Agraphia Attacks

Ah, yes, the infamous white blog rectangle. Just me, you, and white space. What a shame my mind is spinning like a top, and I feel as dumb as a piece of wood (no comment from the peanut gallery please). Suitcase to pack, bills to pay, and I'm pretty sure that the toilet needs a good scrub. And what do I do? Sit typing absolute nothingness to a nonexistent reader. Hmmm? I better go sit on the toilet while packing my suitcase and paying my bills. Yes, much better use of my time. Adios muchachos!

Bruce and the Neanderthal Man

He sang for Kerry.They followed Bush. Whatever the case, just keep my future safe to make my own choice. 

I.M.O Kelsey November 5, 2004  

Fat Arnold Response

Remember Fat Arnold from the seventies and his deep response to any given topic? Well, in my best Fat Arnold imitation (which really isn't good as I don't have a deep voice nor am I African-American, so use your imagination), I bellow a throaty, "Hey, Hey, Hey," from the depths of my soul, "America has spoken." Cheers to four more years and may they be prosperous, safe, and make our country proud.

Is it? Can it be Marilyn? Nah, it's just K.T. happy-halloweening-around. A student asked, "So, is she your role model?" Before I could even answer, a quick student replied, "I sure hope not." Happy Halloween! Oh, by the way, Platinum Blondes do have more fun! 

Baldy No Brains

The bell ending fourth period buzzed, and in one quick sweep I grabbed my keys and coffee and sped to the faculty room. I needed the coolness of the just rained air on my face, to breathe quietly with no students mentally pulling on my last nerve, and yes, I needed to pee. It had been a rat race of a Tuesday, and I'd had my full of it all. I stormed into the faculty room to warm up my cold pizza in the microwave while I sped to the "facility" (multi-tasking at its best), when I was stopped by a colleague's rant regarding the "missing" weapons. " Oh, they were probably never even there in the first place. There never were any weapons in Iraq." What? Huh? Yeah right! You think I could have passed up this opportunity, even if it meant pissing right on the indoor/outdoor carpet of the staff room? Absolutely not. So there I was, legs crossed, eyes crossed in disbelief of such lunacy, and my inner frustration ready to explode. So I purged myself, vocally, with conviction, with smarts, and with no restraint. "In January of 2003, the I.A.E.A. inspected...blah blah...and THEN...So...and of course...according to the United Nations...grrr!" Yeah, you liberals are all the same. You're all in bed with the U.N., believe the New York Times is the gospel, and are so anti-Bush you'd vote Mr. Magoo in (okay, so I didn't say the latter, but I sure as hell thought it). And with a "Do your homework next time," I stomped off. Boy, Baldy No Brains, did that feel good.

They Should Have Drowned Him!

They should have drowned him! After a home invasion, a brutal attack and rape,all in front of three-old innocence, the bastard flees to the fields. Daybreak arrives and the attacker is found in the rice patties partially submerged in the water, and then treated for hypothermia. Treated? Hmm? Let's write a new headline: SOB Discovered Drowned in Durham After Brutal Rape. Yes, I like the sound of that much more. To read the article: Chico ER

Problems...Problems....

Funny how there doesn't seem to be many when warm,lazy days are just around the corner! Election? What election? Who cares?

El Baracho! Playas, Palapas, Pacificos y Pescado para el cena! 

Playas, Palapas, y Pacificos...eso es el viente diciembre para la familia Thomas! 

Kerry Screws Up

Whether you're sporting an elephant or a donkey on your hooded sweatshirt, you must admit that Kerry's reference to Cheney's daughter ranks at the top of the screw-up list. Sure, ole Bush may have difficulties with his stance, prefering to hunch over like a scoliosis victim, and with his facial expressions, staring off into space for endless awkward moments while my knuckles turn white as I'm gripping the edge of the couch praying that he hasn't forgotten how to speak. But Kerry using Dick's lesbian daughter to play up his platform on same sex marriage dropped my jaw. Seriously, I wasn't even able to hear what he said. I agree with an e-mail sent in to FOX news yesterday: "How would Edwards/Kerry like it if Bush/Cheney made reference to obesity in America and used Kerry's wife as the basis for the discussion." Enough said. It's an outrage, and we all know it.

Eenie meenie miney moe...

