"Ignorance is Blissfully Blinding" or "Only the Under-Educated Bash Teachers"

In response to a "friend's" recent facebook status that said the following:

"I'm so sick of teachers whining about pay cuts... take one for the damn team already!

I absolutely agree with you, Jamie. They make WAY too much money as it is. It's not like they're educated professionals that contribute to society in any significant way. Who do they think they are? Professional athletes or something? The ability to throw AND catch a ball is so profound and so integral to the foundation of our society that it deserves to be rewarded with AT LEAST $28.6 million. Those teachers just babysit kids for six hours of the day, then go home at 2:00 like they work a part time job! How hard can babysitting 25 hormonal teens really be? Do not believe the lies of having to motivate them, instill morals in them, counsel them, feed them, or be the only stable figure in their lives. Utter nonsense! And don't even get me STARTED on having summers off! All that spare time they have to get another job and make even MORE money, as if they needed it. Who are they kidding?! They ENJOY being camp counselors and bartenders. Why do they deserve 2 months off?! It's not like they spent 10 months volunteering every spare moment, grading papers all weekend, or planning and preparing lessons every night. I think it's about time they acknowledged the collapsing economy around them and stopped being the selfish, greedy, lazy slobs that we all know they are.

Sylvia Plath and fingerbowls

From The Bell Jar:

"Mrs. Guinea answered my letter and invited me to lunch at her home. That was where I saw my first fingerbowl.

The water had a few cherry blossoms floating in it, and I thought it must be some clear sort of Japanese after-dinner soup and ate every bit of it, including the crisp little blossoms.  Mrs. Guinea never said anything, and it was only much later, when I told a debutante I knew at college about the dinner, that I learned what I had done."

I wonder how many "fingerbowls" I've encountered in life that I unknowlingly sipped as soup. I'm starting to believe that life itself is my fingerbowl. I've come to think that I am mistakingly viewing life to be something that it is not. I'm treating it as if it has a different purpose other than to be lived. Though the group "Disney Gave Me False Expecations About Hair" is a quirky Facebook fabrication, it holds more truth than a fortune cookie. Disney also gave me false expectations about men and the future and life in general.

What a rude awakening on account of the Magic Kingdom...

The Puglisi-Wilde Wedding Extravaganza!

Tonight I shall be trekking to Long Island to act as bridesmaid #2 in my cousin's wedding. Perhaps they'll permit me to indulge in a nice, cold Mike's Hard Pomegranate Lemonade (or five) before the ceremony, so that I can better stomach standing in front of family and friends whilst looking like a stuffed-sausage statue in a dress that I will surely be using to line the inside of my trash can by week's end. Of course consuming even just 1/8th of a cup of anything (water and liquid laxatives included) will probably prevent me from being able to pull the light-blue casing past my ankle, thus it'd appear to be in my better interest to forgo the Mike's. Alas, losing my mind is of greater consequence than gaining weight in such desperate times, thus desperate measures are called for.

Though I desperately want to refrain from resembling a tube of meat fit to be hanged in a butcher's shop, I imagine this sight will be dwarfed once I begin to saunter down the aisle arm-in-arm with a guy that can only be likened to Ronald McDonald minus the striped knee-highs. This groomsman is easily 7 feet tall with a lush, curly afro, a chalk-white complexion, and a very unsettling grin that gives even the creepiest of pedophiles a run for his money. Why my cousin decided to pair him up with a 5'3, athletically-built, dark, Italian girl with long, pin-straight locks and a lip ring, is surely beyond me.

Nevertheless, there will be much rejoicing in the aftermath of this Barnum and Bailey spectacle as I plan to trade my high heels in for a pair of flip-flops, and do the Cha-Cha Slide with my date till the cows come home... or at least till I accidentally rip my dress in two and have to be escorted back to the hotel room in little more than a scanty suit of Spanx Shapewear. The Italian sausage will surely be out of the frying pan and into the fire, then...

I'd experience more reciprocity loving a pile of shit than I do loving you

And that about sums it up.

