Mistress Nic

March 19, 2010

Twenty-four years together.

Daily visits with you.
Sneaking around behind my back.
Trips out to meet you.
Thousands of dollars wasted on you–
Money that could have financed
Our dream vacation
Or brand new furniture
(Instead of the crap we have now)
Or paid for our kids’ braces
Maybe even a few college credits.

Well, bitch, guess what?

He finally dumped you.
It took him awhile
and a lot of pleading from me and the kids
But, he chose life with us
Instead of a living hell with you.

So, get out — You disgusting piece of filth.

He (We) doesn’t want you around.
Dirtying up his life or
Ruining  his health anymore.

He’s not falling
for your tricks anymore either
or your instant allure.

He’s done with meeting you
for morning coffee
or an evening beer
or a quickie
after our family meals.

I (We) win.

He’s mine (OURS) now.

You (YOU) lose.

Take your poison elsewhere.

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BEST ANIMAL REVENGE STORY EVER

October 23, 2009

http://www.cnn.com/2009/WORLD/europe/10/23/russia.skating.bear.death/index.html

I wonder what size ice skate the bear would need? Size 26 WWW?


The Sexiest Men in the World Live in My Area

October 18, 2009

I used to think firemen were the sexiest men on the planet. Well, that was before my area got an NHL team.

I’m often surprised by the lack of positive publicity this sport receives. I’ve written about it on my blog, so I won’t rehash my thoughts here. But, I want to add another element I didn’t mention before:

Hockey players are the sexiest men on the planet. I should probably qualify that with “my” definition of sexy: a man who is strong, brave and tough when needed, but soft, gentle, and caring all the other times. That is not just sexy, that’s intoxicating.

Last summer, when I was involved in my writer’s workshop, I had to write about someone or something in the community that was actively working towards change. I immediately thought of our local NHL team. Why? Because I know the back story of these guys. I know the team captain anonymously sends large sums of money to organizations–just because–and expects no press attention in return. Last year, he gave almost $150,000 of his own money for various causes in and around this area. And, by the way, he also visits sick children in the hospital on a regular basis.

The players make regular stops at schools and libraries to stress the benefits of education (something close to my heart, being a teacher). The team has built a safe playground for children, donating the supplies and man hours. The organization has re-opened one of the local after-school program buildings that had to shut down due to lack of public funds. Everything they do, they do because they want to, not because they are contractually obligated.

And the real tear-jerker…

The NHL’s motto is  “Hockey Fights Cancer”. Last year, one of our local high school hockey players was diagnosed with terminal brain cancer. Upon hearing this, the team offered the young man a contract — a legit one — to become a “Blue Jacket” for a day. They even paid him a small salary ($1.00) and gave him an official team jersey with his name on the back. Team players would go to his house (or his hospital room) and sit by his side while they watched the other NHL teams play.

Unfortunately, Ryan succumbed to his cancer in May of this year. His last wish? To make it to at least one playoff game before he passed away. The team made sure he got his wish.

Last night’s game was our team’s chance to raise money to fight cancer. The team had this young man’s jersey displayed on the player’s bench, in tribute to his memory. When one of the players scored the first goal of last night’s game, his response to the interviewer went something like this “I just had a feeling I was going to score. I’m not a huge fan of a ‘higher power’, but I think Ryan had something to do with it…” Wow. Talk about a sense of humility and compassion.

So, I apologize to all the sexy, heroic firefighters out there who risk their lives every day to save the lives of others. You are still very much heroes in my eyes. But, in my opinion, you have some pretty stiff competition when it comes to the true definition of  “sexy”.


“Social Committees” = “Us versus Them”

August 18, 2009

My buddy Bill just tweaked my “bitch bone”.  I’ve been meaning to write my next rant about this issue for some time, but when I read Bill’s post about reacting to others’ comments, it sent me into a froth. Ironic, huh?

