Ordinary Miracles

I'm obviously giving this year's Matty's Best Movie Award to a timeless classic, which (fortunately) was preserved and not destroyed by a new live action movie.... Charlotte's Web.

One of my favorite childhood stories, retold with a bunch of actors I don't care about playing the voices of the animals turned out to be quite a good movie indeed (minus fart jokes and crows, which were NOT in the book).

If the movie doesn't quite milk your udders, the soundtrack in the background will, composed by Danny Elfman, who decided to sign on for this move rather than Spiderman 3 (sure to make more money than this movie). I'll hand it to Danny- it's not as creepy as his other soundtracks (in which I usually enjoy the creepy undertones of his music), but it still came through perfectly, carrying on the flavor of E.B. White's book, while adding his own shit.

If you still aren't quite tickled with neither this movie nor the soundtrack, sit in the theatre and consider everything that happened to the good people of Somerset County while you listen to Sarah Maclauclin's Ordinary Miracles, which plays during the credits of the movie.
Hopefully you'll get all the meaning and hidden understanding and somewhat-irony of this under-estimated timeless tale.

If you STILL can't appreciate Charlotte's Web, just go fucking read the book already, and cry your fucking eyes out (like I do every time I read it).

Good job, Dakota Fanning, for not making me throw up (as your previous movies have). You actually were a convincing Fern Arable. I was quite happy with you, and forgive you for your last movies. Please don't undermine my new confidence.

So congrats, cast and crew of Charlotte's Web!!! You win!
And shame on the rest of Hollywood.... 2006 was a year of stupid-ass movies!!!!

I Spy... someone moving on

One year ago... on Christmas morning,

Nurse Nigel awoke in apartment 809, Beachside Village in Port Prozac to find his girlfriend... dead.

I was listening at my door when her family was calling relatives, notifying them that this woman's cancer had finally taken her life.
I was watching through the peephole when he hugged her mother. The mother told him she was happy he'd brought her to his place for Christmas, and assured him her daughter had died happily.
I was standing outside as the body was loaded up into a van to be taken away. I watched the look on Nigel's face as his lover was wheeled away from him for the rest of his days.

I've watched from afar for a year now since this tragedy. While I'm taking my groceries out of my car, Nigel is the first to shout over to me to ask if I need a hand (which I never have said yes to, because heaven forbid we ever rely on the closest people to us to actually lend us a hand). When I arrive home and drunk from ridiculous nights out with ridiculous friends, Nigel and his pals laugh and wave to me and make jokes about "minding my step" as I trip over my own feet. I always note how he's still smiling. When I'm putting clothes into the washer in the laundry room just outside my door, Nigel can be expected to pop his head in and say "How've you been, man?"

I admire his persistent good moods and from a distance, hope for happiness for this seemingly caring human being. He demonstrates a healthy view on life, and I'm happy that he's still finding happiness this year.

Tonight, Merry Mel and I witnessed another moment of Nigel finding happiness.
We were laying on my bed laughing and chatting like women about all of the unimportant things that ego-centric single people like to chat about for hours, when we heard some noises through the wall.

For the next fifteen minutes, we sat cupping our hands to the wall and listening to Nurse Nigel fucking, fucking, fucking.....

I'm happy for him. It's been a while since I've heard Nigel slamming away in the sack.
It's all part of moving on, I suppose. It shows strength (in more ways than one).

What's up?

What have I been up to lately?

-regular teaching and schoolwork
-helping to come up with poems for Nixon Elementary's Christmas performance
-typing up a tell-all book of this summer (as I reflect, I realize I never stopped and actually counted everything I did wrong. I better hope that my journals never fall into the wrong hands)
-2 dates from 2 men- whose names happen to be Rich and Abel. (no lie... Rich and Abel) Both dates ended up with no chemistry. The husband hunt continues.
-ridiculous fun times with Shelley and John (I wasn't sober all Thanksgiving long)
-calling my mechanic,trying to speed up the process of getting my van home in time to decorate it with lights for Christmas.
-cleaning my horror movie set-like dirty apartment


That's all I feel like saying right now... I've been typing all damn day now on this silly summer book of mine.

Ode to the P.E. coach

If I were straight, the world would be great;
I'd get me a girl with whom I'd procreate;
I'd do manly things, I'd talk manly talk;
I wouldn't any longer enjoy watching other men walk;
I'd talk about baseball, I'd watch football each Sunday;
I'd drive my 5 kids to their games in a Hyundai;
I'd drink me a beer, I'd belch out a concert;
Crush the can on my head and pretend it don't hurt;
I'd slap my buddies high fives and buy them some shooters;
We'd lie about fishing, we'd eat at a Hooters;
In the art of barbeques I'd be quite conceptual;
I'd be your steak-burning, stomach churning, model heterosexual;
I'd rev my engine too loud, I'd tell stories of my old cars;
I'd lie about my dick size, I'll play pool in the bars;
Yes, my life would be different, maybe it's not too late;
Could I? Would I? Should I perhaps become straight??

I Spy

on an unexpected friend.


Homebody Hannah walks into R. Nixon Elementary School every day, carrying with her a burden- she does not like her new school.
Ever since she moved to Florida from New York this summer with her family, it has been one surprise after another- each one proving that the move was not all that she expected. Her school is a little more "data-driven" than she's used to, and the parents of this school are a little too involved for her taste (meaning they can be pains in the ass).
Homebody Hannah also tells me that she's very astounded that the people are not all quite what she expected either. The men she's met in the bars of Port Prozac have been a little... well.... let's say "unevolved." You see, Hannah chooses her words wisely. She doesn't like to talk bad about others.
Hannah's not quite sure of the reasons, but she hasn't gotten as much time to lay on the beach as she'd like (whether it's school related or not). She would like more time to focus on herself, but finds that her time runs out quickly each day, as she likes to be in bed at 9:00.

Every day I watch Hannah from across the hall, teaching patiently, organizing meticulously, and planning carefully all day long.
When I first met her, I wasn't sure we'd be friends, but as life likes to show us- sometimes there are surprises. You see, for some reason Hannah and I are very good friends, and continue to enjoy our extreme differences in personalities.

I believe that these sorts of friends are important- as no one else but them can quite push us to our limits and let us explore different ideas and thoughts through them.
Which is why I compiled this list of things I would like to do with Hannah someday, just to see her do it (and laugh).

Things I'd like to do with Homebody Hannah

1. Make prank phone calls to Mr. Collins, as he would never suspect Hannah of doing such a thing.
2. Wrestle her.
3. Throw her fully clothed into a swimming pool, and then jump in after her.
4. I would to talk dirty to Hannah in a crowded elevator, and she will not speak in English back, but rather make various animal noises showing her willingness to comply with my requests.
5. Attend a speed dating session with Hannah, and both of us would use our 5 minute increments with all the "dates" to explain to these "dates" why they probably do not deserve to be dated. Then leave with each other, clearly content and pretending we'd found love with one another.
6. Go rollerblading with Hannah.
7. Rent 4 porns... watch, drink, and take detailed notes.
8. Make a sand castle... and let Hannah destroy it in a wild fashion.
9. I would like to see Hannah flash the Disney cruise ships coming out of Port Prozac on Sunday night. I not only support this behavior- but would also enjoy flashing the Disney cruise ship. I'd imagine there'd be quite a racket following it, as soccer moms would be screaming, covering all children's eyes on all 4 decks. Things could get loud- they pack that ship full!!!
10. Take Hannah into the large sex store about a mile away from me. I keep a tally of how many times she's murmur her favorite line to murmur--- "Oh dear."

Various Plans and Vacant Apartments

Last night as I slept,

police cars flooded the streets
doors were knocked on, forced down, and broken through
there were shouts, yells, and screams of innocence.

In all, 29 people were all arrested in one of Port Prozac's city-wide arrests of a giant Crack-smuggling and selling ring... leaving the sleepy beach town even sleepier today (yet more coherent, I suppose).

As I heard of the night's spectacular events, I too was astounded by how many were arrested in such a small town.

I arrived back home after running my daily errands after work, to find a blue sign on my doorknob. It was from Beachside Village's management offices.

This is what it read-

"In need of some money?
We're handing out money!!!
LOTS OF MONEY!!!

Refer a friend to live at Beachside Village and receive
$50.00
off your
next month's rent!"


Hmmmm... seems as if I have some vacant apartments in the buildings around me due to last night's arrests.
Note to self- new husband must live in nicer neighborhood than I do.


Tomorrow's agenda-
Help Shelley and John move the last of Shelley's things into Whorelando.
Go to Mr. Corry's wife's memorial service (a teacher from last year at R. Nixon.... we're the last family he has left... I met his terminally ill wife last year at a bookstore)
Drive to Whorelando to meet husband prospect for date.

Hmmmm... if I have any spare time, I'll ask around to see if anyone would like to be my new neighbor.... I could use 50 spare dollars, I suppose.

Persistence

A great man, Samuel Smiles, once said "They who are the most persistent, and work in the true spirit, will invariably be the most successful."

As I am sure that this inspiring quote has much truth to it, I can't help but feel sometimes as if my own perseverance of my goals is absolutely worthless.
Why's that?

Let me tell you about my week.
First of all, there is the usual work. As any teacher can tell you, being persistent is a never-ending job with students. Every day, I remind Mouse 5 times a day not to yell over me while I'm addressing the class. Every day, I have a talk with either Snobby Sarah or Sneaky Susan about how to get along with other girls. Every day, I remind Know-it-all to use the restroom, Happy Hannah to sit in her seat, and Distractable Dannie to mind her own her... PLEASE.
This week's work is extra special, as the third grade play is tomorrow. For the last week, I have been persistent in answering phone calls, responding to emails, and writing notes home to parents in agendas about costumes. However, as of yesterday not many parents seemed to really have any costumes ready. Rather than be creative and create costumes, they opted to wait until the last minute and call up the principal's office to complain about problems they were having finding any costumes.
The icing on the cake is how persistently I've tried to communicate with an impossible-to-get-along-with parent. Yet still she insists I am a terrible teacher, although her son has had amazing learning gains this year. According to other parents (who obviously trust me more than her), she is infamous for talking behind my back. I meet with her and Mr. Collins on Friday to discuss the latest "problems" she sure are going on in my classroom.

