Carova continued...

 Carova...the land of beautiful uncrowded beaches, wild horses, and the Atlantic Ocean to the east...bordered by swampy snake filled canals on the west...a minor inconvenience that keeps the wussies of the vacation world back in Corolla where they can shop, dine, and play mini golf.  This is not that kind of vacation spot.  Carova is not a place for the feint of heart.  Carova chicks are not afraid to get sandy, wet, or wind blown. If you have a place in Carova and you live in the Tidewater area of Virginia,  chances are that you have traveled by skiff across the water from Pearl's "Marina" on Knotts Island .  First let me tell you about Pearls Marina.  Pearls is not really a marina in the sense that no one will watch your boat, prevent it from sinking, or save it from vandals.  There is no place to buy souvenirs, there is no place to buy sweatshirts or anything you may need for your boat including gas or oil.  The only thing you can get from this marina is ice and beer, and more beer.    It is a place to dock your boat in a slip or launch it from a concrete launching pad.  You are pretty much just trusting that it will be there when you get there and have faith in your fellow redneck...I mean man.  At Pearls you are most likely to find bikers partying at the bar on premises and various labrador retrievers running around barking and jumping in and out of the sound and you will probably be lucky enough to have at least one dog shake water all over you while you are loading up your boat.  If you are not a Knotts Island resident and you keep your boat at Pearls then you will also find dead snakes and empty beer cans in your boat.  The local boys hate folks who invade their space.  Hide you expensive trailer hitch and lock your car doors...I'm jes sayin'....

Anyone who has traveled to Carova by boat has gotten soaking wet in the process.  We always judge those girly folks who hesitate to climb down into the boat especially if they have "luggage."  You don't take luggage to Carova, you take a huge tote bag containing shorts. tank tops, t-shirts, a bathing suit and flip flops.  You will not need a sundress and a curling iron, trust me.   You also take a laundry basket full of "stuff" and groceries, 'cause you ain't gonna make two trips to get groceries. You take off from the dock and the spray hits you square in the face and not once do you wince or whine 'cause you know that you were headed toward beach paradise and a little brown brackish sound water in the face never hurt anyone. It actually feels good if you get over the fact that your hair is going to look like crap for the week and make-up is for shallow women who can't get the stick outta their hind quarters long enough to breathe the awesome salt air.  Nothing makes my blood pressure settle and my heart sing more than standing on our steps, embedded in sand and sea oats,  and listen to the surf, feel the cool breeze lift my hair and smell the salty perfume that is Carova.  I especially love it when I can feel just the slightest spray of ocean water hit my cheeks...love it...nuttin' like it anywhere else. I live in Virginia Beach at the beach but it just doesn't match the Carolina coast.  I think I need a trip to Carova as soon as the weather cooperates...my body is craving salt and sea spray.  I need to feel that tight warm feeling I get when I've had just a touch too much sun, knowing that I look so much better with a nice 1977 tan...

Art vs Math

My friends understand what I do.  They understand that teaching art is just as challenging as teaching any other subject in school.  The difference between the algebra teacher and me is the fact that I have an amazing talent and the algebra teacher can….count…and use a #2 pencil, and wear sensible shoes.  Oh c’mon!  I'm joking the Algebra Nazi!  She gets it….I think….let me put it into an equation:  nerd+dork to the second power minus x(fun) = Algebra Teacher!  I can’t help myself.  I hate math and I don’t care who knows it!  Yeah, I’m talking to you Mrs. Ruckewitz!  You were soooo sensitive!  Just because I created a really accurate drawing of you and your huge mole did not mean you had to fail me by one freakin’ point on finals. Not only that but you sent me to the office for wearing shorts....really cute shorts! I mean, I enjoyed summer school and all, but you were such an uptight, smug, bitch!  One point could have put me over the algebra mountain and into geometry where equations were concrete and made a bit of sense, but nooooooo, you wanted me to suffer for my art (too dramatic?) so I did suffer.  Okay, I’ll admit that you did help me in one way.  The real gem that you and your mole gave me was the realization that I had skills!  No, not algebra skills, drawing skills!  That drawing was so accurate (at least that’s what all my friends who got to see it before you intercepted my pass to Martha said) that I decided then and there to become an artist….and a real pain in the ass to all the authority figures I would encounter for the rest of my life!  You did have an impact on me!  I think I feel a tear coming on….nope….Hopefully you had that mole removed before it turned into a full blown melanoma (awe…) because I want you to live long enough to see what an impact you had on me.  I absolutely HATE algebra, but I have an exciting, fun, and fruitful life despite your efforts to squelch that little seed of creativity I decided to plant in your classroom that spring day in 1973.  Ahhhhh, I feel better, don’t you? 

