31 May 2003

[No contest: Popeye's by a Landslide]

Sean and I had "ghetto" night. After purchasing lawn chairs and a cooler, we headed to the Oakley Drive-in (stopping at Popeye's on Madison on 'da way), where we ate chicken, drank Red Dog, and saw Matrix, again, and Malibu's Most Wanted, which was SO unbelievably stupid. But hey, two movies for the price of one and the ability to (illegally) drink beer at the theatre equals a pretty damn good night. And, damn, Popeye's chicken is WAY better than KFC, any day. Werd.

29 May 2003

[Kompressor Does Not Dance]

Phlegm is pooey. Friday and Saturday, I had a scratchy throat, which eventually became goopy with mucus on Sunday. Living off hot tea, echinacea, vitamin C, and orange juice all weekend, I deemed myself "recovered" on Monday. Tuesday, I was plagued by an annoying, dry cough, which worsened while I was forced to sit in a cold conference room for a departmental meeting at Ray's Place. By Tuesday night, I could feel my sinuses bloating and my head clouding. Because the Robotussin CF at the Riddle Road Market was sans alcohol, I decided to supplement my two shots of cough syrup with, ah, five beers. That probably wasn't a good idea; if anything I slept very well. Yesterday was a blur, so much so that I don't remember why I decided to watch Jason X, a fine film . . . really. I feel like hell, but the neurotic side of me wants to wash dishes and take out the trash. Where's the NyQuil when I need it?

26 May 2003

[Call me the Deconstructionist]

I'm tired of babysitting "college" students. And, for this reason, I am sending a resume to a local private school, where, although I will have to deal with "money" and all its side-effects much like I did at M.U., I won't have to deal with students regarding me as some stuck up white bitch who never had to work a day in her life. "I'm so sorry you grew up in the ghetto, and that the ghetto didn't teach you common-fucking courtesy, and I'm sorry I don't cater to you like you're my only student (because the government gives you money). And I'm sorry that you have to 'get your momma on me' because I rolled my eyes at you when you blatantly cut me off in class; and stroll in late; and turn in assignments late; and acknowledge proudly that you 'didn't pay [me] no attention' (and you ask me to repeat the last ten minutes of material on my time. Did I mention that I'm sorry you snore so loudly that four students complained after class; and that I'm sorry I didn't care when your car wasn't working (chances are, you have a more reliable car than me); and that you pay good money to get an education (though, I doubt you pay a red cent out of your own pocket -- see: FAFSA)." Fuck access colleges. Fuck you too. I'm too good for you. And, yes, I am a stuck up white bitch. I earned that fucking title. What the fuck have you earned?

22 May 2003

[How's this for some flair?]

A student of mine stormed into class this morning and decided to tell me how much of an impatient, smart-ass, bitch I was in front of everyone. I found it very difficult to hold back the laughter, as the "examples" she used to "support" her "thesis," while they worked to show that I didn't put up with bullshit, proved, mainly, that she was a shit-for-brains. What killed me is that she claimed she would get her mom and the dean on me if, in so many words, she didn't get what she wanted (a decent grade, isn't that what it always is?). A twenty-year old community college freshman "getting" her mom "on me." I'm shaking. How high school is this fucking place? And why is it that "adults" who claim to know when someone (ie: me) is being "wrong" have no problem running to their mommies when they can't seem to get a paper in on time. The sad part is that she's an okay writer, who will probably earn a C+ or B- (she is creating her own hell). What's even sadder is that even if she were to earn a D for the term, I'd give her a higher grade, as I don't get paid nearly enough to waste my breath with the dean, let alone some woman who gave birth to a ghetto rat whose "tryin' to make somethin' of [her]self" by sucking government money and taking "college-level" courses at a remedial institution.

16 May 2003

[huge, grand-opening savings on every vehicle]

After a brutal Team Tech ass-whipping, I decided that I needed to drown my sorrows in alcohol. But, unfortunately for me, beer still quietly lingered in my system from the night before and was awakened by the two measly pints of Guinness that I drank before seeing The Matrix -- a movie I refuse to comment on until I see the final installment {I will say this, however, that while the special effects were swell and all, I wasn't impressed by the flick as a whole. If I were a "part-to-whole" type, I'd think otherwise}. Deciding to hit the sack extremely early last night -- about ten-thirty or so -- was probably wise, as I think I'm completely sober, except for a bit of a caffeine buzz. Wow. Clarity. I needed the shut-eye. I'm still not willing to talk about my situation at Ray's Place. Though, I'd like to do something really nasty to the holier-than-thou Xerox room that I'm apparently not allowed to use.

15 May 2003

[I always go soft]

Team Tech is unstoppable.

15 May 2003

[Immunized Guinea Pig Chainsmokers:]

I was unable to see Les Claypool last night. Poo.

13 May 2003

[Angry, Still]

I am very close to telling the kind folks at Raymond Walters College to shove it. And while I hate to exhibit egotism (especially when it comes to my "profession" as I am -- in the big scheme of things -- piss in the wind), I'm going to do it anyway: I am too good for that fucking sad-excuse of an educational facility.

12 May 2003

[When using this product, do not use more than directed]

Apparently, I'm a lightweight when it comes to easily-obtained over the counter pain and sinus medication. After taking just two puny Advil Cold & Sinus(*how does one pluralize this -- Sinii? Sinuses?), I buzzed productively for two point five hours; now, I can't find the motivation to complete a game of Free Cell. This is the seventh week of the quarter, and I've given my students an off-day this Thursday to catch up (sleep in). I'd like to see Les Claypool at Bogart's Wednesday night, but I'm pitifully broke, running from the billing departments at various lab and hospital facilities.

07 May 2003

[And how quickly does lunchmeat go bad? ]

I am pooped. Between grading papers -- some good, most average, several poor -- and thinking "yay, May is masturbation month" (thanks, Bob), I've had much on my mind and hands. Attempting to teach Freshmen literary theory has proved to be difficult task, though one of my student's prior familiarity with Nancy Armstrong's New Historicist essay, "The Occidental Alice," has made me proud. And that's where it ends. Unfortunately, I've been plagued with disinterest and lethargy over the past three weeks or so. I haven't turned on my desktop in days (I'm typing this from my laptop) to archive my journals or play another scrabble marathon. I've been falling asleep earlier than normal, my eyes barely making it through the ten-o'clock news through the week. My diet has consisted mostly of ice-cream (and Lactaid), diet soda, and the occasional salad and strong iced tea, when I'm feeling bloated. I'm tired. I can't even muster up the strength to chuckle at the latest celibacy campaign that's been violating valuable midday and nighttime commercial space. The joy of writing negative comments on my students' papers is gone, and that, my friend, says a lot. Enough about that crap. There have a been a few noteworthy events that demand to be recorded. Yesterday, while walking to Sudsy's, I was harassed by some ghetto-gangsta-wannabes, who -- after I refused to respond to their "hey red"s and "hey shorty"s -- proceeded to repeatedly call me bitch (one of them going as far to say, "Bitch, get over here, I just wanted to get my dick sucked"). Today, I witnessed a girl giving a guy head while he was driving a car -- in plain daylight, no less! People, this is "masturbation month," not "head in the car month" (jeesh, kids these days). Monday, a really hot guy flirted with me as I walked out of Starbucks with my overpriced soy latte: this is my favorite event of the week (plus, it provides fuel for this month's theme, ya know). Tsk Tsk.