Not fair!

Arizona keeps tempting me to move my kids away from their grandparents!

What a brilliant suggestion!

Poor, poor King Putt.  Or maybe I should say King Pout.  Because he just threatened to take his ball and go home, because all the mean kids are refusing to change the rules of the game just for him.

Sure, buddy.  You can go home.  Maybe it'll do you some good to get back to the old neighborhood.

Oh...lovely.

Just fucking peachy.  I have not yet earned a cumulative $100 grand in my working lifetime (which says wonderful things for a Masters of Arts in English).  And the family of the Boston bombers received that much over ten years for sitting on their asses, then bombing the shit out of a much-celebrated sports event. 

Can we just eighty-six all welfare now?  All of it?  Every last bit?  No more payouts to lazy bastards that then turn around and set bombs to harm the people earning the money that pay for their shit?

Jesus.

...and I'm done.

Finally.  Last papers graded.  DONE.  All I've got now is revisions the rest of this week.  Assuming any get turned in.

Okay. I can do this.

I mean, it's only eleven more papers to grade.  I can knock those out today, and then two or three revisions later in the week.  Then I can turn in grades on Monday.  Then I'm done with this piece of shit course.

I can do this.

Awww...poor wee lamb!

I bet this really chaps Prince Charles's ass.  Everyone else's mum is abdicating the throne, but not his.  I guess his mum is the only one who completely lacks confidence in her primary heir.

Criminal masterminds

21.  Never, ever attack a little old lady running a music store with a club.  Her little old man husband will come out, pry you off of his wife, and shoot your stupid ass.

22.  Never, ever try a home invasion robbery using a pellet gun.  The homeowner will come at you with his real gun and hold you captive until the police show up to cart your stupid ass to jail.  And that's assuming that the homeowner doesn't shoot your stupid ass like they do in Texas.

Child abuse...

...is living in a place where your baby can be torn from your arms when there is not only no evidence of child abuse/neglect, but strong evidence, including a doctor's note, to the opposite.

If you have children...move away from states that overwhelmingly believe that children are a resource of the state, and that parents have no rights to care for their own children.

Seriously, WTF???

We have a chance of snow in SW MO on Thursday night.  On MAY 2!!! 

DTFO!!!

I have a student who earned a B for the course (with me being generously easy to not inflict that level of helpless stupid upon any of my colleagues), is whining about it, and asking if there's any extra credit they can do.

NO!  I DO NOT DO EXTRA CREDIT!

They also asked if I'm going to grade assignments that I SPECIFICALLY STATED in the weekly announcements that I was NOT going to grade.

Get.  It.  Through.  Your.  Head.  You are NOT special, and I will NOT treat you as if you are.  Drop the fuck out.  Go push a broom somewhere after closing time, because you are not fit for human interaction.

Six down...

Of the twelve papers already in my inbox, I've gotten six graded.  I have six more in my email inbox, and three more turned in to the drop box in the course platform.  I'm going to see how many I can get graded before Odysseus has to leave for work at 3:30.

Pray for my sanity.

This is it.

The beginning of the end of semester.  Twelve or thirteen out of forty students have turned in their papers so far (due at midnight tonight), and I've granted one extension for excruciatingly embarrassing extenuating circumstances.  So, I'm getting started with grading now.  Hopefully, I can be done with all but the one to whom I granted an extension by Wednesday, so that I can be able to turn in grades by Monday. 

Pupdate

The puppy is going to be getting her stitches out this morning.  Which means...she can go outside and play, today. 

Since we're going to have such beautiful weather today, the puppy isn't the only one who's going to be playing outside, either. 

Really tired of the war on some drugs.

I really hate the way it's made felons out of those who live their lives in blindingly awful pain, and gotten desperate enough to seek remediation, legal or not. 

And then, once the federal government gets them slapped in prison, the government realizes "Oops.  That person isn't an addict or a dealer.  Let's fit them with a morphine drip so that they're not in pain.  But only while they're in prison."

One of the most effective painkillers out there is marijuana.  Most effective, and least likely to have really bad side effects.  And since it's classed on the same level as cocaine and heroin, it's illegal to even study to figure out how the hell it works.

I also really hate the sanctions that are aimed at meth.  One of the absolute most effective over-the-counter decongestants is one of the ingredients in meth.  So, the powers that be insist that none of us need to have easy access to something that makes daily life livable in the spring. 

I hate to say it, but collective punishment doesn't work.  All it does is give the illusion that the government is doing something that should, in theory, work to thin out the supply of meth.

Only...it doesn't.  Some towns go as far as requiring a prescription for it.  Which only works if all of the stores in all of the bedroom communities and surrounding areas do likewise--which they haven't in my area.  What banning the over-the-counter sale is actually doing, then, is causing those who live and shop in the large town to take their money elsewhere...and buy the stock that was planned around the normal sales to the residents of a given bedroom community.  Causes a temporary shortage, but then things go back to an equilibrium.

This law was passed in Joplin before the tornado that ate half the town in 2011.  And there was a sharp uptick of meth cooks being caught, not because they increased in numbers, but because they had to move into the FEMA trailer parks, which were so crowded that it was impossible to hide that activity. 

Collective punishment doesn't work.  Prohibition doesn't work.

Actually, I take the first part back.  Collective punishment does work, but only if you remove protection from those guilty of the crime and permit those who get punished for no reason to beat the ever-livin' shit out of them. 

Sounds like a good solution for the meth problem.

Criminal masterminds

20.  Never, ever try to do a home invasion with a baseball bat as your weapon of choice, especially not in Texas.  The homeowner/renter is likely to be armed, and will shoot your stupid ass.

Random ramblings

The pixie is starting to potty train in earnest.  Although, I'm thinking I'm going to need to switch her to underwear instead of trying to use pull-ups--I think she thinks the pull-ups are just a pretty diaper. 

She did something funny, last night.  I'd had a couple of tortillas with cheese between them that I stuck in the microwave (can't really call that a quesadilla--it's nowhere near as good as one that's been fried), and cut it into fourths.  I was about two or three bites away from being done with the last piece when the pixie said she was done with her dinner.  So, I set my plate down and went and got her out of her high chair.  Then, pretty much immediately, I had to walk the puppy. 

When I got back, I couldn't find the last of my dinner.  It had totally vanished, plate and all.  I honestly thought I'd finished it and thrown the plate away without remembering.  I didn't find it until I was hunting for the pixie's baby doll when she'd gone to bed.  She'd grabbed my plate and hidden so that she could eat my supper: there were pixie bites around the edges of the tortillas, and she'd pulled the tortillas apart and eaten the cheese.

The imp got to spend Monday and Tuesday nights with Grandma and Grandpa, while the cabinets were being installed Tuesday.  Odysseus went and got him Wednesday, dumped him in the door, changed into a work shirt, and headed off to work.  And ten minutes after that, the imp started getting in trouble.  And hasn't really stopped since.  Then again, he's so restless, and wants to go outside so bad it's not even funny.  And it's been raining since Wednesday.  Tomorrow, Monday, and Tuesday look to be a lot nicer for outside play.

The pup is going to get her stitches removed on Monday.  She's doing much, much better.  Then again, I've been making sure she doesn't run, jump, or play too hard for the past week--which has led to a miserably bored puppy, trying to dig holes in the plastic floor of her kennel.

I finally finished grading the presentations the other day.  Most of them were about as good as many PP presentations that have been used by the so-called professional development seminars.  Now, they've got their major research paper to turn in and we're done. 

Finally.

Thank God.

