Bitchfest

Ok,I don't like to bitch. I'm sorry, this has been the day to end the week of all weeks. I must tell someone or something, or I may begin to randomly slap strangers, perhaps even coddling a stuff animal late into the night while screaming "Moma needs her twinkie" or something equally Freudian.

Dr. Livid and the Behaviorists
My prof really sucks. Exaerbating matters is the fact that we're covering some awesome material. Vygotsky is way cool (We Luv Lev), and so is Kholberg and Gardener. Freud is a fucked up trip, but when I went and visited a special ed class Thursday, He was jumping all over that room. I'm even convinced my puppy is in the midst of her Oral stage. But, as mentioned earlier, my prof is living proof of tangible evil. Today, she was so mad at my classmate over a wrong answer; her face blanched with anger, and she left the room "for a breather." Isn't this why college's have evaluation sheets? Perhaps someone should have "weeded" her out. I think I have a stress zit growing on my forehead, as does most of my class. For preparation of the big paper, I have decided to practice a "quasi-APA" styling to my entry (Jeff, 2005).

Dear old Grams
On Monday I found out my Grandmother died (Dad, 2005). I'm not so much mourning her (we knew it was coming, I hardly knew her) but I still I feel sad and oddly disturbed. For the greater part of her life, or as long as anyone can recall, she's been bi polar. For a long time everyone thought she was just crazy, and chased small children with butcher knifes (Maxine, 1950), was the second person to OD on prescription drugs Leyden, CO (Opa, 1941), and "shouted" the hymns at a local prybyterian church in which she was requested to not return(Opa, 1965). Oddly enough, her psychotic behavior did fit in well with the foursquare Charismatic Church (Maxine, 1968). No one diagnosed her illness out until about 15 years ago she was about to be evicted from the nursing home for sheer nastiness (Aunt Andrea, 1994). My aunt then took her to a therapist to ask why she had bitten the nurses (Terrified Anonymous Nurse, 1994). It was then she was diagnosed. It's sad how some peole have to be medicated to love them. For great stories of other grandma's, not my own, check out Shannon's Blog:http://www.livejournal.com/users/gramzilla/

Disfunction Junction or How the fuck could I have loved this Hell hound?
Nothing makes me more melancholy then a nice trip down memory Colfax. Today my old bf Tim called "just to say hi, and to see if we could catch up where we left off." He tried to entice me to a weekend in his condo in Vail with such activities such as splunking and scrambling. What Tim ostensibly forgot was where we left off. Fisrt off, I'm claustrophobic. Too much time in my car in rush hour makes me get too jumpy. Crawling, slithering down a wet and dark cave is not something I do of my own volition. And Tim should know, he was the one who took my one and only time, ignoring my panic attack when we were momentarily lost.
We didn't really have a relationship. First off, he was a "Christian", and "this was just a stage I'm going through," yeah right. He considered me his "college experiment" and plan to "give it all up to Jesus in the end" Knowing everything will be all hunky-dory in the end justifies a lot of behavior. Our two years or so together would best be descibed as "emotional chess, " and I always felling horrible for everything. Anyhow, he now tells me he accepted who he is, and wants to work on what went wrong. He has also worked on his anger management issues and is ready "for new challenges." He asked me what I think was wrong in the relationship. I said "our reciprocity, I always fel . . . (immedaitly jumping in) "You and your big words jeff, jesus, why the fuck do you always have to talk like a dictionary?" This from the man who asked me to define "audacity." Tim was very proud of his small vocabulary, he boasted that he never read. For a minute during this conversation I dropped the phone to my hip and pictured Jeff&Tim Part 2. I saw crying and frustration, head games, bruises, and an exasperated Jeff. I told him what I should have told him the day I met him " Fuck no," and "don't fucking call me." I'm amazed by my self. Two years ago if I had that call, tears of joy would swell over me as I danced in the street. He had been my first (and for a long time I thought my only) love. Love is blind, death, and most importantly, stupid. Today, I amazed by his chutzpah.

Thanks Kitty for re-installing my links. Also, to reiterate a call from a few days ago, If anyone is a good proofreader, or even know of one, please get a hold of me. If you have read this far in Bitchfest, I'm really sorry.
I need some motivation. Anyone have something to look forward too next weekend ?