The chili oil on my hands from chopping chilis yesterday is still on my hands today.

I know this, because my fingers taste spicy. Also, I am a retard, and do not own any plastic gloves with which to chop chili in a safe and sane manner.

I like Sundays. Sundays are superheroic. You must live them with Charleton Heston voiceovers and occasional snatches of theme music.

So, here was my schedule:

charged out of bed at 8:40 am. to make breakfast. a Breakfast...of Champions!

dashed to the shower. a Super...sonic...Shower.

leapt into the Rocket Powered Drunk-Mobile. sped to Mass. quick! we need holy-fication...badly!

mission: buy more underwear. Accomplished!

got home. changed...swiftly...to hide my Super Identity.

spilled coffee and coffee grounds all over the kitchen. heroically!

read me some internet. FOR GREATER JUSTICE!

rescued frozen pizza from depths of freezer. Live free, citizen pizza!

cleaned the Mission Control Center. made the Mission Control Center bed.

struck superheroic poses. settled on the "up up and away" pose. time to greet...the press!

My life is so full. And stuff. All right, I'll get back to making lesson plans already.

I never get around to updating my links...in the interim, here are some wonderful people to savor:

5ives: merlin's lists of five things (some of these are brill. see this and this)
bad news hughes (not for children)
full blue moon dementia (also not for children)
mighty girl (possibly for children?)
waxy (fingers on the pulse of all manner of media)

One game that I'm really looking forward to is Sid Meier's Pirates. The original Pirates! sucked away countless hours of my (wasted, duh) youth...I became sort of a pro with the cutlass, inasmuch as all that swordfights with that weapon entailed was mashing the keyboard repeatedly. Those were the days. Now get out of here before I start waxing maudlin about text based adventure games...

Learn Italian with Fabio! (you have to scroll down a bit)

That's...about all I wanted to say.

Gosh darn it all to heck. My apartment is freezing (and I have no control over the temperature...I'm not sure who does, really...the Arctic powers that be, apparently), I'm hungry, because I'm trying this whole "not eating" thing for a while, in a half-assed (ha! losing weight! half-assed! me so funny!) effort to fit in better with the disgustingly slender San Diego natives, and, for some reason, I can't sleep without having really random anxiety nightmares. As in, "Oh NO!!! I sort of lost my temper and SCOLDED A CHILD!! I AM SUCH A MEAN PERSON!"

I'm a bit tempted to down enough tequila to sleep, but that's probably not one of those healthy coping mechanisms.

it's all nice on ice all right

This is neat. I've started to figure out how to streamline this whole teaching thing such that I can come home and cook, play video games, and sleep, instead of grading papers or preparing for class. Ha! Life is no longer kicking my ass! I AM VICTORIOUS!

Now I'm bored. I need some new goals.

...

I'm open to suggestions?

Hunh.

I just received a whole shitload of messages on my voicemail...from several elderly people with thick Indian accents wishing me "a veddy veddy happy 21st birthday" and cautioning me "not to be drunk."

This is odd, inasmuch as I'm not turning 21 ever again, and don't have that many elderly Indian relatives. It was a bit of a surreal experience. They all sounded very cheerful and convinced that this was the right phone number to call. Occasionally multiple parties were put on the line to wish me a happy birthday, and the best of luck. Maybe they're right, and I'm wrong. Egads. Anyway, if they call back, I'm going to direct them to send money. So that I can better celebrate my, umm, birthday. Better late than never.

So, I got an envelope from the state of California today. I sort of expected a ticket from that photo speed trap thingie which I blew through last week, or perhaps a notice regarding my unbroken track record of failing to report for jury duty. But no. It was a check for seventy-four dollars issued after an adjustment to my 2003 tax return. The reason? Apparently I "(a) incorrectly added total payments and credits," or "(b) made an error in subtracting total payment or credits from total tax."

Isn't that sweet? The IRS really cares! I heart the government! In related news, I'm never letting my dad do my taxes again (just kidding, dad)...

Kids say the darndest things...e.g...

15 year old male student: "Wow, Miss P! Did you dye your hair?"
Me: "Yes."
15YOMS: "That's so neat! Can I touch it?!"
Me: "No."

16 year old female student: "Miss P, have you ever heard of a band called the Ramones?"

17 year old male student: "So, Miss P, did you ever participate in one of those greased pig catching contests? When you were younger?"

Other things my high school students desperately want to know: when we are getting our classroom pet, what I think of *insert random shitty punk band here*, whether this next test can be an open book test, why I am so mean...

Things my high school students desperately do not want to know: Algebra II. Physics.

What I can't figure out...is why, when I get my hair trimmed, the hairdresser always offers to shave my neck. There is a small spiral of hair on the back of my neck (thanks to my filipino ancestry?), but it's quite unobtrusive. At worst, it's sort of interesting and ethnic-y. Is the fashion industry trying to designate yet another area that you have to worry about shaving/waxing/plucking? Damn them...I thought that I had a handle on western standards of body hair control...

he wants a shoehorn (the kind with teeth)

I want to learn Greek (i can sing the greek alphabet, which is a start).

I want to attend the St. John's Master of Arts in Liberal Arts program (because one Liberal Arts degree wasn't enough).

I want to hear the Pixies. Live. But I missed their San Diego concert, because I had to work...

I want a real kitchen. Kitchenette, my ass. Electric stoves bite the big one.

I want to be one of those teachers who awakens minds and touches souls. Rather than one of those teachers who hiss "Detention! Detention!!!"

I want all of my friends and family to move next door.

