Female Bonding

(holy crap - i have a blog follower!!)

Ahem. Sorry.

This weekend. I am so excited for work to be over and done with. Not for the usual reasons (stupid students, no-show parents scheduled for conferences, passive-aggressive AP), but because I am going out of town - by myself - to a sort of girls-only wildlife retreat.

Now, I know exactly what you're thinking: "Why, Stillie, this is asinine! You don't like people, much less women! How in the WORLD are you going to bunk with one for 2 whole nights? And why would you PAY to take a mini-vacation out in the wilderness with them?!"

Trust me. I asked myself the same exact thing. But there were a few factors that played into this.

1. I'm a member of a wildlife association, and this workshop is sponsored by them and I get a discount for being a member.
2. Many of the people with whom I volunteer over the summer will be there as instructors.
3. This gives me a chance to totally network my ass off, since this workshop is geared towards women who are either landowners or in the wildlife/habitat management industry, and that's where I'm trying to get to.
4. We get to have wine and cheese socials in the evenings.
5. It's being held at a really, really, really nice resort not too far out of my city.
6. It just adds to my knowledge base to (hopefully) help me obtain a position in a completely different field than I am currently drowning in.
7. I get to play. Outdoors. All weekend. And the weather's supposed to be fantastic (no rain, mid-70s all weekend). With no real schedule outside of our classes and workshops.
8. I'm turning off my cell phone. Ditto for the laptop. I'm not even taking the aircard, either.
9. Photography, photography, photography.
10. Fishing!

The thing is, I am really not too big on that whole female bonding thing. I've never really had anyone to debate tampon brands with. When my body finally started outward physical signs of maturity (at fucking 21!), there was no one I could talk to about what the hell was happening to me, and why it was like my body parts were made out of different tectonic plates that were shifting and relocating. But you know what? I figured it out. I made my peace with it. I am now a very loyal Playtex tampon consumer and I figured it out all by myself.

But I'm going into this with an open mind. Perhaps it won't be that bad. I'm pretty sure it won't end up like that scene from "Four Rooms" with the witches in the honeymoon suite or anything, but still...this kinda crap just ain't me.

I guess my biggest reason for wanting to get away is also to think about some things. I really need to get away from The Boy for a few days. I've been quite open about expressing my unhappiness in this relationship over the last few weeks, but he just doesn't seem to care. There hasn't been a single touch of affection in as long as I can remember. So, yeah, things need to change or end, and I have to figure out how to do it. And next weekend I'll be at Enchanted Rock (probably alone, but definitely with photog friends and maybe someone else) so I won't have to worry about him then, either.

I need to stop worrying about Scott. I'm sure y'all have guessed by now that I have not stopped talking to him at all. We're continuing to get to know each other again. We usually text throughout the day, talk in the afternoons, and he 'tucks me in' at bedtime. He tells me how much he loves me a lot (he even told me the other day that he remembered how important that was to me - to hear it often) and he's willing to take our re-acquaintance slowly. But as much as I would like to believe that he would be an answer to all my problems (even if only for a year or so, until he showed his true colors again, since he probably hasn't really changed), I know he can't be. Running away would totally work for a little while but, eventually, things would end with us and I'd have to find a new place to live (no more home ownership, of course), and probably have to come back here to rebuild my shitty-ass SE TX life. While the it could possibly be a move forward, the risk of it ending up badly would put me years behind where I am now. It would be a serious backslide.

Point being, I need to quit worrying about it right now. A weekend to have no contact with Bearers of Testicles may be a good thing. I would like to make myself remember that not everything in my life has to be about love, romance, sex, or men, and that I have enough substance to be enough, regardless of who's hanging on to my arm.

Shawty

This is going to be kinda short because I just realized how long most of my recent posts have been!

• Am I the only person who has been thinking that "FTW" meant something way different than "for the win?" I mean, in my social circles, the people who had "FTW" tattooed on their knuckles weren't winning anything except prison time.
• I've come to realize that the actual process of falling in love is like a drug - I am so addicted to it...
• My friend G told me the other day that I have a colossal fear of too much commitment and I need to get over it. She told me that The Boy is a fantastic man and I need to just relax and let it happen and forget about everyone else.
• I took my Jeep mudding on Saturday night. There was a special Halloween trail ride going on at this off-road park and it was lots of fun. Messy, but fun.
• Many years ago, I worked with a guy who was a rapper on the weekends. He was trying to 'make it big,' and he used to sing with a band. He used to call me "shorty," which, of course, came out sounding like "shawty" in his ghetto ebonics. I wonder what ever happened to him.
• This week is "Red Ribbon Week" at school. Today, the teachers gave out silicone wristbands that say "My Choice...A Drug Free Life." One of my students tried to stretch it big enough to put it on his head. It didn't fit, but it did pull out a ton of his hair and he was very upset about it.
• I am totally broke. I don't get paid until the 1st. And I'm going out of town this weekend. Hopefully my direct deposit will hit soon.
• I am currently talking to Scott right now while typing. His voice is intoxicating and I really, really miss him, despite what my better judgment is telling me.
• He went to a drag race this weekend and won the contest for the fastest street car.
• I really, really miss being in the car industry. Before I went back to school, I was working in a machine shop and was learning how to build race motors. I went to the track every Friday night. I was building my own race car. I hung out with car people and got to work on cars at the track and learned so much. I SO miss that.
• I haven't had sex in over 2 months now. The Boy has no interest, we have no kind of intimacy, and I really can't live without it. I really want to try to make this work, but it just isn't going to.
• My job gives me a headache. Every day, by the end of the day, I have a stress-related headache, aspirin or no. It sucks. I'm fine over the weekends. But Monday...it all happens so quickly. I feel horrible.