The subject of this rant is:  obligatory office/school/work parties. I can’t stand those things. These are the parties where some young, annoyingly, chirpy bubble headed “life of the party” chick comes up to you and says: “Hey! Wanna donate to the social committee fund? Only 40 bucks for the whole year!”

Social committee, my ass. This is just one more way to suck money out of my wallet while making me realize how much of an invisible person I really am where I work. Let me give you an example (names have been removed to protect the obnoxious).

At the start of the last year (yes, I am in education), a staffer put a sign out that said “Social Committee: 40 dollars , sign up here”. Well, I was part time and worried more about paying my electricity bill and feeding my hungry children than contributing to a “social” committee. (So, I never bothered to sign up, nor did I ask what exactly the “social committee” was in charge of doing.) Allegedly, the committee was “created to raise funds to purchase cards and a candy bar for birthday celebrants, and generally any other occasion that requires buying a cake.” Oh, yea, sure. I just call it one more way to shake down people for money.

Not being on the committee, I didn’t think anything of it, until IT happened. My big day. Okay, I admit I didn’t TELL anyone it was my birthday before it came, but my birthday date was posted in the staff room. And, the sparkly tiara I was wearing all day should have been a big clue that “something” was going on with me (Yes, I DO have a tiara I wear on my big day, I’ve been doing this for 5 years now.) I wasn’t expecting a card or chocolate bar. After all, I never DID pay my money so that wouldn’t have been fair. I’m the kinda gal who doesn’t expect special treatment or feel I am above following the rules.

BUT, not one single person on said “social committee” even offered a “Happy Birthday” to me. The entire day went unnoticed, unspoken, unacknowledged. If it hadn’t been for my team worker bringing her kids into my classroom to sing “Happy Birthday” at the end of the day, the issue would have never been mentioned (my team worker is GREAT!!!) Meanwhile, “Chirpy Shirley” and her crony “Psycho Bitch” were showered in praise, chocolate bars, cards and a cake for their birthdays. And that pisses me off. It became nothing more than another “popular crowd versus the nobodies” event.

Yes, I know this sounds like I’m whining and begging for attention, but that is not what this rant is all about (is it ever really about the story?)

I am sick and tired of being asked to participate in “work parties” where I know I am not wanted. I don’t care that so and so is having a bridal shower or a baby shower. If I don’t hang out with them on a personal basis outside of the work place, then I don’t feel like I should have to fork over much needed cash to purchase them a gift. (Conversely, I wouldn’t expect them to do the same for me).

And the bad part is, if I don’t get involved, then I become the “snob”. If I do get involved, then I am giving away hard earned cash for NOTHING in return — not so much as an invitation to go to the local bar for after-work drinks. Damned if I do, damned if I don’t.

I’m pretty sure this whole issue started back when I first entered the workforce. I have always been “the odd woman out”. Very few women “get” my sense of humor or are willing to accept the fact that I don’t give a damn about shoes, purses, shopping, designer labels, vapid conversation, Cosmopolitans, Brad Pitt, etc. I also don’t have the time, desire or energy to sit around bitching about men. I love the way men think — it’s the bitchy women who sit around bitching about men who annoy the crap out of me.

I’m not a cold-hearted, uncaring bitch. I can be very generous when the situation calls for it. One of my colleagues has been battling breast cancer. She has a “meals on wheels” deal set up for co-workers to bring her and her family pre-cooked meals so she doesn’t have to worry about that while she undergoes the fight for her life. I eagerly and willingly volunteered my hubby to cook up a big ol’ pot of homemade chili (he’s the chili expert, I just delivered the food) and even included a bag of cheddar cheese with that.

But, my generosity should end there, guilt-free.  So please, folks, stop with the incessant “obligatory office parties” shit. It makes me want to join the post office just so I can go postal on some unsuspecting, chirpy, bubble headed woman.


Conversations with My Muse: Choices We Make

August 10, 2009

Ow, ow, ow…

What’s wrong?

