-- on display
-- links -- cookbook
Monday, May. 20, 2002 @ 8:28 p.m.
crabby parents making gross generalizations about the teachers in my building REALLY piss me off.
I should have left well enough alone, but no, I call the bitchy parent back who had just left a perticularly nasty message on my voicemail while I was taking a most lovely of lovely steamy hot bath while perusing a 2 foot deep stack of National Geographics. (They are 25cents at the local used book store.)
So, I call her back and let her vent, with out interuption about how horrible the teachers at our building are, and when I get done with that trampling and she FINALLY gets to the point about $45.00 in lost library book fines that her son owes, I politely and professionally reply that "J, is old enough to get his own library books turned in, and they are his responcibility." What I was thinking was,
"LOOK, you ungreatful bitch, the teachers you have just mentioned are some of the finest in our school, and when you insult them you insult me. Why don't you give your little darlin' a swift kick in the ASS on the way out your door in the morning, so the sting will remind him to turn in his FUCKING library books on the way into the building. You say that we treat the children as if they are adults, well Sweety (and yes I mean that in a totally patronizing way) if you want him to become a adult, you better start expecting said behavior of him now, cause the way he acts in class OBVIOUSLY demonstrates to all of us in the building that you have coddled a 9 year old FUCKING baby!"
I think my depth charge hit her forward bow, cause she just about lost it. Good thing I went with the professionally polite version of the obove sentiment, otherwise Houston may have been vaporized from her fury.
Needless to say the relaxed mood that my fabulous bath had left me in, has evaporated like sprinkles of water on a New Mexico side walk in July.
I so shouldn't have checked to see who called.
Bitch, bitch, bitch, bitch, bitch!
Uhg! I don't feel any better at all.
Dan Elias of the antiques road show still rocks my world every Monday night.
I bumped into an old college buddy at the grocery store this evening. Notice I said buddy, and not friend. We didn't exchange numbers.
The red passion vine, with it's red so deep it seems to nearly create a void in space, is profusely blooming.
The Dutchman's Pipe is still blooming sporadically.
The Bonsai's are doing good. I need to undertake some serious shaping when school is out. 2.5 more days with kids!
BITCH, bitch, bitch, bitch, bitch!
Yes I'm still thinking about her, she's burning me like a yeast infection in your arm pits. (Don't ask, actually I think it is in the diary somewhere)
Tonight I want to dream of virga and lightning rolling across the sacred desert of my home.
Tonight I want to dream of mike and the time we saw UFO's in the Gila National Forest.
I want Fox to replay the season finale of the X-files, so I can see the first half this time, and so I will be able to remember the last 10 minutes. (I didn't know about the special show time, and for some reason I've blocked the very end scenes out. Weirdness.)
I want it to NOT be 9, so I can crawl in bed by 8 like I had wanted too. (leave me alone I was up at 3:30 this morning)
Ok, I'm feeling better. My frustrations that I had wanted to scream out at her, but had kept quietly inside for the sake of profesionalism, have been spilled out onto the screen, as it were, and it has brought my heart some modicum of ease.
WE ALL FALL DOWN
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The Finger Prints of God.
It's like getten screwed with your pants still on!