In my own personal life, I have been persistent with a number of different things.
I continue to strive to find a husband by May. This summer, I had no problem meeting tons of excellent, dependable, good looking men. The minute I arrived back into Florida, the problems I had last year all began again. I am proud to announce that the men of Port Prozac (and Whorelando) are: perverts, sex-maniacs, Disneyworld workers, artificial, unintelligent, antisocial, queens, drug addicts, or emotional hijackers.
I persevere with my organizational problems (which I'm supposed to be taking care of during this detoxing cleanse of mine). Everything is all over the place (my apartment looks like an atom bomb testing site), and I'm not making any leeway on ANYTHING.
I am persistently trying to make my life a little less complicated- such as installing a water filter to the end of my faucet to eliminate the moldy Brita pitcher I never fill in the fridge. Imagine me Sunday night, screwing it onto the faucet, only to break the end of the faucet, making it un-useable. Now imagine me Monday night, installing my new faucet myself, only to create a crazy leak (that could not be stopped) in the old faucet. Now cut to me realizing that the only way to stop the leak is to get the new faucet on- which is impossible to do from underneath the sink due to angle of nuts. The solution? Picture me swinging a FUCKING HAMMMER wildly, smashing apart the old faucet. There are pieces of metal, plastic, and rubber rings flying to and fro, bouncing off the fridge, hitting dishes, and sliding across the linoleum. And after all this was accomplished and the new faucet was on- a leak from underneath at the rusty old cranky-knob thingy. There is nothing to do- the knob needs to be replaced by a plumber. So now my kitchen is a mess, waiting for plumber to come when I have the time to let him in.

Last, I persist with my health regimen. In a perfect world, after I complete my detox, I will never ingest anything harmful in my body again. However, a more realistic person would say that it will probably last about a month until I'm holiday binge-drinking, coffee drinking, waking up at night with the urge to eat entire contents of fridge, and being tempted with various unhealthy things by unhealthy people (and enjoying all of these temptations to an unhealthy degree).

Yes, I persist every day to reach my goals. It just seems as of lately, that I've been getting no where with any of them. Yet I will continue to move forward, hoping to reach them someday soon.

A great man, Samuel Smiles, once said "They who are the most persistent, and work in the true spirit, will invariably be the most successful."
I hope you're right, Mr. Smiles..... I hope you're right.

November New Year's Resolutions

As always... why in the world would I wait until New Year's to make up a list of goals that are now unreachable due to lack of Holiday self-control?


My 2007 November New Year's Resolutions

1. Will stop drinking in bathtub (although it's soothing, it's still not right for a man, not gay nor straight.... and anyways, it's too habit-forming)
2. Will stop talking bad about Cantankerous Connie (silly bitch)
3. Will stop talking bad about Mr. Collins (silly bitch)
4. Will start using Greeting Card Organizer that my angry mother sent to me for Christmas last year due to lack of birthday card I never sent her a month earlier. This is a good resolution, due to high number of relatives and friends who find me officially rude!
5. Will being making lists of things to buy in stores, instead of developing odd fear of shopping due to hours spent wandering around trying to remember things to buy
6. Will use my personal organizer a lot more
7. Find husband.
8. Will organize the following: car, van, apartment, and classroom (fuck, fuck, fuck, and fuck)
9. Will become very organized all-round (goal is to get someone to become annoyed and/or actually refer to me as "anally organized," since I've never been called organized in my life)
10. I will give Shelley a present more often (as she is the queen of giving presents for no reason, and I cannot be out-done like that)
11. Will be healthier, maintaining normal weight and not yo-yo (gained five pounds since getting back from van trip this summer due to R. Nixon's high stress level)
12. Will begin to plan out next year- where to live? who to marry? children???? (god no)
13. Will send out thoughtful Christmas cards this year.
14. Will run a marathon for a good cause in 2007.



And to start out these November New Year's Resolutions, this is what I'm doing-

I'm currently in the 2nd day of my Life Detox Agenda -
-10 days of complete body detoxing- rids poisons, rids self also of at least 7 pounds of fat (to attract husband and reach maintainable weight, and to make running a marathon that much easier)
-organizing all my shit- classroom, van, car, apartment during the 10 days
-fake tanning (to attract husband afraid of albino teachers)
-teeth-whitening strips (to attract husband with high standards of oral hygiene)



As you can see, in 8 more days, I will be on my way to a very successful start to the New Year....

A Very Drunken Halloween Night

Anna Nicole and Howard K. Stern

1. Three hours of makeup for "Anna Nicole"
(aka Merry Mel)

2. A long, roundabout drive to a Port Prozac bar, sporting a very large costume contest.

3. Getting absolutely smashed while girls screamed "Anna! Anna Nicole" at Mel as I drank, drank, drank.

4. Dancing with Mel in order to try to win contest.

5. All is blurry after that- Mel tells stories of me freaking the urn on the dance floor, shouting for Wendy's on the way home, eating like a cow and making no sense whatsoever back at my apartment..... but I do not remember any of it.

I just know I woke up drunk in the morning with Wendy's wrappers on the kitchen floor.

Overall... a success.

A Rather Bad End to a Rather Good Day

3:15- I walked into my room, finding the P.E. teacher standing in the corner of the room, monitoring my out-of-control class. I smiled to myself. I knew how to get this class in order.
"Class, everyone sit down, be quiet, and pretend you deserve theeesseee!" I smiled, holding out a tray of cookies I'd just boughten the night before. The class squealed with delight, rushing around to get to their desks.
It was then I looked over to see... on the phone.... a student with an extremely angry vengeful (according to the parents reporting to me that she talks behind my back) mother.
It is then that it me--- she probably just heard me say the words "sit down, be quiet, and pretend you deserve these!"- not a good quote when taken out of context. It sounds so mean!

Damnit!

3:20- Mr. Collins entered my room. "Mr. McManson!" he shouted. "Could I see you for a minute?"
'Wow,' I thought. 'That woman works fast. She's already told him what I said!'
But as I entered the hallway, I was soon to find out that the angry mother was NOT the one causing a bit of trouble for me. Instead... stood the woman I'd taken my children to only an hour and fifteen minutes earlier. She had come to our school to present to each of the classes the dangers of polluting the earth's water.
"He's the one who left me alone with the children!" she was shouting hysterically, pointing at me.
"What?" I asked.
Mr. Collins was red in the face, scowling at me.
"You asked me when you entered if you were to stay with those kids!" she screeched.
"Yes," I said. "And you told me to stay. I didn't know whether you were cleared to be alone with children or not."
"And I told you I wasn't!" she cried.
"I know," I replied. "That's why I sat down!" I looked over desperately at Mr. Collins, whose face continued to shine bright red. He gave me no sign of support.
"Why did you leave? I'm a guest! I'm not allowed to be alone with those children! They were terrible! They were awful! It was against state law for you to leave!!!!!" she screeched.
"Um... I had a planning period, with a meeting. That's why the P.E. teacher came to relieve me!" I protested.
"The P.E. teacher?"
"Yes!"
Mr. Collins now focused on her. "Was the P.E. teacher there?"
"You mean the man in shorts?"
"Yes," I said. "He was wearing shorts! He came in and told me I could leave."
Now stuck looking stupid, the woman resorted to a new measure--- "Well, well..... well.... he wasn't even helping me with the kids! He was leaving me unattended!"
"He left you unattended?" Mr. Collins boomed.
"Yes! He was wandering!"
"Wait a second," I interjected. "Was he ever not in eyesight of you?"
"Well... no.. but," the woman whimpered.
"Then you weren't unattended."
"Your kids were awful!" she said, changing the subject again.
"What? They were fine when I was there!"
"Well... after you left they weren't!"
By now my suspicions of the woman were raised. What in the world was wrong with this lady? My kids had acted perfectly fine when I was in the room.. and I could only assume they continued to behave when I left.
"Um..." I said, reaching for the door. "For my own documentation purposes, please come in here."
The skittish skinny woman, still on the verge of a breakdown, followed me in, proceeded by Mr. Collins. My class stared up at her, wondering why she was in their room now.
"Please point to the ones giving you trouble," I said calmly. "I'll deal with it."
For a moment the woman stared out at my class.
Then a minute later, she shouted at me, "I'm very uncomfortable! I'm a guest! I shouldn't have to sit here and point at kids."
I shot a look over to Mr. Collins. Anyone who ever had dealt with kids should be over the embarrassment factor for letting another know if the behavior wasn't up to par.
"If you're not comfortable," I said, "we can go back out to the hall." I ushered her back out. I turned to the class.
"Take off my ties," I told them, refering to the neckties all of them had borrowed from me. You see, it was red ribbon week, and Friday was tie day. The night before I'd stayed up late, rounding up all the ties in my apartment, to bring in and share with the kids.
I walked back out to the hall, and spoke with the woman for a few more minutes, trying to make sense of her story (later on to find out that our P.E. teacher had no problems when he was in the class either, leading the staff to believe that perhaps with woman just didn't know how to handle kids).

3:25
The minute the woman walked away (to go find the PE teacher to tear him up), I walked back into my classroom.
The sight I saw was unforgetable.
The kids were all shouting.
They were pointing.
They were dancing with horror!

