You know you're a bitch when...

You are huffing and puffing and thinking of quitting the 1,000 stair hike. And along comes a guy, jogging past you. Up the stairs.

And for a split second you think about sticking your foot out and tripping him.

Come back on Thursday for the full story of this trail...

Gangstas and Rockers: AKA Random Tuesday

Part of my bad day last Friday had to do with a few poor choices 17 year old Son had made. That evening I was car pooling to book club with a friend and neighbor. She has a son the same age as mine; our boys went to elementary school together. When I told her about my stress, she proceeded to tell me how her boys (she also has a 19 year old) had been stressing her out too. She went on an eight day vacation to the Mainland this summer, leaving her two boys to care for the house, and they got in a fight. A cupboard was broken and an entire wall had ants on it from one son throwing a full fountain root beer at the other’s head. The boys had also fought over who should clean it up. The dried on root beer and ant fiesta was waiting for her when she got home.

I am a horrible person because this story actually cheered me up and I laughed until tears were rolling down my face.

First day of school last week I had a boy come to class 30 minutes late because he went to the wrong lunch. He was wearing a T-shirt that had a very realistic, life-size picture of the back of a gangsta with a red gang scarf tied around his head and both arms up giving middle finger. MOB in graffiti style letters crossed the middle of his chest. And in case we did not get it, underneath it said

Money

Over

Bitches

Someone forgot to tell the kid the old saying, “You never get a second chance to make a first impression.”

Saturday night my husband took me on a lovely date. A fundraiser that wasn’t cheap, but he felt obliged to buy tickets from his very good friend. For $65 each, we were able to hit a wine bar, then go from food booth to food booth and get little mini plates from Oahu’s top restaurants.

While eating, we sat at tables outdoors draped in white tablecloths and under big white tents. Jazz music was playing. It was delightful and I made sure I tried every single booth’s offerings.

We were on our way home at 9:30 and all I could l think was how full I was and how much I was looking forward to PJ’s and wallowing in my fancy food induced bliss.

Hubs begged me to stop at a club that was having a concert with two cover bands. Buddhist Priest and Fan Halen. Apparently Van Halen was not only one of his favorite bands in his younger days, he had also seen the original band in concert and the memory is a dear one.

Despite my disinclination, he wanted to go so much I gave in and we finished lovely date night with a surreal trip into the 80’s, surrounded by aging rockers. Hubs was very excited that the crowd looked “our age” and not the usual 20-somethings that frequent this venue. However, not all of our contemporaries were representing as well as I would have liked.

Ass grabbing...

The devil horns had blinking red lights inside of them.

For more Random Tuesdays, head on over to The Unmom.

You know it is time to go home from work when....

I have a family plan on the cell phones and we have not had a land line in a couple of years. My son and I got our phones when the plan was put together. Our phone numbers are exactly the same, except for the last digit. The last digit on my number is 1, on his it’s 2.

After school yesterday I stayed and tutored some kids.

Then I graded some stuff.

Then I checked my work email.

After that I put in my attendance..

I decided to call my son before leaving work.

I use my office phone to dial him up and while I wait for him to answer, my cell phone buzzes in my back pocket. So, I pull it out, put my glasses on (because my eyes have completely gone middle aged and refuse to see anything in my cell phone on their own – do they make cell phones with enlarged font???), and I see it is a number from within the school.

Now, the sad thing is, I keep my phone on vibrate at work, and since I keep it in my back pocket, I don’t often feel it when it buzzes. Or not until the last buzzaruni. I try not to let myself think what this says about my ass and the twenty pounds middle age has added on to it. It’s too sad.

I have two friends at work. Well, I have more than that, technically speaking. The other 140 teachers and 50 or so staff I am friendly with while I am there. But two teachers I hang with on vacations and they call me and we talk (gossip) about work, but also about other shared interests.

Anywhos, I figure it is one of these two and since I missed the call on my cell, and since reception is not so good, I call her extension from my office phone.

Hmm. She doesn’t answer.

So I redial my son.

This time my cell phone buzzes across my desk.

My glasses are back off and I go through the whole routine again, calling the other friend who also is not at her desk and probably home already having a margatuni.

How weird is that? Every time I go to use my office phone, my cell phone rings?

I’m sure everyone reading this is smarter than me and has figured this out already.

But, me, I try my son a third time. And my cell phone buzzes.

The veil of fog begins to lift from the hallways of my addled brain and I look at the number displayed digitally on my work phone.

Yeah. I’ve been calling my own number.