Polygamy is Where It's At!

Sister  Wives, Big Love...polygamy is in, in, in!  What a concept!  Have you seen the husband on Sister Wives?  "Cody" has his stable of wives who seem to jump at his every command.  The entire thing just amazes me.  Four women who share one narcissistic man/boy, constantly flipping his head of  David Cassidy hair, making corny jokes as he giggles and plays with his numerous (16) children.  How does he keep it all straight? What does this guy do for a living?  Who is supporting all of those wives and kids?  How do they get health insurance? There is no joke here...I wanna know so I can do it!

 I would love to know the loophole because staying home all day having "sister wives" take care of my kids and clean my house would be awesome!  Think about it ladies!  I feel like getting a pedicure (which is so much better than sex, isn't it? admit it!) so, Wife #2 you get to have Cody tonight and feed my 25 kids their dinner, which would most likely be fish sticks and oatmeal...because I have 25 kids.  In fact y'all can have Cody every night if you do my laundry, clean the shower, and wash the dog!  I will trade Cody for all of that and more! Hell, you can have him full time.  So what if we all had to move to Vegas?  There must be malls there too, right? As long as we can have an adult only pool (the 25 kids have to swim elsewhere 'cause their ain't enough chlorine on the planet to neutralize all that kiddie urine) then I'm fine with Vegas.  I will shop for all of the clothing and go to TJ MAXX for household decor and you guys can clean and satisfy man/boy  physically and mentally on a regular basis!  OMG, that would be the best part!  All me, me, me!!!!

What? What do you mean I have to service David Cassidy Jr too?  No one told me I HAD to do it?  Ummmmmm, Okay, never mind, jeeeez!

I Could Never Be A Hooker

I know, I know, of course you probably have already decided that I could never be a hooker just by reading this blog.   You all know enough about me by now to know that prostitution just isn’t my gig.  Not because I have high moral standards, but because I just couldn’t spend that much time and energy pleasing someone else….even if I was paid….a lot.  I came to this startling conclusion one night last week. It was one of those nights (we all have) where I was tossing and turning and checking the clock doing math...okay, it’s 2:30 and I need to get up at 6:00, so that leaves me (I am now counting on my fingers) one, two, crap, only 4 and a half  hours of sleep if I fall asleep RIGHT NOW! Oh, god!  now it’s only four hours...

 I decided to see if there was a boring movie on TV so it could lull me to sleep.  I was shocked at what I saw.  I have cable with the respectable movie channels…not the borderline porn movie channels. I  had absolutely no idea what kind of filthy trash was on cable at 2 AM!  I was so offended that I almost changed the channel….but not quite. I couldn’t look away!  I had turned on in the middle of a  “special” about a legal brothel in one of our western states. 

Let me re-state my new found decision….I can never be a prostitute.  But it’s not the reason you may think.  It’s not the obviously disgusting job of being obligated to have sex with creepy, pathetic losers….we’ve all done that, don’t lie….think back.  No, it’s the freakin’ body maintenance!  These chicks have waxed, plucked, and shaved every hair from their bodies, but oddly enough kept their country music big Texas (head) hair coifed within an inch of its life. Every one of them had a complicated hair infrastructure that must have taken more Aqua Net than Wally World had in stock!  

I mean seriously, it’s not the sex, it’s the daily waxing!  OUCH!  The orange "all over" spray tans. I like tan lines, it shows me how much tanning progress I’m making.  It’s like you would have a gyno appointment every day!  Fluff, puff, spray, and clean….all day long!  It’s also the itchy body glitter, the blue eye shadow, the eyelashes, the high heels!  I could never fit my foot into those clear heels….I did like the neon light up heels, but not to wear, maybe just to place on the table as a centerpiece...on Easter.

