28 December 2007
"Our deepest fear is not that we are inadequate. Our deepest fear is that we are powerful beyond measure. It is our light, not our darkness that most frightens us. We ask ourselves, Who am I to be brilliant, gorgeous, talented, fabulous? Actually, who are you not to be? You are a child of God. Your playing small does not serve the world. There is nothing enlightened about shrinking so that other people won't feel insecure around you. We are all meant to shine, as children do. We were born to make manifest the glory of God that is within us. It's not just in some of us; it's in everyone. And as we let our own light shine, we unconsciously give other people permission to do the same. As we are liberated from our own fear, our presence automatically liberates others.”
- Marianne Williamson
24 November 2007
If I Should Die...
Yes, I know it's morbid. And.......I don't really care. I figure you all should know. you know. just in case.....
I guess I should back up. I have attended 2 funerals in the last month (it would have been 3, but I was out of town for the other one). All this has gotten me to thinking. And I realized that funerals are boring. REALLY boring. Not to disrespect the dead (by the way, why aren't you allowed to speak ill of the dead?....it's not like they care.) but why do funerals need to last for an hour? It seems to me that all you should need are a few nice words (if any are to be had), a hole in the ground and a shovel. All this should take a half hour, max. Then, everybody can go eat and hang out and speak about the dead person (either good or bad). So, here are my wishes for my funeral. This may change in the future, but this is what I want right now.
1. NO OPEN CASKET. That's just creepy. No viewing, no standing and staring at me, no saying "she looks like she's sleeping" and NO PICTURES. yech.
2. My organs are to be donated. This is of course based on the assumption that my organs will be worth donating. If in doubt go by what mom always says when you donate clothing to Goodwill: If you wouldn't wear it, don't give it away. That is to say: If you wouldn't want my liver, don't donate it.
3. Please donate my body to science. There are too many future doctors out there who haven't had a chance to work with a real cadaver. That makes me sad. I promise to try to get in shape so that said future doctors won't have to be grossed out when working on my body. If science doesn't want my body, cremate me. Or let the cats eat me.
4. No flowers. I mean, I like flowers, but I would rather that people take the money they would have spent on flowers and donate it to a worthy cause. For example: Soldiers' Angels, Salvation Army, Christian Children's Fund or any local school. If you must have flowers, I like lilies.
5. No sermons. Instead I would like congregational singing from the Primitive Baptist song book, a few nice memories said about me and then food. Lots and lots of food. I don't want it turned into a church service. I don't want somebody preaching to the people who are there to say goodbye to me. Talk about God, yes and how big a part He has in my life, but no preaching. People aren't there to be converted.
So that's it for now. I may update periodically, but it's here now. If I die tomorrow, you'll know what I want.
Happy Saturday!
I guess I should back up. I have attended 2 funerals in the last month (it would have been 3, but I was out of town for the other one). All this has gotten me to thinking. And I realized that funerals are boring. REALLY boring. Not to disrespect the dead (by the way, why aren't you allowed to speak ill of the dead?....it's not like they care.) but why do funerals need to last for an hour? It seems to me that all you should need are a few nice words (if any are to be had), a hole in the ground and a shovel. All this should take a half hour, max. Then, everybody can go eat and hang out and speak about the dead person (either good or bad). So, here are my wishes for my funeral. This may change in the future, but this is what I want right now.
1. NO OPEN CASKET. That's just creepy. No viewing, no standing and staring at me, no saying "she looks like she's sleeping" and NO PICTURES. yech.
2. My organs are to be donated. This is of course based on the assumption that my organs will be worth donating. If in doubt go by what mom always says when you donate clothing to Goodwill: If you wouldn't wear it, don't give it away. That is to say: If you wouldn't want my liver, don't donate it.
3. Please donate my body to science. There are too many future doctors out there who haven't had a chance to work with a real cadaver. That makes me sad. I promise to try to get in shape so that said future doctors won't have to be grossed out when working on my body. If science doesn't want my body, cremate me. Or let the cats eat me.
4. No flowers. I mean, I like flowers, but I would rather that people take the money they would have spent on flowers and donate it to a worthy cause. For example: Soldiers' Angels, Salvation Army, Christian Children's Fund or any local school. If you must have flowers, I like lilies.
5. No sermons. Instead I would like congregational singing from the Primitive Baptist song book, a few nice memories said about me and then food. Lots and lots of food. I don't want it turned into a church service. I don't want somebody preaching to the people who are there to say goodbye to me. Talk about God, yes and how big a part He has in my life, but no preaching. People aren't there to be converted.
So that's it for now. I may update periodically, but it's here now. If I die tomorrow, you'll know what I want.
Happy Saturday!
02 November 2007
Bra Wars
A long time ago
In a galaxy far, far away......
It was the time of Laundry. A time when Water and Dirt fought for supremacy over the Washer. And in the end, Water won, but at a very high cost. Water, spent and tired from the battle, was washed away to the Great Outdoors and the bras, finally clean were laid out to dry in peace and quiet.
The bras remained there - untouched and quiet - slowly recovering from the grueling ordeal, until a great and almighty being called Earl* led his followers to them and began the epic crusade known as....
BRA WARS!!!
*Earl has insisted that I make it known that this only occurred after 4 pints of Guinness.
In a galaxy far, far away......
It was the time of Laundry. A time when Water and Dirt fought for supremacy over the Washer. And in the end, Water won, but at a very high cost. Water, spent and tired from the battle, was washed away to the Great Outdoors and the bras, finally clean were laid out to dry in peace and quiet.
The bras remained there - untouched and quiet - slowly recovering from the grueling ordeal, until a great and almighty being called Earl* led his followers to them and began the epic crusade known as....
BRA WARS!!!
*Earl has insisted that I make it known that this only occurred after 4 pints of Guinness.
09 October 2007
Think....don't speak
Me, Earlier today:
--To borrow a quote from my sister "You can stop talking now. My head hurts."--
Me, Earlier today but later:
--Will you please go home?--
It's been that kind of a day.
--To borrow a quote from my sister "You can stop talking now. My head hurts."--
Me, Earlier today but later:
--Will you please go home?--
It's been that kind of a day.
01 October 2007
30 September 2007
No catchy title today
Tonight I played a concert. Not unusual for me, true, but bear with me. I have a point. The concert was long and grueling - 2 hours of Sousa marches and pop music. Normally, I have someone else playing my part and we spell each other so we don't have to play each and every off beat. He was not there tonight. (lame. what's in Boston, anyway?) So, I played the part myself. And I did pretty darn good, too! (I don't care what Jane Doe might think about it. and don't get me started on her right now. That's a gripe session for another post.) Anyway, back to the point. I did well, but given my lip injury of Monday and the fact that I don't usually play the whole thing, my lips were SORE after the concert (still are.)
So, Phil and I went to IHOP after the concert and I started icing my lip. We got up to leave and the following conversation took place at the cash register:
cashier (a girl): your total is $25.25
Phil: pays (don't worry, I gave him cash for my half earlier)
Me: Man, my lip REALLY hurts. You've got to stop beating me, Phil. Seriously.
Cashier: *nervous look* *thought bubble appears reading "is she serious? No, she can't be. But what if...."
Phil (as we're walking away): Well, if you'd just do what you're told.....
Man, I hope she knows we were joking.
So, Phil and I went to IHOP after the concert and I started icing my lip. We got up to leave and the following conversation took place at the cash register:
cashier (a girl): your total is $25.25
Phil: pays (don't worry, I gave him cash for my half earlier)
Me: Man, my lip REALLY hurts. You've got to stop beating me, Phil. Seriously.
Cashier: *nervous look* *thought bubble appears reading "is she serious? No, she can't be. But what if...."
Phil (as we're walking away): Well, if you'd just do what you're told.....
Man, I hope she knows we were joking.
25 September 2007
me vs. chair
Well, it must be that time of the year. You know, the time for my yearly battle with my clumsiness. I'd been doing pretty well at controlling it, but it got free again tonight and that makes me fear for not only my own safety, the the safety of others as well.
Tonight's battle was fought in a band room. I was helping to set up the chairs for rehearsal. I went over to the chair rack on which the chairs were stacked right about eye level. I grabbed two and began to pull them from the rack. And then, evidently because I am WAY stronger than I think, I smacked myself square in the lip with those stupid chairs.
And then I had to go and play a REALLY grueling 2 hour rehearsal. (you know you are truly a brass player when you would rather break a leg, lose an eye, or get kicked in the groin than to get hit in the mouth.)
Me: 0
Clumsiness: 1
sigh.
Tonight's battle was fought in a band room. I was helping to set up the chairs for rehearsal. I went over to the chair rack on which the chairs were stacked right about eye level. I grabbed two and began to pull them from the rack. And then, evidently because I am WAY stronger than I think, I smacked myself square in the lip with those stupid chairs.
And then I had to go and play a REALLY grueling 2 hour rehearsal. (you know you are truly a brass player when you would rather break a leg, lose an eye, or get kicked in the groin than to get hit in the mouth.)
Me: 0
Clumsiness: 1
sigh.
I exercise because....
Until the other day I hadn't found a truly good reason to exercise. Some of the lame-o ones were:
1. health (health schmealth!)
2. fitness (whatever)
3. to look good (um, I teach MIDDLE SCHOOL. why do I need to look good?)
4. to lose weight (that only bothers me at that time of the month)
But the other day, someone said something that makes a LOT of sense to me.
She said "I exercise because I love to eat. It may sound stupid, but when you exercise you can eat whatever you want."
And that, for me, became a reason to get motivated. See, I have never gone on a diet because 1) my headaches get REALLY bad when I don't eat and 2) I really LOVE to eat. Food is SO good. All kinds of food. There is very little food that I don't like. I could live the rest of my life eating Mexican Food and be perfectly happy. Throw in a little Italian now and then, some Mediterranean every once in a while, some Asian....heck! give me all kinds (except Borscht. Not sure I could eat that.) and I would be the happiest person in the world. So now, I have a reason to exercise. FOOD! (yay!)
To that end, I have set up some goals to try to reach as I enter this food-motivated exercise plan (wow, I sound like a dog...food motivation...):
20 lbs lighter by January 31, 2008.
In bed by 10 PM every night. (um, am I allowed to change this to 10:30?)
Eat breakfast every day. (so far, this only works if breakfast and lunch are the same meal).
Exercise at least 5 days a week. (how's about 2-3? is that ok too?)
So far, not so good on progress, but at least I'm trying!!!
1. health (health schmealth!)
2. fitness (whatever)
3. to look good (um, I teach MIDDLE SCHOOL. why do I need to look good?)
4. to lose weight (that only bothers me at that time of the month)
But the other day, someone said something that makes a LOT of sense to me.
She said "I exercise because I love to eat. It may sound stupid, but when you exercise you can eat whatever you want."
And that, for me, became a reason to get motivated. See, I have never gone on a diet because 1) my headaches get REALLY bad when I don't eat and 2) I really LOVE to eat. Food is SO good. All kinds of food. There is very little food that I don't like. I could live the rest of my life eating Mexican Food and be perfectly happy. Throw in a little Italian now and then, some Mediterranean every once in a while, some Asian....heck! give me all kinds (except Borscht. Not sure I could eat that.) and I would be the happiest person in the world. So now, I have a reason to exercise. FOOD! (yay!)
To that end, I have set up some goals to try to reach as I enter this food-motivated exercise plan (wow, I sound like a dog...food motivation...):
20 lbs lighter by January 31, 2008.
In bed by 10 PM every night. (um, am I allowed to change this to 10:30?)
Eat breakfast every day. (so far, this only works if breakfast and lunch are the same meal).
Exercise at least 5 days a week. (how's about 2-3? is that ok too?)
So far, not so good on progress, but at least I'm trying!!!
12 September 2007
Today on "Hi! I'm an inconsiderate pain in the keister!"
Today on "Hi! I'm an inconsiderate pain in the keister!" we meet with Phil. Phil is an older gentleman, clad in jeans and a denim shirt, who has been waiting at the clinic for half an hour. Let's find out what he has to say on the subject.
Phil, can you tell us what's been going on?
"Well, I've been waiting here at this clinic for a half an hour now."
It's 8:15 right now, Phil. Can you tell us what time the clinic opens?
"Well, the sign on the door says it opens at 8:30, but the doors are unlocked and I've been waiting for a half an hour now."
Phil, did you see the sign that says that the LAB opens at 7 AM?
"Well, I did see that sign, but like I said, I've been waiting for half an hour now and nobody is around."
Uh Phil, did you go and see if you can find anyone?
"Well, I did ask some people waiting in the waiting room, but they were morons and didn't know anything."
What about staff, Phil?
"Well, someone finally came out and I asked her if she knew where the front desk staff was, but she gave me some cockamaimie story about only working for the Lab. But I told her that I've been waiting for a half an hour now, so she said she'd try to find someone. And then I told her it would be nice if they would put up signs when they are in meetings, even though I read the sign that says they don't open until 8:30. I mean, I've been waiting for a half an hour now."
What finally happened, Phil?
"Well, after waiting for a half an hour now, someone finally came out and asked what I needed. I told her that I was supposed to pick up some records last night but I didn't make it in and would she please get them for me now. I also made it clear that it would be nice if they posted signs because I've been waiting for a half an hour now."
Well, there you have it folks, one man being forced to wait while inconsiderate clinic staff laze about in a morning meeting. This reporter believes that they definitely need larger signs regarding opening and meeting times. Back to you, John.
Phil, can you tell us what's been going on?
"Well, I've been waiting here at this clinic for a half an hour now."
It's 8:15 right now, Phil. Can you tell us what time the clinic opens?
"Well, the sign on the door says it opens at 8:30, but the doors are unlocked and I've been waiting for a half an hour now."
Phil, did you see the sign that says that the LAB opens at 7 AM?
"Well, I did see that sign, but like I said, I've been waiting for half an hour now and nobody is around."