To the side of my room stood Question Mark, his face blue, his hands frantically grabbing at his tie.
Question Mark..... was strangling himself with the tie, and didn't know how to get it off.
"Ahhhhh!" I screamed, running to him. I grabbed ahold of the knot, and pulled down.
It didn't take me long to realize that this boy couldn't breathe any longer, and that the knot wasn't coming out.
I drug him through the yelling mess of children to my desk.
I threw open the top drawer, and started pushing the clutter around, searching frantically. I finally found my large metal scissors, and opened them up.
SSSSSCHWING! The metal blades opened up in my right hand, while my left hand grabbed ahold of the tie.
"Mark!" I commanded. "DO NOT move!!!!"
He looked about ready to pass out. Maybe it was because of lack of oxygen. Maybe it was the sight of me with dangerous scissors.
The bell rang, signalling the end of the day, while I managed to wedge one metal black in between the purple neck and the tie.
I cut through the fabric.
My class burst into cheers.

I stared up at them.
"Get out of here! Go on!!!!" I shouted, not wanting them to be late for the buses (but moreso wanting them out so I could pass out).


All weekend, the final fifteen minute of my day on Friday have been stuck in my mind, replaying, reminding me of the messes I'll be coming back to Monday morning.
Moral of the story? - Teachers deserve better pay.

Merry Mel.... and a night long awaited.

When I first met Merry Mel...... I already had heard much about her.

Over the summer, the rumors had come to me via mobile phone-
1. There was a teacher that knows Cantankerous Connie coming to our school!
2. She's known throughout the county (and state, for that matter) as a being a teacher who knows how to pull her scores (which usually means that they teach to the test and manipulate children with fear)
3. Mr. Collins has been trying to get her to come to our school for years (which obviously means she's evil).

Which is why, then, I was so surprised when I met her.

The truth about Merry Mel is.... she's more "human" than half our staff put together. She's got a lot of problems, a lot of challenges, and she's got a lot of life experiences (not all successes) to speak of. Yet she enjoys throwing on a big smile and making light of all of it (I can relate).
The first few days back in Florida after my summer trip, we bonded at a time I needed someone to bond with (see my very first post in this blog regarding my coming out to my mother via voice mail). I found out that she was a horrible packrat, and her "plan to organize" her new classroom is about as off-the-wall as they come.
But I stayed with her, as she started putting together her classroom.
10 p.m. one night.
11 p.m. the next night.
12 a.m. our last night there.
I had no problem standing next to her throughout all of this. She was a friend whom I knew I could later count on.
But Mel, being the person she is, wanted to thank me in more ways than just saying it. So she went online and bought us tickets to see one of my favorite comedians, who was coming to a performing arts center just a half hour away!

For over two months we waited anxiously, and finally a week and a half ago, the two of us were drinking beers in front of the center (classy) one fine night.

We went up and took our seats, and finally Kathy came out and started up her routine.
As we listened to Kathy Griffin bash EVERYONE we laughed and laughed.
And laughed some more.
I laughed until I was almost crying. I admired how Kathy says everything we're all thinking, but too afraid to say. I enjoy her.

At the end of the night, we finished up by heading to Sonic, and eating ice cream and yammering on and on about this and that (which is what we do best), and laughing (which we do as equally well).


I truly believe that our night of laughter and fun happened for a reason. During my travels for my grandfather's funeral, I found myself looking back upon that carefree night, not even a week old, wishing I was back in the auditorium laughing with Mel.

It is nights like these that we should truly be experiencing more.
I vow to begin.

Collins the Unforgiveable

These are my top ten recent reasons that Mr. Collins is an unforgivable human being.


1. Waking me up the day of my grandfather's funeral to get after me about not scheduling enough hours for my after-school Geography Club. Picture me laying on a futon in my parents' basement 2,000 miles away, four hours before a funeral.... waking up to a call from R. Nixon Elementary. Not cool.

2. Mr. Collins left me two other messages the day of the funeral. Lucky for him, I had no reception at the funeral, or my phone would've rang during it!

3. After the funeral, I worked on typing up my report cards so he could proofread the comments in time for Thursday, when I'd be sending them out. My mother pointed out that NO ONE should really feel like working on report cards the day of their grandfather's funeral.... (okay, so this was my choice, but bear with me, it gets good).

4. I called the school to see with Receptionist Rita if I could take Thursday off for personal time (on the beach) to mourn (get drunk) and have time to think (husband hunt). She said "no" in a certain tone. I asked her why the hell not. She let me know in her own discreet way that he was for some unknown reason mad at me.

5. On the day I arrive back from the funeral, Mr. Collins didn't say hello when I entered the office. Instead, he turned and walked back into his office.

6. I found out that while I was gone, he was so mad over my problem with the Geography Club, that he published and sent home the new school newsletter, announcing A DIFFERENT TEACHER AS THE COACH OF THE GEOGRAPHY CLUB!!!!! (COSTING ME THE 400 DOLLARS I WAS TO GET PAID FOR IT)

7. I then come to find out that he forwarded my emailed report cards to Bahamian Betty, my lead teacher, and said "I should not have to print these out. It's Mr. McManson's Responsibility." (WHAT???? I WAS AT A FUCKING FUNERAL 2000 MILES AWAY!) So then Bahamian Betty printed them out and took them to him.

8. Cantankerous Connie was at it again while I was gone..... emailing mean shit to Mr. Collins. In his usual poor taste, he forwarded an email written by Connie criticizing Bahamian Betty straight to Bahamian Betty!!!!!!
Asshole! Who forwards hateful emails to the people they were talking about? Betty was so upset!

9. When I scheduled a conference with Mr. Collins to "discuss a few matters," he sat down and kind of listened, but in no way, shape or form said "I'm sorry." In fact, he blatantly lied about Receptionist Rita's part in the Geography Club being taken away from me. I'm not stupid. I hope he one day realizes that he doesn't fool me.

10. I do not have a 10th reason quite right now. I'm sure that he's at home cooking it up right now. I'm picturing him running around in a bathrobe and slippers, laughing in manner of Fran Drescher, clapping evilly at his dark plots for next week.



I would slam my head against the wall until comatose, but I have a feeling that's his goal in the first place. Evil queen.

One Fine Week

Friday the Thirteenth, 5 a.m.... I was awoken by my mobile ringing from across the room. It was my father, wanting to let me know... my grandfather had just passed away.

Shelley saw me off on Saturday morning, picking me up at 5:30 and taking me to Whorelando International Airport. From there, I took a flight to Denver, Colorado, where I was picked up by my sister Mary. You see, my parents thought Mary could use some help getting her children up to North Dakota for the funeral. However, Mary didn't want to bring her twin two year old girls, so instead her, I, and my nephew piled into her minivan, and spent the day driving north.

On Sunday morning, I was awoken in my favorite way- by my niece of newphew running around upstairs in my parents' house. The day was "nice" by North Dakota standards- about 50 degrees.
My younger sister Abby had made some breakfast, and everyone was waking up and eating. It was the first time all four of my sisters and I have been home together in four years (at least). We all slowly got ready, and headed off for a 1 hour, 40 minute drive to my grandmother's house.
Grandma's large living room was now somewhat of a shrine to Grandpa's living memory. Pictures of him were up, and photo albums were on display, ready to be perused.
Grandma was doing her best to stay strong, and I tried to stay perky and upbeat for her (as well as my sisters and father). My cousins Ella and Ralph, as well as my aunt and uncle met us there, and we all spewed unimportant chatter until it was time to drive 40 more minutes to the funeral home.
The funeral home was like any funeral home- feeling of death and depression. We endured the family service as best we could. When my father stood up to talk, his voice cracked, and I lost it. There's something about hearing your own parent start to cry that rips up your entire emotional foundation. Shitty.
That night, I had a few drinks.

On Monday, I was awoken by a horrible phone call from Florida asking questions of Geography Club. Of all the things Mr. Collins has done, this has absolutely got to be the lowest. I cut the phone call short (and rude).
We left to the funeral. I rode with my mother, which was somewhat unnerving for me since this was the first time I'd seen her since I told her I was gay via voice mail. The ride went well, and the conversation was light and humerous. We were back to our old way of joking.
The funeral was what I expected. In an tiny old country church, on a hill overlooking the sloping fields around it- is where we said our final goodbyes to Grandpa. While the wasps and other bugs buzzed around the ceiling fans, a minister droned on, while I focused on the stained glass windows, trying not to take anything seriously (in fear of crying). I sat next to Abby (typical), and walked next to Abby (typical) and talked to Abby during the service a few times (very typical).
Outside, the pallbearers (my sisters and I, and two cousins) had to stand next to the casket and hold the flag as they gave Grandpa the 21 gun salute, and played taps. I tried to concentrate hard on Faith, for she would surely be the sister who wouldn't cry. But, as she cringed her face, and tears came down, I let myself go again, before we loaded Grandpa into his hearst. He was to be transported about 300 miles away to a medical school for observation.
As the people began filing back into the tiny church for a bit of a potluck lunch downstairs (five different versions of macaroni hotdish brought), my mom started shouting for us kids to come on- we'd be first through the line.
DeeAnn (oldest sister) looked at me. "Do you want to go for a walk with me?" she asked (probably wanting to sneak a much needed smoke."
"Yeah."
I motioned for my mom to stop yelling for us, and we started down the hill, away from the church. I was suprised to see my other sisters following.
So all together, under the crisp blue dakota sky, we crunched over the dead grass towards the graveyard- DeeAnn, Mary, Faith, Abby, and I... We ended up at my other grandfather's grave (Yes, my other grandfather.... my grandparents are neighbors). He was put six feet under while I was in Australia (if my calculations are correct... at his time of death I had just gotten out of a gay club, and was laughing it up, walking to the house of a cute Australian who playfully enjoyed calling me "Chip").
We commented on Grandpa's tombstone, which also had my grandmother's name on it (she's still alive).
"Um..... why is her name on it?" I asked.
"I don't know," laughed DeeAnn. "I think it's sick."
We laughed, as I pointed out that if Grandma gets remarried, we'll have to get an adjoining headstone for her other side, so the three of them can share one.
After the laughter, we turned and walked down the hill some more, to where many "McManson" tombstones were sticking out of the ground. We saw my dead aunt's tombstone, and were shown where my grandfather was to be buried. From his view.... he could see for miles and miles (at least 10), all the way down the sloping fields to the lake.
As we walked back through the graveyard towards the church on the hill, an important, yet messy sense of life and death hung in the air around us.

