The cosmic shop vac that sucks in volunteers sucked me back in!

August 8, 2007

Yes, I will admit it. It happened. They sucked me back in. I am officially on the Executive Board of the PTA again.

(*I will pause now so that you can feel free to figure out the appropriate discipline action to take.*)

One minute I was hiding and playing dead in the hallways declaring something along the lines of hell freezing over before I went there again and then the SUCK-wattage was set on full blast with the volunteer suck-vac and there I stood with my volunteer sheet in hand agreeing to be the newsletter editor. Oh, but I did it much smarter this time.

First off, I have a co-editor. Share the duties. Share the blame. Share the scorn. (Poor friend of mine is probably going to be blackballed by association.)

Second, I am on the executive board and can speak my mind all I want and then I don’t even have to vote. That could sound bad, but if you think about it, it is good. I get to tell them when the ideas are stupid less than stellar, but since I don’t vote, I cannot be blamed for the stupid less than stellar ideas that pass.

Third, I am working with the majority of woman who are new to me. Meaning, the year of the HORROR That Is Not To Be Mentioned In My Home is from a time they either were not there or were not involved. Clean slate, baby.

Okay, hit me with it. I know you are ready to slam me with the “what the hell are you thinking” comments. Bring ‘em on.

Hide your children! They got another one!

November 13, 2006

Let me tell you a story, kiddos.  Grab your blankets and some popcorn.  It is part humor, part horror and of course, with a moral.

Once upon a time there was a Mom whose first born had started kindergarten.  As soon as school started a woman who referred to herself as the PTA president phoned her.  “Are you in the house alone?!” (I kid.  She totally didn’t say that.) Though what she said was almost as scary.  “I would like you to be the kindergarten room parent.”

[cue horror theme music and screeching violins]

After several “No, really, no thank you. Not for me.  Don’t think so.  Uh-uh.  Not gonna happen” I found myself the kindergarten room parent.  In charge of all parties and all volunteers.  Having never had a child in public school before, I found myself in charge.  Miserably.

I learned after that year and changed my outgoing message on my answering machine to “Thank you for calling.  If you are calling in regards to volunteering, I will bring juice.”

Years later, I tried again.  This time on the Executive Board.  As the Membership Chair.  I took over from someone who left.  Bad move.  Bad position.  Bad year.  From then on out I took the stance of “Play dead when dealing with anyone from the PTA.” I have been known to throw myself on the floor and play dead to avoid being tagged as a volunteer.  The Stepfords…they scare me.

One of my good, close friends has been a Stepford in denial for quite a while.  “No, no…I am not a Stepford.  I just volunteer because I blah blah blah…” (I tuned out at this point.  Sort of like when Tom Cruise starts to talk about his knowledge of post partum depression or preach to me about Scientology.) I adore her, but day by day I see her inner Stepford coming out.  I am scared.  Hold me. 

Hang on, kiddos, this is where the horror comes in to play.

I got a phone call today.

“Are you in the house alone?” (Are you still falling for that?  What she said was much scarier!)

“They asked me to be PTA president.”

Okay, I think she might have said something else, but I was laughing and crying so hard I couldn’t hear another word. 

It happened.  They got her.  It is worse than Jason from Friday the 13th.  Worse than Freddy Krueger.  Worse than ‘When a Stranger Calls’.  She has become…

A STEPFORD.

No longer in denial.

I immediately rushed to my doctor to get my vaccine updated.  I mean, one cannot be too careful when dealing with the PTA.  They bite.

I shall miss you, my dear friend.  I will, of course, laugh at you, mock you and avoid you at all costs, but know that in my heart, I will miss you.

And also know….I am laughing my ass off at you!

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What have I done?

August 15, 2005

Forgive me, Internet, for I have sinned.  I feel I must come clean with something I did last week.  You may shriek in horror.  You may even turn your back on me for my horrific act.  But I still feel I must be honest with you.