Well, I'm done for now. Sorry for the bullets, but I'm sure you prefer that, huh?
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I'm So Juicy

My wardrobe consists of clothing that is gray, black, and...well...gray. I may have a few sweaters or Columbia PFG shirts of different colors, but I'm mostly a monochromatic kind of person. The joke about wearing black only until they come out with something darker...yeah. That's me. It's not that I'm all gothic or emo (two terms i despise, btw), it's just that gray and black go with everything, and it always looks good.

So imagine how proud of myself I was when I went to the Columbia Outlet store near The Boy's house and found a pair of khaki linen pants on sale for $9! In my size! I thought, "Wow, Stillie...you're stepping outside your comfort zone and you'll look good doing it. People will SHIT when the see you in khaki-colored pants!"

I'd already picked out the shirt I would wear with the aforementioned pants, and I was all revved up and ready to go to work. I was worried about wrinkles, but since The Boy was still in bed and I didn't want to wake him up, I only turned on my closet light and looked at myself in the mirror on the outside of the closet door. I looked good!

Some of my co-workers did double-takes, but nobody said anything. I was perfectly happy with that, to be honest. (I wore a skirt one time and everyone made a big deal out of it. So I never did again. There was a reason I wore it and it would probably get me fired or thrown in jail, so I'll just stop there.) And as the day wore on, I sorta forgot I'd even put on different clothes than usual.

My 7th period is rowdy and although they piss me off royally, we have a special kind of relationship. I turned my back to the class to write on the board. That's usually when they come up with their most off-the-wall, off-topic, bizarro questions.

"Miss...you shop at Juicy Couture?" one of my little Hispanic girls in the front row asked. Her voice had that sort of surprised and disturbed tone to it.

"Yeah. I do go there on occasion. I really only buy a couple of things there. Why? Can't I shop at Juicy? You think I'm too old?"

"Of course you can shop there, it's just that...well...I don't know. It seems kinda weird."

"Yeah, well...don't freak out if you see me squeezing oranges in the produce section of a grocery store too, okay? I am a human with dietary needs." I am always sarcastic and kinda brazen with them; it's our game. And that kind of shut them up. And we went on talking about why spell check doesn't always work.

(my sentence is "Their is know weigh this is write" and I put it on the board to point out why spell check doesn't work. it's a good lead-in.)

It never occurred to me to ask them why they knew I shopped at Juicy.

So the day is over and I'm walking out of the building. The hot male janitor is behind me. (We used to have a thing, right after I got separated. Dick was way too big. It was useless to me.) I'd waved as I went past him, and he began walking in my same direction.

"Hey, there, stranger. I guess you've been too busy to talk after work, huh?" That was our usual time to flirt, way back when.

I slowed up and let him catch up. "Kinda. You know how it is. Administration changes always bring back-breaking work for the competent."

He shoved his mop in my direction. "Yeah. Tell me about it..." He was quiet a second and then said, "So. Is there ever a chance we might be able to..." his voice trailed off and I was pretty sure I knew where that was headed.

"I don't know. I mean, you know The Boy's living with me and we're pretty serious..." I know he's seen The Boy's pictures. For God's sake, he dusts my desk.

"I know about him. But I sure would love to pull your Juicy panties off of you with my teeth. I just loved your body..."

At this point, I knew that two mentions of Juicy Couture in one day was no mere coincidence. I mean, I am so anti-girly that it's not even funny, so it was really very troubling that this happened.

But, as per usual with me, as soon as he wandered off and I started yakking on my cell phone, everything else was forgotten.

I got home and went straight to the bathroom to brush my teeth after a particularly nasty, flat swig of Dr. Pepper from an old bottle in the refrigerator. I just happened to look up and saw, from the 360 degrees of mirrors around me, so very clearly: "ERUTUOC YCIUJ" in a half-circle shape on my ass, only slightly obscured by my new Columbia khaki linen pants.

All day. Everyone. Suckage.

Lesson: Do NOT pick out panties in the dark and then survey your fully dressed appearance in the semi-dark on a new pair of pants' maiden voyage! EVER!
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Stupid Column

Can anybody tell me how to fix this blog so I don't have, like, one long shitlog of blog down the center? I mean, I've done basically NOTHING to customize this place and, although I like what I've done with it in some ways, I really wish I could change it.

Any ideas? What about designs or templates or custom templates or whatever the fuck they call it.

Thanks. More entry later.

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Seeing Scott

.I hadn't slept well the night before, obviously, after someone trying to burglarize me. By the way, ADT said they didn't call back or call the police because I disarmed the alarm. So...let me get this straight: The entry delay goes off for 60 seconds before the alarm goes off. The alarm sounds for 15 minutes before it turns off automatically. Then ADT tries to call me. If they don't get me, they call The Boy. If they don't get him, then they call the police. If it's daytime hours, the cops will be here in no less than 5 minutes. If it's after 5 and before 7, they have to be dispatched through the county, which could take as many as 15 minutes. So...we're looking at over half an hour from the time the alarm is actually tripped to the time the police MAY arrive at my house. WTF is the point of having ADT actually monitor, again? My question was: What if the criminal had a gun to my head and made me disarm the system? Fucking DUH, ADT. Fail.

