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.