Up/Down: Moodswings of a Monkey

Down.













Sigh. What's worse than being cranky?
Bored and cranky.

Exhausted with No Relief In Sight (ie. whine whine whine)

I love the internet!
I wish I loved my job right now--
but I am so full of hate. Yes, hate.
Ugly ugly hate.
I need to get out of here.
I need a break.

Meanwhile, if you'd like to see a collaboration
between Disney and Kotex
about women's menstration:

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=5YyrgBts45M

You Gotta

If you love me,
you'll watch this all the way through--

and you won't be able to breathe by the end.

[Uh, from laughing. Don't be panic!]

http://www.mphtower.com/videos/cancer.html

Now CNN's Home Page is Wrecked Too???

I so crashed last night.

Fell asleep on the couch @5:00pm;
didn't get out of bed until 7:10am this morning.

Still had my new silk skirt on.
Luckily, my partner unfastened my bra strap . . .

Monday's Grrrrrr

I hate Yahoo!'s new home page.

Not that I hate change, but I hate being visually confused
and/or disoriented. And it doesn't take much.
Don't ask me why our PC opens to Yahoo! in the first place . . .

Worse Than I Thought

Ug. Shopping.
So I spend three hours,
on what?
A lousy skirt.

Oh. And a swimsuit.
That's why it's worse than imagined.
Why must swimsuits be on sale in March?!?
When extra Christmas cookies are still lingering?
Sick b*stards.
Anyway, I bought a coral and brown tankini.
I think I'm liking all the turquoise out there right now too.
Has a south western feel . . .

The other women in the fitting rooms
sounded quite chipper. Chattering about accessories
and heels.
Their hair! I'm having 80s flashbacks; sure it's shorter,
but the styling products, time, and energy
that must go into those dos!
All of the rings, necklaces, ear fixtures too--bling galore.
I'm so far out of the loop. Fresh and simple is my style.
Wonder what I would be like with a complete makeover?
I've seen some other professors and instructors
who could really use one . . . eee. I'd rather not
linger at the mirror here.

Saturdays

Wow--I don't know how to act.
We have all of our bills paid (almost, well, practically).
The house is in order.

I can go shopping today.
Buy stuff.
Look cute for spring quarter.

I hate, loathe, shopping.

Life as an Adjunct

Three days before Spring Quarter
begins (yesterday), I get a call
from the branch:

"Hello. Is SQ there? Hi, this is M
calling from Mike's office to confirm
your two ENG151 classes for M/W evenings . . ."

So! I have no plan.
No books ordered.
Nada.

This should be another interesting, blogless, quarter.

Thursday Blues

I'm depressed.
What have I done this week?
Nothing.


I did finally check out this iTunes business.
I know how lame I am, so don't bother.
The first song I downloaded?
"Dontcha" by the Pussycat Dolls.
Hysterical, eh?
Some Flaming Lips and some Zap Mama.
Some weird "world" music crap . . .

Cold Medicine

Once I dreamed
the answer:

We have all of these holes
that need filled . . .

all of our senses
are gaping holes
with patterns of the universe
on the other side--

our mouths
lead to bottomless stomachs,
our ears to our brains,
even our eyes need consistantly filled--
noses (smells) are luxuary.

as women, our vaginal corridor leads
to hearts . . .
always input--
no, perhaps a cycle? I need to think more about this--
pardon the mess.

Occasionally Moments of Lucidity Wash Over Me Quite Unexpectedly

An Afternoon Walk

They were watching.
That day the buses did have eyes;
I wasn't imagining.

Pencil orange, pencil yellow
all angled parked
under the oaks.

I walked five steps ahead,
trying to pretend they weren't mine.

Until he caught up with me,
grabbed my upper arm:

"Too good to walk with us?"

I never saw his face,
but I knew the grin,
false grin,
squinting around the eyes,
not looking at me,
but looking around for other adults.
Speaking from clenched teeth.

I looked to the buses;
saw only blank shadow windows.
But I knew they were watching.
The knot hot in my throat.

