Crazy Texas Mommy

It's Random Hump-Dayness

noreply@blogger.com (Candance) — Thu, 11 Mar 2010 03:06:00 +0000

I feel no need to explain why this is random. Y'all probably get the why by now. So, here goes:

I know a lot about cattle reproduction now. A LOT. I also know a little about sheep reproduction. I liked it better when I knew neither.
If, when asked by freshmen what the second part of the cattle reproduction video is, you reply, "Barry White and soft lighting, methinks," they won't get it. Trust me.
I got my arm and head stuck in a shirt Monday morning and I hollered, "It's choking my arm!!" because my arm felt choked, not my neck. I tried for 10 minutes to get that damn shirt on before conceding that it was in fact smarter than me and therefore could not be worn by me. Yes, I have had a lot of wardrobe malfunctions lately. Just call me Janet-or Miss Jackson if you're nasty.
This morning I had a great outfit laid out for work but when I put the tights on with the skirt, they were too dark and I cried. I cried over tights. That is insane. I think I might be stressed just a little bit.
So, I found another outfit that was less cute and went to find shoes to wear with it. I cried again.
I decided to not go to the tanning bed anymore since I don't want my skin to turn to leather nor do I want the cancer of the skin, but my day glow whiteness is scaring me, which means it will also scare others should I unleash these snow white bad boys (I'm looking at my legs as I type this, hence the "bad boys") on the unsuspecting public.
For some reason, I think the actual sun in the sky is less likely to give me the cancer of the skin and that wouldn't be correct. I'll probably still lay out by the pool, though.
There's a strange smell in the hallway outside my apartment and when I went in search of the foul smell, I think I traced it to my next door neighbor's apartment. I've now decided she's a hoarder and has 35 dead cats in her apartment, but I won't tell the management until I clean up my apartment. I have no idea why.
I'm going to feel really bad if it's not really coming from her apartment and I accuse her of being a hoarder. I would say I'd leave that part out, but we all know I won't.
I've replaced mayo on my sandwiches with avocado. I like it.
Mama needs to go night-night.

I'll reply to comments tomorrow. This week is kicking my ass. I even skipped class tonight (I actually had a good reason, but still) and I'm secretly competing with everyone in it for the highest grade and the favor of the professor, so this is very bad news. Very bad indeed.

A Brief Overview of My Weekend

noreply@blogger.com (Candance) — Sun, 07 Mar 2010 22:34:00 +0000

This weekend the children and I made a little impromptu trip to my hometown to celebrate my parents' birthdays with them because, you know, they've reached an age where birthdays aren't necessarily fun again but having one is better than the alternative. My dad recently went to like his 150th high school reunion and he said a lot of people couldn't make it due to being dead and all, so you know, it's good to hang with them. It actually wasn't even really an impromptu trip. I told them last weekend when I talked to my dad on his birthday that we'd come this weekend for mom's because I was finishing up a project that was due on this Friday but my mom forgot we were coming. It was kind of like that time when I was away at college and they moved without telling me. I'm seriously not making that up.

Anyway, as is generally the case whenever I venture outside my home, we had adventures. Here are a few of the highlights:

As we pulled into my mother's driveway Friday evening she was kind of bent over sweeping and Max started yelling, "DON'T HIT HER, MAMA!! PLEASE DON'T HIT MY NANA!!" It's funny how he's able to read my mind sometimes.
I was talking to a friend Friday and he said something about the Dallas World Aquarium and I made a little squeaking noise and he was like, "What was that?" I totally tried to play if off and finally he was like, "You can't make the noise and then say nothing," and I was like, "Fine. There are loose birds in there," and he was like, "Okay. They probably just fly in when people open the doors," and I was like, "No, they live there. And fly around freely. I don't go there." He was confused and curious and I finally had to 'fess up that I'm terrified of birds the way some people are terrified of snakes and he laughed really hard for a really long time. After trying to convince him it was a common phobia and him not buying it at all, I was like, "Dude, I can only imagine what's going through your head right." His reply? "If you could read minds, all you would've heard in mine was CAW-CAW for the last five minutes." Awesome.
On Saturday I chatted with The Queen of Quite A Lot while picking out my mother's birthday card and I found one that said something about changing her ringtone to "Happy Birthday" and it being funny cause she wouldn't be able to change it back. QQAL was like, it would be funny if you changed it to that Milkshake Song. That would be hilarious, especially if it went off while she was in church.
So, I went home and shared the story with my parents and the children. For the past 24-hours Young Max been running around saying, "My nana's milkshake brings all the boys to the yard." So wrong.
While on the phone with QQAL, I was also looking for something a little snazzy to wear to a party and play I went to on Saturday night with another friend because I left the shirt I planned to wear at home. Word to the wise: don't lay a red shirt on a red sofa and think you're actually going to be able to see it when you're rushing out the door and doing the whole double check thing cause you're not. I found a great shirt and necklace. Standing at the bar at the party later that evening, I realized said great shirt felt funny. Yeah, that's because it was on backwards.
Sitting at the play, I somehow got my really long necklace hung between the theater seats. Twice. Apparently,when you have little to no common sense, that doesn't get any less scary no matter how many times it happens.
After the play, I went to give a hug to a guy that I knew that was in the play only to find that my bra was caught on the fire alarm. We averted disaster, but really? Who the hell does that happen to?
On the way home today, Max stopped singing the Milkshake Song long enough to sing, "Gracie's mom has got it going on..." just enough times to freak Gracie out. That takes exactly one time, in case you were wondering.

Okay, so now I'm off to do homework, laundry and workout because I found out that is the only way to make my dying ovaries not make me a homicidal lunatic and that hot flashes and night sweats aren't actually a get out of jail free card if you accidentally murder someone who won't shut their pie hole while your innards and outards are on fire. That was really disappointing news, but it made me extra glad my dad's a lawyer and he could fill me in on that before I offed some people.

A Recycled Post Because Kevin Geil Just Made My Girl Smile Again

noreply@blogger.com (Candance) — Fri, 05 Mar 2010 16:25:00 +0000

I woke up cranky this morning and Grace woke up looking like someone kicked her dog-if she had one, which she doesn't because I don't do pets, but if I did do pets, it would be a little Yorkie or Yorkie Poo and I would name her Dolly Parton and dress her in pink everyday. Anyway, you know why I'm cranky and I think she was feeling down because she knows I'm worried. In trying to cheer her up, I told her she could turn on the t.v. even though I was going to do homework and lo and behold, who was on the Good Morning Texas but Two Tons of Steel. Upon seeing Kevin Geil do his cute little leg shake thing while singing "Hold Over Me", Gracie said, "Oh Kevin, you're so cute and I still have the guitar pick you gave me!!" Now she's all smiles and is going to become a fan of Two Tons of Steel on Facebook.

I thought, in light of her cheering right up when she saw the band, and especially Kevin Geil, I'd share an old post that explains why my daughter lights up every time she sees them and why she demands silence anytime we hear one of their songs on the radio. Here ya go:

Dear Kevin,

If you're actually reading this, you googled your name, Two Tons of Steel or brick shit house (yep, according to my Sitemeter, that'll get you here, too) and accidentally ended up on this blog, huh? You're wondering why in hell someone's mother is blogging about you cause you're in a band and you're hoping that at least I'm a MILF, right? Well, I've never been nominated for Hottest Mom Blogger, so you know...This is the mom who was yelling about getting a t-shirt large enough to fit over her boobs while you were signing her daughter's shirt at your show at the North Texas State Fair and Rodeo Friday night. Uh, sorry about that. I really wasn't trying to hit on you, even though you are very cute when you do that thing with your leg. I was just trying to buy a shirt, Man. However, this isn't supposed to be about boobs, t-shirts or your legs. I would like to thank you for making my daughter's night and her first week of sixth grade.

She was already pretty excited about going out to the N. TX State Fair and Rodeo because Reckless Kelly (if you oppose the war, LISTEN TO THIS SONG) was there and she is mildly obsessed with them. We didn't know Two Tons of Steel was also playing and when she found out, she screamed something at a decibel only a dog could hear. I'm not going to try to translate it since, after meeting Willy Braun, we understood her to say, "I want pot but I'm too young." That was wrong. She actually said, "He's hot but I'm too young (for him)". To be honest, I'm not sure which I'd rather I'd heard because both can lead to her getting pregnant when she's sixteen.

The past couple of weeks, Grace has been pretty nervous about starting middle school. It's regular eleven year old girl stuff: she's worried about the way she looks, if the other girls will like her, or that she'll forget her locker combination, locking her books and make-up in it forever and being dubbed the "Girl With No Books that Needs Some Lip Gloss" for the rest of her middle school career. Six grade is scary business, Dude. But, Friday night as she stood right smack dab in front of you as you were on stage, smiling until her cheeks hurt, and you looked down at her and winked, all of her fears went away. She was damn cool, because the Cool Guy in the Cool Band looked in her direction. When you handed her your guitar pick at the end of the show, well, let's just put it this way: I think she's sleeping with it and there has been a request for a frame to house it in so it will never be lost. All her little girlfriends from last year know all about it now, too- and that you hugged her. They knew at the crack of dawn Saturday morning. Yes, Kevin and the other boys from Two Tons of Steel, you are huge with the tween crowd.

So, I would like to say thanks for making my Gracie feel special at your show Friday night. She plans to wear the shirt you and the other guys autographed on her first day of middle school Tuesday and I am sure she'll never forget the night she got it. And, now when she's singing over the eardrum shattering volume of her iPod, it will be something good like this:

and not Miley Cyrus. Thank ya, Jesus (and Kevin and Two Tons of Steel)!!

