Fat Bastard: In Memory of Louie ’97-’14

Okay, I’ve had it with you,
you fat bastard.

For twelve years now, I’ve put up with your crap.
The constant “in your face” behavior
The endless yelling and demanding.

You glare at me constantly
Hovering over my shoulder
When I’m on the computer
taking some much needed “me” time
and minding my business.

Getting directly in my face
When all I’m trying to do is take
fifteen minutes to read the newspaper
alone.

Just to bitch about something else
You need, or want, or insist on me doing
for you.

Right this very second.

You don’t give a crap
About what I think
or need from you
You only think of yourself –
And what YOU want.

Do you know the kids laugh at you?
Do you know the kids call you names
Behind your back?
Ugly, demeaning names like “Fatso” “Tubbo”
“Lazy Slug” and “Blobbo”

And you don’t even seem to care.
Well, they call you those names
because you ARE fat and lazy!
You eat all the time!
And never do a single thing
to help us out around here.

Eat, complain, hover,
eat more, and then take a nap
whenever you so desire.

You force us to answer your every
whim and desire.

You make us do what YOU want,
otherwise you threaten to hurt us
if we don’t.

We have to watch our steps around you
You enjoy trying to trip us when we walk
Or go up and down the stairs.
Because you think it’s funny
And you can do this so easily
Especially at night when we don’t see you
hanging out in our hallway
Watching us while we sleep.

Well, you big pussy, I’m not arguing with you
anymore.

You want to talk to me?

Then you better learn to speak “human”
Because I ain’t learning how to speak “cat”.

Conversations with My Muse: My Muse Takes a Vacation

(This is what I received at 3:30 pm EST)

To: CTrackLady50@wordpress.com
From: Muse2009@wordpress.com
Subject: Vacation
Date: July 26, 2014

Hey there! Just arrived at my hotel room. The place is gorgeous! The view outside of my window is spectacular. Will unpack my belongings and head down for a quick toe dip in the ocean. Afterwards, a nap and dinner.

Hope all is well back at your place – talk to you soon!

The Muse

(This is what I sent at 3:47 pm EST)

To: Muse2009@wordpress.com
From: CTrackLady50@wordpress.com
Subject: RE: Vacation
Date: July 27, 2014

Glad to hear you made it there safely. Sounds like they set you up with some pretty decent accommodations. Dip a toe in the ocean for me too, k?

Talk to you soon!

CTL

(Time of new email: 6:23 pm)

To: CTrackLady50@wordpress.com
From: Muse2009@wordpress.com
Subject: RE: RE: Vacation
Date: July 27, 2009

Plans changed a bit. Met up with my sorority sisters and fellow muses. We’re going to the hotel’s bar for a quick visit and to gorge on some nachos and margaritas. Will email you before bed–say 10 pm? See ya!

Hugs!

The Muse

(Time of new email: 8:20 pm EST)

To: CTrackLady50@wordpress.com
From: Muse2009@wordpress.com
Subject: RE: RE: RE: Vacation
Date: July 27, 2014

Hey, how’s it goin? I’m GREAAAT! Sisters and I havng fun…met some good lookng guys from Italy – I think I helpd one of the guy write a sonnet once – not sure LOL!

Eratos starting to act a little too sluty for my tasts. She sure can slam down the wine!

Headin to a frat party. I think I might be a bit underdressed…idk

TM

(Time of new email 2:17 am EST)

To: CTrackLady50@wordpress.com
From: Muse2009@wordpress.com
Subject: RE: RE: RE: RE: Vacation
Date: July 28, 2014

OMG, I’ soooooo wastd! Frat party suckd – so we wnt bak to Thalia’s to wch sme comdy shws. Erato stole my byfrd – fckin B! Sh can walk hme!I knew I colndt trust her around hm.

Go DELTA KAPPA MNU! WOOOOOOOHOOOOOOOO!

