I told you so

S-A-T-U-R-D-A-Y Night!

It’s a madhouse here at the moment. We’re busy removing everything from the second floor studio area that we don’t want covered with drywall dust and spackle in the next week or so. Tomorrow we’ll be putting down some protective covering so all of the dust doesn’t get embedded in between the wooden floor planking. Then all we have to do is wait for Scott the Drywall Guy to get here and do his thing.

This is such a mess; I’ll be so happy when it’s all over. I’ve got Agent J to agree that after this house there will be no more fixer-uppers in our future. Yes, an 80-year-old house has certain charms, but remodeling and maintenance isn’t one of them. Blech.

The value of our house has tripled since we bought it, but I would have rather spent my 30’s doing other things besides home improvement. I refuse to spend my 40’s sweeping up sawdust and sneezing profusely.

Ok, mini-rant over now... ACHOOOOOooo…

Got your taxes done yet? I do. Nyah nyah nyah.

This is the first year that seeing the total tax amount paid in didn’t piss me off. I just reminded myself that part of that money has gone into constructing the bomb that will eventually blow Saddam Hussein’s sandy ass-crack to smithereens. Money well spent, in my opinion. Need more to kill those snarling jackals that he calls his sons? Here, just let me get my Jasminlive checkbook…

Remember I told you that I bought some human hair to work with in my assemblages? It arrived today. It’s red, very wavy and about 14 inches long. The woman I purchased it from said that if I wet it down and allow it to dry naturally, it will form perfect loose spirals. Good heavens, that might send me over the edge -- it is gorgeous now! If my hair grew like that, I'd be so smitten with myself I'd never leave the damn house.

This is sick. I am in lust with another woman’s dead hunk of hair. I can’t keep my hands out of it. I’ve brushed it a hundred times already. Agent J just sits there horrified by the whole scene.

The Reformation of Mr. Smartass

Yesterday was D-Day concerning the midterm grades and writing assignment bullshit in one of my classes. (You know the saga by now.)

Here’s how it went.

I asked the four known cheaters to remain after class, then told them to take a seat in the front row. I told them that their four papers are practically identical in content – even down to the wording used – and that *that* kind of shit wasn’t going to fly with me. I told them that they were all getting an F on their papers and that their midterm grades were all knocked down to a D.

And that the “D” stands for “damn lucky I’m not kicking your asses out and going to the administration with the story.”

The three football players sat there with DUH expressions – Mr. Smartass, however, was fuming.

I asked if anyone wanted to say anything or tell me his side of the story.

Dead silence for several minutes.

At that point Mr. Smartass glared at the others, then got up and stomped out of the room, slamming the door behind himself.

Suddenly the football players found their collective voice.

“Yeah, we worked together on the paper, but we didn’t realize this would be considered cheating...we’re sorry, it won’t happen again…*innocent blinking*”

I wanted to bitch slap them like the Three Stooges.

Instead, I explained to them that OF COURSE it was cheating, they’ll have to work twice as hard to get a decent grade now and that each of them will be getting unique assignments from this point on because I cannot trust them not to cheat.

They all just blinked at me like stunned cattle.

I dismissed them before they dared to utter anything stupid.

I left the classroom and went upstairs to my office, where I was checking the https://www.jasminelive.online/ page before the phone rang. It was Mr. Smartass’s academic advisor and she wanted to talk about what was going on. She’s just a few doors down, so I invited her to come speak with me in person, which she did.

I am so happy she did, too. She said that he was in her office right now, practically getting physically sick over all of this, and that he just had a major blow up down the hall with the three other guys involved. Apparently he yelled at them, saying that they were never his friends; that they used him and he never wanted to talk to them again. She then totally vouched for Mr. Smartass, saying that she has been his advisor for 3 years and knows he isn’t the type of boy to lie or cheat. In fact, he is one of the best students she’s ever taught.

Mr. Smartass even told her that he realized I did what I had to do – that he made a mistake in trying to help one person who shouldn’t have been trusted, and ended up get screwed over by a couple more.

She said his biggest concern now was that he wouldn’t have any credibility with me any longer.

To be honest, the kid has been pissing me off all semester, and this event was just the cherry on top. But in my heart of hearts, I was really hoping he wasn't the lying little weasel he was appearing to be at the moment. Sarcastic, mouthy, stubborn -- yes, he's definitely all of that. I can deal with that. Just don't lie to me, you know?

So, I told her to send him in to see me.

The kid was shaking like a leaf. I asked him to tell me exactly what went on with the assignment and he did. I asked him if he realized that part of the reason I was coming down so hard on him was so that I could get to the bottom of things and really nail the other three students. (Which was true. The other 3 are Dumb, Dumber and Dumbest – I knew the paper couldn’t have possibly originated from one of them.) Yes, he said he understood that.

He apologized sincerely and said that he learned a huge lesson and that he’d never be involved with anything like this again. He said that he wouldn’t contest the grades because he feels he got what he deserved, but hoped that by talking things through I would at least try to trust him again.