I think the time in the graveyard with my sisters was probably one of the most surreal experiences I've had.... and I don't know why... perhaps it's probably where I'll be shoved in the ground one day.

That night, as we got drunk and I clicked away on my laptop, filling out my report cards for the facist Collins, we had birthday parties for my niece and nephew. We were all trying to forget what had happened, I'm sure. Mary had a hard time with this, and ended up down in her room for a while. I continued to drink. To each his own.

Tuesday morning a snow storm hit. The temperature was in the twenties, and Mary was impatient to leave. So her, I, and her son got into her van, and we made a 16 hour journey back to Colorado, stopping off to visit our grandmothers, before continuing on. We arrived at 3:30 in the morning at her house, to go to bed for two hours.

Wednesday morning, I bundled back up (compared to Florida weather, it's unliveable), and got back into the van, to drive an hour to the airport.

When I arrived back in Whorelando, Sunflower, Shelley's metrohippie aunt picked me up, and I was greeted by 85 degree weather.

Today, as I go to bed, I reflect on the past week. I think about Grandpa stealing vans, graveyards, seeing my breath in the air, drinks with my brother-in-law, dead leaves on the ground, shovel-fulls of dirt, and funeral homes.

I don't know how else to say this.... but it all makes most of my problems seem a little less important.
And that's all I have to say about this fine week.

My Choice and the Cheater

(disclaimer: This entry has gay drama in it. I am in no way, shape or form responsible for you deciding to read all of its gay ridiculous-ness... or how very long it is. Read at your own risk)

"Vodka and pineapple, please."
"Coming up... oh, single or double?"
"Hmmm," I said, scanning the dance floor packed with boy-crazy fags. "Better make it a double. I'm running low."
"I hear you," the bartender (dressed in a ridiculous Halloween costume) agreed.
'What the hell am I doing here?' I wondered, playing with a napkin someone left on the counter. 'I don't belong here. They're all crazy, and drunk.... I'm never going to find a husband by May.'
My thoughts traveled back to my call from my parents earlier, concerning my grandfather's great escape. I knew what he felt like. Right then, I was pretty sure I wanted to escape as well. Whorelando just doesn't have the right guys for me. I glanced across the bar, at a creepy darker man staring intently at me. I smiled politely (as I do), and turned away a bit, refocusing on the napkin.
It was then that an arm came around me, and pulled me back against a body. Another muscular arm came around me, and grabbed ahold of one of four shots that was poured a minute earlier, sitting about a foot from my elbow. The hand brought the shot glass up to my mouth, and a voice whispered against my ear... "Drink."
Now.... some boys might be nervous about taking drinks from strangers. Not I.
I tipped my head back, mouth open, and let the shot pour down my throat.
I turned to find out who my new friend was.
Oh holy god.

Before me stood a beautiful specimen of a man.... a man Shelley and I had been admiring about 5 hours earlier when we'd come in for happy hour.
"Hey!" I said smiling. I glanced around, noticing how many jealous queens were staring at me and him now.
"Hi, baby," he grinned.
"You're that dancer," I said. "That guy from earlier. You were teaching those people some moves that they were supposed to perform tonight over at the stage, right?"
"Where's your girlfriend at?"
"Oh... my girlfriend? Oh.. that's Shelley. She's not my girlfriend."
He smiled wider.
"I didn't know you'd seen us," I admitted.
"Well, I did. And I was so interested in finding out who this little cutey is, I even talked to the bartender to find out more about he," he told me. "He said he thought you two were planning on coming back for the show."
"We were."
"I didn't see you in the audience."
"Well... we planned to come back. But then her and her boyfriend were tired so I came out husb- I mean... I came out for a drink or two by myself." (Grr.... that was close.... rule one of husband-hunting- one must never know you are actually hunting him for a husband!!!)
"Well aren't.... I.... lucky?" he sneered, moving closer to me.

An hour and a half later, I was driving to this dancer's house to hang out with him there. He seemed all right to me... maybe a little full of himself. But he had a nice smile, and a good body, and he showed good judgement by picking me! Ta da!
However, I got lost (as I do) and called him.
His phone rang and rang.
He didn't pick up.
I called again.
Still no pick-up.
I sat the phone down, and pulled over. I didn't know if I was really going in the right direction. Now why would he shut his phone in his car off??????
My phone rang, and it was him.
"Sorry," he said. "I was talking to my ex."
"Oh."
"What were you calling for?"
"I forgot your directions."

About five minutes later, I pulled into his apartment complex, and called him.
"Hey," I said. "I just need to know what building is-"
"Hold on," he interrupted. "My ex is calling. Call you right back."
He hung up.
I parked my car, and sat in it for a while. "Now what the hell?" I asked myself. "Who does that? Who would rather talk to their ex than the boy that's there right now?"
I sat for a few minutes, and then decided to go home. As I was starting my car, the phone rang.
It was Nelson Rader.
"Nelson?" I answered (a little angry, considering he never called me the night before, after Shelley and John and I had even went in to see him at work).
"Um, hey," Nelson said coyly (I'm guessing he knew that he really fucked up). "I was wondering if you were still out tonight. You could come over and hang out."
"Well, I'd have to- oh, hold on!" my phone beeped, and on the caller id came up the dancer's name.
Ohhhhh... decision.
Go to Nelson's (who stood me up again last night), or stay here at dancer's (who keeps rather talking to ex-boyfriend than me)?????
After careful consideration, I realized that I've given Nelson a few chances. The new dancer? None.
"Nelson," I said firmly. "I cannot come over. I'll call you tomorrow (that actually wouldn't happen, due to the car accident Shelley, John, and I got into the next day)." And with that, I dismissed Nelson. Fuck him. Fuck stupid Nelson. Nelson didn't call me last night, so fuck stupid fucking Nelson. And with that, my decision was made.

So after an hour at the dancer's house, I was sure I'd done the right thing. As we lay next to each other, I smiled out the window, knowing that perhaps this time I'd gotten it right. I congratulated myself on taking chances, on not relying on Nelson to always be there to pick up the pieces when another guy starts to go wrong. Yes, I must be learning. I must be growing as a gay man. I'm obviously expanding myself, and taking enough chances so that soon I will be husband material, and I will find a good-

"Matty?" he interrupted my thoughts.
I turned to him. "Yes?"
"I'm not looking for a relationship."
I admired his honesty. "O.K." I shrugged.
"That's because... um..... when I was talking to my ex-boyfriend on the phone....we got back together."
HMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMM??????
I stared at him. He got back together with his ex-boyfriend, and then still had me in? Ummmmmmmmm......
"O.K." I managed to say.
"And uh... um.... I'd appreciate it if uh... if you see us out.... I'd really like it if you just sort of.... pretended this never happened."
At that moment, I felt a funny feeling. My eyes tightened. I could practically feel them darken. Merry Mel calls them "Manson eyes." I glowered at him. I began laughing.
He stared at me laughing, in bewilderment.
"Listen," I said. "I don't think... that I will have any problem.... forgetting... about.... you." My voice was threatening as I ended my sentence. I continued to smile at him.
And with that...... (let's call him Cheating Chad) Chad's face dropped, as if he'd been slapped.
I got up out of bed.
"Matty?" he said. "Um.... where are you going?"
I was picking up my clothes, ignoring him, still laughing. "I'm going to my friends' place."
"You're leaving?"
"Yes."
"Well, uh... you could stay."
"Naaa."
He stared at me... as if to suddenly realize that he perhaps was not God's gift to gays.... and that perhaps there was a boy strong enough not to care if he was rejected.
"I mean... really, you can stay here."
"But I don't want to," I explained to him, shaking my head. "I want to go to my friends' house and visit them. They're fun, and tomorrow we'll eat breakfast and laugh a lot."
He continued to look at me... getting a little desperate.
"I hope I see you again," he said.
"Oh?"
"Yes."
By this time, I was dressed, and heading through the living room to the door.
"Did you get everything?"
"Yes."
"Matty," he said, passing me and putting his hand on the door. "Listen, I've really enjoyed you. And I hope I do see you again."
I stared into his eyes. It was amazing.... how quickly one can tumble when they realize they are not all that wanted.
"And I hope," I said honestly, "that everything works out well..... for your ex." I pulled open the door, and marched out.
As I drove away, he was still standing on his belcony staring at me.

The funny thing about people is the way they don't want something (or someone), unless they're told they can't have it. Before I told him that I'd have no problem getting over him, he was acting as if I should be thankful I'm with him. But after I so simply expressed my indifference.... he had a whole new attitude, one that really wanted to keep me there, and later see me.

People always want what they cannot have.

Of course.... I also know this feeling all too well.
I felt it as I called up Nelson, and the phone rang and rang. He never picked up.

Grandpa McManson's Great Escape

Who ever said that age needs to change you? There are some elderly people who actually refuse to go into resting as they pack on the years.
Take my grandfather for instance. Just two weeks ago, he was admitted into a nursing home. But apparently, this hasn't quite slowed him down (as we were hoping it would).

