Ok, so Pet Shop Boys on Sunday were the best thing on my birthday ever, but today the actual day, I have much smaller plans.

I'm thinking happy hour over at Tila's for only some of the best Interior Mexican foon ever. It's supposed to be mexico city style, but it reminds me SOOO much of the high cuisine in Santa Fe, alone if need be.

Bruce wants to go see some movie tomorrow at the gay and lesbian film festival. I'm game. He's disturbed that we didn't find anyone to go with us to the concert. UHG! Boys.

I'm going into work. I have to keep mantracizing (yes that's a new word) to myself that it's hourly pay, and i'll be glad of the money later. Even though the head of Curriculum for social studies yesterday, giggles out in a mock embarrased way yesterday.... "You guys, (hehehe) my new budget isn't in yet (hhehehe) so, (hehehe) you won't see this money on your paycheck till August, (hehhe) or even September. (hehehehehe)"

I was not smiling when she looked at me. She mumbled something about us not being there for the money. What a fucking cop out. IT'S WORK! WERE NOT VOLUNTEERING! I EXPECT PAY IN A TIMELY MANNER, FOR THE WORK I DO! I'm going to barf curdled soy milk chunks on the shoes of the next person who tells me I shouldn't be doing this for the pay. Education is not noble. It's necessary and vital, and it's a profession. People are highly trained degreed individuals who went to school for all those years to be able to demand a higher dollar for there hour. So Ms./Mr. central office, saying we shouldn't be doing this for the pay, "BLEHHHHHHHHH!" on you "BLEH! curdled soy chunks and scrambled eggs all over your pretty white starched fronts. BLEHHHHHHHH!!!!!! poltergeist columns of chunks in your general dIrection!"

Bat Rastards.

Bleh! School districts make me want to puke! The hourly pay we get for this kind of thing is substantial, but my big gripe is, it is not time and a half. Texas better be glad they are not a collective bargaining state. And the argument that we have it so much better then our neighboring states. "BLEH!" on that too. That whole reverse the grass is greener on the other side shit, gets on my nerves too.

Eeeeek... pent up aggression! I didn't mean for this to be a rant entry.

I love that whole near automatic writing rush though.

***

Other news in my life that is probably only relevant to myself.

Yay, rent only went up 10 bucks, not the 50 I had feared.

I can add that 40 bucks to my annuity.

My living room is no longer a sty, BUT there are pockets of styetty (another new word) that are waiting to spread out into the world (my living room) and infect it with styetty like some black cancer. I can either write curriculum tomorrow, or radiate those pockets tomorrow, like my desk drawers, and floor to ceiling book shelves.

The bedroom, still a total sty. There is a drafting table in there, a LARGE drafting table at that. My bed is still pretty and blue, an island of blue in a floor filled with styetty.

Lets go to the score board:

Truck conquered and un-styed.

Living room, mostly unstyed.

Kitchen, mostly unstyed.

Bedroom, TOTALLY Still a sty.

Bathroom, well it's never really been a sty, but good lord I produce ton's of soap scum. I think I like hyperfoliate or something, cause on the days I exfoliate there is just lots and lots of muck. BLEH! icky muck.

Muck. I love that word, especially when used in conjunction with "run" and "a" One of my very, very, very favorite activies that, running a muck.

Listening to Pet Shop Boys b-sides. I have lot's of erasure vinyl. I don't have any PSB vinyl. I should work on that. Even though I don't have a turntable . . .

I'm so a garage sale aholic that has never indulged.

I need to develop that into a habit. The finding of possible treasures in others junk is absolutely tantalizing to me.

I tell myself that being single is fine and dandy. But then I watch myself react to others relationships or the foundering of others relationships for no specific reason, and find myself going "BLEH!" inside. All while still being trully happy, or sad for them, respectively.

You know, pet shop boys get musically quoted all the time. I here snippets of samples from there songs all the time in others music. I wonder how they feel about that?

I hope you realize that this has just beeen minutes of not allowing myself to stop typing.

Let it pour, let it pour, let it pour.

It's wonderful to open up your brain and skim some floatsum off the top.

Hugs.