"And you're an English teacher?" I get so sick and tired of that question.Do people really believe that because I love working with students in finding personal connections within literature, and enjoy spreading a love for the written word, I must sound like a walking/talking Webster every minute of my 25 hour day. Please give me a break. Don't expect philosophical words and quotations from me. I could surprise you, and myself, from time to time, but just don't expect it. And if you ask me a question worthy of a Jeopardy's Look into Literature column, please make it multiple choice: eenie meenie miney moe...

Yup. I'm Republican. Gotta Problem Widit?

I've come to the conclusion that many Kerry lovers lack respect for opposite ideas. I'm from a parents who expected me to have my own opinions, my own convictions, my own beliefs, but to keep them to myself unless I was asked to share them. For instance, at my workplace, I am verbally abused, attacked, and ridiculed. My democrat co-workers claim that their banter is "all in good fun" and "no harm intended." They should notice that I don't throw Kerry faux-pas in their democratic faces. I come to work, to work. I want my coffee and Raspberry-chocolate creamer in peace. And so what? Yes, I'm a God fearing woman, one that believes in the flag, in the Pledge of Allegiance, a woman whose hairs stand on end when listening to the Star Spangled Banner at her son's football game, one who allows her man to sleep with a gun nearby to protect her family, a mother who believes in the rights of an unborn child, and a woman who believes that hard work merits a paycheck more than being supported by the state. Yup. I'm Republican. Gotta problem widit?

The Debates: Do I dare watch?

Actually, I can't wait. I feel like a WWF fanatic anticipating the World Championships. Not only will I be entertained by the big haired, lofty speaking Kerry, "ah...would that it were, would that it were," but finally he'll be contained to an hour so that perhaps, just maybe, the American people can know what he does stand for. Of course, an hour is a long time, who knows how many times he'll change his position within this time frame. Even more entertaining will be the Cheney/Edwards debate. Although, I feel rather guilty for even being a spectator. Do I even dare watch as it will be a gruesome debate. But I'm just too intrigued. Cheney, I'm sure, is looking forward to this spectacle, and Edwards, well he must be sleepless at night (if he isn't, he ought to be).

Stop the World...I got to Pee!

Wow. How busy can a life be? I always hear the expression: Stop and smell the roses. Well, my roses aren't blooming, aphids have attacked, the leaves are curling, and I'm sure that one of my favorites has developed a terminal mildew. I suppose, if I was a pessimist, I could use this as a metaphor for the negativity in life, but I'm not, so I won't. Yes, it's true, my roses aren't blooming, but there are a few with buds which promises some color in days ahead. Those damn crawling pests have indeed taken over, but not for long, as the visiting bees have found a feast. I admit that I allowed the leaves to curl, but a good Sunday soak should solve this dilemma. Last, but not least, the mildew: sometimes I just have to let go and let nature take it's course. So, although I have been busy in a never ending spin this week, unable to stop to even pee, my bloomless roses have indeed taught me to stop and appreciate the promises of my days ahead...Even if I can't smell 'em today, I will tomorrow!

So You Wanna be a teacher?

Did you know that 25% of California new teachers leave the profession? Frankly, I'm surprised it isn't more. I know what you're thinking: the damn disrespectful youth are driving 'em out of the career by the truck load. Nope. Not a chance. I teach fourteen-year-olds through eighteen. I love them all, but for different reasons. The frosh possess an innocence (yes, it still does exist) and excitement for learning. Sure, they have their bad days (don't we all), but they have a sparkle in their eye still, and they still love my stupid jokes. The older ones, more wiser, favor a dryer sense of humor, and perhaps one leaning toward sarcasm (their old age has made them more cynical, I suppose). But they still make me laugh. They challenge me, make me a better teacher, insist that I be a human. I wouldn't trade them in, I know that they are smart when they want to be, I give them slack when they deserve it, and support when they need it. So do you want to be a teacher? It takes more than a love of the written word. More than fascination with the unknown. It's beyond the most difficult formula. It's about loving what you do. Loving kids. Enjoying their successes. Sharing in their dismay. Being able to admit when you are wrong. Knowing that what you do makes a difference. Confident in yourself that making an enemy out of love is okay. So you wanna be a teacher? I can tell by the first answer from your mouth, in the way you look at my class, from the questions that are asked, to your intrigue of the unknown teen. Nah...you don't belong in my world, but join the 25%...and I'm glad that you're there.

