Needa hug? So do I...

I'm feeling incredibly touchy feely today. Not that rubbin' lovin' type of touchy feely, but more of a "child out of the womb" touchy feely. Maybe it's because the only physical touch I have encountered in the last couple of weeks has been from my dog. She has cuddling down to an art. Of course, I take full credit for teaching her the skills she has acquired over the past year and a half, which is also why I am quick to give her the props for being so excellent at them. I usually enjoy her wake up kisses on the nose and the way she tests to see if I am still alive by resting her head under my chin...but lately, it just has not been enough. Truth be told, I need a good, old fashioned hug between adults. I used to rely on my sister to come over once or twice a week to fulfill this pathetic need of mine, but she's grown now and has a life of her own. She doesn't have the kind of time to worry about dropping by and giving her older, cuter sister a hug to help me through the week. I considered going all Dave Matthews Everybody and getting my fix hugging strangers on the street. It's a beautiful concept...hug a person here...spread the love there...but let's keep it real, shall we? The people wanting the hugs aren't necessarily the people you want to be hugging. I watch Law and Order...pervs are everywhere...I know the deal. Hmmm...does that mean I am one of them for wanting to hug a bunch of strangers in the first place?. . .Definite possibility, I suppose. I mean, I never heard about anyone going psycho-crazy due to hug withdrawal, but hell, I know people have gone nuts for less. Whoda thunk a little thing like a hug could be worth so much...?

Cheaters has to be one of the funniest shows on late night television. I first stumbled upon the show about 3 years ago. I was having one of my many nights of insomnia, putting a disney puzzle together, and watching the tube...and there it was. from moment one, I was pretty hooked. The seriousness of the host...the dramatic responses from the detectives...it doesn't get better than this, people! You can't help but wonder how these people do not know that their other halves are screwing around on them. Take the lady on here tonight. First, she has a nose ring...but it isn't one of those cute little studs that are hardly noticeable. It's a massive piece of metal, boaring a hole in this chick's nostril. It just ain't cute. Second, she is like 40 years old. She's trying to be all hard core...talkin' that ghetto talk. She's saying things like "cold busted"...yeah, that's attractive. Third, she's dating a dude named Grammy Lane (pornstar, stripper name, no doubt), who's a bouncer at a club...if that doesn't scream street thug, I don't know what does. Finally, she totally set herself up. Everyone knows you never make threats to kill someone while cameras are taping. Does she not watch Law and Order?? I especially love when the "victim" forces himself/herself to cry...but no tears ever actually appear. And when the "cheater" acts all surprised and starts denying that he/she is even there with this "unidentified" person..."what...who is this? I was just walking to my car and this naked woman jumped out the bushes and started humping my leg! I tried to get her off, but I'm a man and I gots needs, honey...." Fights break out...more fake tears are shed...the "cheater" now becomes the "victim" and Joey Greco is all up in the mess..."How do you feel now? Do you not have feelings for this person who gave you their time and energy? You don't love her, you only love yourself. We have you on tape, sir, and the tapes don't lie." Now that's quality television..

What are the odd's of winning the lottery?

In ten days (and counting), I will be out of a job. Being a certified Special Education teacher with three years experience and a Masters (well...almost...) you would think job offers would be falling in my lap. Unfortunately, this is so not the case. I'm totally struggling here. I go to the job fairs and go on interviews and still, nada. What the hell?? It's not like I am some kind of psycho killer for crying out loud and for pete's sake. Hell, I'm the one who wants to work WITH them. So, why is it so hard for me to find a freakin' job? And why stress about it? I mean, seriously, if worse comes to worse I can totally live off the government. I watch Maury, I know the scoop. You know, come to think about it, that would be the ideal situation. I am, after all, in thousands of dollars worth of debt due to trying to get a quality education and making something out of my life. If I were really as smart as I once thought I was, I would have went to DeVry for two years. I know I would have a job right now and definitely would be making a ton more moulah. Instead, I listened to my guidance counselor and took the responsible route. I wonder where that counselor is now...probably sitting back, laughing her ass off at all the students she told to go to college. She knew what the deal was. She was once in my same position...staring helplessly at an adult who claimed to have all the answers to life's little mysteries. That person told her to go to college or live life as a social delinquent and as pay back she told the same line to all the confused high schoolers coming to her for guidance. I want that job. The things I could come up with...for my own enjoyment, of course. Oh the possibilities...

Free at last...well, sort of...

