Sunday Morning Tangents.

Tangent #1  The scale went up a couple of pounds. Damn. IT. Could it have been the Mexican food from last night's dinner?  Ugh. I hate being so tied to the numbers on that digital screen.  I'd like to give that digital screen a piece of my mind.  It teases me every time I step on, slowly moving up through the numbers as if to tempt me into believing it's going to stop, but it doesn't. Bastard scale.

Tangent #2  I'm officially done with winter. Come. On. Spring.

Tangent #3  Found a great new blog: teachbad.com.  "Mr. Teachbad's Blog of Teacher Disgruntlement: A place for teachers to laugh and complain."  A friend passed it along and when I read it, I kind of felt like this dude just might work for my school district. Weird, but I'm sure there are many teachers who read Teachbad's blog and think the very same thing. Yikes. What does that say about public education? We're so in the crapper.

Tangent #4  Went to dinner last night out in bum-fuck, but I didn't mind the drive.  It was nice to get out of the house and do something different. T invited me to join her and some other women for dinner at a Mexican restaurant (see disgruntled portion of Tangent #1).  It was an unusual grouping of women, one in which I don't think I'd normally find myself.  It was like half made sense, and the other half, not so much.  The three women on the end were well-put together, with Coach bags nonetheless.  That didn't bother me so much, as I grew up in the land of Important Labels, aka Los Angeles.  The portion of the evening that stood out the most was when one of the women, a nice enough blond with a cute cropped bob and grey painted nails (matching toenails, too) began to tell a story of she and some friends and what happened in a bar on a trip down south.

The story was odd - they were at a bar, somehow they knew the owner of the place, everyone was smashed, owner falls down a flight of stairs, is out cold and bleeding from the head.  Storyteller points out how her two friends stayed with broken-head man until help arrived, and after the help had carted off broken-head, which turned out to be broken-neck, they stayed behind and cleaned up the blood.  Besides the obvious oddity of the story, Storyteller woman points out that her friends were wearing gloves while cleaning up the blood. Then Storyteller says, "You know because he was gay."

Because he was gay? Seriously?  News flash, Storyteller, it isn't 1984 anymore - gay men aren't the designated carriers of diseases.

I couldn't believe she'd said that.  No wonder we're never going to get this country's collective head out of it's ass and allow those who identify as gay get married.  Good lord.  It's time we get over this homophobic crap and move on.  Good thing I wasn't wearing my "I support same sex marriage" t-shirt.  What would Storyteller have done then? Would she have still said it?

Tangent #5 I need to read seventy pages from the book I'm teaching, that I don't feel like teaching, to students who don't give a crap (a particular group of them). Come. On. Spring. Break.

Tangent #6  I've been writing a lot lately - but not poetry.  I don't know where it's going, or what it will end up being.  It's definitely a memoir of some kind.  Does anyone know how to find a literary agent?

Tangent #7 Olive is so fucking cute, I can't stand it.

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