For $500, You Had Better Suck!!

Dear Makers of The Dyson DC14 Animal Vacuum Cleaner:

       A few years ago my old vacuum cleaner decided to go on strike. It had had it with trying to pick up the cat hair, my hair, random stuff and dust bunnies that make a house a home. In my neat-freak panic I decided that I was going to quit throwing money down the drain and invest in a vacuum cleaner that would really suck. One that had a reputation for never losing suction. The kind of suction that would make a high school slut and a trailer hitch proud. So I forked over 500 big ones for your DC14 Animal.

    RRRROOOOWWWWRRR. Even the name sounded like it could peel the paint off a wall from 50 paces. My inner cleaning animal was unleashed. I developed a relationship with your DC14 that bordered on co-dependent. It would suck the padding from underneath the carpet as I hit the high notes like Liberace in Vegas. The feeling of clean carpet under my toes made me want to pull it out and use it every day. For $500, I was getting the kind of satisfaction that normally comes from a day long Law & Order marathon, vodka, xanex, and HoHo coma.

     Now, just like Mick Jagger ~ I can't get no satisfaction. Apparently when your inventor, James Dyson, said "never" he was talking more like approximately 4 years. Cause this baby doesn't suck any more! Nothing! Not even the random piece of string that I ran over 25 times, then picked up to inspect, then returned to the floor to run over again 25 times. So much for never loses suction. Even the high school slut is still giving out after 4 years! Doing the math (cause that's what former math teachers do), my Dyson only gave me $125 worth of suction a year. I don't think of that as suction so much as I consider it getting screwed. 

     So now I have a new vacuum with a much smaller price tag and it sucks just fine, thank you. At the price I paid for this little Hoover sucker if he gives out at the end of the year I'm not going to be upset. As for your DC14 Animal, he is now residing outside my apartment complex dumpster. In fact, DC14 has been sitting out there for two days now and even the dumpster divers won't take him. Guess that tells you something, doesn't it?
Dyson, you don't suck ~ you blow.
Sincerely,
Ms. Tastrophie

Excuses, Excuses

(Previously written in 2009 ~ but not published)

As a teacher I have seen my fare share of notes from parents. Although, the notes I get usually aren't ones asking how Little Johnny is doing science or what kind of homework he will be doing this week. I get ones that say Little Johnny was sick with an upset stomach for the last three weeks and could I please excuse all the work he has not done so that he will pass the 7th grade and make it one year closer to getting the hell out of our house?

But in the two years that I have been teaching this is by far THE BEST parent excuse letter EVER!

"Plese excuze Dumb-Ass* from school yesterday. The mutha f*cker found my stash and smoked up all my sh*t and was gotten to high to go to school. Dont bothr punishin him cuz I grounded him til he pays me back all my sh*t he smoked." *pseudonym

Now for all you people freaking out over the whole thing, don't worry. The authorities were alerted. Yes, CPS was involved and took care of things. That's not what this blog is all about. This blog is about YOU using YOUR creative skills and giving me a note from home to be proud of. One worth reading. One worth my crushing my academic integrity and ethics in order to help Little Johnny over that silly little road-block called an education.

I have to tell you, I get some really boring notes from parent and I don't feel any need to reward bad excuses with good grades. So next time, instead of telling me Little Johnny had a fever and chills, make some good sh*t up. Tell me you and the Mr. got a little too freaky last night, over slept and decided that freak-round two should occur at 8 a.m. Which sounded a whole lot better than hauling your @$$ out of bed and getting your off-spring to school. 

Tell me that you thought that taking a "mini-break" to the sale at the outlet mall with your little diva-in-training appealed more to your sense of economical duty than the need for your daughter to know the history of the Spanish occupation of Texas, Louisiana, and Mexico. (I would probably agree with you on that one.)  Besides, if the little diva in training is destine to become the next Jackie O or Kate Spade, who am I to stand in the way of some field research?  Just remember me when she's designing her Spring collection.

Remember, creativity counts and snaps will be given for excuses that include blatant sucking-up to the teacher. Calling me the best teacher Little Johnny has ever had, and that he has learned more from sleeping through my class than any other class he has slept through before, will appeal to my sense of empathy. I promise not to count off on the missed classwork if you put a little imagination into Little Johnny's excuse. Hell, I might even give extra credit for style and original concept. Just don't admit to committing three felonies and bad spelling.