Where’d tha fire exguisher?

Oh crap- the dor….siitt – cops here! gtta g!

(Time of new email 10:30 am EST)

To: CTrackLady50@wordpress.com
From: hotelsecurity@wordpress.com
Subject: Damage Incurred to Hotel Room
Date: July 28, 2014

Dear Ms. “TrackLady″:

I am writing to inform you of the current conditions of room #751 here at this hotel. Apparently, one of your personal acquaintances “The Muse”, six of her friends, an entire Italian soccer team and one grey, three-legged donkey took up accommodations in this hotel the prior evening.

Upon their departure, our housekeeping staff discovered the room in complete ruins. Damages include, but are not limited to: overturned furniture, torn draperies, unidentifiable stains on the carpeting, and what appears to be some form of “wood burning barbeque pit” in the foyer of the suite.

Since we are fairly certain the rented room was in pristine condition prior to your friend’s visit, we believe she is partially liable for the costs of repair. However, when we approached her this morning to inquire about the evening’s events, she was nowhere to be found.

Only through searching through her laptop records did we find your email address.

Please respond accordingly, so we can track her down and make her reimburse us for all damages associated with last night’s debauchery. Any help you can give us to locate her would be greatly appreciated. Thank you!

Sincerely,

Hotel Management

(Time of response: 12:17 pm)

To: hotelsecurity@wordpress.com
From: CTrackLady50@wordpress.com
Subject: RE: Damage Incurred to Hotel Room
Date: July 28, 2014

Dear Hotel Security Team Members:

I am sorry to hear about the current situation at your hotel. I can only imagine how disappointed and alarmed you must feel concerning the state of room #751.

However, I do not know what I can do to assist you in locating the culpable parties involved. My muse has a mind of her own, and has been known to cause this type of trouble prior to today, on numerous occasions.

You might want to try to contact Hera, Zeus’ wife, on Mt. Olympus. She seems to be a bit of know-it-all busybody, and most likely would be able to tell you exactly where my muse and her six sisters currently are.

Good luck—let me know how things turn out!

CTL

Blue-Haireds and Bad Smells

I don’t know why every Hallmark store I have ever walked into smells like a bunch of little old ladies swathed in Faberge just set up camp inside the front doors. I swear, my eyes begin to burn the second I open up the glass doors. Just walking from the front to the back of the store is liking running a military gauntlet where they use perfume spritzers instead of swords. Nothing says “survival training” better than spending ten minutes in a noxious cloud of perfume without wearing a gas mask, running out, eyes burning, lungs in full vapor-lock, and taking in big gulps of fresh air.

I used to wear perfume, years ago. My perfume of choice was a lovely, subtle smell called “White Linen” by Estee Lauder. It smelled of Lilies of the Valley, and wasn’t the least bit overpowering. One small dab on my wrist lasted for the entire day. But, I stopped wearing it when I realized that sniffly nose I was sporting by 6 pm every evening was actually an allergic reaction I was having to the scent. My eyes would itch, my lungs would start to close up, and I’d swear I was developing a cold. By next morning, however, I’d feel fine. How I went for so long before I was able to connect the dots between perfume and allergy, I’ll never know. I just decided I’d stop wearing perfume — I didn’t want the hassle of having my lungs close up on me on a regular basis.

Unfortunately, my choice to stop wearing perfume doesn’t protect me from the little old blue haireds who choose to bathe in theirs. You know the types — because their smell announces their arrival five minutes before you ever see them sneaking up to you like some sort of “perfumed, blue wigged” ninja.

I have two theories about why they do these things:

1. They no longer have a reliable sense of smell. Like our hearing and sight, our sense of smell weakens as we grow older. Therefore, what they think is a “dab” is really a bath in perfume. They just can’t smell it as strongly.

2. It’s really a cover up. For what? I don’t want to be cruel or crude here, but I think it’s a way for them to cover up the other smells associated with aging: bladder control issues, gastrointestinal emissions, and bodily odors.

