Mr. Onion Loses His Mind

I finally managed to convince Mr.Onion that there was something missing form our lives... an entertainment center. Yesterday we drove to Walmart and chose a real whopper. Mr. Onion strongarmed it into the car and we were off. Once home it quickly became apparent that this was going to be fun. Not because I so love putting things together as much as the fact that Mr. Onion can rebuild engines but when faced with the complicated details of particle board and slot A meets notch B he loses his freaking mind. 

Even with Benny lending a paw Mr. Onion had about reached his boiling point by step 4 of the instructions. After that I demoted him to entertainer of the kitten whilst I put together the entertainment center (enlisting Onion to tighten screws etc along the way). THEN, I made the mistake of suggesting he put together the drawer while I nail the backing on the unit. I was about 5 nails in when I had to stop hammering or risk losing a finger I was laughing so hard. Mr. Onion had put one of the pieces in backwards and was talking dirty to the drawer as he pulled it apart. Then he flipped it over and hammered it back in swearing up a storm  only to discover that it STILL wasn't in right. I staggered, I clutched my stomach, and Mr. Onion glared. 

In the future I feel certain in the knowledge that this will be one of the defining moments of our relationship. Mr. Onion quit amidst my peels of laughter and resumed his post as screw tightener while I fixed the drawer, finished the entertainment center, and fell exhausted into bed.  Lesson learned: taunt your help, build by your onesies.  

cranky cranky

This is the last full week of school. With humidity it was 108 here on tuesday. I had recess duty and an impertinent child taunted me as  I slathered on nuclear strength sun screen. I consoled myself with the knowledge of what her skin, now a youthful brown, would look like at fifty. On monday one of my kids looked at me and said, "You know what I realized on the bus? There are more kids than adults so we could take over." It was then I decided the learning was through and have been concentrating on staving off a mutiny ever since. And then there are the adults. Anyone have any idea how hard it is to deal with 50 people who have either checked out or give you a shit eating smile to our face and talk about you behind your back? It is a constant reminder of why I like kids.  And then there is the little fact that some.... bovine... has decided that she isn't happy with any of her choices for job for next year, so she's taking mine. And even though I am the person that the teacher and the special ed director want for the job she has more seniority so she gets to go where she wants, and then she has the GALL to bitch about the job!! MY JOB!! I also have to chaperone two different field trips, both to the beach where I will have to bare skin in front of adolescents or risk heat stroke. I know, I know, bitch bitch bitch. 

No Dynamite Here Folks

Scene: Very early on a work day in a tiny apartment bathroom, no windows.

LaDeDah (into the mirror): Oi, I should call in sick. 

No, bad girl you have to go to work and shape young minds. 

BUT I DONT WANT TO!

You have to. What kind of example are you setting?

The kind that says, "become a teacher and get 12 sick days to use to your heart's content." Really I'm promoting my profession. 

Are you through? Brush your teeth and suck it up, you're going to school. 

grumble, grumble grumble (LaDeDah commences brushing her teeth)

Mr. Onion (coming to the door): Are you almost finished? I need to blow up the bathroom.

LaDeDah: You need to do wha... oh... I'll be done in a minute.

(LaDeDah begins to frantically stockpile the day's beauty supplies. The bathroom will be unfit for humans for a good half hour)

Later that day...

LaDeDah: Yeah, so I have to go home and blog about the phrase, "Blow up the bathroom."

BossLady (looks to the board where one of the students has recently written the rule, "what happens in the bathroom stays in the bathroom."):Who said that?

LaDeDah: Mr. Onion, this morning while I was brushing my teeth.

BossLady:Well it's nice to know the romance isn't dead.

End Scene

I like lists

I've had this list hanging around for a while. I figure if I publish it I'll be more likely to finish it, so here goes...

10 Things to Do Before 30

1. Learn to Belly Dance

2. Take knitting classes

3. Have a story published

4. Learn to ride a motorcycle

5. Get my masters

6. Establish a successful photography business

7. Have my own classroom

8. Travel Europe

9. Drive from Mexico to Alaska, length of Rt1

10. Volunteer at an orphanage

Heavy Metal

How many of you have ever explored the local Metal scene? No I'm not talking about trying on a gold bracelet at Tiffany's. No, I don't mean taking in the bronze age sculptures at the Musee d'Art. Last night I attended a Heavy Metal concert.  I am not what anyone would imagine when picturing a devotee of the genre. Light make-up, clothing meant to offer the maximum in comfort and the minimum in fat rollage, long hair that has never (not once) been died black, etc etc. You would be right, I am not a metal fan, but my boyfriend, Mr. Onion (we call him that because he's got layers), is a HUGE metal fan, AND his brother plays in a well respected local metal group. Apparently metal and I were fated to stand uncomfortably in an empty elevator together, each watching the floors slowly click by and hoping the other won't try to strike up a conversation. I go to these concerts because Mr. Onion hopes to instill an appreciation for the man yowl, and savage guitar playing, and lyrical hyjinx, and absurd stage theatrics. He wants me to share this with him and deep down I want to like it. 

The band was called Man Witch. A name I took to mean man who practices witchcraft until the Gerber faced lead singer began a soliloquy on the tastiness of a Manwiche. The mental image of a flaccid, pink, wiener, looking like an outie belly button between two slices of whole grain, was enough to make me a little green. I held out hope for the performance until about the time that Manwiche launched into the ballad "Giant Pillow of Fear".  I looked around at my fellow concert goers and saw a room full of BAD hair and faces that would be perfect on a poster with the caption, "This is your brain on drugs."Needless to say, I was unimpressed. 

I know that my gross generalities are slightly careless and mostly for humorous affect. The truth is that everyone I know who appreciates Metal is well-read, and well-spoken. I can appreciate talented musicians like Dio and enjoy the stage shows and the smart historical lyrics. For me, however, the whole thing goes cold when I see a band with little talent using thier stage show to distract from the fact that they can't play their instruments, or when one man yowl sounds just like the next. Metal is a music that I can think about and appreciate on a purely mental level, but rarely does it transcend and become something I can identify with.