Hi Ho, Cowgirl!

I have never been a big fan of the western genre, although they do bring back memories of my grandfather nodding off on the couch every Saturday when I was a little girl. He had the volume turned up to 11, and every time my grandmother roamed through the dining room and turned it down, the old man would stir and yell, "I'm watching that!"

There were only four movies that held any interest for me. "High Noon" was one, because I loved the tension in it. As a little girl, I sided with Grace Kelly. If the idiots of that town would rather live in squalid lawlessness, than help out Gary Cooper, then they deserved what they got. Take your wife and get on the train, pal. It was only as an adult that I learned about honor and integrity and figured out that Gary Cooper only had one choice, and it was not to run away. However, I still get a little shiver of satisfaction when I see him toss that tin star in the dirt at those feet of those hypocrites as he leaves town.

The original "Stagecoach," with young John Wayne, and "River of No Return" with Marilyn Monroe, are also favorites of mine. The bad girl with a heart of gold theme, and the love story that develops in each one always thrilled me. The transformative power of love, the triumph of the underdog...isn't that the stuff that all little girl fairy tales are built on? And, for that matter, every teen movie since the age of John Hughes?

My last favorite, I have no explanation for. I love "High Plains Drifter." Before TiVo, I would drop everything if I happened to see it come on TV of an afternoon. I have burned brownies, missed hair appointments and cancelled brunch plans, all in favor of parking it in front of the TV to watch Clint Eastwood lay the smackdown of justice, not only to the low-lifes who killed him the first time, but the traitorous, yellow-belly scum townspeople who let it happen. There is just something about the raw, earthy quality of the mysterious drifter and the vengeance he exacts, that appeals to the darker side of my soul. It's like the flip side of "High Noon," like what would have happened if Gary Cooper had lost.

Doesn't hurt that Eastwood is a babe either.

Paris....Texas?

New missive from Girls' Night Out. Last night's conversational coup de grace began with an offhand comment about Krystal's burger joint and a riff on small dogs. What ensued was a description of a girl we like to call...the Paris Hilton of the Trailer Park.

"Cut-off, low rise, blue jean hot pants with frayed edges and a rebel flag patch sewn on to the back pocket. A hot pink stretch tube top, and white high heel jelly sandals. Long, badly-permed blonde hair with black roots, gathered into two ponytails and topped off with a white cotton visor from Hooters. Giant gold-hoop earrings, with red feathers dangling from one of them. A gold nameplate necklace that reads 'Free Bird.' In one hand, a cell phone in a fuzzy purple cover. In the other hand, a leopard print, knock-off Fendi purse, with pink maribou trim, and an overfed chihuahua poking his little head out of the top."

How's that for a cheap thrill! :)

Level of Hell

I often regale my friends with tales of the indignities I have to put up with, but this one is beyond the pale. Every time I think that these slutty, amoral, slattern that pass as freshman girls can not sink any lower, they manage to drain a little more out of the pool.

The weekly crossword puzzle assignment was today. They got their sheets, got into groups and went to work on the clues. Except for the small coven of bitches in the back of the room. I knew they were up to something when two of them that were facing me kept giving me the eye. Anytime a child is looking to see what you are doing, it is usually because they are doing something they shouldn't be. But they hadn't moved, they weren't using markers and they were quiet, so I continued working.

What were they up to you might wonder? Well, I found out. The six of them had obtained a tampon from another girl, popped it out of the plastic applicator and soaked it in Hawaiian Punch. Then when the bell rang to change class, they left the plastic applicator on the floor by the desk, the spilled punch all over the desk, and the used tampon on the floor by the door.

I am so furious, I can barely speak. Today, I HATE this job. I am never perfectly satisfied here, anyone who knows me knows this. But this is one of those days when I know for a fact that the only thing keeping me here is the health insurance.

As for punishment, I was of two minds about what to do. Writing a referral is a big pain in the ass; forms in triplicate and I would have to write six individual ones. However, would it do any good at all to call parents who actually raised girls like these? In the end though, I know what I have to do. Because if I let them get away with this, then it just adds to their sense that it is okay to be gross and vulgar and trashy. And what kind of women will they grow up to be then?