Last time I checked, Miss Manners frowned heavily on going out in public reeking like a bus station urinal. Can it happen to me someday? Probably — but I also believe there comes a time when adults need to consider wearing diapers again. Adult diapers. And carry a diaper bag at all times, if necessary.

As for gastrointestinal emissions — well, I’m just as guilty for that as anyone. However, I haven’t reached the stage in my life where I’m required to eat Metamucil and drink a quart of prune juice a day. My innards are still relatively intact, so anything with extra fiber hasn’t worn down my tract to the point of a bad case of the walking farts–yet. It’s ironic when you think about farts — at 13, they’re hilarious. At 82? Not so much. So, on goes the perfume to cover up the smell of last night’s lentil soup now wafting through the church’s rafters.

Bodily odors. Ugh. As a mother of a former teenage hockey player, nothing smells worse than a hockey bag with 20 lbs of gear shoved into the backseat of the minivan moments after an on-ice session. That smell can knock a vulture off a meat wagon. Which leads me to another moment in time when “perfume” became my worst enemy.

Apparently, another marketing guru come up with the idea for a teenage boy’s deodorant called “Axe”. They showed commercial after commercial of nerdy looking boys spraying themselves with this, only to end up with gorgeous, cheerleader type girls hanging all over them. Nothing says “I might get laid” to a horny teenage boy better, huh? So, out came the pleas: “Mom — I want some Axe so I can smell good for my non-existent girlfriend!” Granted, my son needed deodorant. Badly. So, I gave in, bought him his own “horndog-in-a-can” and told him “Use it sparingly, and only after hockey practice”.

Well, mom — that was all well and good, but did you stop to think that ALL the other boys on his team saw that same freaping commercial? Yes, 17 cans of Axe, 17 horny, stupid teenaged boys and one big Axe fight, stinkin’ up the locker room. By the time he came out of the locker room, my eyes were already burning. By the time we got home, I was partially blinded, and on the verge of total lung collapse. All because the entire team of boys assumed the same thing — “Axe gets you laid.” Wrong, Axe irritates the shit out of your mother’s respiratory system, and she refuses to let you wear it in the house ever again.

I digress again. This rant really isn’t about teenage boys and their horrible decision making skills. It’s about little old ladies who insist on going out in public dripping in horrible, irritating scents. Ladies, you’re darling, you served your purpose in life, now it’s time to listen to what I have to say. Your excessive use of  cheap, clearance-priced perfume found at the bottom of a “reduced-for-quick-sale-purchase” bin at the local Big Lots has got to stop. It is annoying and, for some of us, a real health concern. I’m sure you’d never intentionally set out to harm me. But, before you go out, do me a favor. Ask a friend (one who has a much better sense of smell than you) to give you a good, all over body sniff. If nothing offensive is coming from your pants or your armpits, then consider laying off the perfume. If it is your pants or your armpits, then have some self pride and fix yourself — you old hot mess. I don’t want to be able to smell you ten minutes before, or three hours after, you dodder by.

The Peter Gabriel/Justin Bieber Musical Let Down Hypothesis

Today’s pop musicians (read: nearly everything written from 1995 – present) have no talent. Gone are the days of imagery-filled, gut wrenching, make-you-go-wow lyrics. Songs about love and relationships and all things that pertain to it have been dumbed down so far, I am convinced that we’ll begin seeing music hitting the top of the pop charts that was originally written as a second grade assignment in some podunk school out in the cornfields of Nebraska (no offense to Nebraskans, but if I chose Detroit or Chicago, we would be more likely to see dumbed down, obscene, rap lyrics written by angry sixth graders).

