The Sweetest Thing

Two awesome things happened last week on Thanksgiving. First, I was able to eat with my family! I didn't have to take a "plate" to work--that's no fun because you can't get seconds.  There was none of that Charcoal Grey Thursday/Black Friday retail bullshizz for me! Being fired from the retail latrine has been the gift that keeps on giving, I tell ya. (I did find a job at another store, though, but THAT's another post. I'm behind, and trying to post things kind of  in order.)

The second and sweetest thing was being able to spend some quality time with my not-so-little-anymore 2nd cousin, Munchkin. She's 18 now, smart--she plans to go to nursing school--and gorgeous. I just wonder where the time went. She was the first baby in our immediate family in almost 20 years, and yes, we spoiled her. She was always an awesome kid. We spent the first 4 years of her life like peanut butter and jelly. I was a free babysitter, and I didn't mind at all. She was the baby that gave me practice changing diapers, potty training, and putting a toddler through pacifier rehabilitation. She was my cartoon buddy, my source for a good laugh, and she always made me feel wanted and loved.

Lord knows I love her like my own to this day. Then her mom moved to the neighboring town, and I didn't get to see her as often. Before I knew anything, her teen years had set in, and you know they do teen things. We talked and texted sometimes but didn't hang out. In May, she graduated from high school. I woke up sick that morning and had a serious crying jag that day because I thought I wouldn't be able to make the ceremony. I managed to drag my ass in there, though, and I am so glad.

Anyways, after Thanksgiving dinner with the family last week, I had packed up a to-go plate and was about to leave my auntie's house. As I was saying my goodbyes, she said shyly, "Well I was hoping you'd stay longer..." Ohhhhhh, at that moment, the angels sang a song only heard by me. On the inside, I was all like:

I sat and chatted with her for another 2 hours or so, and she walked around to my chair and put her arm around my shoulder. She stood for awhile, then leaned over and kissed me on the cheek. Just like she did once when she was 3 years old and woke up at her grandparents' house thinking they'd left her there alone. The first person she thought to call was me, and I went running. It turns out her grandpa had gone outside to do some yard work while she was asleep. I went in the house and picked her up and carried her to the window so she could see papa was there. Then I helped her get dressed. As I tied her shoes, she leaned over and kissed me on the cheek. There's no way she can remember that, is there??? All I know is I never ever forgot. I may not have experienced morning sickness, childbirth, or stretch marks, but I have experienced "mother love," thanks to my Muchkin, and it's amazing.

So that's the story of what I consider to be the best Thanksgiving ever. I'm easily pleased.

No Regerts...

I haven't written anything (here) in foreverrrrrr. I do make the occasional post on my Facebook companion page though, but it makes me lazy. It's easier to share a funny meme or do a quick post about school or whatever there, but this, this is home, so I need to spend a little more time here. That said, I guess it's time to do a little bit of catch-up.

In case you missed it on my Facebook page, I'm still employed by the local school system, but I'm no longer a sub. I'm now a pre-k paraprofessional--what we called a teacher's aide back in the day. It's a step closer to my goal of being a teacher, even if it came to be by default. See, I started out the school term as a substitute in the position that is now my full-time job. The other parapro found a job at a different school. Eventually, the principal asked me to apply for the job, and thank-you Lord, I got it. It's nice knowing where I'm going to be every day and not waking up to a phone call from Aesop telling me that a job I thought I had was cancelled. No more half-day jobs or grudgingly accepting jobs at schools I didn't really want to go to or grades or subjects I didn't feel comfortable teaching. I do miss all of the teachers, students, and subs that I'd gotten to know over the past couple of years, BUT as long as there's a Wal-Mart in town, I'll still see them. (Can't get out of  THAT spot without seeing people you know.) As for my new position--I got hired in September--I really enjoy it. There are 18 mini-humans in my class. We started out the year with a mix of 3- and 4-year-olds. Now it's 4's and 5's (birthdays and cupcake parties, YASSSS!).

Thank God for a high metabolism.

They're adorable, each with their own personalities, quirks, likes/dislikes and I quickly learned them all. The teacher I work with is cool and I'm learning a lot. However--and there's always a "however", isn't there?--I know this is something that I can't do forever. I really didn't even want to do it more than a year, but now that it's past mid-January, I might have to do it one more year before I become a real teacher. (I may suck at everything else I do in life, but I'm a wiz at procrastination. Like, gold medalist in the procrastination Olympics.) To be honest, as much as I like what I do, I don't feel like I'm doing much and I have a bachelor's. I can easily (?) get a provisional license, so I need to stop damn procrastinating once and for all and do it.

OHHHHHH, I must say one of the perks of working for the school system--but NOT, mind you, the reason why I want to be an educator--is snow days. Unlike my past jobs in retail and radio, if the weather is bad, school is closed, honey. As a matter of fact, we've only been to school 3 days since Christmas/winter break ended, and I didn't have to worry about calling in or missing pay because of these missed days.

Again, not in it for the snow days. BUT...

That brings me to how I have time to write this now. We got 10 inches of snow yesterday, so there's no school for the rest  of this week. The sun was out today, but I live 5 miles from the main highway, and my road is in pretty rough condition. I called in to Hammers, Nails, and Shit (HN&S, remember that?) early to let them that I wouldn't be in because my road wasn't safe. I decided to attempt the drive and left an hour early. I didn't call back to the store to rescind my call-in; I just figured if I made it, cool. If not, no harm/no foul because they weren't expecting me at that point. It was slushy in spots where the sun hit the road and icy where it didn't when I attempted to get there. It would have been ice when I got off, what with the temperature drop and refreeze once the sun set. The manager I spoke with talked kind of of short to me and I just hung up on her. Girrrrrl, BYE. I ain't trying to get killed for what amounts to $50 or maybe $51 dollars BEFORE taxes--I only work a 5 hour shift in the evenings on weekdays at $10 an hour. Not worth it. I went through hell on a spiderweb when I worked at the Retail Cesspool and we had bad weather between stressing about calling in and wracking up points for unexcused absences (because snow up to your arse and perilous road conditions were no excuse to them), or foolishly making the 30 minute drive to get to that thankless place. I said I would never put myself through that again, and I won't. I went to HN&S looking for a job, and I'll leave looking for one. You best believe I'm fully prepared to say ALL of that if they want to get cute and call me in the office when I go in Saturday. I takes no tea for the fever. They can suck it; no regerts, bitchez.

NNNNOPE.

The HN&S Chronicles: The Luck of the Irish

Spring break arrived in a Pinto with a bad transmission, but it's on a runaway train to OVER. How in the name of James is it Friday already?! SMH. Originally, I made tentative plans to for a trip to NYC, and my manager was kind enough to approve my time off request for this week, but my plans fell through. Who's surprised though? I was looking forward my time off even though I wouldn't be making my 4th pilgrimage to the Big Apple. I've been really exhausted from subbing and working at HN&S in the evenings, and I HAVE been putting in the work because car payments, so I thought that a week of working nowhere would be just what the doctor ordered. (I'm sorry. Are y'all sick of hearing about my car? You'll be aight.) However, after I looked at my spring break schedule on the HN&S website and saw all of those unpaid days off, I told my manager that I would work 3 days of my staycation since they're short-staffed anyway. One cashier transferred, 3 quit, 1 is on maternity leave, another got married and is honeymooning even as we speak, and one wanted to spend spring break with her kids. So there's my good deed for the month. Bless me Lord! Oh, wait you did. I won't have a short paycheck next week. Thank-you!