Last Friday, I went to a…..PTA meeting.  BUT WAIT, it gets worse.  I showed up a half an hour early to help the Hospitality Chairperson set up and make coffee.  AND (yes, there is more) when the sign-in sheet was passed around, I signed it.  With my REAL name and REAL number.  I know. I know.  The horror of it is almost too much to comprehend.  Yet, sadly, there is even more to my sinful ways. 

After the meeting, I joined one of my good friends (A Stepford in denial- who will be called out by name if she outs me again) while she was talking to other board memebers.  I knew it was going to happen.  That damned introduction.  I stammered and stumbled and finally admitted my name was Jenn.  The woman cocked her head to the side and asked for my last name.

PANIC.  P.A.N.I.C.

Before I knew it, I told her.  I TOLD HER MY REAL NAME!

I know.  I know.  I am ashamed of myself, too.  Not only did I put myself out there, but I know that this will make my participation in the PTA Protection Program null and void.  What, oh what have I done?  (In my defense, most of the board is either people I get along with or people in new positions.  I mean, it could be different.  Right?  RIGHT?!!)

I knew that throwing myself on the ground and faking my own death was the smarter move. Now…well, now I can only accept that I have been marked a target once again for PTA volunteering.  UNLESS, they are blog readers.  Then, there isn’t a chance in hell they would ask me back! 

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Does a new laptop come with that?

May 22, 2005

I forgot the best part of the story below.  So, I am the Person In Charge of putting together the Memory Books for the kids.  Basically, the memory book consists of each 5th grader’s picture and then a series of questions like “best memory…” and “when I grow up I want to be a…”.  You get the picture.

I started off with a $150 budget.  For 80 memory books.  Well, not one to do things half-assed, I decided to rearrange the budget and got it bumped up to $250.  (GO me!)

If you know me at all or have learned anything from reading this blog, you know that I pretty much live by the motto “Everything in excess!” This would be no exception!

Black and white photos?  Pah!  We are going COLOR!

Two students per page?  Please!  We are going “one per” on this project.

Card stock covers?  I think not!  We’re having slick covers, baby.

(And these people allowed ME to be in charge?  Seriously?  I laugh at their lack of judgement!)

Remember that $250 budget I was so very proud of?  Imagine the horror…the sheer horror I felt upon getting this claim check when I was trying to get the books made.

Imagine if you will a frantic and freaked out woman at 11:00pm, crying and becoming hysterical when seeing this figure.  I believe I even fainted for a moment or two.

Again, I ask… Why did these people leave me in charge?  They KNOW me!  They know my general disregard for the rules, especially PTfreakinA rules.  Come on people.  Puh-leez!

It all worked out in the end.  I mean, I owe my husband in ways that are not even fit to put into type for saving my ass on this.  But, the kids got their memory books.  The PTfreakinA didn’t have to fork over $2,758.40. (Don’t forget the 40 cents, people.  It all counts!) And I got all of the credit.  Which we all know I am a credit whore who wants all of the praise and adoration. 

When it came time to turn in receipts and get checks cut for reimbursements, I totally wanted to submit this claim check.  I thought it would be pretty damn hysterical to watch the PTfreakinA president and treasurer freak the hell out when they saw it.  I mean, worst case scenario, I get a great laugh at their expense.  Best case, I get that check cut and can go back to Fry’s and buy my own lickable laptop.

Come on, admit it.  You would be tempted to turn that receipt in, too.  Wouldn’t you?

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All this and cake too?

I don’t know if I mentioned that I would be MIA due to the 5th grade graduation.

Fifth Grade.  Graduation.  (I shall pause here while you all vomit in your mouths and get fresh water.)

Remember when I was outted to a PTAer earlier in the year?  And when that person put my name on a list to “help” with the end of the year graduation program?  Remember that?  Well, we can TOTALLY blame her for my absence as of late. (Do you want her email address?  I will totally give it to you!)