  Would they let me be a hooker in flannel Pj’s and Ugg slippas? Hell no!  Don’t even get me started on the appliances and sex toys that, frankly, turn me off!  I do not want anything that is powered by any artificial means going anywhere that could cause serious shocking injuries.  With my luck I would end up in the ER with a power appliance in places no man should go…evah! Oh, who am I kidding there is no way I could even think about the logistics of the gymnastics involved in using those devices accurately! 

Anyway, this brothel was stereotypical in many ways…huge fake titties connected to bleach blond mindless giggle machines with bright pink lips, leopard print wallpaper, fun fur, and hot pink, pink, pink everywhere…but the personal interviews with the “employees” was what was the discouraging to feminists everywhere.  They actually loved their job!  I have never seen anything like it.  They, for the most part, were average looking girls who discussed their exploits in great detail. 

On this episode, it was “Creepy Bald Fat Guy’s” (the brothel owner) birthday.  I expected someone to jump out of a cake, but I guess that trick is soooo 1976.  No, they all drank nasty sounding shots off of each other (really?  that’s the best  you all can do at your birthday party in a brothel? Spring break body shots?) I was getting bored, I mean I almost changed the channel…almost.  It’s a lot like watching a train wreck….in a brothel….with hookers.  Okay, this blond (duh) chick with absolutely no body hair and badly done fake ta-tas (that looked like upside down plastic Tupperware bowls separated by the Erie Canal….you’ve seen these titties…on a certain deceased Hollywood  mogul’s daughter….Her name rhymes with…..Oh, what the hell it's Tori Spelling!  What is up with her ta-tas?  Tori,  you  are the spoiled extremely homely horse faced, untalented daughter of the richest old fart in Hollywood and you bought yourself some discount boobies? Yikes! Once again I digress….anyway, this denuded pre-pubesant looking bimbo did a handstand and landed with her legs wrapped around Creepy’s neck….with her nekkid body facing the camera!  Full frontal EW! Even Creepy looked unnerved. “What do I do now?  I’m on camera…”  I mean, I do not shock easily, but I almost lost my dinner.  I felt that now was the time to change the channel….but I didn’t….because I had to see how this skank fest ended…and it ended badly, and hilariously.  Creepy’s “girlfriend” Tiffani….with an “i”  who also happened to be a  20 year old (allegedly…wink, wink) who was also a freakin’ hooker at the “ranch” (surprise, surprise) got jealous when the other 20 year old (uh-huh) hooker did her awkward gymnastics move on Creepy with no chance for a delicate dismount.  She packed her feather boa and her clear heels and drove off in her ’87 Camaro  on her way back to Arkansas.  Creepy barely noticed she was gone…another surprise…and the wild rumpus continued as the credits rolled.  The final shot was of Tiffani with an “i” wiping away the tear as the gas light on her '87 Camaro turned on…ding….ding….

Quit Makin' Up Words!

Pretentious “real” words are one thing, but pretentious ”made up” words are another. I could be considered a hypocrite for making that statement, because I make up words all the time.  The difference is that I admit that my fake words are fake.  Words that my friends and I use are definitely not used to impress or sound remotely legitimate.  Everyone knows that doodlybop is not a real word, but when you get to be senile like me, doodlybop is whatever I am pointing to, needing you to hand me, or am picking up at that moment.  The names of real objects sometimes escape me so everything becomes a doodlybop or a thingy and that's the way it has to be so get used to it.  No, I'm talking about words that the latest "journalist" or talk show host throws around to describe a situation.  The fake words I’m talking about are used by idiots who think that they are using real words.  I work with educated folks who actually use these made up words and don’t even know they are fake! The two fake words I hate the most (today) are “functionality” and “disrespecting.”   I’ll use them in a fake sentence:  "This appliance will create functionality in your vintage space, not that I am disrespecting your old ass cabinets."  That is a totally illegitimate bullshit sentence.  Why not use the words in their proper form? I prefer: "This new 'fridge will make your old ass cabinets look better and it actually functions and will keep your tuna casserole from rotting…no disrespect."  Okay maybe the meaning is a tad different in my sentence but you still get a new ‘fridge, so shut up!