You know, I often wonder about fate. Take last night at HN&S, for instance. If I'd opted to keep the three vacation days I gave up, would I have met a handsome, middle-aged Irishman who thinks I'm beautiful, thinks I look 20 years younger than my 44 years, and now has my phone number? NOPE.

It all started when I accidentally pulled a customer who was waiting at another register into my line in front of him because I didn't see him. I apologized profusely and he told me how beautiful he thought I was. I said thank you and he was about to walk away when I asked him about his accent. He told me he was from Ireland,,and when he asked for my number, I gave it to him, almost without hesitation. The accent made me do it, y'all. I am WEAK for an accent, especially Caribbean, Irish, Scottish, or French. (And YES I KNOW that the Caribbean is not a country in and of itself, but the accents there all have that same lilting melody to me and I gets WEEEEEEAK when I hear one.) He covered  my hand with his--I felt some heat, y'all--and told me that he would call me.

I'm a visual person, so here's a mini-collage of some Irish actors (that I've always been a wee bit hot in the tail for) so that my visual readers can get a visual.

Nope. He doesn't look like these guys.

He doesn't look like (young) Gabriel Byrne, Robert Sheehan, or Cillian Murphy. "My" Irishman doesn't "look" like an Irishman at all. He looks like Peter Gabriel, but not from his "Sledgehammer" days, rather like Peter Gabriel if you ran into him at the Wal-Mart today... buying a sledgehammer. Yep, Great Value Peter Gabriel! HA! So handsome with beautiful blue eyes.

BINGO.

*Picking this post up 2 days later. It's hard writing a post all at one time, yall.*

He didn't call me until yesterday afternoon, when I was already formulating a "men ain't shyte" post in my head. I was on my lunchbreak when my inner Shellybird suggested that I check my messages. Sure enough, "Shamus" had called. I can't even lie. He made my day, and I've only listened to his message a bazillion times. I even let my mama hear it and she was impressed. (Probably because she is concerned about having grandcats, still a yuge possibility.) I called him back that night and we talked for half an hour and texted for a few minutes today. I had no idea how much I missed being wanted and appreciated until someone that I found attractive made me feel that way again.

My entire adult life has been a John Hughes movie.

And I know I am jumping the gun and probably 2 or 3 sherman tanks, but I just feel really good right now, and that's rare for me. I've been mooning over this guy since yesterday. At work today when business was a little slow, I just stood there staring out into space with a goofy grin on my face. I could have pulled a 12 hour shift and wouldn't have cared because I have something and someone to look forward to. I love it. Most of my teacher friends took trips for spring break. My travel plans fell through but I got a free trip on the  love train, so I'm good. (And YES, I know that last sentence was cheesy.)

Sub Adventures 8: The Hackz-n-Snotz & Mirage Men...

No sooner than I made this post on my Facebook companion page about little kids and mucous did I come down with what can only be described as the upper respiratory Hackz-n-Snotz. Hey, mock my coarse medical terminology of you will, but it's gonna be in JAMA one day. Just know that if you ever catch this, you'll find out why I gave it that name. Til then, hashtag NUFFSAID.

Now I've been taking my vitamin C gummies...half-assededly like I approach everything in my life as of late...so I haven't built up my barrier of defense against the juvenile cooties. Maybe that's why I was tuning up to do a little backup singing in Rock-n-Roll Heaven. (Thanks to 2016, they've really got a helluva band now.)

Or maybe it was my seasonal allergy attack, something that was NEVER an issue for me until adulthood. Every year, right at the change of the seasons, I come down with flu-like symptoms and head to the express med joint to get a 10ft long q-tip shoved up my septum--flu test they say--only for some peppy (if it's early) PA to chirp, "Nope, it's your allergies!". Anyone with school-age children, or under the employ of any school system anywhere already knows there are 2 places to lay blame for any case of the hackz-n-snotz (or bubble gutz for that matter) that they come down with: The changing of the seasons/allergies, ergo Jesus or those little germ factories that are our future. For this particular malady, I blame...*drumroll*...THE CHIRRENS! (I'm still praise dancing about my car, y'all.)

Since procuring a new (gently used) mode of transportation, I've been going to schools that I was afraid my old goody wouldn't get me to. Even while driving the rental and my auntie's car, I was branching out. So during that period, I made the 40 minute pilgrimage to a school I'd been avoiding until someone gave me a car. It was a half-day job, and while my students were in the computer lab slogging their way through the infamous SuccessMaker, I saw this...dude, and I think he saw me. He was tall, like over 6' and lanky with dark, curly hair. I mean, I guess. My imagination finished the job that my astigmatized eyes and last ounce of hope started because Shellybird can't see very well. I don't think he's a regular classroom teacher, maybe title I or speech therapist or a tutor, one of those employees who comes in and spirits kids away for 30 minutes or so to give them a little extra help. But I made a mental note right then to cop more assignments at this site so I could scope this dude out. My auntie warned me years ago when I was in high school and slightly more desperate than I am now (I'm simply resigned to my fate presently) that, "just because a dude looks at you doesn't mean he likes you." Well, it doesn't mean he doesn't find me attractive, right?! I think I took on another full-day assignment and I didn't see him, or I glimpsed him from a distance. (Wrangling rambunctious first graders doesn't allow a lot of time for scoping men.) That school is pretty small, which is why I figured he was just a mirage in my desert of loneliness. That's also how I wound up at that same school for 3 consecutive days a few weeks ago where the hackz-n-snotz pestilence was raging.

I got lucky on my third day at this school. As I was leaving I passed a teacher in the hallway who told me that she needed to take a day off and I should try to get the job. I did, and I saw this magical, mystical mirage man again. He is tall, but not as lanky as I had built up in my mind--not that that's a requirement--he's kind of soft through his middle, either formerly fat or getting fat. Two out of the three times that I saw him, he was wearing a teal shirt. Teal is one of my favorite colors, so that's a sign of basically, NOTHING, as I soon found out. I got a chance to swap a word with him he came to the computer lab to get a few of my students for speech therapy. Then again while I was waiting for my kids to come back from the library. I got his name and looked him up on facebook at lunch time. I figured I could message him on facebook which I did and holla that way. I did all of this going on the assumption that he is single. His facebook page is relatively private, with only one photo of himself, but no woman or kids pictured. He doesn't have a relationship status splashed all over his page either, so again, I'm assuming he's up for grabs...or maybe he's gay. I wouldn't be disappointed. I've been wanting a GBF--Gay Best Friend--for YEARS. *Okay, focus, Shellybird!* Some friends suggested I just go all in and send him a friend request. No response on either front yet, and I don't know why I added "yet". It's been 12 days since I sent the message request which has gone unread or he's exercising his right to refuse Shellybird service. The friend request is in limbo as well. That could be Karma hard at work because I can't tell you the number of ignored friend requests I have cued up in my facebook or the messages from random men that I don't respond to. Maybe my chickens have at last come home to roost. In his defense--did I really just type that?!--my hair is currently an ombre burgundy. In my facebook profile pic, I'm a (very cute if I must say so myself) ombre blonde, soooooo maybe he didn't recognize me? I don't know, y'all. What I do know is that at this point, I'm out of the notion of even trying to holla. Meeting men that I deem "my type" is rare, and when I finally do, nothing comes of it. Holla-ing has never been my thing, but after so many years alone I thought maybe, just maybe, I needed to start making some first moves. Chile, that shit don't work. Not for me, anyway, and it never has. I don't really know why I expected it to work this time.