Miriam the next day: Was that your dad?
Miriam ten years later: We thought he worked thirds.

My Hundred and Eleventh Birthday

I am approximately one hour away
from being on Spring Break; after I drink this tea,
I shall turn in the grades for my WS200.
My next class isn't until Tuesday.

For the next ten weeks,
I will only be teaching on T/TH, from 9am-1pm.
I won't know what to do.

In the meantime, I've applied for the position
of StoryTeller at our local Library.
Every summer they run an ad
seeking to contract someone to read to preschoolers
for six weeks of the summer, half hour treats, at $2400.
That's about $100.00 an hour. Perfect.

I worked at a preschool from '97-'98
and hopefully meet all the qualifications . . .
but this is relatively a small circle
and I'm sure the Library has someone already picked out.

But, could you imagine? Wouldn't it be lovely?
I have all the right voices and facial expressions
for storytelling and have been doing so for at least 12 years.
If I should get this position, perhaps I could delay
getting a real job even longer . . .

On another note, house hunting is such a drag.
We've only seen a couple worth a second glance--
in our price range that is. My, I have found a couple
little cottages starting at $359,900.00, but I find that
a bit pricey and too many bathrooms to clean. Seriously.

One stunning house was right within our price range
and looked like a lodge we frequent--
vaulted ceilings, tons of wood, and a nice loft--
too bad it was built on a cliff and came with an
"As Is--No Warrenty" sign attached . . .
My partner wouldn't budge.

Would have been so romantic for writing . . .
Hope you have a lovely day
and that all of your favorite dreams come true;
I believe that's an important qualifier, don't you?

March Madness

Virgina Woolf killed herself on March 18th.

I wonder how her work would be accepted
if she hadn't killed herself?

Hadn't had a published affair with Ms. Sackville.

Hadn't married Leonard and started publishing Elliot.

Simone DeBeavoir taken seriously via
her long time lover Jean-Paul Sartre . . .

Sylvia Plath: relationship to Ted & suicide.

I can't help but to see a pattern. A disturbing pattern
concerned with the valorization of literature.

Happy Leper Day!

Thanks to blogging,
my Leper day should be out-of-sight
this year!

Thank you Blogger-rama-mama!

xoxoxo

Can't Fight Cynicism Much Longer

I have a friend who grades the GRE;
if I ever did decide to torture myself
by taking it again,
I think I would write "llama llama llama"
repeatedly until the page was filled,
hoping she would get it.

Only it costs so much to take that test.

Unlike a pregnancy test,
which can be purchased for around a buck
at the local Dollar Tree.

What am I getting at?
Trying to understand women like my sister,
who will never take the GRE, yet compensate
with children they may not necessarily want . . .

Oh well, what else is there to do with our time here?

Praxis

If I wanted to grade
all of those finals,
I would.

But I'm not, so I don't.

I walked onto the car lot,
into the dealership show room
and shouted:

"It's because I'm a woman, right?
You thought you could just screw me over,
didn't you?"

I'd like to say that the customers stopped
and stared,
but there were no customers that afternoon.

Just the greasy dick with a gold tooth
and gold bling around his neck.
I'm not making this up.

"Can I help you?" He asked.

I had misted eyeglass cleaner
into my eyes and with my allergies,
well you can imagine.

I squeeked my voice: "What do you mean
calling me to say the gas guage was broke?
You think you can charge me $645.32
in diagnostics to tell
me that I was just out of gas?"

I pitched my voice louder: "I mean, what
the hell?" Act crazy, the girls at the office
had told me. Go in there and throw a complete fit.

"It's because I'm a woman--right?
You think that b/c my husband walked out on me,
that I don't have sense enough not to take this shit.
Oh yeah, oh yeah--I'm on to you."

I wiped my eyes and threw the kleenex on his desk.
Pointing my finger, "You think you can sell
that piece of junk to me, not tell me about the gas guage,
and have me come in here and give you even more money?
With me working two jobs and having a child on my own?
You think, 'she doesn't have anyone--what's
she going to do'? Huh? Huh?"