Anyway, he got to my side of town at about 11. He came to pick me up but refused to come inside. I thought it was stupid to sit in the driveway and debate about where to eat, but he pulled up in this:

A 2006 Chevrolet Corvette Z06 with a supercharger and ethanol.

Now, if you know me, then you know how incredibly sexy a powerful car is. I don't give a flying fuck about flashy shit: I want it fast. It could be a 1985 Mercury Capri, for all I care, but if it's a 10-second car, that's about how long it'll take me to climb in. Just so happens that Scott's Z06 does indeed make it down the quarter mile in a little less than 10 seconds (saw the timeslips), AND it still gets 25 miles to the gallon. *melts* Unfortunately, it IS a GM vehicle, so it sounds like a tin can lined with felt and filled with loose nuts and bolts. He's never even removed the targa top, but it's all rattly and loose, as is every other thing in the car.

He got out to meet me, and gave me a big hug. It felt...perfect. So I got in, secretly hoping someone I knew would drive by and be all like, "DAMN, Stillie! Whose fine-ass Vette?" but nobody did. We did indeed end up debating in the car about where to eat, and we finally settled on [a steakhouse] right down the street because he said he wanted a steak. They have *never* overcooked my steak (i like them rare to medium rare), so I figured that would be a good place to go.

I couldn't keep my voice steady and I was, quite frankly, scared to death. I kept my eyes on him as he drove and besides a few extra lines around the eyes, he still looked like regular old Scott. His whiskers got a little more red, I think, but his hands looked much better. Since he hasn't been doing porting and polishing of cylinder heads for a living, he quit maiming himself. I was honestly and truly amazed that I was so comfortable and yet so nervous to speak. In an odd twist, the hostess sat us at the exact same table where I had my first date with The Boy. Awkward!

So we ordered and talked and it really did seem like everything was back to normal, just the two of us. We talked a lot about old times, a bit about what had happened in the last 10 years, and he wanted to know why I hadn't been to look at the pictures he'd recently posted up on MySpace. Well, first off, he didn't find me on MySpace, he found me on Facebook. But I didn't say anything, and just said that I don't log on much. Totally true - I don't. (Now, if you know much about literature, you'll notice I just used the literary device known as "foreshadowing.")

The food was fantastic and when we were done (and HE paid!), he said he wanted to take me for a drive. Umm, sure! Okay!

We drove all the way down south to [another town ], then turned around and went all the way downtown. On the way out of town, he cranked it up to 140 mph and that's when I realized I really need a fast car again. Somewhere along the way, he grabbed my hand and I really didn't know what to do. It just felt so incredibly right and perfect and meant to be, but I did pull away after a few seconds. It's still not right, right? Then we decided to go back and see what had happened to some of our old haunts, so we ended up over in [removed for anonymity] Ghetto (totally not good for a vette's suspension), and the [removed again] Strip. We decided to drive in on [city's main drag] through [eclectic part of town] and take the spur back to the freeway and back again. But, when we got to [the main drag] and [ritzy residential street], the car just quit going. It acted like it was flooded, but no amount of sitting made it work.

Now, this bothered me quite a bit for 2 reasons: 1) He used to be a mechanic. He also said he'd tweaked it the night before - good one, scott - and didn't know what was wrong with it. 2) I was stuck in the [big mall] area with an ex-boyfriend who no one really knew I was with and I totally wasn't supposed to be there.

A guy helped him push it into the [nearby restaurant] parking lot and we figured out that it was actually the fuse to the fuel pump booster that had melted. We both guessed it was probably a faulty wiring issue and if he got a pocketful of fuses, he could probably make it back home. Or, at the very least, get ME back home! The worst part was that my Jeep was in the garage. So I couldn't even come up with a plausible story about why I was gone...the only possible answer was that somebody had picked me up.

But we went back to my house and, again, he said he didn't want to come in (thank god for small miracles), and I called The Boy. The Boy said he was going to be up there hunting at least until that evening - at dark. He hadn't shot anything that morning but was counting on that evening to be a better time. So I went back outside and talked to Scott. We decided to take his Vette to my parents' house right across the neighborhood, and then take my truck and ride around a little bit more. He said he was enjoying running around, but didn't feel safe to drive the Vette if we were going anywhere remote.

We ended up going out to [another town] and the [muddy] River and came back through [two more towns]. We got back to my parents' house at a reasonable hour because he didn't want to get stuck in the dark on the side of the highway if his Vette took another shit on him. That's totally understandable.

So he grabbed me and kissed me twice, and then he left. And it was simple, rather benign, but left me feeling like I absolutely had to have more.

He started texting me almost immediately: "You're like coming home" and stuff like that. Feeling was totally mutual.

But I had to keep myself grounded. I knew that most people don't change, and that liars have a tendency to stay that way, and they just keep going through people. I remembered the MySpace comment. For someone who claims to be rather unsavvy with computers, I thought it was strange for him to say that in an off-hand remark if it wasn't part of his usual speech.

Still, I wanted to remind myself that I'm a woman who's made a promise to another man, so I called Tom and talked to him a little bit. It was a good conversation although it was short. Usually, after I do something a little shady, I tend to get all clingy and super-girlfriendy to my boyfriend, but this time I didn't. It was just sort of like "ehh, whatever. come home when you're ready." I was content just being by myself, thinking.