So that's that. Shellybird's dry white season continues....

On the Road Again...

In case you hadn't heard, God is good all the time, and all the time, God is GOOD! I got a new car Monday. Well, to be more accurate, I got a gently used car. It's so nice to travel under the power of my own steam again. It's SUPER nice to travel in a vehicle that has working gages, vents, all the things that keep your car legal. (I Googled myself. My ENTIRE government name can be found on the innanets regarding *cough* "improper equipment".) I don't have to feel unworthy of the "good" parking spaces anymore. Do you know how long I've been parking a zillion miles away from my church, work, school, and the site of my sorority meetings out of fear that someone walking by would look in my car and see what a hot ghetto mess it was? Over 2 years, honey. When people questioned me, I called it cardio.

It's been a stressful month since I realized that I couldn't keep skating by the way I was doing. It all started with my car literally cutting off on me in the middle of the road. Mercifully, it was on a lightly traveled country road near my house, and not the highway or as I was crossing the railroad tracks in town. God really does shower the blessings! I got it started again, but it sounded like a motorcycle, or a lawnmower. My mechanic told me it was the engine and that it was time to start looking for a new car. Every "BAD CREDIT/SLOW CREDIT/NO CREDIT" car dealership commercial that came on tv had me surfing the net to see what they had on the lot. I followed a local auto swap page on facebook, as well as the page of some upstart car dealership that posted pics of cars that didn't look to be in much better shape than mine. My auntie, who is like another mother to me, was gracious enough to let me use her car to get to work when she could. Then I rented a car for about a week. That was a quick, temporary fix that included the extra added bonus of new car smell, but I was really nickeling and diming myself going that route.

 I bit the bullet Saturday and went to a car dealership in a neighboring town. I haven't really cared for car salesmen since I was young and had some experiences with them being snarky and rude, but hey. Supply and demand, right? I needed to ride, so I went in. My salesman was a pretty nice guy and actually kinda cute, but my head was swimming from the stress of trying to find something right away so I could return the rental and return to normalcy by Monday. No time for flirting. Not to mention that this car lot was so yuge, they had golf carts to zip shoppers around in. I'm way too indecisive for that much choice. Cars for MILES, honey. (That may be why I got what I got, but I'm not complaining--more on that shortly.) I sat in several cars and test drove 2. One of my "sit-ins" was just like the car that I got from Enterprise Rental. I seriously considered that one. Another that I'd seen on the dealership's website and was REALLY interested in had a push button ignition. I'm old school--I like keys *shrug*.  The salesman was really trying to talk up a car with heated seats. I gave that one the bypass. See, I have this thing about heated seats. I'm afraid they'll malfunction and blow my butt or vajayjay off. Oh! There was an almost sit-in too. My dealer tried to interest me in a 2004 Toyota Something-Or-Other, pitching what a smooth drive it was. I politely peeked into the driver's side window and it felt like someone had walked over my grave: Same early 2000's technology staring out at me reminding me of how my car used to be and what this one was destined to become. I thought to myself, "Um, SIR, I have spent the last 3 or 4 years watching my 2005 Chevy Cavalier decompose before my very eyes. You couldn't sell me a 2004 Anything even if it included a naked Keanu Reeves in the front passenger seat!"

Moving on...The two I drove were the same make and model, just different colors, one gray and the other green. The green one was a bumpy ride that reminded me way too much of the early days of my car's walk into the light and the interior smelled like cigarette smoke--that CANNOT be masked as I told you in my last post. The gray one had more miles--120,000+--but the ride was smooth, and gray is one of my favorite colors, so I chose that one. The interior is cloth in a very light gray. It's got some stains, but I think I can get rid of them; they're barely noticeable. But most people consider their cars their babies and I'm no exception; I was counting the fingers and toes, honey. I probably need to get seat covers because this chick LOVES to eat and drive. I'm not trying to get Taco Bell juice on the seats this early in the game.

Now that I'm back in the driving (my own car) game, it's like I have a new lease on life. I wasn't scheduled to go to HN&S Monday, and I get my schedule mixed up often. I was sure I had to work, double checked my schedule and I didn't. I think, in this instance, I was just looking forward to the drive. Ha! I've been considering sub gigs as far out in the county as possible...because now I can, and I'm applying for a tutoring gig at one of those far-out schools to supplement my income. I do have a car payment again, after all.

Speaking of car payments, when I paid off my Chevy Cavalier, I swore I would drive it into the ground before I got another car, and I did. That extra $300 a month was SWEET. Wish I'd been wiser with it though. Interestingly enough, a co-worker said he was avoiding car payments like the plague as well. His car is a 1999 Something-Or-Other and he has to hold down the turn signal lever. It won't stay down on its own anymore. I guess there are lots of people on the highways and byways "struggle driving". Over the years, I think I've seen it all: Clear plastic sheeting in lieu of a window, giant holes in the bodywork from some unknown accident (and lack of auto insurance or adequate coverage), paint job gone to hell, bottle of Windex in the car for the windshield because the washer fluid receptacle sprung a leak (that one was me, btw)...But ohhhhh when you get those fresh wheels, you wonder how and why you let things go so far left for so long. That point was driven home to me yesterday (literally) when I went to the dumpster. In the country, the trash isn't picked up from our houses. We take refuse to the dumpster and the garbage man gets it there. I haven't rigged up my trunk with protective plastic yet, so I decided to take the trash in Old (Semi) Reliable one last time before deactivating my tags and registration. As I drove those back roads in a little blue car that sounded like Husqvarna's finest, I was simultaneously praising God and lamenting putting myself through such vehicular hell for so long. Never again though. This time, it's oil changes ON TIME, no smoking in the vehicle and just overall kid glove treatment. You won't catch me riding dirty again.

Without further ado--although you probably gave all of that typing above the bypass anyway--I present my new baby:

2012 Honda CR-V

My beautician was kind enough to inform me that I now drive an SUV. Silly me, I thought it was just a really big car or a fat station wagon. HA! That's not what I planned to get; I set out looking for another sedan. Told y'all my head was swimming from stress and indecisiveness. (That means more gas, but it's easier for mom to get in an out of when I take her places.) Whatever she is, nothing but the best for Dorian...Get it? Because she's gray. Just let me be clever.

I QUIT SMOKING!!!

Then I started again after a month...Smh. I'm so glad that I'm not addicted to anything stronger than nicotine because my flesh is WEAK. I've been a smoker since 2000. I started a few weeks before my 28th birthday. How's that for an early present? Other smokers have   chastised me for starting so late. Okayyyyyyyy...Um, many people started  smoking while they were still in their teens or preteens. At least I didn't break the law. So THERE.

