Brain Barf

May contain traces of nuts.

Tuesday, March 29, 2005


The hoebag from hell English teacher is no longer allowed to teach English (if 3/4 of the class fails, is that really teaching?) . I am working with the department head to get my grade changed, because "it" won't return phone calls, emails and has slammed "it's" office door on my fellow students. "It" didn't fail me, but "it" might has well have. I'm too embarrassed to even type what "it" (unjustly) gave me. Out of every (8 fucking million) assignments she gave (after changing the syllabus 3 times and having no assigned point system) the lowest single grade I got was a C-, and that was only once on a pop quiz. Everything else was A's and B's. I'm guessing "It" didn't like my honest papers and took it out on my grades. The irony is, I spent more time on her (busy work) homework than my other two classes combined and I didn't learn a damn thing in "it's" class. To all of those English teachers out there....TAKE YOUR MEDS!
Oh well, in my other two classes: I got a 3.9 and a 3.8.
15 credits this quarter? 5 of them being in my weakest subject? Drive back and forth to the school (1/2 hour drive each way) twice a day? Still work on the weekends? Four kids? Good thinking Keri.
I'm here physically...Mentally I'm WAY gone.

Sunday, March 20, 2005


Normally when the Missionaries knock on my door, I have a snappy, sharp witted response prepared (i.e., I guarantee you are wasting your Mormon time with me, but I'll be happy to feed you and try out my skills at de-conversion).
Today when they knocked on my door, me and the husband were "napping".
Kids started freaking (MISSIONARIES! MOM MISSIONARIES!) dog bells were going off, me groaning (not in that way you sicko, more like dogdamnmudderfudgersit'sSunday.. thedayofrestandotherbedtimeactivities).
So I stumbled out of bed, unlocked our bedroom door, kicked a few kids and dogs out of my path and opened my front door.
I was wittless, wittfree, wit had abandoned ship. "We are contacting all of the in-actives on the members list..." My normal response would have been something along the lines of, "Oh, I'm not in-active, I worship (something) at least three times a week). I said....""
All I could think of was, I had sex hair and please don't let that drip down my leg.

Whatever....You love my blog.

Wednesday, March 16, 2005

Brownie points -284

The latest un-ethical antics of the Bi-Polar Hoebag English Professor:
She gave us a "pop" assignment, due before our final grade.
"Write an Essay on English Comp. Discuss such things as course content (including all chapters and readings) and how you felt about them and how they should have been taught. Include journal writings, student responsibilities and conduct, the structure of the class and the pros and cons of the ITV system. Include at least one paragraph on how you would have taught the class. Use specific examples. etc..etc..."
So let me get this straight, I'm the student, you're the "teacher" and you want me to tell you how you should have taught this class? And then you are going to grade me on my response....wait...what if I'm honest about it? Hmmm...oh well, what the fuck.
A few students contacted the ethics officer of the school. The majority of the class did not turn in the essay.
Me being me, I laid it all out and turned that sucker in. Any points I may have received by turning it in were surely lost, and then some, by the HONEST content of my essay.
I'm sure she'll be fair......ohmygawd that was funny.

Saturday, March 05, 2005

Mental Health -469

I've never claimed to not have issues.
This is a major ramble/vent and I'm not even going to go back and revise, and I feel like typing potty words in all caps, so just DEAL.

I was getting ready for work or school the other day (it's all one big blur) and I was doing my thing, mindlessly brushing and cleaning all body parts and appendages that needed brushing and cleaning, when I glanced in the mirror and saw my "mother."
I immediately slammed the mirror open and felt sick.
I guess it should be expected. I'm getting older and there is that whole heredity BULL shit....
Anyway, I was shaken. The mirror scares me.
It's rough to resemble the one person you NEVER want to become.
In part, I think it has to do with the fact that she is spewing her way back into my life.
All of her (shit) stuff has been sitting in my guest house since last July. Fine. Whatever. Small price to pay for her to be GONE.
With my younger sister getting married, the liaison(my sister that the "mother" now lives with) calls and tells me that the "mother" needs some items, i.e. passport and temple dress, and would I be ever so kind to find them and mail them?
After silently feeling pissy about it for about a week (sure leave all your shit at my place and then ask me to sort through it when you need something, because I have all of the fucking TIME in the world) I dutifully went out and SEARCHED the places I was instructed to look. Not there. Called the liaison and informed her of such.
Tonight, I get home from 9 hours of health care provider, blood borne pathogen, CPR, First Aid, recertification (so as you can imagine I'm feeling just peachy) to find my older (lesbo/nurse/kick ass) sister here. The liaison and the "mother" called and asked her to come and find the things she needs.

Oh just FUCK off already.

Two syllables...sounds like "Don Tire".

Thursday, March 03, 2005

Fat Albert

When I can catch and overpower one of my boys, I like to play a little game called "baby back ribs." This includes me singing the "chilis" baby back rib song.
OK, I play, they suffer.
It consists of me tickling and gnawing on their back rib area until they plead urination and/or say "you're the best Mommy on the planet."
Today, I ensnared Twin B, of the destruction team known as "Twin A&B destruction company".
I don't know if my approach tactics were flawed, or if they are just getting wiser and stronger (make note to stop feeding them), but I got a fat lip.
Angelina Jolie has nothing on me tonight.
It may come in handy tomorrow when I have to suck face with a manikin to re-certify for CPR.

Tuesday, March 01, 2005

Super Man.

I am asking each of my siblings to write down a (happy) memory they have of our Dad, to be given to him for Father's Day.
This is my rough draft:

I grew up on a small farm in Utah. When I was about seven years old, I woke late one night to the faint sound of a kitten mewing. From my upstairs bedroom, I could tell that the sad cries were coming from our hay shed at the far edge of our property.
For whatever reason, my ears have always been fine tuned to recognize the sound of any creature in distress. I did everything I could think of to block out the pathetic sound. From previous experience, I knew how my parents would react to being woken in the middle of the night for something as silly as a kitten.
A pillow over my head and seven primary songs later, I was in tears at the foot of my parents bed. My father could see that I was very upset and knew how much I cared for animals, so he told me to run and get my shoes and coat on.

Out in the hay shed, it was cold enough to see our breath and make me wish that I was wearing more than my Strawberry Shortcake nightgown, but the kitten's mewing was much louder now that we were out here. My father moved hay bale after hay bale until he finally found a scrawny orange kitten only a few weeks old. I named her "Squirt" because of her size and my favorite Soda.

My Dad was Superman in long underwear and work boots that night.

By the time we got back into the house, my eyes and throat were swelling shut because I have always been allergic to cats (and hay), so Superman slept out on the sofa with the kittens advocate, a.k.a semi-super girl.

Coming soon, "the day Superdad and semi-super girl rescued a calf named "meat"."