Updates & pictures: Now with 50% more pussy shots!

 Well kiddos, summer is (in theory anyways) in full swing here at Casa de VonPartypants.  I'm done with classes, I handed out caps & gowns for graduation, I may or may not have had a few cocktails prior to said graduation, and I am officially available for parties and Bar Mitzvahs, assuming you are entertained by me singing along to Slim Whitman songs while dressed as Lady Gaga.  

A bit of the miscellany that has been keeping the squirrels in my brain busy, at least when they're not otherwise occupied humping each other and stashing peanuts in my houseplants:

None of my 4 cats or singular dog ever, ever, EVER snuggle with one another.  Not when sleeping, not when...well, sleeping, because that's pretty much all they do, right?  The other day, I was on the couch with Bacon the chubby kitty when Bubs decided to get jealous.  Before you can say "single multicolored hairy male", he wedges himself between me and Bacon, sitting on Bacon in the process and alerting me to his borderline-psychotic need for all of the attention all of the time.

I ordered a tasty purse for myself as a "god you're old" b-day giftie.  This purse is gorgeous, luxurious enough that I may have sexually assaulted it, and it is HUGE.  The box it came in looked more appropriate for two king-size comforters than a sexysexy handbag.

But I guess it's just the right size to be a "no boys allowed" clubhouse for Millie, the crazypants, talks-to-herself and sees things that aren't there kitty.

(Go away! I vant to be alone!)

 

Trouble likes to pretend that he's Superman when he's sleeping.

I tried to quickly pose by a fountain in Rice Park following my tipsy visit to the graduation ceremony, and I can see that my lack of self-portraiture lately is evident in the obvious deterioration of my portraiture skills.  I'm wearing a kickass dress & boots here, but I may as well have been wearing a dress made entirely of used kleenexes, given my ability to "capture the moment."

The big-ass gardening project that has ruined my back and forced me to get a lot more comfortable with manure than I normally care to (other than that one time I did it in a field on a cowpie with that farmhand. That was magical.)

So there you go- my week in photos.  Purses, pussies, and poop. 

That's Ms. Chef Kickass to you, thank you very much

I am too stupid to figure out Facebook, it seems. I just now came across this message from a former student that he left in November.  He was part of the group that had two classmates die in a three week period, as well as one of the female students having had her brother die two weeks prior to that mess.  I have always worried that so much...shitty stuff in such a short time frame would have tainted their learning experience, but finding this note today answered that question, I guess:

 Happy Day to You.

I wanted to take this opportunity to say I'm grateful for being your student.

I think this comes directly from your teaching style: both personal & direct. I think you communicate very clearly about what you need & expect, but combine that with personal relationship. Yes, losing Brian, John & Joe all at once created the need for a more personal relationship. Still, a lot of instructors create a specific distance between themselves & their students. You have your boundaries, of course, but you don't close yourself to your students. I think that resonates with people because they can see that you are putting yourself out there, stretching outside of a safe zone, and therefore students are willing to stretch outside of a safe zone to perform for you.

I often think of critiques you offered, something about multi-masking or tasking or something? Anyways, I never quite got it :)

I also stepped into a mess with you at one point. By questioning your authority, I got wacked back and gained a clear example of how you command your kitchen by intuition & traditional structure.

Why I bring all this up is that I am finding that I thrive in a work environment that you have created in your kitchen. I had a great time working under your direction.

I was inspired to write this because of articles on the radio about a Smithsonian Story Project focusing on teachers and their students appreciation.

You matter to me and a lot of other cooks who have walked through your kitchen. Know that you're doing it right.
 
And that, right there folks, is why I love my job.

Like quicksand squishing in my toes, so are the days of my life.

I probably should have mentioned at some point how I've been off from work since June 30th.  I meant to tell you, but I was so busy...doing stuff that I kind of forgot.

Well, that's not exactly true.

I was doing stuff, but saying I was "busy" is pretty much a bold-faced lie, and I will forever swim in the shame river created from the spittle of the thousands of mouths yelling at me for being a big fat liar.

No, my summer has been blissfully boring.  The kind of boring that would make someone with things like "ambition" and "goals" and "drive" the special kind of crazy normally reserved for celebrities with paint huffing issues/schizophrenia.  Sure, I gardened a bit, I constructed houses out of discarded boxes for the cats, I organized my underpants, and I found shaded patios around town where a pale, publicity-shy gal like myself could get eleventy cocktails with a friend or two and accidentally fall into the bushes without nary a flash from the paparazzi or an inappropriately-located sunburn.  

One would think that, given the vast amount of time that I had, that I would have been on the ball enough to do maybe one teeny, tiny bit of work in preparation for my triumphant return to work.  This coming Monday. 
If you had thought that, I would be bitch-slapping you repeatedly right now for your astounding level of idiotness, you idiot.  You should know me better than that by now, stupid.

No, instead of "getting a jump on things" like most marginally mature adults on the planet, the most impressive work-related thing that I've accomplished in my 50 days off (so far) was to get the most wicked-awesome score on electronic Yahtzee EVER.  512, bitches!  Five hundred-freaking twelve!! (Yes, I consider this work-related as numbers are involved, and everyone knows that numbers = work)

Yeah...you'd probably be correct in assuming that, as I get older, my brain is slowly turning into a tapioca-like mass of gray goo.  Yup.  In a few years you will probably be able to suck it out through a straw stuck up my nostril.

So now, as the final days of my Enchanted summer of nothing (patent pending) come to an end, of course NOW would be the time to be forced to sit through two days (13+ hours) of meetings under the guise of "In-service", thereby rendering my remaining few chances of being prepared impotent. 
I fucking hate In-service.
Yesterday we were forced to sit through 4 hours of lectures, 3 powerpoint presentations, a goddamn MOTIVATIONAL SPEAKER that I will need to devote a separate post to, such was the...wow.  Just wow, one divisional meeting, and too many technological snafus to count.  Today was worse, and that's all I can say about it until the PTSD subsides and the shitty coffee has left my veins.

So...I guess that the basic point of this rather incoherent post is that I, like many a dipshit, have yet again procrastinated to the point that I am, indeed, quite fucked.

And, no.  I don't believe that I will ever learn from my mistakes.  We all know by now that learning stuff is for losers.

Now I'm going to go and git my cocktail on and write an outline for next week once I'm good and drunk.  Lord knows that has worked for me every other semester.

Have a moderately productive weekend (but don't strain yourself sweetie), my totally screwed little worker bees.  Happy weekend!

(Oh, and?  I guess I'm on the Twitter/Twatter now.  Look for @Whiskeymarie  All the kids are doing it, you know.)

(And I just realized that I've spewed out over 600 posts at this point.  Holy shitballs, you people put up with a lot.  Freaking saints, you are.  -Yoda OUT.)