The high school visit

Reason 941 for my absence:

One of my job responsibilities is to visit high schools in our surrounding area. I go out and talk up higher education and promote our campus as a first-choice for college. I give students the 411 on how to apply, the majors we offer and why my university is da bomb diggity.

I'm the rural chick. For some reason, because I went to a "smaller" high school, I've been tagged in our high school territory distribution as "she who goes to all podunk schools." I actually don't mind it because during autumn recruitment season, I enjoy driving to all these rural schools, soaking in the autumnal splendor.

But let me tell you, sometimes I feel that instead of walking into a high school, I'm walking into some sort of sanitarium for pimple-faced freaks. I had three visits the other day, and while two of them were rather good and engaging, the one - the larger one - was a freak show. Why?

Where do I start?

First of all, it was a very rural school, and not a whole hell of a lot goes on in that small town, so the idea that two college reps were visiting that day must have been like flies being drawn to shit. We were the shit. Next, instead of a classroom or guidance office conference room, we were thrown into the cafeteria, while a study hall was going on, with no adult supervision whatsoever. Can I hear a strike two? Finally, the kids who showed up didn't give a rip about what we were saying, they just wanted to be out of class - in the cafeteria - with no adult supervision - and with us, the shit. That's exactly how we were treated.

So that visit stirred up some memories of my last visit to that school. I did a spring visit to hopefully capture any kids who were sitting on the fence about choosing a college. Instead of a structured visit, I merely set up camp outside of the cafeteria at a table and chatted with interested students as they meandered by. During the down time, which was pretty much the entire time I was there, I was privvy to watching a serial killer in the making. An odd sort of student was sitting alone at a table minding his own business and eating his lunch. Sure enough, a host of cocky, jock-strap sporting individuals showed up and started harrassing him. They surrounded this boy, who was of the Goth persuasion, and proceeded to get in his face continually for about 15 minutes until the poor kid finally broke and escaped - without incident, thank God. I was trying to avoid the entire situation and was having a micro panic attack as the incident escalated and I, knowingly, was doing nothing.

My take was that this happens pretty much every day to this kid. He did a stellar job of ignoring these asswipes, however, it was very disheartening to watch. I felt for that kid. I often wonder how many high school idiots he has chopped up and buried in the corn field next to his house.

So that's the reason for my absence from my blog. I've been out travelling. Earlier in the week, Techtard and I took our "vaginas to Celina", (Sa-line-ah) a phrase we rattled off about a 1,000 times on our 4 hour drive to western Ohio in the pissy, cold rain. Yeah, we're that weird, but it seemed to get funnier and funnier the more we said it, and the more we drank.

But that's a story for another post. And no, we're not gay. Not that there's anything wrong with that.

Next week, hopefully the posts will return. I know, I know, the excitement is unbearable.

SOMEBODY SEDATE ME!

Last night's Grey's Anatomy was yet another good episode. ABC has me hooked on this show and the more I watch it, the more I love it. Sadly, it's already becoming predictable, but I don't care. The show captures my interest and keeps me tuned in week after week. Hopefully it'll be a few more seasons before it completely jumps the shark. Why do I dig the show? Let me count the ways.

1. Patrick Dempsey has grown up and is unbelievably hot. I dig his character. Dr. McDreamy can come cut on me anytime.

2. George O'Malley cracks me up. If I was a resident surgeon, I'd be most like O'Malley. Unsure of myself, awkward, innocently coy...oh yeah, indeed I'm Georgia O'Malley for sure.

3. I know guys like Alex Karev - impossible to be around but truly a good person deep down. The persona he showcases is transparent, much like someone else I know.

4. I can't help but wish I was more like Cristina Yang. Precise, cut-throat, never wrong, aggressive, strong. I'm the antithesis of Cristina. But last night's breakdown was a pleasure to watch, from a therapeutic standpoint. It was nice to see her "human." And as she was sobbing uncontrollably and yelling for her friends to sedate her, I thought, my God, that's what I'm like!

Somebody sedate me please! If only it was that simple.

Wait, it is that simple if you're a heroin junkie.

Halloween is coming!

Halloween is by far my favorite time of year. Favorite season, favorite candy-free-for-all, favorite scary movies. Rock on Halloween.

NoDak Mark got me thinking about what I'll be for Halloween this year. Ideally if my husband and I had a costume party to go to, we'd go as Heat and Snow Miser from the claymation classic, "The Year Without a Santa Claus". We'd fit those roles perfectly, minus the penis on my part. (I'd be Heat because I'm so damn hot and DaHubs would be Snow because he's so frigid. LOL)


But I'd settle for this costume too. She's a real beauty. Thanks Techtard for the big laugh.

Garden Orb Web Weaver

I have an unhealthy fear of spiders. Big or small, spiders freak me out. They paralyze me. I suppose that would make me an arachnophobe. In any case, I don't like spiders and they scare the britches off of me.

Which is odd, because I'm an outdoor kind of gal. I love gardening, camping, trapsing through the woods, running through corn fields...but I stop cold when I see a spider. It's like I have some arachnoradar. I know exactly where spiders are.

