Cooler than You: Stupid Things I Say and Do

Oiy! If you've read this blog over the past year or so you know about Jackass. Clearly, there's no need for me to remind you, and if you're that upset I didn't provide a hyperlink to his exceptional level of stupidity just look through the archives...like February for example. Anywho, I'm Crackberry blogger at the moment so deal. I've had my rebound. Last April, to be exact. Yes, 2009 was my last contact. And yes, it sounds even more pathetic once I say it than just knowing it. None-the-less, I'm ready to date again. Yea, I just heard jaws drop. Bite me. I am. But here's the problem, or problems per se. 1. I have little patience for stupidity. I have little tolerance for masquerades. I do not believe in settling. More so, a good friend once told me that there are two kinds of women: those who are good with men and those who are good with horses and dogs. Guess which category he put me into? Hence, dating is a strange plane for me and one that scares...

Dear February, In your first nine days of life, you managed to suck the life-blood, hope, and joy right out of me.  First I got more joy of the nonsense of Jackass, as if anyone could have forgotten Looser McGee's blunder of the century ,  then I found out Heather died, and the month kept on rolling. At some point the damned Sandman forgot my address, and he has continued to bypass my house, and classes started at new prisons.  My personal favorite of that experience was that on a Monday I went in and all was fine.  On Wednesday, in the SAME pants from Monday, I was not okay.  My pants were too tight, yada yada yada, and then I got told that sitting on a desk while teaching is advertising.  I'm still pissed about that one.  But, I get over it long enough to teach.  There was an issue with a student, and I just won't go there.  Let's just say that I'll be fine.  I always am.  The anniversary of my brother's death came and went...

Dear Mr. Sandman, I would like to know why you have waged war on me? I desperatly want to sleep.  I need my sleep.  I love me sleep.  I enjoy dreams, the warmth of the covers, and the loss of five or six hours every night to blissful slumber.  I would even welcome some warm drool on my pillow right about now.   If I could only sleep, I would embrace some tricked out dreams too.  Seriously.  Me, being a good girl and all, requires someone to buy me a few dinners before inviting him into my bed.  But, Mr. Sandman for you I will always make the exception.  I have always been good to you, letting you have your way more nights than not . . . Sigh.  Apparently, you have not enjoyed me as much as I have enjoyed you.   Well, two can play this game.  I will wage my own war on you . . . I do not forgive you for taking me off of your route.  Bully! Sincerely, Sleep Deprived

There are things you can put on your Facebook status, and then there are things that you can not.  This blog is one of those things. I realize that everyone needs to bitch on occasion, and I realize that I do that from time to time.  What I can not understand is the desire that nothing is ever good enough or that everything must be suited to you.  Little pisses me off more.  Perhaps I am finally hitting my mark on these points because of recent events , crap of recent and old , or it is just life and my personality . Yet, I have the following to make note of here. I am fully aware that living up north for eight years has given me a skewed sense of winter.  I also know that living in Fort Wayne, Indiana (or Fort Rain, Windyana--as a friend's Mom noted it) for three years of my teens made me slightly indifferent to mass snow and rain.  I have a slew of other states and weather conditions I could make note of haired weather conditions, but those should su...

In light of the upcoming Naked Baby Angel Day holiday, and my known in-difference and often contempt for it , I bet many thought I would be spilling all kinds of ruckus humor at the latest infusion of candy coated pink and red assault of late. Yea, if I hadn't just gotten the news that I did you can bet your candy coated fingers and diamond studded jewelry that I would be. But . . . as life goes crap happens and February can now officially piss off. Tonight I got to read the news that an old friend and former grad school roommate died. Pisser indeed. You might remember mention of Heather from the Dave Diaz posting.  I met Dave via her, and rifling through my memories connects to two together in some ways and divides them apart in others.  Heather and I met by chance in Las Cruces, back in the fall of 1999. We were living in the grad apartments, and we shared the bathroom. Well, we quickly teamed up and moved off campus. We had a quaint little two bedroom on Foster R...

What can I say . . . a Shitty McVille Week. Sunday I came back from the mountains, just missing the downpours in Roanoke and Salem, and the drive was uneventful. I enjoyed the peace and comfort of the drive, and when I got back I went for a late night run. Then . . . then I got the joy of finding out that Jackass had a conversation with me about moving there and being with him hours before heading to the church and reception hall to get married. In case you need to review have a looky loo . Technically that occurred on Monday morning, which certainly didn't make the week project very well. I blew off some steam on my bike, after filling the tires with air, but the ride proved that my shocks are GONE and my endurance has gone to the wayside. On Tuesday I went to the library to do some work for the literacy council, which isn't so bad. But, since too many people view the library as their personal babysitter a four and five year old decided to make friends with me. T...

Tonight should have been a laid back and relax after a run kind of night. I should have been a good one, considering I just signed up for my favorite race (the Monument Ave 10K in March). But, the fates had to tinker with my relative state of calm . . . And some people can't leave well enough alone. Does anyone remember the last paragraph of this posing. Here is where I should tell you that no one is allowed to say just be done with it. Yea, you sit in my shoes and not have a single emotion. That is crap. You can be over someone, and then a moment like this will not bring back emotions of love. It will bring out emotions of outright contempt, hatred, and disgust. Not just for him--in this case--but also for me. I should note, that he gifted me a Tiger Army album a few years ago that I still haven't listened too. I got it two days after I encountered him and his now wife in a Starbucks parking lot. It was hours after conversing with me. Why I didn't hit him tha...