While I was heading out husband-hunting Saturday night, ready for action, he was getting pretty active himself back in North Dakota.

Here's a quick rundown of what he did:

1. Got ahold of some nursing home keys
2. Broke out of the nursing home
3. Went to the nursing home's garage
4. Used one of the stolen keys to start up an 11 passenger van.
5. Put the van in forward, smashing some stuff up in the garage.
6. Put the van in reverse, blasting himself through the garage door (he failed to open it)
7. Hit two parked cards in the parking lot (presumably still in reverse)
8. Headed towards "home," executing his escape path with no lights on
9. Totalled the getaway van by running into various shit (refer back to number 8)
10. Ended up being apprehended in someone's yard 30 miles Northeast of the Watsonville Nursing Home, where his escape began
11. We're awaiting his fate- he's not allowed back into the nursing home (obviously), and do not know where to put him. Could a psych ward be next?

"What?" I shouted into the phone, switching lanes on the freeway in Whorelando, heading to club #2 of the husband-hunting night. My mind was spinning with what I was being told over my mobile. The palm trees and lit up skyscrapers of downtown seemed to be swirling around me as I tried to pull myself out of shock.
"Yes, well...." Dad continued. "We doubt they'll charge him with Grand Theft Auto."
"Could they really do that?"
"I don't know. It's kind of what he did."
"Ahhhh," I said, shaking my head. "That's nuts... they're the ones that didn't hide their keys well enough."
"Well, look on the bright side," Dad started laughing. "Your grandfather seems to be doing much better. He's starting to act like himself again."

God help us.

For such a "religious" nation-

What the HELL is wrong with this fucking country???

It is a little known fact amongst teachers- to survive some students in your class, you may have to look very deep for something you like in them.

Since the day Mouse Linen entered my classroom, I have looked high and low for a sign of like-ability in him. It's been quite a search....
While I have written notes on the board, Mouse has entertained himself by jumping up and down in his chair, squeaking.
While I have demonstrated science experiments, Mouse has jumped out of his chair and spun around in circles for no apparent reason.
While I have led the class down the hall in lines, Mouse has walked in circles, all the while pretending his hands are little puppets and making them talk to one another in annoyingly high voices.

It was Merry Mel the other week who suggested Mouse be taken out of his group and instead placed by himself (as sort of a motivation/punishment). The point was to get him to want to sit with his peers, therefore forcing him to re-evaluate his behavior to win the priveledge back. Defying all logic, Mouse decided he likes his own little corner of the room, and since I moved him there, I was pleased that he had sort of fallen out of my stream of consciousness during the day.

This week, a new student arrived to R. Nixon Elementary. With him he brings over-emotional behavior, brat-ish tendancies, and a general lack of mathematical knowledge. To cope with this new student, I pulled him to my back table to work with him one-on-one with regrouping across zeros in subtraction. After about six problems, he grasped it.
"Pardon me, class," I announced, turning back to the class, smiling widely to show this new student how proud I was of him. "Everyone get ready to give some snaps!"
My class sat up with anticipation, ready to snap for who-ever this deserving individual was.
"After only about fifteen minutes of work, I'm proud to say that Unruly Ulrich here has gotten himself all caught up with our chapter in Math! He just understood his regrouping across zeros... and he's never done it before!"
My class is generous with their snaps. The snapped and snapped, and snapped some more. He beamed. I sent Ulrich back to his desk to work independently.
As I picked up my scratch paper, and dusted off the table, I glanced around at my students, smiling. They were all working hard, smiling for Ulrich. Everyone was on task.
That is, except for one.
'Mouse!!' I thought angrily.
He had his back turned to the class, facing the wall. I imagined a crayon in his hand, or worse.
I threw the paper into the recycling bin, and started over towards him.
'Damnit, it looks like he hasn't even touched his paper yet. I bet he's been messing around this whole time!!!!'
"Mouse!" I said bruskely. He jumped and turned towards me.
I froze. Down were streaming down Mouse's face. He looked up at me helplessly. I immediately knew what this must be about- someone must have hit him in recess again. He's small in size, and annoying- a poor mixture on the playground. He's like a walking punching bag.
"What's the matter?" I asked.
He was crying too hard to speak. I let him compose himself for a few moments.
"Listen," I whispered, down on his level. "Are you having problems with someone at recess?"
He shook his head.
"Did someone say something mean to you?"
He shook his head again.
"Oh," I said, thinking about a recent death his family had experienced. "Are you sad about something at home."
He surprised me, by shaking his head again.
"Well... why are you crying then?" I asked, truly confused.
"I'm crying," Mouse explained through gasps of breath, "because Ulrich already got how to regroup across zeros. He just got here today! I've been trying to regroup across zeros for a week now, and still can't get it right!"
I was shocked. "Why didn't you come talk to me about it?"
He wiped his eyes off, sniffed, and stared up at me with big mousy eyes. "I didn't want to upset you, Mr. Manson."

It was at that moment, that I realized a few things. A- Since Mouse's move, I hadn't spoken about behavior to him once. He had completely turned over a new leaf. B- His grades had gone up- not that I'd noticed good grades, but because I hadn't noticed bad ones. and C- I had never congratulated him on either feat- because I'd forgotten about him over in his corner, and was enjoying the silence.
I felt my insides melt. I had finally, realized just how much I like Mouse. I never saw it before- but he truly did want to be a good student. He also didn't want to upset me any longer. For the next fifteen minutes, Mouse and I sat at the back table working on regrouping across zeros. By the time he'd gotten it, I vowed never to forget about him in his corner again.

Yes, it's important for every teacher to find something to like about every one of their students.
It's just as important, however, to be persistent until they find that one thing.
You never know who may be brushed to the side, crying and unnoticed.

Potter Cunt meets the Karma Monster

When I was in college in Bemidji, Minnesota, I waited tables for a living, and to save up money to go to Australia to student teach. I did not mind working hard at the Peckerhead Family Restaurant and Bakery, as I enjoyed the tips, the coworkers, and half of the customers.

What I did mind, however, was the management. Much like the man I work for two and a half years later (outrageous Mr. Collins), Potter Cunt was a paranoid, angry and overall a madman.

My first day of work, Potter Cunt was too busy to notice me.... for he was yelling at the kitchen manager for not ordering some needed supply.
My second week working at Peckerheads, I found out that he actually sits across from the restaurant in the grocery store parking lot, watching with binoculars (convinced we were all stealing from the till).
Months later, I worked a day shift with Potter, and couldn't believe the way he was speaking to Frazzled Freda about how her section was "too dirty." Despite the fact she was trying her hardest, her best wasn't good enough for him.
Two months before I left, he arrived unexpectedly and promptly began screaming at the entire night shift over the way the restaurant looked. "Why don't you do something for once?" he asked one of my coworkers and friends.

I hated him. He was one of the people I knew I wouldn't miss, as I boarded my jet in L.A., determined not to even return to the U.S. I was relieved I would never have to work for him again. I was positive that karma someday would pay Potter a visit.

And within the last month.... it has.
One fine day.... an executive from higher up in the Peckerheads chain, walked into the Bemidji site, and informed him it was time for him to pack up his briefcase.
They escorted Potter Cunt out of the building.
All that remains of him are the rumors of his money laundering float amongst the Peckerheads staff.

Tonight, I wonder what I would say to Potter if I could see him again.
First, I think I'd kick him in the nuts.
Then, I would tell him that everything happens for a reason.
Last, I'd kick him in the nuts again.
OK, so not a very insightful ending tonight. What can I say? The mean bastard deserved it.

Merry Mel's Reasons NOT to be so MERRY!

1. Her best friend and only family left, her mother, died last spring, leaving her lonely.
2. She chose to leave her job at a relatively normal school with a normal principal, to enter the torture chambers of R. Nixon Elementary, with Mr. Collins.
3. Her car has been T-boned, and she's driving her mom's old car.
4. Her central air in her house is broke..... and on a teacher's salary, it will take her a while to get it fixed. By the way, it is still getting into the 90's here in Florida.
5. To add to the heating problems, Mel is having hot flashes, due to coming off her med's she's used to having. Which also, by the way, leads to her sometimes over-emotional state.
6. Having gotten used to looking like a Barbie-ish model for three decades, an injury last January forced her onto Cortizone, which forced her into jeans 9 sizes larger than she's used to (I think she looks good, but I've seen the proof of what she looked like... wow)
7. No husband
8. No man begging to be husband.
9. No woman begging to be husband, either.
10. As Mel has entered the state of no mother, she's also inherited the state of no one to bail her out of financial issues. With everything that has happened to her... this is not good.
11. Mel's life has been so out of control this past year, she hasn't cleaned her house in ever. I have yet to be invited over.
12. Mel's looking at some big bills coming up, and probate (to inherit her parents' assets) will take a very lengthy five months.

and the worst reason of all, NOT to be so MERRY!

13. As it turns out, the very Cantankerous Connie has come out of her state of dormancy. Just when we thought it was safe to roam the halls of R. Nixon Elementary, Connie aka T-Rex is stomping around, spreading her misery. She's eating her teammates for lunch, she's stomping on their ideas of teaching, and she's chasing Mr. Collins around, getting him to bend to her evil whims. Merry Mel the Unfortunate, is on Cantankerous Connie's team.

It's interesting, for me to compare our timelines.
As my life slowly improved last spring, shedding light onto my depressed state of teacherness, Merry Mel's life was falling apart.
As I drove my van around the country, having countless adventures nation-wide, Merry Mel was trying to systematically adjust her life, moving into her room at N. Nixon.
As I returned to Florida, and began realizing a horrible mistake made- my resigning of my contract at R. Nixon Elementary, Mel was realizing she too made a mistake- of coming to N. Nixon in the first place.