To prove my point, I give you the set of lyrics to two songs about love and relationships gone awry:

“Come Talk to Me” — Peter Gabriel, 1992 (written because of his strained relationship with his daughter)

The wretched desert takes its form,
The jackal proud and tight,
In search of you I feel my way,
Through the slowest heaving night
Whatever fear invents,
I swear it makes no sense
I reach out through the border fence
Come down, come talk to me

In the swirling curling storm of desire
Unuttered words hold fast
With reptile tongue, the lightning lashes
Towers built to last
Darkness creeps in like a thief
And offers no relief
Why are you shaking like a leaf?
Come on, come talk to me

Ah please talk to me
Won’t you please talk to me
We can unlock this misery
Come on, come talk to me
I did not come to steal
This all is so unreal
Can’t you show me how you feel now
Come on, come talk to me
Come talk to me, come talk to me

The earthly power sucks shadowed milk,
From sleepy tears undone
From nippled skin as smooth as silk,
The bugles blown as one
You lie there with your eyes half closed,
Like there’s no one there at all
There’s a tension pulling on your face
Come on, come talk to me

Won’t you please talk to me
If you’d just talk to me
Unblock this misery
If you’d only talk to me
Don’t you ever change your mind
Now your future’s so defined
And you act so deaf so blind
Come on, come talk to me
Come talk to me, come talk to me

I can imagine the moment
Breaking out through the silence
All the things that we both might say
And the heart it will not be denied
‘Til we’re both on the same damn side
All the barriers blown away

I said please talk to me
Won’t you please come talk to me
Just like it used to be
Come on, come talk to me
I did not come to steal
This all is so unreal
Can you show me how you feel now
Come on, come talk to me
Come talk to me, come talk to me

I said please talk to me
If you’d just talk to me
Unblock this misery
If you’d only talk to me
Don’t you ever change your mind
Now your future’s so defined
And you act so deaf so blind
Come on, come talk to me
Come talk to me, come talk to me

**************************

************************************************

Now for Justin Bieber’s “Baby”: (About teenage love angst)

Ohh wooaah (3x)
You know you love me,I know you care
Just shout whenever, And I’ll be there
You want my love, You want my heart
And we will never ever ever be apart

Are we an item? Girl quit playing
Were just friends, What are you saying
Said theres another, Look right in my eyes

My first love broke my heart for the first time,
And I was like
Baby, baby, baby ohhh
Like baby, baby, baby noo
Like baby, baby, baby ohh
I thought youd always be mine mine

Baby, baby, baby ohh
Like baby, baby, baby noo
Like baby, baby, baby ohh
I thought youd always be mine,mine (oh oh)

For you, I would have done whatever
And I just can’t believe, we ain’t together
And I wanna play it cool, But I’m losin’ you
I’ll buy you anything, I’ll buy you any ring
And im in pieces, Baby fix me
And just shake me til’ you wake me from this bad dream

Im going down, down, down, dooown
And I just cant believe my first love would be around.

And I’m like
Baby, baby, baby ohh
Like baby, baby, baby noo
Like baby, baby, baby ohh
I thought youd always be mine, mine

Baby, baby, baby ohh
Like baby, baby, baby noo
Like baby, baby, baby ohhh
I thought youd always be mine, mine

Luda
When I was 13, I had my first love,
There was nobody that compared to my baby,
And nobody came between us or could ever come above
She had me goin’ crazy,
Oh I was starstruck,
She woke me up daily,
Don’t need no Starbucks.
She made my heart pound,
And skip a beat when I see her in the street and,
At school on the playground,
But I really wanna see her on the weekend,
She know she got me gazin’,
Cuz she was so amazin’,
And now my heart is breakin’,
But I just keep on sayin’…

Baby, baby, baby ohh
Like baby, baby, baby noo
Like baby, baby, baby ohh
I thought youd always be mine, mine

Baby, baby, baby ohh
Like baby, baby, baby noo
Like baby, baby, baby ohh
I thought youd always be mine, mine

(I’m gone)
Yeah, yeah, yeah (6x)
(Now Im all gone, now im all gone, now im all gone)
Gone, gone, gone,(gone)
I’m gone.

