The Company We Choose to Keep

Upon arriving home a few minutes ago, I begin to make the turn into my drive and notice two old women on my porch. I pause briefly, speed up and drive on. The last thing I need is two old biddies in rayon sweaters inviting the tattooed faggot to church. They were probably very sweet, and when I didn’t have blogging to do, I might even invite them in for tea. We could converse about the types of men we find attractive. Today, however—wasn’t gonna happen. I circled around the block and came to my house again. They were still on the porch, knocking. At least their love for Jesus is persistent. I circled a third time. This time the women were standing at the end of my walk motioning for two old men to hurry up. They were at the opposing corner. At this point I am not sure if it is persistent devotion or just slowness due to oldness. The fourth time around, the four of them were gathered at my neighbor’s house trying to open her rod-iron gate. Persistent slowness. They will have about as much luck with her and they would have had with me. I quickly zoomed in, jumped out of my car, and rushed through my front door. I am now in the back yard, far away from where the pounding on the door could reach my ears…
Last night, at Jrs, my dear friend TH (happy bday TH) came up and asked me a question to make sure he had not accidentally fallen through some vortex and landed in a alternate universe. He asked if I knew the movie ‘Pollyanna.’ I was like, “The one with Halley Mills?” Relief flooded his face as he uttered a reassured, ‘Yes!’ Apparently, there were only a total of three and a half people in the entirety of Jrs who even knew who Pollyanna was. The half is due to a middle aged woman who kinda remembered but not really, partly because she thought it would make her old to admit to knowing that. Hello! Do I look fifty? I grew up on that movie. There have been several things that make me nervous about the direction our world is taking: shootings, grand theft, low fat chocolate, but none have induced terror into my soul as the realization that we are a society who has forgotten Pollyanna. Maybe that is why everyone is so erratically screwed up. There has been no infusion of cheer, optimism, and unfettered love from an obnoxiously proper little girl. [All praise, honor, and devotion to Halley Mills. She is truly the MOST perfect girl in the world. Really.]
I found myself in the middle of a literacy meeting the other day at school (where I teach, not were I am ‘taught’). All the teachers were discussing their plans and strategies of how to increase their middle school classes’ literacy scores and comprehension. These are all, nearly, professional, qualified teachers. The are many different assessments the students are forced to endure under the glorious ‘no child left behind’ act and a billion other reasons concocted by people who have no plausible educational background or experience. Most of these tests were created by individuals with tragic last names. My deepest sympathy and consolation is extended to them. Anyway, in the middle of said meeting, the leader of the group, a pregnant lesbian (can’t make this shit up) was speaking of a certain student [who’s name has been change to protect the innocent] and she casually stated, “In order to progress off this status Jenny needs to get off her Woodcock Johnson and her Flint Kooter [have no idea how that is spelled, but that is how you say it].” I almost burst out laughing and realized everyone was moving on as per normal. I looked around the room, no reaction. Did they not just hear the lesbian said one of the kids needs to get off her woodcock johnson and flint kooter? Let’s see, little Jenny needs to get off her hardcock dick and [insert dirty word for vagina, my fingers refuse to type that]…. Both of those are everyday assessments that we give our students. And we think that they get an overdose over sexual stimuli from the TV? No, my friends, no, it’s from school. Their teachers. Lesbian and otherwise. And, really, do you really think the people that made those assessments weren’t ridiculed horrifically their entire lives? Did they really want that to be their legacy? Didn’t they have first names or something? At any rate, somehing that wouldn’t qualify as an acting out behavior for those in a twelve step sex addiction group. Perverts….

April showers bring May flowers bring allergies

I have my huge grad school project due in a very short amount of time, I have about fifteen pounds to loose, and my garage needs cleaned. Instead of doing any of these productive and needful things, I am sitting in front of my computer and my fingers are moving as if there is some greater purpose in my words than procrastination. I don’t feel too distraught over it all though, since I have not written in over a month, I feel that this is due me.
The past month has been a whirlwind, internship, job interview, etc. Internship is over. Got the job for fall. Clap. Clap. Let’s move on. And let’s work backwards. Starting with an hour ago. Now, for all intensive purposes, I have been celibate for most of the past year, since the break up that I may have mentioned before. Therefore, there was little to no worry that a HIV test would provide anything other than an excuse to get poked by a needle. Nevertheless, I managed to work myself up into a tizzy, thinking about telling certain people that my white blood cell count would never meet theirs. Three years ago, my doctor told me that she was fairly certain I had HIV. I lived the next two months in agonized terror, telling no one, except my asshole boyfriend who refused to get tested because he was scared. Poor baby. Well, today’s test came back negative, yet again. Praise God (not said in a sarcastic way in the slightest)! Here’s to being able to worry about nothing another day!
So, remember the boy I mentioned that I was VERY casually dating a bit ago? Well, as of three days ago, we are officially exclusively dating. Shockingly enough, I have not freaked out yet. Don’t worry. If I still am who I am, I will. I am proud of myself in this though, I must say. At this point, I have managed to live in the moment, and not over think things to a ridiculous degree. I simply enjoy being with him. He is a very good, kind, sweet, genuine man. I am not thinking marriage or baby carriages, so that helps the blood pressure remain at its normal monsoon rushing pulse instead of the hurricane that normally comes with matters of love. Love. I love him. It is strange to say that to someone after all the time spent anguishing over my past relationship. Not that any of that is negated in any way. It is also amazing to see how different love can feel with different people. The love I have with each of them is not even comparable to the other, but both are love. I am sure if I spent much time on this vain of thought the hurricane would arrive and my head would explode. Therefore, on to other things….
I am still in the process of the tattoo pondery, but I do think the process will begin some time before my birthday next month. Oh, did you forget that next month is my birthday? That’s ok. You can get me the new Mustang in that horrible sixties green. It is FABULOUS!!! Or a burnt orange mini-Cooper. You know, whatever. I have drawn so many tattoos that I could cover the worlds fattest man (which I must say, seems to be a competition that is gaining more and more applicants—they say the rich are getting richer, but really, the fat are just getting fatter; having been in the relationship realm the past three months seems to have made me begin the application process myself; sooooo NOT ok). Maybe if I get enough tattoos on my shoulders and arms, they will distract from my expanding waist and ass.
There have been so many things that I have wanted to blog about over the past month, but getting up at five and going to bed before ten has hindered the rapid firing of my synapses, so this will be all for today. Besides, I have dogs to walk, and pizza to eat and a paper to avoid.