What I am saying is that these new words are pretentious and are used by folks who are trying to sound like "they is college graduates."  Since I have totally changed the subject I may as well run with it ...Take the bumper sticker and window decal that gives the name of a university you did not attend off of your car.  Just because you went to a few football games and partied with the fraternity your cousin belonged to does not mean you earned the right to pretend you attended that school. Don't list it in your profile, use it to impress new people or wear the sweatshirt. Take it off your resume and quit telling stories about your college days 'cause you don't have any!  Just because certain events happened when you were between the ages of 18 and 23 does not mean it "happened at college" 'cause you weren't enrolled!  If you want to brag about going to college GO TO ONE! Taking a few semesters does not count.  If you didn't get the sheepskin you don't get to claim the school as yours. Okay, I'm ready to get back on the original subject...pretentious fake words...

   These idiots who parrot the made up words they hear on TV end up sounding like they is disrespecting the English language and that creates absolutely no functionality.........  Disrespectful….disrespect…. function…functional….malfunction…look them up and use them properly or I will not let you ring up my purchase, decorate my house, or teach my five year old…no disrespect. 

Cake?

I am fighting a chest cold and decided to collapse on the sofa with a cup of green tea.  I happened to click on one of those "cake" shows.  You know the ones I am talking about...teams of "bakers" compete to see who can touch and massage the fondant the most.  Okay, that's not the premise but that's how I see it.  Those people rub, pat, roll and fondle the fondant with their bare hands, rubbing their funky skin cells  all over the cake.  I especially gag when they show a close up of their bitten down dirty fingernails as they pat, pat, pat the fondant and press, squeeze and smoosh the "krispie cereal treats." Are we really going to see someone put that nasty epithelial (thank you CSI Miami...and The Who...cue the scream>>>) filled "food" into their mouths? ew!  While I'm on the subject of "cake making"...if it ain't cake, it ain't a cake....lemme clarify: Rice Krispie treats rolled up on a PVC pipe to support a board and more piping and found objects hooked up to a smoke machine covered in "fondant" attached to twelve inches of real cake ain't cake.  Seriously?  It seems that anyone can put together a skyscraper with some tinker toys, cover it with gummy fondant and call it a cake on these shows!

But even with all that fondant molesting I still crave the most wonderful food in the world...white almond buttercream frosting on a white almond cake.  My mouth is watering while I eat....I mean write this.  I swear I only attend weddings to get a piece of that sugary goodness and when the bride gets creative and serves chocolate or some other non-traditional flavor I just want to get up and leave and take my income appropriate gift with me! Why mess with perfection?  I want my turkey with stuffing and cranberries, my steak with a baked potato and my wedding with a white almond cake. Is that too  much to ask?

Okay, maybe I'm jealous.  I can cook, but I swear I cannot bake a two layer cake without some type of leaning tower of WTF mishap!  They are all uneven on the top and sloping east and I cannot figure out why.  I follow all the directions in the recipe and my oven is level so why do they slope?  I try to even them out by matching up the skinny side on one cake with the fat side on the other but they still begin to slide to the counter like the Jamaican bobsled team and it ends up an ugly but tasty mess.  Hey, there ain't nuttin' wrong with eating cake with a spoon, right?  One day I tried to stick some bamboo chopsticks into the cake to prevent the slide but then I ended up with a sloppy sliding cake anyway...and two bamboo skewers.  I called it Chinese Surprise cake...SURPRISE! It's not Chinese!  CSI my ass! The skewers were there to throw you off Horatio! Cue the Scream>>>>>>>>>>

Speaking of Carova...

Big D is one of those guys who just oozes masculinity...wait, that sounded gross, what I mean is that no one would ever mistake him for a woman.  He is big (hence the nickname) and he is all man....except for one thing...he is deathly afraid of snakes and he is not afraid to admit it.  Just like Indiana Jones, minus the hat and the Phd, he hates snakes.  Well, if ya hate snakes you need to stay out of Carova in the springtime.  Spring is when the cotton mouths come out to mate.  You can tell if mating snakes are around by the feint sound of Barry White on their teenie tiny I-Pods because they have trouble keeping the ear buds in...because they don't have ears...but this is not a science lesson it is a safety lesson so back to the subject at hand, people!