I’m old, that’s what’s wrong.

You, old? You’re only 47!

What the hell, I’m only 44 — 45 this October.

Ohhhh, you mean you didn’t just turn 47 this year?

No. That was my spouse.

Ah, well I knew there was a 47 year old living somewhere in your house.

Yea, he’s the older dude, going gray.

That happens. Well, it happens to others.

What do you mean by that?

Well, look at me, for instance. How “old” do you think I look?

Yea, yea, I get it — you don’t look a day older than 24.

And HOW old am I really?

Well, I’m not sure. We’ve never really established that, have we?

Older than Jesus, if you believe that kind of stuff.

Oh, I’m definitely a Christian. Just not “that” kind of Christian.

What do you mean by “not that kind of Christian”?

Creationists. I am not a big believer in that theory.

Oooh, are we here to discuss theology? This could be quite the debate.

Eh, not so much. It’s so hard to get good, solid debates going with people nowadays.

How come?

Someone always gets pissed off. It seems that I can’t say a damn thing anymore without risking getting someone’s knickers in a knot.

Knickers? What are those?

Pants.

Again, what are those?

Aw come on, you know what pants are, don’t you?

Um, do you see what I’m wearing here?

You mean your toga?

Yes. I’ve had this on for several thousand years now. Of course I change it from time to time, add a couple of extra fig leaves and olive branches where and when necessary, but it’s pretty much all I have in my wardrobe.

How boring.

Well, yes and no. It makes it a lot simpler to choose what to wear in the morning. I don’t have to stand in my closet and think too hard about my outfit.

True. I like the simplicity behind that.

But, there are times when I wish I had a little more “something something”. Know what I’m saying?

Not really, but I sense you’re going to tell me anyways, aren’t you?

Come on, how long have we known each other now?

True. Go on, share your latest “thoughts on fashion” with me. I’ll just sit here and enjoy this hot cup of coherence.

Ha! “Cup of coherence” — I like that!

Thanks, I created that one on my own. You were “off duty” that day, wink wink.

Sheesh! You won’t let me live that incident in Italy down, will you?

Well, it was a pretty serious thing you did.

Let’s move on, shall we?

Agreed. Now, explain your fashion sense.

Okay. I’ll start with the toga. This is my “required” work uniform, so I have to wear this when I am working with others on their composing.

Uniform? Your toga is a uniform?

Of course, if I didn’t wear this people wouldn’t take me seriously as an Ancient Greek Muse. So, it goes without saying that I am required to remain professionally dressed at all times. Hence, the toga.

Wow, some uniform. I assume it is insulated from the cold weather climates, too?

Of course! I added an extra layer or two of lanolin and gortex for those chilly biomes I go to on occasion.

Like the Inuits up north?

Exactly. If it hadn’t been for those added layers, I’d have turned into a frozen musicle. Ha, get it? MUSE icle, MUSICAL?

Groooooaaaan…

I swear, I kill me some times.

Back to our topic…

Hang on a sec…I’ve got to change songs on my IPod…

Whoa. You’ve been listening to your Ipod while you’re sitting here talking to me?

Yea, why not? I’m a great multi tasker.

That’s kinda rude. I have to tell my kids all the time to take their ear buds out of their ears and listen to me. The only relief I have is, they don’t have cell phones too — so I am not competing with their text messaging skills.

Your kids don’t have cell phones?

No, and they won’t be getting them any time soon. I figure if I am driving my kid somewhere, I damn well know where he or she is, and if I call that place and they aren’t there — well, that’s a problem they won’t like having.

Wowwwww…

Yea, I know — I’m a real old-fashioned, fuddy duddy of a mom. My kids tell me that almost every day. My choice, though. I survived my early years without one just fine, thank you very much.

I think that’s a good thing, though.

You do? I thought you’d be a little disappointed in me. Think I was being too strict as a mom.