Uh Phil, did you go and see if you can find anyone?
"Well, I did ask some people waiting in the waiting room, but they were morons and didn't know anything."
What about staff, Phil?
"Well, someone finally came out and I asked her if she knew where the front desk staff was, but she gave me some cockamaimie story about only working for the Lab. But I told her that I've been waiting for a half an hour now, so she said she'd try to find someone. And then I told her it would be nice if they would put up signs when they are in meetings, even though I read the sign that says they don't open until 8:30. I mean, I've been waiting for a half an hour now."
What finally happened, Phil?
"Well, after waiting for a half an hour now, someone finally came out and asked what I needed. I told her that I was supposed to pick up some records last night but I didn't make it in and would she please get them for me now. I also made it clear that it would be nice if they posted signs because I've been waiting for a half an hour now."
Well, there you have it folks, one man being forced to wait while inconsiderate clinic staff laze about in a morning meeting. This reporter believes that they definitely need larger signs regarding opening and meeting times. Back to you, John.
08 September 2007
things you didn't know you didn't know
I got tagged with this one by my sister:
The Rules:
1. I have to post these rules before I give you the facts.
2. Each player starts with eight random facts/habits about themselves.
3. People who are tagged need to write their own blog (about their eight things) and post these rules.
4. At the end of your blog, you need to choose eight people to get tagged and list their names.
5. Don’t forget to leave them a comment telling them they’re tagged, and to read your blog.
1. In my mind, numbers, the alphabet, music notes, and time are displayed on a path....the path winds around and goes through light and dark patches. Each digit has it's own place and is always where it's supposed to be and each digit is a different shade of dark and light. They are not displayed on the same path (that is, numbers have a different path from letters, etc) and each path is different and unique. When it comes to numbers I don't see individual numbers after 100. Instead I see blocks of a hundred which can then be expanded to individual digits if need be. Music notes are displayed on the staff, but they do not go in straight line on the staff...they curve around.
2. I see some people in colors not related to "people colors". For example, I went to school with a guy who I saw as purple. This is a very rare thing.
3. When it comes to things or events affecting only me, I am a procrastinator and I am rarely organized or on time. When it comes to things or events affecting other people, I am always early, always have my stuff and never procrastinate. That's why people think I have my act together.
4. I have used my horn as the basket for Tennis Ball Basketball.
5. I have hobbit feet. They are flat, wide, the toes are short and if I don't shave them, they are hairy.
6. My brother can walk a mile faster than I can run one.
7. I fully intend to marry Jarod.
8. I want a polydactyl calico cat to be named Quigley. Here's why: Polydactyl cats are cool cuz they look like they are wearing mittens. A Calico cat will be cool cuz it will match Diesel. And it will be named Quigley because a) I really like the movie and 2) Quigley sounds like a cat name. You try. "Quigley! Here kitty kitty!" See?
My tagees are: femaleparadox and well, that's it cuz my sister took everybody else that I know. sigh.
The Rules:
1. I have to post these rules before I give you the facts.
2. Each player starts with eight random facts/habits about themselves.
3. People who are tagged need to write their own blog (about their eight things) and post these rules.
4. At the end of your blog, you need to choose eight people to get tagged and list their names.
5. Don’t forget to leave them a comment telling them they’re tagged, and to read your blog.
1. In my mind, numbers, the alphabet, music notes, and time are displayed on a path....the path winds around and goes through light and dark patches. Each digit has it's own place and is always where it's supposed to be and each digit is a different shade of dark and light. They are not displayed on the same path (that is, numbers have a different path from letters, etc) and each path is different and unique. When it comes to numbers I don't see individual numbers after 100. Instead I see blocks of a hundred which can then be expanded to individual digits if need be. Music notes are displayed on the staff, but they do not go in straight line on the staff...they curve around.
2. I see some people in colors not related to "people colors". For example, I went to school with a guy who I saw as purple. This is a very rare thing.
3. When it comes to things or events affecting only me, I am a procrastinator and I am rarely organized or on time. When it comes to things or events affecting other people, I am always early, always have my stuff and never procrastinate. That's why people think I have my act together.
4. I have used my horn as the basket for Tennis Ball Basketball.
5. I have hobbit feet. They are flat, wide, the toes are short and if I don't shave them, they are hairy.
6. My brother can walk a mile faster than I can run one.
7. I fully intend to marry Jarod.
8. I want a polydactyl calico cat to be named Quigley. Here's why: Polydactyl cats are cool cuz they look like they are wearing mittens. A Calico cat will be cool cuz it will match Diesel. And it will be named Quigley because a) I really like the movie and 2) Quigley sounds like a cat name. You try. "Quigley! Here kitty kitty!" See?
My tagees are: femaleparadox and well, that's it cuz my sister took everybody else that I know. sigh.
07 September 2007
a regular old fashioned gripe-fest
This story starts a while ago and I can't use specific names (because I'm paranoid and "just in case"). Let's see....how to do this?
Ok in May, my friend Phil (I can use his name) moved back to town. And since we are both musicians, he suggested we join a local band so that we could play good music while we endeavor to teach middle schoolers. I agreed and he said he'd email the director. Around the beginning of August, he called me and said that he was in but that I would have to show up to the first rehearsal and talk to the section leader to find out if there was room for me.
"Her name is Jane Doe" he said, and my head almost exploded.
See, I cannot STAND Jane Doe. I absolutely cannot stand her. I worked with her once for about 2 rehearsals and one concert and I wanted to take my pencil, stab it into my eye, pull out the eyeball and eat it. She is one of those people who is socially awkward, thinks she is far more important than she is, just because she is section leader, and gives out unsolicited advice because she thinks that I am young, don't know anything and also should dedicate my life to nothing but the performance of music. I think there is more to life than copying every piece of music I play so that I can spend my time rehearsing parts just in case I might perform it (as Phil put it, "Just become technically proficient at your instrument and then you can sightread the material!"). She also badgered me for my contact info, acted hurt when I wouldn't give her my phone number (yeah right) nor commit to rehearsing with her groups because I didn't know my schedule and then sent an email out to other players in the area dissecting my playing ability and listing me as an acceptable alternate (although they would continue using the other first).
After a long discussion in which I reminded Phil of the above, he convinced me to just go and check it out and we hung up. 5 minutes later, he called me back and we had the following conversation:
Phil: I just got an email from Jane Doe asking me if I had your contact info and if I knew anything about your previous playing experience and background.
Me: a:AOKrahtutkjahwb;iluapfg89aghylak I HATE THAT WOMAN!!!!!!!!!!! I don't think I can be in this group!
Phil: Come on! Don't let her stop you. Just try it out.
Me: snort. grrr. sigh. ok. I'll try it out.
So we went to the first rehearsal and Jane finally walked in and I walked up to her and said "Hi! I'm supposed to talk to you about whether or not there is room for me!"
"And what do you play?" she asked.
"Kazoo." I thought. What I said was "I play what you play!" and I used my cheeriest tone. The director was standing there and he said "remember, I emailed you about her". And she got all prissy and said "I remember and I sent an email to her friend about her, but I never got a reply." I gave my best innocent what-do-you-do-about-boys shrug and then she looked at me and said in the same hurt and accusing tone "oh! I've worked with you before! You're the one who didn't know her schedule but now you're here."
I said "Well now I know my schedule."
Now, correct me if I'm wrong, but don't I have the RIGHT not to know if I can rehearse during the FIRST SEMESTER THAT I HAVE A REAL JOB? maybe not.
So, she asked me if I could play all the September concerts. I said "yeah, as far I as I know." (apparently this was not a good enough answer because she asked me the same question 3 more times and I finally replied with "well unless someone in my family dies." At which point she started a discourse on her mother. sigh.) And the first couple of rehearsals went by and they went by fine because I didn't have to sit next to her nor really interact with her.
Then there was rehearsal this week. During a bunch of rests I pulled out my phone to text my brother to remind him to do the laundry. I put the phone away and went back to playing. He texted me back and the phone kept buzzing so I pulled it out of my pocket to turn it off and during the next rest, I took it out to reply. At which point, she leaned across another player and asked "Is that an addiction?"
To which I replied: "Do I look like I'm in middle school, lady? Are you my mother or teacher? Where do you get off telling me not to text message during the middle of rehearsal if I want to?!! I AM TWENTY FOUR YEARS OLD!! I am not getting paid to be in this group and I can text message, talk or read a book during rehearsal if I choose and the ONLY person who can do anything about it is the DIRECTOR and he isn't saying anything. And you know why? Because I'm only doing it when I'm not playing. And even if I WERE doing it when I was supposed to be playing it wouldn't matter because we're playing a POPS CONCERT which means we are all playing in UNISON and you aren't playing in tune anyway, so what does it matter if I play or not? HUH? HUH? You know what? I quit. Find yourself another player. I don't need this. Come on, Phil, let's go."
Or, at least I WOULD have said it if I weren't such a weenie. (instead I said "no, it's important" and then kept taking out my phone just to irritate her.) If she says ONE thing to me during the next meeting I will not hold myself responsible if I happen to jump over the two players between us and grab her instrument and throw it on the ground and jump up and down on it yelling "take THAT!!"
Author's Note: Please understand that I don't actually wish her harm and I don't actually hate her. She annoys me and I feel sorry for her. I am just blowing off some steam in a relatively anonymous forum so that I don't end up saying something mean in a public one.
Ok in May, my friend Phil (I can use his name) moved back to town. And since we are both musicians, he suggested we join a local band so that we could play good music while we endeavor to teach middle schoolers. I agreed and he said he'd email the director. Around the beginning of August, he called me and said that he was in but that I would have to show up to the first rehearsal and talk to the section leader to find out if there was room for me.
"Her name is Jane Doe" he said, and my head almost exploded.
See, I cannot STAND Jane Doe. I absolutely cannot stand her. I worked with her once for about 2 rehearsals and one concert and I wanted to take my pencil, stab it into my eye, pull out the eyeball and eat it. She is one of those people who is socially awkward, thinks she is far more important than she is, just because she is section leader, and gives out unsolicited advice because she thinks that I am young, don't know anything and also should dedicate my life to nothing but the performance of music. I think there is more to life than copying every piece of music I play so that I can spend my time rehearsing parts just in case I might perform it (as Phil put it, "Just become technically proficient at your instrument and then you can sightread the material!"). She also badgered me for my contact info, acted hurt when I wouldn't give her my phone number (yeah right) nor commit to rehearsing with her groups because I didn't know my schedule and then sent an email out to other players in the area dissecting my playing ability and listing me as an acceptable alternate (although they would continue using the other first).
After a long discussion in which I reminded Phil of the above, he convinced me to just go and check it out and we hung up. 5 minutes later, he called me back and we had the following conversation:
Phil: I just got an email from Jane Doe asking me if I had your contact info and if I knew anything about your previous playing experience and background.
Me: a:AOKrahtutkjahwb;iluapfg89aghylak I HATE THAT WOMAN!!!!!!!!!!! I don't think I can be in this group!
Phil: Come on! Don't let her stop you. Just try it out.
Me: snort. grrr. sigh. ok. I'll try it out.
So we went to the first rehearsal and Jane finally walked in and I walked up to her and said "Hi! I'm supposed to talk to you about whether or not there is room for me!"
"And what do you play?" she asked.
"Kazoo." I thought. What I said was "I play what you play!" and I used my cheeriest tone. The director was standing there and he said "remember, I emailed you about her". And she got all prissy and said "I remember and I sent an email to her friend about her, but I never got a reply." I gave my best innocent what-do-you-do-about-boys shrug and then she looked at me and said in the same hurt and accusing tone "oh! I've worked with you before! You're the one who didn't know her schedule but now you're here."
I said "Well now I know my schedule."
Now, correct me if I'm wrong, but don't I have the RIGHT not to know if I can rehearse during the FIRST SEMESTER THAT I HAVE A REAL JOB? maybe not.
So, she asked me if I could play all the September concerts. I said "yeah, as far I as I know." (apparently this was not a good enough answer because she asked me the same question 3 more times and I finally replied with "well unless someone in my family dies." At which point she started a discourse on her mother. sigh.) And the first couple of rehearsals went by and they went by fine because I didn't have to sit next to her nor really interact with her.
Then there was rehearsal this week. During a bunch of rests I pulled out my phone to text my brother to remind him to do the laundry. I put the phone away and went back to playing. He texted me back and the phone kept buzzing so I pulled it out of my pocket to turn it off and during the next rest, I took it out to reply. At which point, she leaned across another player and asked "Is that an addiction?"
To which I replied: "Do I look like I'm in middle school, lady? Are you my mother or teacher? Where do you get off telling me not to text message during the middle of rehearsal if I want to?!! I AM TWENTY FOUR YEARS OLD!! I am not getting paid to be in this group and I can text message, talk or read a book during rehearsal if I choose and the ONLY person who can do anything about it is the DIRECTOR and he isn't saying anything. And you know why? Because I'm only doing it when I'm not playing. And even if I WERE doing it when I was supposed to be playing it wouldn't matter because we're playing a POPS CONCERT which means we are all playing in UNISON and you aren't playing in tune anyway, so what does it matter if I play or not? HUH? HUH? You know what? I quit. Find yourself another player. I don't need this. Come on, Phil, let's go."
Or, at least I WOULD have said it if I weren't such a weenie. (instead I said "no, it's important" and then kept taking out my phone just to irritate her.) If she says ONE thing to me during the next meeting I will not hold myself responsible if I happen to jump over the two players between us and grab her instrument and throw it on the ground and jump up and down on it yelling "take THAT!!"
Author's Note: Please understand that I don't actually wish her harm and I don't actually hate her. She annoys me and I feel sorry for her. I am just blowing off some steam in a relatively anonymous forum so that I don't end up saying something mean in a public one.
14 August 2007
April Showers and May Showers and
June, July, August, September, October, November, December, January, February and March Showers.
