We have two alarm systems at school--one for the high school and one for the middle school. I hate the middle school alarm--it takes FOREVER--and I don't know the code, so I have to use my cheat sheet. I got to work today and turned off the high school alarm as usual and went to my room to get my m.s. code. Well, that was a doomed attempt. As soon as I walked in to my room, I was assaulted by the piles upon piles of stuff that had to be dealt with--Halloween stuff everywhere, craft stuff out from mask projects in elementary school classes...just overwhelming. Soooo, I forgot to get the code and turn off the alarm.

Unless someone goes into the m.s., this isn't an issue, but naturally this was the day that I decided to go unpack a box of novels that I've had about a month just sitting in the floor. And they go in the book room in the m.s., so off I go to unpack. Never even thought about the silent alarm alerting sonitrol, who in turn notified the sheriff's departmet, who in turn notified the principal. My first sign that something was amiss was Mrs. Cook peering into my classroom and asking Jay if he'd been out in the middle school. As soon as she said it, I knew what I'd done. Talk about embarrassing. Then I had to explain to the deputy that I'm an idiot.

So, this week, I will be memorizing the middle school alarm code to avoid further incident. In all my spare time, of course.

Labels: dumb shit I do, work stuff

I've said many times before that my life is like a poorly written sitcom in many ways. I'm like the quirky protagonist who gets into scrapes either by sheer stupidity, lack of responsible thinking skills, unfortunate human circumstance or complete physical incompetence. It's just what I do. Because of this, my trips out in public can fraught with mishaps, accidents and/or hilarity. Trips to Wal Mart are prime settings for stupid and yesterday was no exception.

First of all, I should tell you that I talk to myself. A lot. Out loud. As I get older, I do it more and more. I probably look like Sybil's daughter as I walk up and down the aisles (without a list 9 times out of 10) and try to get things from stores like Wal Mart or Kroger. Inevitably when I get to the back far corner of Super Wal mart, it dawns on me that I need something from the health and beauty section...and that's what happened yesterday. We've had a total Wal Mart redo, so backtracking is even more time-consuming than it should be since I only hit the evil empire every six weeks or so (they remodeled the entire non-food merchandise side in between my visits in the spring--talk about feeling like Alice in the rabbit hole. I walked in and saw a plywood pharmacy in the entrance way and was like wtf??).

Anyway, I was loading four packs of Sugar Free Red Bull (damn, that stuff is expensive, btw, but will be in my fridge for the near future anyway. sorry, true!) when it dawned on me that I had to go get some deodorant because I'd forgotten it the previous two trips. So, talking to myself the whole way, I made my diagonal path to the other side of the stupid enormous Wal Mart and found the proper aisle. W. isn't brand-loyal on deodorant--just low price loyal. This week it was Speed Stick's million varieties on sale. I never can remember what smell to buy because men's deodorant names are just ridiculous. Athletic, sports scent, thunderstorm, clean fresh, power surge, waterfalls...they don't make any sense, really. At least for me. All I know is I never buy unscented because deodorant, IMO, is one of the things that SHOULD be scented artificially because the natural smell is just unfortunate. Faced with the dizzying array of choices, I decided I needed to smell them to make a choice.

I picked up the first choice and smelled. Nothing. Speedstick's package is a weird flat oval shape with a very tight lid that controls the scent Under the lid is this annoying piece of plastic,molded to the top of the stick. It has a very user-unfriendly 'handle' that you have to pull or twist or pry off. WHY can't they just have a sticker like the best girl deodorant in the world, Secret Clinical?

I tug on the little tab/lid to release some scent. No luck. Tug again. Nope. Try to twist. No budge. Pick up another one, repeat. No smelling. In a fit of exasperation, I do a combo pull/twist at about the same time I lean in a bit...and yes, the tab came loose. So loose, in fact, that my hand snapped up uncontrollably and the tab handle thing smacked right into my lip while the opening of the deodorant mashed into my chin. I'm pretty sure I said, "SHIT!" out loud, in Wal Mart, on Christmas Eve, but when one draws blood with a personal hygiene product, it is acceptable, IMO. Needless to say, I got a good whiff of the scent since it was gummed on my chin. At that point, I decided that since it didn't smell of death or bubble gum, that was the chosen one. I gathered what was left of my dignity, rubbed the smear of Speed Stick off my face, ducked my head to hide my slightly split lip and got the hell out of Dodge.