Sincerely,
Crazy Texas Mommy

Remember When I Said I'd Post Those Awards Today? Yeah, I Lied.

noreply@blogger.com (Candance) — Fri, 05 Mar 2010 07:00:00 +0000

Edit: The links have been added now that I'm a little less sleepy and can kind of form thoughts.

I received two awards in the past couple of weeks. One was from Aunt Crazy and K. Erikson at Preachers and Horse Thieves bestowed the same one upon me. Then Loco YaYa gave me one and I was all giddy because I like getting fancy awards and I was going to write a post Thursday evening after Grace went to bed that would post on Friday, passing them along and all that stuff that I'm supposed to do, even though I'm really bad at that because there are lots of rules and I am easily confused. Well, as it were, Grace didn't make it to bed. Instead we spent two hours in the urgent care place and another hour getting her prescriptions filled and I am stressed the hell out because a) I have no insurance on Grace or me because her father has not carried it on her one single day in her life and subs don't get insurance. That makes going to the doctor scary expensive and b) it's even scarier because I budget our money to the dime and this took a big chunk of what I had set aside for bills and I'm relatively certain I will not be getting a dime from her father for it. That would be because I never have and c) this is costing me a day's work because I don't think me going into a classroom of middle schoolers on three hours sleep is a very good idea. Therefore the promised post didn't happen.

So, K. Erikson, Aunt Crazy and Loco YaYa, I love that y'all gave be bloggity awards. I think it rocks the house that y'all enough of me to do that and I know y'all probably think a little less of me right now for not putting it up and passing it on, but my brain is fried right now. I would try to give you a date when that might happen but there's nothing I hate more than someone not keeping a promise (you know, like the one where if I carry Grace on my insurance he'll reimburse me for it every paycheck yet, 10 years later and the first time in our lives without insurance, I've yet to see a dime of that) and I've broken two now to y'all. I can't make any guarantees about anything at this moment except that I need sleep and washing off the pound of mascara I'm wearing seems really overwhelming. And that I got really mad because Grace wore her PJs to the urgent care place and I was thinking, "Hey, I feel kind of embarrassed about the no insurance thing anyway and you in your Little Miss Chatty PJ pants and Uggs ain't really helping all that." I didn't say that, though, cause she was all doubled over with cramps and miserable and I figured it might be inappropriate.

I stress ate a Cadbury Creme Egg and a whole bag of gummy bears. No Little Debbie, though.

OMG, must sleep.

Little Debbie, We're Over

noreply@blogger.com (Candance) — Wed, 03 Mar 2010 20:36:00 +0000

Dear Little Debbie,

We'd both be lying if we tried to say this hasn't been coming for a long time. I knew I might have a problem when I was looking forward to one of your delicious Zebra Cakes with my coffee each morning, but I wouldn't eat it until the kids were gone to school. Then I'd have another one after supper and pretend to them it was my first one all day. I'd hide the wrappers in the bottom of the trash. We were going through two boxes of your moist cakeyness and delicious cream filling a week. I figured it was due in part to Grace taking your little cakes in her lunch each day and that maybe, while I was in class, she was sneaking them, like her mama. But, last Thursday, standing on your beautiful aisle in the Dollar General, I learned otherwise and that I might not have a problem-I actually do have a problem and it's bad. Your cakes are like crack and I'm an Easter Basket cake away from being found facedown in the gutter with one of your clear plastic wrappers stuck to my face.

See, while standing on the aisle there with Grace, I said, "Gracie, we're going through little Little Debbies real fast. How is that even happening? How many are you taking in your lunch?" Her reply? "None, Mom. I don't even like them very much." Well, I know Max isn't eating very many of them because he can't work your little clear wrappers (the ones that will be stuck to my face if I don't stop you) and I have to open them for him and I know how many I open. For him-not me. That means the two boxes a week were all my doing. That's not good news-for my thighs or ass.

I'm a single lady, Little Debbie. That means that a) I don't really have a lot of money to go out and buy pants to replace the ones I outgrow due to one too many Star Crunches and b) no one's gonna wanna shake my peaches if they're still moving after they're not being shaken anymore and various other parts have joined in the fun. No one wants a black eye due to wayward arm waddle. I'm just sayin'.

So, Deb, I'm quitting you. Cold turkey. Oh, I know you're thinking that we could maybe hang out one night a week, or maybe on the weekends. Maybe that we could keep it casual. No commitments. I know, I thought the same thing. But you're too strong for me. It's all or nothing for me when it comes to you. I can't just have a little of you here and there. Once I get a taste of you, I need you all the time. Every day. Since I don't want people to have to use a crane to get me out of my house before too long, I have to stop the madness. Our relationship is unhealthy and I just have to walk away and never look back.

I need you to respect my wishes. Please don't whisper my name each time I open the pantry door. Don't try to lure me in with your "Price Cut" tags at Target or your bright yellow 2/$3.00 signs at the Dollar General because I am weak, Little Debbie, and I may not be able to resist the temptation. Please, help me avoid a life of jeans with an elastic waistband and shirts with the letters XXL printed on the tag. If you ever cared about me-if I ever meant anything to you-you'll just go away quietly and not try to win me back.

Goodbye, Girl. I'll miss you more than you know. My ass and thighs, on the other hand, are pretty happy to see you go.

Sincerely,

CTM

When You Have a Tween Girl, Sometimes the Radio is the Only Weapon you Need

noreply@blogger.com (Candance) — Thu, 25 Feb 2010 15:29:00 +0000

Right now, I am super annoyed with my daughter. I love her to death, but I want to snap her little head off. Remember yesterday when I spoke of the trash can? The overflowing trash can that's making me insane but I refuse to empty it on principle? Yeah, it's still overflowing even though I told her to empty it and pick up after herself in the three hours I was in class last night. She also didn't put her shoes away and her cup from our nutritious supper of McDonald's (I meant to cook, but I got so busy with school work I lost track of time and I couldn't leave here to starve, although right now, I'm thinking that would be good payback for not cleaning up) is sitting on the coffee table where it shouldn't be anyway because no food or drinks are allowed in the living room.

Adding to my feeling of oh-my-God-I-am-going-to-end-you-and-wear-my-orange-prison-jumpsuit-with-pride is that fact that last Friday, while texting her friend, I told her to ask said friend if I could drop her off at their house this Friday (tomorrow) at 7:00 since I have to sub in a different district that requires me to arrive at work at 7:30 and I feel it would be mean to leave her at the bus stop for an hour (although, again, re-thinking all that). On the way to school today, it finally comes out that her friend hasn't asked yet. Really? When did you find out she hadn't asked? Oh, earlier in the week, but Grace figured she'd ask so she didn't feel like she needed to say anything. Really, Grace? Now, I do know I could've called the grandma myself and probably should have. And I totally would have had I known that the little girl hadn't asked when I made the request a week ago. But, I guess Grace figured my babysitting issues were on a need-to-know basis and I didn't need-to-know I might not have one until it was too late to find another one. Why the hell is she trying to kill me?

I try to be understanding of my child and the fact that she is going through lots of hormonal stuff and that things will sometimes be overlooked, but there comes a point when it just gets asinine and some sort of punishment needs to be doled out. Julie gave me a great idea yesterday-put the kitchen trash in her room. I was trying to consider what to add to that because this has gotten totally out of control when, as we pulled up to the bus stop, Young MC gave me the best punishment I could ask for-"Bust a Move". I wish I had a camera to fully capture the horror on her face as I cranked it up and began to slow the car to let her out. She was saying, "Mom, please don't. Please don't. I promise I'll pick up all my stuff. Just please don't rap. PLEASE!!" For a moment, it appeared that tears were welling in her eyes, much like the tears that well in mine each time I pass her overflowing trash can, fall over her shoes or see the clothes I worked so hard to wash and fold laying in a pile in her bedroom floor. It was fabulous and so much better than anything I could ever come up with on my own.

I worked a compromise with her-I didn't turn it down and there may have been a loud, "Mmm, yeah" that made all the kids at the bus stop turn to look as she closed the door, but I didn't rap loudly as she tried to exit. However, if she doesn't pick up all her crap and vacuum her room the second she walks in the door today, tomorrow it's full-on, loud as I can possibly be, rapping when I pick her up from the bus stop. With the windows rolled down. If I could find a big clock to put around my neck, I'd do that for extra humiliation because, for whatever reason, Flavor Flav really annoys her. Probably cause he's super annoying and I can't believe a bunch of women competed on a reality show to date the man. Maybe he has a nice personality or something. Anyway, point is, humiliation unlike anything she's ever experienced will commence should she not do what she's supposed to when she gets home.

She know's I'll do it, too, because I have no shame.

I wonder where I can get some MC Hammer pants. That would be even more awesome.

Dudes, this is so much better than spanking. A spanking only lasts a few minutes. The image of your mother in MC Hammer pants with a clock around her neck rapping an 80's song about sex at the bus stop will last a lifetime.

(Insert evil cackle here.)