I'm working through one last edit of Pendragon.  I'm thinking it'll be ready for publication Friday, May 3.  I'm spending all of the limited time and energy I have for writing prepping that.  I should have a bunch more time and energy to write starting the following week, after I've turned in grades.  Then, I'll have until August 19, when classes start back up again.  And I'll have Tuesdays and Thursdays off, during the week after that.  Because I'm gonna refuse to bring grading home with me. 

The state legislature may have redeemed law enforcement's mistake...

The Missouri State House of Representatives has passed a bill stating that any federal gun control law passed this year or later will not be enforced in this state.  It is also likely to pass the state senate with enough of a majority to ram it up the leftist state governor's ass, sideways and unlubricated.

Other things in the bill include the lowering of the minimum age for concealed carry to 19. 

I eagerly await the day when Missouri State legislators start repealing gun laws, and passing legislation that makes strict, municipal laws restricting the rights of the law abiding to own effective means of self-protection null and void.

Oh, hell yeah!

These guys--Oklahoma Senator Jim Inhofe and Congressman Frank Lucas--need applause.  Major amounts of applause.  Why?  Because this:

The AMMO Act would restrict agencies from obtaining additional ammunition for a six-month period if current agency stockpiles are higher than its monthly averages prior to the Obama Administration.  

They obviously understand what King Putt and his merry band of thugs has been doing with these purchases.

"President Obama has been adamant about curbing law-abiding Americans’ access and opportunities to exercise their Second Amendment rights," said Inhofe. "One way the Obama Administration is able to do this is by limiting what’s available in the market with federal agencies purchasing unnecessary stockpiles of ammunition."

Although, if Lucas is surprised to hear about the bids and purchases, he obviously hasn't been paying attention to the real world.  It's been all over the news and blogs for months.

...and the news just gets better.

The installer will be out to take measurements on Tuesday afternoon.  And the counter will be arriving sometime between two and three weeks after that. 

And then, since we asked, we found out that the twerp that fucked us over also forgot to order the drawer pulls that were on free promo (free hardware and sink base with the purchase of ten cabinets).  So, we can either have him put that order in again, and wait for another four to six weeks for those, or we can go in and pick out new ones that they have in stock. 

You know...I think I've seen $15-$20 drawer pulls in stock.  The ones I wanted were around $5 each.  And we need 18.  I think either the dumbfuck that screwed up can eat the difference.  Maybe this is the mistake that would get him fired.

FFOT: Lowes and Lowes' salespricks

I have new cabinets.  They're very nice, and I like the way they brighten a very dark kitchen.

I have no counter tops.  No sink.  No way to have water in the kitchen.  The incompetent twerp working the sales desk said he told me that the counter tops would take two or three weeks from the measurements being taken after the cabinets got installed before they would be ready to be installed.

No.  No, he didn't tell me that.  Or I would have written off the charge for the measurements and gone elsewhere. 

I am not happy.  This has gone beyond inconvenient into the realm of the ridiculous.  Words cannot express how very not happy I am. 

The next bit of work we have done will not be done through Lowes.  The next appliance we need to buy will not be purchased through Lowes.  Any materials we need will not be purchased through Lowes.  I will not be rewarding their incompetence with any more of my money. 

I'd be using a lot more vitriol if it weren't for my head feeling like it wants to explode from pressure in my sinuses and ears.

Wanna know what's worse??

What's worse than just having burning hot, freshly-fired brass fly down your shirt when it's tucked in is having it fly between breasts that then mash together and trap the hot brass in place.  Sometimes I've been tempted to strip to the waist out at the range.

I love Terminal Lance.

Apparently I have the sense of humor of a ten-year-old boy.

Because this had me burying my face in a throw pillow so that I didn't wake the kids up with howls of laughter. 

Are the Mars rovers becoming sentient, with a Marine's mentality?

Ya know...

I've graded two groups' power point presentations so far, and I've got to say this:

They look about as good as the professionally done ones I've seen in the HR Diversity/Sensitivity/Collegiality training. 

Yes, I have seen better, but since these are as good as what we're forced to attend as a job training exercise, I'm giving them As.

Though, I will admit this: part of the grade is because I just don't give a shit about this assignment.  I don't think it's a good one, and I don't think it's teaching the kids any more than those training seminars did for me.

I feel so much better about the Boston attacks!

I mean, really--doesn't it just warm your heart to know that at least one of the little goat-fucking cockbaits was on welfare?  Isn't it just peachy that the worthless little shitstain used taxpayer money to sit on his nasty halal ass and research how to effectively harm and kill those who provided his income? 

Can we just stop the payments to all able-bodied useless wastes of space and let them either find a fucking job or watch their children starve?  You know, make them do something to provide for themselves, instead of spending their time looking for ways to kill their neighbors? 

It's pretty much the same as having paid the bomber to create and set the bombs. 

Breakfast of champions

The pixie refused her usual--pancakes and sausage--and asked for Cheerios.  So, she has a paper bowl full of honey-nut cheerios sitting on the table.  She's eaten a bit over half of the 2/3 cup I dumped in the bowl.

I've just finished a cup of coffee, and am considering another one. 

We've got a lot to do over the next couple of days.  I need to get Lowes called, since I'm now halfway to awake.  Odysseus needs to call his parents and arrange to pick up the imp.  We need to hit Sam's Club today or tomorrow, and see if we can find some take-out drink cups for the kids to use until we get our kitchen put back together.  And some of the styrofoam leftovers containers. 

I also need to get my stuff put back into the top cabinets. 

Last (and least important), I have grading to do.  

In the meantime, though, I'm going to go grab another cup of coffee.  I'm still not awake enough to do anything truly productive, yet.

sample chapter

Here's the first chapter of The Last Pendragon.  It should be available for sale in a couple of weeks.  In the meantime...enjoy, and tell me what you think.

(It's kinda long...so it's below the break.)

Oh...awesome.

So...the old cabinets have been torn out.  The new cabinets are about to go in. 

The company that custom-makes the counter tops will be out to measure after the cabinets go in.  The counter top itself will take two to three weeks before it comes in to be installed. 

This redo has been a fucking nightmare.  I am not happy because the only wait time that was mentioned by the salesprick was the cabinets.  Not the counter top. 

The installer said "Yeah, that won't take long."

Uh-huh.  Say that when it's your kitchen, dude.

It's been a day.

So...the contractor called this morning, at about ten, to tell us he'll be out tomorrow morning at eight.

It would have been nice to have been notified of this on Friday morning, so that we could have made arrangements to get a couple of outlets moved, and to get the dishwasher plumbed and wired in.  Thank God that contractor is used to the unprofessional twits employed by the big box stores.

Other arrangements included how to keep the boy out from under foot while the installer and contractors are working. 

So, we scrambled a bit, got the imp some clothes packed (clean shirts, but dirty pants--today would have been laundry day, but for the short notice on other things that needed done first), and got him off to spend a couple of days with Grandma and Grandpa, while we're having construction going on. 

The pixie is a lot easier to handle on her own.  Most of the time.  Today, she's been a major drag on what I needed to get done--whiny, cranky, constantly upset, and constantly wanting to be on my lap or underfoot.

I still need to do a sink full of dishes (my last one in that particular sink).  I never got the laundry even started.  Nor the living room cleaned up enough to walk through without tripping over or stepping on toys or clothes.  I had a sad little leg monkey all day, no matter what I tried.  And no, Daddy wouldn't do.  And no, Daddy couldn't do most of what needed done (heel spurs suck). 

And no, I can't do anything while she's down sleeping--the least little noise wakes her up.

Tomorrow...we'll spend tomorrow in either her bedroom or her brother's (yes, while he's gone, but his room is a lot bigger), while the installer tears out our old cabinets and puts in the new ones.  I may well move the TV and DVD player into whichever room we decide to use, break out my headphones, and put Winnie the Pooh, Cinderella, Brave, or Beauty and the Beast on for however many times she wants to watch it. 

