25 June 2003

[put a cigarette out on my soul]

I miss Susan and Jody. That's all. And, I need someone to donate an air-conditioner to my poor, lonely, empty back bedroom right window. Really.

22 June 2003

[Lesson Learned: The Pricier the Wine, the Pricier the Punch]

Sean and I played dress up and attended Jody's wedding. The service, which was at the Museum Center, was very brief and secular -- despite the officiant's association with the Southern Baptist Church (I found it all very refreshing that a religious man would oversee an atheist wedding). Despite the large quantity of alcohol consumed, the ceremony and reception were quite indelible. We shall see, however, when the pictures are developed and posted on the wedding website, whether or not I behaved. Each table was given disposable cameras for our amusement and to supply the wedded couple with blissful memories. Susan (another high school friend), Sean, and I buzzed around taking pictures, cute and absurd, around the center and outside by the fountain. (Unfortunately, we did not have red Jello powder to fill the exhibits' faux rivers and lakes to test the theory that the water does not circulate at night {oops, high school fantasy regression -- long story}). I drank a lot of merlot, good merlot. My teeth, at the end of the night, were purple-red. And though I awoke around seven am with a mild headache, my hangover hasn't been too tedious. Had I not be accosted by my parents' neighbors (I am collecting the newspaper while they are out of town), who had concerns over the house's alarm going off throughout the night, my feelings of ick would have subsided much more quickly. I hate being confronted by people I don't know. Being still slightly tipsy made me all the more irritated by the situation: Like it's my fault.

18 June 2003

[Cheap Merlot and a Hole in the Wall]

The holes in my living-room and bathroom walls were plastered this morning. So now, I have a draining sink and bathtub and rooms sans basement insect portal. I am not pleased, nor impressed. My landlord woke me up, knocking at my kitchen door, "plasterer" by his side. I raced to dress and had to stop the door with my barefoot as I pulled up my jeans. What a rude-ass, opening my door, knowing I'm home. Why he couldn't wait five fucking minutes before using his master key is beyond me. A phone call would have been nice. And appropriate. Not everyone is awake and decent at the ass-crack of dawn. Okay, so it was eight am, which isn't early at all in the "real" world. But this is my summer. And after waking up at five am to tend to the needs of "college" students USA, I think I deserve a little "sleep 'till nine quality time." Anyway, the drywall needs another coat of plaster, and paint, of course. So, I'm sure I'll be raped of my morning slumber sometime next week. Mental note: wear a black tank-top to bed, or at least keep one nearby. Allowing my landlord and some stranger the chance to espy my 6g.nipple rings through a gauzy white wife-beater: generally, not on the daily agenda.

8 June 2003

[Just like honey]

I'm not dead. Just busy. Also, there is a hole in my living room and in my bathroom through which plumbers replaced pipes and whatnot. My bathroom sink is draining for the first time in three years. God save the queen.

2 June 2003

[Will They be Anxious to Hear from Me? Partial Response to a Ray's Place Survey]

I am very disappointed with the students here. Not all of them, as many are very hard working individuals who not only belong in college but also are appropriately taking advantage of the access college and the opportunities it provides. However, there are those who fall through the cracks -- who have absolutely no reason to be here. They are disrespectful and immature. But at the same time, they expect instructors to only churn out kindness and tolerance. This place, unfortunately, is like -- to many students -- "13th grade." They get government monies to spend -- yet another year -- in high school, doing high school work. I have had problems with students treating me like absolute shit, running their mouths as if it makes them the "cool" kids, deemed tough by their equally inept peer group members.In all honesty, I don't care. Why? Because I don't get paid nearly enough to care. Why should I take time out of my other job to meet with department heads and deans and other "higher" individuals to state my concerns and report students? And, more importantly, why should I warn students about their problematic behavior? If I hear one more college student -- who claims to be "workin' so hard to get an education" and to be an adult -- threaten to "get her momma on me," I will be sick. I will smile and nod and give a grade. What a joke. And while I realize that Raymond Walters College caters to people who have been dealt a difficult life, I refuse to hear the excuses other faculty give me, when I mention that students at Raymond Walters don't "act" like "real" college students. Screw that. Growing up disadvantaged does not allow you to be completely bereft of respect. Sure, I'm a seemingly well-to-do white bitch, but I worked hard for that title. I worked hard throughout college and graduate school, holding multiple jobs to pay the bills and maintaining an "A" average. I still work three jobs to pay the bills, and I hardly get by. The government won't give me any money. Perhaps I should spit out a few kids. Growing up in a poor neighborhood, I saw many "disadvantaged" people rise to the top -- without government monies and without access colleges. The next time a student complains that "[I] don't know what it's like," I will explain that they better feel damn privileged to live in a country where ignorance is excused and those with no work ethic are given an opportunity to do something other than mop floors and flip burgers. I digress.