But why did I start? Well, at the time I was engaged. My fiance (that I worked with at the Retail Cesspool) was emotionally abusive and controlling. This particular long story short, the majority of our time together was spent with him telling me who I could and could not talk to, especially men, while he did basically whatever the hell he pleased--with and to other women. I mean, he literally made a list of the men that I was allowed to talk to--and it was a short list--consisting of 2 of his friends (also co-workers) who were already boo'd up, another co-worker who was probably in his mid 60's at the time, his dad, his two brothers, and his brother-in-law. Yet every time we went out, he was introducing me to his female "friends" that we encountered pretty much everywhere. (Apparently, he had a thing for hood boogers and trash; it was truly a miracle of biblical proportions that I tested clean--The Miracle of the Trojans.) Working in retail, where you have to be nice and make eye contact with everyone, this shambling scrub had me walking around with my head down, looking like a fool. See, he threatened to kill anyone that I talked to who wasn't on the list. I was too afraid to disobey. One day, a female co-worker came up to me and told me that he was cheating on me with someone at work (and I later found out there were others). She told me that she thought I was a really nice person and had heard I was saving myself for marriage (he was indeed my first but we decided to do it before the wedding) and she said I deserved to know what he was doing. I was already having misgivings about walking down the aisle with this miscreant, and this sealed the deal. I was so shocked and hurt though that I had to calm my nerves immediately. Since this revelation was made to me during my shift at the Retail Cesspool, drinking was out of the question, plus I had to drive home. I'd heard co-workers who smoke say that cigarettes calmed their nerves, so I decided give it a try, and the rest is history.

I broke up with the guy soon after the revelation, but it has been much harder to break up with the cigarettes that aren't treating me any better than he did, and could kill me someday...Oh, addiction, you wacky bastard...But you know what? Out of my many (failed) attempts to quit smoking, this latest one felt different. After the first 3 days--quitters know that's the hellacious time when you shake the physical addiction--I was enjoying not smoking and not smelling like smoke. During that piddly month as a non-smoker, I became as snobby as those people who've never smoked and are all self-righteous about it, minus the unsolicited lectures. (Y'all make me sick by the way.) My sense of smell was sharper than it had been in years, and I could tell who smoked with just a whif of their breeze as they walked by. Heavy smokers standing in front of me at HN&S made me want to gag--they smelled like ashtrays. I could even tell which of my students were around a smoker at home. Smoking around kids is pretty low, in case you hadn't heard. *side note* I once saw a family get into their car with a newborn and the mama lit a cigarette. It was winter time so they didn't have the windows down so the baby wouldn't catch it's death of cold...But wait.

I never once purchased a carton of cigarettes. I bought them a pack at a time, and it was nice having an extra $20 a week. My speaking and singing voice was so much clearer. The rasp that I had acquired soon disappeared. I've seen videos of singers who sang and smoke at the same time, and I'm just like, how, Sway? I lost all of my high notes, and I want them back.

How, Lana?! :'(

 So whyyyyy did I start back? You know, I really missed smoking. I missed it. Since I started back this time though, I haven't gotten the same type of enjoyment out of it. When I first started, I hid my newly acquired habit it from my family, so when I knew I would have a chance to be by myself and light up, it was almost like a turn-on. I literally felt like I was sneaking off to meet a lover. I got that feeling all the years I smoked, during church, during school, during sorority meetings. "Soon as I get out of here, I'm going to see my boo, Nic." I haven't been getting that feeling this go-round. Ironically, it feels more like when you finally break up with an asshole you were dating but for some dumb reason, you take him back. With every cigarette now, it's more like, "Bitch, why is you here?!"

And I guess I stink again. Anyone who smokes knows that perfume or cologne doesn't camouflage that smell.

Actually, writing this is almost cathartic enough to make me try quitting again, and hopefully really stick with it this time. I'm sort of apprehensive though. I'm afraid of the cravings. I'm afraid of being desperate for a cigarette when I know I shouldn't have one. I'm afraid of falling off the wagon. A friend and former co-worker from my radio days was an overweight smoker. She quit after having gall bladder surgery and being hospitalized and unable to drive after the procedure. I was standing in one of the offices smoking and she came from the studio and rhapsodized about my delicious second-hand smoke. I offered her a cigarette and she said, "I would rather gain back double the weight that I lost after my surgery and have to lose it all over than try to quit smoking again." I've always had an issue keeping weight on me, but over the years I've thought about what she said and it pretty much explains in a nutshell what quitting is like. It's hard as hell, and I'm afraid I'm not up to it and afraid of struggling. I need to be this afraid of dying of a smoking related cancer with a hole in my throat and my face all bloated like my daddy did. (Daddy looked like Bob Marley without the dreads before he got sick.) If I wasn't "too dumb to be scared" his death almost 10 years ago would have been the deciding factor in me putting the cancer sticks down for good. So I guess I'll scramble back up on the wagon after I finish the pack I'm on. I can't quit if I have cigarettes, even if I tear them up and throw them in the trash. I remember digging through the trashcan and finding a few cigarettes that weren't completely destroyed and I smoked them, because these wacky bastard that is addiction. So out of sight, out of mind is the route I will take. No more dumpster diving for the kid. Wish me luck.

Shellybird Randomness...Writer's Block

You know that moment when, as an aspiring writer of short fiction, you finally Christmas gift yourself a laptop and then finally rig the thing up in February--don't judge--and all of those amazing story ideas that came to you when you didn't feel like straining your eyes on your cell phone are now GONE?! Well, folks, this is my moment. I'm sprawled out watching the Oscars and waiting for something amazing to pop into my head so I can catch it on this screen, and...nothing. Ugh.

 My laptop was $200, so....not doing THAT.

I'm basically posting right now just to hear the hypnotic clickety-clack of the keys. Two sounds I love? The sound of the keys on a computer keyboard and people popping and chewing gum. What can I say?

So there's a random throw-away post for ya. Good-night.

There's Nobody Left...For Me, It Seems

Pardon me while I try to figure out why in the entire HELL I am still single. I am 44. I clean up well. What gives???? I thought I was going to be ok with books and cats. Now I'm not so sure because bitterness has settled on me like ash after a nuclear blast. Seeing the happy family lives of my friends played out moment by moment on social media is only adding insult to injury. Sometimes I'll wait all day before I "like" a photo. I'm not proud of that fact, but I own it. Honestly, as I get sucked deeper into the yawning abyss of singlehood, I find myself forgetting the "hows" of dating and being a girlfriend. Like most little girls, I had the expectation of a lavish wedding with an equally lavish gown that made me look like a princess. Now that isn't even a definite maybe anymore. It's like something that might have been.

Earlier today, I was pondering this and I thought of the encounter I had with my ex-boyfriend during the holidays. Nothing major (to y'all). He came through my line at HN&S. I think he was surprised to see me. I was unpleasantly surprised to see him because I didn't want him to see me working another dead-end retail job, with my left ring finger still naked as a jaybird. At least my hair was cute and my lipstick was popping though. Ladies, if you don't take any other advice from me ever--and that's perfectly understandable because I'm kinda flaky--heed this: Don't get caught slipping with your appearance. Exes are like the police, liable to roll up on ya anytime. Anyhoo, I digress. Today I was thinking about the fact that he's on his second marriage and how he and I dated for years between those marriages--collectively, we were together 17 years, I think. For a few years during our second go-round, every Christmas my family and I anticipated an engagement ring from him, and "the engagement ring" came in the form of a digitial camera, various necklace/earing jewelry sets, a Chevrolet pickup that he said was "for us" although I never drove it nor had the inclination to...It was a nice truck though, high off the ground. Anyways, I was outside having a cigarette during this pity party and as I walked up the steps to my house, I thought, "Why wasn't I good enough for him?" The old Shellybird would have cried at this thought, but I keep her chained to the pipes in the basement of my mind. New and slightly improved Shellybird only cries at funerals and during poignant vids that she sees on Facebook and Youtube--the soldiers' surprise returns are favorites--so there's that.

