The Millionizer

During the morning announcements yesterday some kid named Willie Dong won a prize. I don’t know what the prize was because I was flabbergasted that his parents would let him go by WILLIE DONG. I know they probably can’t help the Dong part but couldn’t they have suggested Bill instead? Hearing morning announcements is a weird thing. It’s like saying the pledge of allegiance. There is a time and place for it in life then it kinda goes away. Imagine a non-school workplace droning on about inane news over the pa system. It’s amusing. The girls soccer team will meet at the track Wednesday after school. Drama club auditions during lunch. Role playing club starts next Tuesday (there really is a role playing club at my school. Of course with my dirty mind I think middle school is a little too early to join a role playing club. I have no idea what it’s really all about. Is it a Dungeons and Dragons club?)

Sunday night I had the most unrestful dream ever. In fact, I’m not even sure I was asleep or if I just couldn’t turn my brain off. The entire night I was either writing a Mimi Smartypants entry or reading a made up one. All I know is that I was coming up with things that I would say if I were her. Which, of course and obviously, I am not. In my dream (or not?) I had to take a step back and ask myself if I was on drugs. No, not to my knowledge. The whole night my brain just seemed intent on writing me a Mimi Smartypants post. I just want to sleep, brain! I will read Mimi when I get up, IF I MUST, but right now I just want to sleep a real sleep. Am I so boring that the best I can come up with is recreating someone elses blog? I blame myself for reading a bunch of Smartypantsness right before bed, but jesus.

My 4 day weekend was great. Until it was over, then I was just mad at it. Long weekends are cruel. You get just enough taste of the no work lifestyle to get used to it. Then, Sunday afternoon I hear Monday making it’s depressing way down the tracks. Impending Mondays ruin Sundays. I may as well lay down on the track and let impending Monday make it all better.

***WARNING: If you have not yet seen The Departed, but plan on doing so, the following is not a spoiler but details are discussed and if you are like me you don’t want to hear about it.***

Saturday we saw The Departed, the new Scorsese film. I have mixed feelings. First off, Mark Wahlberg will always be Marky Mark to me. That’s your fault buddy, not mine. How does one go from being Marky Mark to a respected Hollywood figure? Well played sir, well played. Second there always seems to be a well fleshed out theme of sexism in these gangster type movies. I dunno, maybe it’s to amplify the ‘realism’ of these people, the ‘gritty’ world they occupy, and distinguish, for retarded viewing audiences, who is good and bad. It is unnecessary. I mean, I acknowledge and take your grittyness quite seriously, gangster man. The senseless killing and general depravity convinced me of it. But you know what? The overt sexism wasn’t just left to the ‘bad guys,’ the police squad sent in to take them down was constantly referred to as ‘girls’ and ‘ladies.’ Maybe this was to blur the lines between good and bad. But Scorsese, you are Scorsese! for Christ’s sake can’t you use something better than overt sexism? What’s more interesting about it is that there were several women on this taskforce. And although none of them had a speaking role (big fucking surprise) I don’t believe their characters for a second because any woman in her right mind would tell those fucktards to shove it up their ass. Instead they sat there with perfect blond hair in perfectly smooth ponytails, wearing snappy business suits and smiled the whole time.

Back to the gangster sexism, there was a small (but prominent) storyline where one character’s drink of choice is cranberry juice and all the other bad asser (should I have just said more bad ass?) gangsters make fun of him by calling him a woman and asking if he’s on his period. It goes on and on and we are supposed to believe that this guy is an underdog because he is seen as a woman ie weak, incompetent yadda, yadda, yadda. There are so many things wrong with this but I will start with the practical. Yes, women have used cranberry juice for thousands of years to help cure URINARY TRACT INFECTIONS. How the fuck did periods become involved? Cranberry juice is a natural aid for kidney function. So anyone who has at least one kidney can benefit from it’s cleansing effects. Last time I checked, growing a penis does not require giving up kidneys. I don’t even want to talk about what else is wrong with it.

**End rant and warning**

Changing topics. My student’s occupational therapist (I have no idea what her job is. She comes once a week for a half hour and just talks to the kid. Shoot, I do that all day and I don’t get paid nearly as much.) keeps calling me Melanie. Melanie is not even close to my name. Not even close. I’ve corrected her a couple times but she’s too busy getting paid an outrageous salary hanging out with retarded kids to care. She left a couple messages on my voicemail. I figure if she can’t learn my name she can deal with whatever she needs by herself.

Want to hear something freaky? Ok, so yesterday in the staff bathroom, in my own private stall with just my feet showing, I flush. As I’m about to leave someone enters the stall next to me and almost immediately chimes, Hiiii. There are only two stalls and I know no one else is in the bathroom, leading me to believe mystery greeter was in fact greeting me. Once I realize this I am taken aback. Aside from needing paper or drunkenly looking for a friend, there is never a reason to talk to people while they are still in their stall. The stalls are private FOR A REASON. Even when we’re at the mirror you can make eye contact and speak to me and still I will not respond. That is how seriously I take bathroom silence. People should be able to do their business and leave without having to deal with awkward social encounters. So does this person just go around greeting everyone in the bathroom? Is it their thing? Do they know my shoes? But this is the first time I’ve worn these shoes. I don’t get it. I look at her shoes and I don’t recognize them. That’s fine because that’s not generally how I categorize people. But still, what is going on? I decide not to respond and speed through my normally complex handwashing process so as not to even deal with this person.

Fast forward two hours. I am in a meeting with Crazy Lesbian Lady. She thinks I am listening but I only respond when she raises her eyebrows or makes some other severe expression. This strategy seems to work well. Then I look at her shoes. And OH YES those are the shoes of the mystery geeter. Now there are different questions running through my head. It could still be that she is nuttier than I thought and goes around greeting people in the bathroom for no good reason. Or that she somehow recognized my shoes even though it was the first time I’d worn them to work and I’d only been there an hour when the incident took place. I don’t think she knew it was me. I think she is a crazy random bathroom greeter. Let’s add this to the list of reasons I hate her. There are plenty more, perhaps tomorrow I will elaborate.

Speaking of awkward social encounters TBU and I ran into someone who graduated from the same department as me. In fact, we were probably friends now that I think about it. We went to several of his parties (always the best) and as part of a large group went out to dinner every week. We went to Long’s to get TBU some relief from the sickness he’s been having. We ran into this guy right in front of the yeast infection/condoms/feminine care/baby diapers area. That in itself was a little strange. He had a girl with him, who I assumed was his friend. For some reason I didn’t introduce myself to her, I just kept thinking that I should. That’s an awesome strategy in easing social tension, don’t introduce yourself but obsess on the fact that you should. Friend guy is in the MFA program associated with the undergrad film program we both graduated from. So I asked him about the professors and what was up with everyone. When he mentioned the professor he had a super huge crush on our senior year I kept teasing him about how he wants to have sex with her. Only after we parted did I even think of the possibility that mystery girl was his girlfriend. She probably didn’t appreciate some random girl talking about some other woman her boyfriend wants to fornicate with. I am so lame sometimes.

The Millionizer wishes she could do better

[tags]Martin Scorsese, The Departed, movies, Mimi Smartypants, I hate my job, awkward social situatons[/tags]