Lazy Whiners With an Over-Inflated Sense of Entitlement

“It’s almost that time of year again.” I told my husband as we were sitting on the couch watching the Washington D.C. news channel.

“What time is that?” he asked with a smile on his face. He knew by the tone of my voice that this was going to be good.

“The time of year when the lazy whiners with an over-inflated sense of entitlement start complaining about the D.C. Public School System.” I said with my best, preachy sounding because I think people will think I’m smarter, presidential candidate debate voice.

He sat back with his full attention focused on me.

It went something like this:

Do you remember, my dear, when our eldest daughter was in attendance at the public school just down the road from the place we call home? At the beginning of the school year the parents went and cleaned up the school grounds. Some trimmed bushes. Some tightened playground equipment. Some swept the paved areas and painted railings. They did this because they wanted their children to have a nice place to spend their days while being educated.

“Why yes I do” he interrupted “I mostly remember the mom in the short shorts hopping around in her high heels”

We chuckle.

Well soon, very soon the public media known as our local news will start at air sad, sad stories. In these stories parents will complain that their children’s schools are dirty. Yet they will not bring a mop. They will complain of trash on the campus. Yet they will not bring a stick with a nail in it. They will complain of graffiti. Yet they will not bring a Mr. Clean Eraser. We will suffer innumerable hours of self-pity and finger pointing. Yet nothing will be accomplished. Meetings will be held. Angry black women will shake their fists at the camera. Yet their perfectly manicured fingernails will be unmarred by any semblance of actual work. I want to be on the news. I want to tell them:

Talk is cheap and so is an old stick with a nail in it. Put on some sensible shoes and get to work. A public school is the responsibility of the neighborhood in which it resides. A public education is considered a right in this country but that doesn’t mean you should take it for granted. All things worth having are worth working for.

I do not want hear you moaning about how no one takes care of you. If you take care of yourself you won’t have to worry about it. It is not my concern or responsibility to take care of you or your school. Yet I would help if needed. However, I am sick and goddamn tired of all the complaining and drama. Stop your complaining, get off your lazy asses, and DO SOMETHING. Until then, I’ll be sitting here on my couch laughing at you. I find it terribly entertaining.

“Umm, I loved it. Just promise you won’t go on the news. OK?”

*Fade out to the sounds of maniacal laughter*

Filed under Stop Complaining | Comments (5)

Seven Things I Dig About Whit

A big thanking is due to Anthony of sink.into.the.pacific. Despite recently becoming a monk he has taken the time to tag me. For the Whit MeMe. I appreciate the snuggle from the object of my mostly platonic affections.

Now for the part we have been waiting for:

Slightly More than Seven Things I Dig About Whit.

1. I can spend quite a bit of time thinking of a good smart-ass comment; two minutes later, he will reply with an even better smart-ass comment. I dig someone that can think fast and make me try harder.
2. He obviously loves his kids. I dig a guy that adores his children and can express it a way that makes everyone else adores him. Example 1, 2, and 3.
3. Even though he doesn’t understand it, he respects my drunken desire to have a religious experience with a fresh ripe tomato. I dig anyone that respects a womans drunken desires.
4. I own stock in Church and Dwight, Inc. They make Nair.
5. He quit a job he hated to be a SAHD that works from home. Stay-at-home dads always get a big thumbs up in my book. It takes a special kind of guy to do a job like that.
6. He writes poetry. What woman doesn’t dig a dude that can write poetry, especially if it’s good. 
7. He will argue passionately about the non-girliness of the drink called mojito. He thinks ‘Hemmingway drank it’ is a good argument.
8. He knows how to stay out of trouble. About the time he realized I was writing this post he came barreling over here to leave a nice comment about my writing.
9. He may be the only person in the world that can make me giggle about a dead cat.  Now that I think about it, he makes me giggle about a lot of things I shouldn’t giggle about. I dig that.

That brings to an end my diggin’ of Whit. I’m having trouble figuring out the next tag. I am thinking Rattling the Kettle because he has the highest number of recent links to Whit on Technorati and I am certain it would be good. The originator of the MeMe, Island Girl,  agrees with me so how about it, RTK?

Filed under Blog Stuff, Bloggers | Comments (16)

Through the Mist and Fog

It was late when we drove out of DC. I glanced at the Jefferson memorial as we zoomed down the interstate back towards home. The larger than life Thomas Jefferson was looking out over our nations capital. Through the mist and light fog I could see the shadowy outline. The third president and author of our constitution was barely visible but recognizable.