So, it's almost official. The letter is all typed up and ready to be turned in. I feel great. I mean, sas great as one can feel when they are putting in a letter of resignation but still have to technically "work" for two more months. Especially these last two months. For those of you unfamilar with the special education situation, these last months of school are dedicated to the art of doing massive amounts of paperwork. Once the massive amount of paperwork is completed, we have to provide the packs to other special education teachers to read and then we have to hold meetings with the parents of the kids of which the paperwork is written. It's a wonderfully excellent way to spend the day on top of trying to teach the scrawny bastards how to read and write or act appropriately in society. This week is by far the best. The kids are taking one of those standardized test things, like the ones we used to take in school. You know, the ones that you spend a whole week having to do and mean absolutely nothing to your academic future? As a special education teacher, I get the honor of reading that whole bloody test to a handful...10 to be exact...students who really could care less if I were reading the test to them or not. I am really just reading it to myself. By the end of the period, I am tired...they are tired...absolutely nothing is going to get done...and it doesn't. I absolutely do not give one monkey's crack what they do. If they want to do crossword puzzles all day...I'm cool with that. Want to play games...No problemo. The general education have time to teach extravagent lessons on the life cycle of a tree or what war happened in 1812. They have had two hours to do nothing. They are well-rested...I am not. And still they have complaints about this, that, or the other. The gifted teacher came to me yesterday to tell me she heard that I was not returning. Of course, I inquired as to how she found out this information since I have never said more than two words to this lady the whole three years I have been working here. She asked me if I was just that unhappy here...blah, blah, blah. I just looked at her with the same expression I look at most of my kids with....that blank "what the hell are you talking to me for because I honestly do not give a crap" look. Of course, she would stay here until they school burned down because she is the gifted teacher. Her kids are the future doctors and lawyers and such. She gets the nice big room and all the resources she needs. I have to beg, borrow, steal, and often threaten to get anything for my kids. So, hells nah, I am not happy here. I guess what they say is true...the longer you work with a certain population, the more you become one of them.

Blood is thicker than water...

So, I just got off the phone with my mom, who I call nightly...between 8:30 and 9:00, depending on whether or not the man she married, but is now divorcing, is on the computer or not. Little did my mom know, my younger sister had already called me...a few hours earlier...to give me the lastest family drama. It seems that my mom's soon to be ex has been screwing around on her on and off for the last 12 years. Being the calm and rational person that I am, of course I was ready to call the scummy bastard and show him the side that has rendered me a bitch in the eyes of so many who know me. But, my sister made me promise not to be my rational self until my mom had a chance to talk to me herself. This, of course, was very difficult for me. The whole time I am waiting for 8:30 to roll around, I am simmering like a fresh pot of coffee. Most people become calmer after a couple of hours...and even forget after a few days. Notice I said "most people." If there is one thing that I have prided myself on for the past 26 years is not being like "most people." In fact, I often go out of my way to do the exact opposite of what I think "most people" would do. It may sound strange to some, but for me, it's oddly exciting. But, i digress. Instead of calming down, I tend to simmer...and I definitely hold grudges. I keep replaying the scenario over and over again in my head, which tends to cause me to become more and more pissed off. This is never good for anyone involved, and especially isn't good if you are supposed to be acting like you have absolutely no idea about the whooping news your mom is going to drop on you during your nightly call...between 8:30 and 9:00. By the time I actually had to make the call, I was pretty past simmering point. I had to tap deep into the acting skills I use while pretending to teach my precious children with exceptional needs (a story for another day). I called my mom at my usual time...she answered promptly on the first ring...I acted surprised when she told me she had some news to tell me...she proceeded in providing me with the gory details...I felt the boiling point coming on....before she even had time to finish I was overflowing. I couldn't help myself. I feel like I am a person that can deal with a lot. Shady people and adults with no bloody sense...not so much. Ryan often tells me that I am abrasive to a scary degree when I become upset. I don't deny these things...hell, i know these things about myself and have learned to accept them. Every so often, however, I feel that being abrasive is the only way to get your point across...especially when you a) have no respect for who you are dealing with, b) are dealing with a shady person, c) you are dealing with an adult with no bloody sense, or d) all of the above. I am definitely circling *d* in this case, so any rationality that may have existed (and a big MAY that would be) is completely and utterly flushed down the crapper. I informed my mother that she needed to be strong, and since I am my mother's child, I would be informing her bastard of an ex...in a polite and loving way, of course...that blood is a hell of a lot thicker than water. I won't call him today, that's too soon. Maybe tomorrow, when the simmering has again begun and the fresh brew of poetry that is only stirred up by a women scorned...or even worse by a women of a mother scorned...is ready to be poured...