I HATE taking showers. Don't get me wrong, I LOVE the result of showers. But I really hate taking them.
It's so much work. First you have to set the water temperature. Then undress, brush out your hair, get in, shampoo your hair, soap everything, rinse out your hair, put in conditioner, shave (and if you are also shaving your legs, this could take a long time...depending on how long it has been since you last shaved - yesterday, thank you very much!), then rinse out your hair, and wash your face. You turn off the water, but are you done? NO!
Now you have to step out of the shower into a hot and humid bathroom, DRY off (ugh!), put on lotion, put on your jammies, wash off any makeup that survived the face wash, comb out your hair and if you go that far, blow it dry. sigh.
I really wish there were a way to just snap your fingers and go to the results show. Like American Idol, but without Tuesdays. Just let me know who's been voted off already. I just wanna be clean. Is that too much to ask?
Is it?
I HATE taking showers. Don't get me wrong, I LOVE the result of showers. But I really hate taking them.
It's so much work. First you have to set the water temperature. Then undress, brush out your hair, get in, shampoo your hair, soap everything, rinse out your hair, put in conditioner, shave (and if you are also shaving your legs, this could take a long time...depending on how long it has been since you last shaved - yesterday, thank you very much!), then rinse out your hair, and wash your face. You turn off the water, but are you done? NO!
Now you have to step out of the shower into a hot and humid bathroom, DRY off (ugh!), put on lotion, put on your jammies, wash off any makeup that survived the face wash, comb out your hair and if you go that far, blow it dry. sigh.
I really wish there were a way to just snap your fingers and go to the results show. Like American Idol, but without Tuesdays. Just let me know who's been voted off already. I just wanna be clean. Is that too much to ask?
Is it?
04 August 2007
You never get out of sixth grade
Don't believe me? Ok, then take the following test:
Directions: Read the following words and answer the question at the end.
butt
poop
fart
booger
uranus
wenus (sp?)
1. True or False. I laughed, chuckled, chortled, giggled, snickered, guffawed and/or smirked at one or all of the above listed words.
See what I mean? You never get out of sixth grade. This is especially true when one is, in fact, a sixth grade teacher. Allow me to illustrate.
I was in my classroom, painting it. Phillip was helping. We had the following conversation:
Phillip: Jacqueline, can I poop on your board?
Me: Um. I guess. As long as you keep it neat.
Phillip: Ok, I pooped on your board.
I turned around and he had written the word "poop" on one of my white boards. We giggled, went back to painting and a few hours later had forgotten all about it and in walks my principal, her husband, and the office manager. Not sure if they saw it; they didn't say anything if they did. But it reminded us.
"Time to get the poop off the board, " I said.
So we scrubbed, and we scrubbed. And nothing worked! The poop got a little fainter, but it was still stubbornly clinging to the board. We scrubbed some more, and eventually, we got it to the point that you can no longer see the word - just a big mess.
Help! I have a giant poop stain on my board and I can't get it off!!
Directions: Read the following words and answer the question at the end.
butt
poop
fart
booger
uranus
wenus (sp?)
1. True or False. I laughed, chuckled, chortled, giggled, snickered, guffawed and/or smirked at one or all of the above listed words.
See what I mean? You never get out of sixth grade. This is especially true when one is, in fact, a sixth grade teacher. Allow me to illustrate.
I was in my classroom, painting it. Phillip was helping. We had the following conversation:
Phillip: Jacqueline, can I poop on your board?
Me: Um. I guess. As long as you keep it neat.
Phillip: Ok, I pooped on your board.
I turned around and he had written the word "poop" on one of my white boards. We giggled, went back to painting and a few hours later had forgotten all about it and in walks my principal, her husband, and the office manager. Not sure if they saw it; they didn't say anything if they did. But it reminded us.
"Time to get the poop off the board, " I said.
So we scrubbed, and we scrubbed. And nothing worked! The poop got a little fainter, but it was still stubbornly clinging to the board. We scrubbed some more, and eventually, we got it to the point that you can no longer see the word - just a big mess.
Help! I have a giant poop stain on my board and I can't get it off!!
31 July 2007
The Raging River of Death
(a true and not at all dramatised account of what REALLY happened....)
For those of you not familiar with Southern Arizona (ok, more like southern-to-mid Arizona), we have a river here called the Salt River. Why it's called that, I don't know. It doesn't taste salty. Anyway. One of the things to do is to go tubing on the Salt River, and a company has taken it upon themselves to help in that endeavor. You drive there, pay $14 and you get a giant inner tube (black with a yellow stripe around it) and a bus ride up to the top of the river. If you are smart, you also pay for an extra tube into which you shove your laden-with-goodies cooler. At the top (aka Point 1), you slather yourself with sunscreen, tie sheets around the tubes (trust me. that black rubber gets REALLY hot and you can take off an inch of skin if you don't have the sheet), tie your tubes together - or at the very least, tie your cooler to someone in your group, and away you go. 3-4 hours later, after beautiful scenery,
snacks and stimulating conversation, you reach point 4, clamber over rocks and other tubers, untie your tubes, untie the sheets, pack everything back up, get back on the bus and head back to your car. At least, that's how you do it in an ideal world....
On Saturday, Aimee, Cheryl, Phillip and I decided to go tubing on the Salt River. Actually, the decision was made before Saturday, but the execution of said decision was on Saturday. Anyway. We got up REALLY early, packed the cooler and our bags, and headed up to the river. An hour and a half later, we were there and began the process of getting ready to go: using the restrooms, cramming as much stuff as possible into the cooler and 2 bags, getting tubes, etc.
As per my earlier description, we got to point 1, put on sunscreen, tied down the sheets and cooler, and wearing beautiful floppy hats and no shoes, we shoved off. At first it was pretty calm. Soothing really. And, like I said, beautiful scenery.
After a half hour or so, we broke out the Gatorade (aka Margaritas disguised as Gatorade. No glass containers allowed.) Merrily we floated along. For some reason we were predisposed to floating as close to the shore line as possible. A low hanging and not at all flexible branch nearly decapitated me and then Aimee, but we survived. We came to an island and saw that we were going to be too close to the shore. We began paddling, in a somewhat energetic manner, because the speed of the water had picked up a lot. Just then my behind smacked into a rock, and we realized that there were more pitfalls to this section than just fast water and an island. Before I knew it, I slammed into a rock, my tube flipped over my head and I was being dragged along by the raging water. The water was only about 3 feet deep, so naturally, my knees came in contact with every single rock in the river bed. I struggled along, threw my floppy hat at Phillip and managed to grab hold of my tube. I was trying to pull myself back onto my tube, when it flipped over again, landing me smack in the water with knees and feet hitting yet more rocks. Somehow during all this Phillip let my hat escape. "Help!" I cried and Cheryl reached for me. I pulled myself half on to her inner tube, which threatened to overturn her tube. "Aimee!" she yelled and latched on to Aimee's arm, thereby balancing the tube and the four of us floated into the calm waters of Point 2. Somehow during all that, I was able to hook my hat with my foot and pull it along with me. It was really quite amazing. The rest of the trip was not nearly so adventurous. My side, knees, feet and but began to hurt, but otherwise I was in good spirits.
And then...I really had to pee. I mean, REALLY. I hadn't had any Gatorade, but Cream Soda and Water go through you just as much. The pressure began to hurt. I asked "Are there bathrooms at Point 3?"
"Just go in the water" they said.
"Gross," said I.
"The river is your bathroom," said they. "Everybody does it."
"Eww," I thought and tried not to sit quite so low in the water.
Now, I won't say whether or not any members of my group actually did go in the water...you'll have to ask them, but at some point, it got so bad that I gave in to pressure (pun intended) and slipped out of my tube. And I tried. Believe me, I tried. But I couldn't go. I just couldn't! I tried all the old tricks: thinking of waterfalls, rivers (I mean, good grief! We were ON a river!), the song from Bambi that goes "Drip, Drip, Drop little April Showers". Nothing worked. So, I determined that we would stop at point 3 so that I could go to the bathroom. So I waited. And I waited. And we went past the morons who climbed the cliffs, mooned us and then jumped off. And I waited. The pressure kept building and building. Suddenly we saw a sign. -Point 4 ahead, move to the left of the river. -Apparently Point 3 does not exist.
We put on our flipflops and prepared to brave the rocks. Suddenly, one of my lovely yellow flips slipped off my foot and floated down the river. I think I heard it singing "born free, as free as the wind blows". sigh. The other flip yelled "WAIT FOR ME!!!" and raced down the river to join it's mate. double sigh.
We climbed out, unpacked and I thought ok, this isn't bad. The rocks are smooth. I'll be fine. And then I stepped out of the water. See, I had forgotten this phenomenon that happens in Arizona when the sun shines. Things get hot. REALLY hot.
Long story short, I ended up standing on our bag of wet sheets, as Aimee, Cheryl and Phil climbed the hill to the buses and and then Aimee took Cheryl's flips and brought them to me so that I could trudge up the hill. yay.
All in all, though, it was a very memorable day. We all got a little bit of a sunburn and I got....well, let me show you. I apologize for the whiteness.
Nice, huh? It really hurts, too.
For those of you not familiar with Southern Arizona (ok, more like southern-to-mid Arizona), we have a river here called the Salt River. Why it's called that, I don't know. It doesn't taste salty. Anyway. One of the things to do is to go tubing on the Salt River, and a company has taken it upon themselves to help in that endeavor. You drive there, pay $14 and you get a giant inner tube (black with a yellow stripe around it) and a bus ride up to the top of the river. If you are smart, you also pay for an extra tube into which you shove your laden-with-goodies cooler. At the top (aka Point 1), you slather yourself with sunscreen, tie sheets around the tubes (trust me. that black rubber gets REALLY hot and you can take off an inch of skin if you don't have the sheet), tie your tubes together - or at the very least, tie your cooler to someone in your group, and away you go. 3-4 hours later, after beautiful scenery,
snacks and stimulating conversation, you reach point 4, clamber over rocks and other tubers, untie your tubes, untie the sheets, pack everything back up, get back on the bus and head back to your car. At least, that's how you do it in an ideal world....On Saturday, Aimee, Cheryl, Phillip and I decided to go tubing on the Salt River. Actually, the decision was made before Saturday, but the execution of said decision was on Saturday. Anyway. We got up REALLY early, packed the cooler and our bags, and headed up to the river. An hour and a half later, we were there and began the process of getting ready to go: using the restrooms, cramming as much stuff as possible into the cooler and 2 bags, getting tubes, etc.
As per my earlier description, we got to point 1, put on sunscreen, tied down the sheets and cooler, and wearing beautiful floppy hats and no shoes, we shoved off. At first it was pretty calm. Soothing really. And, like I said, beautiful scenery.
After a half hour or so, we broke out the Gatorade (aka Margaritas disguised as Gatorade. No glass containers allowed.) Merrily we floated along. For some reason we were predisposed to floating as close to the shore line as possible. A low hanging and not at all flexible branch nearly decapitated me and then Aimee, but we survived. We came to an island and saw that we were going to be too close to the shore. We began paddling, in a somewhat energetic manner, because the speed of the water had picked up a lot. Just then my behind smacked into a rock, and we realized that there were more pitfalls to this section than just fast water and an island. Before I knew it, I slammed into a rock, my tube flipped over my head and I was being dragged along by the raging water. The water was only about 3 feet deep, so naturally, my knees came in contact with every single rock in the river bed. I struggled along, threw my floppy hat at Phillip and managed to grab hold of my tube. I was trying to pull myself back onto my tube, when it flipped over again, landing me smack in the water with knees and feet hitting yet more rocks. Somehow during all this Phillip let my hat escape. "Help!" I cried and Cheryl reached for me. I pulled myself half on to her inner tube, which threatened to overturn her tube. "Aimee!" she yelled and latched on to Aimee's arm, thereby balancing the tube and the four of us floated into the calm waters of Point 2. Somehow during all that, I was able to hook my hat with my foot and pull it along with me. It was really quite amazing. The rest of the trip was not nearly so adventurous. My side, knees, feet and but began to hurt, but otherwise I was in good spirits.And then...I really had to pee. I mean, REALLY. I hadn't had any Gatorade, but Cream Soda and Water go through you just as much. The pressure began to hurt. I asked "Are there bathrooms at Point 3?"
"Just go in the water" they said.
"Gross," said I.
"The river is your bathroom," said they. "Everybody does it."
"Eww," I thought and tried not to sit quite so low in the water.
Now, I won't say whether or not any members of my group actually did go in the water...you'll have to ask them, but at some point, it got so bad that I gave in to pressure (pun intended) and slipped out of my tube. And I tried. Believe me, I tried. But I couldn't go. I just couldn't! I tried all the old tricks: thinking of waterfalls, rivers (I mean, good grief! We were ON a river!), the song from Bambi that goes "Drip, Drip, Drop little April Showers". Nothing worked. So, I determined that we would stop at point 3 so that I could go to the bathroom. So I waited. And I waited. And we went past the morons who climbed the cliffs, mooned us and then jumped off. And I waited. The pressure kept building and building. Suddenly we saw a sign. -Point 4 ahead, move to the left of the river. -Apparently Point 3 does not exist.
We put on our flipflops and prepared to brave the rocks. Suddenly, one of my lovely yellow flips slipped off my foot and floated down the river. I think I heard it singing "born free, as free as the wind blows". sigh. The other flip yelled "WAIT FOR ME!!!" and raced down the river to join it's mate. double sigh.
We climbed out, unpacked and I thought ok, this isn't bad. The rocks are smooth. I'll be fine. And then I stepped out of the water. See, I had forgotten this phenomenon that happens in Arizona when the sun shines. Things get hot. REALLY hot.
Long story short, I ended up standing on our bag of wet sheets, as Aimee, Cheryl and Phil climbed the hill to the buses and and then Aimee took Cheryl's flips and brought them to me so that I could trudge up the hill. yay.