So, now?  I'm going to go do that sink full of dishes, and see about a load of dirty clothes.  Once the pixie is good and solidly asleep for the night--she only just stopped whimpering a few minutes ago.

And after that?  I think I hear a glass of bourbon calling my name. 

...Shit.  My glasses are all packed away. 

Okay.  I guess I hear a coffee mug with bourbon calling my name.

Sometimes...

...being a parent flat sucks. 

The kids attempted to get up at six thirty this morning.  And threw tantrums about going back to bed until it was time to get up.  Since they got up half an hour earlier than was acceptable...they had to stay put for a half an hour after the earliest I let them get up.

But there was no way I was going to be able to go back to sleep.  So I've been up since they woke me up. 

Other than that, I can safely say that I also really hate having to play referee when they're fighting...like they've been doing so much lately.

But they're so cute, so often--if embarrassing.*

*Imp went to the men's room with Daddy, over the weekend.  And loudly announced that both he and Daddy have a penis.

I've had it.

If we don't hear from the installer by Tuesday morning, I'm going to call Lowes, ask for a refund, and find someone who can be relied upon to DO THE FUCKING WORK WE PAID THEM FOR!!!

That is all.

More book stuff...

A couple of weeks ago, I posted a cover blurb for The Last Pendragon over at The Godshead Tavern blog--I'll post it here, because I think I've got a cover. 

So, the cover blurb:

The Last Pendragon

The last thing I expected when I went to grieve in the mountains was to get chased by werewolves, kidnapped by a dragon, or meet a legend.  But that was exactly what happened.

Sara Hawke, a highly-educated former PhD candidate in Linguistics, is plunged into a situation that strains her skepticism: first she meets a pack of werewolves while camping on the night of the full moon, then she’s rescued by a man the werewolves seemed to fear.  Her rescuer then decides that she’ll be good company until he decides to let her go.  Then he tells her that she has the potential to be a sorceress, and offers to teach her.

Along the way, she learns that legends aren’t always what they’re cracked up to be, and are occasionally more than they seem…

So, that would be what was on the back cover.  The cover art I think I've found for the front cover is a public domain photo:

There's what would be on the back cover...and what would be on the front.  Would you buy that?

Two more weeks.

I only have to deal with this bullshit class for two more weeks.  Then, I will shake the virtual dust from my feet, and ignore all communications from students once grades are turned in. 

Their first major paper was due week 10.  Of a fifteen week semester.  And the course designer had three more semi-major assignments added to be due the last few weeks, one of which was a major research project with group work, a Power Point presentation, and a ten page essay.  Which left NO TIME for that last paper. 

Yeah...somebody was sniffing glue.  I dropped the last paper.  The students don't need to deal with it, and I don't need the added pressure. 

Monday starts week 14.  I've got their presentations due next week, with their research paper due the next Monday (and I'll be scrambling to get them all graded as soon as possible).  The last day of classes is May 3.  Any revisions are due on that day.  And I will be turning in grades promptly on Sunday morning before Finals Week starts.

I am so ready to flush this turd.

Random ramblings

A bit late, today, but it's been a difficult week. 

The kids are feeling it, too.  The imp is acting out--acting hyper, ignoring what he's told, doing what he wants when he wants, and disregarding spanks.  The pixie is extra whiny.

And I...I am having a difficult time staying on an even keel.  My kitchen is packed into my kids' bathroom to the point where it's only barely usable, and they can't get to the sink to brush their teeth.  And there's literally nowhere else to put stuff.  My living room has lost a quarter of its floor space to a lazy Susan corner cabinet, a sink base, and a couple of smaller cabinets stacked on top.  It's difficult to keep the kids from running around like crazy things in here, and nearly impossible to keep their toys out. 

So, yeah.  I'm falling behind.

The cats love the new cabinets in their boxes in the living room.  Now that they've figured out how to get up on them and down off of them, at least.  It took a bit. 

The pup is feeling better.  She got spayed on Wednesday.  She got home Wednesday afternoon, wobbled out of her carrier and into her crate, and slept until 9:30 before asking to go out to go pee.  Ate about three mouthfuls of food, got a good, long drink, then went back to bed and slept all night.  She felt a little better on Thursday, but not much.  Ate about half what she usually does over the course of the day.  Yesterday was better, and today she's nearly back to normal--which sucks, because she's still got stitches, and we can't let her run around and play, like she so desperately wants to do.

I have fallen behind on my grading.  I am not surprised, but I just can't bring myself to care.  The course, as designed, is shit.

As for writing...it's odd.  Lost Girls (tentative title--current project) is refusing to come out unless I start writing each chapter out long hand.  Once I've got that start, I've got no problems continuing on.  It's just weird. 

I'm currently waiting for word on whether or not I've got cover art for Pendragon.  Once I've got that, I'll post a sample chapter, then work on publishing.

What an absolute sweetheart...

I can sort of see how Isabella Dutton came to the decision to have children she didn't want--her husband desperately wanted kids.  I can also see why she had a second child while she didn't really enjoy having even one.  I completely agree with her on her opinions of women who gush that they want, want, want children, then park them with a nanny or daycare for their childhood while going back to work. 

That's where my understanding ends. 

Honestly, I don't like children.  I cannot stand other people's kids, for the most part--I've met a few who were different, but most can just stay away from me. 

My own?  Yeah.  That's different.  I love them very much.  I enjoyed carrying them, and I enjoy caring for them (except when they're fighting).  Mine are different. 

So, I cannot understand how that raving, selfish, sanctimonious cunt can not just admit that she considers her children parasites, but resents them and wished she'd never had them in the first place, but writes an article in a major media outlet about it.

Yes, I sympathize with not being able to read a book because I'm always on call.  Yes, I sympathize that some hobbies are difficult to keep with a child.  Yes, I understand how the constant demands on your time and energy take a toll. 

That said...seriously, how the fuck can she justify saying this in a public forum, where it's almost certain that her kids, now adult, will probably read it? 

FFOT: for HisWiserAngel

Go leave her some love over at The Lonely Libertarian.  She needs it.  She's having to deal with lawyers.

From what I've gathered, she's got two daughters somewhere on the Autism spectrum.  Her oldest isn't capable of self care, and she's been fighting to be permitted to retain legal custody of her, as she's turning eighteen soon.

And Angel's being put through the wringer by assholes  suspicious that she simply wants to retain control of her daughter's disability checks.

May every cum-burping gutter-slut twatwaffle fuckwit mouthbreather who's standing in the way of a mother wanting to care for her daughter contract genital herpes with constant oozy outbreaks, and crabs.  At the same time.  May each and every one of these fuckstick cockbaiting queefstains lose their fucking job, and run afoul of each and every regulation that they're so enjoying slapping people with in their jobs.  May the pencil-dicked hermaphrodites get noisily explosive diarrhea during a conference call with higher ups, suddenly enough that they can't hit the mute button before it starts (and may the mute button fail to work), and may it happen for each time they've pulled this same bullshit with well-meaning parents, while letting the leeches milk the system without oversight. 

And may they spend the rest of their lives in severe discomfort and poverty, with the realization that they were sired by the only sperm that wasn't too stupid to swim away from that particular damaged egg, and that they're only capable of being douchebags because of that genetic deformity, but that their own mothers didn't love them enough to be willing to fight to care for them.

Delivery received.

I have four big huge boxes of cabinets in my living room.  I have several smaller boxes of smaller cabinets and fixtures in my kitchen, in the corner where my liquor cabinet was, and in the corner where my dishwasher usually sits. 