Meet this beauty. She decided to take up residence on my front porch. She spun her web between my front porch railing and my hanging geranium basket. She was a lovely autumn shade of orange and she was bigger than a quarter. Instant nausea. When I first laid eyes on her, I thought I was going to pass out. I literally froze up and yelled for my husband in a panicky and hurried voice. He knows the spider voice. It mimics the enraged lunatic who has broken into our house and is inches away from chopping my head off voice.

I asked him to remove her which means, "kill the bitch", but DaHubs, who is a lover off all creatures great and small, usually finds a paper cup or a paper plate and collects the live specimen and removes it to the great outdoors. This time, however, I think the garden orb web weaver scared him because there was no way in hell he was going to touch her. It was time to call in a professional.

I begged Cody, my neighbor, to come over and take care of her. He came trotting over with his gallon of Death Spray and after several minutes of teasing me, he gave her a good spray. I know, I know, it's completely uncool to kill harmless critters. She wasn't doing anyone harm - except to me by way of nightmares and panic attacks. When confronted by a scary spider, I tend to have nightmares for about a week which involve me waking up in the middle of night and screaming that there are spiders all over the ceiling and walls. This drives my husband insane. He's been a good sport for putting up with this type of behavior for well, nearly 15 years now.

She didn't go down without a fight, either. This Death Spray is supposed to be instantaneous and once she was doused, she traveled quickly from her spot in the center of her orbtastic web right up into my hanging basket. Cody assured me she was going to die but I was convinced she would live forever in my plant. I started the nervous panic pace.

The nervous panic pace involves me becoming fixated on the situation. For instance, it'll appear that I'm relaxing on the couch watching TV, but really I'm obsessing over the idea that the spider is still alive and in my geranium. My eyes are on the TV but all I'm seeing is the spider. It's fear at it's purist form. So after Cody sprayed the spider, I spent the next hour hovering at the window looking for her to reappear. It's almost obnoxious, really, this fixation that overcomes me. After some time, she did, in fact, reappear. She started this long dangling decent to her death. Of course I mistakened this act as her seeking revenge on me and all things I love. I watched her in sheer fear as she slowly decended from my hanging basket from her lonely web strand.

I picked up the phone and called Cody. "Cody, you have to come over here and finish the job. I'm not kidding, get over here now, she's still alive, please hurry, OH MY GOD, she's still alive! Oh, oh, hurry, hurry, before she lands on the porch!" Ok, see? That's the panicky voice. Within minutes, he was there and I was waiting at the front door with a broom. I handed it to him and in a stearn voice instructed him to "get rid of her."

Once again, this allowed for more ridicule on my part. I didn't care. By this time I had worked myself up into such a tizzy that all the ribbing and jokes were ineffective. The focus, for me, was the expedient removal of said spider. After poking at her and observing her lifeless carcass, it was decided she was dead. Cody intercepted her web strand with the broom handle and removed her body to the street. Dead spider walking.

I'm still not over this ordeal. I have two hanging baskets on my front porch who have passed on to the giant hanging basket in the sky, but I'm terrified to remove them to the garbage because...what if she had babies in there? Oh the horrors of which I wish not to think! You should have seen me earlier as I scoured the web for a picture of this spider. See, I had no idea what kind of spider she was, so I googled orange spider and after inspecting several photos, I found the exact arachnid. By the time I found the correct photo, I was twitchy and jumpy and had inspected every corner of my office for anything that had more than two legs.

It's a sickness, people, it's a sickness.

If you're ugly and you know it, clap your hands!

I haven't written in a week. Yeah, you're crushed, I know. It's devastating to realize that your favorite blog has been neglected, isn't it? Should I send you some cash to help pay for your therapy?

Ahhh, sarcasm. It's a beautiful thing. I'm full of it today. Sharp. Biting. Nasty. Borderline evil and hurtful. Why? It may have something to do with PMS or the nasty-ass weather we're having. Autumn in Ohio is my absolute favorite time of the year. I love crispness of the air, the crunch of the fallen leaves and the mist that covers the ground on a cool, dewey morning. But with all that beauty comes her ugly stepsister. Gray overcast days, wet and damp, not a glimmer of sunshine to be seen. Today is one of those days. In fact, the entire weekend was like that. She knows how to mess with your psyche and she's doing a good job.

So I'll spare you all. I'll stop writing and dive into the mound of work on my desk. The next post will be better, I promise.

Like you care.

Blog Light

As opposed to regular Blog.

Blogging this week will be sparce. Monster of an event tomorrow on campus and I'll be schlepping hard until 9 pm easy. I have no idea what the rest of my week entails because I haven't looked at my Palm since Thursday of last week. I think the batteries are dead.

Speaking of batteries, our TV remote batteries bit it tonight. Crikey, it was like medieval times in my living room. I actually had to get my sorry ass off the couch to change the channel. It was torture! And along those same lines, lightbulbs in my house, and my office, are going out left and right - as if they're having some sort of mindfuck with JMR. Yo lightbulbs, it's working. Why is that they all seem to go out at the same time?

I'm tired now. I need to get some sleep. Tomorrow is going to kick my sorry ass. Like the remote did, and the lightbulbs. I'm pathetic.