Big D was at the dock unloading the skiff.   The shoreline, where we dock our boat, is covered in weeds and the canal is full of water moccasins who become very aggressive during mating season.  Big D was walking to his truck with a load of groceries when he spotted a snake heading toward him from the other side of the truck. Forgetting that he did not possess super powers, Big D threw the bags into the back of the truck and leaped into the air in an attempt to land on the tailgate.  Well, the truck is lifted and D isn't as agile as he used to be so he jumped up, came straight back down, and his size 13 Redwing boot landed on the snake's head.  There he was, standing on a pissed off extremely poisonous snake's head as the rest of the body was writhing around like an out of control fire hose.  You've heard about being between a rock and a hard place?  Having a tiger by the tail?  Big D was trapped.  He attempted to grind his boot into the head of the snake but the ground was made of sand and the snake was still very much alive...and looking for revenge.  D yelled for help, he scanned the area but he was all alone...with an angry snake just hoping D would move his boot. The shovel in the truck was out of reach and D seemed to be out of luck.
After a few minutes of indecision, D decided to make his move.  he lunged off the snake and ran to the driver's side door and scrambled into the truck. He was waiting for the snake to appear but there was no sign of the snake, so D turned the key to start the truck and...no lie I swear this is true...the battery was dead!   The only way to jump it was to get the boat battery charger out of the boat.  D decided that this just wasn't his day.  His cell phone wasn't getting service and the truck battery needed jumping and, oh yeah, there was a pissed off snake under his truck.  I bet that snake was under there disconnecting cables and laughing like snakes do...

Okay, I won't keep you in suspense any longer..after an hour of waiting and a much needed nap in the cab of the F150 (only Big D could nap at a time like that) he eased out of the truck, didn't see the snake, jumped his truck and drove home with a great story to tell. I wonder if that snake had to explain to his woman why he was late and how he got that dent in his head?

Carova

Big D and I built our dream vacation home on the Outer Banks of NC and we rent it out during the summer.  When I say we built it I mean we built it.  Every weekend for months we loaded up the Tahoe and the truck and drove down to the end of the hard road in Corolla, put the trucks into 4WD and drove the last 7 miles in the sand to build the house.  If I never paint a piece of trim it will be too soon.  When we realized it was faster by boat we traveled by boat.   We even took our kitchen cabinets across in the boat as well as various plumbers, electricians, and good friends who wanted in on the fun. I'm talkin' a Carolina Skiff, y'all, not the Queen Mary.  D and I were known to fly across the Knott's Island Sound close to midnight some nights by the light of the moon.  One night the clouds rolled in and D's friend Terrence and I laid on the bow scanning the brackish water for duck blinds and crab buoys with those huge 100 watt flashlights.  Bow spray feels so good hitting you in the face when it's 45 degrees outside. There we were spread across the bow yelling DUCK BLIND ON YOUR LEFT! hoping D would hear us so we wouldn't crash and get knocked into the sound...did I mention it was 45 degrees that night?

All in all it was fun.  We felt like pioneers in that coastal wilderness.  That part of Carolina is still only open to four wheel drive vehicles and that fact keeps it pristine and allows the wild horses to roam the dunes and the back roads.  Those horses are a beautiful site, but there was one thing about that situation that wasn't so beautiful...Raymond Burro the horny little donkey.  Raymond loved him some horses...and I mean he loved him some horses.  Raymond was the baby daddy to several goofy looking mules wandering the dunes.  For some reason I always thought Raymond looked a bit like Sammy Davis jr...I can't help myself my friend Sue got me in the habit of associating people with their animal twin years ago and it just happens when I look at certain people. There is a teacher at school who I swear looks like a lady bug and when I tell people that they agree with me.  It is a gift to have such vision and Sue and I have that gift...lucky us....what was I saying?  Oh yeah, Ray Ray the horn dog.