I want to find a Young Man of my own. Umm. And also, I want a pet gecko.

I want to teach all of my Latin class "Non Nobis Domine." Right now, I'm stymied by the fact that my seventh grade boys won't sing. At all. Although, they can lip synch like it's going out of style...

Sometimes, I think I want to be one of those wife-motherly types. Then I remember that I hate doing laundry, cleaning bathrooms, and washing dishes. Hmm. I should probably have taken dan up on his offer of being house-husband.

I want to learn how to make sushi. sushi sushi!!!

I want to replenish my supply of Jose Cuervo.

/sangria

ewww, eww, ewww.

On folding my laundry, I discovered that whoever had been using the dryer previously had left an article of their clothing, which had then become mixed up in my laundry. The item in question? An impossibly tiny black thong. I seriously thought it was a rather large piece of dryer lint initially...

I just received my California voter's pamphlet, and am perusing it with avid interest. One thing which baffles me: why should the signature of organizations like "Californians United for Public Safety" be taken at all seriously, as a factor for or against any of these propositions? I mean, can't any random group of people (or heck, one person) call themselves "California Disabled African-American Firefighters Against Child Labor" without having to actually be Californian, disabled, African-American, or firefighters? It isn't as if there's some impartial regulatory agency in the sky, dictating that your group can't be called "Consumer Guardian Watchdog Peeps" if, in fact, you are a group of corporate lackeys and Walmart CEOs...

Anyhoo. This message brought to you by: "The Association For The Advancement Of Differently Gifted Asian-American Womyn In Education." Of which I am president. Thank you, and good night.

I love-hate you-no-one.

To quote a dear friend of mine, "HA!!!"

Where would you send a brilliant adolescent, these days? There are a few of my students who, I think, have un-tapped potential...you know the drill..."bright but unmotivated." Of course, they are slackers to the core, but much more endearing than the grade-grubbing over-achievers. They need some sort of awakening, a few years hence, but I don't know a college which I could whole-heartedly recommend. My alma mater? Not really...I love individual tutors there, but overall it can be a very frustrating experience. Any other Catholic college? No. And, bleh. Kid, you'll go to Magdalen over my dead body...

Secular liberal arts institutions? Tend towards extreme stupidity. Caltech/MIT/Reed? This is within the realm of plausibility. It never *hurts* to become proficient in math and logic...

Gads. I don't know. All these young folks, lacking (and looking for) something that just doesn't come prepackaged...

study: one in 100 adults asexual.

*snip*
A 1994 survey, published by The University of Chicago Press, found that 13 percent of 3,500 respondents had no sex in the past year. Forty percent of those people said they were extremely happy or very happy with their lives.
*snip*

I love it. "You haven't had sex, in, what, a year? And you haven't killed yourself?!? You must be, like, asexual, or something."

OooO. I almost forgot to mention: it's Columbus Day. What does that mean? Well, besides being a heartwarming celebration of the incipient oppression of indigenous peoples...Columbus Day is also a school holiday. Thus, while you peons with your "real jobs" are off at work, I'm free to indulge my proclivities in the comfort of my own home. And how did I spend this rare event, this mini-vacation, you ask? Why, I've spent the day huddled over a warm computer, creating gigantic vector art decorations for my walls with this tool. My dot matrix rendition of Johnny Depp is a thing of beauty. Later, I plan to make some sangria and grade a bit of homework...

I had scads of people over this weekend. That was fun. When I spend weekends by myself, my apartment starts to feel like an odd combination between a hermitage and an insane asylum. As an added I bonus, I adore everyone who came over. Mwah.

However, I found that I need a few more items in my residence before I can really claim to be a conscientious hostess. Such as chairs, more forms of alcohol, and more cups. Giving the direction "Oh, everyone just find a cup and wash it out...umm...and you can sit on my bed, or on the floor..." is probably not a Miss Manners approved beverage serving strategy.

somehow, i don't have enough energy to get up and put the groceries away, and yet i have enough energy to continue sitting in front of the computer, listlessly clicking on random links. dammitall. the internet is like teevee for literate people. also, i have no willpower, and am an abject slave to my blood sugar level.

For the record, pink is not the new black. There is no such thing as the new black; or, if you must, black is the new black. And, in addition, the following things are banned (in a right and just universe, that is):

• teenagers

Actually, that about sums it up. Blah. The evil adolescents bitched and moaned for-freaking-ever about memorizing three crummy physics equations over the three-day weekend. C'mon, kids, v_f=v_i + at...that can't take up more than half a micron of brain space. Anyway. They peeved me to such a degree that I started telling them stories along the lines of "When I was your age, I took ACCELERATED math courses OVER THE SUMMER, AT A COLLEGE, while COMMUTING TO WORK...and also..." And then they cut me off with "Yeah, but we're normal." I was hurt. I have the feeling that, if I were their age, my students would probably stuff me in a locker/steal my lunch money...

Seriously. Ban teenagers. The world would be a better place for it. I would be able to find some decent cheap-ass black shirts in the mall, instead of searching through endless aisles of pink frippery. The throbbing vein in my forehead might go away. Everybody is going to be happy...and that includes you and me, my love... /kinks.

Wow. Another month has come and gone. I'm employed, I think I've remembered to pay all of my bills, my dishes are washed*, my car has had its oil changed...

I feel like I deserve a little gold star. Or a cookie.

* but not dried. fortunately, if you leave wet dishes on the kitchen counter for long enough, they turn into dry dishes with water spots on them! brill!!!

p.s. my little sister puts in her two cents in the San Francisco Faith, re: closing of Campion college.