I haven't been on a date in over 2 years unless you count THIS mess. Don't get me wrong. My dance card would be full if I didn't have standards. These dudes need to get their shyte straight though. I have my qualifications, and I don't think I'm asking too much: No kids, no weed smoking, no police record (speeding tickets ok), no ho-like tendencies, no dummies, and no disrespect. Now what's wrong with that? People tell me I'm bougie, but honestly, I thought bougie black people also had money because that cancels me out from the jump. I just don't want to be saddled with mess, and I'm well within my rights to feel that way. Any woman who truly knows her worth should feel that way. And THAT, lil chirrens, is why I am still single. You wouldn't believe some of the bs I have to hear and put up with from various dudes at HN&S, and co-worker Reggie's stupid ass is still being propped up by various hype men and women who obviously can't see him for what he is like I can. I had to go to management on that azz last week because he doesnt know how to talk to anyone.

Smart mouth mutha....I've made the decision not to speak to him unless it's pertaining to work because you don't get to loud talk me or condescend to me, and I've given him more than one opportunity to reign it in. I am so glad I didn't take him up on his dinner offer because he is not worthy of me. Ladies, more unsolicited but sage advice from a flake: Know your worth. I have half a mind to take a quick trip to his ex-wife's facebook inbox (she's my high school classmate and on my friend list) and ask her what his deal is. Like, why did they split up? I'm no psychiatrist, but I was in an emotionally abusive/controlling relationship once, and Reggie is exhibiting some tendencies that just put my stomach in knots. Like I said, I only have half a mind to compare notes with her because she's engaged--I do believe this will be her 3rd marriage *side-eye*--so far be it from me to be a bag of wet brownies. She's moved on. But if I ever run into her at Wal-Mart again (inevitable) and SHE should bring him up first, it's off to the races.

Well, I've let that hobo live rent-free on this post long enough because, you know, I encounter some quality prospects as well...Until I look at the magic finger and see a wedding band. As of late, it's those annoying black wedding bands. When did THAT become a thing??? If I ever were to get married, I would hope the hubster wouldn't want one of those. I prefer white gold or platinum. That aside, why are the a**holes single and the sweet, well-mannered, handsome thoughtful ones that look like they read books taken? It's like the relationship axiom from hell.

The HN&S Chronicles: What You NOT Finna Do

*I started writing this on Thursday night. It's Saturday now, and I've been tweeking and editing this thing for 2 nights. Ugh!*

It's almost 2am and I am writing on a school night. I have a sub gig, but it's not until 11:45 am. As much as I enjoy subbing, I cannot STAND going to bed and getting up early unless I want to. If I don't have to get up early, it's a cause for celebration. How do I turn up when I'm on Shellybird Time?

In my last post, I was ensconced in the struggles with subbing, or getting motivated to sub. Well that has passed...for the most part. I've been getting the 4 days per week that my school system allows plus working at Hammers, Nails, & Sh*t in the evening, and it is kicking my ASS. I never felt this worn out when I was subbing and working at RetailTopia last year, and I do a lot less work at HN&S, so what's up with that?

Speaking of HN&S, haha! Lemme just tell you this. There's this dude "Thomas" who works at the store. The fact that he's 9 years older than me--he's in his 50's--with 3 kids (how many mamas I don't know or want to know), makes him not my type in any way, shape, or form. Although I will admit that the closer I get to the reality of cat ladyhood, the less stringent I am with my requirements. I'm not into workplace dalliances, though. I've made that mistake a time or 5, so as a general rule, I no longer mix business with pleasure.  This dude had been kinda flirty with me, calling me beautiful and gorgeous (color me appreciative, but unmoved), and after a few interesting-enough convos about work, God, and life asked me if I wanted to go out to dinner. I jokingly asked him if he was paying. He said that he would never allow a woman to pay for her own meal and would never take her out again if she insisted on doing so. I guess that makes him King of All Dudes. *insert eyeroll emoji* He tells me his number in this rapid fire way even though I wasn't near pen nor paper to write it down, and I don't remember numbers well, so there's that. I must admit that the Appleby's shrimp and spinach salad has been laying heavy on my mind for quite some time. HN&S is down the street from the Appleby's here and there have been evenings when the aroma wafting across the way of those skillet thingies made my soul weep, both for male companionship and for fancy food I don't have to pay for or cook. By the end of that week, I was sick with the allergy attack gets me every year when the seasons transition from summer to fall. The half-assed dinner invite was more or less forgotten, and he soon ripped his draws with me anyway, so now it's never going to happen.

See, I have this thing. I am a stickler for manners and sparing the feelings of others--total product of my raising and those Duso the Dolphin guidance sessions from elementary school.

A person's tone of voice and patience level carries a lot of weight with me. There is a certain way I speak to people and a certain way I expect them to speak to me. Where dating is concerned, what comes out of a dudes mouth and how it comes out can be a deal breaker. Don't judge me; I know I'm not the only woman who feels this way. But for those of you who don't mind, well, that's you. Honestly, that's why I never liked "The Honeymooners". The way Ralph talks to Alice? Nah, son. Just nah. Y'all can have that. But I digress. Thomas showed me his true colors on 2, actually 3 different occasions, snapping at me and raising his voice/storming off over little penny anty mistakes I made on the job. I mean, I am technically still a "new hire", you know. On both of those occasions I gave him the cold shoulder for a while after that because you're not going to flirt with me in one breath and talk to me like I'm the dumb, ugly chick amongst the sister-wives the next.

Another thing he did that pissed me off was trying to talk down to me. They play pretty decent music over the loudspeaker at HN&S. Thomas was humming one of the tunes one day and it was a song I liked so I was snapping my fingers. He tried to tell me I wasn't on beat (IMPOSSIBLÉ! I AM BLACK!). I think he was about to launch into a music lecture because he's a church musician, and well, that makes him an expert. While he was inhaling so he could expound, I jumped in and let him know that I am a trained musician, having played flute from elementary school all the way through high school--marching band and concert band. He looked right cheap then. I wonder if he's one of those "self-taught/play-by-ear" church piano players who bangs out every song like he's playing in a wild West saloon during a shootout. HA! That said, he's already used up his 3 strikes. NEXT time--and there probably will be one because he said himself that he needs to work on his patience*--he gets the stern "Here's what you NOT finna do" lecture because I am not the one and I am done.

The funny thing about all of this is that I suspect people at work are trying to ship us. I know for sure at least one guy is. Ev-er-y time he sees me he has to tease me about Thomas, as if we're already an item or close to it. Honestly, if you don't have anything more to say except the same stale shit every time you see me, a simple hi and bye will suffice. I guess me being a single middle aged black woman and him being a single middle aged black man makes us the perfect couple. Yep, that's all it takes....man, GTFOH.

*I'm guessing Thomas mentioning that he needed to work on his patience was his way of "apologizing". He said it in front of me but was talking to one of the other guys who was basically "hype man-ing" him through it. Dude, jr. high school is 30 plus years behind us--clean it up!