_________________________________________________________

I rest my case.

FarceBook: Why I Quit It and Hit Twitter Instead

I hate Facebook. There, I said it. I find it boring, insipid, pedantic and self-serving.

I’ve never understood the desire to log onto Facebook every twenty minutes just to post random, vapid comments such as:

“Sitting in Starbucks, sipping a chai latte and thinking about clouds.” This brings nothing of value to the table – other than the uptick of Starbuck’s company stock.

Or better yet, posts like:

“It’s Autism Awareness Month – please repost this to your wall, indicating that you aren’t a heartless asshole who thinks children with autism are freaks and should be culled from the human population.”

Guess what? It is NOT Autism Awareness Month, it hasn’t been Autism Awareness Month in several months because it was just Autism Awareness Month six months ago when you posted this the first of twelve times. They’ve switched over to “Fact Checking Awareness Month”. If you want to repost that over and over, go ahead — it’s more educational anyways.

Unfortunately, social media sites have become the new battleground for wits, anger, angst and opinions. Facebook is no exception to the rule. When I was on Facebook years ago, I would end up in conversations like the one below, just because my smart-assed muse would end up getting the better of me:

Me: I am Christian, but I question the bible’s voracity

Bible Thumper: Why? Everything in it is true, because God wrote it.

Me: No, God did not write it, scribes wrote it. And they were probably on some really good old testament style acid during the time.

Bible Thumper: Are you saying God was a drug addict?

Me: He created the Universe in seven days. He invented the people who invented the ability to make meth. Nobody could create something so large in seven days without meth. Hence, God was a meth addict.

Bible Thumper: That sounds a bit blasphemous.

Me: It’s called “Freedom of Speech” and it’s my God-given, US Constitutional right to say it.

Bible Thumper: But you’re insulting God!

Me: Wanna move onto politics then?

Bible Thumper: I’m done with this conversation

See how much destructive fun I was having? And that’s why I left Facebook. Not because of the creative writing, but because I had too many idiot Facebook “friends” who couldn’t think beyond their close-minded, opinionated, non-fact checking minds. Like a cat playing with a mouse, I eventually grew tired of the game and just signed off.

The biggest problem with social media is obvious: some people have this over-inflated sense of self-importance. They feel that everything they do, think, feel, etc., is interesting or relevant to the world. They want the world to know they are important, so they gather tons of “friends” (whom they’ve never met and probably won’t ever meet), post about every little triviality that occurs in their less-than-adventurous life, and hope with fingers crossed that they will get 3,000 likes on the recently posted video with the caption “Bought a new waterpik – here’s me in action!”

My second problem with Facebook is the impersonalization of major life events. Divorces, marriages, relationship break ups, addictions, and even crime admissions have been posted to Facebook with such flair as:

“22 years of marriage over, finally get the bed to myself!” posts and, more tragic ones like; “RIP, buddy”.

The last one actually happened to my family. My brother passed away June 10th. Prior to his failing health, he had adamantly stressed that he did not want anyone posting anything about his death to his Facebook wall. He had children who lived in another country and he wanted all family and friends to be told about his death via telephone or email. He had been suffering from advanced liver failure and it finally caught up with him. He died a slow, agonizingly painful death and passed away on an early Tuesday morning. By 1:30 that afternoon, Facebook had 110 “RIP, buddy” comments and likes on it. And, this was how  his daughter found out her dad died. We were furious and demanded the posting was taken down. By that time, the damage had already been done. My brother’s last wishes were grossly ignored because some asshole felt it entirely appropriate to put that flippant comment out to the universe.

I value and accept others’ differing opinions and I understand everyone grieves differently. However, the concept of “Freedom of Speech” has gotten way out of hand on social media sites. I 100% support the right to post and write whatever one wishes — I do that myself all the time. However, with freedom of speech comes the responsibility to respect other people’s opinions, values, privacy, thoughts, feelings, etc. Just because it can be said, doesn’t mean it should be said. Otherwise it just makes a person look like a jerk.