Can I let you in on a little secret?

Sure.

There’s been a lot of talk back on Mt Olympus about your kids.

My kids? Huh???

Oh yea! Zeus and Hera have been very complimentary towards you, your husband and your kids. They feel you and your husband have your parenting shit together.

And where are they getting this information from?

Me, silly. Do you think I just sit around here, listen to you blather on about your life, etc, and not do anything with that information?

Well, there was this whole “confidentiality agreement” you agreed to sign.

That only covers issues of privacy that might jeopardize your career or personal safety — first and/or last names, kids names, city locations, etc.

Ah.

The rest is “free domain” knowledge. And by Gods, your children are good kids. Worthy of a paragraph or two in the parenting section of the Mt. Olympus Monthly.

Wow, the Gods like me, they really, really like me!

Okay Sally Fields, let’s get back to the main point of today’s topic: choices.

Yes, I LOVE this topic.

Why?

Because there have been times lately when I’ve just wanted to pull my hair out over some of the things I’ve heard in the press.

And you think this is a good thing? To get so stressed out about what others are doing?

It makes me feel better about the choices I make.

Give me a story that really chapped your hide.

I see you’re borrowing a phrase I used the other day: “chaps my hide”

I didn’t borrow it, I gave it to you.

Okay, whateverrrr!

No, no, no! Remember — we both agreed to strike that word from our collective vocabulary! tsk tsk!

Sorry, you’re right. Let’s move on..A story…well, without having to rehash what I wrote about that cop who was caught going 149 mph on his motorcyle, I’d just like to finish that story up by saying the arresting officer made a foolish choice of his own.

How so?

He turned off the microphone on his radio after he realized the officer who was speeding was a “friendly.”

What’s a “friendly”?

A fellow cop, you know — one of his own.

So the conversation wasn’t recorded? No evidence? Oooh, that sounds bad.

Yea, sounds a little like a cover up, huh?

Could be. What’s going to happen to the cop, do you think?

I dunno, but I’m assuming that there will be an investigation. At least I hope so.

Okay, I get it. It goes back to “choices” we make.

Exactly — the choices we make are the stepping stones to the consequences we must endure.

Nice quote, who said that?

I did! I just made it up.

Well, I like it — heyyyyyyyy…

Ah ha, is that what I think it is?

Huh?

I see the light bulb going off over your head.

You want me to reconsider turning myself in, don’t you?

Wow, I’m impressed. You stayed on task and focused today AND caught the message I have been trying to give you the entire time.

You’re very clever.

Naw, just getting older and wiser.


Conversations with My Muse: Anonymity and Affirmation

August 8, 2009

EXCUSE ME! I believe I had my hand on that watermelon first!

Oh, I’m sorry — here, take it.

Thank– OH MY GOD, IT’S YOU!

Shhhhh! Please, don’t…

WHERE HAVE YOU BEEN???????

Be quiet! People are starting to stare…

Let them, and give me a hug first!

Really, I beg of you, please tone it down..

Okay, sorry….

That’s better, thanks.

I just can’t believe you’re back…and in the middle of the produce department, thumping watermelons, even.

Well, you know me – ADPB girl.

True. So, let me take a look at you. Take a twirl for me.

I’d rather not.

Aw come on, nobody knows who you are, and I doubt anyone is thinking anything other than we’re two friends who haven’t seen each other in a while.

Well, put that way…okay

Okay, I understand the long skirt..some habits are hard to break, huh? But, I need a little explanation here…what the hell is going on with the wig, dark sunglasses and black beret?

I’m in disguise.

Disguise? Oh hell…..you’re still on the run, aren’t you?

Yes.

Why??? Didn’t I tell you to turn yourself in?

Well, about that…

Oh, this should be good. Go ahead, I’m listening.

I was heading to Italy, fully intending on turning myself in, when “it” happened. Or, I should say “he” happened.

Why am I not surprised by this? Pony up — who is the “he” in this flimsy excuse?