And then I thought some more, and realized that I had never really finished doing all the online checking I'd wanted to do. So I pulled out my laptop, logged on to some of my background checking sites, and found nothing of criminal interest. But I did go to MySpace on a whim and, sure enough, I found 2 profiles for him. One was really old and hadn't been touched since '07, and the other was more current, but he hadn't logged in since February.

I looked at his friends and his comments and there was one from his son about someone named Devon. Don't know who that is, but there was another comment from his daughter who said, "Who is this? Daddy or Devon?" which leads me to believe Devon might have been a girlfriend? I also saw an older one from this woman who said something about him being all hot and if she can get some of that but, oh, wait, he's her husband, she can have it whenever she wants it, and she loves her baby Scott. *gags* I'm not going to comment on what I think about the woman's appearance, but you know I'm going to anyway. She looks like an alcoholic addicted to cigarettes because her complexion is all red and fucked up like someone who's been smoking forever and a day, and she has obviously fake tits. Not overly large, but clearly fake. But she's 39 and had her full name on there, so I figured I'd do the next logical step: marriage records.

Sure enough, they got married in 2005 in [his] County. I checked the divorce records, because that comment was left over a year ago, but even MY divorce records aren't showing up yet and that was almost 2 years ago. Of course, nothing came up for that. I did some other searches on property and things like that, and came up with nothing.

Knowing Scott the way I do, I was already willing to believe he was still married. He's a liar and a cheat...why would that change?

So when I continued to get texts from him, I encouraged him to come clean. I said, "So, are there any things about the last 10 years that you might think I should know about? Any things I might be interested in knowing about your life, like MAJOR life decisions?" I got stupid shit back like, "Yeah, I'm gay! LOL!" or something similar.

It basically came down to me saying "Why didn't you tell me you were married?" He said, "I didn't say I was married. I said I was in a 6 year relationship." I told him that he didn't have to actually say he was married, that all that shit is public record, and I wanted to know if he'd actually managed to divorce this one first before he wanted to go out with me.

So there have been some nasty texts going to him, and very apologetic ones and pathetic ones coming from him. He eventually got around to telling me that she left him for a younger guy, that all she does is drink and stay out at night and she finally just left him for the boyfriend she had. He swears up and down that it's over with her, that he's hired an attorney, and they're separated. He said "I'm legally separated" and that's when I said, "Uh...I don't think so. There's no legal separation in Texas. Trust me. If there were, I'dda done it." He was kinda quiet and said, "Well, my attorney has noted our separation in my paperwork."

Uhh, sure. That's how it happened last time, too. He swore up and down that his wife cheated on him first and never stopped, and so he just got on with his life while she continued doing what she did.

Well, whatever. I can't trust him. It doesn't matter how badly I wanted this to work out. It doesn't matter how quickly I was willing to fall into something with him. It doesn't matter that I'd lost all sensibility and reason when it came to him.

I simply can't trust him and it has to stop - all of it - before he manages to convince me otherwise. Because if there's one thing I've learned about Scott, it's that he can do just that to me, quite easily.

So, my biggest challenge is going to be to cut him out now that I invited him in, focus on what does matter (the boy), and try to forget how badly I wish that this would have all turned out quite differently.

Of course, y'all probably know me well enough already to know that shit doesn't happen. No, I'm the kind of girl that finds the hornets' nest, sprays it with water, runs away, comes back, pokes it with a stick, then runs away, then throws dirt on it, and so on.

So this is what I did: I made a mix CD of all "our" songs. I wrote a sappy little love letter to go along with it. Then I addressed the padded CD envelope in my own obviously-girly handwriting. There's no return address, but it's very apparent there's something besides just paper in it. So, if she is at home all day and not working like he said she was doing before and after 'she left,' then maybe she'll be home when the mail comes. *evil laugh* And, if she's actually gone, then no harm done. I mean, I meant what I said in the letter, so that's okay. And, if she is still living there but just didn't get the letter, I'm sure he'll have something to say about me mailing something to him, considering he never gave me his address. Hee!

You better take it from me, that boy is like a disease
You’re running,you’re trying, you’re trying to hide
And you’re wondering why you can’t get free
He’s like a curse, he’s like a drug
You get addicted to his love
You wanna get out but he’s holding you down
‘Cause you can’t live without one more touch

He’s a good time cowboy casanova
Leaning up against the record machine
Looks like a cool drink of water
But he’s candy-coated misery
He’s the devil in disguise
A snake with blue eyes
And he only comes out at night
Gives you feelings that you don’t want to fight
You better run for your life

I see that look on your face
You ain’t hearing what I say
So I’ll say it again
‘Cause I know where you been
And I know how it ends
You can’t get away
Don’t even look in his eyes
He’ll tell you nothing but lies
And you wanna believe
But you won’t be deceived
If you listen to me
And take my advice

Run run away
Don’t let him mess with your mind
He’ll tell you anything you want to hear
He’ll break your heart
It’s just a matter of time
But just remember

He’s a good time cowboy casanova
Leaning up against the record machine
Looks like a cool drink of water
But he’s candy-coated misery
He’s the devil in disguise
A snake with blue eyes
And he only comes out at night
Gives you feelings that you don’t want to fight
You better run for your life ~ Carrie Underwood, "Cowboy Casanova"

And now for the Irony part of the evening: Sunday, when The Boy and I ran around to do errands, he insisted we go to the mall. "Why?" I asked. I was hoping it was because he wanted a Wetzel Pretzel or Cinnabon and that's really the only place to get it, but no. He took me into Zales. Guess why.