Merry Christmas!

Labels: dumb shit I do, embarrassing events, holidays, my life

Then read about MY day yesterday--Thursday, June 4, which is evidently the day of Satan.
After staying up waaaay too late, I got up at 4 to get sarah and the girls off to Calgary. She stayed here with me because it's closer to the airport (I'm in Hixon at my parents' house). I went out to check my van because we were afraid that a light had been left on last night--it had not, but I left the keys in it like a dumbass. turned to the kill-the-battery-position and then left them there for close to an hour.

We get outside with the girls to leave and my fucking van wouldn't start. Igo tearing around the house and get dad's Jeep keys, start the jeep--thinking that surely he has jumper cables or we can drive it if we have to. I can't get the back doors unlocked for some reason, so i get out--with it running--and shut the door. as SOON as I shut it, I realised that I had locked it. so now the Jeep is running with the keys locked in it AND the van won't start. Sarah is starting to panic and the girls are getting freaked.

I had to call Daddy and wake him up---3.55 a.m. mountain time. He told me where to find more jeep keys AND that he doesn't have jumper cables here, so I can't jump it off. there are no backseats in the Jeep and it is loaded with tools and stuff. Well, if you know my parents, then you know that means there is only one vehicle left to choose from (techincally, there are three, but the VW Thing isn't running and there's no way in hell I'd drive the 64 1/2 Mustang....that leaves the 15 passenger white Dodge van affectionately known 'round these parts as Big Ugly. It's a leftover from my parents' antique show hauling days and they still use it for camping. I have never driven it before--for good reason.

Sarah and I unloaded her four lead-filled suitcases, along with the biggest jogging stroller on the planet, all the kids' stuff and piled into Big Ugly, which I then proceeded to drive to the airport. My parents' driveway isn't long, but it's got a weird curve, so I always turn around and drive out 'normal' in my own car. Given my luck of the day, I wasn't about to chance turning around--I'm sure I would have hit my van, the house or backed off the edge of the driveway, so with Sarah hanging out one door and me the other, I successfully made it out fhe drive in reverse.Yay for me! Once we got out of the driveway, it was a piece of cake, but my nerves were shot. Got to the airport in plenty of time.

I returned home. Tried my van...it started. I was like, WTF?, but glad that I wouldn't have to bother anyone. Oh, silly Kim, if you'd only known.

I went back in and cleaned up, washed the sheets that we'd used, showered, dressed, packed, etc. Around 10.45 or so I went out and tried the car again--it started. Then, like a complete Simpleton, I turned off the van, plugged my cell phone into the car charger and left the motherfucking side door open. Didn't even cross my feeble mind that I should have left it running.

You can guess what happened next---the damn thing was deader than hell when I went back out. I gave it an hour. Still nothing, so I had to call Aunt Barbara to come jump me off. Bless her heart, she came right over and we managed to get it running. Whew. Off to home.

Or not.

After driving all around southeastern Tennessee, the Check Transmission message started blinking at me and my overdrive light began to flash as I drove down Amnicola Highway. Even a mechanical ignoramous such as myself knew that this was bad. I found a place to pull over, called W. in a panic. He said to check the trans. fluid and add some. (Sidenote--my van had been driving oddly all weekend, but I didn't really put it all together at the time). I made it to a Conoco, which didn't carry the fluid, but I checked my level there and I was almost totally out. Yikes.

Drove a little bit further, praying all the way that the transmission wouldn't just lock up on me. Made it to a Chevron. Bless the lovely man who worked there. He called me "Sunshine" and helped me put the fluid in, check everything. I felt confident that the worst was behind me.

I? am notorious for being inept at judging the future and this? was another example.

I start driving down Amnicola again and get to almost the same exact spot and the frigging transmission light comes on. Fuck me. I managed to pull over and drive up a block or so to an empty parking lot...this involved going up a hill and I wasn't entirely sure I was even going to make it, but I did. I got out and checked. Damn fluid was empty. I looked under the van for the obvious and yes, there where even I, Kim the Automotive Moron, could see it was transmission fluid flowing freely out and making an impressive puddle on the pavement. The black asphalt pavement. The black asphalt pavement that was super heated because it was about 95 degrees outside and there wasn't a lick of shade.

