Merry Christmas!

It's 1:30 am. Do you know where your daughters are?

Usually, if asked that question, my dad could pretty certainly answer, "She's in bed....same place she's been since about when the street lights came on." I doesn't matter if we are seperated by location, time zones, or a couple of miles. The answer is going to be the same. That's just how I roll. But tonight? Tonight is different.

While you may be out partying and reveling in the fact that tomorrow is destined to be another snow day, I...I stand alone. Alone in the street, dressed in nothing but my underwear and robe. Looking for the piece of crap dog who I let out to pee on the front porch because, "Hey- there is less snow there. That ought to be easy enough for him." Only to watch him flip me the doggie bird and run off into the night.

So dad, incase you get the call, "It's 1:30 am. Do you know where your daughter is?"


You can answer, yes. She is running around her neighborhood, in her underwear, robe, and no shoes, trying to catch a little black dog that desperately needs to be returned to his home....at the pound.

Can we conversate?

Dear World,
The word is CONVERSE. Conversate is not a word. I can't be held responsible for any damages or harm that may result from blatant misuse of the aforementioned word.
That is all,
Jillian

Where did you go November?

Well- I started out here (it's a horrible picture, but it's the only one I have)



Then I went here,





and did this,





With these people,





There were more surfing pictures, but in the interest of keeping just a smidgen of dignity...I will keep those for a more intimate audience. Know that there was blood involved. It was very Blue Crush.

Finally, we wrapped it up in the Pacific NoWest for the baptism of this one
Apparently, I need to squeeze her as hard as possible. She deserved it.

And yes- it has all been very fun, but I am exhausted.

Soak it in

All of my super exciting November adventures will be ready for you soon. But right now, they're still marinating. Stay tuned. It'll be good.

Things That Don't Make Me Happy

1)Being awake at 6am on a Saturday for no good reason.

2)This stack of papers that need to be graded. Any volunteers?

More Things That Make Me Happy!

Last minute trips to Hawaii. Woo Hoo!!

Things That Make me Happy

My nephew meditating at the Salt Lake Temple. Apparently he is a Mormon-Yogi

My brothers new puppies Abby and Axel. They're crazy but so very cute.


Speaking of The Family, I love The Godfather. Something comforting in always knowing where you stand.

I also love this scene from this weeks Big Bang Theory The embedding won't work right now...so just click the link and then come back.

And the last thing that makes me happy for today, is this guy....

Be Like Barack

A record of an actual conversation that I had with a student today while I was holding my door open, just a few seconds before the tardy bell was to ring.

I looked over to see a student dancing around in the quad, singing some unrecognizable song-ish type chant and basically flailing about aimlessly. I said, "Hey (Insert student name here. I don't want to use his real name and you wouldn't believe me anyway.) Why don't you go to class and learn something?"

From the top of his lungs he shouts, "I don't have to learn anything. I can be president now!"

"Awesome. Good luck with that."

Democracy is Dead

I am apparently a part of the greatest travesty of modern justice. For some reason, my students are under the impression that democracy extends itself into the hallowed halls of my classroom. I am not sure how, or why, this delusion has caught on. Nevertheless, I felt the need to squelch this line of thinking today.

In one class my students are taking a quiz. In another, they are addressing a writing prompt. No less than 4 times today have I heard some variation of, "How about we do______ instead," or, "Can't we_______?"

I think what kills me is the utter look of shock on their faces when I inform them that I didn't get bossed around by teenagers when I was a teenager, and they can go right ahead now and realize that I am not going to start now that I am 30.

"That sucks. Not fair."

"You're right, my dear. Not fair at all. Deal widdit."

Amazing. Did they think that was going to work?

Ahoy Pirates!

Things I LOVE-

Free Internet!! I don't know which of my neighbors finally got wireless internet, but THANK YOU!! It's about dang time.

Refund check for an overpayment on a long forgotten credit card.

My official Vote by Mail ballot. (I don't really love this one...not this year)

Itchy and Scratchy

I have an unreasonable fear of lice. It is one of the main reasons I chose not to teach elementary school. It's also the reason that I can never completely relax and lean back in movie theatres.

Needless to say, while I was getting a pedicure today and looked over to witness two workers picking through one another's hair with tweezers, and occasionally finding little treats, I nearly crapped my pants.