Yep. To look at rings. Do you see the skid marks from my virtual car sliding all the way through that green light because I was trying to make an illegal u-turn at the intersection?! My LORD - NOT NOW!
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As If You Didn't Have Enough Reason To Worry About Your Child's Public School...

I've had some pretty horrible subs. Scary subs, angry subs, incompetent subs, non-English-speaking subs...You name it, I've probably had one of those people in my classroom babysitting my kids.

Because of that, I always plan when I'm going to be out so I can obtain a good sub before I'm going to be out. Rarely do I call in the night before or something. Well, I had a 'business day' Thursday, where I was on campus but not in my room and I completely forgot that I needed to get a sub. And, of course, when I remembered, all the good standbys were spoken for.

The sub who accepted my job came to introduce himself last week on Tuesday. I was impressed with the fact that he was wearing a suit, spoke very good English, had a very old "Associate Teacher" badge (which meant he'd been with the district a long time), and was cordial enough to come meet me. I was totally confident that dude was going to do a great job.

Then, Thursday morning, the guy came in real early and sat down in my room and wouldn't stop talking. I was trying to write the instructions on the board and he just kept going on about his life, his teaching experience, which schools he's been to before, and on and on. I explained about my 1st period being rough and how the day gets better as it goes on. But he seemed to know what was going on and how to handle these kids.

So imagine my shock and surprise when I began realizing everything that went wrong. I'll even tell this in the order in which I learned it.

Thursday at 6th period, I called my room to tell this guy that I was going to come down at 2:05 to walk my kids to the gym for the pep rally and that he got to go home a little early and miss the buses. I get to my room at 2:06 (they aren't supposed to be in the gym until 2:10 and it backs up to my room so it's a short short walk), and there is no one in my classroom. A kid who was supposed to be in my class right then was wandering the hall and said, "Oh, he took them to the gym." I was so pissed that I didn't even realize the kid was skipping until later!

After the pep rally, I had kids coming in for tutoring (9, but only 2 showed), and that's when I realized that my ISN (interactive student notebook) was missing from my desk. We have to have a sample notebook for the students to use as a model, so I created one with drawings and everything, with all the handouts and all, and I keep it on my desk. When kids are done with their classwork, they can come get my ISN and make sure theirs is all up to date and in order. I specifically told the sub that no one should be touching that notebook, because they should be doing the assignment on the board and it would take more than one class period. So if he let someone borrow it during the period and they accidentally walked out with it, he was going against my instructions anyway. But it was gone. Poof. Deleted from my life. Not only did I have some really good sketches in it, but my other kids need it! So I was pissed. It never would have happened if I was there - I assure you that. In all my years of teaching, no one has ever stolen anything from me - not so much as a PEN. But, leave one incompetent "associate teacher" in the room...

Yesterday, I totally reamed 1st period's ass because they did absolutely nothing in class yesterday. It's not unusual for that to happen, even with me there, but some of them didn't even have the directions copied down. Second period, same deal. Not so normal for them. One of them said, "Well, it was hard to concentrate! The sub wouldn't stop talking." Third period - really good kids - nothing done. At this point, I'm like, "WTF?!" So I asked the kids (after my lecture about being someone being a thief and how I wasn't creating a new sample) exactly what the problem was. They said he wouldn't stop talking, that he was telling jokes the whole time, and one girl almost started to cry.

"What's wrong, hon?" I asked.

"The substitute. My mom wants me to make a formal complaint. He said some things."

Turns out he said that she looked like the kind of girl who will get a little older and get tattoos all over her ass. First off, I'm not sure why they were even talking about tattoos, but the rest of that was totally inappropriate.
He also made personal attacks on 2 of my other girls. They were in different periods.

I found out he'd been telling inappropriate jokes as well. He told a joke about boys "playing in the fountain with bubbles." The problem was that bubbles was a girl, and not of the soapy kind. He told three jokes that were offensive towards Hispanics. I mean, I wouldn't even tell those jokes to my kids, and I have established relationships with them - this guy doesn't know them at all.

That was kind of the end of it. That sealed the deal.

So I go off and get the Substitute Report Form and began filling it out in anger. Then I realized that it would hold more weight if the offended girls wrote their statements and I attached them. So I did that. I also mentioned that my ISN is now AWOL. I didn't accuse him of taking it, I just said that the fact someone was able to swipe it off my desk is an indication that he wasn't monitoring the students.

And that was my Friday. I'm afraid this guy's going to retaliate against me because he's been with the district for so many years. I can just see the Director of Substitute Services getting that evaluation and going, "Pshaw! I've known Harry for YEARS! He'd never do such a thing." I can't imagine that they would toss the evaluation, because it's on NCR and several people get copies, but if he's been subbing for our district for decades, I doubt they'll care what I have to say. There is NO way he hasn't done this before. In fact, I had 3 students - 1 in 5th period and 2 in 7th period say that they remember him from middle school and he was the same way then, telling the same dirty jokes.

I can't believe I would be the only person to have reported this in all this time. The only possible explanation for that is that I really don't think most teachers ask their kids how things went with the sub. I always ask mine, and I also ask them if they liked the sub. If they like them AND they got the classwork done, they go on my "preferred sub" list. I also know that a lot of teachers seem to forget that their students are people with feelings, opinions, and preferences. So perhaps they never asked their kids' opinions about how things went, so the kids never got the opportunity to express their insecurities.