Sub Adventures 7: Nothing to See Here

Well, summer vacay is over. Classes resumed on August 10th. Not for me though. I haven't picked up a job yet. Oh, the opportunities are there, but I got a part-time job to supplement my income, and since I'm training there, I decided to put subbing on hold for a bit. I guess I'm going to go back this week, but the Lord KNOWS my mouth isn't set for it. The feeling of venturing into the unknown with each new sub assignment, trying to follow lesson plans, dealing with student attitudes, the algebraic ice cream money process...UGH. I don't hate it; I'm just not ready. I need to pray for strength to get my hind parts into some school SOMEwhere this month so that I won't jack up my pay. (If you don't start subbing during the first month of school, your pay will be late. I don't need that.)

But yeah, I have a part-time job. An old friend/co-worker from the Retail Cesspool got me on at a home improvement store where he's currently an assistant manager. Actually, he messaged me back in March regarding this opportunity for which I thanked him graciously but was secretly hoping to be modeling or to have won the Powerball by summer. I know; I'm delusional. Anyways, I had to go crawling back in June to see if there was any possible way they could squeeze this little birdy onto the payroll, and they did. So I will just take it as the blessing it is and try to be the best little cashier Hammers, Nails, & Sh*t has ever seen.

I've learned a lot since I've been there (3 weeks). Of note:
1. Home improvement is a thing. I'm sure you knew this, but I'm an odd duck, ok?! I'd heard of this company before but all I ever thought of in terms of their products were hammers, nails, and (the only thing I ever bought there) light bulbs . Certainly not the lumber, plumbing accessories, large appliances, electrical zip zoodles, project assistance, and everything else they sell. Builders, electricians, landscapers, and plumbers in my hometown have contracts with them. Believe it or not, I actually enjoy trying to imagine what awesomeness is going to be added on to someone's home based on their purchases. It really has opened a whole new world to me--that I will never fully understand because I ain't trying to stay there longer than a year. Hopefully I won't get fired though. Three terminations in 15 months will do me for life.

2. There's a thriving Amish community here. Did NOT know that. I love waiting on the Amish guys. They're so handsome and mannerable. I would LOVE to know where they get their pants. I bet they're homespun, (I have no clue) but I love that crisp blue denim*ish fabric. Seriously, I want a pair for myself, but I would never fix my mouth to ask them about it because I don't think the women in their world wear pants. It would be highly irregular for me to express to them my desire for a pair, I'm sure *laugh emoji*.

3. There are a LOT of good looking men in my town--including the Amish ones. There are also some really gross ones that seem to have an affinity for Shellybirds *eye roll*. Since I strive to be "as cute as I can be" (Thanks, Oprah!) every time I leave the house, I've gotten more male attention as an employee of Hammers, Nails, & Sh*t than I have in a month of Sunday's. Is my dry white season over? Alas, it is not, but I can survive on the meager ego boosts that I get there...for now.

4. I was at the Retail Cesspool for 13 years, and have a pretty sharp sense of when there's going to be some sort of upheaval. When I first got hired at the cesspool, we could wear whatever we wanted (within reason) except jeans. But in keeping with that unwritten rule of the universe--We Cannot Have Nice Things--some people went above and beyond the call of bama a few too many times and the navy blue/khaki dress code was put in place. These days, most retailers have a dress code. There was already one at the Retailtopia when I got hired there, the store name embroidered on our navy polo shirts. (Two of those went directly from the washing machine to the trashcan dripping wet after I was informed by phone that I was terminated. I was doing laundry at the time...and I'm petty.) I feel in my heart that Hammers, Nails, & Sh*t is on a runaway train to Dresscodesville. I think they're among the last retailers (not including upscale stores) that don't have one. A change is a-coming.

Oh, AND we cashiers basically just stand around waiting for customers between customers. That WAS NOT allowed at my other retail jobs. If you didn't have customers, you had to straighten merchandise near your register or stock it. If that was taken care of and it was a slow day, you'd find yourself in the sales floor helping with whatever.  Cell phone use on the sales floor was forbidden while working. Technically, it's not allowed at HN&S either. The HR manager warned me about this during orientation and said that they had an issue with it that they were going to address. That was probably my warning not to do what I see other people doing because I've watched 2 cashiers in particular stand at their registers texting like their souls' salvation depends on them hitting "send".  This is a daily thing for them, and no one ever says anything. A change is a-coming though.

So, there's that. I'm in retail AGAIN, and my buttcheeks STILL clench every time I log on to the substitute teacher's database. Nothing to see here; move it along.

*UPDATE* It's now Sunday evening, and after my shift at HN&S, I logged on to Aesop and got a sub assignment for tomorrow. It's a half-day, taking over for a parapro. Baby steps, y'all.

I Posted on Facebook Tonight

I'm switching things up a bit. Usually I direct people who stumble upon my Facebook companion page to this little spot, but I posted there tonight. The idea for the post came to me suddenly after reading the news and before I knew it, my thumbs were flying. So head on over to my Facebook page for a short, bittersweet read about my childhood experience with the death of a classmate during summer vacation. 

Crappy Apps, Ipsy, and Other Such Minutiae....

*Damn it STRAIGHT to hell, this is my
THIRD ATTEMPT with this post. We can put a man in the moon and elect a Black president, but can't tweak a blog app that saves your content as you type?! Okay! THAT'S why it's no longer on my phone. It was free anyway so I guess I got EVERYTHING I paid for. I am so f*cking pissed right now, hence the salty language that I don't use ·too· often. Sorry/NOT sorry. I guess if the the 3rd time is a charm, this incarnation of my post will be f*cking spectacular. SMDH. I've got to get a laptop...
And I know some horrible, heartbreaking things have transpired over the last month. My blog has never been "topical" though, and I won't address those issues in this post. It's certainly not because I don't care. Right now I just feel the need to hide behind a fluffy cloud of minutiae where there's no danger of getting shot by cops or terrorists and Donald Trump isn't running for president.*

*sigh...again, with feeling* I've haven't posted since May! I guess summer break extends to blogging as well, for me anyway. In all honesty, I actually grounded myself from doing the writing I WANT to do until I completed the writing that I NEED to do. Let me just tell you right now that it ain't working. I'm my own hardheaded child. Smh. For what it's worth, I do occasionally slap something up on my Facebook companion page.

That said, guess who's an Ipsy subscriber? I am. Their ad kept popping up on my Facebook page singing the cyber siren song of quality makeup dirt cheap. I mean, 5 samples a month for $10, no shipping, in a cute makeup bag to boot??? TAKE MY MONEY (in increments of $10)!!!!!

My July Glam Bag...

Ever since my mom "turned me loose" in my teen years and allowed me to wear makeup, I've been all about some lipstick/gloss, the darker the better. It's my THING; I never leave home without it. That's why I subscribed to Ipsy. I'm really feeling these  hyper-pigmented "lippies" that are all the rage (although I can do without the matte finishes; I like a shiny lip). How many lip products have I received since I've been a subscriber? Not a DANG one. And this is in spite of the fact that I have done and REDONE my subscriber profile. In my 3 months of subscriberhood, I've received 3 eyeliners--a product I NEVER use, 2 bronzers that won't show up on my bronze skin, 3 makeup brushes that I can learn learn to like, and some creepy one-piece face masks that will make me look like either Leather Face from The Texas Chainsaw Massacre...or a klansman.