I mean, they really do make a big deal out of the fact that these kids made it through elementary school.  Here is a brief breakdown of a few of the things involved that I was in charge of seeing completed.

80 Memory Books………$302

80 Slide Show DVDs…..$197

Excess Drinking by Volunteers…………$78

Listening to the friend who is responsible for getting me over-involved scream like a little girl who is seeing her own death flash before her eyes after she got me sucked back into the PTA…….Priceless

I am seriously surprised at all that the school does for the 5th graders when they graduate. They had a graduation ceremony. (No caps and gowns, but very dressed up kiddos.) They all got a memory book (you’re welcome) and a copy of the DVD slide show that was shown at graduation (again, you’re welcome) and a reception. 

Now, don’t get me wrong.  The kids love it.  The parents get to ooooh and ahhhh over their little spawns.  It’s just that it is FIFTH GRADE. 

*blank stare*

Want to know what I got for graduating 5th grade?

The opportunity to go to 6th grade.

Is this something that is particular to this area (aka Snotty, Tx) or is this something everyone does?  I really need to know this information because I am shocked at what a big deal it was.  I, therefore, feel like the Grinch Who Stole Graduation because I think it is so over the top for 5th graders.  I need to know what other areas of the country do.  How did/does your elementary school handle the end of elementary school? 

Because, seriously, if this is something that is just particular to Snotty, Tx, I am so going to move to PiddlePiss, Tx so that I can avoid this in the future.

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SNAKE!

May 21, 2005

When I am stressed, my sympathy level for other human beings goes pretty low.

Broke both of your arms?  So sorry.  Can you pass me that disc with your toes, please?

Dog ran away?  So sorry.  While you’re out looking can you pick up another printer cartridge for me?

Snake loose in your house?  So sorry.  But thanks for the laugh!

Seriously.  Sympathy was way low for others this week.  I was buried in end-of-the-year activities for the boys.  And by that of course I mean, PTA stuff.  Yes, you heard me right.  PTfreakinA stuff. Well, I guess you could say that it was for my son Brandon and his 5th grade class because it totally was!  But I had to report and go through the PTfreakinA.

And there is *one woman I blame for all of it. Ironically, she just so happens to be a very good friend of mine– even if she is a Stepford.  (You SO know who you are, too!) In fact, when she called me this week, I answered the phone every time with, “I hate you.  What do you want?”

Nice, huh.

She thought so, too.

So, while I am at her house either dropping something off, picking something up or just stopping by to say, “I hate you” I noticed her precious children outside with a large bucket.  Whatever was in the bucket had them entranced.  Her daughter sees me, leaps up and shoves the bucket at me.

“Wanna see my SNAKE?!”

Ummm, I’ll go with NO, not so much.

Fast forward to later that night.  Her husband and daughter (also a 5th grader like Brandon) decided it is a good idea to keep the SNAKE in the house. Inside the house.  INSIDE.  THE HOUSE.  Much to the sheer horror of her mother, the snake was invited to slumber within the cozy comfort of her home.  You must understand, this woman is NOT a fan of snakes.  At all.  None.

(You totally see where this is going, don’t you.)

The next morning I get a call.  Of course I answer it, “I hate you.  What do you want?”

“The SNAKE is out of the aquarium.  IT’S IN MY HOUSE!”

Yes, I laughed.  So sue me.  Then I tried the reassuring crap like “He is more afraid of you than you are of him” and of course “He probably found his way out already.  I am sure he is gone.”

All the while thinking, “He is SO going to end up in your bed tonight.”

Later that night I get a call.  (At least I think that is when it was.  Time blurs after the week I had.)

“I hate you.  What do you want?”

“Blah blah PTfreakinA blah blah blah”

And then…

“SNAKE SNAKE OH MY GOD SNAKESNAKESNAKESNAKE!” and then much yelling of her daughter’s name.  The sounds become more frantic but further away.  I think she dropped the phone.  Then I hear, “SNAKE. GOTTA GO!” *click*

I am not at all ashamed to admit that I totally peed my pants laughing at her.