Oh my god Nerd, you should see him! He is sooooooo cute!

Here we go again….lemme guess — are we 17 today? 22? I can’t tell behind the sunglasses and fake bobbed wig.

Hey, I’m an adult and that’s all you need to know. You really shouldn’t be so judgmental, ya know.

That’s my job, to keep you in line.

Since when?

Since I hired you. You work for me.

And exactly how much am I being paid for this little “deal” we’ve swung with each other? What IS my cut? Cuz, I’m still waiting for that…

Well, it just so happens that you and I are “getting published”! Ha!

No kidding????? When did all this happen?

While you were gallavanting around the globe, and picking up strange men.

Oh my God–that reminds me, I still haven’t told you about my new guy!

This “unfocused” behavior is kinda starting to piss me off, muse. Can we please stay on topic for ONCE?

Well, sure…um, what is the topic?

Siggggggh…

Oooh, while you’re doing your deep breathing exercises, let me tell you about my new guy. I think this could be “the one”.

You’re not gonna let this one go until you’ve gushed all about him, are you?

He’s my life now.

That’s creepy sounding.

Well….as I was saying before you rudely interrupted me with all this talk about “being published”, I met him en route to Italy. I was coming down the coast of Russia, veered to the right, over Yugoslavia when BINGO! I saw him.

Yugoslavia? What part?

Croatia. What a beautiful country, by the way.

Yes, I know. I’ve got in laws from that area. Zagreb, if I remember correctly.

Cool! So you know how dreamy the men are? I just love brown eyes…it’s like looking into pools of liquid chocolate. I just want to fall in and lap him all up.

Slow down there, chickie. We’re still in public, ya know.

I can always go stick my head in the frozen foods department.

That might work. Just don’t leave any butt prints on the ice cream containers. The staff tends to frown on that type of behavior.

I would assume so.

Okay, so let me make sure we have our stories straight, okay?

Yep, but first — do you know where I can find the following items: Feta cheese, Romaine lettuce, garlic and olive oil?

Mmmm, sounds like a Greek salad to me.

But of course, what else would I make for my man?

Ever try Saganaki?

What’s that? It sounds yummy…

Flaming cheese. It’s a real “celebratory” food — you pan fry a coated piece of cheese in olive oil, put a little brandy in it, take it to the table, light it and, at the top of your voice, yell “OPA!” while trying not to set your eyebrows on fire at the same time. Then, douse the flames with a half of a lemon squeezed over the top. It is to DIE FOR.

Fire? You trust me around flames?

Good point, stick to the salad.

So, are we done here? My man is waiting for me back at our place.

You’re living together????

Not yet. We’ve only been dating for a week now.

Ah.

If things work out, I’m going to suggest we rent a place together somewhere in Switzerland.

Why Switzerland of all places?

Netural territory. The law can’t touch me there.

Ah…So I am assuming you’re perfectly okay with being a professional fugitive, always on the move?

Beats the alternative.

And what would the “alternative” to being a fugitive exactly be?

Being stuck with the same house, same job, same city, same spouse, same kids, year after year, waiting for death to release you from life’s dull grasp.

Wow, that’s harsh. I totally disagree.

I tell it like it is. And one final thing…

What’s that?

Those shorts do make your ass look a little too big.

Leave now, before I alert security.


“Mistake” versus “Choice”

August 6, 2009

I’ve had it with the euphemism world out there. Specifically, the one world where people believe the words “a series of bad choices” can be intermingled, intermangled, and interchanged with the words “stupid mistake”. Let me explain.

Here, in my relatively “safe” local suburb, a police officer was recently arrested for riding his motorcycle at 149 mph down a country road. Yes, that number IS correct: 149 MPH!