On the inside I was screaming, "WHAT THE HELL? LICE? GIVE ME BACK MY FEET AND GET ME THE HELL OUT OF HERE!" On the outside I just quietly leaned forward, pulled my hair into a ponytail and ached for the end of the longest pedicure in history.

Now that I am home and showered, I am pretty sure that my scalp is nearly bloody from the scrubbing, and I can't shake the image of a permanently lice infested existence. Maybe I am crazy, but the thing that disturbs me the most is the fact that they were just sitting there, in the waiting area, picking and digging at one another. Right there in the open! They were always so clean and orderly but not today. ..I realize that I may have an overactive sense of shame for such things, but what happened to the days of doing things like this in the back room!

Every Party has a Pooper

What a bunch of babies.

Final Curtain for CA's Singing Highway

(NECN/ABC) - A highway in Lancaster, California is about to get a tune-up.

The road is designed to play music when cars drive over special grooves in the concrete. There are similar highways in Holland, Japan and Korea.

The Honda Corporation installed the grooves in the road, which are spaced to make the sound of musical notes as cars drive over them, for a commercial spot. But local residents are not liking the tune.

The highway plays the tune of the introduction of the William Tell Overture. It's not the song choice which has them up in arms -- it's the non-stop sound both night and day.

ABC's Leo Stallworth reports that Honda will return the road to its original, musically-challenged state.

Leave it to whiners to kill anything and everything even remotely interesting in this valley. My brother just moved to that very neighborhood and it is NOT that bad.

Go Toward the Light

Living in the middle of the desert is not always a treat, but then again...having long stretches of open road does allow for fun stuff!!!

Exibit A-



The only two other singing highways are in Japan and Korea. Japan, Korea and Lancaster. We're going global.

Let us oft Speak Kind Words to Each Other

"...At home or where e'er we may be."

I'm bettin' my students don't sing that to themselves nearly as often as I do.

It's not even 8:30 am yet, and already I have been told to F-off by a dear, sweet, well raised, little darling today.

As it turns out one kid dared to not notice that my little sweetie was walking in behind him this morning and failed to hold the door open for her. This started an onslaught of, "You an @sshole," type remarks....which in my humble opinion...show a little more about her character than the other kids, but whatever. I'm the Man and apparently always, 'gettin all up in her business' (The other day I made her stop braiding extentions into her friends hair in the middle of class. That's a whole other Oprah in and of itself.)

I tried to reason with her, because reasoing with teenagers is a totally useful thing to do. I pointed out that regardless of his lack of manners, she can't scream and swear like a sailor. Guess I was wrong, cause she didn't stop.

Basically, my little darling, was bugging the ever living crap out of me, so I sent her out. On the way out, she threw up her hands and shouted, "Well then F- you too!"

Ahhhh gunna be a good day.

Lesser of Two Evils

The decisions that plague my days.


OPTION 1- Give in to my true chubster nature and be happy, yet unhealthy, whilst sitting on my couch eating cookies and watching TV.

OPTION 2- Continue working out with my 'so chipper and fit I want to strangle him' trainer and waddle away my days cranky, sore and just plain angry inside because every single part of my body aches.

Tough Call.

Tag That

You know how everyone says that they, "I don't normally do this," but then go ahead and tag people to their hearts content anyway? Well, I'm no different.

Here's how it works: For each question, look up the answer on Google image search. Then choose your favorite image from the FIRST PAGE OF RESULTS ONLY.

My Name (and my husband.....if wishing made it so)

Favorite Food

First Job (and you wonder why I was fat in high school)

Nickname (It's mostly my Aunt Marty who calls me Jillibean, but after nearly 30 years...I notice that it is catching on.)

Born (I'm kind of thinking that this is PVMC, not really sure what they are cleaning, but it seems like a typical sight 'round Pomona)

Bad Habit (I've never contemplated killing anyone, but I think I know that walrus)

College Degree

Want to go

Favorite Place (Quite possibly the most beautiful beach I have stumbled upon in my life. Unreal.)