All in all, though, it was a very memorable day. We all got a little bit of a sunburn and I got....well, let me show you. I apologize for the whiteness.
Nice, huh? It really hurts, too.
27 June 2007
Beauty and the Hypocrisy Beast
Previously, on our show:
Our heroine had just confronted the nasty Hypocrisy Beast, which was dressed in the guise of the Car-Driving Cell Phone Talker. After taking several nasty blows, and just when defeat seemed imminent, our heroine managed to rally her defenses and strike a killing blow to the monster, by using her magical Bluetooth Headset. The Hypocrisy Beast screamed, writhed and fell to the ground. Our heroine was victorious and scraped, but she drove triumphantly onward.
This week:
We join our heroine in the midst of yet another struggle. Unbeknownst to her, the Hypocrisy Beast had not died, but was merely wounded, and apparently, not THAT badly wounded after all. The Bluetooth Headset had simply stunned the creature, causing it to fall over in surprise and dismay, but later it had awakened and crawled off to its cave to plot revenge.
The latest battle began on Friday. Our noble heroine had willingly taken her time and volunteered to help her mother clean out sheds and box up stuff to give to charity. To help her reach this goal, our heroine had donned armour of a pink tanktop, blue and white shorts, tennis shoes and a pony tale. After several hours spent at this task, our heroine was sweaty, dirty and tired. She needed a shower, badly. But, being the ever helpful and loving person that she is, she again agreed to help another person in need by driving her sister to school so that she could take a test and get a job.
For our new audience, here is the point in the story when we do a little bit of background - be it flashbacks, or whatever - so that you can understand a little more about our heroine and her struggle. This week's flashback will take the form of a narrative, voiced over by none other than our heroine.
"I hate how vain and shallow people are. I hate that tv, radio, magazines, newspapers, books, videogames, etc are all telling me that unless I dress in the height of fashion - regardless of how ridiculous (Ugg Boots, anyone?) that fashion may be; unless I wear makeup that covers up every single, little flaw; unless I do my hair in such a way or wear the proper windshield-sized sunglasses; unless I go out of my way to do all of this (and more), I am not worth a person's time. Guys will not want to date me; people will not want to be my friends. I will not be liked for the person I am on the inside, because CLEARLY if I am not willing to decorate my outside so heavily that I am unrecognizable as the person that God created me to be, nothing on the inside could POSSIBLY have merit. I hate that my body shape (being hourglass curvy, but having more curves than the normal hourglass) is thought to be something of an embarrassment; that because my stomach is not flat, my arms are mushy and I normally have something of a five o'clock shadow on my legs, I am not GOOD enough. I hate that nobody seems willing to take the time to look past the out-of-style clothing, the Rubenesque figure and the normal hairstyles to get to know the person underneath. I fight with myself on a regular basis about the idea of makeup. Why should I wear it? Am I not good enough without it? I haven't yet resolved that issue, but I am coming to terms with it. I don't wear makeup all the time, and when I do, I wear VERY little. But, all this aside, I do not obsess over this issue. I just live the way I want to and I mostly ignore the idiocy around me. If people want to overlook me, that's fine. Less work for me. To quote the very famous Stuart Smalley "I'm good enough, I'm smart enough, and doggone it, people like me." Thank you."
The Narrative being ended, our heroine sat in her car, reading and waiting for her sister, unaware that the Hypocrisy Beast was creeping up on her. A school bus pulled up behind her and children filed out. She looked up. Nothing terribly interesting. She read a few more sentences and then looked up again. She saw a man about her age. Wow, she thought, that guy is REALLY good look - wait. Is that - ? It can't be. Is that CHRIS? And lo and behold, it was. It was Chris, a former classmate. And the Hypocrisy Beast pounced, striking from behind and smashing her in the back of the head. Please don't let him see me. I look horrible! I'm all sweaty and my clothes are old and ratty and my hair is a MESS! Please don't let him -
"Hey Jacqueline!"
"Hi Chris." dang it. he recognized me. CRAP! Why does he have to look so good and I look like this?! It's NOT fair!
Unfortunately for our heroine, the Hypocrisy Beast won that round. Oh, she braved it out and pretended like she didn't care, but the Beast had won all the same. So, the fight will continue. Our heroine may be down, but she is not out. Warning to the Hypocrisy Beast: Your days are numbered.
Our heroine had just confronted the nasty Hypocrisy Beast, which was dressed in the guise of the Car-Driving Cell Phone Talker. After taking several nasty blows, and just when defeat seemed imminent, our heroine managed to rally her defenses and strike a killing blow to the monster, by using her magical Bluetooth Headset. The Hypocrisy Beast screamed, writhed and fell to the ground. Our heroine was victorious and scraped, but she drove triumphantly onward.
This week:
We join our heroine in the midst of yet another struggle. Unbeknownst to her, the Hypocrisy Beast had not died, but was merely wounded, and apparently, not THAT badly wounded after all. The Bluetooth Headset had simply stunned the creature, causing it to fall over in surprise and dismay, but later it had awakened and crawled off to its cave to plot revenge.
The latest battle began on Friday. Our noble heroine had willingly taken her time and volunteered to help her mother clean out sheds and box up stuff to give to charity. To help her reach this goal, our heroine had donned armour of a pink tanktop, blue and white shorts, tennis shoes and a pony tale. After several hours spent at this task, our heroine was sweaty, dirty and tired. She needed a shower, badly. But, being the ever helpful and loving person that she is, she again agreed to help another person in need by driving her sister to school so that she could take a test and get a job.
For our new audience, here is the point in the story when we do a little bit of background - be it flashbacks, or whatever - so that you can understand a little more about our heroine and her struggle. This week's flashback will take the form of a narrative, voiced over by none other than our heroine.
"I hate how vain and shallow people are. I hate that tv, radio, magazines, newspapers, books, videogames, etc are all telling me that unless I dress in the height of fashion - regardless of how ridiculous (Ugg Boots, anyone?) that fashion may be; unless I wear makeup that covers up every single, little flaw; unless I do my hair in such a way or wear the proper windshield-sized sunglasses; unless I go out of my way to do all of this (and more), I am not worth a person's time. Guys will not want to date me; people will not want to be my friends. I will not be liked for the person I am on the inside, because CLEARLY if I am not willing to decorate my outside so heavily that I am unrecognizable as the person that God created me to be, nothing on the inside could POSSIBLY have merit. I hate that my body shape (being hourglass curvy, but having more curves than the normal hourglass) is thought to be something of an embarrassment; that because my stomach is not flat, my arms are mushy and I normally have something of a five o'clock shadow on my legs, I am not GOOD enough. I hate that nobody seems willing to take the time to look past the out-of-style clothing, the Rubenesque figure and the normal hairstyles to get to know the person underneath. I fight with myself on a regular basis about the idea of makeup. Why should I wear it? Am I not good enough without it? I haven't yet resolved that issue, but I am coming to terms with it. I don't wear makeup all the time, and when I do, I wear VERY little. But, all this aside, I do not obsess over this issue. I just live the way I want to and I mostly ignore the idiocy around me. If people want to overlook me, that's fine. Less work for me. To quote the very famous Stuart Smalley "I'm good enough, I'm smart enough, and doggone it, people like me." Thank you."
The Narrative being ended, our heroine sat in her car, reading and waiting for her sister, unaware that the Hypocrisy Beast was creeping up on her. A school bus pulled up behind her and children filed out. She looked up. Nothing terribly interesting. She read a few more sentences and then looked up again. She saw a man about her age. Wow, she thought, that guy is REALLY good look - wait. Is that - ? It can't be. Is that CHRIS? And lo and behold, it was. It was Chris, a former classmate. And the Hypocrisy Beast pounced, striking from behind and smashing her in the back of the head. Please don't let him see me. I look horrible! I'm all sweaty and my clothes are old and ratty and my hair is a MESS! Please don't let him -
"Hey Jacqueline!"
"Hi Chris." dang it. he recognized me. CRAP! Why does he have to look so good and I look like this?! It's NOT fair!
Unfortunately for our heroine, the Hypocrisy Beast won that round. Oh, she braved it out and pretended like she didn't care, but the Beast had won all the same. So, the fight will continue. Our heroine may be down, but she is not out. Warning to the Hypocrisy Beast: Your days are numbered.
21 June 2007
And you are?
I: Hi! My mom sent me in to pick up a CD with pictures of a house on it.
He: Oh! Is your mom Halene?
I: Yes.
He: Here's the CD. Are you the daughter?
I: ......
I: ...... uh, no. Actually, I'm the son.
(actually, I didn't say the last part, because he was being SUPER nice and I didn't want to crush his feelings. But I WANTED to.)
He: Oh! Is your mom Halene?
I: Yes.
He: Here's the CD. Are you the daughter?
I: ......
I: ...... uh, no. Actually, I'm the son.
(actually, I didn't say the last part, because he was being SUPER nice and I didn't want to crush his feelings. But I WANTED to.)
19 June 2007
The Moral of the Story?
If you get up at 5 AM to go running and your stomach is screaming at you for the Mexican food you ate yesterday, just do yourself a favor and crawl back in bed until the agony is over, because otherwise, I guarantee you, at some point during your run, you are going to want - nay, need - to stop and embarrass yourself in public.
Thank God for Burger King.
Thank God for Burger King.
15 June 2007
I hate it when the TV whistles
and other random annoyances.
I hate it when the TV whistles. Especially because it only whistles at a frequency that dogs (and apparently I) can hear.
I hate it when I'm watching a cartoon and I can't figure out which actor is playing a character, but I KNOW I've heard that voice before.
I hate having to dry off when I get out of the shower. Too much work.
I hate it when my dog wakes me up an hour before my alarm goes off and won't let me go back to sleep, and then when I let her out, she proceeds to bark at the neighboring dogs, which keeps me awake anyway.
I hate it when my dog wakes me up 15 minutes before my alarm goes off.
I hate it when I am really looking forward to something happening (eg: school ending, family reunion, etc) and then time. drags. on. at. the. slowest. possible. rate. ever.
I hate it when I get a song stuck in my head. Now - I'm not talking a once-in-a-while having "the barney song" stuck in my head. No I'm talking about having a song stuck in my head at least once a day for several hours. And then the song will change. It's like my own personal radio station. Only, without DJs and with a really random song selection, and also, unfortunately, commercials.
I hate it when I shave my legs, and before I get out of the shower, feel my legs against the grain to make sure I haven't missed any spots, and then I get out of the shower and as I'm drying off, I discover an inch by inch patch that was apparently invisible and resistant to the razor.
I hate it that in Quiznos commercials, they say "MMMMM (that's FIVE m's) toasty", but that they only WRITE "MMMM toasty".
I hate it when I'm lying in bed at night and it's too hot for covers, so I've kicked them off, but then I realize that the monsters under the bed (or in the closet, or sitting in the middle of the floor) can eat me because I don't have my protective shielding on, so I have to cover up, because it is better to ROAST than to be eaten. (and I can't convince myself that the monsters aren't there.)
I hate it when they play the same commercial back to back.
I hate it when I call a place to ask a question and they patronize me. Apparently only stupid people need to ask questions.
I hate it when I'm trying to sleep (e.g. after the dog has awakened me or at naptime), but I can't go to sleep because my BRAIN won't stop TALKING to me. It's like that really annoying kid in school who didn't have any friends and would talk to you and you would have to be nice to them because you felt sorry for them.
I hate it when the TV whistles. Especially because it only whistles at a frequency that dogs (and apparently I) can hear.
I hate it when I'm watching a cartoon and I can't figure out which actor is playing a character, but I KNOW I've heard that voice before.
I hate having to dry off when I get out of the shower. Too much work.
I hate it when my dog wakes me up an hour before my alarm goes off and won't let me go back to sleep, and then when I let her out, she proceeds to bark at the neighboring dogs, which keeps me awake anyway.
I hate it when my dog wakes me up 15 minutes before my alarm goes off.
I hate it when I am really looking forward to something happening (eg: school ending, family reunion, etc) and then time. drags. on. at. the. slowest. possible. rate. ever.
I hate it when I get a song stuck in my head. Now - I'm not talking a once-in-a-while having "the barney song" stuck in my head. No I'm talking about having a song stuck in my head at least once a day for several hours. And then the song will change. It's like my own personal radio station. Only, without DJs and with a really random song selection, and also, unfortunately, commercials.
I hate it when I shave my legs, and before I get out of the shower, feel my legs against the grain to make sure I haven't missed any spots, and then I get out of the shower and as I'm drying off, I discover an inch by inch patch that was apparently invisible and resistant to the razor.
I hate it that in Quiznos commercials, they say "MMMMM (that's FIVE m's) toasty", but that they only WRITE "MMMM toasty".
I hate it when I'm lying in bed at night and it's too hot for covers, so I've kicked them off, but then I realize that the monsters under the bed (or in the closet, or sitting in the middle of the floor) can eat me because I don't have my protective shielding on, so I have to cover up, because it is better to ROAST than to be eaten. (and I can't convince myself that the monsters aren't there.)
I hate it when they play the same commercial back to back.
I hate it when I call a place to ask a question and they patronize me. Apparently only stupid people need to ask questions.
I hate it when I'm trying to sleep (e.g. after the dog has awakened me or at naptime), but I can't go to sleep because my BRAIN won't stop TALKING to me. It's like that really annoying kid in school who didn't have any friends and would talk to you and you would have to be nice to them because you felt sorry for them.
13 June 2007
"Oh Poppycock! FEMALE bandits?!"
Ok, to be fair, I don't know if you were female. In fact I don't know much of anything about you. I don't know if you were a "they" or just a "you". I just thought the line sounded good.
I DO know that you are slimy, cowardly little yellow-bellied chickens; morons too afraid of living responsibily and following the laws put down by our nation. You obviously are afraid of failure, so rather than trying to accomplish something productive, you make your way through life, taking what others have worked hard to gain, and destroying what you cannot take.