And now, the two of us have met, become close friends, and are there for each other through it all.
I feel a closeness to her for if nothing else, this reason:

We both have too many dreams and hopes, to be stuck in the lives we are temporarily leading.

Hold on tight, Merry Mel.... something has got to give.

Hmmm....

After a day like this..

who could honestly resist watching this????

It's so wierd to see it on TV again.... I wonder if I could be him for Halloween this year???

What's Eating Shelley

1.  Grandfather just died.
2.  Two months of no job (quit her bar job to find a better one… still hasn’t)
3.  Sunflower (her metro-hippie yoga instructor aunt) has stood her up for get-togethers 3 times in row this week.
4.  I didn’t realize she was still at the library, when I left it, assuming it she’d left during my tutoring session.  She realized later I’d left, felt abandoned.
5.  Boyfriend lost cell phone, so was uncontactable.
6.  Shelley doesn’t know whether to move to Whorelando, or stay in Port Prozac this December when her lease is up.
7.  Will she afford to live in either place by the time December comes?  Will she have a job by then?

Today, I listened to my friend crying over the phone to me.
I hurt for her, especially when I realized she was leaving tonight to Whorelando, and was not returning to Port Prozac until her flight comes back from D.C. next Wednesday.  I will not be able to hug her for 8 days.


This too, shall pass, dear Shelley.  Tonight, I hold on to my wishes for you.

Meet Nelson Radar

A wise teacher once told me (and the rest of a class full of hormonally dysfunctional, zit-faced 9th graders), “Birds of a feather, stick together.”

Or, as the gays say, “Hey y’all!!! How’s all my bitches? Mmmm-hmmm, I’ve got my new jeans, so we all is hitting up the P-house tonight, and see if we can’t find me a stallion to rip them off, baby! Whoo Whoo!”

It is true, gay men tend to flock together. They shop together. They go clubbing together. They leech onto one another and watch shows like Project Runway and anything MTV together, all the time trying out the newest designer drugs.
Not I..
Watching this fag parade from afar, I have slowly come to realize that I just do not fit in with most homosexuals. In this way, I, Matty… have become lonely. I have never kept a true gay friend.

Meet Nelson Radar.

Nelson is also not your typical gay guy. He works as a car mechanic in Whorelando, isn’t afraid to spit on the ground in front of company, drinks beer, and isn’t afraid to be himself.
When I first met Nelson last January, I was at first appalled. He seemed like a rather strange creature, never talking directly to my face, but instead glancing around the room, as he rambled on without changing his voice. He drove his car like a maniac, made really bad jokes, and overall seemed unsocialized. But after a few drinks, Nelson began to calm down a bit, and by the next morning we’d found things to appreciate about each other.

I visited Nelson a second time about a month later, and found myself once again enjoying his friendly weirdness. I learned he 1. likes watching the history channel 2. has an insane love for fish, having two 50 gallon tanks of his own and 3. likes the same kinds of tea I do (and beer).

A few weeks after that, I found myself on a bad date, with a man I was convinced had one goal: to kill me with boring talks of computers. Afterwards, I instinctively called Nelson to tell him about it.
“Come over here,” Nelson said in his unemotional monotone voice. “I’ll take you out.”


Last night, I ended up in the middle of unwanted gay drama. As the man I was pursuing as my new husband (mind you, this is after putting 2 hours of work into this guy) was running away from us all with his ex-boyfriend yelling, “You said you were my friends!” …. I realized that he definitely was no longer a contender for husband.
Watching him angrily strut away from us (his three friends and I), I pulled out my cell phone.
“Hello?”
“Nelson! It’s me! I’m at P-House. Not having a good time.”
“I’ll be there in 20 minutes.”

Today, as I hung out at Nelson’s house with him, watching Modern Marvels (history channel), I realized something. I got a warm feeling. And started smiling.
“Hey,” Nelson said. “Look at Rebel.”
I glanced up at the cat laying on the back of the couch above me. He was staring down at me intently.
“You know what he’s saying?” Nelson joked. “He’s saying, ‘I’ve got my eye on you, you silly faggot.’”
As Nelson and I laughed, and knew now for sure….


I, Matty McManson…. have a true gay friend, and his name is Nelson Radar.

Surprise Yourself

As I do on most weekend days, today I was running…. running the regular 6 mile run that I enjoy (and my disappearing tummy enjoys as well) so much.
As I approached my three-mile mark, the Beachbar (a favorite of Shelley’s and mine), I prepared myself to make my turn around, and start back to Beachside Village where I’d more than likely go lay at the pool for a while.
But then, out of the blue, an idea turned sparked in my head.
Instead of turning around, I turned right, and began running down the highway, which towards the bridge that would take me off Port Prozac, to Manic Island.


I was free. Again.
Isn’t it so very nice, to do something out of the ordinary?

And now tonight, I prepare myself (shaving, trimming, mouthwashing) to drive to Orlando, to meet Shelley and John.
A husband-hunting we will go!

Aggravation

Two weeks ago, I had a mother who was convinced I was a terribly mean teacher to her son. She discussed with Mr. Collins and I over a conference call her concern over how awful I was… .how I yelled (hmmm..), how I didn’t explain things (I explain them about 3 times to her son alone), and how I’m unapproachable (her son starts every morning out with telling me a 3 minute long story of what he did the night before).
Mr. Collins suggested I keep in close contact with her to keep her happy. “It’ll be much easier this way,” he explained, “than have her always assuming bad things are going on in the classroom.”

One week ago, the same mother (whom we’ll now refer to as Russian Nazi) told me over the phone, “I appreciate just how wonderful things are going for Unhappy Harry. Things are so much better now.” She ended the phone conversation with, “I’m glad you learned how to communicate with him effectively.” I flipped the phone base off as I said, “I’m glad he learned how to communicate with me more effective, Mrs. Russian Nazi. I’m happy he now knows how to raise his hand.”
Mr. Collins was pleased to hear. “You see, just keep communicating effectively.”

Today, Russian Nazi began an emailing circus that ended with her rationalizing why I need to give her son 3 copies of a practice Math test, you know….. to practice on. Three. Three, fucking three. Yes, that’s three practice tests. She made sure she loaded her emails with digs and insinuations of why I’m a bad teacher.
Mr. Collins was not pleased. “You’ve been communicating with her too much,” he explained. “Stop it. Tell her, ‘this is how I do it,’ and leave it at that. Start making her come in with conferences when she has all these problems.”

Later on, Merry Mel called me, letting me know that Mr. Collins spoke to her on the issue. She explained that Mr. Collins expressed I needed her help (along with other new teachers). I got sick to my stomach. Although I know his comments were not to insinuate I did not have effective communication skills, I remember back to last year’s annual evaluation: “Mr. McManson, I do have to say, I’m impressed. You’ve handled your parents well. They respect you; they enjoy you as a teacher… good job.”

I’m never listening to Mr. Collins again. His advice of constant communication is what got me into this mess! From now on, I’m being as blunt and to the point as I was last year with the parents.

I have a feeling I’ve begun a war this year. I’m expecting many battles with the Russian Nazi. Call in the troops!

Quick Poem re: Shelley

Shelley, Shelley, quit her job, thought she’d find a new one.
Shelley, Shelley, is picky, and wants one where she’ll have fun.
Shelley, Shelley, silly girl… your financial future is not pretty.
If you need to borrow money, too bad- I get paid shitty.

Quote of the Night

Don’t laugh at other people’s dreams.  A person without a dream truly.... has nothing.

That being said….
Current Prospective Husbands- 3

What's with him???? (a recap of a 24 hour-long series of unfortunate events)

-4:55 p.m., Wednesday  
Pull my Oldsmobile into an empty parking spot in Beachside Village, get out, enter apartment, determined to go on 6 mile run.
-5:00 p.m.
     Private investigator (think Burt Reynolds) shows up on my door.  
     So we’ve found you,” he smiles, handing me a paper.  I grimace.  “We were told you’d left!” he chirps.  “Something about no address, because you were roaming around the country in a van.  Well… consider yourself served.”
     I look down at the papers in my hand.  An official subpoena for the stabbing at the Port Prozac Pier last year… again.
5:05-midnight
     I lie on the couch, drowning in R. Nixon Elementary Depression, mixed with Subpoena grief.  I drink a total of 7 alcoholic units, only moving from the couch to use toilet.
6:45 a.m., Thursday
     I glare out from underneath my covers at the sunlight.  I have a horrible pit in my stomache.  Today will not be a good day, I decide.
7:40 a.m.
     I get into my car and turn the key.
     Absolutely fucking nothing.
     I realize I left the headlights on, and the battery is dead.
7:45
     I am pumping the gas pedal, swearing, screaming, crying, beating steering wheel of my V.W. van, trying to get it started.  It has not been started since July 30th, due to the fact that it DOESN’T FUCKING DOWNSHIFT ANYMORE DUE TO VERY LEAKY HYDROLIC CLUTCH.  
     It finally putters to life.
     I take a deep breath, and wrestle it into reverse.
7:55
     Arrive at school parking lot in stunned shock regarding death-defying trip in which I cannot downshift, therefore making it known through horn and waving that I have the right of way, or else….

9:15
     Use only planning period of the day to call distraught desperate housewife on phone to assure her that her son will be fine this year (as long as she keeps up with his homework).

4:00
     Experience another death defying trip over the causeways to Port Prozac from Manic Island.  Am followed by coworker, Content Carrie, armed with jumper cables.

4:15
     No success…. car refuses to be jumped.