 Little Raymond was known to mount a mare and "get her done" at a moment's notice.  One day I was watching the herd of horses that hung out near our house as I sat on the deck listening to the waves, drinking my coffee when a group of tourists (y'all know how I feel about tourists) who paid a local (who was laughing all the way to the bank) 50 bucks a head to take them on a "horse watching tour" in Carova. These guys load those poor unsuspecting folks into junked up hoopties with no AC and drive their asses all over my neighborhood to find horses to stare at and take pictures of so that Biff can show the guys at the office how adventurous he is. Well just as Biff, Muffy and the kids were gasping at the beauty of the wild horses,  Raymond arrived.  "Oh look Mommy it's a donkey!  What's that Mommy? He's funny!" Raymond, playing to the crowd, proceeded to grow the longest, biggest, well let's just say that Raymond would win a pissing contest and leave it at that.  Soon after the...emergence... Ray jumped up and mounted a mare.  Biff was so hypnotized by Raymond's...endowments that he froze, but Muffy screamed and attempted to cover the little yuppies eyes as they were dragged back to the truck in wondering why Mommy was so upset.  Biff was still watching the show when Buffy shrieked his name and he snapped back into reality, got back in the hooptie  and was driven back to "civilization."  Hey folks, ya wanted to experience Mother Nature at her finest ya have to expect her at her most...primitive.  I watched them drive away and heard Raymond hee-hawing in delight as I went back inside.  Ya gotta love Carova. Old Raymond died a few years back and everyone misses him.  I bet he died with a big smile on his face.

You will like this...because I said so

I hate forced group participation. Ya ever go to one of those b.o.r.i.n.g. meetings where the speaker wants everyone to"get up and form a circle!" Reeaaly? Form a circle...I'm not five years old and no I do not want to put my right hand on the right shoulder of the freak in front of me. Half the folks there were so confused by this right-left choice that they totally froze and had no idea what to do next.  Put my right where?  Did she say my left hand on her right foot and...whahhh?  hokey pokey? I find this "KAGANITE" manipulation demeaning and condescending. We all know it is the tool that the "socially challenged" use to try and "break the ice and bring the group together! yay!"  These are the same folks who carry neon plastic clapping hands, wear hidious halloween sweatshirts and decorate their door for every season and holiday from the craft sale counter at WalMart. Seriously, the getting up and moving to the other side of the room and playing the "Hi, my name is Betty and I love bird watching and skeet shooting...ironic, huh?" game is played so the webinar organizer can break up any sarcasm circles so she won't be heckled (sp?) during her hour and a half of boring useless information...and useless it was, folks! We were treated to the most boring meeting of all, A WEBINAR! Yes readers, this is when a talking head from the computer drones on and on and the added bonus was that all we saw  was a blank screen and since we couldn't see the speaker or the audience that was answering the woman we were totally disconnected and thus uninterested...yes, I used the word "thus," 'cause I got me one o' them college degrees too.

 I was texting my BFF about the pathetic webinar, the woman across from me was watching a youtube video and the guy next to me was grading papers.  The funny part was that this "webinar" was about keeping your class interested and not teach subjects in a boring manner....REALLY? So, in order to keep teachers from being boring we need to bore them to death...brilliant idea! Oh, and, webinar lady, don't forget to throw in a miriad of three syllable "education-ese" term to make us think that you really do have your graduate degree...whoopie!  I was personally keeping a tally of how many times you used our new buzz words: Rigor, rigorous...35 times in 90 minutes, and who actually uses the word, pedagogy in a sentence?  YOU DO!  Thirty four times in 90 minutes!  This must be some type of record, right?

The pretty young thing in charge of the "webinar" was stomping around the room glaring at us and was not quite "seasoned" enough to turn this snoozefest around and grab our attention.  She was also scared to death of us (hey, not my problem) and she had no idea how to say anything without having one of us rip her face off...figuratively of course.

The point here folks is that if you are going to demand time and attention from overworked and underpaid teachers then the "webinar" had better be interesting and  include useful information instead of the "same old, same old" that we are force fed daily.  In other words...TELL US SOMETHING WE DON"T KNOW!
I don't care if I get to wear jeans for the rest of the year, the bone we were thrown to attend in the amount of an extra $12.00 amounted to sqat after taxes. I do not want to stay after school for an hour...and a have to sit on a tiny germ infested cafeteria stool and hop up on command like a trained monkey and play a circle game to make you feel like you have justified your new job.

Teach me new things, new teaching methods and exciting new ways to present pertinent information.  Make me want to teach, to join in, and to listen to what you have to say. Don't force me to stand in a contrived circle and "relate" to my coworkers in an uncomforable situation.  Entertain me...grab my attention...and help me learn...hey, isn't that what you want me to do in my classroom?
Do I sound bitter?