Take this job and shove it!

I don't want to sound like one of those bitter individuals who dread going to work everyday, but why lie? I am one. I am a special education teacher...or to be politically correct, I am a teacher of children with exceptional needs. Usually when I tell people this little tidbit of my life, they automatically assume that I work with those beautiful kids that you root for at the special olympics, you know, the ones that you see with their big eyes and crooked smiles and want to hug and kiss and care for forever. Nope. Not that lucky. I get the honor and privilege of working with the kids that the other teachers can't deal with. I get the behavior problems...oh yes, those precious little angels you see showing out in the grocery store and make you want to smack their parents for not smacking them. Indeed, that is my job. From 8 to 2, I get to educate these darlin's on the way of the world...or at least my version of it, anyways. Don't get me wrong, I enjoy dealing with the crazy kids...i'm a psych major...it's what I went to school for...it's what I do. But this whole teaching gig is getting to me. I despise teaching. I only got into the whole field because my job at the adolescent psychiatric hospital was getting stale. I also ASSUMED, prior to actually thinking about what they say about making assumptions, that teachers were ultra professional and actually cared about the betterment of the kids. I mean, why else would you choose to deal with all the craziness of the chill'rens, right? Well, now I know why they say the saying they say about one who makes assumptions. I can somewhat deal with hormone raging middle schoolers...for the most part. Don't get me wrong, the kids can be very annoying...especially since most of them lack discpline. But I must admit, there is something endearing about kids who have been deemed trouble makers and criminals, like you. Those are the ones you want to like you, honestly. Who knows when you may need a discount cd player or a bootleg dvd to add to your collection. The trouble makers are the ones with substance and make for interesting stories at your uppity middle-class tea parties. For this antisocial educator, however, it's more about entertainment value. The fact that I can spew out my sarcastic wit, without recourse on a daily basis, to corrupt the minds of so many young ones makes dealing with the bullshit of my over controlling co-workers almost worth it. Of course, my teaching strategies may not appear ideal under the "No Child Left Behind" mumbo jumbo. Let's be honest, most of the students I see every day were left behind a long time ago or else they wouldn't be with me in the first place. So, I say screw the bloody curriculum! I prefer my own "Keeping It Real" study, anyways. Who needs to know verbs and nouns? By the time you graduate high school you don't remember what they are. I teach the stuff and I still couldn't tell ya what a freakin' adverb is. The only phrases my students need to know are "Do you want fries with that?" and "Paper or plastic?" Hell, I would be satisfied if they would write "Will work for food" like that instead of like "Wil wurk 4 fud." You want social skills? "Don't drop the soap" is a skill my kids need to be taught at an early age. Make it a family skill to be used by Uncle Tito and Auntie Charmaine. Math...the only math skill my students need to know is how to count the endless amount of change placed in their highly blinged out tin cup at the end of each work day or better yet, how many gold plated teeth they will need to blend in with the one real one they could afford. Ok, so this may sound harsh and even a little heartless, but it is said out of love. We all get a good laugh about it and I go on to proudly provide them with the quality Georgia education that has made us 48th in the country and they anxiously come to me to get. Those who can do...those who can't....

It's hard being in a relationship with someone when you know they have doubts you are the one. At least it is for me. Ryan and I have known each other since we were thirteen and have been dating, on and off, since we were freshmen in college. Here's the short version: It was never a "love at first sight" situation, but one of those "we were friends who turned into something more." When we first started dating, I figured we wouldn't last too long. We were too different. Yet, his devotion towards me was enough for me. He gave me what I needed: companionship. I grew dependant on his being there, even though we were in two different states. So, when he joined his fraternity and the little time we did have together was now devoted to other things, I couldn't deal...and we split. Three years later, we rekindled our friendship and fell back into old patterns. Two years later, he moved to Atlanta and we moved in together. Of course, after so many years and so much history, I assumed this was it...the thing that every girl wants...a real commitment from the guy I loved. But here we are, no step closer to being totally committed than we were eight years ago. Why? Because he isn't sure that I am the one. So, where do we stand now? Even though we are no longer on "a break", I feel we may as well be. No matter what is said, I know that he would rather be out, doing his thing, finding his feelings. It's as if we are going through the motions until his "someone better" comes along. I wish that I could make his doubts go away, but how can I? I can't stop him from wondering what he is missing out on. That's one of the mysteries of life even I find myself wading through from time to time. No matter how much you love someone, right? Why can't men be more like my dog. I received Borealis as a Christmas present a year ago. She had been neglected and abused by her previous owner. I could see the pain every time I looked at her. She wouldn't eat or play...afraid that if she opened herself up even a little, she would be prone to having her already weak soul diminished. In that way, she reminded me a lot of myself. The difference was, she eventually did open herself up, something I still find hard to do. She allowed herself to trust me and love me unconditionally. Even now, she doesn't care if I am sick or down, she is right there...showering me with kisses and keeping me safe. Every morning, she looks mournfully as I drive away for work and every afternoon she greets me with wild enthusiasm as I walk into the apartment. Every day it's the same way. She makes sure that I know that no matter what I feel or go through or look like, she wants to be there with me. That's what I want from my partner...the sense of knowing that no matter what I am feeling or going through or looking like, he wants to be there...through it all...with me...and only me. Maybe that is idealistic of me...definitely a quality that I have been known to possess...always seeing the world the way I wish it could be instead of settling on how it actually is. But, hell, isn't that what all great thinkers do?...