More panicked calls. Clearly I wasn't going anywhere in the van. I'm smart like that. After much, much cursing and such, I had to call Aunt Barbara yet again to come get me. As I waited for her, I got hotter and hotter. I swear I have never sweated so much in my whole entire life. I had sweat rolling down the backs of my legs. Nasty.

To make this incredibly long story a little shorter, I will spare you the details about trying to figure out where to take my car. I knew that the Ford dealership was my last resort because those folks are slow as Christmas and dumber than shit. After calling like a million people that live in and around Chatanooga, friend from high school, David Poe, found me a place to take it, but they didn't advertise transmission work. I was going to call them and see what they suggested, but then my dad remembered that the name of the place where he had the Mustang worked on is called Mr. Transmission. Needless to say, my search for a mechanic was over.

So here I sit in my parents' house with pretty much nothing to do. Car was towed today to Soddy Daisy and will hopefully be repaired cheaply and quickly. I'm just going to stay here until the weekend when the kids get back from their trip out West with Mom and Dad. And I'll probably be driving the Jeep home, which makes my back and knee hurt just thinking about it--stick shift, no frills, three hour trip. Ugh.

I have been to Walgreens and bought mascara and lipstick because they were on sale. Had a prescription for Tramadol transferred here so I won't be forced to go seek out drug dealers w/ Percocet or Demerol downtown. I'm going to ice and heat my back and just listen to the silence for a couple of days. And try not to go bonkers in the process.

So unless you ate accidentally live slug for breakfast or you peed yourself in public yesterday, consider your day much better than mine.

Labels: dumb shit I do, my life, pictures, ramble, rant, travel

Sweet Jesus, if I make it through this year alive it will be a miracle.

I ran in my really high heels today...we were playing Duck, Duck, Goose (don't ask...Tennessee requires physical movement of high schoolers) and I discovered that I can't corner very well in them. Despite all of the potential ways that I could have rendered myself cripple, THAT did not cause my injury.

Changing a light bulb did.

We were putting new bulbs* in some fixtures in the theater. This requires the climbing of a 25 foot ladder, thankyouverymuch. I have never gone more than 12 feet or so up it...I just get queasy when I'm on a ladder, but Isaac didn't know how to change these bulbs and I've never actually done it, either, so I figured that I might as well suck it up and just conquer my fears (as Sam would say) and headed up said ladder to help Isaac figure out how to change the bulb. We'd already done the 1000 watt fixtures. This was a mere 500. Smaller bulb, same mechanism.

The bulbs are halogen, so you can't touch them with your skin--have to have them wrapped in foam. I was about two feet below Isaac on the other side of the ladder making sure he didn't have trouble. As he was putting the bulb in, I said, "Make sure it's turned off." Someone went to the light board to check it, but before they had it off, he put the bulb in.

500 watts + foam=smoke.

He yelled, "Turn it off!" about the time the smoke started billowing out of the socket. He jerked his hand back because he'd been holding the foam, which melted. I was looking up the whole time and the hot, partially melted foam came straight down and landed on my face...the melty part concentrating itself on my eye. Thankfully, it was on the inner corner and up closer to my eyebrow. At first I thought it had burned my entire eyelid.

Picture this if you will: Me, standing on a 25 foot ladder--about 23 feet or so in the air. Wearing 4" wedge heels (yeah, this was a terrible idea and will never be repeated). With smoking hot foam in my face. I? Did not say a curse word. You can rest assured that I thought one, though.

I batted the stupid foam to the floor and Isaac and I both recovered on the ladder before trying to go down. He was insistant that he get the thing put back together before we stopped, so we got it. I held my eye closed the whole time. I told some girls to go get me a 'piece of ice'.

As I was climbing down the ladder, I saw Taylor burst through the door with a sack of ice you could have cooled a keg in. It was quite funny. I took a piece out and made Isaac use it for his thumb. Minor burn, no blister at the time. Hopefully he'll be well.

Foam smells to high heaven when it burns, ftr.

I have a reddish spot on my eye--not bad. It's still uncomfortable, but not painful really. I am just glad I cut my hair...my old bangs would probably have gone up in smoke.


*for theater-types, I know that the bulbs are really called lamps. It's just less confusing this way.

Labels: dumb shit I do, pain in general, teaching, work stuff