Favorite Color

Favorite Animal (But mine is way cuter)

Past Love (At any given point in time I am/may have been infatuated with one/more/most of these players...and I'm playin it kind of fast and lose with the whole 'Past' thing. I prefer tocall them "The Ones That Got Away")

Doing Now (And knowing my luck, still will be doing it from here to eternity...barring some divine intervention by way of a kind, loaded, hot, rich, husband, the lottery, inheritance, accident payoff. I'm not picky.)

Where I Live (The photogs are tricky buggers, at sunset it doesn't look so bad)

Favorite Object (I Guess)

Grandma's Name (But don't call her Baby)

Age (25-ish days to go!)


Oh Gosh, that was very complicated. I have no idea who even reads this...so tagging anyone else is kind of a risky venture. If you have read this, then yes, consider the gauntlet thrown your way.

Tuesday's a Good Day for a Life Altering Realization

Today I conducted a very serious experiment and came to a life altering conclusion.

My ears are lopsided.

I bought a pair of earrings while on a trip in Chiang Mai. The first time I wore them was on the ridiculously long flight back from Thailand to Los Angeles, via Hong Kong. I noticed that one was dangling a little lower and brushing my collar bone occasionally, while the other was not. Granted, this would have driven me crazy on a normal day, but after two weeks of traveling, being blessed with the shoulders of a lineman and being squeezed into the center seat of an airplane for a 14 hour flight with possibly some of the most annoying people on the planet, and absentmindedly running out of Ambien a day before we ran out of trip, the earring issue put me right over the edge. I was flirting with some seriously suicidal tendencies.

I took them off, tossed them in my carry on, cursed under my breath and attempted forget about it...until today. I put them on this morning and immediately remembered my humiliating deformity. In the manner of scientific inquiry, I tried on every other pair of earrings that I own in order to determine if it was my ears that were uneven or the earrings. I am very sad to report that it is, in fact, my ears.

I can't even begin to tell you how, in just a matter of hours, this has dramatically changed my life. IT'S. ALL. I. CAN. THINK. ABOUT. The earrings are like flaming hot daggers stabbing into my collarbones with every lopsided step I take. I have a debilitating crick in my neck from trying to hold my head to the side in a futile attempt to even out my ears. And I am fairly certain that each and every one of my students left my classroom giggling and snickering about it.

I'm not sure what the appropriate road to take is from here. I'm thinking that surgery is the only answer....or perhaps therapy.

I'm Calling Father Time

That old guy is really starting to tick me off. The first thing I am telling him is that he needs to freaking just relax for a minute. He must be spinning in overtime or something. It is already Aug 14th and I have been back at work for an entire WEEK!

What. The. Hell.

Three months of summer vacation? The reason I became a teacher? All gone. Smashed into 9 weeks with the promise of a longer winterbreak. Bleh. That's lame. I need summer! Getting up to come to work every morning makes me want to cry. I think that's a sign....a sign that I need to be a little more serious in my lottery ticket purchasing.

Is That A Sunburn?

So I got a massage today and the first question was, "Thai massage or oil massage?"

In the spirit of experimentation I decided on a Thai massage, not really knowing what that was. As it turns out Thai massage is code for menthol. Why so much menthol in Thailand? I will never know. Menthol gum, menthol candy, and menthol rubbed into just about every crack and crevice of my ever expanding body. And not the wimpy kind of American Vick's VapoRub Menthol, but the bad ass Tiger Balm stuff that the jocks slapped into nerds jock straps.

All in all, the massage was pretty nice, but now my whole body is burning and tingling so badly, I can't tell if it is a sunburn or the Menthol. Probably a lethal combination of both.

Operation Asia

If anyone is keeping track, Operation Asia commences in approx 4 days. Whoot, Whoot.

Considering my current state of boredom...this swelling excitement may cause my head to literally burst. Most of the necessary preparations have been made. My veins are coursing with all sorts of vaccines, my lonely planet guide is highlighted and tabbed (like a true ocd sociopath), and I have watched Bridget Jones, Edge of Reason and taken copious notes. Short of shaving my legs and having an international diplomat ex boyfriend waiting in the wings to bail me out of a Thai prison....I'm ready.

Dear Heavens, I wish it was Saturday.

And I wish I could bring my dog.

Is That a Rug?

