Would You Like a Cup of Tea?

For her final art project K.B. took vaguely pornographic photographs of her roomate and a sparly dildo and then had him (the roomate) write disturbing fan letters on cartoon deer stationary. The one that thrilled me the most had this as its text, accompanied by pictures of the roomate performing fellatio on the dildo, wrapped in a American flag.
"Dear Mel Gibson,
I enjoyed the Passion of the Christ. Immensely."

I went joyfully apeshit over the period placed after "christ" and K.B. was thrilled that I noticed.

This was at cheerleading practice. We did very little actual cheering and instead spent two hours admiring the ironic tchotkes that filled K.B.'s house.

Today I learned that while most people give their pets Christmas gifts, it is abnormal to receive gifts from ones pets. It is extra abnormal to receive, in addition to gifts from ones cats, a pair of pink rubber boots from ones "Barnyard Friends". Also, one will be greeted with howls of laughter upon confessing that one used to receive christmas gives from ones hamster.
*sigh* I feel how our compound's child is going to feel in ten years when he discovered that most kids did not play "Imperialist Agressors and Tribal Warriors".

Le Car is still holding on and has morphed in the final stages of its illness into "The Consequences Car". B. and I are supposedly paid to enforce 'consequences' on our client so that she learns that malicious urination is not the appropriate way to act out ones feelings and that banging one's head against the bathtub does not mean one does not have to go to school. Our client is retarded; consequences are a complicated concept for her.
Rather than allow the client to miss school this morning B. drove her in The Consequences Car, which has no heat and has to be constantly checked for coolant and oil. It is out hope that this vaguely sadistic behavior on our part will check our client's totally sadistic behavior. We aren't getting our hopes up.
In other work related news, I am pretty much universally known as the crazy cat lady these days. The client's younger brother brought me their skittish and neurotic cat, Butterball, yesterday, saying, "Mom says to give you the cat to hold for a while because you're good with cats."
The housemates squealed with laughter hearing this. Assholes. The cats and I detest them.

My poor car is terminally ill with a busted head gasket. I picking it up at the mechanic so that it can die at home surrounded by its loved ones, and so I can drive it to and from work untill the weather gets a bit warmer or I get money for a functiong car. I suppose I shouldn't be too sad; it is an '87 k-car so it's not like it's being struck down in the bloom of youth. It was also prone to doing things like having blowouts on the pennsylvania turnpike and having random, non-essential parts just fall off. The mirrors are held on with bungie cords.
On the other hand, in the car's salad days it transported six people and all their stuff to miami and back. It's been to more states than most people. Goodbye car, you've had a full life.

My newest job is doing individualized tutoring for a pimp-like referrel service based out of New York. They refer me to parents and in turn take half the money. See, notice how I'm not enough of a life-long learner to see what a scam this is. And I'm the one who's teaching your kids math? Jeebus.
Anyway, I've been having to read up on how to teach kids reading comphrension. One book suggests that I pause in the middle of a story to chirp idioticly about the pictures in my head and how the story relates to my life. My original client B., would know exactly what to do if I tried that kind of nonsense on her: she'd bite me.

Last night the Girl from Fargo and I went to the local black power bookstore to look into doing a Books to Prisons program with the prison advocacy group that meets there on mondays. I let the Girl from Fargo do most of the talking as she is more exuberant than I am and her Prairie Home Companian accent amuses people into listening to her more intently. Everyone seemed pretty receptive and we left with lots of notes and promises of research help.
Then I went to the Girl from Fargo's house to get high and play her accordian. She demonstrationg the mathmatical complexity of the accordian and gave me a brief tutorial in musical theory. One needs, I discovered: a much longer tutorial in musical theory; longer arms than I have; and an excellent sense of meter to play a genuine accordian, but I was pleased nonetheless. In exchange, I gave the Girl from Fargo a brief tutorial in the wonder and beauty of the semi-colon. I also am considering asking her Jordan Catalano-esque housemate to trade banjo lessons for knitting lessons.
See, I'm a life-long learner.

And update on the heating situation: We finally got the boiler well and truly fixed just as the clock was running out on the How tough are you? heating challenge. I came home from work on thursday and sat down at the kitchen table. At first I noticed nothing differnt about the house; untill I breathed out forcefully and could not see my own breath in the air. That's when P. came downstairs singing and dancing and shouting "59 degrees! It's 59 degrees!"
It's the little things....

K. made me stop for a racoon on our way back from Up North. Of course, we were on teh freeway so I had to stop about 50 ft down from where the racoon he wanted so desperatly was. My only hope as we walked that distance, K. skipping with the plastic bags he had brought along just for this purpose, was that no good samaritan stopped to ask why my hazard light were on. The raccon was still stiff, and trust me internet this story is way better if I could tell you in person because I really like doing impressions of the dead raccoon, you know with my hands in the air and my tongue hanging. Anyway, I learned from cop shows that that meant it was pretty fresh and shared this knowledge with K. He was pleased.Sadly, the raccoon was about 50 pounds, just a bit two big to fit in two plastic bags so the whole packaging of the carcass was difficult and taught K. a lesson about the size of the plastic bag to bring with him next time.
This would be the second sunday in a row that one could find K. in his butchering uniform processing a dead animal in the theater. I really have to hand it to him that so far K. has dealt with his roadkill in an impressively timely manner. But it does mean that including the Cap'n deer and deerhide there are now three dead animals in varying stages of processing in the theater. It lead B. to suggest politely that the carcasses be removed in time for the benefit show on friday. She was laughing hysterically at the time, overwhelmed by the feeling of, of my god I had to say that. I get that feeling too sometimes...okay alot of the time.
The pelt is beautiful though. It's about two feet long by a foot wide, very soft and furry and completly intact except for a whole in the center where the car hit it.

1. The Community Access computer lab at Wayne State really is full of homeless people eating chips and looking at porn.

2. According to J.R. "The best thing about evicting a Womyn's Collective is find the 'Best Lesbian Erotica' that they left behind.