I certainly hope that the momentary high you receieved off of taking my things was worth it. I hope that the little bit of money you got for my stuff was enough so that you could go out and buy drugs and get your momentary fix. Too bad you will never know true happiness, nor the pride in accomplishing something good and decent.
But, I'm still curious about a few things:
1. Why did you move my brother's Army helmet from the back office to the living room. Were you playing kickball?
2. Why did you sort through my movies and take such things as Beauty and the Beast, Bill Cosby and TWO empty cases, but leave behind such things as The Man from Snowy River and Ocean's Eleven? Wouldn't you have made more money and taken less time if you had just taken everything?
3. Why didn't you take the almost $500 worth of box sets in the forms of Alias, The Pretender, etc?
4. Why did you smash the TV? Was it too heavy for your puny arms?
5. Why did you move the cheese knife from the kitchen into the chair in the living room?
6. Why didn't you take the following items: the DVD player, the modem and the wireless router?
Wow. In looking back on it, it seems you weren't even very good theives.
Yes, you took my stuff. Yes, you got away with it. Congratulations to you. Enjoy your 15 minutes. I, on the other hand, will continue to live my life responsibily. I will continue to work and play to the utmost and I will buy more movies, another computer, and my brother will probably buy another PS2. You will not destroy our lives.
I DO know that you are slimy, cowardly little yellow-bellied chickens; morons too afraid of living responsibily and following the laws put down by our nation. You obviously are afraid of failure, so rather than trying to accomplish something productive, you make your way through life, taking what others have worked hard to gain, and destroying what you cannot take.
I certainly hope that the momentary high you receieved off of taking my things was worth it. I hope that the little bit of money you got for my stuff was enough so that you could go out and buy drugs and get your momentary fix. Too bad you will never know true happiness, nor the pride in accomplishing something good and decent.
But, I'm still curious about a few things:
1. Why did you move my brother's Army helmet from the back office to the living room. Were you playing kickball?
2. Why did you sort through my movies and take such things as Beauty and the Beast, Bill Cosby and TWO empty cases, but leave behind such things as The Man from Snowy River and Ocean's Eleven? Wouldn't you have made more money and taken less time if you had just taken everything?
3. Why didn't you take the almost $500 worth of box sets in the forms of Alias, The Pretender, etc?
4. Why did you smash the TV? Was it too heavy for your puny arms?
5. Why did you move the cheese knife from the kitchen into the chair in the living room?
6. Why didn't you take the following items: the DVD player, the modem and the wireless router?
Wow. In looking back on it, it seems you weren't even very good theives.
Yes, you took my stuff. Yes, you got away with it. Congratulations to you. Enjoy your 15 minutes. I, on the other hand, will continue to live my life responsibily. I will continue to work and play to the utmost and I will buy more movies, another computer, and my brother will probably buy another PS2. You will not destroy our lives.
26 May 2007
Do NOT touch me and DO NOT EVER touch my little brother
Dear Morons Who Were at the El Con Movie Theatre at 1:30 This Afternoon,
Hi! I just wanted to write and see if any of you are aware of exactly how stupid you are. Probably not, so let's go over the what happened, shall we?
First: I was there with my little brother (age 14) to see Pirates 3. You were there, presumably, to see that or another movie currently playing.
Second: We had all decided that we needed snacks before seeing our respective movies, and being on the right side of the theatre, we decided to go to the snack bar on the right side instead of braving the main snack bar at the front. Some arrived before others, and, as most of us do, formed a line to wait.
Third: There was only one register open, and he was moving as quickly as he could (thank you snack bar guy).
Fourth: Another kindly snack bar person came to a second register and said "I can help the next person in line". And, being the pro that she is, she did. And then she helped the next "next person in line".
Fifth: I, being the intelligent person that I am, decided it was silly for us all to wait in one line when there were clearly two registers open, so I decided to form a second line at the newly available register.
Sixth: You all turned in to a bunch of Kindergarteners (my apologies to those who actually ARE kindergarteners, as I am sure YOU would not have behaved in such a childish fashion) and began complaining:
"hey, there's only one line"
"you need to get back in line"
"come on get back in line"
My response: "there are two registers open. I see nothing wrong with this. Let's form another line" (most of which was not finished because of the CRYING going on)
Seventh: Some old idiot decided that it would be ok to grab my brother by the shoulder and force him back in to line whilst saying in THE MOST patronizing tone EVER "come on, just get back in line". He then decided to grab MY shoulder, at which point I had had enough.
"Do NOT touch me" I said (in my best teacher voice) "DO NOT touch me." And, motioning to my little brother, we left said right-side-of-the-theatre-snack-bar and went up front to the main one. Whereat, we purchased our water, red vines and super sour straws.
Eighth: We beat you through the line and made it back to our movie before you made it to yours. My little brother made sure you knew this by raising his snacks to you so that you could see them. And don't think we didn't notice that by that time, you had gone ahead and formed a second line at the other available register.
So, now that we've covered the scenario, here's some friendly advice.
1. Don't be babies. If YOU didn't think of forming a second line, and the person behind you did, instead of being all socialist "everybody must have an equal share", why not admire that person for her great ideas and learn your lesson for next time.
2. DO NOT touch my little brother. Next time, he has my permission to hit you.
3. If you EVER try to touch me, or herd me, or in anyway physically force me to do what you want, I will drop you so fast, you will forget what movie you wanted to see.
Thank you.
Hi! I just wanted to write and see if any of you are aware of exactly how stupid you are. Probably not, so let's go over the what happened, shall we?
First: I was there with my little brother (age 14) to see Pirates 3. You were there, presumably, to see that or another movie currently playing.
Second: We had all decided that we needed snacks before seeing our respective movies, and being on the right side of the theatre, we decided to go to the snack bar on the right side instead of braving the main snack bar at the front. Some arrived before others, and, as most of us do, formed a line to wait.
Third: There was only one register open, and he was moving as quickly as he could (thank you snack bar guy).
Fourth: Another kindly snack bar person came to a second register and said "I can help the next person in line". And, being the pro that she is, she did. And then she helped the next "next person in line".
Fifth: I, being the intelligent person that I am, decided it was silly for us all to wait in one line when there were clearly two registers open, so I decided to form a second line at the newly available register.
Sixth: You all turned in to a bunch of Kindergarteners (my apologies to those who actually ARE kindergarteners, as I am sure YOU would not have behaved in such a childish fashion) and began complaining:
"hey, there's only one line"
"you need to get back in line"
"come on get back in line"
My response: "there are two registers open. I see nothing wrong with this. Let's form another line" (most of which was not finished because of the CRYING going on)
Seventh: Some old idiot decided that it would be ok to grab my brother by the shoulder and force him back in to line whilst saying in THE MOST patronizing tone EVER "come on, just get back in line". He then decided to grab MY shoulder, at which point I had had enough.
"Do NOT touch me" I said (in my best teacher voice) "DO NOT touch me." And, motioning to my little brother, we left said right-side-of-the-theatre-snack-bar and went up front to the main one. Whereat, we purchased our water, red vines and super sour straws.
Eighth: We beat you through the line and made it back to our movie before you made it to yours. My little brother made sure you knew this by raising his snacks to you so that you could see them. And don't think we didn't notice that by that time, you had gone ahead and formed a second line at the other available register.
So, now that we've covered the scenario, here's some friendly advice.
1. Don't be babies. If YOU didn't think of forming a second line, and the person behind you did, instead of being all socialist "everybody must have an equal share", why not admire that person for her great ideas and learn your lesson for next time.
2. DO NOT touch my little brother. Next time, he has my permission to hit you.
3. If you EVER try to touch me, or herd me, or in anyway physically force me to do what you want, I will drop you so fast, you will forget what movie you wanted to see.
Thank you.
20 May 2007
Geesh! what a nerd!
Apparently, nerdiness does not fade with age. Nor does it change. I guess, once a nerd, always a nerd.
That being said, I got tagged with a meme, which told me to: (and I quote)
1. Go to Pop Culture Madness;
2. Pick the year you turned 18;
3. Get yourself nostalgic over the songs of the year;
4. Write something about how the songs affected you; and
5. Pass it on to 5 more friends.
So, here it is. The songs of 2001, and my reactions to them: dun ta dun!!!
November 18, 2000 - February 2, 2001: Independent Women - Destiny's Child
Never heard it. Next?
February 3 - February 16: It Wasn't Me - Shaggy featuring Ricardo "RikRok" Ducent
Hate it, hate it, HATE IT!!! I only heard it one time, and that was from a fellow band student who was singing it one day as we were going to class, but I couldn't get that STUPID chorus out of my head. I had to sing Disney and Church songs to myself for a week before I started forgetting the words.
February 17 - February 23: Ms. Jackson - OutKast
Don't know it.
February 24 - March 23: Stutter - Joe
Um....don't know this one either.
March 24 - April 6: Butterfly Crazy Town
Nope. (are we sensing a pattern here?)
April 7 - April 13: Angel - Shaggy featuring Rayvon
No clue.
April 14 - July 1: All For You - Janet Jackson
Huh?
June 2 - July 6: Lady Marmalade - Christina Aguilera / Lil' Kim / Mya / Pink
Now, THIS one, I know. The only memory I have of it is from Moulin Rouge. Good movie, no? Weird song, but whatever.
July 7 - August 3: U Remind Me - Usher
No idea.
August 4 - August 17: Bootylicious - Destiny's Child
Don't know it. Weird title, though.
August 18 - September 28: Fallin' - Alicia Keys
Love it!! This is such a great song, but I don't actually remember listening to it until the summer AFTER I turned 18, when I stayed with my sister and she had the cd and we listened to it on our way to her classes.
September 29 - November 2: I'm Real - Jennifer Lopez featuring Ja Rule
Nope. Not ringing a bell.
November 3 - December 14: Family Affair - Mary J. Blige
Don't know it.
December 15, 2001 - January 25, 2002: U Got It Bad - Usher
AND......don't know it.
See what I mean about NERDY? These were THE songs of that year, and I had NO clue that most of them even WERE songs. sigh. I'll never be cool. (oh, and I don't have 5 friends. So, I guess I'm too nerdy to even pass this on.)
On the plus side, I did it!
That being said, I got tagged with a meme, which told me to: (and I quote)
1. Go to Pop Culture Madness;
2. Pick the year you turned 18;
3. Get yourself nostalgic over the songs of the year;
4. Write something about how the songs affected you; and
5. Pass it on to 5 more friends.
So, here it is. The songs of 2001, and my reactions to them: dun ta dun!!!
November 18, 2000 - February 2, 2001: Independent Women - Destiny's Child
Never heard it. Next?
February 3 - February 16: It Wasn't Me - Shaggy featuring Ricardo "RikRok" Ducent
Hate it, hate it, HATE IT!!! I only heard it one time, and that was from a fellow band student who was singing it one day as we were going to class, but I couldn't get that STUPID chorus out of my head. I had to sing Disney and Church songs to myself for a week before I started forgetting the words.
February 17 - February 23: Ms. Jackson - OutKast
Don't know it.
February 24 - March 23: Stutter - Joe
Um....don't know this one either.
March 24 - April 6: Butterfly Crazy Town
Nope. (are we sensing a pattern here?)
April 7 - April 13: Angel - Shaggy featuring Rayvon
No clue.
April 14 - July 1: All For You - Janet Jackson
Huh?
June 2 - July 6: Lady Marmalade - Christina Aguilera / Lil' Kim / Mya / Pink
Now, THIS one, I know. The only memory I have of it is from Moulin Rouge. Good movie, no? Weird song, but whatever.
July 7 - August 3: U Remind Me - Usher
No idea.
August 4 - August 17: Bootylicious - Destiny's Child
Don't know it. Weird title, though.
August 18 - September 28: Fallin' - Alicia Keys
Love it!! This is such a great song, but I don't actually remember listening to it until the summer AFTER I turned 18, when I stayed with my sister and she had the cd and we listened to it on our way to her classes.
September 29 - November 2: I'm Real - Jennifer Lopez featuring Ja Rule
Nope. Not ringing a bell.
November 3 - December 14: Family Affair - Mary J. Blige
Don't know it.
December 15, 2001 - January 25, 2002: U Got It Bad - Usher
AND......don't know it.
See what I mean about NERDY? These were THE songs of that year, and I had NO clue that most of them even WERE songs. sigh. I'll never be cool. (oh, and I don't have 5 friends. So, I guess I'm too nerdy to even pass this on.)
On the plus side, I did it!
15 May 2007
help me?
I can't do this. I can't do this. I can't do this. I can't do this. I can't do this. I can't do this. I can't do this. I can't do this. I can't do this. I can't do this. I can't do this. I can't do this. I can't do this. I can't do this. I can't do this. I can't do this. I can't do this. I can't do this. I can't do this. I can't do this. I can't do this. I can't do this. I can't do this. I can't do this. I can't do this. I can't do this. I can't do this. I can't do this. I can't do this. I can't do this. I can't do this. I can't do this. I can't do this. I can't do this. I can't do this. I can't do this. I can't do this. I can't do this. I can't do this. I can't do this. I can't do this. I can't do this. I can't do this. I can't do this. I can't do this. I can't do this. I can't do this. I can't do this. I can't do this. I can't do this. I can't do this. I can't do this. I can't do this. I can't do this. I can't do this. I can't do this. I can't do this. I can't do this. I can't do this. I can't do this. I can't do this. I can't do this. I can't do this. I can't do this. I can't do this. I can't do this. I can't do this. I can't do this. I can't do this. I can't do this. I can't do this. I can't do this. I can't do this. I can't do this. I can't do this. I can't do this. I can't do this. I can't do this. I can't do this. I can't do this. I can't do this. I can't do this. I can't do this. I can't do this. I can't do this. I can't do this. I can't do this. I can't do this. I can't do this. I can't do this. I can't do this. I can't do this. I can't do this. I can't do this. I can't do this. I can't do this. I can't do this. I can't do this. I can't do this. I can't do this.
AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAA
AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAA
AARRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRR
RRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRGGGGGGGGGGG
GGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGG
GGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGHHHHHHHHHHHH
HHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH
HHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!
(OK. NOW BACK TO WORK)
AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAA
AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAA
AARRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRR
RRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRGGGGGGGGGGG
GGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGG
GGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGHHHHHHHHHHHH
HHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH
HHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!
(OK. NOW BACK TO WORK)
29 April 2007
recently....
She: He needs to grow
I: Him? Why?
She: He needs to be taller.
I: What do you mean? Did you see his face and think he would be cuter if he were taller? Or do you think it would be better if he were taller, period?
She: Well, come on...muscular and a shaved head. I didn't see his face, but it would be much better if he were taller.
I: What about short women? Don't we deserve men our size?
She: No, cuz then you'd just breed more short babies.
I: Shortness is not a disease!!
I: Him? Why?
She: He needs to be taller.
I: What do you mean? Did you see his face and think he would be cuter if he were taller? Or do you think it would be better if he were taller, period?
She: Well, come on...muscular and a shaved head. I didn't see his face, but it would be much better if he were taller.
I: What about short women? Don't we deserve men our size?
She: No, cuz then you'd just breed more short babies.
I: Shortness is not a disease!!
13 April 2007
Hypocrisy, thy name is Addiction
I hate it when people talk on their cell phones and drive at the same time. HATE it. Of course, to be fair, I generally assume that anybody in another car is a complete and total moron, who requires all two of his or her (usually her) brain cells merely to drive, so when they use one of those brain cells to carry on a conversation, my stress level increases exponentially. People are stupid anyway. Add in the fact that they are trying to both drive and carry on a conversation (and usually, listen to the radio too) at the same time and my chances of arriving at my destination
a) in one piece
b) in a good mood
c) both
go from slim to none.
Why do they have to talk and drive at the same time? What is SO important that they can't wait until they get home to use the phone? Are they afraid of the silence? The alone time? Are they trying to silence the voices in their heads?
When I first got my cell phone, I was really good about not talking and driving at the same time. I didn't call anybody from the car, unless it was an emergency, and if the phone rang, I either ignored it or I told them I would call them back. Part of this was because I was driving a standard with no power steering, but part of it was that I was a goodie-two shoes. But then I discovered the hands free head set *waaaahhhh!*, and I learned something very interesting. The car is the PERFECT time to have a conversation. It's quiet, I'm alone. It's forced isolation. The only distractions are the moronic drivers on the road, and if traffic isn't too bad, you can even get around that. When I'm in the car, I can't be obsessing about what I SHOULD be doing, so I can give my full attention (minus that required to drive, of course) to my conversation partner.
Then my hands free died (actually, it got caught in the car door and I dragged it all the way home. Not sure why the clanking and clacking didn't register in my brain.), anyway. So it died and I got a new car....still a standard, but one with power steering *ooooooo*, and I learned how to steer, shift and talk on the phone at the same time. And gradually, my phone time grew. And suddenly, there wasn't a car trip I took when I wasn't also talking on my phone. The minute I got in the car, I put my phone in easy reach "just in case".
When it finally dawned on me that I was *gasp* addicted to talking while driving, I knew I had to do something about it. So, I would get in the car. My phone still in easy reach, but I would promise myself that this time - this time - I wouldn't call anyone. I won't pick up the phone. I don't need to talk to anyone. It can wait. Nothing is too important. right?
But, somehow, my brain wouldn't believe me, and my fingers would start to itch. Who am I going to call? Who? My brain would search frantically for any reason. ANY REASON at all to call someone.
"Mom, um, hi. Do you, uh, need....anything?"
"Hey, sis. Just calling cuz I haven't talked to you since, uh, well, this morning..."
So, these last two days, I have left my phone at home (for various reasons) and it has been HARD. I'd get in the car, and pull out of the drive. 2 feet down the road, my brain would start thinking about who to call. But wait! My phone is on the coffee table!! OH NO! My hands would start shaking, my heart would start racing and I would start sweating profusely. No time to turn back. Leave it there. You'll be working all day. No time for phone calls. Stop being such a baby.
WAAAAAGGGGGHHHHHH!!!! I want my PHONE!!!!
And so, I would drive down the road, unsteady hands trying to control the steering wheel, sweat obscuring my vision, brain running in circles, racing heart and talking to myself. All far more dangerous and distracting than driving whilst talking, if you ask me.
Cold turkey, schmurkey. I'm getting bluetooth.
a) in one piece
b) in a good mood
c) both
go from slim to none.
Why do they have to talk and drive at the same time? What is SO important that they can't wait until they get home to use the phone? Are they afraid of the silence? The alone time? Are they trying to silence the voices in their heads?
When I first got my cell phone, I was really good about not talking and driving at the same time. I didn't call anybody from the car, unless it was an emergency, and if the phone rang, I either ignored it or I told them I would call them back. Part of this was because I was driving a standard with no power steering, but part of it was that I was a goodie-two shoes. But then I discovered the hands free head set *waaaahhhh!*, and I learned something very interesting. The car is the PERFECT time to have a conversation. It's quiet, I'm alone. It's forced isolation. The only distractions are the moronic drivers on the road, and if traffic isn't too bad, you can even get around that. When I'm in the car, I can't be obsessing about what I SHOULD be doing, so I can give my full attention (minus that required to drive, of course) to my conversation partner.
Then my hands free died (actually, it got caught in the car door and I dragged it all the way home. Not sure why the clanking and clacking didn't register in my brain.), anyway. So it died and I got a new car....still a standard, but one with power steering *ooooooo*, and I learned how to steer, shift and talk on the phone at the same time. And gradually, my phone time grew. And suddenly, there wasn't a car trip I took when I wasn't also talking on my phone. The minute I got in the car, I put my phone in easy reach "just in case".
When it finally dawned on me that I was *gasp* addicted to talking while driving, I knew I had to do something about it. So, I would get in the car. My phone still in easy reach, but I would promise myself that this time - this time - I wouldn't call anyone. I won't pick up the phone. I don't need to talk to anyone. It can wait. Nothing is too important. right?
But, somehow, my brain wouldn't believe me, and my fingers would start to itch. Who am I going to call? Who? My brain would search frantically for any reason. ANY REASON at all to call someone.
"Mom, um, hi. Do you, uh, need....anything?"
"Hey, sis. Just calling cuz I haven't talked to you since, uh, well, this morning..."
So, these last two days, I have left my phone at home (for various reasons) and it has been HARD. I'd get in the car, and pull out of the drive. 2 feet down the road, my brain would start thinking about who to call. But wait! My phone is on the coffee table!! OH NO! My hands would start shaking, my heart would start racing and I would start sweating profusely. No time to turn back. Leave it there. You'll be working all day. No time for phone calls. Stop being such a baby.
WAAAAAGGGGGHHHHHH!!!! I want my PHONE!!!!
And so, I would drive down the road, unsteady hands trying to control the steering wheel, sweat obscuring my vision, brain running in circles, racing heart and talking to myself. All far more dangerous and distracting than driving whilst talking, if you ask me.
Cold turkey, schmurkey. I'm getting bluetooth.
11 April 2007
The Dog Drinks
| Hiking, Mt. Wrightson, Saturday, April 7. It's kind of hard to see, but she is drinking water from my mouth. No water bowls needed on walks again!! | |
AIMS-xiety
So, you remember when you were little and you had to take those stupid standardized tests? The bubbling in. The No. 2 pencils. The numb mind and behind after 2 hours of filling in those stupid bubbles.
Cat is to mouse as dragon is to
a) house
b) toilet paper
c) knight
d) all of the above
e) none of the above
The envying of the teachers because they don't have to do anything except read the stupid directions and then read a magazine while WE do all the work.
but, I digresss.
In Arizona, the standardized test is called AIMS. This is the week that our students have to take those tests. As the rookie teacher, I was going to be the one who floated around, taking over classes to give the other teachers breaks, but the teacher who works with the special ed classes wasn't able to be there today, so I took over her class.
No big deal, right?
Right. She walked me through the procedures "make SURE they understand the directions", we set up a seating chart, and then I left (this was yesterday). Well, apparently, it WAS a bigger deal than that.
I had THE weirdest dreams last night. I dreamed that we were set up in the art room (which we were supposed to be), but then the tables turned into desks. My 8 students were instead replaced by a hundred other students, none of them the correct ones, and none of them listening to a word I said. The pencil sharpener kept eating the NON No. 2 pencils. The principal came in and started trying to fix things, but it didn't work. AAAAAHHHHHH!!!!!!!!
So scary. No wonder I was late to work this morning.
Cat is to mouse as dragon is to
a) house
b) toilet paper
c) knight
d) all of the above
e) none of the above
The envying of the teachers because they don't have to do anything except read the stupid directions and then read a magazine while WE do all the work.
but, I digresss.
In Arizona, the standardized test is called AIMS. This is the week that our students have to take those tests. As the rookie teacher, I was going to be the one who floated around, taking over classes to give the other teachers breaks, but the teacher who works with the special ed classes wasn't able to be there today, so I took over her class.
No big deal, right?
Right. She walked me through the procedures "make SURE they understand the directions", we set up a seating chart, and then I left (this was yesterday). Well, apparently, it WAS a bigger deal than that.
I had THE weirdest dreams last night. I dreamed that we were set up in the art room (which we were supposed to be), but then the tables turned into desks. My 8 students were instead replaced by a hundred other students, none of them the correct ones, and none of them listening to a word I said. The pencil sharpener kept eating the NON No. 2 pencils. The principal came in and started trying to fix things, but it didn't work. AAAAAHHHHHH!!!!!!!!
So scary. No wonder I was late to work this morning.
15 March 2007
Cavey Mc-Caver
Well, I caved. caved caved caved caved caved. such an awful word. and an awful feeling. I had my reasons for doing so, but I also have this twisty feeling in my stomach now. Ugh.
I'm talking about the latest decision related to grades. After the whole fiasco with the midterm Bs (a decision which I STILL support, by the way - regardless of the fact that it has caused me NO END OF GRIEF), I was worried about what I would do come quarter time (stick to my guns vs. give them all As). Because I knew that people would be less inclined to worry about a B at midterm than a B at quarter. Midterm grades don't count. Anyway, my mom said "don't worry, you'll know a couple of days before grades are due when your principal comes to you and tells you in no uncertain vague terms what he wants you to do."
And boy was she right! He came to me the other day and started talking about how he believes that all students should be able to earn an A and how he was glad that I have standards, but they can't be TOO high, and that if I were staying on next year, he would definitely encourage me to stick to my guns and really raise the standards for music, but did I want to be plagued by parents for the last nine weeks that I taught here? and he would NEVER tell a teacher how to grade or to change a grade, but he wasn't going to restrict parental access to me during Parent-Teacher conferences, and I should just think about those things.
So I did. And I came to the following conclusion: It is not worth my time and energy to fight this fight when I will not be returning next year. My ONE semester of high standards will mean nothing when compared to all the other semesters of teachers coddling and babying the little darlings. Of course SAYING that does not take away the sick feeling in my stomach, because I believe a person should have standards and stick to them, no matter how long they will be in a situation. But, I think I made the only decision I could. For one, I did see MAJOR improvement in all my students after midterm grades went out. So, maybe I won a little part of that battle. For two, I only see these kids once a week. That's really not time to establish a pattern of behavior (heck, I still have trouble remembering all their names!). And for three, I will still hold them to that standard during my class, and I think that they know it.
Have I justified the decision to cave well enough?
I'm talking about the latest decision related to grades. After the whole fiasco with the midterm Bs (a decision which I STILL support, by the way - regardless of the fact that it has caused me NO END OF GRIEF), I was worried about what I would do come quarter time (stick to my guns vs. give them all As). Because I knew that people would be less inclined to worry about a B at midterm than a B at quarter. Midterm grades don't count. Anyway, my mom said "don't worry, you'll know a couple of days before grades are due when your principal comes to you and tells you in no uncertain vague terms what he wants you to do."
And boy was she right! He came to me the other day and started talking about how he believes that all students should be able to earn an A and how he was glad that I have standards, but they can't be TOO high, and that if I were staying on next year, he would definitely encourage me to stick to my guns and really raise the standards for music, but did I want to be plagued by parents for the last nine weeks that I taught here? and he would NEVER tell a teacher how to grade or to change a grade, but he wasn't going to restrict parental access to me during Parent-Teacher conferences, and I should just think about those things.
So I did. And I came to the following conclusion: It is not worth my time and energy to fight this fight when I will not be returning next year. My ONE semester of high standards will mean nothing when compared to all the other semesters of teachers coddling and babying the little darlings. Of course SAYING that does not take away the sick feeling in my stomach, because I believe a person should have standards and stick to them, no matter how long they will be in a situation. But, I think I made the only decision I could. For one, I did see MAJOR improvement in all my students after midterm grades went out. So, maybe I won a little part of that battle. For two, I only see these kids once a week. That's really not time to establish a pattern of behavior (heck, I still have trouble remembering all their names!). And for three, I will still hold them to that standard during my class, and I think that they know it.
Have I justified the decision to cave well enough?
08 March 2007
Happy Birthday!
Well, it just occurred to me (as I am putting off getting ready for work tomorrow) that I have passed the one year mark for my blog.
yes, that's right. My blog is ONE YEAR OLD!
Just think, you've been reading all of my useless drivel for a year. Now how does that make you feel?
:-D Happy Birthday, Blog.
yes, that's right. My blog is ONE YEAR OLD!
Just think, you've been reading all of my useless drivel for a year. Now how does that make you feel?
:-D Happy Birthday, Blog.