Bits and Pieces

noreply@blogger.com (Candance) — Wed, 24 Feb 2010 15:02:00 +0000

Today is a random day. I think I should just designate one day a week as random day, but sure as I do that, I'll have really good stuff for that day and then only random stuff for the next day and it would be all screwed up and, well, that would annoy me-much like the trash in Grace's trash can that I've been asking her to empty for a week and I refuse to empty myself because I want to teach her a lesson about picking up after herself, but it's like it calls to me from the other room: "I'm overflowing..." You get the picture. Now, for your random bits of CTM:

I talked to someone on the phone last night that had a really nice laugh. Like, when they laughed, it automatically made me smile. A nice laugh goes a long way in my book.
Max asked me if I think he's dangerous and unpredictable.
I had a dream that a boy shook my belly and told me it was okay I was "jiggly". I woke up mad at that boy even though I don't actually know him.
The other parents in Max's Cub Scout troop didn't know my ex and I were divorced until he sent them an e-mail asking them to please include "Max's mother" on e-mails. That's not the first time I've heard that. I generally just explain we get along really well because we're not married. Oddly, most women totally get that.
I had the realization that once school is out, I won't actually be employed unless I get hired to do an internship by a school district for next year and I panicked a little because I don't think many districts do the internships in lieu of student teaching due to the whole not-really-certified-therefore-parents-might-get-pissed thing.
I heard 'The Joker" as I was taking Grace to school this morning and I said, "If someone said I was the cutest thing they ever did see and that they really liked my peaches and wanted to shake my tree, I'd be really flattered." Grace called me gross. I thought that was a little mean. And, I'm not the one with the overflowing trash can, so who's really the gross one? Just sayin'.
Karma helped me get her back when "Hurts So Good" came on right when I was dropping her off and I cranked it up really loud and danced an overemphasized every "UH!" Then Max got in on the action and it was really loud and obnoxious. Watching her try to open the door just enough to get her body and 40 pound bag out so as to make sure no one heard us was pretty entertaining.
Then Max said, "None of her friends were laughing. I think we need to ramp it up a notch next time." I love that kid.
I told myself I was going to workout on days I don't work. I'm not working right now-or working out, so that's obviously going well.
I like Little Debbie. That's probably why no one thinks I'm the cutest thing they every did see and they don't like my peaches nor do they want to shake my tree. That may also be why my dream lovers are telling me it's okay I'm jiggly.

Now, off to finish one project that's due Friday before starting on the next one that's due next Friday. It if for that reason coupled with the fact that I have class tonight that I will respond to all my wonderful comments tomorrow. Y'all know I love them and y'all, though, right?

Holy Hot Flash, Batman

noreply@blogger.com (Candance) — Tue, 23 Feb 2010 14:30:00 +0000

Look y'all, I know that I'm probably not technically old enough to be going through "the change" as my mother calls it (actually whispers it, like cancer and gay), but I swear I'm having hot flashes. I ain't even playing. Let me help you understand why I think this, other than the fact that I have flashes of hotness that make me randomly strip and want to punch someone.

I am always cold. Always. I'm the annoying chick that has the sweater on her chair at work all the time and keeps the heat cranked up to 73-sometimes even 74-and is still cold. Grace is all sweaty and running around the house in a short sleeved shirt and no socks, and I'm wearing fuzzy house shoes, fleece pants, and a jacket and still can't get warm. Some used to say it was because I was skinny and didn't have any meat on my bones to keep me warm. Now they just say it's because of the ice water that flows through my veins (cause I obviously have plenty of meat). Bitches. I crank the heat in the car, too. The AC makes me shiver in the summer and I usually have to keep a sweater and blanket in my office from May-October because no one else is so covered in goosebumps that the one hair they have on each arm is standing at attention. You get the picture. CTM=cold, maybe due to cold dead heart, but what-the-hell-ever.

The past couple of weeks, I've still been cold, except for when my face and ears randomly get so hot they hurt and my arms and hands get all red and hot and I have to start throwing off my many layers of clothes. Even last night when Grace kissed me before bed, she was like, "Dude, Mom, your face is really hot. That's weird cause it's usually really cold and kind of dead feeling, just like your hugs." I think that deep, deep down inside somewhere, she really does love me. Anyway, when I get all hot like that, my ears kind of ring and my hands hurt and it pisses me the hell off. Dear God, if this is how my aunt felt when she was having hot flashes, no wonder the little lady that worked in her beauty shop was scared about her having a gun in her purse. I could totally shoot someone in those moments, and it's usually just whoever is stupid enough to address me. That is, if I could get my red, throbbing fingers around the damn trigger to squeeze it.

I don't know if it's really peri-menopause or whatever they call it and if maybe it has something to do with me not having a uterus anymore, but the hotness sucks. For me and those around me. I guess it could be the real deal since all those egg donation places say my eggs are too old for their liking (look, I was desperate for money and I was exploring my options and figured since my kids are cute and smart, maybe someone might want an egg or two). I have old eggs. That kind of blows, but really only because of the "old" part. Well, really the "old egg" part because that makes me feel like a dirty refrigerator. Maybe they're so old, they're like dying. Dude, if I were Michelle Duggar, I'd be freaking the hell out right now (probably only on the outside, but on the inside she'd be happy, I think). But since my eggs are basically useless (for so many reasons) and have been for like three years, I guess it's not a big deal.

Except that I'm 34.

And I had that one family member that sprouted some hair on her upper lip once her lady parts started dying. I don't really have much hair, though, so I'm probably okay.

But what if she didn't have much hair either? Until the change.

And who the hell wants old eggs?

Great, now Max is asking me about people dying because he went to the dead body exhibit yesterday and is very concerned about God's plan since there were dead babies in it.

All This? Is making my ears get hot.

(My hotness is less of a party, but you get the idea.)

Just Because I Want People to Park Where I Say Doesn't Make Me Bossy

noreply@blogger.com (Candance) — Mon, 22 Feb 2010 15:01:00 +0000

Apparently my apartment complex underwent somewhat of a population explosion this weekend. I saw like five new families moving in and all of them are on the same end of the complex I live on. They're not in my building, though. I think we're full because we're right by the pool and, in the winter when we moved in, we thought that was a totally awesome idea and didn't take into account how much it's going to suck in the summer when we won't be able to hear ourselves think over the squeals of the small children and drunk asses who spend their entire day at the pool. Oh well, it's too late now. Anyway, none of the new people looked like they'll be cooking up a big pot of in meth in their kitchen, so that was good news cause in my old hood, four out of five would've been doing just that. The fifth one would've been selling it for them. Unfortunately for them, they haven't figured out the rules when it comes to parking their cars. Probably because they're not included in their lease agreement. Or actually known to anyone other than me. Because I may have made them up. Okay, so I know I said I was trying to accept that I can't control everything, but I've never had an issue with people not adhering to my parking rules until now, so it's not like I've been all crazy about enforcing them. That's good. Right?

I guess when the apartment manager went over the lease for them and said the garages are for the fancy residents that can pay the extra money for one but the uncovered parking was a free-for-all, they misunderstood what that meant. I guess they thought the "free-for-all" thing included the six parking spaces right outside my building and the building next to mine-you know, the ones they don't live in-that my neighbors and I have been parking in since we moved in, which was way before them which means we have seniority. Therefore, they're assumption would be the opposite of right, which is WRONG. I guess they also thought that to mean that they could take four of the six spaces to park their gigantic U-haul sideways for two days, leaving no place for anyone without a garage to park and causing me to have to park on the other side of the building and forget where my car is every time I go to leave. If you ever want to see me freak the hell out, watch me walk out and not see my car parked in the spot where I leave it everyday.

I am wondering if maybe this whole thing is rubbing me the wrong way because mine and six other buildings have been without cable, internet (I'm totally connected to their unsecured wireless right now), phone and any exterior lights, including the ones in the heated hallway that leads to my front door, for the past four days. And there is no ETA on when that might be repaired. And, in their infinite wisdom (which was actually very sweet, but still), they said I can hang out in the office and use the wireless to do my homework during business hours and I can camp out with the kids in the fitness center after hours so they can watch t.v. while I do homework. I'm sure my neighbors dedicated to fitness really want to try to workout while having to watch "iCarly" and listen to Max and Grace fight. I will say, though, they are compensating us for the inconvenience, so that's kind of awesome. But it's still a pain in the ass.

I'm sure the cable and internet situation probably isn't helping, but I'm kind of a bitch and maybe just a tad bossy (I'll wait while you stop laughing), so it's probably just my personality that's making me want to cut my new neighbors. I told Grace I was going to leave them an ugly note on the U-Haul that said, "Really, Asshole?" and she begged me not to. I told her they totally wouldn't even know it's me since they just moved here and aren't yet acquainted with how I roll. She was like, "Uh, but the people in the office totally are and they will so know it's you because you're the meanest person that lives here."

I take offense to that because she doesn't even know everyone that lives here.

P.S. Today you get no picture because I've spent forever looking for the right one and now the play time I allotted myself has expired and I must do work. So sorry.

I'm Sure the Kids are Calling me Something, but it's Probably Not the "Cool Sub" Anymore

noreply@blogger.com (Candance) — Sun, 21 Feb 2010 20:38:00 +0000

To say that the last three weeks subbing have been from hell wouldn't accurately paint a picture of the sheer torture of getting my attendance sheets each morning and seeing certain names that, when combined with certain other names on that same attendance sheet for that same class, cause nothing but total and complete chaos and a strong yearning for whiskey. I don't even drink whiskey, but on those days, I think it's the only thing strong enough to kill the pain spreading through all the parts of my body. You know it's bad when regular, full-time teachers poke their heads in your class and, upon seeing the faces of those asshats all in one location, make the sign of the cross over themselves and run out of the room. I should insert here, it's not every kid I have that is making me want to start coming to work drunk. It's a group of about six or seven that I keep getting over and over again and that someone, somewhere decided to put in several classes together. The rest of the class can be perfect and wonderful, but these few are so loud and so disruptive that no one can work, much less learn. Not that I'm teaching them anything, but you know.