I'll be needing Rogaine sooner than later

Yup. No doubt about it. You'll find me in the Rite-Aid checkout with my box of Rogaine. And this will happen sooner than later. Confirmed. That's it. "Mom, did you wash those shorts I wore the other day?" (Uh, yeah, I think so, perhaps, it's probable, and maybe not but I'm sure not going to get up at 3:30 instead of 4:30 to wash 'em as I'm SURE you do have another pair of shorts) and with this statement I leave a clump of my highlighted hair on the back of the couch . At 6:20 in the morning, I hear a shout, "Hey, Mom, did you sign those papers for me that were in my backpack?" (Uh, yeah, maybe, I'm sure I signed something, it's possible, and what am I supposed to do? Wade through your backpack, dig under your lunchbox, and pull out every wad of paper and sign the bottom of them JUST IN CASE? What happened to presenting them to me neatly the night before it's due?) and with that fifteen of my favorite hairs fall on my newly mopped kitchen floor (yeah, right, in whose lifetime?). "Mom!" (Oh, my GOD, WHAT now?) "I told you I only like wheat bread!" (Okay, so after my twelve hour day I'll hurry home and make some specially for you because I know that the wheat flavor compliments the P and J so much better than that offered by the Wonder...save me please). Oh, yeah, if my hairs aren't standing at their ends, they are definitely falling out and slowly clogging up my shower drains (but that's another blog).

Eff U

As the only female in a house of testosterone, I feel a need to wear pink as often as possible. In fact, today, I wore pink. My husband even noticed, "I like that sweater," he muttered between swigs of afterwork Pale Ales. Hmmm...a sweater in August? It really was a top, but nonetheless, I think it must of been the pink that did the man in. But I think that the testosterone impacts my reactions at times. For instance, I'm noticing that I am becoming all too comfortable with verbal reactions that would be more suited of a man. Example? A couple of days ago I was traveling down to Paradise, on my way to church, and crossing the Paradise Lake bridge. I wasn't wearing pink. A car up ahead in the oncoming traffic decided to pass while crossing the bridge...not bright...just downright dangerous. Luckily he was far from me, but his lack of concern for other drivers just...just..well, pissed me off. As he passed me I stuck my hand out of the sunroof, flipped him off, rolled down my window and screamed "Dickhead". I couldn't believe myself. I'm usually so calm in the car. (I just learned how to honk my horn.) And, it was Sunday right before church service. Since I felt like quite the sinner, my oldest son put it all into perspective for me by saying, "Don't worry mom. He deserved it. Actually, probably worse." My youngest son, however, worries me...he is still bewildered how I could throw my fingers into the perfect flip-off so quickly. I think he's practicing. So, I wonder, do they make an testosterone shield for mothers? Because if this keeps up, I better buy a lot more pink.

Purple Knickers vs. White Hanes

I come from tea-times and trifles

beans on toast and fried egg sandwiches

suet and yorkshire pudds,

lemon curds and toad-in-the-holes

battling with conkers on the playground

baring purple knickers under navy tunics

too short for netball

wrong gender for cricket

I'm from war stories and ragtime

parachutes and grand pianos

too young to comprehend death

hands drowning in those of Fats Waller

My Fair Lady and Mary Poppins

more my interest than a Bridge Too Far

Accents and idioms

Potatoes, Tomahtoes

and Bob's your flippin' uncle

once just confusion

brings intrigue to my present

Where I'm from molded me

filled me

once just a part

now is me

I got gas

NO, stupid...not needin' the Beano, thank you. I mean, I got $10 worth of gas at the 76 station this morning. Yeah, just like many mornings, only today was different. My youngest son is partaking in a week long writing festival (not a willing volunteer mind you, but that is another story...) down at Chico State. This constitutes a 40 minute drive down the hill, another back up the hill, and then later another 40 minutes down the hill, and later still another 40 up again. And I wasn't done. Football practice 25 minutes away brought further travel up and down the damn hill. As I pulled into my driveway at 8:30 tonight, my 'low gas' indicator blazed its auburn warning. Yup! I already need gas again...$10 sure doesn't go many times up the hill anymore, but it WILL buy ONE pound of steak...

I met Betty today...

