Friday, July 29, 2011

Wednesday July 27, 2011... sunshine on a cloudy day

You may remember a post I wrote some time back about feeding a pair of wolves... (if you don't, you may read about it here)

On Wednesdays over at Thug High we host a piss-a-thon.

Our student body (and the rest of the baby criminals in the community) take a watched wizzle dripple they deposit into a small cup.

The specimen collected is then tested for evidence of foul play (drugs) and a full report to the Probation Officers (and to others who give a crap) follows...

This past Wednesday, like most every other Wednesday the hallway where the youth wait in line for a turn to piddle was filled with a majority of young men.

The male youth dress in wife-beater t-shirts (the better to display the tats, yo),

their female counterparts barely dress (the better to display the tatas and the butt cracks, yo),

and of course, a host of juvenile justice staff dressed in "I wanna slap each one-a-u upside the head" were there to supervise the social gathering of some of our area's "worst".

Often I visit the drug screen line to see some of my favorite loveables, other times, they come to see me in our Culinary Arts classroom (otherwise known as the small kitchen)...

I love to hear that they're doing well.

Lovely pictures of current life status', painted to impress, often do.

But are they real?

... mostly not, I've come to learn.

So the lovable that I wrote about in the post about the wolves fighting came to see me a few weeks back... his demeanor backed up his declaration of finally "getting it" ...

I was happy and proud of this lovable (and possibly former..?) thug....

Yesterday, after drug screens, staff got word of a beating behind one of our buildings.

A homeless man was beaten on the head with a whiskey bottle.

I understand that he was escorted into the safety of our building by a former employee when he was found in the parking lot.

I was told he was bleeding profusely and the cut was down to the bone.

Four of our youth are suspected in the attack.

One of those youths is the one I told you about in the post of the fighting wolves.

That I could think that a little story told in the back of a small kitchen created an "ah ha" moment that would would last more than...a moment.... was pretty stupid on my part, yo.

Also on Wednesday a darling dear niece gave birth to a healthy son....

And I am filled with hope for this little man sent to from above to be brought up by a wonderful family all who feed the good wolf.

God is good.

(and I won't say "yo" cause dat could be misconstrued as dissin... yo)

Monday, July 25, 2011

Love... in cookie form

Later this week the loveables and I (and a couple of armed guards...tee hee, I'm kidding) are going to feed the people at our local Ronald McDonald house.

This is going to be a hugely uncomfortable venture for me.

I started to squirm the minute I read the e-mail my supervisor sent telling us we were going to be volunteering to cook for the families living there.

Sick children, distraught parents... point me to the nearest exit, please...

My supervisor wanted to know what we could have the loveables prepare...

A taco salad bar sounded like a good solid plan.

It's an quick dish that can be easily personalized to fit all tastes and appetites.

And for dessert, I decided we'd make the delicious sugar cookies we made last Christmas.

I found the recipe on line..they're called Amish sugar cookies.

Every time we prepared the Amish sugar cookies I was asked things like "how do you know they're Amish?"... "are they authentic..?"

Who the frick knows...(and really, who the frick cares..?)

And frankly... why ask stupid questions about dessert(s) anyway?

Just shut up and eat.

In the 70's a palate pleasing dessert made the rounds at all the Tupperware parties... "Better than sex" the cake was called.

Hmmmm, that title probably brought about some interesting inquiries.

All this pointless chatter is meant to take me far away from the subject at hand...

Nourishment for the families of sick children.

Sick kids......(and their distraught parents) just typing it makes me woozy and sour in my gut.

One of the worst, the very very worst things I could think of happening to my kids has happened to their kid...

What do you say to that..?

After giving my assignment an equal amount of thought and emotional dodging the Amish sugar cookies came to mind.

I'd let the cookies do the talking for me.

They would be decorated with simple messages.





And some rainbow sprinkles, of course...

Stay tuned... more on this subject to follow.

Saturday, July 23, 2011

To read is to breath is to eat is to doze is to read a good book

I just read an amazing book, The Help by Kathryn Stockett.

The book was on loan from a work pal who inhales books like most people inhale air.

When my friend told me that she wanted me to read this sure to be a classic little beauty she said, (and I quote)... "I want this book back, I keep all my books. I like to re-read them"...

To read is to breathe, I get that...

To re-read, is a bit odd.

At least to me.

To my smart ass question "do you pretend to forget the ending?"... she answered "I just find something new every time I read it".

When she handed me her copy of The Help it barely looked looked at... the cover pristine, the spine unwrinkled... not a mark on any page.

I enjoy consuming books at the same time I'm consuming beef & cheese enchiladas and jelly donuts.

Greasy potato chips and Cheetoes.

Often while soaking in a hot tub.

I drip, slop and sling water and food particles on all my reading material...

Water droplets from my filling tub sprinkle them damp.

Once or twice a whole entire book has made it's way into the tub, it happened when I accidentally dozed off.

I found myself lapping up every morsel of this book, being ever so careful as not to leave any telltale marks that I'd been there (and eaten that)...

