kellementology

Just a short post today because yesterday’s could’ve choked a horse. Now wipe your brow and continue, grateful that I have decided to spare you. But I’m raring to go, having already changed my clothes once so I could get gas after carpool duty this morning, which was a breeze.

Everyone takes their kids out of school a day early before spring break begins because, well, they don’t want to have to fly on the packed flights early Saturday morning. I think Paradise Unified School District seriously needs to add an absence code for students who attend L-T-D middle and high school for FDE, or Flagrant Display of Entitlement. That way, they can still collect money from the state when Sparky or Kristi is, like, on vacation early.

But school admin is onto them. The spring ball is scheduled for tonight, and if your teen is a ticket holder, she can get out of school after 4th period. You know, to get ready. Like, it takes two hours to iron my hair. Bear in mind the ball begins at 7PM and 4th period ends somewhere around noon. Sweet. The school gets the attendance money because Kristi has begged mummzie and daddo to please not schedule the family jaunt to Costa Rica until after the day of the dance, because she and her girlfriends are going to do lunch in the village after 4th period lets out, then go to the spa together. The teachers who have courses scheduled in the afternoon have a cakewalk to look forward to with almost no one in their classes (Blockbuster will be sold out of Ferris Bueller’s Day Off), and the losers who have carpool duty in the afternoon (and who aren’t going to Costa Rica or whose kids wouldn’t be caught dead at any event where there are girls) won’t have to sit in the traffic because the school is in session, but nobody is there. Everyone wins.

I still haven’t gotten to the point where I can get out of my car to pump gas in my pajamas. Even though I was dressed appropriately this morning, and looking as if I had just come from an early stint at the gym (my shirt and sweats actually matched), the owner of the custom H2 (so two years ago) waiting behind me was preturbed when I had to back out after only pumping a measly eight gallons. A half tank. For $3.99 a gallon. Oh. My. God. What the hell is up with that?

If I actually had to drive somewhere once in a while that didn’t involve coasting down the hill to get groceries, I would have to strike or something.

Not drive anywhere.

Except, I do that already.