Journal entry: 7/21/04
Morehead, KY
9:30 a.m.
I met Betty Hall, the proud proprietor of the Treasure Vault in Morehead, Kentucky, today. She celebrates her one year anniversary as owner of an antique store where "people come from all over, even as far as Areezona, and a few from Califor-neye-ay", she proudly exclaims with her southern twang.  So, I bought a kitchen witch. It's pretty ugly. Like I needed one, wanted one, or even have room to hang one.  It's far from an antique.  Brand-spankin' new, complete with tag, a dollar store find, and I bought it for $2.99 because I had to.  I felt as though I would've insulted this warm-hearted woman, full of southern hospitality, and an owner of a small business--a tough venture for any brave soul nowadays.  For this small token, I was awarded, no correction, blessed with a gift: future contact and recipe exchanges beginning with the infamous Betty Hall Peach cobbler and promises for banana bread down-home style and any jam/jelly receipe that I desire.  All I have to do is report back to Mrs. Hall after trying her peach cobbler, and the correspondence will commence.  This exchange of ten minutes reminds me of the importance of taking time to connect with one another and share in a moment. 

Betty Hall's Cobbler

 

Take a glass pan (8x11) and melt a stick of butter in the oven.  Mix one cup of flour, milk, sugar and beat into a batter.  Pour the mixture into the pan of melted butter.  Take a can of peaches (a bigger size can) and pour on top of the mixture.  Bake in 350 degree oven until golden brown on top.

Bathrooms One Mile Up

I just got back from Lexington, Kentucky.  On the map, it doesn't really look that far from my home in Magalia, but I could have flown to Paris in the amount of time it took me to get to the Bluegrass Airport.  This fact caused me to spend an unusual amount of time in the Delta bathroom. Actually, this shouldn't count as a "room", perhaps "closet" is a better term.  Anyway, these many visits caused me to realize the necessity for rules and regulations that should be enforced and punishable by throwing a passenger out of the plane if not followed (don't gasp, they can have a parachute).

• Men must sit down. Always. Period. No exceptions. End to standing in sticky pee.
• No pooping. End of discussion. No passenger seated in the back of the plane should be subject to family odors other than that of his own family.
• Sweet smelling sprays should be made available to disguise the B.O. of passengers with overactive glands.
• The sign that reads "Please be courteous and wipe out the sink for the next passenger" should be replaced with "Drain the damn sink you slob."
• People in first class should not have bigger bath closets.  They already have free booze and don't have to pay for their sandwich. Enough is enough.

So, there it is.  Toileting rules.  Afterall, it's just too hard to hold it for nine hours and there aren't any bushes in the air to use.  With no other alternatives, there has to be some regulations to make everyone's toileting experience a happy one.

On the way to Princeton, about 15 miles outside of Chico, I stopped to take this picture. Funny how one can be found standing impatiently in an Albertson's line or flipping off a driver slowing down the freeway traffic, and yet, just a short drive away, one can be at peace in such a wide expanse of freedom.  

Service Sucks Nowadays

"Yes. Hi. My name is Kathy Thomas. Yes, that's correct. .T...h...o...m...a..s," spelling carefully and slowly for the bimbo on the other end. "No, T...H," I forcefully replied, not surprised at her phonic confusion. "Yes, I have a problem, that's why I'm calling." (Duh!)"I need a service technician to come out and spray for fleas." Silence. Let's see now, bimbo probably ponders, she lives in Magalia, gots a problem with fleas, so her house must be just a crawlin' with 'em. "There not in the house," I quickly add, "just outside in the grass and where my three dogs sleep." Sure, she thinks, those fleas are probably bouncing on her Posterpedic right now. "Well, ma'am (man, I hate being called ma'am), I can send out Dave on your regularly scheduled visit next Tuesday, and he can spray for the fleas, but you'll have to do your part as well, you know," the bimbo explained. Do my part? Was there some sexual payment required for flea spraying in the contract's small print? I have shampooed, scrubbed, sprayed, brushed, done everything imaginable...The next step was the pest control. That's why I called. Because I had a problem. Because that's why I pay an exorbitant fee. Because that's what they advertise. Because I am the damn client, and they are the service provider. Needless to say, Dave never even showed up on Tuesday. Today is Thursday, and we still have fleas. Service sucks nowadays.

New Fangled Madness

What ever happened to walking into store to make a purchase and walking out with the item ALREADY PUT TOGETHER. Today I bought a desk for my son. Nothing fancy. A desk with room to do some dang homework without pushing away computer mice and keyboards. It came in a box, weighed about 100lbs (I can tell because it was at least the weight of two bags of Kibble 'n Bits), and the instructions were not in written form. No writing. Just pictures. Weird-looking pictures. It took both of my sons and myself a good five minutes to translate one of the illustrations. In fact, we were searching for a part, that actually was non-existent, and I was cursing up a storm internally as I was certain that this pile of @$%* from Denmark was missing an integral part. Turns out that the illustration was a "close up" of the small bag of glue that was included. Needless to say, I tossed the friggin' baggy of glue and pulled out my trusty bottle of Gorilla Glue. Baggies of glue? Pleeeeeeezzzzzz.....

