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.

Friendly Reminders...

Well, thanks to the latest Google Doodle, I've been reminded of my place on the outside looking in--my fault, I know. Today is National Teacher Appreciation Day. I have to be at school in a few hours, so if teachers are getting a special meal today to celebrate the occasion (READ: a catered lunch instead of cafeteria crap), I'll get whatever the teacher I'm subbing for would have had...bright side. Bring it on.

Shellybird (Kinda) Short Post:

Welp, I'm back, and as far as I know, ok. I got the CT scan of my liver and it came back normal, meaning nothing awful like cancer. My doc still wanted an ultrasound though just to be sure-sure. Apparently even in my advanced, middle-aged, need-to-be-shopping-for-cats years, I'm awful young to have a spot on my liver. I had that done Friday and I guess I'll hear something by Tuesday. I said in a previous post that God is still in the blessing business, and I know he hasn't taken his shingle in since then. So I'll just be over here waiting on my next blessing...and trying to quit smoking.

On a slightly lighter note, the doctor who did the CT scan of my liver looked--from what I could see of his face around the mask--and sounded like Ben Stein. He was a very sweet guy who walked slowly with a slight hump in his back. I'm a sucker for male doctors who have a kind and gentle manner and this one did *daddy issues*. As I was laying on the table waiting for him to shoot the dye into my IV (to illuminate my liver in all its spotty glory), I was also rambling on asking questions. I stay looking out for #1. I asked how my liver could be jacked up since I only drink 3 times a year. His bespectacled eyes looked over the mask at me sadly and he said, "Even three times a year is too much." (I told you this was only a slightly lighter note.) But I did amuse him with my lack of knowledge about the location of my liver. My high school guidance counselor wouldn't allow me to take human anatomy because I was shooting for the 22-credit diploma for college-bound students and I sucked at math and science already. She said there was no need for me to bring my gpa down any lower. THAT'S why I thought the liver was in the back near the kidneys. That's why I call the swirly, cartilagey part of the ear the "crispy-crisp". Don't judge me.

I need to hit the hay because I have school tomorrow. I have a lot going on, and I've been stressed. The tax deadline is tomorrow and I need to find a preparer to file an extension for me for free after school. I really need to do better and eventually, I will. Until then, I'm going to try not to worry because...GOD.

Spring Breakin' and Praying For Time

While it makes our paychecks a wee bit shorter, we subs have a healthy appreciation for spring break. At least THIS sub does, and what a spring break it has been. (This could be a long one, so bear with.)

A few weeks ago--well, I guess it was early March--I started feeling this mysterious soreness on my right side at my rib cage. It was under the skin, not sore like when I take a bath the soap and hot water would light me up. Just sore to the touch. I could feel a lump and a welt under there too. I lost my daddy to a smoking-related cancer back in '07 and I smoke, so I'm all like, "Ohhhhhh shit, CANCER!" You'd think I would have quit smoking long ago, but not yet. *side eyes self*. My Obama care has kicked in though, so I made my way to the doctor. He felt the lump and sent me to a surgeon who also felt the "THING" and thought outpatient exploratory surgery was in order. (Does Obama Care even cover that?????) I requested that the surgery be scheduled for spring break so I wouldn't miss any school. Between the doctor's appointments and x-rays, I'd already missed enough. I ain't a salaried employee yet, honey.

Well, guess what? Weeks of worry and an Easter Sunday visit to the church altar later, it was time for the surgery. I'm prepped and wheeled up to the operating area (?). I don't know the technical term for it. My iv juice was making me feel all nice and relaxed when the doc strolls in and asks me about my spot. I couldn't find it. HE couldn't find it. It was gone, so Doc said there was no need for the procedure because he'd just be "digging around" and my name was stricken from his dance card for that day. You'll not tell me that my God ain't in the blessing business.

I will say I was slightly embarrassed because I hate to feel like I'm wasting anyone's time. Maybe I should have been checking on it all along, but in my mind I was already dead and buried. I apologized--a cornball move in retrospect--and the doc asked me why I was apologizing, that I should be glad I didn't have to have surgery but before he left me laid out there he apologized too. He also left me with a little nugget of information regarding my health: When they did the CT scan of my problem area, they found a spot on my liver. My LIVER. You know that organ that you CANNOT live without, unlike at least one kidney or lung, the tonsils, gall bladder, or appendix...MY LIVER. After he left, I just laid on the bed being pumped full of feel-good juice with my eyes misting. I had spent the days and weeks leading up to the "surgery that wasn't" imagining my funeral, playing George Michael's "Praying For Time" repeatedly, imagining how sad my mama would be without me, imagining the wedding, guilt-free intramarital sex, and pretty babies I would never have, imagining seeing my beautiful grandma again--if I got into Heaven...I had also stocked up on post-surgical cuisine--soup and jello. I guess it's just sitting in the cupboard waiting for me to actually have surgery...or the flu.

I hate canned soup, so I eat ramens.

