Grave Dirt and Underwear

So we're learning about dirt. Yep, dirt. My students live in the "inner city," which means that the only dirt around them is what you find on the floors in their nasty homes. Well I wasn't about to spend a damn penny on buying dirt at the Home Depot, but I needed about five pounds for this lesson I was teaching.

So um, I stole dirt from a cemetary off of I-10. Woodlawn or Wood Forest or something. I mean, it's not my fault that the security guard didn't catch me as I peeled out of there and sprayed gravel in his face. And besides, the people are dead and don't need the dirt! Anyway, I'll let y'all know if any ghosts start trying to eat me in my sleep.

In other news, I pissed myself in the bathroom of that Half Priced Books on Westheimer and Waugh. I'd just come from dance class and was looking at the comic books when I decided to pee. So I got in that bathroom, pulled down the dance pants, and just let it out. Oh goodness...see, normally I don't wear anything under my dance pants, but for whatever reason, I had on some whitey tighties. I stood there, with those underwears hanging off me like a soiled baby diaper and you know I just looked a damn fool. I left that bathroom with my underwear hidden deep in the trashcan.

Burning down the church...again

It was the Baptism of our Lord Jesus Christ a few Sundays ago, and I was chosen to lead the procession as the thurifer. This meant I got to light the incense and swing the thurible around and make things smell pretty (a thurible, for all you non “high church” people, is a hollow metal ball, split in two and with a thing inside to hold charcoal and incense, all hanging from a metal chain which you hold). Now, this meant I was in charge of lighting the thing and keeping the charcoal burning throughout the Mass.

Now, if you know anything about me, you’ll know that church, fire, and Georges do not mix. On All Saints Day, years ago, the votive candles used during the “remember our dead” part of the service all melted into one and became a huge bowl of fire, onto which the priest poured water and spread the fire. Technically that one was not my fault, but my shoelace was partially singed. Sometime later, I filled the sacristy with butane by leaving the valve open on a torch, but it was cool. No one died or was exploded. But this day, the problem was that we had one brick of charcoal which had to burn for two hours. Yes it takes Jesus two hours to get baptized. Anyway, so I was like the loaves and fishes, or the water from wine, where I had to make a one hour charcoal brick burn twice as long. I tried breaking it in half but it was too hard, and Mass was starting soon. So I burnt it as usual, processed in with the incense, and took it outside to burn out. The plan normally is to light a new brick thirty minutes before Mass ends, but seeing as how there was no charcoal; I was a bit freaked out. So, when it was time to light the thurible, I came up with the idea to dump a box of matches into the thurible, light it, add the incense, and hope for the best.

I began the procession with my makeshift charcoal brick and no one was the wiser…until of course, the thing started shooting out flames. It was at this point that I remembered how metal conducts heat and the chain I was holding began imprinting its links on my sweating palm. Being a hardy soldier of Christ, I kept a smile on my face and swung the thurible all the more vigorously. If Jesus could be cool about the crucifixion, I could handle being on fire for the Lord. I made it out of the church and stood at the front door of the church, wondering how to hide the charred thurible until I could get it cleaned. Unfortunately, a photographer had been hired to help create a church book to document our parish goings-on, and this is why there is a picture in our parish book of a wayward acolyte shrouded in smoke and hiding in the bushes.

Too much technology

I just can't get my mind around all this stuff. Face Book, Twitter, and my blog. My mind is just about 'sploding.

Grocery store follies

All I wanted was a pizza crust, with which to make me a vegan pizza. Tragically, I could not find any, and so made a faux-za out of a long baguette. Anyway, but for real. WHERE does the grocery store stock pre-made pizza crusts?

This is like when I went into three, count 'em THREE Starbucks coffee places and not one of them had coffee. They're like "oh, we need to find the civet cat and sift through its shit to get some coffee beans for the making of your beverage. The MacDonalds across the street wasn't so pretentious...with their stale, syrupy coffee flavored beverage which, if nothing else, was ready to be poured.

Good Golly.
So the school is in an uproar. Seems that the payroll folks experienced major mental flatulence and forgot to pay us. It appears that sending out United Way pledge drive emails short circuited their short term memory cells and now we're getting paid seven days late. Way to go guys!

Quack.

There's this truck driver that I like.

Worst. Mother. Ever.

I am very behind in reading the newspaper (about ten days behind), so I just read today an article about the two boys who died in a house fire. They were living with their mother, who was already under investigation from CPS for failing multiple drug tests, neglecting her children, and for allowing a boyfriend to sexually abuse one of the children. The house that burned was, according to the Houston Chronicle “well-known” to the Houston Police Department. “This year alone, there have been nine calls to HPD for everything from domestic disturbance to guns being fired to assault.” This being the tenth month, that averages to about one call per month. Oh, and did I include that all characters in this drama, including Prashawna White (the mother), Pamela Bell (the grandmother), Bell’s boyfriend, and White’s multiple boyfriends, are convicted drug dealers?

What can be said about Child Protective Services? One could argue that this is one of those cases where everything that can go wrong actually does go wrong and results in a tragedy. Every mistake was 100% avoidable, but someone along the way dropped the proverbial ball and never recovered from the fumble. Really, though, it’s a case of people not following through on their duties as public servants. The CPS case workers cannot play the “overworked” card because the history of neglect and abuse coupled with the mother’s history of drug abuse, plus the fact of the children’s home being a known crack house should have tipped off even the most overworked and underpaid caseworker that something was amiss in the White home.

Incidentally, this 2009 winner of Worst Mother of the Year Award was working at a day care center at the time of the fire. Did I mention she was under CPS investigation for neglecting her children and that she was a drug addict? According to the newspaper, Keywood Kiddie Corner is “reviewing its hiring practices as a result of the fire.” I sure hope so!

On a side note, the children were named Bri'Vion, Javunte, and Briaiona. Excuse me now while I go throw up.