You have zero friends

Not good for one's self esteem. Check it out at aiyo.com. You sign up your recommendations for books, music, etc. (I really only listed my current reading material and music to make my blog a little more interesting as well as to experiment with links and changing the template). But, as I clicked to visit my "profile" at aiyo.com, it states, for the whole world to see, "You have 0 friends." How pathetic. Talk about feeling like a loser. So, if you are reading this, thanks for being a friend to a current aiyo.com big zero!

Flea ridden diggin' dog. No matter what I do (chemically charged shampoos al fresco, contra-flea jewelry, Hartz perfume, and special serums), you still harbor baby bouncin' bugs and dig through the bricks and rocks just to sit by the front door to further torment me. I just love my dog. I just love my dog. I do. I do. I do... 

I hate milk-toast politics

Someone asked me whom I was going to vote for. Rather than giving my political stance away (although it's a big DUH for anyone that half knows me), I asked him back,"Well, who are YOU going to vote for? Kerry?" It was a rhetorical question. This person is a union man to the bone. But the answer to the follow-up question, a simple one, is one that brings much frustration to my simple, yet happy, life. "Why?" I ask. "Why do you think Kerry will make a decent president?" is a question that I ask every Kerry supporter. I have yet to receive a response that is backed by political fact, stance, or platform. I'm tired of hearing, "Because I just can't stand Bush!" Well, I didn't know that you were having him over for dinner for God's sake. Last night, on the Daily Show, Ralph Nader suggested that Americans should follow politics like they do their favorite sports team. What a concept...and hey, even me, a Bush/Cheney supporter, can compliment Nader for an intelligent comment. Please, Kerry supporters, study your stats and your players, and be a true part of the playing field.

Kerry marries Edwards

Kerry finally announced his running mate: the grinning, effeminate Mr. Edwards. So we have John Kerry, an out of touch senator, with no substantial political platform, but one who plays to the media's frenzy by posing with a football (notice the throw wasn't broadcasted) and skeet shooting (again, notice the shot wasn't revealed). I suppose it was his feeble attempt to appear to be one with the average American...although I can't remember the last time my husband had time away from work and the "honey do s" around the house to toss the football around or hit the shooting range. Now Kerry has found his "soul mate" for his "political marriage" to John Edwards, another senator, to supply a more people-friendly addition to the democratic ticket. I just hope history remains true. There have been only two successful senators to win the presidency: Warren Harding in 1920 and John F. Kennedy in 1960.

I guess I didn't have such a bad day... 

Bird Poop morning

Of course, as you can already predict from today's title, my new black car was just washed and was polished to a high shine, and because of this event, attracted the biggest bird poop I've ever seen--right at eye level. Funny how this white/black splat programs the remainder of one's day....Let's see...I spilled coffee on my white capris, raised my voice to a colleague because he was acting like an idiot,gained at least six pounds because of my gluttonous attack of an Upper Crust lemon bar, and found a colony of earwigs devouring my prized squash plant. All because of bird poop. I just wish it chose to land on that idiot's head.

Sip of Spew

Has anybody noticed
how sad life has become?
Arnold selling out
and his cigar butt on e-bay sale
Viagra sales at an all-time high
It's no wonder some can't keep it up with
impoverished children modeling spokey ribs
beside well-fed, begging Hollywood icons
not hesitating to spend 25 big ones on a Melrose burger and shake
Those Ethiopians don't need no stomach electrodes
not eating did it for them for free
Forget the $39.99 Jenny Craig special
She's a smart one, she is
making bank from discontented, clinically obese Americans
As bad as Kerry, housing a SUV but doesn't drive it
Does this mean he eats fries with Del Monte?
Even with Heinz hanging on the fridge door?
Oh, the Bush bashing and Rumsfeld resentment
Those poor pornographic prisoners
I know several Americans who'd trade places
no wonder life is so sad
Let's turn off the tube
Only read the funnies
Savor a great book
Sip iced
raspberry tea...

Nothing beats summer reading... 

The birth of my blog

I'm feeling rather egocentric. Other bloggers reading my blogs?? Why? Oh well, bloggers must begin somewhere. Here goes. What the blog...