The PMSes

As with most females 12 and older, one week a month I suffer from the PMSes. It's not something that I am particularly proud of, nor do I enjoy feeling incredibly blah and out of control mixed together in one big pot of ickiness, but it isn't something I can control. Sometimes, though, it is beneficial to have your "monthly visitor" stir up emotions that otherwise would be sitting on the back burner. It's kind of a way of analyzing yourself...in an overly emotional way. Things that you never knew bothered you, like the softness of toilet paper, do this week. Things you never imagined eating, like mustard on pizza, tastes like ice cream this week only. But being that your hormones are a-raging at 100 miles an hour, you are prone to have changes in mood at a blink of an eye. At least that is my problem. Being that I am a Pisces/Middle child/Air Force kid, I am already prone to having intense bouts of antisocial-self pity parties, which I can often control and handle. However, when I have the PMSes, the parties seem to sneak up on me like a bottle of cheap tequila. This is never fun for those who are forced to be around me, especially my live-in boyfriend. Unfortunately for him, not only is he subject to sudden changes in my mood, but in my dog as well. Normally Dory Borealis is a spunky two year old, fiesty and ready to play. But not when momma's having the PMSes. She is mopey; laying near me, ready to lick my toes and give me warm, loyal kisses on the nose. She is also ready to pounce on anyone trying to crash in on our antisocial-self pitying party. I respect that in her. She's understanding of my emotions and my pain, something my boyfriend can't seem to handle during these times. I know that he doesn't understand the emotional roller coaster that I am riding on...in slow motion...over and over again, yet a part of me still gets aggrevated. I begin to see things differently during the PMSes. Example: although I know that I don't want to be married, and actually question the whole situation at times, I often find myself craving it. Just the thought of knowing that someone wants to be with you forever...or at least in theory...is something that everyone wants. I pride myself as being an independent women who can take care of herself, but every so often I find myself wondering into that girlie dream of finding my prince charming and living happily ever after. The PMSes do it to me every time...

what's with "breaks" anyways?

So, my live in boyfriend of seven years...on and off...informed me today that he wanted to take "a break." "A break?" What? The first thought in my mind, like oh so many before me, was the infamous scene between Ross and Rachel, discussing Ross' "we were on a break" moment. Let's keep it real, shall we? Men and women are different. No surprise there. To him, taking "a break" means, "I want to go out and date other women so i don't have to wonder what it will be like." To me, it means, "I want to go out and screw a ton of women before I may or may not decide that you are the one person I want to screw forever." Honestly, who wins from that whole situation? Either you both go out and meet the new person of your dreams or you allow him to go out and find himself while you sit at home constantly wondering why you suck so badly. Oh, but, please don't be fine with his whole "a break" comment, as I did to elequently prevent myself from going into hysterics in front of my 5th period class. It only makes you look like a heartless bitch, which I have been called a couple of times but never put much thought into. But, here I am, feeling pretty guilty that he wants a break from me, but is obviously upset about his decision and I'm like, "Go for it! Get out there and get your mack on!" Just trying to give the man what he wants...which is a free excuse to do what every man so desperately wants to do...screw around (bitter much? Of course I am!) So now I am the bad guy here and he's in the backroom bawling. Why are you sad? I have to now live with a person who needs confirmation that he wants to be with me. Actually, that is a little depressing...but I just can't fit that, "What did I do wrong? Why doesn't he love me?" speech into my schedule tonight. Instead, I am going to treat myself to a nice warm shower and a glass of wine. Self-pity is just going to have to wait until the morning...Besides, the new MONK begins in an hour...