NOPE.

I never asked for ANY of that shyte. I've also received some eyeshadows which I can work with, but I didn't request those either. My favorite product to date is a sample size of a perfume called Remarkable People, the receipt of which got my hopes up, but I only received perfume once. It smells DIVINE though. I'd never heard of it before so I googled. A full-size bottle would run y'all $140, and I said "y'all" because I don't have that kind of money, sooooo *WINNING*.

Now Ipsy does offer a disclaimer stating that they don't guarantee that subscribers would receive the exact products/brands that they requested, but...NEVER? We are paying for this stuff, you know. In one of my Ipsy emailings, they informed me that I could increase my chances of getting my preferred products by doing reviews (the portal to which is in the Glam Bag preview email). I shouldn't have to "review" products that I never use and thus didn't ask for just to get some lipstick that I told them I wanted from the jump.  I guess I'll try it before cancelling my subscription to see if it actually changes anything. But I'm certainly not doing any unboxing/review vids, if that's also what they meant. I just feel like makeup tutorials, unboxing vids, and product review vids (which are all over YouTube and enjoyable enough until they become annoying) are for young people. I am 44. I have yet to see one of those vids by someone who doesn't look like they're young enough to be my kid. (Middle-aged women might be doing them, but I haven't seen it.) I just want some friggin' lip product!!! I SWEAR sometimes I think I ask too much of LIFE.

I've voiced my complaints on social media in the most non-bitchy way possible--and that took extreme effort. I scoured the nets to see if other women had the same concerns. I finally stumbled upon an Ipsy swapsie group, and the makeup angels sang...But not for long. The premise of the group is to swap your unwanted products with someone else who has something you do want.  I was so looking forward to the chubby lippies rolling in as I rolled the eyeliner and bronzer out. I guess the group is fairly new because the other night the page admin/creator asked us members if we had any ideas for group rules. Seems like she would have already set that up 10 Commandments style since, you know... TOTAL STRANGERS WILL BE SWAPPING COSMETICS, but nah. The only response came from this one forward-thinking chick who posted, "No swapping cosmetics that have already been opened." The admin didn't respond, and no other rules were suggested, no rules posted. Oh, but yesterday, the admin posted a pic of a tube of cupcake frosting-pink lip gloss (gloss all smeared on the tube) with the caption, "New, only swatched." Um, honey, I don't think "new" means what you think it means in this instance.

Not the actual pic from the group, but you get the idea.

RIGHT.

I have funny ways. That's not gonna work. I've revisited the post several times and no one voiced any objection. As a matter of fact, one chick expressed interest in swapping. Now I'm not trying to be shitty, but ew. Just ew. So, until some ground rules are established in that group to keep us swappers herpes-, conjunctivitis-, and cat hair-free (hey, I don't know these people), I'm just gonna lay low unless someone wants to swap some perfume. I have a beautiful millennial cousin who probably knows how to do that cat's eye trick with eyeliner and would appreciate some free stuff.

*UPDATE* I checked the group again today and the rules are slowly creeping in. One member also suggested only swapping new unopened items, but said it was ok if they'd been swatched. Lordt. 

The Manicure Files: Great Work, Andy!!!

How's about a little fluff? Ok, I got ya, boo. I got my nails done Saturday, and I super duper LOVE them! I've been at odds with my digits for years because I've always felt that I had "man hands". My auntie gave me a complex about my hands in my teens, pointing out my "blunt nails ". My nail beds are short you see, so I need long nails--grown out just past the quick at the least--to add daintiness to my paws. (If you're uninitiated in regards to nail bed length, Google it.) Eighties supermodel Kara Young and FLOTUS Michelle Obama have the hands I wish I'd been born with.

Going polish-free is really not an option for me. I've tried so many different things to keep me in the girls' club when it comes to my hands: Long acrylic can't-type-or-wipe-my-butt-properly nails, stiletto shape (SO ghetto, imo), and the style that I've found suits me best, "squoval". My boy Andy did me up right after I showed him a pic that I cribbed from Sally Hansens' Facebook page.

I brought my own polish to the salon, NYC Colors in Wine Bar--$1.97 at the Wal-Mart, and I am quite pleased with the finished product. I should also mention that this look only cost $15--$18, if you count my tip! WOOT!

Sub Adventures 6 The Last Days: A Rambling Account About the End of the School Year

Today is the next to the next to last day of school. Where am I? The middle school AGAIN, but no complaints here. In reference to my last post, I finally saw the Hugging Teacher again--no hugs today, just a wave in passing *womp womp*. I also saw his wedding ring, or a ring on the ring finger of his left hand. We need legislation on this thing: If you're married, always wear your matrimonial hardware to lessen confusion. When I got my hugs, I didn't spot a ring. I found out from another teacher that he's a minister, so maybe those were just good ol' Christian hugs. In the future, I'll just accept my Christian hugs from Jesus when I walk into the Light after dying in my sleep at the age of 100, thank-you very much. Right now I'm 43, single, and easy to get ideas. Moving on...

Since I've been subbing, my mind has been set adrift on memory bliss, if you will. No matter what grade I teach, I spend so much time trying to remember myself at that particular age, and I LOVED school. The learning atmosphere, the awesome teachers, that papery-gluey smell when I entered the building...I had my ups and downs but when used for its intended purpose, school was AWESOME.

When I got to the job site--such a technical term for...school--everyone I saw was dressed up. Teacher attire is but one of the glaring differences between school now and the 70's/80's version I experienced. My female teachers always wore skirts, dresses, blouses, and slacks. The male teachers were never without a tie. Now it's khakis, polo shirts, LEGGINGS/JEGGINGS, sneakers, and flip flops, pedi or not (*side-eye*). I actually patterned my style of dress (for subbing) after my teachers, and you won't catch me slipping. My supervisors may look back on my job performance and say, "She couldn't maintain control of her classroom," but they'll never bust me for inappropriate attire. Casual Friday is my exception at the schools that participate because my ass loves denim, literally.

So yeah, anyway, folks were looking casket-ready today. Those mannish, smart mouth boys that I was always threatening to write up looked like distinguished gentlemen. Those snippy, attitudinal girls looked like ladies. Why? Today was 8th grade promotion day. (NOT graduation, but PROMOTION, as the teachers were quick to clarify. Didn't stop parents from buying up all the graduation balloons at the Wal-Mart, doe.) The wistfulness and nostalgia was palpable when I walked in. It almost made me long for those days, now 30 years gone. The only promotion ceremony we had was running out of the building on the last day of 9th grade like Brad Davis at the end of Midnight Express though. HA!

I could tell the "seniors" were taking it in for one last time before it was all over. My heart went out to them, but onward and upward, little chirren! The best is yet to come (if you get your butts in gear)!

Aaaaand, some of them WON'T. You can't save them all, and some seemingly don't even want to be saved, but we will keep trying. For instance, that little devil-boy that was in my 6th block class this afternoon. So much mouth, UGH! He even left a hate note on the white board for his teacher. Why his mama didn't take him home after the ceremony is beyond me. Even his partner in crime was like, "Dude can't you EVER be nice???" I hope they warned the high school about him though. Lord knows I tried to warn him about the high school, but you know...deaf ears...

I washed the board so his teacher wouldn't see that.

