detail because it's not appropriate and in all honesty would any of you want to read anything about your children via the internet? didn't think so. with that being said, I have a request; please for the love of everything that is beautiful in this world, teach your children that teachers are people too. we are daughters/sons, parents, grandchildren, grandparents, sisters/brothers, wives/husbands. we have feelings and lives. many of us, who are competent, work extremely hard before, during and after school hours. hell, even while we sleep we are working. we spend money we don't have on your kids, our day doesn't begin when your children come to school and it doesn't end when they leave. SO PLEASE, TEACH THEM, we are not babysitters, we are not their friends, we are not their toilets, or their doormats. (this also includes paraprofessionals). thank you...

Tuesday, October 25, 2011

first of the first...

who the hell knows who'll read this nonsense and I can't guarantee you'll be interested in what I have to say at any given time, however, with that said the ultimate goal is laughter...  it's always for a laugh.