Not only have I had to write up a guy who was very nice to me in the beginning - and I hate to write up people who are nice, but damn, dude...who would ever think it's okay to do that?! - but now my kids are a day behind in their studies because this fucker couldn't adhere to my lesson plan. Not only that, but their reading is broken up by a weekend now and it's going to take even more time for them to go back and refresh their memories, rather than getting it all done on Thursday and Friday. Grr.

Whose Job Is It To Protect You?

Last night's events prove one thing to me: Personal protection is a matter of self-reliance. You cannot count on any agency or anyone else to keep you and your family safe. That means that it's something you'll have to take into your own hands - and be prepared to perform in whatever capacity is required to protect yourself and your family and, to a lesser extent, your property.

I live in Texas. This is a wonderful state for so many reasons, but my favorite reason is that we have been given the privilege of defending ourselves by carrying a concealed weapon. But even if you are for some reason unable to qualify for that license, you always have the right to protect your homestead. Some states call it the Castle Doctrine and, since I live in a suburb of a major city that's overrun with criminals (many of whom are armed or illegals), I've taken many steps to ensure my own safety.

I've grown up in the gun culture. I was inundated with gun safety classes and principles as long as I can remember. I got my first rifle before I could ride a bike. My father was such a stickler for safety that, even now as an adult, I'm still sometimes uncomfortable picking up another person's gun to look at it or shoot it - even with their permission. I keep every one of my guns locked up in a gun safe (2 pantry-sized, bolted to the floor, with combo and key locks) unless I'm home. Then, I always have a shotgun and handgun nearby. That idea started from living in extremely bad neighborhoods most of my life. Later, it was to protect myself from a crazy estranged husband. In fact, I even supplemented that paranoia by getting a security system, but I still arm myself even when it's set. Last night is a very good reason for why I do that...

The Boy is gone on a hog hunting trip. It's a boy's deal, so I wasn't invited. Ehh, whatever. I really dislike hogs, anyway. So I spent the evening cleaning my house from top to bottom. I was cranking the satellite radio on the TV and sweating up a storm. What an exciting life I lead, right? A Friday night with my boyfriend out of town and I'm at home, with a fucking dustpan in my hand. Slow down, Stillie...you're living too fast. But I digress. (i do that a lot, don't i?)

I'd set the alarm when I'd quit running in and out of the house, taking trash to the can. I usually bypass the door I use to let the dogs out, so that I don't wake up at 3am, let them out, and then run across the house like a fool, trying to disarm the alarm before it goes off. But I always have it armed when I'm in for good, regardless.

At about 11:30, I decided to go upstairs to take a shower and wash my hair (we're trying to remodel the master bath, so i'm stuck in the guest bath until that's completed). There were some other personal needs I needed to attend to, so I filled the tub with about 4" of water and climbed in. Then, I had this weird thought that I needed to grab the house phone instead of just my cell, and that I should take the pistol with me too. So I went back downstairs and got those. When I returned upstairs, I shut the bathroom door for some reason, and set to the task of tidying up myself.

I was about 10 minutes into it when I heard my boy Aussie barking ferociously - over the music, over the vent - and it rattled me a little. He barks at people only, and it's usually just a 'hey, get off my lawn' kind of bark. This was something I'd only heard from him three times before: once when he attacked my cousin's boyfriend and then once when he knocked me down to get to the satellite installer - and once a few hours before when The Boy came back into the house with a cap on. So I immediately thought someone was either at the door (my doorbell is temperamental), or something was going down.

The Boy's friend drove here and they took Boy's truck to the ranch, so the friend's truck is parked on the street just outside of my house. It's a truck that has a rather high incidence of being stolen, so that was my first thought...that someone was out there trying to get in the truck or that someone was just outside antagonizing Boy Dog. With a hat on. He really seems to hate people with hats.

And that's when the house alarm went off.

I immediately jumped out of the tub and wrapped up in a towel. Then I locked the door and dialed the police first and racked the slide on the .40 Glock next. I could still hear Boy Dog barking, even over the alarm, which really kind of freaked me out even more. But the phone kept ringing and ringing, and the police department never picked up. WTF?! I knew I could call the sheriff, but I didn't have the number programmed in my phone.

Why didn't I just call 9-1-1, you ask? Because, in my head, 9-1-1 is for life or death situations where you can't handle things on your own (as right or as wrong as that may be), and I knew that I could handle my situation. I just wanted some backup, pretty damned quickly! LOL! So, at that point, I had it in my head that I was on my own, and it was up to me to defend myself.

Here's the thing: There was no way anyone could not know I was home. I had several lights on inside and the radio was on. If anyone had been watching for any time at all, they would have seen the upstairs light go on, too. If someone is willing to break into a house when they know for a fact someone is home, they're typically not there just for the electronics and jewelry. I was honestly pretty fucking scared that they were there to do physical and emotional damage to me - if they even stayed in the house after the alarm went off.

So, after I resigned to the fact that I was alone on this one, I opened the bathroom door and looked down the stairs - straight to the fishing rod rack where I keep the shotgun leaned while I'm home. It was still there, which meant if there was someone inside the house, they weren't going to shoot me with my own shotgun at least. If it hadn't been there, I probably would have either climbed out an upstairs window and hung out on the roof, or just barricaded myself in the bathroom and called 9-1-1 from the landline, so they'd have the address for sure, in case something happened to me.