I don't ask anything out of the ordinary of these people. I don't expect them to be totally silent because I know that's probably impossible. Unless they're taking a test. Then, Dude, be smart enough not to yell the answer to number four across the room to your buddy I had to separate you from because you kept stabbing each other with your number 2 pencils and I wasn't going to get sued when one of you ended up with lead poisoning. I also ask that, due to the rules of the school I am bound to uphold in order to keep drawing the salary that keeps the lights on at my casa, please don't cuss loud enough that I can actually hear the word. I know they cuss. I cuss, too (shocking, I know), but I'm not supposed to hear it. All I ask is that they be respectful to one another and to the people around them that might actually want to do some work because they have aspirations of, oh I don't know, not being in ninth grade again next year.

Then there is the issue of going to the restroom. I used to let them go because Grace made me feel bad about good kids like her not being able to go when they really needed to because of the jackasses that abused the privilege. But, on the first day with the group from hell three weeks ago, four girls abused that privilege to the point that I stopped letting anyone go. When they asked why they couldn't go anymore, I explained that a) they all four came to me at different times in class and, unless they all had a bad case of the runs, they didn't go to the bathroom. They went roaming the halls; b) when I said to be quiet and work, and in return from that corner of the room, I got told I can't make them work and even if I did move them away from each other, they were going to talk anyway, why in hell (I didn't say hell but it was hard not to) would I want to do something nice for them. It's a little thing called the Golden Rule. They should learn it and c) if my 34-year-old bladder that had two human heads rammed in to it can stay full of Diet Mountain Dew to the point that I am scared to sneeze for three class periods, then their much stronger and less damaged 14-year-old bladders totally have it handled. That went over like a fart in a church.

It reached a point where those few troublemakers thought they were going to walk all over me and, other than tell their teacher, who it appears does nothing about it, I couldn't do anything. The kids that knew how to act right were actually apologizing to me for the other kids' bad behavior and telling me not to take it personally-they did it with the regular teacher, too, which might explain why they kept asking me in one class if he'd died. Maybe he didn't do anything about them being buttheads because he is dead. Now I feel kind of bad for being annoyed. I should check that out the next time I'm there. Point is, I felt bad for the good kids, so, after telling them to zippy the lippy several times, I started sending them to the office. I sent four in three days (one for walking out of class after I told him he couldn't go to the bathroom after he sat in class running his big ole head at me for 20 minutes and one for telling me what I "wasn't gonna do" to her). Funny thing is, once I sent their cohorts to the office, suddenly everyone became very agreeable and I could hear them in the hallway between classes saying, "Dude, she kicked them out of class. Don't make her mad cause she'll kick you out, too." It was kind of awesome. Okay, so I'm pretty sure that one girl's friends are going to slit my tires-or my throat-for sending her away, but the others are just scared. For now, anyway.

I know that once I have my own full-time classroom it won't be near as bad as it is somedays now because I'll be able to form better relationships with them then I do when I have them a couple of days in a row, go a couple of days without having them and then have them again. I'm totally having a seating chart, though.

And, I'm making my bathroom pass out of toilet seat that says, "I'VE GOTTA GO NUMBER 2" in huge black letters and making them wear it around their necks when they ask to go to the restroom and they're gonna be leaving me their iPod or cell phone so I know my fancy bathroom pass makes it back in one piece.

Bet that cuts down on requests to go to the shitter because I can't think of anyone that would want to get their crush out of class for a few stolen minutes of making out in the stairwell with a toilet seat around their neck.

Then again, I've been known to underestimate people before.

Who Got Published? Me, That's Who.

noreply@blogger.com (Candance) — Thu, 18 Feb 2010 03:19:00 +0000

I know you've been heartbroken and you feel lost and unable to function because you haven't had your CTM fix since Sunday. Yes you have. Yes. You have.

Just so you know, no, my V-Day did not get better. It kinda got worse and I like my house a lot better when it's just my kids and me here. We have a rhythm that just works. When those from outside come in (i.e. my mother, unwanted boys), it gets all screwed up and I don't like it when that happens.

And, other than that right up there, I've had nothing else to share with you because I've been trapped in my house for many days first due to snow, then due to a sick child. So, I've done a lot of homework and dispensed lots of medications. That's it. Not very interesting and I spent the three hours in class tonight that I should've been learning about literature circles trying to think of something, anything to post. I came up with a big ball of nothing.

Then, I got home and had an e-mail telling me an essay I submitted to This I Believe back in August got published! Shut the front door-I can't even believe it!! So, since I have nothing interesting to say today (and I may or may not be totally freaking excited and am tooting my own horn just a little), check me out here.

I'll be back soon with something interesting to share.

Or maybe I'll just be back soon.

Valentine's Day So Far

noreply@blogger.com (Candance) — Sun, 14 Feb 2010 15:15:00 +0000

It's not even 10:00 AM yet, so I'm not willing to say this day is going to suck entirely, but I will say, it's been a rather challenging morning in the two hours I've been up. Here's what we've got so far:

I woke up from my first night of actually having a good night's sleep in a couple of weeks by sticking my hand in something wet, cold and kinda thick. It was snot. From my sick little boy that I've been letting sleep with me because a) he's sick and b) at our old house he wasn't allowed to sleep with me. Ever. It upset both of us, so now I'm trying to make up for it. But, being ripped from sleep via snot on the hand kind of sucks.
I left the kids V-day gifts in the car last night because Grace was helping me get the groceries put away and I didn't want to ruin her surprise. This morning, when I went to take out the trash and get said presents, I realized that our front door was open all night. Not just unlocked, but actually standing open. Awesome. Glad that didn't happen in our old neighborhood or else I wouldn't be posting this because I'd be dead right now.
When I got to the car to get the presents out, I realized that, much like the 18 eggs I purchased yesterday, my lovely red wrapping paper for the gifts also didn't make it into my basket. I think the checker dude did this on purpose because he asked for my driver's license when he rang up the Vick's salve and I cracked up. He did not think it quite as funny as me.
My children's Valentine's Day presents are wrapped in inside out Christmas paper. If they look closely, they will be able to see the candy canes on the other side. Hopefully they won't look closely. They are also wrapped with minimal tape because about half way through Grace's I noticed the tape was getting a little hard to pull off the roll. Hope they stay together long enough for the kids to rip into them.

I've learned to never ask what else could possibly go wrong, because I generally find out and it usually makes the other stuff look pretty darn good in comparison. So, instead, I'm just hoping things improve from here. Or at least don't get any worse.

The kids like their presents. That's a good sign.

Right?

We Need Those Snow Shoes that Look Like Tennis Rackets

noreply@blogger.com (Candance) — Sat, 13 Feb 2010 00:09:00 +0000

Today all of our local schools had the good sense to close. Even if they hadn't, it would've been a snow day for us because I kid you not when I say my inner thighs and glutes are sore from all the clenching yesterday. Plus, we had over a foot of snow. On the ground. It would've cost me a lot more than my meager sub salary to repair my car when I slid off a bridge or overpass. And, my kids would've been orphans and what a sad life it would be for them if they didn't get to be raised by me cause I rock. Or something like that. So, instead of getting up, getting dressed and rushing out the door to school and work, we all casually woke up when we felt like it and found this outside our window:

In order to prove just how deep the snow is to those that may not be able to actually believe that we got a foot of snow in Texas, I decided to use a Barbie as my measuring stick cause she is exactly 12 inches tall. I searched and searched for one that was dressed so as not to have Barbie porn here on Crazy Texas Mommy. I may or may not have tried to fix her hair, too. Oh, don't look at me like that. Being a Barbie shoved in a box with other half naked Barbies and Bratz dolls that are missing their big, scary feet is no reason to let yourself go. Turns out, though, all my worrying about her wearing a top and fixing her hair was for nothing since the snow swallowed her up anyway:

For the record, she was wearing a lovely purple evening gown that was totally inappropriate for the weather.

I asked Max to go stand out in the middle of the yard so that I could get a cute picture of him in his new leather jacket and cute hat with skulls on it. He lost his balance. I laughed at him. Luckily, he still had a sense of humor at this point and didn't get mad at me for laughing. I seriously could watch people fall all day long. There's just about nothing that cracks me up more. I am not evil. Am not. Am not...

This time, he had no sense of humor. Probably because he found the sidewalk. With his knee. Yes, I helped him up after I snapped this picture. Okay, fine, Grace helped him up. Cause I didn't want him to see me laughing. So what if I'm a little evil.

That last fall pretty much put a damper on the snow fun for him. He didn't even look out the window at it longingly once for the rest of the day. His face conveys his feelings about the snow after the last fall. But at least I got my picture of his cute hat.

I kind of hoped the playing in the snow would wear Max and Grace out, like when we spend the afternoon in the pool. Apparently snow doesn't work like that. They spent the entire afternoon fighting like cats and dogs while I tried to do homework. I made them cry. I bet they never hope for a snow day again.

Right now they're getting along, though. Judging from the accents they're using and Grace saying, "I'm craving blood" they're playing something that has to do with vampires.

Or else she's really craving blood which would mean I should be less happy that she and Max just went in his room to play.