I put my hands on my hips, threatening to esculate,
and just hoping someone,
anyone,
would walk in. "Well, I'm not leaving here
without my car. Without a fair price. Or without
an apology."

Ten minutes later:
I humiliated myself for 50% off--

all because that other guy,
who looked like my grandfather
in all the black and white photos,
the grandfather who, on his death bed,
warned, "don't let little Red near that barn," just
before it collapsed three days later,

all because that other guy,
looked me up and down, said, "you think
I'd sell to a divorceeeeeeee? [Sour,
puckered face b*stard] Here's $5 dollars;
you can take it for a test drive missy--
go put some gas in it."

Sure, I laughed all the way back
to my hunk-of-junk
with my 50% off receipt, laughed until
my hands shook.

Week Ten

For you people who aren't counting:
IT'S WEEK TEN!

Soon my enslavement to The Man will be finished!
I will be released from my 5, count them, 5 classes--
and that burdensome paycheck!

Woo-woo! There is much to say about being poor!

Post #1: Feeling Sunshine

It's Friday and where are you?
If I had played my beans right,
I'd be in my car
on my way home.

Heck, I'd be searching for a house.
We have our books boxed,
so I had to buy more. I'd love to find
some tale to take me far away.

This week has been fabulous--hardly any work.
The quarter is wrapping up nicely.
I may only have 2 classes for spring--
can you imagine?

Cold medicine makes me soooo relaxed.
So far, everyone has gotten As on their exams today . . .

I best be getting back to grading.
Any plans this weekend?

Post #2: Those Twins

Dinner Table.

Twin One: "He said the SH word."

Twin Two: "C, I did not!"

Calmly, matter-of-factly, Twin One: "Um-hum. Yes, you did."

Twin Two: "I did not say the SH word!"

Twin One: "Yes you did. He is saying it at school."

Twin Two: "I do not say SHUT UP--stop saying that!"

Twin One, satisfied: "See."

Post #3: Sucked In

The powers that be want me to teach
upper-level Women Studies classes
at the branch.

Have I mentioned this before?

Anyway, my teaching this quarter
has been top notch--the best ever--
and guess what?

I have a sucky-face on ratemyprofessor.com!
Someone gave me all 1s and said I "sucked. [I]
didn't listen to any of their oppinions"! WTF?!
Rediculous. Absolutely.

Then another evaluation said I was "so-so" and
that I lost control of the class conversations
that turned into rants--not leaving time
to prepare for the exam.

Bullsh*t.

Of course 3 more said I was wonderful and that
class discussions were "awesome" and "heated debates."

I wish I could get over my evaluations!

Post #4: Doctors

My doctor was out yesterday; instead, I saw Dr. N.,
whom I had planned to give hell to if he didn't
listen to my concerns about the hole in my throat.

But he was a good-looking Asian man with a terrible accent.
And an hour and a half of waiting had worn me down.

So help me if one more docotr asks me if I have allergies!
What am I paying them for?
How should I know?
I suspect chalk . . . the answer? Avoid it.

See, I can't possible follow my name with the initials PhD.

Post #5: Anniversary

I had a nice "date" on my anniversary
last night.

A fine piece of jewlery, a nice dinner, some new books and music . . .
no sex.

I just couldn't bring myself to.

And, gasp, it was our 10th.

Post #6: Writing Group

My writing group has gone sour.
You must tell me what images you see:


Exhibit

The sign read: Café.
But he wasn’t so sure.

On one foot he stood
at the mahogany counter
poised with a flaming pink tie,
pruning, if you will.

He watched Ariel float by
with lacquered sea weed
for hair, spread thick on the canvas.
Her sea-shelled breast looked awkward.

Alligator shoes lounged
nearby under the table lamps.
Yawning. Laptops opened wide.
Numbers flying. Steam rolling.

He walks among them;
They look to the walls.


I'll let you know the insult they gave me soon.

Post #7

Someone, ehem, claimed that
he wasn't getting his money's worth
in regards to his SQ subscription.

So these seven posts are dedicated to you;
read only one a day please.

xoxoxo