First, I can’t stand motorcycles. And don’t even bother to respond to this post if you own one and want to tell me how wonderful they are — I will never be convinced. They are dangerous to ride and even more dangerous to have to drive anywhere near. I can never see the bike until it’s within smacking distance. Sorry — but all the safety training in the world won’t guarantee you will come out of a 25-foot skid over asphalt unscathed if you choose to ride your motorcycle wearing only flip flops, shorts and a wife-beater shirt. For people who choose to do that, thank you for your willingness to “thin the herd” of stupid people.

But this rant isn’t about motorcycles. It’s about what happens when people are caught doing something they know they shouldn’t be doing, and the excuses that stream from their mouths once they are standing before their local judge.

In the case of High-Speed Willy, his only comment to the judge was: “I made a mistake.” And this is where my head exploded.

A couple years ago, the principal of my children’s middle school was arrested for driving while intoxicated (DWI or DUI for some). It was 2:00 am, he was going the wrong way down a one-way street, and when asked for his driver’s license, he handed the arresting officer his Blockbuster card. Yea, he’s REALLLY coherent. He blew twice the legal limit on the Breathalyzer.

Of course this made the local news — TV, newspaper, etc. His name was everywhere along with the name of the middle school my kids attend.

While I am not opposed to adults getting their “drink on”, I am vehemently opposed to drinking and driving and was very irate by this principal’s words to the press: “I made a mistake.” No, a mistake is accidentally dropping your cell phone in a river while fishing, or accidentally leaving a wallet filled with money on a table in a high school weight room after you’ve left for the night. (Both of which have occurred to family members of mine).

What these two morons (the police officer and the principal) did were make bad CHOICES. The police officer didn’t accidentally stomp his foot down on the gas pedal and clutch, causing an unexpected acceleration — for which he kept it down (again, by mistake?) for an extended period of time. He didn’t suddenly find himself  “swerving” on the road, around cars that mysteriously “appeared” beside him.The principal didn’t “accidentally” walk into a bar, unknowingly order shot after shot of alcohol (or beer, whatever the case may be), unwillingly open his mouth, surprisingly pour it down his throat hour after hour, then get back into his car and inadvertently drive off into the night.

The drunken principal’s situation hits closer to home with me. Not because it’s the school where my kids go, or the fact that I am a teacher. No, it hits home with me because of what happened two days before he was busted for DUI. My son was caught goofing around during a fire drill, and was given a “Saturday school” for this. The principal pulled my son into his office, said “Because of your CHOICE to screw around during school, you can come to Saturday school.” And when the principal called me to tell me what he had done, I agreed with the principal’s use of the term “choice”. My son earned that extra day in school for the poor choice he made.

But, when the principal was busted for DUI, what do you imagine was the consequence for his behavior? Jail time? Personally, I would have loved to see him serve 3 days in jail. But, of course that didn’t happen. Instead, the school district gave him 10 days, suspended leave, with pay. WITH PAY.

Sorry, but that is not a “consequence” for a school principal — that’s a freaping vacation! How am I, as a responsible parent, expected to teach my son and daughter about “consequences” when the adult leaders aren’t taking responsibility for THEIR own actions?And THIS chaps my hide.

Fortunately, the students were smart enough to recognize the actions of the principal were abhorrent. Conversely, the principal lost all respect from his student body immediately after the incident. None of the students were able to resist a good “So I threw a spit wad at Suzy, so what? At least I didn’t get busted for drinking and driving and gave the cop my Blockbuster card!” As disrespectful as that sounds, you cannot argue the logic behind that.

For the police officer, I believe his career is officially over. The local city government has issued a statement concerning the officer’s conduct and how it is detrimental to the overall “perception” of the police force.

There is some wonderful irony to both of the stories above:

The officer’s story is an ironic metaphor for motorcycle riding. He threw himself under the bus, and came out in a world of hurt.

The principal was demoted to the rank of “assistant principal” and is now responsible for disciplining disruptive, behaviorally challenged, high school students.

All because of the “mistakes” they claim to have made. Yea, right.