My Butt Should be Super Firm Tomorrow Since I Spent Over an Hour Clenching My Butt Cheeks While Driving in the Snow

noreply@blogger.com (Candance) — Fri, 12 Feb 2010 00:32:00 +0000

See that snowman up there? Grace built it today while she had the day off from school due to crazy amounts of snow falling here in Texas. By crazy, I mean more than one snowflake fell from the sky. Actually, as I type this, there are 8.5 inches of snow outside my window. Did I mention this is Texas? In case your unfamiliar with how we roll down here, we don't do snow. And, if we have to drive in it, well, God help everyone involved. I don't even like to drive when it rains, so finding out that my school district was not going to close and I had to drive all the way over there in the heavy snow almost made me cry. But, I am an incredibly dedicated sub and I knew the kids were depending on me to be there to guide their educational experience (okay, fine, I needed the money), so I put on my big girl pants and headed out.

Had I not been in the car alone, my passengers would've heard the following:

Me, yelling at the car in front of me: Don't use your brakes!! Get your foot off the brake!! We're all gonna die!! I'm not gonna die for you or anyone, hear me?!?! Not for you or anyone, Brake Happy Wench!!

Me, realizing if I can't use my brakes, I can't stop: Wait?!?! How am I supposed to stop if I can't use my brakes!! Oh God, do I just slow down until I just stop?!?! Do cars even do that?!?! OMG, I have to brake at some point!! I'm gonna die!!

Me, coming upon a tow truck blocking an entire lane on a two lane road: Dude, you have to move!! I can't use my brakes!! I'm gonna die!!

Me, crossing a bridge: Hee-Hee-Who. Hee-Hee-Who. (That's Lamaze breathing.)

Me, driving through a town I keep hearing about but didn't know where it was: Dude, that town is right there? Who knew? Eyes on the road, Stupid! Don't get distracted!!

Me, pulling in the school parking lot: I didn't die!!! Word to your mother!! I drove on the snow and didn't die!! My Lord, I'm practically a Yankee!!

It was only when I went to get out of the car did I realize the entire time I'd been driving I'd had my butt and legs clenched really tight. Like, really, really tight. And, when I started to leave school at the end of the day and I saw a bunch of cars not able to even get out of their parking spots and I almost fell like twice because I didn't have proper footwear (stupid Shoe Burglar), I knew they'd be clenched just as tight on the way home.

I was wrong. They were actually clenched twice as tight. As was my back. And everything clenched even tighter every time an 18-wheeler flew past me (Because I may or may not have been going way, way under the speed limit because I was scared and I couldn't see. Mostly because I was scared, though.) and sprayed my windshield and made my car rock. Luckily, I made it home without incident and didn't have any problems. Until I tried to park my car. Turns out, no one except me left the apartments all day, so there were no lines in the parking area; just inches and inches of snow where the parking spots used to be. Parking on snow is not easy and it's hard to know when to stop. Or to stop at all. Until you hit the curb. Then you stop. Whether you want to or not.

Then some jackass called me and asked what I'm doing tonight. What do you think I'm doing? Unclenching my ass, that's what. Well, that and hibernating in my house for the next 48 hours because, hell-o, there are 8.5 inches of snow out there. That's close to nine, which would be a foot with just an additional three inches.

But, I think with all that clenching, I'll totally look like a supermodel tomorrow.

Totally.

In Lieu of a Real Post...

noreply@blogger.com (Candance) — Wed, 10 Feb 2010 15:16:00 +0000

My time is limited because I'm working a half day today and I need to start getting ready which takes a longer time than one might think due to the shoe/clothes/accessory situation. I'll respond to comments from the other post after I get out of class tonight. Just know, I adore your comments and I'm not ignoring you. Now, here's some quick randomness to hold you over until I can write a real post:

I think it's perfectly normal to ask, "Is she pregnant?" when hearing that someone is getting married to someone about 30 seconds after starting to date them and that they're planning the wedding in like two months. I married my ex 30 seconds after meeting him and that was the first thing everyone asked. And no, I wasn't pregnant. I got pregnant two months later.
It's probably not okay to ask, "Who's going to take care of her kid?" when hearing that she and her new hubby might move far away from her family that currently takes care of her kid.
That second comment might explain why I didn't receive an invitation to the blessed event.
I should be doing homework right now.
I'm afraid the calm feeling I have about going to sub for ninth grade again today is a false sense of security based on the really awesome day I had yesterday.
I get to sub all next week for my most favorite group of kids! Love those guys and the other two teachers in their group!
My son dropped his Lego magazine in the toilet he'd just peed in last night and then cried for me to wash it because it had cheat codes for some game in it. I told him it would smell like pee even if I did wash it. He said not if I made copies of it and we just used the copies and trashed the magazine.
Smart kid. I'm still not thinking I'll pull the pee covered magazine out of the trash, though.
He did stand up to the little girl that told him he didn't have a family because his parents were divorced and that was kind of awesome.
I was going to wait for her mother in the parking lot after school, but she drives a Prius, so Toyota may have done the dirty deed for me.

Off to shower and get ready for work and class tonight. Having class until 8:30 makes for a very long Wednesday, especially when you're not done reading the chapter we'll be covering tonight. And haven't printed out the assignment that's due and won't have time before class.

Maybe that's what I should've done instead of blog.

I Miss My Shoes

noreply@blogger.com (Candance) — Mon, 08 Feb 2010 23:04:00 +0000

When I moved this last time, I moved without most of my shoes. Not because I wanted to, but because the person I was living with wasn't real happy about me moving out-again-and figured since they bought me all those shoes, they were keeping them as retribution and as repayment for letting me live there for a few months without a job, which means I didn't contribute a whole lot and my winning personality wasn't really enough to make paying my way worth it. Probably because I'm not exactly a joy and pleasure to live with.

I wasn't real happy about the confiscation of my shoes because as this person bought me shoes, I used them to replace some of my older pairs and the old dude bought me A LOT of shoes. But, as part of my whole "I can't control everything" realization, I also realized I need to start picking my battles and this was a battle I didn't want to fight. Again. Because the first time, yeah, I got my shoes back, but the battle it took to get them made them hard to enjoy. I mean, I totally enjoyed them because I had some beautiful shoes, but still.

It's easy not to think so much about my shoes on days when I don't work because I either wear my potato shoes or tennis shoes. But, on days I work and I see a certain skirt I want to wear but I can't because I don't have the perfect brown suede boots that I wore with it, I get slightly annoyed. By slightly annoyed, I mean madder n' a wet settin' hen. As I silently curse the Shoe Burglar (or maybe out loud), I find another outfit and put on one of my two pair of black boots or the only pair of brown shoes that look right with the brown clothes I made it out with (did I mention some of my clothes didn't make it, either). I don't like it one teeny bit, but I suck it up and I figure since I'm either always going to a different class or have several days off in between assignments, maybe no one will notice my lack of cute shoes.

Today, though, as I scheduled sub jobs for the rest of this week and a week long assignment for next week, I missed my shoes. There's gonna be a lot of dressing up, just like a normal worker person, and I don't have half my stuff. Rather than being super cute, like the good southern girl I was raised to be, I'm gonna be plain. Drab. Maybe even frumpy. And offsetting my not-so-cute-shoes with some super cha-cha accessories isn't an option, either. Betcha can't guess why? And I even bought those myownself. It's enough to make a good southern girl wanna cut someone and I'm pretty sure no jury would convict me for it. Well, no jury comprised of like-minded southern gals, anyway.

At least I know my make-up will look good and that counts for something.

But I still want my damn shoes back.

And my clothes.

And my big chunky rings and cute bracelets.

Dammit.

All Work and No Play

noreply@blogger.com (Candance) — Mon, 01 Feb 2010 14:21:00 +0000

I'm not kidding when I say all I've done for the past three days is study and do homework. Okay, that's not all I've done. I also did laundry. Can we day dull? Therefore, I don't have enough interesting stuff to fill an entire post. I do have enough information about Erikson's stages of Psychosocial Development to create an entire post, but I'd like y'all to continue reading CTM, so I'm not going to bore you with that and instead will share a few random thoughts.

Caught a snippet of that TLC show "19 Kids and Counting" which I hate anyway because all those kids running around pisses me off and makes me want a drink and I heard Michelle Duggar say something along the lines of "Jim Bob likes a robust breakfast before we go to the hospital to have a baby". Really, Jim Bob? Before you can get your wife to the hospital to push out yet another human being, you need some breakfast first? Yeah, I'm thinking if that were me, there'd be two people needing medical attention once we made it to the hospital: I'd need help passing a human, he'd need someone to stitch him up where the Nutri-Grain bar I hurled at him busted his head open.
Grace got me sucked into the Miss America Pageant. There wasn't near enough big hair for me. It made me a little sad. It also made me sad that Miss Kentucky didn't win. She was the cutest little thing ever and she can fit in a suitcase. Seriously. She demonstrated it in the pre-pageant show. People just don't seem to get how handy that can be.
Apparently, I'm a little OCD and can't concentrate on homework if there are any dirty dishes in the sink. I've also noticed I tell myself things like, "If you finish this chapter, you can vacuum the floor." I reward myself for doing homework by doing housework? That's a little insane.
I've been trying really hard lately to accept that I can't control everything that happens in the world. That's harder than you'd think. Or maybe I just have control issues. I feel slightly more calm, though. Grace even called me nice. She never calls me nice.
I heard a traffic report that said part of the road on one of our major highways buckled this morning. I'm not sure what that means, but it doesn't sound good. Can you imagine being the person driving on that particular part of the highway as it started buckling? Because I'm so good in a crisis situation, I'd probably start screaming "EARTHQUAKE!!!" and jump out of the moving car, which would, of course, lead to even bigger issues.
Grace might sing this song for her spring choir concert this year:

I think she'll rock it. I just hope it doesn't give her any ideas because, I've said it before and I'll say it again, there is just something about a man in big ole white pick-up truck that makes me get all weak in the knees. This could be hereditary. I would probably cut her if she ran off with some boy and left the suds in the bucket and the clothes hanging out on the line. Partly because she ran off with a boy. Partly because she didn't finish the laundry.