It looked a little eerie with the bright lights trying to force their way through the fog. It was as if the monument was demanding recognition; refusing to be hidden. I’d never considered a monument that size could be lost. There was something about seeing a familiar sight in such a different way that made my mind start to think of peculiar things.

I looked down at the boxes by my feet. We were returning home from the Nationals baseball game. The boxes were promotional items we received for being in the first 20,000 people to enter the stadium. I couldn’t help but wonder, what would Thomas Jefferson think about being made into one of four collectible presidential bobble head dolls? Then I wondered, how much could I sell mine for on eBay?

Filed under Too Much Caffeine? | Comments (4)

I am like Watership Down ‘Cause I Cheated

Mamazilla had a post yesterday about the book quiz at blue pyramid. She thinks it’s broken because she got Lolita. I agree with her because I got the same thing. I think it is punishment for not liking Oprah. So, I decided to go back and change my answers. I’m all about making your own reality. I changed from wanting to live in a hot climate to cold. I wouldn’t want to live in either. I’m also all about the temperate. Looks like I ended up with this.  I think it’s right because I may be one of the greatest people of all times and I always talk to the animals…Maybe Dr. Dolittle would be more appropriate?  Possibly Dr. Seuss. 

You’re Watership Down!

by Richard Adams

Though many think of you as a bit young, even childish, you’re actually incredibly deep and complex. You show people the need to rethink their assumptions, and confront them on everything from how they think to where they build their houses. You might be one of the greatest people of all time. You’d be recognized as such if you weren’t always talking about talking rabbits.

Take the Book Quiz
at the Blue Pyramid.

Filed under Blog Stuff | Comments (10)

A Fat Cat Named Hotrod

I’ve told you about my puppies but I haven’t told you about my cat. She isn’t all that exciting. She is very fat, even though we feed her the expensive diet food and she doesn’t do much but sit in the middle of the floor and sleep. Since she is fourteen years old I think this is acceptable. That would make her 76 years old in human years. I think, if you have lived for 76 years, you should be allowed to do what ever you want. The thing is, she hasn’t always been boring. The way she came to be my cat is a rather interesting story. So I’ll tell you about that.

One day when I was a kid I heard a noise under an oil tank in our yard. It sounded so sad and pathetic I had to crawl under to see what poor animal was making that sound. Much to my delight, I found a tiny little kitten. I ran in to tell my mom and she told me to leave her there and wait to see if the mother cat came back to get her. I sat and waited for hours. When it finally started to get dark I crawled back under and brought her into the house. Mom fixed some mush for her to eat. I’m not sure what the mush was made out of but the kitten seemed to like it.

“She must be older than she looks” my mom said, “She isn’t having any problems eating”

We fed her mush for a few days then she started eating regular cat food. Many months went by but she never got very big. She was maybe 2/3 the size of a regular cat. I don’t know if she was a runt or just genetically a very small cat. We loved her anyway and named her Baby. She lived with us for a few years until one day she disappeared.

A few weeks later I heard a noise under the back porch. There she was with three kittens. She looked very proud of herself. I was so excited. My parents, not so much. Two of the kittens didn’t make it. A hawk snatched one and a car hit the other. The surviving kitten was completely white with a small black smudge going down the middle of his head. We named him Mohawk.

Mohawk gave birth to six kittens a few years later. I was grown and had my own home at this time. I came home and listened to my parents complaining about all the cats while they cooed over them and made sure Mohawk was getting enough to eat. The kittens grew up and we gave some of them away. One of the remaining kittens had a very loud purr. I was considering naming her Hotrod. One day she went out of her way to earn the title.

I was just getting out of bed one morning when I heard my dad’s car barreling down the gravel driveway. He busted through the back door, kitten in hand, and tossed her, bowling ball style, onto the floor.

“This damn cat crawled into the engine compartment of my car and rode all the way to Hardees. When I stopped to get breakfast she jumped out and ran into the restaurant. Then she jumped up on the counter like she was going to order a biscuit or something! I chased her all around the place.”

He shouted. “I’m already late for work. Find a home for her or I’m getting rid of her!”

“I think she’s definitely a hotrod” I told my mom. We giggled at the though of dad running around Hardees trying to catch her.

I took her with me to my new house in Fredericksburg and she’s been here ever since. As far as I know, she no longer desires a biscuit from Hardees, but she still has a very loud purr and we still call her Hotrod. She earned the title, even though looking at her now you’d never guess it.

Filed under Me in a Blog Post | Comments (8)