TFB Spot

Maybe the name of this blog should be changed to the TFB (too freaking boring) spot, because I've got nothing.

Seriously, my sense of humor seems to have vanished. Maybe I'll look for it under the couch. Everything else makes its way under there with the exception of me when I'm cleaning. If nobody can see it, it doesn't count right?

The kids all started school last week on the same day. This is big for us. They were all three on different schedules. The oldest was on a traditional. The youngest was traditional but with different vacation times than the oldest. The middle child was on year-round school. Finally all the school districts decided to work together. Imagine that! All three kids will have vacation at the same time. (I think.)

It won't matter with the oldest. She graduates in June and I'm sure she will be wiping the dust off her feet and moving on to bigger and better things. Or maybe not. But she won't want to vacation with us, that's a given.

She is at that age where one wakes up excited in the morning. You never know when you're a young person if something fun might happen that day. Maybe you'll get invited to a party or meet a cute guy.

All the firsts in life are exciting. Then you get to my age and the only excitement consists of the toilet overflowing or finding a fiver in the pocket of somebody's pants when you're doing the laundry. whoopee.

Maybe instead of the TFB Spot, I should call this the Whiny Wanker Spot. Or maybe I should call it Blog by Schleprock.

Where was I? Yes, the kids are back in school.

Azure already brought home the first cold of the year and shared it with yours truly. Funny how she won't share her toys but she's quite generous with the germs. That's my girl.

I was supposed to go to Azure's and Sammy's separate back to school nights last night and I didn't. I am sick. It was hot. My nose was running and my shirt was stuck to my armpits. Not only did I not go, my mommy guilt failed to kick in. This is a positive step in my evolution, at least I feel that way.

Another psotive step in my evolution was going to community college yesterday morning and signing up for a night class. I'm number two on the wait list so I hope they'll take me. It's on Monday nights from seven to ten. Since I have trouble staying awake past eight-thirty, this should be interesting. On the bright side, it's not math. I finished college math ten years ago and remember not a bit of it. Sine, cosine, whatever!

It will be nice to start learning again. If I can tough out this class, I will have priority registation next semester. Maybe I'll even decide what I want to be. I've already changed my mind again since yesterday.

I have been rolling my eyes at Jasmine. She wants a job. Only she doesn't want to work weekends. She doesn't want to lift over fifty pounds. She doesn't want to work in a fast food restaurant. She doesn't want work to interfere with the school play she's going to be in.

She wants a job where she can get paid to breathe and spout stupid opinions. Unfortunately for her she wasn't born a Hilton.

Now I am going to change the subject completely. I never shared the story of the man I saw some months ago.

I was in the left turn lane. He pulled up into the left turn lane next to me. He had his windows down and some crappy music blasting.

When a person is 16 and still relatively immature, I can get the fact that they share their music with everyone. They can't imagine how anyone could not enjoy what they're listening to.

When a person is an adult, they are saying they don't give a crap if you like their music. You are going to hear it anyway.

When the light turned green, I took off pretty fast due to the fact I didn't want to hear his crap music.

Through a series of unfortunate traffic events, I ended up behind him sitting at a light. Now he had smoke coming out his window and his music assaulting my ears.

He then threw an empty plastic bottle of Mountain Dew out of his window right into the median. It seems the only trash allowed in his 1980's era Grannymobile was sitting in the driver's seat.

The final irony was his bumper sticker. It said Proud to be an American. Oh good grief. If only we could deport those kind of Americans to another county.

But really, who'd want 'em?

Wait, isn't Maxine that crabby old lady on the birthday cards? Maybe this could be the Madder than Maxine Spot! Or I could go short and simple and name it WAH. What do y'all think?

Maybe I'll go rub myself all over with bologna and play with Cecil. That might put us all out of our misery.