Alright, y'all, off to learn about Piaget's Theory of Cognitive Development since I'm not working-AGAIN. If some teachers could get sick or have to go to some training or something, that would be awesome cause mama's got bills to pay.

Because One Kid Can't Play Well With Others...

noreply@blogger.com (Candance) — Thu, 28 Jan 2010 17:23:00 +0000

I'm up to my eyeballs in homework, so this is just a quick post to let you know I've had to turn on comment moderation. Apparently, someone doesn't like me very much and comes back day-after-day (and judging from the many visits recorded on my stat counter, lots of time per day) looking for opportunities to be ugly. That's all well and good, but doing it anonymously is cowardly and I'm not going to give a coward a voice on this blog. Now, if you want to be ugly and leave your name and link to your blog if you have one, more power to you, but if you don't have guts enough to tell me who you are, I'm not giving you a platform to spew your trash. It's just that simple.

Sorry for the censorship, y'all, because I do love to just let people be free to post and I love when I get notification that comments have been left on CTM, but you now what they say about one bad apple.

Now, back to the grind...

I Met a Super Awesome Man Last Night

noreply@blogger.com (Candance) — Tue, 26 Jan 2010 15:31:00 +0000

No, not in a romantic way. It's me. I'm mean. And totally not on the market. Not cause I'm taken. But because I'm a mean old witch.

Last night the kids and I went on a rare and much needed date night with the kids. With funds being what they are right now, it was a stretch, but the kids and I also needed that special night of nothing but fun and family. No worries about money or housework or homework or anything. Just us, supper out and "The Tooth Fairy". It was awesome. That is, until we actually went to watch the movie.

Since it was a Monday night and responsible parents don't take their kids to the movies on school nights, the kids and I had the theater to ourselves. About 20 minutes before the movie started this man walked in-totally alone. This was a grown man, maybe mid-20's, early 30's. I sat there waiting for someone else to walk in and join him-a date, some kids, something. No one. Nothing. My I-Watch-Too-Much-Law-and-Order radar started going off and I started imagining all kinds of stuff, mostly him waiting until the lights went down and movie got loud and then attacking us and the movie theater workers finding our mutilated bodies on the sticky among the spilled popcorn kernels and candy wrappers. Yes, I am going to stop watching anything that promos itself with the words "ripped from the headlines", thankyouverymuch.

Finally, about five minutes before the movie started and the guy was still sitting in "The Tooth Fairy" alone, my mommy red flag turned crimson and I told the kids to leave our stuff and come with me to the restroom. We weren't really going to the bathroom even though I really needed to piss like a Russian racehorse. Nope, I was going to find a worker to them this about this guy and that I was CREEPED THE HELL OUT. I mean, if it was a movie with cool animation or special computer effects, I'd probably chalk it up to him being a techie guy that was just into that kind of stuff. But come on, y'all, "The Tooth Fairy"? It's Dwayne "The Rock" Johnson (a.k.a. My Future Lova) and Julie Andrews. Something wasn't kosher about all that. Not only did I find a worker, but I was lucky enough to find the manager.

God bless the manager for having to deal with me since I explained the situation like this: "So, my kids and I are here alone to see "The Tooth Fairy" and there is this grown man just sitting in there alone. I know you can't kick someone out of a movie just because they're creeping someone out, but he's totally creeping me out and if my kids and I don't come out after the movie, it's because he murdered us." The manager checked the computer and guess what, y'all? We were the only three people that bought a ticket for the movie that night. So, not only did this guy sneak in, but he snuck into a kids' movie. Yeah, to say I turned even more pale than I already am and started shaking would not even begin to describe what happened in that moment. I tried to stay calm for the kids, but I think they caught on something was wrong when I hollered, "ARE YOU FREAKING KIDDING ME?"

Right here, I would like to give kudos to the manager on duty last night at the Cinemark 14 in Denton. I didn't catch his name, but I plan to find out so I can e-mail the Cinemark Powers-That-Be and I tell them what a gem they have in this particular man. He told the kids and I to go sit back down so it wouldn't seem obvious that we ratted him out and that he and an usher would come in and do a "ticket check". We went back in, right as the movie started and I held my phone in my hand, ready to call 911 just in case. A few minutes later the manager came in. I'm not sure what happened with the creepy guy because I tried not to turn around, but it took a while for the manager to get him out. There wasn't any yelling-or any that I could hear over the movie anyway, but I could tell he wasn't pleased when he was asked to leave. Then the manager came and asked to see our ticket. As I searched through my huge purse and pulled out every receipt I've ever had (I included that part for you, Rosa, because I know how much that makes you insane) but no ticket stub he whispered, "I know you bought a ticket. I just wanted to make sure he really left." How awesome is that?

A few more people came in a shortly after the movie started-none of them creepy and the rest of the movie went off without incident. When we came out, the manager was there waiting on us and walked us out of the building and watched while we got in our car. He said he didn't know what the deal was with that guy, but something wasn't right and he wanted to make sure he wasn't lurking in the parking lot. I totally heart this man!! He didn't have to do any of that or possibly put himself in harm's way for some strange woman and her kids, but he did and was super humble and kind about it. He totally rocks!!

Look, I don't know if I overreacted about the guy in the theater or not (and I swear to God, if anyone comments that they know the creepy guy in the theater and I don't even know him and I need to grow up, I'm going to have a moment...) but when it comes to my kids, I'm not taking any chances. We are super lucky this manager was on duty and that he was willing to help us out and not just shrug his shoulders and say there was nothing he could do like I was scared was going to happen. We would've left if that had been the case because I was that scared.

I generally don't have much faith in human-kind, but this guy? Rocked the house!!!!

P.S. Two other awesome guys came to my rescue last night, too. We had a flat on the way home and my ex-hubby and the roadside assistance guy are both my heroes, too!!

P.P.S. Sorry for no pic and type-os. Gotta run and buy new tires. I'll proofread it later!

So. Uncomfortable.

noreply@blogger.com (Candance) — Sun, 24 Jan 2010 16:08:00 +0000

Friday was the big interview at the small town paper. I've spent the past couple of days trying to digest what happened there because it wasn't a total bust but it was, hands down, one of the most uncomfortable job interviews I've ever suffered through. Okay, fine, I wasn't just digesting it. I was also taking the rare weekend without any kids to try to do some of my mounds of homework and I'm still sick. I felt better for a few days, but woke up feeling like total ass yesterday and still feel quite assy today. But, I'm not drugged right now because I still have more homework to do, so I figured I should blog since all 152 of y'all are dying to know what happened.

I already had a bad feeling about this interview when I realized that, along with lots of my clothes and shoes, three of my writing samples also didn't make it to the new pad and I couldn't print what I had saved because my printer won't work with this computer. I knew the clothes and shoes wouldn't make it because they were "gifts" and that's how things work with this particular giver of gifts, but the writing samples are my work. There's no reason to keep them except to hurt me. But whatever. That's not the point. I already had a bad feeling, but when I walked into the newspaper office and the two ladies there a) looked me and my business suit up and down and not in a flattering way and b) looked totally shocked I was there, it grew by about 10,000 times. I was like, "Uh, I have an interview with The Publisher at 2:00" and they were like, "Uh...Uh.., he'll be back in a minute" Looked the suit up and down again and then "We're really casual here." Really? It's a job interview. Did they expect me to wear jeans?

Then, the two women spent a couple of minutes figuring out "what to do" with me and the one, the other reporter, decided to tell me a little about the job. Okay, have you ever worked with that woman (and it's always a woman) that has worked in a place so long that she runs the office and my Lord, she's a hard worker and they'd never be able to make it without her and she sure does a lot of work, even beyond what she's been asked to and no one, no one could ever fill her shoes? And this is her description of herself and not that of anyone else because she doesn't let them talk since she knows what's best for everyone and she appreciates that they want to hire someone to help her, but the job really is thankless and she can't imagine why anyone would want to work there because, really, she's got it under control? Yeah, that was the other reporter. OMG, by the time the publisher got there, she had basically told me you have to be married to the job, the hours are long, it's hard to get info from people, it's work-work-work and Fridays are relaxed days for everyone. Well, everyone except her, of course. She never gets a relaxed day because she works so much harder than everyone else. I was thinking, "I've worked with this woman before. I've worked with her before-lots of times-and I always wanted to slit her tires.I called the last lady like her Mimi from the Drew Carey Show and used to flip her the bird when I caught her watching me out her office window."

When I finally sat down with the publisher, she kept going and going and he started looking more and more stressed and kept pulling at the skin on his face. I finally got aggravated enough that I wanted to ask them if they really wanted someone to take the job because they way he looked and she rambled, it didn't much seem like it. Then I said something about Grace and she did that the whole, "Oh, you have children? You do know this job requires a lot of hours, and they aren't regular office hours. I mean, I can stay in the evenings if I have to. I volunteer to all the time, but this is a lot of hours." thing. I knew she was dying to ask me if I was married and if my husband would help. So, I just started throwing things out about having a great support system and having all the help I need, all the while keeping my left hand just out of her eye shot so she couldn't see if I was wearing a ring. It was driving her nuts, and I knew if I had to work with her everyday, it would drive me nuts and I pretty much gave up at that point and started throwing out whatever came to my mind. The following is a re-enactment of a few of our interactions:

Martyr Reporter Lady: We have to write everything. Wedding announcements, birth announcements and obituaries.
Me: I love a good obituary. (Okay, I didn't actually mean for that to fly out of my mouth. It just did.)