My girl Aussie had run up the stairs and was looking for me, but I could still hear Boy Dog near the front of the house, barking intermittently. I took that as a positive sign, because if someone had left the door open, Boy Dog would have followed them right out. So, there I was, like a horror movie, a blond woman cautiously walking around my house in nothing but a towel, with a half-shaved cooch because I got interrupted, and a cell phone in one hand and a Glock in the other. When I'd cleared the downstairs, I turned off the alarm and checked the code. It was a glass break sensor in the kitchen that had been tripped.

I did a quick scan of the kitchen and everything looked intact, so I went into the bedroom and got dressed. I was still waiting on ADT to call. It sure did seem like a long time. When I checked my phone, it HAD been a long time! If I'm waiting on ADT to call me and, if that failed, to call the cops, then something was going terribly awry.

So, I dragged out the phone book and looked up my county sheriff's number. I called them and they contacted my city police and said they'd send someone over.

Do you see now how there were a series of bizarre coincidences that could have left me high and dry and possibly dead?

I called The Boy to see if ADT had called him first, since he's listed on the immediate contact list. He was freaked out, of course, but said nobody had called him at all. Then he got really, really mad, because we've had problem after problem with ADT since this whole thing started. We thought that it was all sorted out, but apparently not. I told him I'd handle everything and he needed to go back to sleep.

The cops showed up within 2 minutes of my hanging up with the sheriff's office (which is now programmed into my phone, btw). I explained what had happened, and said that I'd just feel better if they made a few extra patrols down my street. He said he'd check the bayou behind my house, just in case, and he said he had no idea why the city police number wasn't working. He said that if no one is at dispatch, they have to manually forward it to the county, and that someone must have forgotten to do that. Niiice.

I went outside this morning and there are some smooshed places in the flower beds in front of my kitchen windows. I'm not saying that someone was going to break in, but that's what it looks like to me. I believe that it was a combination of the dog and the alarm that deterred them (i can't believe all my outside lights, alarm signs, and 'beware of dog' signs didn't do it in the first place). I'm not saying, either, that I would have been viciously raped and murdered if I someone had gotten in and then stayed in the house, but I always assume the worst - and prepare for it.

In my mind, I was calm, and fully prepared to kill whoever it was that had illegally entered my home. I would hate to have to take another person's life, but if they were still determined after all the warnings, there's no way I'm going to say, "Hey, you! Get out of my house!" Fuck. No. Muthafukka's gonna die. I've taken many classes and trainings and I've fully thought through every possible scenario of a home invasion. I had no idea which situation I was being put into, but I was ready for it. I'm extremely proud of myself for the way I handled it. I even chose to take the Glock upstairs with me instead of my .45 Combat Commander because I remember thinking, "If anything happens and I have to take someone's life with this gun, the cops are going to take it as evidence until I've been no-billed, and I don't want them to have one of my collector-type pistols. (Expensive guns have, historically, had a way of disappearing from our county's evidence room)" I mean, this isn't a knee-jerk reaction kind of blind fear and panic situation, here.

Honestly, I didn't even get truly unnerved until after it was all over, the cops were gone, the phone calls were all made, and I trying to decide about whether or not to get back in the tub and finish what I was doing, and wash my hair and everything. And I didn't sleep worth a shit...every little sound woke me up, but I didn't want to turn on the white noise generator because I needed to hear if something happened. Rationally, I know there's little chance an intruder would return to a place he'd been run off from, but try telling my scared little girl irrational part!

The moral of this story is this: You may have an excellent police force. But what if you can't get them? What if your phone dies on you (like mine did right there at the end) or what if your criminal cuts your lines? You may have a fancy alarm system, but what if there's some weird electronic fluke and the monitoring company never even registers that the alarm tripped, so they don't call you or the cops? If they don't know, the cops will never know. Even worse that than, what if you just forget to set it altogether?! What about your entry settings? Do you have it set for a 60-second entry delay? That gives a criminal a full minute to get deep into your home before the alarm actually activates. What if you happen to become a victim of someone who is crazy enough or deaf enough or just determined enough to not give a flying fuck about that loud alarm and enters your house anyway? Do you have what it takes to protect yourself and your family?

People have fire drills all the time. Emergency management agencies do dry runs of all types of emergency situations. Families are told to practice fire drills and 'safe meeting point' runs. Families are reminded to always have a backup plan because the first one may not work. No one ever tells you to practice what to do in case you're caught by surprise by a home invader or something like that. I feel incredibly lucky that I not only got to practice this, but that it was indeed only a practice and that I didn't have to assert my rights as a homeowner with the second amendment backing my ass up. I have no problem with killing someone if they invade my home, but I'd really rather never have to do it...
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I Got Shot Today and My Secret Double Life

I got my flu shot today. I'm not even really sure why. Well, I mean, I know why: It was free as long as you had my insurance. But I don't typically let people I don't know shove a needle into my softness and inject me with an illness.

First off, I never get the flu. I have a fantastic immune system. My mother insists it was all those years I spent, chewing my fingernails and rarely washing my hands. She always called me "a carrier," because I never got sick although all those around me did. I had a 24-hour bug once (i always remember when i had a pukey illness, because i am scared to death of vomiting), and I did get the flu when I was in the hospital for a broken wrist. I also came away with chicken pox. Hospitals are breeding grounds for nastiness of all varieties, apparently. But I digress.

Secondly, the flu now comes in so many strains and the kind that morph and change and become resistant after one trip around the globe that, honestly, I fail to see how a shot can protect people from it. This was not the H1N1 vaccine which, I've been told, won't be available until November. Either way, I don't think I'm going to get it. If it's free, I'll consider it, but...I don't know. I prefer things that are tried and true, tested by time. Ooh! Alliteration!