I didn’t even answer the phone with “I hate you” when she called again.

I did however answer with, “That was the best laugh I have had in years. Thank you ever so much!”

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Outted again?!

November 20, 2004

Last night was the school dance at the boys’ school.  And, yes, I did go.  Claws fully retracted.  Okay, maybe not fully retracted, but they were not out for all to see.  (Unless you know me well and provoked me to reveal a glimpse of them.) But really, I SO behaved.  (I’ll wait while you oooh and aaahhhh over that.)

While sitting there talking, my blog was outed again.  (More and more people in Stepford are learning about it.  Of course, none of the true Stepfords have found it.  That I know of.) So as I hear the words, “She has a blog.” come out of my friend’s mouth, I ponder whether or not I can spin it.  You know, say it is all about promoting awareness of the PTA.  Or perhaps reviewing The Stepford wives.  Something that makes it sound a bit less, oh how shall I say, bitchy. 

“So, what is your website?” I hear.

I thought about saying Dooce but I was pretty sure that I would be found out fast.  First, I am not of Those Who Grew Up In The Mormom Church and secondly, I am pretty sure they would figure out that I don’t have a young daughter named Leta.  So, I thought better of giving that answer.

Next thing I know, MommyNeedsCoffee is coming out of MY mouth.  Oh dear lord did I really out myself.  To a *gasp* real PTA’er?  What’s next?  Signing up to bring juice to the next Big Event.  Heaven Forbid!

Then, the woman who outted me said, “Hey, but now that you know we read it, you can’t talk about us.  At least not by name.”

Yes, I laughed too.  Go ahead.  But to respect their privacy, I certainly will not mention the names Rhonda or Tim from this conversation.  That would be so wrong.

And did I mention that this Rhonda is the one who put MY NAME on a list to help with a big PTA project at the end of the year??  I TOLD HER that I would help “under the table”.  That means WITHOUT ANYONE KNOWING IT.  And now?  My name is on a PTA LIST.

That does it.  I am going to be officially booted from the Volunteer Protection Program Damn you, Rhonda! 

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Almost gnawed my arm off to get out of this trap

November 17, 2004

So, I had to go to the school today.  I can usuallly time this so that I have MPTAC (Minimal PTA Contact.  Not because I harbor bitterness against them or anything.  (Shuddup.  I can say that and you should not argue.) It has more to do with the fact that I have been silent long enough that some of them feel that perhaps I am ready to jump back into the whole sorted mess again.  (Not so much.)

While standing in the hall talking to one of my favorite teachers, up walks one of the Stepfords.  Frantically I look around for an exit.  Surely there must be an escape.  I reach to grab for the teacher to beg for amnesty.  But she has vanished from the hallway.  I look back to The Stepford. 

“So I was wondering if….”

At that point I screeched and began flailing my arms about wildly.  Then I proceeded to throw myself to the ground and fake my own death.

It didn’t work She nudged me with her Prada boot and haughtily said, “You are not dead.  I saw you breathe.  Besides, you tried that last year and it didn’t work.”

Damn I thought to myself as I got to my feet. 

” So, as I was saying, in our last meeting your name came up in regards to…”

This time I took the high road.  The mature route.  I jammed my fingers into my ears and began sing-songing very loudly, “LA LA LA LA I CAN’T HEAR YOU LA LA LA LA”

She forcefully grabbed my hands and yanked my fingers from my ears.  “Really now.  IS that completely necessary?” she huffed.

Resigned to having to listen to her, I slumped my shoulders and began to give in to it when brilliance struck.

“Oh my goodness,” I shrieked.  “Look!  Heading towards the office.  It’s a new parent holding a Volunteer Interest form.”