MRL: This is a really long drive for you. If you have to cover a City Council meeting that's a 7:00, it won't make sense for you to drive home and all the way back out here. You do have children.
Me: Yep, sure do. I used to drive to Irving everyday, so distance isn't really an issue and my children are fine. Thanks for your concern.

MRL: You can't come in here with a big city attitude and expect to get any information from these people (I guess because I was wearing a suit to a job interview I'm "big city").
Me: I've got small town handled, okay? I live in a town so small it doesn't have a red light. My entire family on both sides are small town people and I've spent as much time living in small towns as I have big ones. I have no problems doing any job I'm hired to do and I know how to handle people. Thanks for being so concerned, though.
The Publisher: I don't think she'd have any problem, Martyr Reporter Lady.

MRL: The Publisher is married and expecting another baby.
Me: Good for them.

And it went on-and-on like this, until the very end when, come to find out, I wouldn't be working with her. I'd be replacing her. WHAT THE HELL? If I was replacing her, why was she peeing all over everything, including the Boss' marriage? I blurted out, "She's leaving? Because the way she was acting, I thought I'd be working with her." He kind of smiled. She didn't.

After he told me the salary, he told me if I didn't want the job, I could work with them on a freelance basis. I told him I needed the weekend to think it over. He seems super nice and the newspaper is a great little paper considering it's a small town weekly. But, I worry that I won't be able to give the paper and school the time they both deserve and I would more than likely leave them as soon as I got hired full-time with a school district, which wouldn't be fair to anyone. Plus, I can make more subbing for a few school districts and as a first year teacher than I can make there. I need money since I have kids and they like stuff like food, clothing and shelter.

I think I'll take him up on the freelance thing. It offers a couple of cool benefits, including doing a column for them which would be way awesome and doing some marketing consulting stuff. I can help them out, still do what I love and give school and my kids the time they all deserve. Sounds like a win-win to me.

I guess that is unless he somehow ends up on this blog and gets pissed because I think it would benefit him to leave her out of interviews because she's a downer. Then I guess I'll be back to square one.

But he totally should if he ever wants to hire anyone.

Seriously.

PS: My aunt came through surgery with flying colors and the tumor was benign. YAY!! Thanks for all the good wishes for her! Guess they worked.

PPS: Sorry for no pic today. I have to get started on the rest of my homework before the kids get back because once they walk in the door, I can kiss any chance of concentrating on anything good-bye because it'll be "Mama, Mama, Mama..." until bed time, when I will again take the Benadryl/Nyquil cocktail cause it's the only way I can sleep and breathe.

Crazy Texas Grad Student

noreply@blogger.com (Candance) — Thu, 21 Jan 2010 14:41:00 +0000

Last night was my first night of grad school. It was exhilirating.

And terrifying.

And humbling.

And crazy expensive so I hope the kids like beans and rice cause that's all they're eating for the next month.

Okay, I am a huge school nerd so even though I was terrified about going back to school (and may have said to a friend, "What if the other kids hate me?"), I was super excited because I really do love to learn. Some stuff. That isn't math. Or science. The class I had last night was a reading class and I totally thought I'd rock it because, hell-o, I may not know much, but I know books. I love books. I devour books. I have a minor in English and I'm going to school to be an English/Reading teacher. This class? Was going to be a breeze.

Then I walked in-five minutes late might I add because I was feeding the parking meter like $4.00 in coins and will be purchasing a parking pass today-and everybody started talking. About books I'd never heard of. Books like last year's Newberry Award winner, The Graveyard Book and this year's Newberry, When you Reach Me or notable book, The Evolution of Calpurnia Tate. Turns out the class is about children's and young adult literature which totally makes sense since this is a class for educators, and that's what children and young adults read. Thing is, just about everyone in class already is a teacher so I sat in the back with a stupid look on my face taking tons of notes over everything the professor said while everyone else discussed books. Later I'm going to read them and see if I understand well, anything. I have to read A LOT of these books and make a top ten list, so all you teachers out there, hook a sister up with titles and authors so I don't fail. By fail, I mean get anything less than a B because, seriously and not just because I'm a huge nerd, anything under a B is failing in this program. That means I have to get an A+.

Thinking that maybe, just maybe, I might understand more of what the professor and all those smart ladies (and one boy) were talking about and to do one small part of my four assignments due by next Wednesday, I'd go buy my book for class and pick up my book for my other class. Two books, $208.00, and disturbing numbness in my left arm later, I left the campus bookstore. With the wrong book for my other class, by the way. So, I have to go back today. I haven't been in school in ten years. Bookstores were scary back then and now that I'm old, beat down and at a huge freaking school, I think it's fair to say my kids may not get picked up from school today because mommy will be in the EDSE section of the bookstore curled up in the fetal position, crying. Maybe even sucking her thumb.

Or hunting for my car. Which I spent approximately 20 minutes doing last night after leaving the bookstore because I know one way in and one way out of any place. So, to walk in the building through one door, out through another, in to the bookstore through one and out through another spells d-i-s-a-s-t-e-r. I would like to state for the record, maybe the school I'm attending might work on making he buildings look a little more distinctive because I kept thinking, "Score, there's the building I just came out of! I'm near my car!" but that was wrong. I did get a good workout, though because all that hiking with a 400 pound backpack on my back will make a girl work up a sweat.

I also made a new friend by threatening to shank someone. But that's a totally different story.

Light at the End of the Tunnel?

noreply@blogger.com (Candance) — Tue, 19 Jan 2010 17:51:00 +0000

I usually share, sometimes even over share, most of what's going on in my (and my children's which will one day probably lead to them putting me in a nursing home where I am guaranteed bedsores) life on this blog. And, even though it seems like I am about as open as open gets, there are certain things I do keep to myself. Some of it is in the name of being respectful to those in my life that would much rather me not air their dirty laundry for all the world to see. Some of it is because this is supposed to be a funny blog and, well, there are some things that just aren't funny, no matter how you stage them. And, then there are the things I feel like I shouldn't yammer on about because they make it sound like I'm having a pity party and there's nothing I hate more than a pity party, especially when there are people out there with real problems, like the people of Haiti and even here in our own country where people are losing their jobs and their homes on pretty much a daily basis.

That being said, I have been struggling a lot lately. You see, the subbing thing is awesome and I love it and plan to be a teacher, but sometimes I'll go days, even weeks without work and no work means no dinero. No dinero means no way to pay the bills, the rent or buy groceries. Oddly, the electric company doesn't really care if you're employed but just not working right now because it seems like the only jobs coming up are for special ed aides and you're certain you would fail miserably (I swear the people who teach Special Ed for a living are saints). They just want their money and prefer it be on the due date, thankyouverymuch. I've been sending out tons of resumes for other stuff, but with the job market being what it is, I haven't received many bites. Lets just say, Sunday alone, I went through half a box of Kleenex bawling my brains out because I hate not being able to do things on my own and I HATE, HATE asking my parents for money. And, I hate telling my kids we can't do things, simple things like go to the movies, because mommy just doesn't have money right now.

Sunday, in the midst of my meltdown, I really ramped up the resume blasts and one of the places I sent my resume was to a tiny little weekly newspaper in a tiny little town about 15 miles from here that is looking for a reporter. I knew the job probably wouldn't pay much and probably wouldn't even have insurance benefits, but it would help supplement the sub stuff and I would be writing while I worked on my teaching certificate and we all know I love to write. Because I get nothing most times when I send out resumes and because I only have about three writing samples where I actually have a byline and are examples of actual journalism, I didn't bank on hearing anything, but I hoped against hope I'd hear something, just like I always do.

Well, guess what y'all? The publisher just called me!! I interview on Friday! I am ecstatic! I am getting my hopes up, which is so against everything I believe in because I always believe if I just expect the worst, anything awesome happening will be like really, really awesome! I am putting together my portfolio, including my column I wrote for another small weekly, just like I would for a major paper. I am going after this job with all the gusto I would if it was for the New York Times. I'm being so professional about this, I didn't even tell the publisher that the only time I've ever been to the town was to their one bar, where a man who I'm pretty sure was a meth addict, told me my bar stool was on fire because I was so hot and I replied by telling him the huge boobs he'd been gawking at all night were filled with milk, so I could probably extinguish the flames with that and it would save me from having to pump and dump later. I figured that story would probably cost me the job. I guess on the other hand, it might show I know how to interact with the residents. Probably not, though.

Look, I don't know what's going to happen with this job. They may hate me the minute they lay eyes on me or my inability to stop the words I'm thinking in my head from tumbling out of my mouth at lightening speed might get the best of me. But I can say this, for the first time in weeks, I woke up calm this morning. I was even a little optimistic. Okay, fine, optimistic for a girl who is decidedly glass half empty. I figure that's got to count for something. Right?

So, say a prayer, cross your fingers, light a candle, do a dance, send good vibes or whatever you do to whoever (whomever?) you do it to that this works out for me. I mean, how cool would it be if CTM was a for real journalist? Okay, fine, it would be a little scary for the masses (not an scarier than me being a teacher, though, and I am totally coming to a classroom near you), but cool, too.

Right?