They didn't get here until about an hour ago.  And yes, the kids were still up.  It was a bitch getting them put down because they were so fucking exhausted.

I am, too.  I have a cup of hot catnip tea with honey on my side table (don't let me forget to put the teabag in a Ziploc bag before putting it in the trash, or it's going to wind up slashed open, scattered, and half eaten).  I'm going to finish that, then head for bed. 

And no, we still haven't heard back from the installer.  No, I have no farking idea when we will.  And last, but not least, I have no bloody idea how long tear out and installation will take, or how I'm going to keep the kids corralled. 

And, since I'm trying to beat a UTI into submission with a week-long prescription of Cipro, I can't use my usual tool to deal with the stress.

I know the feeling...

Can't...keep...my eyes...open.

The pixie woke me right at seven thirty this morning, knocking on her door.  I got up and walked the pup--who's feeling better, but still isn't 100% after her ordeal yesterday--got the pixie her breakfast, and realized that temptation is kind of out of my reach: no coffee in the pot, and I really should find a different place to put it before I make more.  I'll make do with a non-carbonated energy drink (with cranberry juice), and move and set up the pot for tomorrow.

We had the storm sirens go off, last night, just before two.  I woke, but Odysseus didn't hear them.  I shook him awake (scared the bat crap out of him--he was so deeply asleep, he didn't know I was there), then went and got the imp up and into the hall bathroom.  Went and got the pixie, and was treated to "I scared.  Storm too loud.  Want nurse?" 

Both kids used the potties and whined a bit, then exclaimed over the radar showing the storm on my laptop screen. 

The warning (there was rotation in the radar, but with how heavy the rain was, there was no way anybody would have been able to spot a tornado) ended about two thirty...and the imp went down pretty much immediately.  The pixie took a nurse and a couple of songs.  Both kids were so tired, and so scared by the disruption of their nights.

Odysseus waited for me to get back to bed before he put his book down and shut off his lamp, but wasn't awake fifteen minutes after that.

On the other hand...I just couldn't get back to sleep.  Not for a long time.  I think it was about three thirty or four before I got back to sleep.

Busy day...started early

Today was the day when the puppy was scheduled to be spayed.  So, I got up at about five after seven to walk, then wash, the dog--and ran right into a little-boy hug.  (Not that I minded...)  I got him sat down in front of the TV to finish waking up, and went to get dressed enough to walk the pup.  Timed it just right to be coming out just as the light flipped on in the little girl's room, and she started crying that she wanted her diaper changed, like ten minutes ago.  (Poor little thing has diaper rash something fierce.) 

I finally got the pup walked by about twenty after seven, and bathed ten minutes later, then dried off as best she could with as furry as she is (Scotty needs a haircut--she's not had one yet).  Then she got crammed into her crate and sent off with Odysseus.

Then, the kids both started clamoring for breakfast.  Sausage links--three for the boy, and one for the girl, along with the biscuit she'd asked for. 

And then, I discovered that I still can't bend too well--my back hurts like a bitch when I try--so I wound up doing as much as I can on finishing clearing out the kitchen for the cabinets to be delivered tomorrow.

And then, the pixie dumped over a container of knitting needles.  And I had to haul my chair away from where it sits to get into the corner to pick them up, because she will not leave them alone, despite knowing that touching Mama's knitting gets a slapped hand at best, and a spanked rear end at worst. 

Then, when I got back behind my chair to do that, I found out that either the kids or the cats had been playing in my yarn stash.  It's anybody's guess about which pair were actually at fault (or more at fault, to be precise).  And so, I had that mess to straighten up, too.

And all of that before lunch. 

I've got an end of the table cleared off to put the microwave for while the rest of our kitchen is out of commission.   And I think that may be all I'm able to do today, because I'm freakin' beat. 

Thank God the delivery is set between 5:00-9:00 p.m.  That should let us finish up figuring out and emptying out where we're going to put everything.  TEN new cabinets.  Plus counter top. 

And we still don't know when the installer's going to have the time to tear out our old cabinets and put in our new ones.

Wow.

If soldiers were really the ravening barbarian murderers that their detractors bawl out at anti-war rallies and protests, this would have ended much differently. 

Even those who decry our military as evil baby-killing murder-mad psychos understand, on a deep, gut level, that our soldiers are some of the best, noblest, most self-disciplined individuals* in the world--if they didn't believe it, there's no way they'd be brave enough to act like they did in the seventies, and like some of them still do, even today. 

*For the most part.  There are bad ones in every bunch.

On the lighter side...

There's enough sad stuff in the news right now--how about some funny stuff?

Kmart's been a bit too clever with their ads for some prudes in this country--enough that people are howling that they went too far with their linguistic joke that relies on people mis-hearing what's actually being said, then laughing about it when they realize how wrong they were.

Here's the video in question:

This is actually a long and venerable tradition in English--deliberately causing people to think the worst of what they heard.  I actually wrote my masters' project in grad school over thousand year old dirty jokes.  One of my favorites was this one:

I've heard of something strange swelling in the corner,
Growing and swelling, lifting up its covering.
The proud-hearted bride grabbed that boneless wonder with her hands,
With her clothing, the daughter of a king covered it.

There are actually two correct answers to that particular riddle, and to about six more out of over a hundred riddles.*   Can anyone guess both answers?

*I've translated them all--if anyone's interested in having me post the rest, let me know.

I love my cats.

I laid down on the couch after I got the kids to bed...and Cricket came over, hopped up on the arm of the couch, and started chirping at me and grooming my hair.  Shadow followed close behind, but has curled up between my knees, behind my laptop, and purred until she fell asleep. 

I think they know I feel awful.  And these two cats are some of the most loving, affectionate critters I've ever had, even if Cricket's stupid, and Shadow's sense of humor is...off.

Does anybody really think we're not stil at war?

Because this proves otherwise.  And it was, like the majority of the September 11, 2001 attackers, a Saudi national.

Urgh...

I'm pretty sure I'm going to be starting yet another round of antibiotics tomorrow.  Note to self: if you have a migraine, guzzle coffee, not soda.   Carbonated, caffeinated soda = bad news for kidneys. 

In the meantime...yeah, I feel like shit. 

At least the kids are getting big enough to help with housework.  The living room is mostly picked up, even if their clothes (and ours) still need to be put away.

Do you have a plan?

I'm going to have to go back to campus, next semester.  I cannot teach the drek they've forced on everyone teaching the online classes.  The course is worse than worthless as designed.  The students get very little practice actually writing. 

That said, I've asked for a classroom tucked away on the top floor of the library, near a stairwell and an elevator that is not the main one, and has been kind of hidden by remodels and rearrangements.  The entrance is kind of behind the stacks, and on the other end of the floor from the open study areas.  Easy to miss by a deranged nut. 

And I have a plan for an active shooter on campus situation: if we can tell which way he's coming from, I'll shoo my kids out of the building by the exit farthest from where the shooter is (there's one on both sides of the building).  If we can't...I'll shoo them into the corner across the room from the door, on the same wall as the door, lock the door, turn off the lights and hope we're missed. 

If that doesn't work, I'll have a couple of my bigger students backing me up, try to take the gun, and incapacitate the shooter in any way possible. 

Once that's done (shooter's unconscious or dead), I'll do my best to field strip the gun and leave it in pieces for the police.

I also have plans for a two-shooter situation, but I haven't heard of one of those outside of Columbine.

Beyond that, I have plans in place for protecting my students from tornado, fire, bomb attack, and a few other disaster scenarios. 

How about you? 

I think I'm gonna puke.

I am pro-life.  Not because of any religious reasons, but because I've had two children, one of them born at 32 weeks--which is a fairly normal age for "late term abortion."  My son needed a minimal amount of breathing assistance, and a feeding tube put up his nose into his stomach.  That was it.  He was born pissed off at the world and screaming about it. 