"Tactical Crouch"
I was going to start this post with something like "you may not know this, but.." but given that all 7.5 of my readers have either known me for at least 5 years and/or are related to me, I realized it would just end up making me look stupid. So, I've changed the beginning.
You probably know this already, but I'm going to tell you anyway.
My brother, whom I love and adore is called Joe. As in G.I. This name was given to him by a family friend who could not pronounce his given name. (and, in the spirit of The Neverending Story, and also a small measure of Hopeful Delusions that Someone Not Related to Me is Reading This, I'm going to let you guess at his given name.) Anyway, the name stuck and is completely appropriate, because Joe is currently a part of Army ROTC. And he loves it. Everything about it. The physical stuff (18.7 mile ruck march in under 5 hours? Bring it.) The thinking aspect ("So then I had my team split in half and we covered the area and....") and yes, of course, the BLOWING UP OF THINGS ("dude, today we learned how to use nylons and hair gel to blow up an enemy tank").
Not a day goes by that I don't hear some story about who blew up what or what The Major did way back when. (The Major, by the way, is akin to Hercules.) What's nice about this scenario, is that Joe is very good at this ROTC thing. He is excelling at it. They get graded on various aspects of the things they do. It's a pretty interesting grading system: E = Excelling. N = Needs Improvement, and a few others, I think. He's learning information that we mere mortals could not handle knowing (seriously, our brains might explode) and he's developing habits which would not occur to we lowly civilians to develop. Enter the "Tactical Crouch" and the following story:
Our story begins last night around 9 pm. I had convinced Joe to go for a walk with me and my dog. It wasn't hard to convince him, because he doesn't like me walking around by myself after dark. Sweet, huh? Anyway, we went walking. Diesel and Me, Joe and Achilles (his hound dog, who, incidentally is my dog's brother). We were walking through our neighborhood and paid no attention to a car that went past us. Until.
POW POW
My reaction: Whoa! Scary sounds! (N for assessing)
Joe's reaction: Tactical Crouch.* (E for assessing, N for loyalty)
Me: What are you...oh! were those gun shots?
Joe: yep, it was a pistol.
Car: pulling ever so slowly and nonchalantly down the road. (N for not realizing that they should be DRIVING FASTER!!!!)
Neighbors: What the....?
Me: We need to call 911
Joe: Huh? Oh, yeah.
Me: do you know what kind of car it was?
Joe: yep it was a late 80s, early 90s corolla or civic. white. (E for observation)
Me: Awe and shock at his observation skills.
911: ok, we'll send someone.
10 minutes later: Way cool Helicopter shows up on search pattern. Police cruiser follows shortly.
Neighbor: look I found the shells. (E for finding things)
Cop: There was another shooting matching this description just a few minutes ago.
5 minutes later
Me: So, I guess you won't be letting me walk by myself at night ever again, huh? (E for predicting the future)
Joe: Nope.
So, yeah. weird scary incident, huh? It's a good thing Joe was there, because I never would have even thought it was gun shots...I would have assumed it was a noise maker of some kind. In fact, I did assume that very thing until they found the empty shells. Good thing Joe was there.
* Note: The "Tactical Crouch" was not accompanied by screaming, crying or pleading of any kind. Nor did he try to hide behind me or the dog. Nor did he try to push me in the way of the bullets. However, he did not try to protect me, which is where the LOYALTY issue comes in.
To be fair, he was a pretty upset about not protecting me, but then, in the most amazing bout of turnabout I've ever seen, he managed to make it not only NOT his fault, but the Army's fault and My fault as well. Observe:
Joe: I'm sorry I didn't protect you.
Me: Whatever
Joe: Well, I was trained that when you hear gun shots, you move. Don't just stand there. So, I dropped into a tactical crouch. It's not my fault. Blame the army.
Me: tactical crouch?!
Joe: You should have done it too. It's not my fault you didn't.
Me: ...
Joe gets an E for "Deflecting the Blame."
Go Army.
Seriously though, God Bless our Troops. And thank you.
You probably know this already, but I'm going to tell you anyway.
My brother, whom I love and adore is called Joe. As in G.I. This name was given to him by a family friend who could not pronounce his given name. (and, in the spirit of The Neverending Story, and also a small measure of Hopeful Delusions that Someone Not Related to Me is Reading This, I'm going to let you guess at his given name.) Anyway, the name stuck and is completely appropriate, because Joe is currently a part of Army ROTC. And he loves it. Everything about it. The physical stuff (18.7 mile ruck march in under 5 hours? Bring it.) The thinking aspect ("So then I had my team split in half and we covered the area and....") and yes, of course, the BLOWING UP OF THINGS ("dude, today we learned how to use nylons and hair gel to blow up an enemy tank").
Not a day goes by that I don't hear some story about who blew up what or what The Major did way back when. (The Major, by the way, is akin to Hercules.) What's nice about this scenario, is that Joe is very good at this ROTC thing. He is excelling at it. They get graded on various aspects of the things they do. It's a pretty interesting grading system: E = Excelling. N = Needs Improvement, and a few others, I think. He's learning information that we mere mortals could not handle knowing (seriously, our brains might explode) and he's developing habits which would not occur to we lowly civilians to develop. Enter the "Tactical Crouch" and the following story:
Our story begins last night around 9 pm. I had convinced Joe to go for a walk with me and my dog. It wasn't hard to convince him, because he doesn't like me walking around by myself after dark. Sweet, huh? Anyway, we went walking. Diesel and Me, Joe and Achilles (his hound dog, who, incidentally is my dog's brother). We were walking through our neighborhood and paid no attention to a car that went past us. Until.
POW POW
My reaction: Whoa! Scary sounds! (N for assessing)
Joe's reaction: Tactical Crouch.* (E for assessing, N for loyalty)
Me: What are you...oh! were those gun shots?
Joe: yep, it was a pistol.
Car: pulling ever so slowly and nonchalantly down the road. (N for not realizing that they should be DRIVING FASTER!!!!)
Neighbors: What the....?
Me: We need to call 911
Joe: Huh? Oh, yeah.
Me: do you know what kind of car it was?
Joe: yep it was a late 80s, early 90s corolla or civic. white. (E for observation)
Me: Awe and shock at his observation skills.
911: ok, we'll send someone.
10 minutes later: Way cool Helicopter shows up on search pattern. Police cruiser follows shortly.
Neighbor: look I found the shells. (E for finding things)
Cop: There was another shooting matching this description just a few minutes ago.
5 minutes later
Me: So, I guess you won't be letting me walk by myself at night ever again, huh? (E for predicting the future)
Joe: Nope.
So, yeah. weird scary incident, huh? It's a good thing Joe was there, because I never would have even thought it was gun shots...I would have assumed it was a noise maker of some kind. In fact, I did assume that very thing until they found the empty shells. Good thing Joe was there.
* Note: The "Tactical Crouch" was not accompanied by screaming, crying or pleading of any kind. Nor did he try to hide behind me or the dog. Nor did he try to push me in the way of the bullets. However, he did not try to protect me, which is where the LOYALTY issue comes in.
To be fair, he was a pretty upset about not protecting me, but then, in the most amazing bout of turnabout I've ever seen, he managed to make it not only NOT his fault, but the Army's fault and My fault as well. Observe:
Joe: I'm sorry I didn't protect you.
Me: Whatever
Joe: Well, I was trained that when you hear gun shots, you move. Don't just stand there. So, I dropped into a tactical crouch. It's not my fault. Blame the army.
Me: tactical crouch?!
Joe: You should have done it too. It's not my fault you didn't.
Me: ...
Joe gets an E for "Deflecting the Blame."
Go Army.
Seriously though, God Bless our Troops. And thank you.
04 March 2007
update
Well, I did it. I finally made the decision that has been plaguing me for at least a month. I have decided not to return to my school next year. When I started this job, I believed it to be merely temporary (until the previous teacher returned from maternity leave). Then, I got the "are you going to be coming back next year" letter, and I realized that she wasn't returning. By that point, I had already figured out that I do not enjoy teaching general music and I also do not enjoy teaching elementary (which is 2/5 of my job). I also discovered that I do not think it is right to require all students to take music. Especially not at the middle school level. I think that by the time they hit 6th grade, they have the right to decide if they want to study music.
But, at the same time I was figuring out all of this, I was really starting to enjoy the school atmosphere...it's small, cozy, close-knit and the parents really seem to care about their students.
I was having a hard time making a decision until I realized one thing: you can like your co-workers and the work environment, but if you do not like what you are doing, you will never be happy or fulfilled. So, I decided to decline to return.
Now I have to hunt for a new job. sigh.
Does anybody know how I can do job interviews without actually taking time off of work for it?
On a completely unrelated note, any prayers you wish to say for me would be greatly appreciated.
But, at the same time I was figuring out all of this, I was really starting to enjoy the school atmosphere...it's small, cozy, close-knit and the parents really seem to care about their students.
I was having a hard time making a decision until I realized one thing: you can like your co-workers and the work environment, but if you do not like what you are doing, you will never be happy or fulfilled. So, I decided to decline to return.
Now I have to hunt for a new job. sigh.
Does anybody know how I can do job interviews without actually taking time off of work for it?
On a completely unrelated note, any prayers you wish to say for me would be greatly appreciated.
01 March 2007
Conversations with 3rd graders
"Mrs. S?"
"Ok class, let's talk about the difference between 'Miss' and 'Mrs.' Who knows what it is?"
"'Mrs.' means you're married"
"That's right."
"And 'Miss' means you're not."
"That's right. Nick?"
"'Miss can also mean that you're divorced."
"That's true, Nick, but in that case you'd write it like this: Ms."
"I know why there's no 'R'. It's cuz there's no 'Mr.' any more."
"That's....right... Ok, so which am I?"
"You're 'Miss'"
"That's right. Am I wearing a wedding ring?"
"No."
"So that means..."
"You're not married."
"Miss S, are you still in college?"
"No, I graduated in December."
"Are you ever gonna get married?"
"...well, it takes two people to get married and right now there's only me. I guess I haven't met him yet. Yes, Mike?"
"All you gotta do is meet a guy who isn't crazy or dirty. Or poor."
"Yeah, you don't want to marry a hobo."
".... alright, who can tell me where a 'G' goes on the staff?"
"Ok class, let's talk about the difference between 'Miss' and 'Mrs.' Who knows what it is?"
"'Mrs.' means you're married"
"That's right."
"And 'Miss' means you're not."
"That's right. Nick?"
"'Miss can also mean that you're divorced."
"That's true, Nick, but in that case you'd write it like this: Ms."
"I know why there's no 'R'. It's cuz there's no 'Mr.' any more."
"That's....right... Ok, so which am I?"
"You're 'Miss'"
"That's right. Am I wearing a wedding ring?"
"No."
"So that means..."
"You're not married."
"Miss S, are you still in college?"
"No, I graduated in December."
"Are you ever gonna get married?"
"...well, it takes two people to get married and right now there's only me. I guess I haven't met him yet. Yes, Mike?"
"All you gotta do is meet a guy who isn't crazy or dirty. Or poor."
"Yeah, you don't want to marry a hobo."
".... alright, who can tell me where a 'G' goes on the staff?"
20 February 2007
Yee-haw
Well, I have definitely seen the backlash of my last big decision. Parents freaked out. Apparently all the little darlings in this school are absolute ANGELS and none of them deserves to have a lousy B.
The Principal says he supports me. He even sent home a letter to that effect. The problem is I'm not sure I believe him. From the way he talks to me, I get the feeling that he is just passing it off as New Teacher Zeal, which will quickly fade with time. That really annoys me. Especially his oh-so-helpful tips on how to deal with things. I'm young, but I am a professional, thank you very much.
The Parents want to know the grading criteria for music. All their previous kids have had As in music. What's wrong with this teacher? They didn't care about the criteria when their kids were getting As.
Are you grading them as individuals, or a class? Is my kid being punished for the class' behavior?
How does Johnny behave in your class? Very well, I say. So why did he get a B? Because, I didn't ever see him go that extra mile. Well, Johnny has always had all As. He's always had a 4.0 and has always been on principal's list - gives stare, like "you wouldn't dare ruin Johnny's perfect record, would you?" - I make some random comment like "well, I'm seeing improvement this week."
When what I really want to say is "Look Lady, Johnny is in SECOND GRADE. 4.0s don't count in SECOND GRADE!! talk to me when he gets to High School."
When did we stop holding ourselves and our children to the high standard? When did it become ok to give rewards and good grades merely to avoid hurting Johnny's feelings. When did school stop being based on actually learning something and getting something for WORK and start being about the feel-good, have to award everyone, we MUST be fair NONSENSE!!!
AND THEN!!
I am teaching an elementary strings class. I am not a string player. I stay about 1 step ahead of the students. So, it is natural that I will make mistakes. They knew this when they hired me. So, last week, I *GASP* made a mistake. I read my book incorrectly and taught a concept in the not-quite right manner. Chances are, I would have caught it eventually (after I called my string teacher friend in a panic because I couldn't figure it out), but instead, a student caught it after having a private lesson. She told me and I fixed the problem. But is THAT good enough?
apparently not.
Conversation from today at the end of class:
Me: So remember, ladies and gents, if you have a private teacher, make sure to ask them questions about stuff we do in class and if I'm teaching it wrong be sure to let me know, because you all know I'm not a string teacher.
Class packs up.
Mom who stands in the back, and who, incidentally is also Johnny's mother: So, did you get your mistake fixed and now you're teaching it correctly?
Me (cheerfully): yep, a student told me what was wrong, and I realized I had read the book inco-
Mom: Well, maybe you can find a string player who can help out.
Me (A little less cheerfully): The only ones I know are teachers and they couldn't come during the day
Mom (disapprovingly, snobbily): Well, we should do something
Me: I know. I'll just read more carefully next time. I'll figure it out.