P.S. While you're sending out prayers, vibes and other good stuff, could you maybe send up an extra one for my aunt? You know, the crazy-funny one that may not have been trying to kill a cat with bear spray since shooting it in the butt with a BB gun didn't motivate it to stop marking her house. She's having a tumor removed from her ovary and a hysterectomy on Friday morning. They won't know until they get it out if it's cancer or not, and I really don't want it to be cancer. She rocks and I worship the quicksand she walks on, so I'd like to have her around for a little longer. I'm selfish like that, ya know.

(The picture is from Wiki Commons. You can find it here. Yeah, I know putting a newspaper cover with Joseph Pulitzer on the front might be a bit much since I'm only interviewing for a job at a weekly, but hey, a girl can dream.)

It's Not Everyday You Get to Start a Conversation With Your Son's Teacher With the Words, "If He Says His Papa Got Arrested..."

noreply@blogger.com (Candance) — Fri, 15 Jan 2010 18:04:00 +0000

Our school district is sponsoring an essay contest about MLK Jr. and discrimination in our country. I don't know all the details about it because trying to get that information out of my girl child is like trying to pull teeth. Plus, she's all excited about her topic and she's super interested in the civil rights movement. She always has been but I guess this year they're delving into it more deeply and my dad's cousin was in a documentary they watched yesterday about reporters during that era, so she's really, really into it. She didn't know about the cousin until I told her a story about him being a reporter and getting beat up by a mob during a march or something and I said his name and she was like, "Oh my God, he was in the documentary!!" I'm not sure how she missed it because the men in my family have a very distinctive heads. Maybe he had hair back then. But, she totally picked him out of a picture of all the dudes featured in the documentary, so who knows with that girl.

Anyway, so one of the things that she really, really likes is the Freedom Riders and she said she wishes that she had lived back then so she could be one. I told her that her papa did freedom rides back in the day. She was like, "OMG, Papa was a Freedom Rider?" and I was like, "I don't think he was a Freedom Rider per se, but he did participate in some of it," but, because I'm all about accuracy, I called him to find out. He confirmed that yeah, he wouldn't call himself a Freedom Rider because he didn't do it all the time, but he did participate in helping African-Americans register to vote and driving them to the polls when he could, but being in law school at the time kept him from doing it as much as he would've liked to. He then added that once he even got arrested. Not actually arrested, but picked up and taken to jail with a group of other participants and told to take his ass back to Mississippi where he belonged and stop stirring up trouble.

As I was relaying all of this to Grace, Max was chilling in the backseat with his Lego magazine. When Max gets anything Lego in his hands, everything else in the world becomes non-existent, so I didn't think he was paying any attention at all to our conversation. Well, I guess he tuned in just in time to hear the part where I said, "Papa even got arrested," because he screamed from the backseat, "OH MY GOD, PAPA GOT ARRESTED!! IS HE OUT?!?!" and fear spread deep into the cockles of my soul.

You see, just yesterday morning, the Directress at Max's school stopped me to say that Max tells some great stories. Her daughter is also in Max's class, so apparently she often comes home and share's Maxisms. I threw up a little in my mouth because, as anyone who reads this blog can attest to, we're not playing with a full deck around here. God only knows what that kid has gone to school and shared with his class. Between me, his dad and his grandparents, I'm pretty sure it's been some doozies. And suddenly, I'm totally getting why that one little boy's mom has never taken us up on having a playdate at our house.

So, this morning after I deposited Max in his class, I hunted down the Directress and waited patiently until no one was around and, for the first time in my life, started a conversation with the words, "If Max says his Papa got arrested..."

She is now eagerly anticipating the end of the day to see what story her daughter comes home with.

Nice.

(The picture is from Wiki Commons. You can find it here.)

My Proposal for the Producers of The Bachelor

noreply@blogger.com (Candance) — Tue, 12 Jan 2010 17:08:00 +0000

In case you didn't catch it in yesterday's post, Jake Pavelka, this season's Bachelor, is from my neck of the woods (and Jake, should you google your name and find this blog, be forewarned that the middle school children of your neighborhood are possibly forming a vast conspiracy to "ding-dong ditch" your house). Because of this, Grace is now a dedicated viewer of the show, which means I, too, must watch. Not that I haven't watched before-I totally have, but I just don't watch regularly because I'm a mean old witch and can't deal with all the mushy romance of it all. I find myself screaming at the swooning and crying contestants, "For the love of Pete, you are not falling in love with this man! You went on one date with him and five other girls and he probably couldn't pick you out of a line up, so dry it up, Sister!" But, last night as we sat watching (and I sat screaming at the drunk girl that cried at the end over being kicked off), I came to a very important conclusion: I totally need to be on "The Bachelor".

Okay, obviously I don't mean as a contestant. Aside from my aforementioned issues, I'm also too old and carry more than 100 pounds on my 5'5" frame. And I'm really, really pasty white. No, what I'm proposing is that the producers hire me to be a house mother for the girls. You know, like house mothers in sorority houses. I totally think my presence would bring a much needed you-seriously-need-to-get-your-head-out-of-your-ass element to the show. I could bring reality to a show that's not based on reality at all. I could help all parties involved put their best foot forward, since I am the expert on dating and all. For instance, when the girls come in from a romantic dinner on the beach and a private concert by some big named artist and they're sure they're in love, I could help them remember that those fantasy dates are going to come to an end and they will be thrust into the real world with this man. You know, the real world where he's going to fart under the covers and then pull them over your head because boys, no matter how old they are, think that's funn-y stuff. I could teach them about a concept it would appear none of them has ever heard of-playing hard to get- and explain to them there are other ways to get his attention than by straddling him in the pool with all your housemates watching. I would also remind them that their parents can totally see them. Maybe seeing the humor in the situation and having the ability to string some words together to form a coherent sentence might be something he'd appreciate. Maybe not, but it's worth a shot. When they leave for dates and are dressed like skanks, I could yell things at them like, "Hey, Slutty McSlutterson, do you think your pole is going to fit in the limo with all y'all?" or "Dear, did you remember your pasties?" You know, helpful stuff like that.

But, my motherly advice wouldn't be just for the girls. I could help the bachelor, too. Because I'd be on the inside and see the girls 24/7, I could totally help him pick the right girl for him. I could let him know which ones he could take home to his mother without having to worry she's going to going to show so much cleavage his father will have a stroke at the supper table and which one is likely to boil his rabbit should he dump her crazy ass. I could also point out when he's being a big cheesy, fake douchebag and a man whore. And Id' also remind him that his parents can totally see him, too.

In my role as house mother, I'd also request I be given the power to pick two girls out of the house to send on regular, dinner-at-Chili's-and-a-movie dates with the bachelor. I'd pick the girl I thought most likely to be able to roll with that without throwing a hissy fit and the one least likely, but I wouldn't tell him which one was which. I also wouldn't tell the girls what the date was going to be about. And, he would only be allowed to give one a rose. That would also help decide the caliber of man he is, because if he gives the rose to the high-maintenance bitch that will make his life a living hell and not the laid back girl that might actually be fun and a good match then a) he's totally not there to find love but just wants to see how many hot chicks he can get in the sack before the show is over and what kind of arm candy he can walk away with and b) he's going to be more trouble than he's worth.

I am telling you, this is a totally winning proposal and might lead to more couples than Trista and Ryan that actually make it once they're out of the house and living in the real world, where there are responsibilities, morning breath and drunken family members that will grope you at every family gathering you attend and that you both failed to mention when you went on those "hometown" dates.

And think of the viewers it would attract when the mean old jaded bitch is in the house saying things like, "Oh Honey, you acted like such a drunken slut tonight for the entire country to see. I bet your grandma is so proud."

That right there? Would be good t.v.

I expect ABC will be calling me any minute now.

(The picture is from Wiki Commons. You can find it here.)

Random Girl Strikes Again

noreply@blogger.com (Candance) — Mon, 11 Jan 2010 22:54:00 +0000

Today I've got a whole lotta nothing. There were no sub jobs and I'm still nursing a cold, so my day was a lot of laying on the sofa and whining to no one about not feeling good and really, really needing to clean house and really, really needing jobs to come up or finding a job that is more regular-at least part-time. Due to my day of nothing, you get a lot of random. You're welcome.

Grace texted me when she was getting on the bus to let me know one of her friends lives on the same street as The Bachelor and that she cut out a bunch of pics of Tim McGraw when she was supposed to be working on a history project. I'm feeling good about her public school education.
Every house on her friend's street has a well maintained yard, so I'm guessing that means The Bachelor does, too. That's good news if you care about that sort of thing.
I told Grace to be careful with the Tim McGraw pics because Faith Hill will kick her ass. Then I laughed and laughed. She didn't really laugh quite so hard as me.
This morning Max asked me how many people could get the short end of the stick.
The gate was closed this morning when I went to take the kids to school. Management better be glad.
I'm out of sugar. That's pretty upsetting.
After watching "Big Love", I now know if my mom gets all adamant about making me a BLT, even if I say I don't want one and then she makes me go into the basement to get the bacon out of the walk-in a) she's lost her damn mind because she doesn't have a basement or a walk-in and b) she's trying to make me find my dad's dead, frozen body. So, I'm not going to get the bacon because I don't want to find my dad's dead, frozen body anywhere, but especially not where we keep the food.
Last night, I was getting the clothes out of the dryer and was trying to hurry to watch "Big Love" because not only am I the only person on the planet without a Wii, I'm also the only person on the planet to not have a DVR and I hit my mouth so hard on the dryer door, I thought I knocked my front tooth loose. That freaked me out a little bit.
I need a sub job. Bad.
I love this song because Tim McGraw is beautiful (Please don't beat me up, Faith Hill) and it says Dolly Parton. And because it's catchy:

Peace out.