Breathing.  On his own.  Alive.  Without being attached to me. 

Which makes this nothing short of evil.  I can't even read the whole thing. 

How is it that those who clamor that everyone should hand over their guns to avoid another murder of a child cannot see that they, themselves, are perpetrating greater horrors on the completely helpless and innocent?

Murderers, all.

And it's not being reported on.  At all.  Because it's "local crime."

Uh-huh.  Yeah.  So was John Lennon's murder.  So was Marylin Monroe's death (suicide is a crime on the books--there's just no way to punish it, since the perp is already dead).   So was Michael Jackson's child-molestation crimes, and the inquests around his death.  So was Whitney Houston's accidental drowning while high as a fucking kite.  In fact, besides the few assassinations of political figures, I cannot think of any murder case, short of a serial killer that keeps on the move, that isn't a "local crime."

So, why does everything get coverage, except for when it comes to what happens in abortion clinics?

random ramblings

The imp broke through a problem he'd had with speech, last week.  He and his sister have a few shows from Nickelodeon that they love--one of which is Bubble Guppies.  For the longest time, he could not follow the front-of-the mouth sounds made with lips and tongue with the back-of-the-mouth, back of the tongue gutteral.  So, he called it Bubble Puppies. 

Last week, he made a breakthrough, and now is delighted to be able to say it.  Sadly, it's a young child's delight, which means it's repeated ad nauseum, loudly, and at inappropriate times (like breaking into the middle of a conversation, or yelling at the top of his lungs in the car, or both).

The pixie's speech is coming clearer--from what I gather, she's closer to being on a three year old level than an almost two and a half.  

The pets are doing pretty well, right now.  I'm sure the cats are going to be incredibly distressed when the kitchen remodel starts.  And the dog is going to be upset and confused after she gets fixed on Wednesday.  Yes, she's pure Scotty.  We don't have, nor are we interested in getting papers, and we really don't want to breed her.  We got her to be a member of our family, and she's very much loved for that reason.  We will not be using her as a money machine like her momma's former owner thought of her momma.

I've met breeders that loved their animals and treated them as beloved pets.  That creature wasn't one of them.

Later this summer, we're going to be taking down the deck, extending and repairing the fence, fixing the gaps in the gates so that a dog can't get out, and putting in back steps and a paving stone patio.  Once we get the deck down and the fence fixed, the dog will be permitted to romp in the entire yard, rather than the sixteen foot section of pen-fencing we've got looped around and attached to a couple of the fence posts.

And I'm sure the kids will love playing fetch with her.

We are three weeks away from the end of semester.  Three more weeks and I can turn in grades and shake the virtual dust of this stupid, horribly designed class from my feet.  But, I will admit that I've kind of already given up on the class.  I'm not spending any mental energy worrying about the class, the work, or my students anymore.  I can't, not without throwing a screaming and kicking things fit before tracking down the course designer and telling her exactly what a miserable excuse for a teacher she is, and that she should quit and go find a job pushing an idiot stick, since that's all she's suited for mentally.

However, that refusal to spend mental energy on things I can't do jack shit about means I have the mental energy to write.  I wrote a draft of a chapter, last night--about 1,500 words--on the novel I'm currently working on.  If I can keep that level up (or better) for the next three weeks, I could have a draft done before summer break starts. 

And I think I'm gonna try.

As for Pendragon...I finished the draft with an extra four or five thousand words, sent it off to TinCan Assassin (MSgt B is way too busy with his move for me to want to bother), and he's already read it.  He's trying to get one of his friends to create some cover art for the book.  So, really--it's done.  It just needs that last...little...bit before publishing. 

(And MSgt B--if you want to read the new draft, just shoot me an email and let me know you have time.  It's probably going to be a few more weeks before it goes to publication.)

YAY!!!

I got a phone call from Lowe's a bit ago--they set up to deliver my new cabinets next week.  So, within about two weeks, I'll have my kitchen remodel done. 

Odysseus has admitted that he probably can't take the cabinets out himself, not even with help.  On days he's got off, he's so tired and sore he can't do much beyond help me watch the kids.  So, Monday, Odysseus is going to be calling around looking for contractors to take the old cabinets out. 

It's going to be so very nice to have half again the storage I've got, with cabinets that aren't crumbling at the bottom of the bottom cabinets. 

FFOT: this.

This pisses me off to the point I can't even rant about it. 

Missouri state law requires the identities of concealed carry holders to be kept private.  No request for that information should have been granted.  It is, in short, an illegal action on the part of the highway patrol that released this information to anyone.

I am especially incensed because the requirements for getting a concealed carry permit in the state of Missouri includes having your fingerprints run, as well as your name, drivers' license, and social security number--which remains in your record.  This is to be used to search all law enforcement databases to ensure that you are, in fact, legal to own a gun in the first place.

Which includes whether or not you are, or have been in the past, adjudicated mentally unbalanced. 

The excuse--"We need to check against records of crazy people"--is, therefore, invalid. 

The idiots that turned over the information need to be arrested, prosecuted, and then turned over to those of us that have CCWs, and were affected by their blatantly illegal identity theft.

Long day, time to write.

We were awakened this morning by a shrill, angry shriek.  I don't know what the imp did, but it sure made the pixie mad.  And neither one of us could get back to sleep after that.

We made it up and visited my family, and used the kids' need for a nap (and my sister's need for same) as an excuse to leave early.  I love my family, but like them best in small doses. 

And then...we had a microwave to replace.  Ours died, abruptly, last night while I was trying to heat up a second helping of supper for myself (the kids ate theirs...then ate half of mine).  You just don't realize how vital a microwave is until it dies.

Then, it was herding the kids around--letting the imp watch some Thomas the Tank Engine because he'd been very good all the way home, then getting the two of them fed, then bathed, then Beauty and the Beast put in for the pixie.  She watched most of it before she had to get up and run around.

We finally managed to get them both in bed.  So, now, I'm going to write.

Go to hell, you sanctimonious prick.

You know, there's nothing wrong with driving a Ferrari.  Some people quite enjoy it.  From what I've heard, it can be quite a lot of fun for those who know how to drive well, and incredibly dangerous to those who don't drive well.  I can see the attraction, even if I don't share it.  But, even not sharing that attraction, I do not see anything wrong with wanting one.

I guess Biden's thing is that only the elite will ever drive one, and that it's an undeserved luxury.

See what he did there?  He's trying to turn gun ownership into a class warfare thing, a class guilt thing.  "You didn't earn that.  You don't deserve the fruits of your labor."

Except...the comparison doesn't work.

A Ferrari costs a half a million dollars. Many will never even see a Ferrari.  Few will actually own one.  Those who do either worked their asses off to earn the money, or their parents or grandparents did.  Most will drive the car to its fullest potential, many of them safely.

By contrast, a decent to good gun costs maybe half a thousand.  Most Americans have seen, or will see, a gun at some point in their lives.  There are over a hundred million legal gun owners in the United States.  There are probably at least half that many illegal gun owners--gang-bangers, and such.  And those illegal gun owners are often in the lowest socioeconomic quintile.   About half will handle and use one, and most of those will use one safely.  And the only thing wrong with that is that, with the advent of hoplophobia, most of those who don't use guns safely are simply unfamiliar with gun safety because everybody's afraid to talk about it.  Sort of like sex in the fifties.

The other place the comparison doesn't work is this: a Ferrari doesn't bring a feeling of safety and security, the way owning a gun can and does.  And owning a gun can be fun, but doesn't bring the exhilaration to most that owning a Ferrari does to the few that own them.

