5-Year-Old AssHats.

I'm not sure I am entirely qualified to use to term 'asshat' but it seemed appropriate. Yes, I know, most people don't refer to 5-year-olds as asshats, but these particular 5-year-olds truly were.

I volunteered this week to help out with my 5-year-old daughter's field trip to giant sporting goods store (and no, my 5-year-old isn't included in the asshat group) like I often did last year. I admit, I like being called "teacher" and feeling important. Plus, I adored the kids in her class last year. This year, however, there was a batch of asshats, as you may have guessed.

A gang og 4 or 5 of them standing on tables then jumping off, screaming at the top of their lungs, banging their glasses, and one called me a dummy. Me! I'm no dummy. Well, I might be, but I will not be told I am by a 5-year-old.

I very politely told one young man to give a little girl back her spoon and he looked at me and licked both of the spoons very thoroughly before throwing one of them at her.

I'm told we are not allowed to 'throttle' the children so I refrained. They were like mini highschool assholes (yes, they change from hats to holes in about the 11th year) condensed into a 50-lb body. I swear one of them had a little mustache.

Asshats.

Kiss my ass, Respondus LockDown Browser

Almost 4 a.m. I think we're all just going to have to accept that I only reach my genius-blogger potential in the wee hours of the morning. I'm ok with that. Doesn't really matter if you are, though.

The semester started on Monday but it doesn't really get underway until next Monday. I was beyond annoyed to find out my Ethics teacher requires a special browser to take tests online- a lock down browser that won't let you leave the page to google something. Damn teacher. It also saves your answer automatically and you are not allowed to change it. I figure the lock down part I can't argue with since I'm technically not supposed to be cheating anyway- but I left him a little note letting him know I thought it was pretty ridiculous that as a student, I'm not allowed to review my answers before turning the test in.

It's a good thing that school hasn't really gotten started yet since I'm a little preoccupied. My aunt gave my other aunt a kidney on Thursday. Currently, the receiver of that coveted kidney is in a drug-induced coma and temporarily paralyzed. Only because I know they're going to wake her up tomorrow, I think it would be the greatest prank ever to convince her that it is 2010 when she wakes up. The nurses don't agree.

I have little colored, squishy balls rolling around my house. They once belonged in a bigger, squishier ball that was supposed to be my stress reliever ball. Ball got a hole. I noticed this and used caution while still vigorously squeezing the ball to relieve stress until one day, I thought it would relieve even more stress if I just popped all those fucking balls out that fucking hole. It did. For awhile. Now I can't even explain the stress it causes me to have captured at least twenty of these Skittle-sized balls and still have them roaming around the house. Ironic, huh? Cue Alanis Morrisette.

I still haven't decided who is going to have access to this blog. Obviously everyone on the internet, but I don't know what kind of people in my life I want reading it. I don't want to write that I think my tits look really great right now for some reason (actually, the reason is that it's 4 a.m., I'm alone, bored, and I arranged them into my bra until I got them right where I wanted them) and then forget I said that, and send my little brother over to read my blog. Hmm. Decisions.

I would like to end on this note: Why is the spell checker telling me that 'blog' is not a word when I am on a blogging site? Bloggity blog blog blog. I really don't like disobeying my spell-checker but I just don't think 'log, bog, slog, flog, or clog' would work in this situation.

Goodnight. Blog. (clog.)

1 a.m. feels like 5 a.m.

For some reason, I decided that I absolutely had to have a new blog tonight. Nothing wrong with that. Except, of course, the name I wanted was taken. Gee, though, Blogspot sure was helpful: "Photobean is taken. How about photobean-photobean?" "Hmm, good suggestion, but how about fuckyou-fuckyou?". By the way, 'fuckyoublogspot' is already taken. I checked.

Still though, I settled for photo-bean and went on my way (although I will never admit how much that little dash truly makes me want to drop kick the person who chose photobean first...) Now that I've got that all taken care of, I am left with the task of choosing a template out of the 16 fabulously boring blogger choices. I then turn to my trusty friend, Google and begin searching for a more unique one. All I find is MySpace-esq 'skins' that are so in-your-face "Look at me, I'm emo! No, look at me, I'm happy and colorful! No, me! I love romantic teen movies!" that it would be impossible to read anything written here.

Which is where you find me. Exasperated and annoyed, thinking it has to be much later than 1 a.m. At least I accomplished something. It's 1:09 a.m.