I told him that because the other professor showed so much faith in him and assured me of his decency, I would certainly give him another chance. That went a long way with me. I explained to him that he was still getting an F on the assignment, but I would restore his midterm grade to a B.

I’ve never seen a kid look so relieved. For a second or two I actually felt bad that he was so tortured over this. (Just for a second, though.) :P~

Then we laughed a bit about being naïve and learning lessons the hard way. I told him that that’s how I’ve learned some of the most important lessons in my life. I also told him about how we are both outspoken, stubborn, cynical smartasses at times who want to do things our own way, and that was probably the reason we’ve locked horns before in the past. He got a good laugh out of that, and it seemed to ease his mind that I understood his temperment.

After that, we exchanged genuine smiles, shook hands warmly, and I told him I’d see him in class next time. With that, he left.

I swear, only half of this job is about teaching art history to . The rest of the time it is about a different kind of education.

Sometimes I just wish I had a good teacher's manual for it.

Hooray for Friday!

Oy, what a week it has been. I’m tired and very glad it is Friday.

There’s been a lot going on at school lately, and I have recently taken on even more work. It’s one of those situations where I have a chance to show my colleagues and the administration just how damn good I really am, and I don’t want to mess it up. So of course, I am p r e s s u r i n g myself to do a stellar job on the https://www.chaturbaterooms.com/ assignment.

The extra work involves proposing new courses and writing curriculum. Left brain work. Agggggh. I can do it, though – I know I can. I just have to make the right side of my brain shut up for awhile. Heh.

Wish me luck; I’ll let you know how it turns out.

In other school news, I drew the line in the sand with Mr. Absentee Student and his academic advisor witnessed it. He has to do every assignment, turn in a perfect term paper on time, attend every class, and participate in all class discussions for the rest of the semester if he even hopes to get any credit for the course. I told him that “any credit” could even mean a D, and I better not hear any bitching about it. He was more than willing to accept that offer, so I think he must really feel as if this is his last chance. (As it turns out, this slack-ass behavior is a pattern for him and other professors flunked him for it last semester. Imagine that.)

We’ll see how it goes. One breach of the agreement and it’s over, though. I won’t even think twice about it.

Bumbling Bill, of The Sucky Neighbor Clan, talked to me today as I was on my way to the garage. He said that Marsha and her brood of Brats are supposedly moving out sometime soon. He also said that he is planning to build a double garage in back of his house, next to ours.

I’m not holding my breath here, but it’s nice to dream about the possibility of all of that being true. If mega-mouth Marsha leaves, that means no more loud parties, no all night drug runs every weekend, no listening to her bitch at the top of her drunken lungs about how unfair the world is to her. No “suitors” constantly sniffing around either. (Suitors = football teams and low class thugs…)

If she takes her with her, that means no more screaming, hair-pulling fights underneath our bedroom window at 7 am on a summer morning, no more skateboarding for hours on our sidewalks, no cutting through our yard on a constant basis, no soccer ball hitting the side of the house every 5 minutes, and … we could plant some flowers and not have them all decapitated the same day they bloom! Not to mention, no more bags of dirty diapers rotting on their patio in the summer heat, 15 feet away from our open windows.

If they actually build a garage, there will no longer be headlights blasting into our bedroom window at all hours of the night, year round. No more security lights switching on whenever a stray cat walks through their carport either. No listening to idling trucks and mini-vans; no ultra-bass car stereos bomp-bomp-bomping at ear splitting levels.

This almost feels like it’s too much to hope for. If all of this stuff happens, Agent J and I would be thrilled! It would make living next door to these people tolerable. Maybe even pleasant. It would feel like we had our home back again, and that would be grand. We could stay here long enough to enjoy the remodeling we have been doing all this time.

I hope, I hope, I hope.

Hey there!

You came back! I thought my last entry may have scared off anyone who reads The Musings on a regular basis. :) Hehe.

Today was extremely busy. I’ve been painting and collaging, working on stuff for school and doing a bit of re-arranging in the studio. I’ll be glad to go back to campus tomorrow so I can get some rest.

The painting is going well, though I am hesitant to get too crazy with the brushes and knives right now. I’m scared that I will flip a blob of oil paint onto the pretty pink walls in here and mess them up. Another inhibition – just what I need. Blah. I feel like a moo-cow in a china shop.

Another concern: Randy has absolutely no regard for anything on my work table. He jumped up there today within inches of a soaking wet canvas and a palette with about ½ pound of oil paint on it. I was on the other side of the room when he did this and I about shit! All I could do was quietly coax him off the table with a treat before he took another step. Gawd.

I know there are going to be some nice paintings going face down on the floor as long as Randy is around. I just have to accept that.

Our good friend, Betty, sent this via email over the weekend and it’s hilarious! Thanks for keeping the Battle of the Sexes going full tilt in our house, Betty. I needed some more ammo. Hahahaha.. :)~