So, I'm a huge baby when it comes to shots. There's no explaining it. I can't remember ever being injured by a nurse or orderly, so I'm not sure what my issue is. I have piercings all over my body. I have multiple tattoos. Needles and I...we're *like this,* so why am I afraid of a tiny gauge vaccination needle? For God's sake, when they pierced my tongue, they used a huge hollow needle. It cored out my tongue. It removed that material. And yet I didn't have a problem with that. By the way...never let your piercer explain a procedure before the actual process. Bad idea. Really.

My middle name should be Irrational.. Yep. "Hi! I'm Still Irrational Broken." Oh, Lord. That almost makes sense.


Today, I was watching The Boy walk around the house. I just keep thinking, "Who the fuck have I become?! Whose life am I actually living?! This isn't me!" Trying to fit The Boy into the context of my life as a whole isn't working. I mean, he's fully integrated into my life - everyone knows about him, he has a really good relationship with my dad, and so forth - but it's like it's not real or something. Like, he's playing a role in a movie or something in which I'm starring, and it's going to end at some point. Then everything will go back to normal.

Except I'm not sure what my normal is. If I don't feel like this is me - that I'm living my own life - then exactly what should I be doing?! I mean, I created this disaster. If I'm dissatisfied, I'm the only one to blame for that. But I'm not angry about it, I just feel like none of this is real. Like it's all some weird kind of dream about leading a calm, suburban, 'normal' life, and I am at some point going to wake up and be simultaneously disappointed and relieved.

Maybe this isn't a midlife crisis thing, or a turning-point-in-my-life kind of thing. Maybe it's a you-really-need-to-see-a-professional kind of thing. Really. I mean, isn't there like, a bona fide disorder for these kinds of delusions, or something?

At one point, I realized I needed an education and I had to go back to school. I toyed around with several careers before settling on being an educator. There were two main reasons for that decision: job security, and my passion for the humanities, reading literature in specific. Teacher School filled my head with all these notions of what it would be like. I knew that it was probably somewhat of an inflated truth, something sugar-coated and dressed up all pretty with very red lipstick on to cover up the slightly sour, shabby, yellow-toothed reality of it. I knew it wasn't going to be idyllic. But I didn't think it would be like this, either.

And somewhere along the way, in the pursuit of a career, housing, a husband, and the niceties that a stable career and good credit will get you, I lost myself. I completely, totally, 100% lost myself. I have a big house, a new truck, a stable job, a bastard of an ex-husband, and the wrecked credit to match...and I hate it. I hate the responsibility, the normalcy. It's National Night Out tonight and all my neighbors (old enough to be my parents, btw) are all sitting out on their driveways with peach-flavored iced tea (with real peach slices!), or tall boys of beer, lawn chairs pulled into a big horseshoe shape, open to the street. Our police force is going around, lights all strobey and blinding, attracting all the mosquito-bitten neighborhood kids who are sticky with sweat in the post-summer swelter. By 10:00 pm, everyone will go inside (remember the noise ordinance!), driveways abandoned, lawn chairs hung back up on the hooks on the garage wall. The neighborhood streets will be empty, save for the one stray cat no one has the heart to off with a silenced .22 rifle.

I'm betting I'm the only one who thinks about killing the neighborhood stray cats, aren't I? Whatever. Back to the 10 pm closedown.

It's times like those, when I'm lying in bed (at 10:05 pm because I have to be up so early), trying to fall asleep, when I hear nothing but the far-off rumble of the trains running along Highway Alternate 90 that I ask myself, "How the fuck did I get here?"

There is no answer, except the wind whispering through the Norman Rockwell trees, and it seems to be saying, "Who knows...who knows..."
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Desensitized

Well, I don't know if you want to call this a conclusion or not (sorry, 'anonymous,' because i don't think you can collect or pay out your money just yet), but I feel a bit better about things today.

I've continued to talk to Scott and text and send pics back and forth, but the excitement has disappeared. I don't know if it was the idea of starting over somewhere new, or what. I'm guessing it was probably the fact that the weekend was over and I didn't have time to think about it.

There's a big part of me that's been waiting for the punchline. I mean, what woman hasn't dreamed of this situation?! The man who treated her like crap a decade before comes crawling back, begging for her to come back to him, and that he's always loved her and knows how bad he messed up?! I mean, this is movie shit - this stuff doesn't really happen. So...where's the camera?

I've also noticed that he still seems to disappear. He says he's single and only his son lives with him, but I think there's something he's not telling me. So, based on the fact that he's always been a liar and has had no reason to change, I don't see why I should believe him now.

I know it's kinda stupid to let all of this hinge on a bouquet of flowers, but doesn't it also stand to reason that if he really meant all of it, that he would have taken the few hints and actually sent me some? I mean, so far, all I've gotten is a few phone calls, pix messages and an assload of texts. He wants to come down here, but he has to come down anyway to get parts for his Vette company, so it's not like it's a special thing.

It was a novel idea at first, but I guess I just needed to see that - in time - there was nothing but words to convince me. Everyone loves the idea of someone being in love with them, and I guess I just got carried away. That's not to say that I don't wish it were all true. I wish I could just leave everything and go.

But I know what would happen. And I'd lose everything.

So that's where I stand now. The Boy is supposed to be working fewer hours and he has promised to spend more time on us, trying to reconnect and find each other again. Perhaps that will fulfill that need no one has been meeting. Wouldn't it be great if I could just stop running?
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