I'd cover the book with a towel while the tub filled.

Like a non-purchasing peeker in the bookstore or a 12 year old boy peeping at his dad's Playboy magazine, I barely cracked the book open for fear of creasing the spine or bending a page corner.

I literally opened it no more than an inch and kept my nose pressed into the middle, looking out, consuming lines of words using the one eye closest to the page I was reading.

Even with all these precautions taken... the book cover ended up with a big wrinkle...

(The massive poundage of my handbag sitting on an object carries quite a wallop)

I immensely enjoyed reading this gem of a book, but in the future, I'll be borrowing the bestsellers not from my re-reading friends, but from the pubic library in town.

Not to worry, they'll never catch up with the slob who physically abused their books... I used Susan (my sister, the one who doesn't read my blog) 's name, address and phone number to get the library card.


Monday, July 18, 2011


There comes a time in every one's life, usually sometime in your late 30's early 40's where you don't see things clearly.

Up close the whole world appears fuzzy.

And very very small.

It usually happens quite suddenly.

When you most expect to see... like needing a phone number, quick like, from the phone book that the issue strikes.

It might happen without warning at the grocery store.

You may be in the express lane and under a huge amount of pressure to quickly fish your quilted change purse from the bottom of your suitcase like carryall bag all in an attempt to dig out eighty seven cents to give the cashier.

The pressure is unbelievable.

It is then that your formerly cooperative eyes.... aren't.... anymore.

(Is that a quarter or a left over Chuck E. Cheese token?.... )

It's been quite a joke around the Koby crib... that us folks don't see very well anymore.

That we have to count on our cheater glasses from the drug store to see even the largest of objects clearly.

On the plus side...Daddio and I are forever young...through our God given (malfunctioning) looking apparatuses.... we be looking good.

I may have even told you a story about Daddio asking to borrow an old friend's coke bottle glasses...? (did I tell you that story?... )

The friend complimented me on how I hadn't changed a bit (in the 15 or so yrs since he'd last seen me)

Daddio said "Pal, I need to borrow those glasses"...

On the bright side of our age related diminishing eyesight.. Daddio complimented my "pretty toes" yesterday.

The looked as clear as they do below.

Of course anyone with any kind of decent eyesight would have seen that they are chipped up and grown out from the cuticle...

That's okay... I'll take it where I can get it.

It's MOANday... try hoping for a salt shaker, a glass and a bottle of Ta-kill-ya to add to that bag o lemons you may have been handed today (we did just have a full moon you know).

Tuesday, July 12, 2011

Girls, girls, girls.....

For the first time ever in the history of Thug High we have more female students than we do male. 

Don't think me disloyal when I say "wow, what a pain in the ass all these chicky-babes can be".

There is drama a plenty.

And cliques tighter than a new pair of boots.

I'm asked at least 16 times before class and then again after for the keys to unlock the purse closet.

(I'm thinking of giving them each a key)

On a fragrant note, the place usually smells like cotton candy body spray... and yesterday, while I took in that delicious aroma I also eavesdropped on an eyeshadow application lesson... (BONUS)

Up close and personal I see mother figures emerging.

The ones who nurture the weak, the sick.

It's kind of nice to split the work of being the mother with these girls.

Except when they think they know more than me.

Well, there is still some kind of pecking order...whether they like it or not.

I'm Mother Superior around here.

The Head Duck, Big Mama...whatever....

Sometimes they need reminding.

Yesterday's class went so smoothly I asked the other staff if we could take the gang to 7-11 to get a free Slurpee.

I transported all girls and one guy.

It took them a minute to figure out where they were all gonna sit....  each of them ordering around the next.

The poor, poor lil ol lone rooster.

"Sit here" they ordered.

"No...he needs to sit here".

"NO... he's gonna sit back here with me" another one said.

Finally, he sat next to the most alpha of the alphas.

And we were off to get our Slurpee's.

When we got near the store I pried the fingers of the alpha radio controller off the volume button and gave them the talk...

"Don't do this, don't do that, make sure you say please and thanks"... you'd have thought I was talking to a bunch of children, rather than child-mothers.

I wasn't too sure about how things would go with so many girls...

but so far, so good.

Have a terrific Tuesday....

Friday, July 8, 2011

What day is it...?

I'm off my square this week.. the holiday messed me up.

That and we had no loveables all week this past week.

They've been on the one and only vacation they get all year long.

I'd say boo-hoo, but I'm just not that darn nice.

In addition to being minus (I like to talk math while on vacation from Thug High) the loveable thugs, we were also minus the Internet yesterday.

"What did we ever do before we had Internet?" my best walking pal asked me later in the day when I complained about not having my world wide connection.

"What did we do when we didn't have cell phones?" I countered.

Then answered my own deep question... "had some peace, really"

"I love to go out and forget my cell phone" I continued,

"I do have a second of panic when I realize that my car could take a dump and I'd be shit outta luck without a phone.