Sometimes I wonder how many times Joe Biden's mother dropped him on his head as a baby.  And then I think, "Nah, that's not it."

Biden just thinks everybody is just like him: unsafe to be anywhere near a gun.

It takes a special kind of...

...balls to try something like this, and a special kind of stupid to fall for it.

Really, though, I don't feel very sorry for the chuckleheads that fell for that particular scam.  A ferret--even one jacked up on steroids and given a perm--does not resemble a toy poodle in the slightest. 

Putting the "vice" in vice-mayor...

A former vice-mayor of Kingsport, TN, recently got arrested for a plethora of charges, including indecent exposure, for masturbating out of a car window while driving 90mph.   Apparently, he's been doing this for three or four years, and only now has someone written down his license plate number, and called in a complaint.

All I could think was: "Hm...too bad he didn't hit a wasp."

I love Drudge.

Matt Drudge had a headline on his site with a link to a politician's prospective come-back attempt that cracked me up. 

The headline?

Can Weiner Rise Again?

To quote my daughter...

Mmmm-mmm.  De-licious. 

(We had biscuits and sausage gravy for lunch.)

Teaser posted.

Now, I need to grade the busy work assignments from last week that I put off so that I could type up revisions last night.  And I need to grade my colleague's stuff that was due at midnight last night. 

Next, I need to get laundry rounded up for the mid-week load.  If grading takes too long, that might be put off until tomorrow.

Last, but not least, I need to clean up the detritus left from Hurricane Imp and Hurricane Pixie and vacuum the living room.

Before I can do any of that, though, I need to find something: my motivation.

Handwritten edit

I'm done with it.  I'll be starting to type it all up tonight.  Hopefully, I can get a good way through it before the next bunch of busy work grading comes in from my students.

I'm gonna go ahead and post an inside-the-cover teaser tomorrow, over on The Godshead Tavern blog (and, while you're there, if you haven't read my fiction yet, have a look-see.  The stories are linked in the tabs up at the top). 

*giggle*

Go here.  The look on the cat's face was priceless. 

Papers graded.  Bits of laundry done. 

Now I need to find the energy to get to work in the kitchen. 

In the meantime, I'm gonna be productive, and see if I can't get the current revision of Pendragon done in rough draft so I can start typing.

Criminal masterminds

19.  Never, ever make a crack about the age of the victim you just robbed.  That helpless woman who quietly handed over the money you demanded will pull a gun out of nowhere and castrate your stupid ass.





(Forgot to say it earlier, but I found the video at Wirecutter's place.)

Heh.

Somehow, I think Vladimir Putin doesn't mind the Femen protests--actually, he said he liked the most recent, topless protests.  Even if he didn't, I don't think he could identify the girls protesting in a lineup: "I didn’t make out whether they were blondes, chestnut-haired or brunettes."

But yeah--like any red blooded male (and no one can deny that he, unlike King Putt, is definitely a red blooded male), he does like boobies.  Don't believe me?  Look at the expression:

Grading...grading...

I have nine more papers to grade from the week before last--then I have last week's busy work.  Then I'll be done, and can play catch-up with housework.

Laundry first, since the washer's been fixed again.  It's a thirty year old Maytag, and is still working and working well.  The leak was from the bleach dispenser hose giving way, and that's now been fixed. 

Next...the kitchen.

And then, this weekend?  Yay!  More grading! 

Yeesh. Creepy. And no wonder.

Nancy Pelosi and her allies in gun grabbing have a damn good reason to want to:

They're all fucking nuts.  If they get a loaded gun in their hands, they're going to go on a shooting spree.  And they think that every other person in the country is just like them.

Want an illustration of that?  Compare the eyes.

We already don't let crazy people buy guns.  How about we pass a law that keeps crazy people from being put in a position where they can make/interpret/enforce the laws?

Have I mentioned lately...

...that I hate, HATE, grading papers with a bloody purple passion?

I'm awful.

Just saw a picture of a kid dressed up with his date for prom.  First thing through my mind was this:

Two things down...

I got the dishes done this morning--not an easy thing when you have no idea where to put the clean ones.  I finished a tiny bit of my grading.  And I got the imp's toys all picked up--even though ten minutes later, every fucking toy I'd picked up was back scattered across the room.

I still need to finish grading papers (hard, when I can barely bring myself to start), my students' busy work/group project reports for the week, and get the living room cleaned up.  Again. 

Odysseus got the yard mowed.  We still need to get a lot of stuff done in the back yard, but it's probably going to have to wait until later in the summer.  The concrete that the fence post in one corner of the yard is only about two inches thick--and the post isn't buried any deeper than that.  I can literally pick up the whole thing.  All it's doing is serving as a reminder.

But, right now, the kitchen is enough to deal with.  I'll be finishing unloading the last of the crap out of the cabinets tomorrow, and probably starting the tear out on Monday.

And if it's too much of a pain, I will be calling around to see about reliable, quality handy-men to come do it for me.  I do, at least, have a good line on a plumber for the dishwasher. 

I am so looking forward to that being over and done with.

Random ramblings

The kids spent two hours outside yesterday afternoon.  Which meant that I spent two hours outside yesterday afternoon, and got absolutely nothing done except washing the dog's bedding--and discovering that the washer has sprung a leak.  And it's not in the hoses.  I checked.

I also found out yesterday that the neighbor doesn't like the dog.  Complains about her barking incessantly--which she doesn't, just when kids use our driveway as a pass through between the alley and our street.  And considering that her bedroom is at the street end of her house on the other side from our yard...yeah.  I'm thinking she's just miserable because her husband passed a few months ago, and is trying to spread it around. 

I hate to say it, but it's not gonna work.  The dog is the kids' dog, and she's not going anywhere.  And I don't care enough about the neighbor to have had more than a "Huh.  Sucks to be you," moment.

The imp has a knitted cord I made a year or so ago as a cat toy, cat fishing.  I'm not sure who's enjoying it more, him or the cats. 

I still have a metric shit ton of grading.  And I've got half a dozen questions about the presentation that I don't know how to answer other than "do your best to figure it out on your own because I don't know, and I don't give half a tinker's damn."

Still working on Pendragon.  I've got about twenty pages left to edit and add more material to.  I can't say how much longer it's going to be, except for being certain that it won't be published this month. 

Hey, at least that gives me a bit longer to find some good cover art.  Because I don't think my friend who did Survivors and The Godshead can do something that will work for that world.

Still giggling

I just witnessed a cat prank.  Our little black cat, Shadow, looked up at me while I was coming through the kitchen, stood up, stretched, then went fuzzy and took off like something was after her. 

Ran right over our bigger black and white cat, Cricket.  Cricket, of course flails about panicking, turns even fuzzier than Shadow had, and took off to hide behind the television. 

Shadow, in the meantime, took a sharp ninety degree turn and hopped up on the couch and plopped down like nothing had ever been wrong in the first place (which it hadn't), and watched Cricket cower with her head cocked so far to the left that her ears were pointing sideways.

I swear, if Shadow could laugh, she'd have been pointing and laughing at Cricket for falling for that.

FFOT: baby rapers who beg clemency

I am going to get a little colorful with responding to this.  Fair warning: my response will be beneath the break.

A man in Ohio raped a six month old girl to take revenge on her mother for refusing to sleep with him (don't know if that was a one-time deal or constant, but it's still not an acceptable response).  The baby sustained injuries during the attack that killed her.  Pervo-boy goes to death row.  Now, he's requesting clemency.

Yet another reason why abortion clinics should be illegal.