4:20
     Still no success.
4:25
     Fuck, I have to be to tutoring at the library at 4:30 for a session with Jared the Jerk.
4:30
     Content Carrie’s fiancé gives us advice over phone- Go to 7-11 and buy coke, pour it over connections.  Carrie points out that we need to go to 7-11 anyways… her car is almost out of gasoline.
4:32-
     I call Jared the Jerk’s parents and tell them to cool their jets for half an hour- car trouble!
4:45-
     Carrie and I give up… fuck my stupid car.. the battery is so fucking weak it can’t be jumped.
5:00
     Content Carrie drops me off at library.  I thank her for being so great.  She says it’s all good… she’s fine- she’s content!
5:01-6:01-
     Scream at Jared the Jerk for cheating on his Math tests.  Jared the Jerk isn’t happy- he was personally reprimanded by Mr. Collins (eeks!).
6:06
     I was dropped off by Jared the Jerk’s father at my apartment, and promptly called Merry Mel to come get me to go buy a battery with the last of my money.
7:30-10:30
     Battery-changing chaos.  Tools lost deep inside black hole of car (located underneath motor where no light reaches)- 2
10:30- well after midnight
     Good times with Mel, laughing over previous 24 hour streak of bad luck.  We celebrate with food, drinks, My Name is Earl, and of course, we spy via blog on a transsexual she used to date (when she was a man).  We laugh our heads off at his funny bloggings, and laugh even harder at the fact that he stole Merry Mel’s shoe.  Too bad, she said it was a very pretty pink pump!

And all is well (besides horrible sequel of subpoena starting all over again)

New Career???

Tonight, as I laid on my couch, suffering from R. Nixon Elementary post-school depression, I let my mind wander, exploring even more depressing subjects…

And of course, it brought me to my love life.

As I began to replay the last few years in my head, I began to realize just how many ridiculous break-up situations I’ve been in. I stared out under my blanket at the soap opera on TV, reviewing all of my failures and mishaps.

That’s when I realized.

I’m not destined to be a teacher.

I’m destined to be the first gay country singer…. singing all down-home, all depressing, all guitar-twanging, tear-jerkingly-sad gay love songs.

Genius, Matty.

Let the heartaching, heartbreaking, and sex-so-good-it’s-bed-breaking continue!!!!

Why I've spent over 24 hours on my laptop in the last 5 days

-Fixing excel formulas in gradebook, and inputting grades
-Writing a grant
-Lesson Plans
-Seventeen Interim Reports, complete with Mr. Collin’s required 200-300 word-a-piece comments  (black-hearted demon)
-Showing Shelley and Jack hour long digital picture show of my life, this summer’s photos included
-husband hunting on various dating sites
-masturbation


Isn’t it odd how versatile the computer is?  Yuck

Mouse's Morally-Confusing Day

     Meet Mouse.  Mouse has a few problems in third grade.  Perhaps you can help him?

     Every day with Mouse at R. Nixon Elementary is a struggle.
     In the mornings, Mouse gets scolded for coming in too late, taking too long to situate himself in his seat, and not trying his best on his morning work.  During lecture time, Mouse is chastised for not sitting still, fidgeting noisily in his seat, and touching his neighbor’s school supplies for no apparent reason.  At the end of the day, Mouse gets a talking to from Mr. McManson about remembering to pack his homework up, stacking his chair, and putting his pencil box back into his cubby.
     But perhaps the worst time of the day for Mouse is at recess.  To understand why, you should probably know Mouse’s history.  You see, at Mouse’s last school, he was picked on.  His short size, mousy looks, and annoying habits would prompt the second grade bullies to kick his little ass.  Poor Mouse.  You see, it was so bad that although he didn’t want 1. uniforms, 2. stricter rules, or 3.  dance, ceramics, or orchestra classes….. Mouse still decided to ask his mom to send him to R. Nixon Elementary, School with an Emphasis on Fine Arts.  Mouse was to leave all his fighting days behind him.
     Or has he?  At recess, Mouse is very prone to getting upset, and hitting other kids, a thing that doesn’t happen often at R. Nixon, due to the stricter rules and threatening principal, Mr. Collins.  Mouse just can’t seem to keep his hands to himself!  He often can be found sitting along a brick wall instead of playing with the other kids, and not by choice!
     “We do not hit in this school!” shouts Mr. McManson at him.  “Mouse, I do not understand why you feel you need to hit other kids!  This is a safe school!  You’re in third grade!  You’re too grown-up to hit! We are peaceful!  We all are happy and peaceful and we do not hit!”
     It’s very confusing to Mouse, then…. how does Mr. McManson say such things…. when sometimes it’s not all that true?????
     Mouse was on the bus this morning, minding his own business, positive today would be different.  After all, as Mr. McManson had said so many times… there’s no reason to hit kids at recess.  Hitting isn’t permitted.  It’s not very grown-up to hit.  No hitting.  R. Nixon is a safe school.  No hitting!
     As Mouse fidgeted, and talked to his neighbors, he noticed that right outside the bus stood a woman… a R. Nixon parent, dropping her child off at the bus stop, wanting to have a quick word with Mouse’s bus driver.
     Mouse’s bus driver stepped off the bus, approaching this seemingly typical, suburban mother.   Mouse began to fidget again, when he heard a couple children shout excitedly.  He stood up, straining himself to see over the seat.  Kids were looking out the windows to the right.  Mouse scooted himself over to the side to look as well.  And what he saw stunned him.     
     The mother had just taken a swing at the bus driver.
     And the bus driver, a tall, strong, black woman… had swung back.
     Mouse stared, stupefied, as this suburban mom and his bus driver continued the brawl.  There was punching, hitting, hair pulling, and by the end they were rolling on the ground.
     Mouse watched in horror as the two women continued pummeling each other.
     As onlookers did their best to break it up, the police began arriving.  The bus was shut into lockdown to protect the children, and soon Mouse’s very own principal, Mr. Collins pulled up, after the bus driver was taken away to be treated (apparently hurt).

     Mouse arrived 20 minutes late to school today, and with new confusions and questions  brewing in his little head.

     For who, can truly be taught the value of peace and harmony, using word instead of violence, and how to pick and choose your battles wisely….. when one is watching adults beating the fuck out of each other outside of a school bus?

     Four hours later, as I drug Mouse’s stupid ass down to the principal’s office for once again punching a boy (who he at first thought had slid into him during a game of ball on purpose) during recess, I couldn’t help but feel just a tad sorry for Mouse.
     Today, he went home confused about what is right and wrong.  I do not blame him.

Mr. Collins meets his match

When you meet my principal, Mr. Collins, many adjectives may creep into your mind. His demeanor, his aura, and his attitude all play into effect when creating the overall impression you may recieve, creating these words.

Adjectives like:

furious
demeaning
condensending
overstressed
queen-ish
crazy
enraged
possessed


After today, there is another adjective to add to the list.... one I may never have guessed I could use to describe him.

You see, at R. Nixon Elementary, on voting days, we have the pleasure of having a large herd of locals stampeding in to vote in our cafeteria. Sometimes, one or two will wander away from the rest of the herd, and end up grazing by their lonesome in our halls, confused and frustrated.
Today, a short old woman was roaming the halls of R. Nixon Elementary, when she came across one very stern looking (and short) man.

"Just where do you think you're going?" Mr. Collins demanded.
"I'm voting," she said.
"Then get back in the cafeteria!" Mr. Collins snarled. "You shouldn't be out here! This is a school!"
"But I'm looking for a bathroom," the little old lady whined.
"Are you? Fine, then.... there's one in the office you can use. And after you use it, you can walk around the building, back over to the cafeteria door and-"

and that's when it happened. As I listened to the conversation around the corner, I was stunned to find out, that I could add a new adjective to my list of words that descirbe Mr. Collins.
This time he'd pulled too much attitude.

And my new describing word for this definitive dictator is-

bitchslapped.

The little old woman had enough, and with one swift movement, slapped him across the face.
"Son of a bitch," she snarled, as she shoved open the hallway door, and walked out into parking lot, ignoring his cries.

Mr. Collins was too busy screeching to run out and take down her liscense plate number, or anything else, that he'd later on claim he wish he would've done.

And I (and many other teachers in the building, I would suspect), giggled the rest of the day.

Bitchslapped!

Meet Joking Jake

He’s quite a character.


The first time I realized I suspected I had a joker in my classroom, you see, I was correcting a certain “interest inventory” paper, getting to know my students’ interests, likes, and dislikes.  The very last question asked on this assignment was “If you have any other questions or comment for Mr. McManson, please write them here.”  While I scanned Joking Jake’s paper, I noticed he was one of the few students who took the time to actually write something to me under this section.
“If you wrote this thing,” he had scribbled, “you’re full of a lot of weird.”

     Since this initial little joke played on me by him, he has worked hard to keep my class anything but boring…
     Look at the cord of hemp strung up above my desk.  Clipped to it with clothespins are pictures my students drew for me, to help decorate the room.  Joking Jake’s picture is the one of the dinosaur.  That would be quite normal enough for a third grade boy, but this particular dinosaur is puking all over a sad looking man.
     Every day, Jake demonstrates with admirable consistency his ability to push every button he can.  Take last Tuesday for example….

     “This is not difficult!” I shouted at my students.  “Just copy it straight from the board!  No, Question Mark, that is the wrong journal… I said Social Studies!  Hey!  Everyone!  Look at my heading!  Look at my heading!  Bad Brenda, I said LOOK AT MY HEADING!  There we go.  Yes, now we’re getting it!  Listen, I’m projecting a piece of your journal paper onto the board!  Everyone just make their notes match!  That’s all I’m asking you to do.  Copy!  Just write it down exactly as I wrote it!  That’s it!  That’s all!  That’s not hard!  I better not hear any more questions!!!!!”
     With this, Jake throws his hand up in the air, a devilish smile on his face.
     “What, Jake?”
     “Um… can you repeat the directions?”
     As I began to approach him, he busted out into giggles, holding his arms up, shielding himself.