Random Thoughts: Mar. '08 to Sept. '08

9/9/08 -"...so close that your hand on my chest is my hand; so close that your eyes close as I fall asleep." How does one keep the past in the past, but still cling enough to history as not to let it repeat its self?

8/22/08 -Lest we forget the summer's biggest absurdity: "Jamie thinks that people who live in TR and vacation on LBI for a week are bennies of the worst kind. Go on a real vacation, loser(s)!"

6/17/08 -If the definition of beautiful gets any thinner, no one will fit. Now there's a pocket full of unshine for you.

5/16/08 -Summer jobs are nothing more than a time sale. For instance, I sold 9 hours of my life to Ron Jon's today. At least when I graduate I can sell my time AND my skill to an establishment.

5/4/08 -The first day after the last day of class can only be likened to the first gasp for air one takes upon reaching the water's surface before nearly drowning.

3/25/08 -A dose of The Chariot's wisdom: Some day in the event that man kind actually figures out what it is that this world revolves around, thousands of people are going to be shocked and perplexed to find out that it was not them. Sometimes this includes me.

Play Crack the Sky by Brand New

Sent out an SOS call
It was a quarter past four in the morning
When the storm broke our second anchor line
Four months at sea
Four months of calm seas
To be pounded in the shallows off the tip of Montauk Point

They call them rogues
They travel fast and alone
One-hundred-foot faces of God's good ocean gone wrong
What they call love is risk
'Cause you always get hit out of nowhere
By some wave and end up on your own

The hole in the hull defied the crew's attempt
To bail us out
Flooded the engines and radio
Half-buried bow

Your tongue is a rudder
It steers the whole ship
Sends your words past your lips
Keeps them safe behind your teeth
But the wrong will strand you
Come off course while you sleep
Sweep your boat out to sea
Or dashed to bits on the reef

The vessel groans
The ocean pressures its frame
To the port I see the lighthouse
Through the sleet and the rain
And I wish for one more day
To give my love and repay debts
The morning finds our bodies washed up thirty miles west

They say that the captain stays fast with the ship
Through still and storm
But this ain't the Dakota
And the water's cold
Won't have to fight for long

(This is the end)
This story's old but it goes
On and on until we disappear
(This is the calm)
Calm me and let me taste the
Salt you breathed while you were underneath
(We are drowning)
I am the one who haunts your
Dreams of mountains sunk below the sea
(After the storm)
I spoke the words but never
Gave a thought to what they all could mean
(Rest in the deep)
I know that this is what you want
A funeral keeps both of us apart
(Washed up on the beach)
You know that you are not alone
I need you like water in my lungs
(This is the end)
This story's old but it goes
On and on until we disappear
(This is the calm)
Calm me and let me taste
The salt you breathed while you were underneath
(We are breathless)
I am the one who haunts your
Dreams of mountains sunk below the sea
(After the storm)
I spoke the words but never
Gave a thought to what they all could mean
(Rest in the deep)
I know that this is what you want
A funeral keeps both of us apart
(Washed up on the beach)
You know that you are not alone
I need you like water in my lungs
(This is the end)

"Sick Cycle Carousel" or "I've Lost My Spine, I've Got My Orange Crush"

You speak only with indifferent yes's and emotionless no's through your cold phone. I imagine that, as I talk, you roll your eyes so your cousin can see. Make me look the fool.

I can no longer bear the thought of it. My eyes only swell with tears these days.
I refuse to let them cry even one more time.
This is just another instance of your selfishness. Just another action that screams loudly of your disaffection for and irritaion with me. I've come to feel more like a heavy burden than a loved girlfriend.
Whats worse is that, somehow, I'll be the one to apologize for this. Somehow you'll manipulate me into thinking its my fault you act this way.
I hate to admit defeat, but I don't even have the energy left to get angry or the fight in me to defend myself. All I can seem to feel is crushed and all I can seem to do is let myself be crushed.
Its all just perpetual crush.