Then I have a momentary uh-oooooh when I realize that my house could catch fire with my children left all alone...

Finally, an alarmed feeling of ho-ly mo-ly what the hell have I done? comes over me when I realize that Daddio can't reach me to say "hurry home"...

and then I do this..."

(I didn't demonstrate cause I'm kinda rusty)

PS.. (that is me with the groceries... ;-)


I want to "come back" as one of these two...

Tuesday, July 5, 2011

Chewbacca in a bathing suit...?

Ohhh did I savor the nothing-to-do-ness of this past long weekend.

Each morning I sat outside on the wooden deck in our back yard to enjoy my coffee, and play on Bear's laptop.

While the rest of the world slept I listened to the sounds of the birds and watched a silly baby squirrel run up and down the tree trunk... it became a lovely relaxing routine.

Each morning, as regular as clockwork Daddio would stick his head out the door and chastise me for sitting outside half naked (in my old lady granny nighty)... "the neighbors can see you" he would say.

I'm hunkered down in an Adirondack chair and situated behind a pool (for cryin out loud)...

I'd be pretty hard to see... I argue.

"Well they probably have binoculars" he says.

"Ohhh brother..." I answer, thinking of the neighbors peeking at my sagging, 36-long never-minds.

A couple of times during my luxurious long weekend I went for a swim.. the cool blue waters of my swimming pool beckoned to me...and I was powerless to say "I don't want to mess up my hair" like I usually do.

"You can't go out there" Daddio said when he saw me suiting up "the neighbors are having a party"....

"So what?" I said back.

"They'll seeeee you" he replies.

"See me what?" I ask...

"In your bathing suit".... he answers.

It's a hard knock life here at the Playboy Mansion...where everyone is trying to get a glimpse of Hugh's half naked wife..

(that is what he meant...? right?)

Friday, July 1, 2011

A dirty story...

Fresh on the heels of a work week from hell was another work week from hell...

I'm somewhat exaggerating here... it just felt incredibly horrible since it took so long to be over (with a three day weekend waiting at the finish line I lost steam midway).

Since I'm all about easy I planned for a very light lunch for the loveables to prepare to be served Thursday, their last day of school for this week.

On Wednesday afternoon they worked hard to produce a fruit salad, a green salad and baked potato bar to be served the next day for lunch.

I put two male youth on potato scrubbing duty.

A relatively easy job.

I filled a sink with water, tossed in about 25 huge baking potatoes... (we're soaking off some of the dirt, I told the boys).

I handed them each a clean green scrubby pad.

They were instructed to give the spuds a final rinse and place them on a baking sheet.

The boys were done in record time...

And that should have set off some kind of warning flag...

of course it didn't..

and the dumn ass Pollyanna in charge of these freakin idiots believed that they had done as they were asked.

And I was proud of their accomplishment.

And if you knew these two you would know that getting them to walk six steps is a true accomplishment and that wasn't what was taken into consideration, but what should have been taken into consideration, when I saw that it only took them about sixty seconds to scrub 25 huge potatoes, yeah...

I took a peek at the potatoes and all seemed well.

Overnight that changed.

Those taters somehow sprouted little legs and went outside and played in the dirt.. each one of them dirtier than the next.

I was pissed.

Really pissed.

I filled the sink and scrubbed the potatoes, properly.

The water was nearly black with dirt when I was finished.

I told everyone who may have to come into contact with the dirty water in the sink to "leave it"...

I planned to ambush the team of Lazy and Lazy-er at lunch time.

And get to the bottom of the filthy potatoes.

My strategy was to offer them a potato... knowing full well they wouldn't take one since they'd left them dirty as hell.

They wouldn't get a chance to sit back and yuck it up while we chomped on the dirty potatoes.

No, before that could happen I would lead them to the sink and show them what I'd washed off the potatoes.

Let them know they didn't get one over on me.

(I really hate when they do that)

At lunch both boys took the potato I offered them...

with a smile and a thank you..

They took the (previously unscrubbed dirty filthy) potatoes...(with, I assume, the intention of eating them).

What the frick?

That was not in the plan.

I asked them to step into the back room with me.

"Look at the dirt in the sink" I told them, pointing to the filth that had settled at the bottom of the deep stainless steel sink "I had to rewash your potatoes and that is what came off".

They peered into the sink and stared at the dirt...

And I watched (closely) for evidence of a shit eating grin.

I watched for a "uh oh, we've been caught" squrim.

I didn't get either.

They both looked back at me...

Big, round brown eyes, saucer wide.

I spoke in a firm tone...

"There... is... a.... TRUST and an EXPECTATION when you are in a position to offer and serve food to people.

Those people you are serving TRUST and EXPECT that you have done everything in your power to see to it that the food you are serving is clean and fresh and in all ways healthy and SAFE to eat."

Like deer in headlights the boys stared and didn't move a muscle.

Finally one spoke "you never said to scrub them" he said.

He was convincingly sincere.

They both mumbled "sorry".

And Pollyanna bought it.

Lock, stock, and dirty potato.