That’s why I love Twitter. It forces me to say what I want to say in only 140 characters. For someone with so much to say, about things people really don’t care about, Twitter keeps me from saying too much.

Most of the time.

Hormones With Feet

Yes, that’s my job title. Or rather, it was my job description for the last six years. After a series of  unfortunate events during the last school year, I have currently found myself “between teaching contracts”. However, that’s beside the point; the point of this post is informative at most, educational at least.

I am/was a middle school teacher. I taught 6th and 7th graders. Sure, they were mostly in human form, but the majority of them were also not much more than walking, talking lumps of genetic material driven by the onset of puberty. (Hence the appropriateness of the title of this post.).

Despite what others say and think about middle school students, I found them to be the perfect age to teach. For me. Let me restate that — middle school students are the only age group I would ever, ever want to teach voluntarily. Kids in the lower grades (K-3) and any grade beyond 8th grade are beyond my level of tolerance and patience. Unlike a kindergartner, when a 6th grade boy says he is about to throw up, he actually provides enough warning so that he doesn’t actually throw up into your lap three seconds after telling you “My tummy hur– BLEEEECCCHHHHHH”. And, kids in the middle school age group are mostly good at wiping their own snotty noses. I call that an added benefit of teaching this age range – low-level, self-contained and monitored random leakage from bodily orifices.

Still, middle school kids come with their own set of difficulties. They are approaching such an awkward stage in their lives where popularity, identity and personal appearance/growth is much more important than, say, studying for that end of unit math test or writing that five-paragraph paper which is due tomorrow but assigned two weeks ago (with enough time given to work on it in class that all they should need to do the last day is print the damn thing out on a sheet of paper and turn it in). Yes, middle school kids have their challenges. But the truth for me is, I love the age range and those challenges. They’re workable, especially when you’re a really cool and funny teacher with great life stories to tell.

Years ago, I lived in Arizona. I, along with two friends — one of who remains a dear friend of mine to this very day– headed down to Nogales, Mexico (long before the drug cartels took over) to enjoy a day of drinking tequila, eating salsa and chips, and bartering with the natives. Okay, so we mostly drank tequila. It was Mexico, after all. After a day of drinking, we found ourselves on the cusp of creating an international felony. I’ll just sum it up in three words: kitten, anus and border patrol. The rest of the story needs to be told in private. Maybe after having a few tequila shots.

And this is where my coolness picks up and gets great mileage in the classroom. It’s great when a strong lesson plan and engaging activities can capture and keep the attention of a roomful of hormonally imbalanced children — but it’s even better when you can grab their attention with a really good, really funny story. (Maybe some day I will explain the origins of my screen name: Crazy Track Lady).

For me, it worked as a reward for excellent behavior and productivity. I would throw in a quick little teaser at the end of the day — And, tomorrow, if we have time, I’ll tell you the story of how I committed an international felony…but for now, we need to move on. I’d make a fortune if I knew how to bottle and sell these moments: “Teasers for Teachers: how to get your students to work hard during class”. Great stories in the classroom told by a responsible adult acting like a total idiot on occasion helps build rapport and community.

Granted, there are many details in that story I had to leave out. But, a little embellishment and a few detail changes and I had them quiet and enraptured by my story. In fact, working where I did, I got to teach multiple siblings from the same family – so it was common to meet a new kid who, upon sitting down for the first time — would blurt out: “Are you going to tell us the drug smuggling story, Mrs. B?”

And with a mysteriously sly wink, I would respond: In due time, kiddo. In due time.

 

If you like this post, feel free to check out my other writings:

https://mymusespeakstome.wordpress.com/

Or you can follow me on Twitter:

@CTrackLady50