Abortion should never be contemplated except for when the pregnancy is killing either baby or mother, painfully.  And even then, it should never be done unless it's at an actual hospital with real professionals.  Because, apparently, making it legal to decide "Hmm...I didn't mean to get pregnant when I didn't bother with a contraceptive...guess I'll go get an abortion," didn't make it any different from the old back alley clinics in safety or compassion.  Or competence. 

I'm glad they screwed up in the case of the Knight family.  I'm glad that the pregnancy wasn't fatal for the mama, and I'm glad they have their miracle. 

But her story was horrifying, from being pressured by her doctor to get the abortion to the conditions at the clinic, to the procedure, to finding out that she was still pregnant, despite having had something done. 

(There are pictures of the baby in the linked news story, and she's precious.)

Disgusting.

I keep thinking that racism is endemic only in that minorities hate themselves and others.  I keep thinking that schools and churches and things like that aren't racist--that charges of racism are attempts to deflect attention and responsibility for personal failings.

Apparently, I was wrong.  And this is disgusting.

Speaking of coffee...

I have one of these.
I love it.  The features--especially the one that grinds the beans and dumps them into the filter--are awesome.

Yeah, that's right.  It's one of the grind and brew coffeemakers.

It has a programmable timer.  Load the beans, put in the water and filter, and set the timer.  It can be ready before your alarm goes off.

It comes with a permanent filter basket.  If you want, you don't ever have to pay for paper filters again.

It uses a charcoal water filter in the reservoir.  Believe me, it makes the coffee a lot better, and there's no need to pay extra for spring water.

It's got a grind-off button for use with pre-ground coffee (like store bought decaf--which I do buy and use, since you can now purchase Gevalia coffee at Walmart).

It has a very soft alarm that beeps five times when the coffee is done, and twice when the pot turns itself off.

However, it does have its flaws.

First, you can replace your alarm clock with the programmable timer, especially in a smaller residence: the grinder sounds like a race car taking off, at about the same decibel range.  Scared the crap out of the kids, at first, and still terrifies the dog.

Second, the way it's built, the steam from the coffee making drifts up into the grinder hopper and turns any residue into sludge.  Yes, you can pull the hopper to clean and/or fill it, but it's a pain to clean, and it has to be totally dry before you can put new beans in to brew more coffee.  Otherwise, the mesh that keeps the beans from being dumped into the filter clogs, and so does the spout.

Third, the permanent filter basket, while creating a better pot of coffee than paper filters, does tend to not catch all of the grounds.  Some of the ground coffee is fine enough to be washed right through the mesh and into the pot, creating a fine sludge at the bottom. 

Overall, though, the features outweigh the flaws.  I've had it for a bit over a year, now, and love it even when I've forgotten to clean it up and set it up the night before.

Need more coffee.

Need to clean up the coffee maker, and make more coffee.

Until then, I am sleepwalking, and sleep-typing.

Gah. People.

I want to tell a bit of a story, basically what I know of a friend's backstory.

See, her mother got pregnant with her at seventeen at a drive-in theater (which is why I probably won't let my kids go on dates to our local one when they're old enough).  The biological father disappeared, and her mother eventually got married to someone else.

I met my friend in '98, just before I started college.  Not too long before she got married to another who also quickly became a friend.  We were close at college, but drifted apart afterwards.  We reconnected, and it seemed like no time had passed once I moved back to the area after I got my MA degree, about three or four years later. 

I found out that, during the time we'd been apart, her mother and step-father had divorced (after her step-father announced he was gay and moved his boyfriend in--which really messed up her little brother), and her biological father came back into the picture. 

That man is a whining, backstabbing, abusive cunt of the first degree.

My friend's marriage was never the strongest.  Instead of being supportive and trying to help, her male genetic donor (hereafter mgd) called her husband gay for liking his ex-father-in-law better.  Called him trash.  Pressured my friend to divorce him.  Pulled her mom into the middle of things, manipulated his daughter, his wife, and basically the entire situation to try to shift fault from himself to anybody or anything else.

He's rude, abusive, and dismissive toward all attempts to come to any kind of truce--he goes so far as to hang up on his daughter if she has the gall to call her own mother on her mother's home phone.

My friend has since divorced, remarried, and had a beautiful baby boy.  Babies take a lot of work, a lot of time, and a lot of energy both mental and physical. So, when my friend forgot to call for her mother's birthday or anniversary (not real clear on which), he left her a nasty message on her Facebook wall. 

I have known my friend much longer than he has--at least four years longer.  I know damn well she is not manipulative and backstabbing, as he's called her.  Nope, I'm pretty sure that's nothing more than projection. 

So, of course, being the nosy bitch I am (his words), I jumped on him with both feet to defend her--mentioned his lack of presence during her formative years (which he blamed on his father wanting to marry her mother), and pointed out what a hero he was for verbally attacking my friend in a public forum...at which point, he left me a nasty response with a bit of profanity, then deleted the whole posting, rather than let anybody else jump in to defend her. 

Nice, huh?

Well, today, he left me a long message via Facebook about how wrong I was about the whole situation, how he's the victim, and my friend is the lying backstabbing horror. 

Uh-huh.  Yup.  He reminds me of my mgd. 

  

And, for the record, I will jump in and defend any of my friends facing verbal attack by an asshole.  Unless it's a joke between friends. 

frustrating.

We've been dealing with intermittent internet and phone outages and slow-downs for the past couple of days.  Today was worse than yesterday.  Everything seems to be fine, now, but the worst was while the kids were both down for their naps--prime grading time.

So, yeah.  I'm several hours behind.

On the upside I got a bit more revising done.

Criminal masterminds...

17.  When running away, always make sure your escape route is cleared.  Not clear, cleared.  Or you will end up running your stupid ass into a glass door.*

18.  Never, ever climb in through a second story window over a jewelry store without first making sure that the owner doesn't live upstairs from his merchandise.  You'll scare the shit out of his teenagers and he will shoot your stupid ass before you can get away.

*Via 45er at Barrel Smoke

ANTS???

I mean seriously--what the fuck???!!!!  We've had sleet and freezing rain all day yesterday, and I go in to change the pixie's morning diaper, and she's got ants all over her floor?

What the fuck is with Nature right now???

I drink my whiskey straight, y'all.

At most, I might add ice or water. 

Today, I bought a bottle of Wild Turkey American Honey (which I discovered recently that I like best in my toddy recipe).  It came with a little cardboard box slung around its neck, holding a teeny little bottle of what it called "flavor booster"--in caramel.  It's about the size of a Tobasco sauce bottle that comes with the MREs. 

I saw that, and I thought about a former student of mine.  Since he's now either graduated or ineligible to play sports anymore, I can tell you a little bit about him.  Tall, cute, funny, irreverent--a momma's boy, but also a stereotypical drunken frat boy.  Posted pictures of himself on his social media page, and every picture had him holding a red Solo cup of beer. 

And then, one morning after class, he told me that there was going to be another party, and that I should come.  I reminded him that I was married, and he said "With as cool as you are, you should bring your husband, too--I bet he'd be awesome."

Yes, he is, but neither Odysseus nor I are particularly  into drunken house parties.  Drunken redneck  bonfire parties, on the other hand...but then again, the booze is better. 

I thanked him for the thought, but then told him that I absolutely didn't care for beer.  At all.  Neither taste nor smell--especially not the smell, and especially not the cheap stuff.  His face fell, and he says, "Aw, that's too bad.  I didn't know you didn't drink."

I smiled.  "No.  I don't drink beer.  Bourbon, Scotch, or Irish whiskey, by preference, and neat.  Or with a very little bit of water or ice." 

His jaw dropped.  "Wow, I don't know anybody that drinks the hard stuff!"