Time Warp of Loooooooove

I'll try to make this quick because this is a school night and it's after midnight. I should be asleep, but the school year is almost over and like the real teachers, I've had it. The shitz I give are becoming fewer and further between.

That said, I'm actually looking forward to school tomorrow--or today rather, given the lateness of the hour. This is in spite of the fact that it's at the middle school. I seemed to have developed a crush on one of the teachers there, and I don't even know his name. I see him every time I sub though and he's always very nice. If I get turned around--which is a regular occurrence for me given my wack sense of direction--he gets me on the right track. I ran into him Sunday at the Wal-Mart where you see EVERY-D*MN-BODY when you live in a small town. He gave me a hug, we chatted a bit about school, and he asked if I was working next week, which is now this week. I told him I had a day coming up at the middle school although I couldn't remember which day off the top of my head. I told him to enjoy the rest of his weekend and he hugged me goodbye. I thought it was weird, but pleasant (and what ignited this little spark of feeling). I mean, is all that hugging a religious thing?  It WAS Sunday, but I'm Baptist and we don't do all of that. Maybe he's sweet on me. Who knows? After the mini-date though, I've begun to believe in the possibility of love again, and I'm kinda feelin' myself. Like, I AM a viable candidate for significant otherhood. I'm also feeling like I did when I was a teenager and the least little bit of eye contact or a touch had my head all aswim.

*Is "aswim a word? Eh, who gives a crap; I'll correct it later.*  So we'll see what happens. I might even Sadie Hawkins his butt. Like I said, the school year is almost over; we only have one week left. I may not get another assignment there before the cheese stops rolling. Strange how the potential for romance--or dinner at Appleby's that I don't have to pay for--took me from dreading going to the middle school to looking forward to it. 

The Post About When I Met This Hot Guy On POF and We Went on a Mini-Date to Starbucks and I Never Heard From Him Again

Well, it's only been 3 days, but mama didn't raise a fool. I don't expect to hear from him again. Here's the story: I have a couple of dating site profiles. One is on Plenty of Fish (POF from here on out) and the other one is on a different site that's quite popular, but the name has escaped me El Chapo-style. I get a fairly decent response to my profiles; I don't need 100 inbox messages a day because I just am NOT that much of a people person. I mean really, just UGH. Factor in that I'm not going to respond to most of them anyway because there's no need to dole out false hope. My philosophy, and I'm sticking to it. That said, I can count on one hand--with 4 fingers left over--how many times a man that I've found attractive has shown up in my inbox, and that happened Tuesday night. Ohhhhhhh he's so handsome, like if young Laurence Fishburne and Gary Dourdan made sweet love and produced a son.

What had happened was, he inboxed me with the obligatory "Hello" message. I find one-word messages and empty compliments to be a very weak way to introduce yourself to someone. I'm a conversationalist, and one word does not a convo make. I'm not so desperate yet that a "Hey sexy" from a man I don't even know can move me. BUT when you factor in a nice looking face, a tight body, and that other unnameable something that draws me to a man, well YOU get a response. ...The response won't be any more than what you originally sent though. Again, not that desperate yet. I messaged "Hi" back within 15 minutes, and nothing. I kept checking back to see if he was online and wracked my brain trying to figure out why he left me hanging...Ok, that's low-key desperate. The next day, after school, I decided to give it another go and broke my rule by sending this message: "I thought I'd say hi again since I rarely get celebrity lookalikes in my inbox." He finally responded and asked me if I wanted to meet up that evening after he got off work. I honestly wasn't expecting a meetup for a month, if ever. I'm that chick who drags ish out because he just might be a serial killer, like I'd know that right off the bat or something. After some schedule synchronization, we decided to meet up at the Starbucks in the neighboring town to mine since he could cut through there on his way home from work. I washed my face, brushed my teeth, took a ho bath (Google it), and put on something cute. Chiiiiiiild, I was not disappointed by what I saw when I got to the Starbucks. Six feet of caramel goodness with a pink shirt and grey slacks hugging in all the right places...*WINNING*. He hugged me and I had a chance to feel all of that lucious wonderfulness. Again, *WINNING*.

We only had a half-hour to chat. We got to Starbucks at 8:30 and they close at 9...small-town life, I tell ya. In retrospect, the conversation, though pleasant, seemed like an interview for a job I wound up not getting. Questions about what it's like in my town, my hobbies, travel, were answered to the best of my knowledge, but he's been around the world one and a half times and will drive anywhere. I, on the other hand, hate interstates and merging into traffic and don't even have a passport. When he asked what I liked to do, I told him read and write. I also foolishly let slip that I'm a blogger. He wanted to know more about it, but I wouldn't share. Nobody in my real life knows about this except my cousin, a soror, a guy I used to like, and maybe 2 others. I like it that way. I mean, HIM, reading THIS post?! Oh, HELL to the naw!!! I guess that was a massive eff up on my part, but it is what it is, and I can't make it what it ain't...Hm, I don't know what to think. Thirty minutes isn't long to get to know someone. I may have my flaws and limitations, but I know I'm special because Mr. Fred Rogers told me so when I was little. HA!

A second interview would be nice, but I haven't heard nay peep out of him since I called him back requesting that he text me when he got back home so I'd know he got there safely. Maybe he's dead. What's more likely is that he just wasn't as interested as he'd been when I was nothing more than a pretty pic on POF. I guess I should have seen that writing on the wall. POF allows you to see when someone is active online and who has viewed your profile. HE NEVER VIEWED MY PROFILE. He just saw my picture and sent a message which leads me to believe he does that on any profile with a picture that pleases his eye. I guess I should be grateful that I was even allowed to be on a leg of his pretty girl world tour. That won't keep me warm at night, marry me or knock me up though. Am I jumping the gun? Perhaps. I believe many women see men they're attracted to and envision weddings and babies. Men just think about sex. I only have a few eggs and a bit of daylight left, so I'm on a mission. My bestie met her husband on POF, so this is a thing that can happen.

Have I ever mentioned that I'm a social media snoop extraordinaire?  Tis true. I tracked him down on Facebook using his first name and city and found out his last name, which I immediately paired with my first. It had a nice ring to it, I must say. Something else I found out: He has at least 2 children and 1 grandchild, although his POF account said he had no children. I prefer men without kids so if we get married, we can embark on the journey of first-time parenthood together plus I can do without baby mama drama. My sorority sister said that he may have done that because they're grown, so technically they are no longer children. As far as I'm concerned, if you are a mother or father you have CHILDREN, even if you're 100 years old and your kid is 80. Come on, now.

Ah, my sorority sis also said that this could be his way of seeing what's out there. I guess we all have our MO's. Another thing she said was that the Lord will remove things and people from your life that you don't need, even if it does come in a pretty, sexy, tall package with perfectly straight teeth unaided by orthodontia (that in retrospect I hope like hell weren't dentures)...

I guess I let ALL of my crazy out on this post. But do you know how long it's been since I've truly enjoyed the company of a man? Do you know how long it's been since I received attention from a man I found attractive? Do you know how long it's been since I had sex (although I now refer to myself as celibate by default with plans to keep my skirt down til I'm married)? No? Well, I'll tell you: A VERY long time. I'd actually resigned myself to a lifetime of spinsterhood with books and cats to keep me entertained. This little glimmer of hope had me on cloud 9 for about 36 hours. My feet are back on the ground now, and oh, how they hurt.