The Anger Files

Warning ~ this is not the nicest post I have ever written. Mostly it is me getting some stuff off my chest. In fact, it isn't even semi-good, as far as my writing is concerned. Again, it's my blog and I will use it to vent, if I want to.  (Originally written in 2010 ~ while having a VERY VERY baaaaaddd day.)

Ms. Tastrophie is in a mood people!! I am fairly certain that the good Lord is trying to see how far I am willing to go in order to keep that whole "thou shall not kill" commandment. Because I will bet that He is putting people on this good green earth just to try my patience!!

First off, I inherited my grandfather's lack of patience. He had about .05% of his good nature to waste on people acting the donkey. I think I have about .025% of that and right now it's about half gone. It started about two weeks ago and maxed out on Thursday afternoon.

Things That Will Prove You are an Ass Hat; Ms. Tastrophie is Right in Thinking That She May Have To Hurt You:

1. You don't know how to merge and think that you don't have to follow the rules of the road or be nice. If there is a line a mile long where people are having to merge; you don't get to bum-rush everyone else's spot and drive to the very front of the line, thereby passing everyone else who was nice enough to merge politely. Don't even think about easing around my car assuming that I won't make a quick turn into your car. I have phenomenal car insurance and your ass would be at fault any way since you failed to yield right of way, and I am just the b*tch to do something like that. So don't test me.

2. I really do not think that natural childbirth means you should get some sort of Medal of Honor. First off, women have been doing it for centuries. You weren't the first and you won't be the last. However, I know for damn sure that I will be taking whatever drugs I can get my hands on up to the minute I even think I am in some form of labor (should all hell freeze over and I become pregnant). It's not my fault that you didn't think about getting the big shot of Pain-Away and thought that being in labor to 300 hours while trying to squeeze a baby the size of a watermelon through an opening with a dilated circumference the size of a coke can is some form of bravery. More power to ya, but don't think I'm going to think you are a hero. A masochist maybe, but not a hero. Oh, and I do NOT need to hear your war stories about how you were in labors for hours and torn from ass to chin by a 10 pounder making its way all sling-shot from your vajayjay. Complete with contraction-by-contraction details of how little Suzy was ripping your hoo-hoo to shreds, thank you very much. I don't read horror stories for a reason and that would be a horror story to me!  With that being said, I do think you deserve a life time supply of vodka and hohos for your trials as I am too much of a chicken shit to EVER go through the time honored throws of childbearing.

3. And should you have said child and make the commitment to raising him or her be sure not to f*ck it up any more than the normal amount of required parental angst we all get. I am a teacher. Not a freaking clean up squad. It is NOT my job to have to listen to your child:

a. Tell me to F*ck Off

b. Tell me to suck his d*ck

c. Call me a c*cksucker
d. Otherwise speak to an adult in a less than civil tone and with some level of manners already taught/

I also do not have to be a moving target for your little brat's throwing practice. In the past two weeks I have been hit with erasers, pencils, paper wads, Runt candies and something I can't figure out except to say that it was blue and hard and hurt like hell when it hit my lower back. I have a suggestion for you. If little Johnny or Jane starts to make that magic down hill slide into delinquency, I recommend heading it off at the path and taking care of it at home. Don't think my job description lists anything other than teaching Science. I HIGHLY recommend military schools. I heard they now have a Marine Corps Kindergarten, which tickled me red, blue and gold!!

4. Last but not least, do not tell me, when I feel like my entire world is crushing me from every corner of the universe, to pray about it!!! I love God and have my faith, but nothing will piss me off more than telling me to do something I already know (and do). Not to mention at that particular moment, I am not exactly lovin' the situation God has apparently put me in; if I am to base my understanding of the situation based on your explaining of God and how stuff works. Piety in others pisses others off ~ ask Jimmy Swagggert.

Now I have to go and find out if I can legally get a Valium infused air freshener put into my car. Because I am going to kill the next M-F*er who cuts me off in the merge lane.