Her eyes lit up with glee as she turned to look.

I leapt at the chance for escape while her back was turned and hauled ass out of there.

I still don’t know what she wanted, but you better believe my phone will be off the hook for a good week.  As for going to the school?  Just ignore that woman in the big hat, dark sunglasses and cheesy wig.  It isn’t me.  I swear.

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Lynette or Jenn? Hmmmmm

November 8, 2004

I just finished watching my Tivo’ed (Tivoed? Tivo’d? DVR’ed!) recording of Desperate Housewives and can I just say….

GO LYNETTE!  Honey, you are my tv PTA hero. 

Okay, I will try to write this as if there are people out there who don’t watch the show.  You see, one of the Desperate Housewives became the woman I wish I could’ve been last year.  She has two boys who are…shall we say…wild.  They have been “asked” not to return to the public school so she gets them into a Stepford private school.  At this school she come across Maisy.  I SO KNOW Maisy.  Maisy is the queen bee of the PTA.  The one who insists on being the Alpha Mom.  In this episode Maisy decides that Little Red Riding Hood is too violent and sends the wrong message so she changes the end of the play to be more politically correct.

Yes, internet, if you saw that show, you saw a reflection of me and my PTA.  For example, when the “Volunteer Extraordinaire” Maisy said that they were going to release the wolf and Lynette laughed?  Out loud?  SO VERY ME in too many meetings.  The whole “I thought you were kidding” thing?  Yeah.  I mean with some of the things I have heard, I was sure it was a joke. Only to be stared at as if it was unthinkable to laugh at a suggestion such as that.

There was a comment made along the lines of “Why don’t we leave the creative suggestions to the volunteers who are doing the heavy lifting” (in reference to the fact that Lynette was just acting as the ticket taking and nothing more).  Yeah, that would be very similar to the comment I received that went something like “Why don’t you let those of us who have been doing this longer make the suggestions on changes since, afterall, you ARE new to this and haven’t been one of us for long.” (Yes, I was told that.)

Oh, oh, oh (excited child storytelling mode) and when Lynette offered to sew the costumes (to become a ‘heavy lifter’) and Maisy responded, “Oh? Can you sew?” I will stack that up against my hearing, “Oh, can you use a computer to get this information out?”

There was no line from Maisy that I cannot spout back something similar that I heard from my version of Maisy.  (No names, of course.  I mean, some of the Stepfords have found me and all and I would hate to have them *gasp* mad at me.”)

But, oh, internet, how I cheered when alas my hero Lynette had enough and got RIGHT UP in the face of the horrid Maisy and demanded they take it outside.  That speech.  It made me weep.

“We have children the same age which means that there are years ahead of us of having to deal with each other.  So instead of playing all of these petty games, why don’t we put an end to this right now.”

What do you mean?

“Let’s take it outside.”

“Take what outside?”

“Your sorry ass for throwing down.”

“You are crazy.”

“No. Just being practical.  Isn’t it better to settle this once and for all rather than endure all this Alpha Mom crap until our kids graduate?”

I wept.  I cheered.  I frantically pointed at the screen and yelled, “Did you hear that?  Did you hear that?!” to…well, no one since I was alone in the room, but nevertheless, I rejoiced at the moment.

And then I hung my head in shame.  Oh, internet, the shame.  The overwhelming shame of knowing that it could’ve, no…SHOULD’VE been me who made such a beautiful speech to my Maisy.  Lynette became my hero. The woman I wish I had been last year.  Ahhh, yes, if only.  I try to live with no regrets, but to see such a tear-jerker moment in the life of the PTA…well, it brought to the surface the what-if’s of life.  Oh if only….If only…

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Fun with search engines, but I never used those words!

August 11, 2004

Okay, call me childish, but when I saw this as a search term for my blog and then saw that my blog was ranked #2 on Google for this search, well, it made me laugh!

Hope you found what you were looking for Searcher Person.

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