Cooler than You: Stupid Things I Say and Do

Fair warning, you can scroll down to the pictures if you must. At this point I have to wonder if Mood Fabrics even wants my business, or well anyone's business.  Seriously. Case in point, I have 150 bucks to spend.  Twas a birthday present.  I intended on depositing the check tomorrow, on the way to campus.  Well . . . since I really am on a tight budget I would like to order the material (as A) I know what I want and B) well I'm on a budget).  I want to get about 5 yards of silk (two different prints) and four yards of lining.  There is enough to get some knit for a top and a sweatshirt. My silk ain't cheap, but let's face it . . . we all must be creative when it comes to laying out pieces on high end fabric. Yet, whenever I put something in my cart and go to find the lining, a second print, the cost of a fucking needle the contents of my cart disappear.  Then, then . . . I say hey, ya know, maybe I'll set up my online account now.  Perhap...

Thanksgiving comes but once a year  . . . yea, that’s an in-your-face-you-gotta-be-stupid saying.  None-the-less, even this jaded chick of the moment celebrated the American holiday this weekend.  Did I do it with copious amounts of alcohol? Did I see friends? Did I have another epic Lifetime Movie drama develop? Did I sacrifice sleep and body safety for bone-crushing sales of plastic crap, holiday glitter fashions, and electronics? Well . . . Last year I had the infamous “I still love you” followed by my throwing up .  Yea . . . the two bottles of wine helped, but . . . None-the-less, this year I was hell bent on having my drama free holiday of wine, French movies, and day old Chinese without the insanity of some dumbass crossing my path.  Did I get it? One word . . . no two words: Hell yes! Now, I sit with trepidation hoping that jackal has finally moved the fuck past me.  Time will tell.  Now, to this one. Old friends, from the land of Ke...

I apologize in advance for typos. Mondays.  Diatribes about Mondays are easy to come by, and even on this blog I have posted one , two ,or some more .  Every now and then a Monday proves exceptional, causing a need for a brain dump, recharge, and maybe a bourbon or two.  Let's see . . . Monday for the making. 9:00am, first class.  I come into the classroom a few minutes early to see a student who hasn't been there in WEEKS waiting.  Walking in I remarked the he had returned, and he said "yea, I wanted to talk to you about that."  What did he want? He hasn't done any work all term, and I'm talking not a lick.  He wanted to sit-in on class and be able to pass . . . Did I tell you that he said he couldn't all semester because I have a policy that if you are more than ten minutes late you can't come in?  So it's my fault he couldn't get there on time? Yup, you know it . . . pass the bourbon, and it's not even 9:00am. Class wasn't ba...

In 1981 I was a kindergartner, in all my glory.  Back then, my family and I lived in Tacoma, Washington and I went to a school with oodles of other military and working class kids.  None-the-less, there was one day I particularly remember a glimpse of in the forefront of my mind.  I was in the front office, rather ill, and the secretary needed my name to look up my contact info.  I gave her my name, and she promptly told me that I could not be correct.  She added a V to the first name, while subtracting a N, and added a K to the last.  My name is NOT Vanessa Babick.  My name is Annessa Babic, and it always has been.  Needless to say, she yelled at me.  She also refused to believe the phone numbers I gave her.  Mind you, my parents had gotten me an ID bracelet with my address and phone number on it (we lived on A Street, thank-you very much).  My father had made me memorize his work number by the time I was three or so.  Clearly...

Some of you know what this time of year means to me . . . one broken heart, hard memories to face, and the perpetual avoidance of phone calls from one person. Actually, since I have a new cell number I won’t have those calls this year. Woot on that one. These things have nothing to do with the Hallmark holiday. Someone I once hung out with, had relations with, talked to (you find the phrase . . . ) called it "Naked Baby Angel Day." That name has stuck with me, so "Naked Baby Angel Day" it is. For the Hallmark holiday I have got more bad memories and experiences than I should, and on a disturbing level most of those memories have become funny. In 1998 my college roommates (well MC and Jess—Mellie and I wanted no part) decided to put out a "Wanted Ad for the Ladies of Unit 2." That action alone easily surpasses the other memories. Essentially, those two had watched entirely too many episodes of _The Dating Game_, and they thought it would...