     Of course, if that is not proof enough for you that Jake is just a student who cannot help but try to test my limits… let me take you back to two weeks ago, when he read a story he wrote for the class about being a cowboy.

     “This is so cool!”  he read.  “I’m at a ranch!  If I was at a ranch, I would go behind a horse, and he’d kick he really hard, and I’d go flying through the air and land on my bottom.  Then I’d raise cows.  Then I’d kill a cow.  Then I’d eat it.  I’d ride horses.  I’d miss my playstation.  Boooo hooo hooo hooo!  But then I’d kill a sheep and eat it.  And I’d kill a pig.  I’d eat it too.  And I’d eat chocolate.”
     As he continued listing animals in his cowboy bloodbath, he was looking over the entire class, staring straight at me with that testing grin on his face, waiting for me to stop him.
     I did not.  I was too busy trying not to laugh myself.

     You see… what Joking Jake has it all wrong.  He thinks he is annoying.  He prides himself on being the “bad kid.”  He is positive that the jokester of the class is the one who the teacher will react the most to, because the teacher obviously hates him.

     What Joking Jake doesn’t understand, is how much I secretly enjoy him.
     When I watch his interesting episodes of insanity, I feel like I’m looking at me, 15 year ago….
     So meet Joking Jake.  I’m happy he’s in my class.  It just wouldn’t be the same without him.

Tonight

While tropical storms slowly brew and approach…

While workloads pile up on desks and papers stack higher, demanding to be graded…

While bills accumulate, as bank account figures sink lower….

While boyfriend-hopefuls ring, begging attention…


I prefer to pour myself another drink, and wash the hot soapy dishes…. and gaze out my small window above the sink, and dream…. dream….dream.

The Other Side to Florida Life...

Well, doesn't this look interesting???

A Rather Enjoyable Announcement

     It is one of my strongest held beliefs that these days, more-so than days previously lived in by our ancestors, are more hectic and mind-numbingly complicated than should be expected of people to handle.  Terror alerts, lawsuits, toxins, traffic, digital EVERYTHING, the disappearance of the middle class, rape of the ethical media, scandals, corperatization of America….. it all has taken its toll and slowly seeped it’s blackness into our daily lives, tainting every part of our beings.
     Which is why it is also my belief that to cope, it is necessary for every human to be working toward…. a dream.
     Yes, a dream.
     
     This summer, as I drove the Aquarius around the country, I armed myself with a pen and red velvet book…. ready to take on the task of discovering hidden American dreams of ordinary people.  Within numerous towns nationwide, many citizens were approached by me- a stranger with shaggy hair tucked under a hat, jumping barefoot out of a VW, padding across the pavement toward them, and demanding them write three things for him- their name, where they are from, and a dream that they are currently working on for one person- themselves.
     This book begins with my own dream.
     “Matty McManson, Port Prozac, Florida…. I have a dream to drive a Volkswagen van around the United States.”
     During the course of this summer… it scared me how many people stared at me with wide eyes of astonishment… as they came to realize that they did not have a dream to write for me.  Or perhaps they did, but had forgotten about it.  Or maybe circumstances had pushed it so far out of their mind, they were just starting to remember it, and realizing how long it had been since they thought about it.

     As I was organizing my classroom three weeks ago, back home, at interesting, and dangerous thought crossed my mind-
     “Wait a second…. I completed my dream.”
     It was at that moment I realized I had become one of them- someone who didn’t know what dream they were currently working on.
     To be honest, it scared the living hell out of me.  I was now an empty shell, void of any crazy plan, any illogical scheme…. no daring dream to speak of burning inside of me.
     That night, I returned home and sat down on my couch with a drink in one hand, The Road Less Traveled in the other.  I had a plan- find a dream.
     
     It was to be something exciting- life changing.
     It was to be something meaningful- making me proud when all is said and done.
     It was to be something… new-  never been done before by me- completely uncharted territory.

     Life changing, exciting, meaningful, uncharted territory….
     This is how I came to set a goal… a new dream… something to systematically work toward, doing whatever I have to, to ensure I achieve it… morals, logic, and reasoning be damned.

     I, Matty McManson…. will be married this May.

Welcome Back... to R. Nixon Elementary

     This morning in New York City, Demetrius Whitman entered the JFK airport in New York City in a rush.  He was to leave to Australia in three hours, for the Broadway-ish show in which he starred was on tour, and to be showing in Melbourne in 48 hours.  He probably had time to grab his coffee, as he is always on time and doesn’t like to rush…. it causes too much chaos for him.
     In San Diego, Billy Mierovich awoke on the couch of the friends’ house in which he resides.  He more than likely turned on the TV, and wondered what he’d be doing today.  As he shook off his hangover with either a glass of water or a beer, he wondered if he’d drive down to Ocean Beach and tan, or maybe go to the mall and get a new shirt.  Either way, he needed to look good for tonight (as he does every night), for he is a bartender in the gay district.
     In Montreal, Canada, Emily Penswell was already awake, and boiling water in the microwave for tea with the rest of her family, who have flown in from Manchester, England, to spend the last week of her trip to the United States with her.  She doesn’t really care what they see or where they go today.  She’s been lonely on her journeys…. and couldn’t be happier for them to be with her.
     And thousands of miles from any of these souls (whom he’d met on his cross-country trip in his VW van)…. was Matty McManson (me), pulling his Oldsmobile out onto Surfside Drive, nearly smashing into a speeding white BMW flying down his street.  
     And of course, I was late for work.  I was thinking of them (Demetrius, Billy, and Emily), as I drove… contemplating what each of them was up to.
     I was envious of their positions in life currently.  As I have joined the ranks of the over-worked, under-paid teachers of Florida, my life during the school year just doesn’t always sound as nice and relaxing as my friends’ anymore.  Which is why I sometimes like to pretend I’m them, instead of me, especially when I’m driving to work….
     
     Welcome back to R. Nixon Elementary.  Come take a walk with me

     Meet the principal, Mr. Collins.  Yes, he is still crazy (in my personal and professional opinion).  He can be understanding and a great leader.  He can also yell, scream, holler, and just generally be frighteningly bitchy.  Don’t get on his bad side.
     Meet Receptionist Rita… and yes, you can shake her hand.  She doesn’t bite.  Good morning, Rita.  Nice to see you again.
     Good morning, Saint Sandy, the bookkeeper.  
     And again, say hi to Bahamian Betty.  She is still unorganized, impossible to communicate with sometimes, but one of my best friends and a great teacher.  Love you too, Betty.
     Meet Homebody Hannah, across the hall from me.  She’s in my old room.  She’s sweet, she’s neat, and she’s fairly petite.  I’m warming up to her quickly.  She’s our newest third grade teacher.  Single.  Serious.  But sometimes smiling.
     Ahhhh… Cantankerous Connie…. we all can see you’re back for another year.  Mind you, watch her… she bites.  However, in all fairness, this year both her and I have very carefully (and painfully) made attempts to get along.
     Down in the sixth grade hall is a fun new addition- her name’s Content Carrie.  I’m calling her content because she always seems happy and outgoing.  Her fiancé, Mechanic Mike, just fixed my car’s wheel bearing.  That’s why I was able to concentrate on what my friends were doing this morning, instead of how to drive it so the wheel doesn’t fall off.
     
     And in Robin’s old room (before she bolted to Virginia), is a new friend of mine, Merry Mel.  She’s a breath of fresh air- bubbly, excited, not afraid to go to gay bars with me, and a shared sense of humor.  Merry Mel is going to keep me sane this year.  She has truly become a great friend.
     
     Let’s not forget my room, room 302, where 16 students will be entering in 40 minutes.  Meet all of them… then use the germ-X on your hands.  They’re messy.  But loveable.  Just don’t get their mothers mad at you- they’re complete Desperate Housewife bitches, with nothing better to do than worry about their children and annoy you.

     Yes, this is my job, and sometimes (like this morning) I really do drive to school thinking of friends from times past, picturing what they’re doing in the present, and wondering if I’d be happier being more like them in the future.  But deep down, I know that if I wasn’t doing this job, I would truly be unhappy.  I have no other choice- I love teaching, and cannot be anything near happy without doing it.  So join me, as I start up another year of teaching at R. Nixon Elementary.
     I cannot promise it will be a Broadway show in New York, a provocative gay bar in San Diego, or an exciting vacation in another country.  But I promise-

     it will be interesting….

The Current Numbers of my life

Dollars in the bank- about 900
Amount owed to bill collectors- I’d imagine around 1200
Amount needed to fix both vehicles- 400
How much do I really have then? - Negative 700 (fuck, oh fuck)
Times told parents “I’m gay” via voice mail- 1
Days not called by upset parents- 14
Time felt tormented by evil principal Mr. Collins- 3 (much better this year)
Cases of gingivitis (apparently from losing toothbrush in van and not brushing teeth for a few days towards end of trip) – 1
Outstanding dental appointments- 0 (sigh…. note to self)
Vehicles properly working- 0
Vehicles posing threat to my own mortal existence- 2
Days to pay insurance bill before insurance is cancelled on both evil vehicles- 2
Bottles of alcohol left in freezer- ½ bottle of rum (need to budget that in…. note to self: buy more)
Husbands with big bank accounts- 0 (damn)
Boyfriends with big smiles- 0 (double damn)
Creeps who instant message me, wanting to be boyfriends with big creepy smiles: 4


Number of students who depend on me to forget this list so that I can teach them tomorrow, with nothing else on my mind but their education: 17

All in all, I’d say it adds up pretty well. Wouldn’t you?