Mom: *sniff*
Needless to say, I am NOT happy right now, but I can't dwell on it. I have a ton of work to do, plus an open house at the middle school.
THANK GOD for RODEO VACATION! I can survive one more day til then, right?
right?
The Principal says he supports me. He even sent home a letter to that effect. The problem is I'm not sure I believe him. From the way he talks to me, I get the feeling that he is just passing it off as New Teacher Zeal, which will quickly fade with time. That really annoys me. Especially his oh-so-helpful tips on how to deal with things. I'm young, but I am a professional, thank you very much.
The Parents want to know the grading criteria for music. All their previous kids have had As in music. What's wrong with this teacher? They didn't care about the criteria when their kids were getting As.
Are you grading them as individuals, or a class? Is my kid being punished for the class' behavior?
How does Johnny behave in your class? Very well, I say. So why did he get a B? Because, I didn't ever see him go that extra mile. Well, Johnny has always had all As. He's always had a 4.0 and has always been on principal's list - gives stare, like "you wouldn't dare ruin Johnny's perfect record, would you?" - I make some random comment like "well, I'm seeing improvement this week."
When what I really want to say is "Look Lady, Johnny is in SECOND GRADE. 4.0s don't count in SECOND GRADE!! talk to me when he gets to High School."
When did we stop holding ourselves and our children to the high standard? When did it become ok to give rewards and good grades merely to avoid hurting Johnny's feelings. When did school stop being based on actually learning something and getting something for WORK and start being about the feel-good, have to award everyone, we MUST be fair NONSENSE!!!
AND THEN!!
I am teaching an elementary strings class. I am not a string player. I stay about 1 step ahead of the students. So, it is natural that I will make mistakes. They knew this when they hired me. So, last week, I *GASP* made a mistake. I read my book incorrectly and taught a concept in the not-quite right manner. Chances are, I would have caught it eventually (after I called my string teacher friend in a panic because I couldn't figure it out), but instead, a student caught it after having a private lesson. She told me and I fixed the problem. But is THAT good enough?
apparently not.
Conversation from today at the end of class:
Me: So remember, ladies and gents, if you have a private teacher, make sure to ask them questions about stuff we do in class and if I'm teaching it wrong be sure to let me know, because you all know I'm not a string teacher.
Class packs up.
Mom who stands in the back, and who, incidentally is also Johnny's mother: So, did you get your mistake fixed and now you're teaching it correctly?
Me (cheerfully): yep, a student told me what was wrong, and I realized I had read the book inco-
Mom: Well, maybe you can find a string player who can help out.
Me (A little less cheerfully): The only ones I know are teachers and they couldn't come during the day
Mom (disapprovingly, snobbily): Well, we should do something
Me: I know. I'll just read more carefully next time. I'll figure it out.
Mom: *sniff*
Needless to say, I am NOT happy right now, but I can't dwell on it. I have a ton of work to do, plus an open house at the middle school.
THANK GOD for RODEO VACATION! I can survive one more day til then, right?
right?
08 February 2007
perhaps not the safest decision....
Well, I did it. I just finished my midterm grade reports.
For the middle school it was easy. They had lots of assignments turned in and all I had to do was hit "print" on the computer. Voila! One student as a 102 (gotta love extra credit) and another has a 47 (great, now I have to call parents!).
At the elementary, it wasn't quite so straightforward. I don't give homework or written assignments at the elementary. We only meet once a week, so homework is out cuz they'll forget it. A written assignment takes too long during class and I want them to be singing and EXPERIENCING music. So, I give their grades based on citizenship and participation. We use the standard A,B,C,D,F scale here, so I've converted that to the following:
A = exceptional effort, always pays attention, extremely helpful
B = pretty good effort, usually pays attention, helpful
C = average effort, normal paying attention, helpful when asked
D = goofs off, no effort, disruptive
F = tries not at all, does everything he/she can to disrupt.
All of my elementary students got Bs. I really hope their parents and teachers don't freak out. It's just the midterm, right?
Safest decision? probably not.
Decision with which I can live? definitely.
For the middle school it was easy. They had lots of assignments turned in and all I had to do was hit "print" on the computer. Voila! One student as a 102 (gotta love extra credit) and another has a 47 (great, now I have to call parents!).
At the elementary, it wasn't quite so straightforward. I don't give homework or written assignments at the elementary. We only meet once a week, so homework is out cuz they'll forget it. A written assignment takes too long during class and I want them to be singing and EXPERIENCING music. So, I give their grades based on citizenship and participation. We use the standard A,B,C,D,F scale here, so I've converted that to the following:
A = exceptional effort, always pays attention, extremely helpful
B = pretty good effort, usually pays attention, helpful
C = average effort, normal paying attention, helpful when asked
D = goofs off, no effort, disruptive
F = tries not at all, does everything he/she can to disrupt.
All of my elementary students got Bs. I really hope their parents and teachers don't freak out. It's just the midterm, right?
Safest decision? probably not.
Decision with which I can live? definitely.
06 February 2007
Quarantine me, please!
Sick. I am sick. Again. I started the semester sick. Then I got better (YAY!) and I thought, well that's the end of it! (I mean, I expected to be sick at least once this semester)
But no. I'm sick again. A Kindergarten teacher told me that I can expect to be sick about every two weeks. Thus far, that's holding up.
But then I did the math.
If I am sick every two weeks and the sickness lasts for approximately two weeks. That means that for the next five months, I will be perpetually sick. Oh sure, I may have one or two days of good health, but I think that by that point, it will just add insult to injury.
I do have that hand sanitizer stuff, which is good (I guess), but apparently there is something dangerous about it, so we're not allowed to keep it out where the students can get to it. I wish I knew the details. Maybe I'll find out tomorrow at the faculty meeting. Also, it smells weird and makes me want to throw up. And it dries out my hands. I guess I can cover that by wearing yummy smelling lotion....ah!! that's better!
On the plus side, I now have internet access at work! Yay.
And here come the First Graders.
But no. I'm sick again. A Kindergarten teacher told me that I can expect to be sick about every two weeks. Thus far, that's holding up.
But then I did the math.
If I am sick every two weeks and the sickness lasts for approximately two weeks. That means that for the next five months, I will be perpetually sick. Oh sure, I may have one or two days of good health, but I think that by that point, it will just add insult to injury.
I do have that hand sanitizer stuff, which is good (I guess), but apparently there is something dangerous about it, so we're not allowed to keep it out where the students can get to it. I wish I knew the details. Maybe I'll find out tomorrow at the faculty meeting. Also, it smells weird and makes me want to throw up. And it dries out my hands. I guess I can cover that by wearing yummy smelling lotion....ah!! that's better!
On the plus side, I now have internet access at work! Yay.
And here come the First Graders.
27 January 2007
"Thinking Meme"
1. If you had to choose one vice in exclusion of all others what would it be?
running the heater as warm as I want it to be all winter long. and chocolate.
2. If you could change one specific thing about the world what would it be?
The rampant stupidity. The storehouse of un-used common sense must be visible from outer space.
3. Name the cartoon character you identify with the most.
Wakko. I mean, his name really says it all, doesn't it?
4. If you could live one day in your life over again which one would it be?
I don't remember the exact date, but it was a Sunday during my Sophomore year of college. I had a HUGE fight with my mom and said some things I shouldn't have. Even though things are ok now, I will always regret that day.
5. If you could go back in history and spend a day with one person who would it be?
Famous person: Marlon Brando
Reason: To see if he actually could "have been a contenda"
Not famous persons: My grandparents.
Reason: To talk to them as an adult and find out who they were, rather than just relying on the vague memories from a little girl.
6. What is the one thing you lost, sold or threw away that you wish you could have back?
This is hard to answer because I don't put a lot of stock in posessions. I just don't get sentimental over things. I would say something funny like "my sanity", but I don't think I ever had that to begin with. I guess I would say that the one thing I lost that I wish I could have back is my cat, Snobe. He died several years ago, but he was a cool cat.
7. What is your one most important contribution to this world?
I could be all noble and say, 'well, I'm a teacher, so my contribution is giving the gift of knowledge and music to my students' (wow, I almost puked as I was typing that!), but honestly, I think my most important contribution is my amazing good looks.
8. What is your one hidden talent that nearly no one knows about?
I don't think I have one. I guess it's because I have so few talents that it seems silly to keep any of them hidden.
9. What is your most cherished possession?
This is another hard one to answer because of the whole not getting attached to things thing. But, I guess if I had to pick, I would say my horn. I've had it since 10th grade and although it's gone through some pretty interesting transformations (I'll tell you about that sometime), it's also gone through some really memorable occasions with me. Yeah, I think I would be pretty upset if it suddenly disappeared.
10. What one person influenced your life the most when growing up?
My parents. My neuroses wouldn't be nearly so interesting if it weren't for them.
11. What one word describes you better than any other?
probably the word "huh?". That's the reaction I get from people about 98% of the time when I talk. (the other 2%, they aren't actually listening)
running the heater as warm as I want it to be all winter long. and chocolate.
2. If you could change one specific thing about the world what would it be?
The rampant stupidity. The storehouse of un-used common sense must be visible from outer space.
3. Name the cartoon character you identify with the most.
Wakko. I mean, his name really says it all, doesn't it?
4. If you could live one day in your life over again which one would it be?
I don't remember the exact date, but it was a Sunday during my Sophomore year of college. I had a HUGE fight with my mom and said some things I shouldn't have. Even though things are ok now, I will always regret that day.
5. If you could go back in history and spend a day with one person who would it be?
Famous person: Marlon Brando
Reason: To see if he actually could "have been a contenda"
Not famous persons: My grandparents.
Reason: To talk to them as an adult and find out who they were, rather than just relying on the vague memories from a little girl.
6. What is the one thing you lost, sold or threw away that you wish you could have back?
This is hard to answer because I don't put a lot of stock in posessions. I just don't get sentimental over things. I would say something funny like "my sanity", but I don't think I ever had that to begin with. I guess I would say that the one thing I lost that I wish I could have back is my cat, Snobe. He died several years ago, but he was a cool cat.
7. What is your one most important contribution to this world?
I could be all noble and say, 'well, I'm a teacher, so my contribution is giving the gift of knowledge and music to my students' (wow, I almost puked as I was typing that!), but honestly, I think my most important contribution is my amazing good looks.
8. What is your one hidden talent that nearly no one knows about?
I don't think I have one. I guess it's because I have so few talents that it seems silly to keep any of them hidden.
9. What is your most cherished possession?
This is another hard one to answer because of the whole not getting attached to things thing. But, I guess if I had to pick, I would say my horn. I've had it since 10th grade and although it's gone through some pretty interesting transformations (I'll tell you about that sometime), it's also gone through some really memorable occasions with me. Yeah, I think I would be pretty upset if it suddenly disappeared.
10. What one person influenced your life the most when growing up?
My parents. My neuroses wouldn't be nearly so interesting if it weren't for them.
11. What one word describes you better than any other?
probably the word "huh?". That's the reaction I get from people about 98% of the time when I talk. (the other 2%, they aren't actually listening)
08 January 2007
The first day of the rest of my life
People keep asking me if I'm excited about tomorrow. The answer is no. NO!!
What I AM is scared, anxious, nervous, and any other adjective that might be a synonym to one of the above. In short (no pun intended), I am FREAKING OUT!!!!!!!
Tomorrow is the first day of the rest of my life. Tomorrow, I actually cross the threshold from child into the Adult Conspiracy. Tomorrow, I stop being a student and start being a productive member of society. Tomorrow, I start affecting the future.
Tomorrow, I become a teacher. I will have control of my own classroom. It will be up to me to implement MY lessons and teach in MY style. I will have to be the adult and instead of looking to someone else to solve my problems, I have to solve not only my own, but those of my students as well.
When I look into the mirror, I don't see someone who is ready for Tomorrow. I don't see an adult, full of self confidence and wisdom, with clear goals and ideas and ready to take charge. What I see is a post adolescent teenager. I see someone who has spent the last five and a half years learning about something, only to blank just minutes before the final exam. I see someone who has the maturity of a 6th grader.
During student teaching (yes, I recall being scared about that, too - although right now, I would really love to go back there!!), they kept telling me that Teachers are Actors. We have to pretend to feel excitement about our subject, even when we've taught the same thing over and over and over and over. We have to act happy when we are sad. We have to act healthy when all we really want to do is crawl into bed and never get out. We have to act like confident grown-ups when all we really are are scared little children who want their mommies to make them mac and cheese and read us a story.
After tomorrow, they will have to give me an Academy Award.
What I AM is scared, anxious, nervous, and any other adjective that might be a synonym to one of the above. In short (no pun intended), I am FREAKING OUT!!!!!!!
Tomorrow is the first day of the rest of my life. Tomorrow, I actually cross the threshold from child into the Adult Conspiracy. Tomorrow, I stop being a student and start being a productive member of society. Tomorrow, I start affecting the future.
Tomorrow, I become a teacher. I will have control of my own classroom. It will be up to me to implement MY lessons and teach in MY style. I will have to be the adult and instead of looking to someone else to solve my problems, I have to solve not only my own, but those of my students as well.
When I look into the mirror, I don't see someone who is ready for Tomorrow. I don't see an adult, full of self confidence and wisdom, with clear goals and ideas and ready to take charge. What I see is a post adolescent teenager. I see someone who has spent the last five and a half years learning about something, only to blank just minutes before the final exam. I see someone who has the maturity of a 6th grader.
During student teaching (yes, I recall being scared about that, too - although right now, I would really love to go back there!!), they kept telling me that Teachers are Actors. We have to pretend to feel excitement about our subject, even when we've taught the same thing over and over and over and over. We have to act happy when we are sad. We have to act healthy when all we really want to do is crawl into bed and never get out. We have to act like confident grown-ups when all we really are are scared little children who want their mommies to make them mac and cheese and read us a story.
After tomorrow, they will have to give me an Academy Award.
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