Well, he wandered off after that (and after ogling my boobs a bit more).  He was back on Monday, with very dark, mirrored sunglasses, and kind of green.  Still.  Despite the party having been on Friday night.  "Mrs. H, you are way more of a man than I am, no offense.  I tried bourbon.  I tried it by itself, in juice, and in Coke.  I can't drink it.  It's too harsh.  It's way too much for me to handle.  You are bad ass.  I'm still hung over, and I quit drinking Saturday morning."

So, when I saw that teeny-tiny bottle of hard alcohol flavor hider slung onto a bottle of 71 proof honey whiskey, I thought of him, and his complete inability to handle anything that was over about 11% alcohol by volume. 

Because if your honey whiskey's still too strong for you to drink without the extra flavor hider...maybe you need to stick to beer and wine coolers. 

Or Kool-Aid.

Wow. I bet I can get around that.

Online charter schools are NOT homeschooling your children.  A charter school is a public school, no matter if it's a brick and mortar location or a set of websites, video conferences and discussion boards gone through at your child's speeds, from your living room.  Do not assume that a charter school is significantly better than a good, local school district.  It often won't be.  And is not homeschooling, even if it's out of your home. 

If you want your kid to learn, think about your own education.  What did you learn, and when did you learn it?  What do you think your kid needs to know?  And do you know of a private school that can and will provide it, or do you need to make the sacrifices necessary to provide your child(ren) with what they need to succeed?

By kindergarten, I knew my alphabet, what a vowel was, what a consonant was, the names of colors and shapes, how to count to twenty, and how to read.  By first grade, I was adding and subtracting single digits, and learning to compose short paragraphs.  In second grade, I learned to add and subtract double digit numbers, to write longer paragraphs, and to write in cursive.  In third grade, I learned how to string paragraphs together, started learning history and geography, and learned how to multiply and divide.  Fourth grade was essays, state history and beginning government, and fractions/decimals.  Natural science was started.  Fifth grade, we did more complex maths, and intro to pre-algebra, more natural science (and the scientific method), more complex literature, and began synthesizing information in essays.  Sixth grade was more (but more complex) of the same--with added anti-drug propaganda.  Seventh we went heavy into world history, and how Western civilization was shaped by its precursors.  Eighth we went into U.S. History.  Both were heavy into pre-algebra, and we started physical science.

High school was easy.  More of the same, but with added, optional writing classes, Chemistry, Biology, science labs--nothing really hard...which struck me at the time as something a little strange.  I guess the dumbing down was already accelerating, even then.

I graduated in 1997.  Only fifteen years ago.  And it was noticeable then, to a teen that usually had her nose stuck in a book, and was oblivious to the world around her.

I do not and will not trust a curriculum designed by government--nor do I trust dumbed down standards.  I can and will hold my children to the same standards I used. 

I will not submit my kids to leftist propaganda, nor to data mining that destroys all possibility of privacy.  I will not submit my kids to a curriculum that will have them functionally illiterate, innumerate, and thoroughly ignorant of history. 

I will not permit the government to turn my children into serfs and slaves.

How about y'all?

Urgh...

Dear Mother Nature,

Today's date is April 2.  Not March 2.  Not February 2.  April.  It's more than a week after the Spring Equinox. 

Why are we having wintery mix today?

Love,

HH

Carrying a gun might be easier, people.

Courthouse employees in Texas are terrified that they'll be targeted for murder after a District Attorney and his wife were murdered, execution style, recently.  So, they're begging for police escorts and protection.

Y'know, there've been numerous court cases that set the precedent that the police are not obligated to provide safety for an individual, not required to protect those to whom they are sworn.  I think the whole police escort thing is going to further demonstrate that--they're going to get their escort, but when the bullets start flying, those officers are going to be taking cover, away from the targets.

It's always best to depend on yourself.  No one else is as motivated to ensure your safety.

Buy a gun.  A cop is too heavy, and will be less reliable when the fit hits the shan.

I have an idea...

Let all the gun-grabbers who live in free states congregate in a small state...like Connecticut, who's just passed wet-dream anti-gun laws.

Then we build a fence around it.  People can move to the state, but people living there have to take a mental health test consisting of one question before they can move out.  The question shall be: "Do you want to pass common sense gun control laws wherever you live?"

If the answer is no, they can leave the state.  If the answer is yes...well...have you seen what happens on Monty Python and the Holy Grail bridge of death scene when someone answers the three questions wrong?

Oh, ouch.

I woke up this morning feeling like somebody had punched me right between the eyes--nasty sinus headache.  When Odysseus gets up in a hour and a half, I'm taking an anti-histamine*, and going back to bed.

I just hope it doesn't turn into another migraine before then.

*Don't tell me I just need to take Sudafed.  I can't take the stuff.  One time in three, I have a bad reaction to it.

I am so looking forward to the end of the first week of May...

That's when the last bit of this horribly designed class is over.  I'm also looking forward to the Fall semester, and will be spending most of my office hours in the coffee shop in the basement of the library, rather than the shared adjunct office.

I don't want to meet the stupid bint that designed the course.  So, I'll do my best within reason to avoid her.  I hope it works, and that I don't meet her, but I certainly won't plan that meeting.

Family

As I've mentioned a couple of times before, joining Facebook has had a few advantages.  For instance, I've made contact with some family members I hadn't spoken with in a very long time.

Like my older half sister. 

I don't know if my male genetic donor abused her like he did us, but I suspect so.  I suspect that she went the opposite way I did: instead of admitting it and making sure nobody could successfully shut me up, she's denied it, possibly even to herself. 

No matter--she's still my sister.  She's made more of herself than my younger sister.  She's been through more, too: ten years on meth, and now, three years clean.  I couldn't be prouder of her.

I'm actually really glad that I've gotten back in contact with her, now--her fiance managed to quit drinking, but that changed him into a completely different person, one who's broken the engagement.  And now, that means my sister's life is going through another complete upheaval, since she's trying to come back home (lives in a different bedroom community than the one I do, but in the same metropolitan area).

I'm really glad, because that means I can be here for her, when she needs a break from her mom. 

And it doesn't hurt that the pixie took an instant liking to her when she visited earlier this afternoon (she cried for ten minutes when her new auntie had to leave to go back to where she's currently living and working). 

Heh. So true.

Not looking forward to...

...grading. 

Nor am I looking forward to the inevitable emails whining that the group work isn't working, because nobody is responding to emails.  (I've been telling them to just do the work on their own if nobody is willing to work with them, mostly because I refuse to let someone harm someone else's grade through their own laziness.)  I hate group work, and wouldn't have assigned that particular project (a group Power Point presentation) in a composition class anyway. 

I am also not looking forward to the panic that I am sure will ensue when the students realize that they have spent ten weeks on a completely worthless series of worksheets, and the last three assignments (a memo about the project, the presentation, and a ten page research paper) are all due within the last five weeks.  I DID NOT DESIGN THIS CLASS, but I will be taking the brunt of the complaints and the bad teacher evaluations that the course designer deserves. 

I really wish I could get my writing career off the ground enough to replace my income, so that I could quit and write full-time. 

Thanks and welcome

I have been remiss--I missed a new follower who clicked the button who knows how long ago. 

Bienvenidos a Jose Ramon Santana Vasquez, who happens to be an educator and writer in Spain.  I'm sorry I missed seeing you for God only knows how long.  I'd offer cookies, but my kitchen is sort of out of commission for the time being.  The best I can offer is coffee.

Also, thanks and welcome to Miss K, from over at MissK's World.  I'd offer to let you pick what you wanted to shoot out of our collection, but with the current ammo shortage, I'm kind of hoarding what we've got.  I can, however, offer a cup of coffee.

Aww...

I just dropped a kiss on top of my pixie's head as I passed, and she looks up and says, "I love you, Mama."