Meanwhile, I'm trying to figure out what went wrong with my liver. I drink 3 times a year: Christmas, New Years, my birthday, and those occasions all depend on whether or not my bestie is in town. There are no drinkers in my immediate fam and I don't drink alone. Where am I going to get a liver if my current model has become a dud? Those things are hard to come by, you know, and don't people with liver problems swell up? Call me shallow, but I don't want to swell up. I don't want to be on the liver donation wait list, basically waiting for someone else to die. I don't want to be sick period. My menstrual cramps, migraines, and allergies are enough to make me take to my bed. What will I do? Now that I mention migraines, my drug of choice when I don't have a maxalt prescription is Excedrin Migraine which contain acetaminophen. Which is bad for the liver. LORD, have mercy. So school starts next week, and I'm already down one day for a CT scan of my liver.

Sub Adventures 5: NOPE (A Shellybird Ventpost)

As Cartman used to say at the end of every episode of South Park, I've learned something today. (At least, I guess that was Cartman, and I guess it was every episode. I stopped watching that show after they went too hard in the paint with the Jesus jokes. The way my soul's salvation is set up, I have enough to answer for. Can't be all laughing at the Messiah.)

Here's the lesson: I am NOT a middle school teacher. I just CANNOT deal with those chaps and their attitudes. Give me sweet little ones who cry at the drop of a hat, count on their fingers, and need their shoes tied. Those big(ger) kids just aren't for me. The high school--with the REALLY big kids--doesn't even factor into my equation. I was at the middle school today and the air was so thick with "Screw this, I don't wanna be here, and I DON'T have to listen to a substitute," that I could have cut it with a knife. I would take into consideration the fact that spring break starts Friday IF this wasn't a regular occurence for me when I go to ye olde springboard to high school, but nah. I can count on ONE FINGER the number of times I've subbed at the middle school and my students have acted the way they were supposed to, so let's not blame the much maligned spring fever, cuz he ain't do nuffin'. It's a fundamental lack of respect for authority and elders.

I am not now, nor have I ever been perfect, but I knew how to act when I left the house. I didn't want to be that kid who showed her ass (a euphemism for showing off) in public or at school and give myself a "bad name". My mama and my grandma would have beat enough shades of black off of me to make me light skinneded as Vanessa Williams. Ok, I was being facetious with the Vanessa Williams part because they were by no means abusive, and in all honesty my spankings were few and far between.* I was raised to behave a certain way, and I adhered to it. I don't know HOW the younger generations are being raised these days, and I'm sure it's a sign of the apocalypse that a gen X-er even has to say that. Here's what I DO know: I'll be burned out before I even get my teacher's licence if I don't take the middle school off my list of preferred sites. (FYI: My transcripts are at the Department of Education even as we speak, so the wheels are in motion.) I don't get paid enough as a sub to put up with the behavior I'm confronted with at the middle school EVERY SINGLE TIME I go there. Teachers  certainly don't get paid enough to put up with it everyday. I say all of that to say, no middle school for the kid. Just NOPE.

*Even though I was spanked as a child and turned out friggin' AWESOME, I'm not a proponent of corporal punishment. Laying my hands on kids just isn't for me. SO DONT EVEN TRY TO SAY that this post is suggesting in any way that my "baddies" deserve beatings. That's not what I meant, and I'm not up for the bullshit.

Sub Adventures 4: Near Misses....

Some of my bloggiest moments (when I REALLY have a lot to say and want to write about it) usually come on nights before I have to sub. For me that is usually not an option because of my fear of oversleeping. Let me just tell you that I had a week of near misses towards the end of February, and I didn't even write the nights before. I still have chills thinking about it, but here's the story:

I live down country, in my grandma's house, the house that raised me. *insert heart emoticon* How far down country am I? Let me put it to you like this: I have NO LESS than a 20 minute drive to get to the nearest convenience store for gas or a pack of Nabs. (Google it, city slickers. We country mice already know what Nabs are.) The schools I choose to work at are at least a 30 minute drive for me; there is nothing closer. If I selected all of the elementary schools in the county--and I wish I could have, for more experience--there would be days that I'd have an hour drive to and from school. NOPE. When I'm on my way home from school in the afternoon, I get what I need to get while the getting is good because I AIN'T going back out of the house, except in case of medical emergencies...or the occasional nicotine fit.

I set 2 alarms for school: A standard battery powered clock and my cell phone. The clock is set for 5:45am, but my actual rise-n-shine time is 6:15am at the latest. I never actually get up and hop in the shower before 6:15. That early alarm buys me 30 minutes of "Lawd Jesus, WHY can't I win the lottery?!?!" time. Even though I love subbing, those years spent in retail hell--especially the last few leading up to my firement--have scarred me. The sound of my alarms triggers Pavlovian feelings of dread no matter what the alarm is for.

So for 2 days straight, I woke up at 7am!!!! That's the time when I'm usually moisturizing, getting dressed, and taking my rollers out of my hair! My survival--or LAWD-JESUS-I-CAN'T-GET-FIRED-FROM-THIS-JOB-TOO--instinct kicked in. I managed to get myself ready and out the door in 30 minutes, you know, normal people time. It usually takes me an hour because I putter and daydream, but I nipped that in the bud on those 2 days and got to school on time! Woo!