I have a whole mess of hair. An exact metric ton, I believe. And it's curly. Getting up and just running a brush thru it is not an option. I take it like a trooper. Heaven knows I'm not one to complain. In fact, people who constantly gripe, "I wish my hair was_____ or ______. It would be so easy. My hair is just so straight," kind of get on my nerves.

Since I have to start from freshly washed in order to do my hair, I have mastered the art of pulling it up...or so I thought. This morning I took my dog to the park, but of course, was not about to shower and blow dry my hair to go sit there. The minute I got to the park some lady said to me, "Wow your hair looks great like that. It looks like one of those hair pieces."

I'm not sure if anyone but a curly haired girl can fully understands the indignity of that comment, but by no means was I flattered. It looks like a hair piece? Are you kidding me? Who says that? That's not a compliment.

Rest assured I went right home, washed my hair and immediatley began the process of fixing my rug.

Officially Dumped

I should have seen it coming, but I was completely blindsided. I didn't even really want a personal trainer to begin with, but that didn't take any of the sting out of being dumped by him. Looking back, I may have played a pretty large part in being dumped, but I think my excuses for cancelling were more than reasonable.

"My dog swallowed a corn cob and I have to take him to the vet."

"I have to go to the doctor and get a typhoid shot."

And my personal favorite, which, I believe was the straw that broke the trainers back, "I just got a pedicure."

Monday, with all of my excuses exhausted, I went to the gym and ended up getting "the talk." I got all of the standard dump lines. "I think this is for the best," followed up with, "I'm no good for you," blah blah blah. He swears that he wasn't dumping me. As he put it, he was setting me up with someone who would be better for me.

Basically, I find the entire concept of personal training wildly awkward. It doesn't matter who the trainer is. I am a chubby girl at heart. Always have been, always will be. Being the center of attention is not my cup of tea. The idea of a person just standing around watching and commenting on my workout is horrifying. Fictitious or not, all I can hear is the trainers interior monologue, "Man this chick is a mess. I can't believe she is so out of shape. Does squishy have a mascot?"

Anyhow- The first couple of half hour workouts with Newby weren't that bad. Then came the first of our one hour sessions. Newby knows how I feel about working out, and is aware of my self consciousness whilst at the gym...and yet still he had some ridiculous new ideas that he tried to trot out and see how they would fly.

I really think that he came up with the most humiliating and demoralizing exercises possible, just for kicks and giggles. First thing I had to do was jump rope with the SHORTEST rope in todo el mundo. Newby, while he is cute as a bugs ear, is about 2 inches shorter than I am and fit as a fiddle, so he had no problem demonstrating how this all should go. That made the hunched over, sweaty, uncoordinated, bouncing boob fiasco all the more humiliating.

Then we moved on to crab-walking, followed that up with bear crawls, with push-up's every couple of steps, and the cherry on top of the humiliation sundae was WHEELBARROW'S!!

My interior monologue went a little something like this, "Seriously, does this fool not know how much I weigh? Has he no soul? This is precisely why I nearly got an F in jr high PE. I can remember exactly, to the day, when it was that I last did wheelbarrow races. I was in 3rd grade with Danior Martin and that didn't end well. I have successfully avoided any semblance of such activities since then, and that is by no means of chance. There is no freaking damn way I am doing this."

What this train of thought translated into was me sitting Indian style on the floor of the aerobics room with my arms folded and shaking my head, "Absolutely not. I refuse to do this. With all do respect, you have got to be eff-ing kidding me. Under no circumstance am I doing wheelbarrow's with you. No way."

Yeah-I didn't win that battle and it was every bit as horrible as I thought it would be. If I didn't remember why I stopped going to the gym in the first place...I can kind of remember now.

Diet Coke and a Pizza, Please.

That's exactly what I ordered for lunch today.
And I shimmied a little when I ordered it.

I Used to be a Respectable School Teacher

While respectable is a matter of opinion, I still am a school teacher. Sting, however, is not. And I could not be more happy about that. I never thought that The Police and I had much of a chance together. They were long since broken up by the time I started kindergarten, but a long, twisted path, and 25 years brought us all together.

While it was a disappointing path for some, I could not be more happy with the stroke of luck that brought me to the concert. I don't even care that I seem to be turning into a permanent plan B. Sick babies and elderly grandma's, your plight really does sadden me. Truly it does, but only just a little.

Grandma didn't want to climb the stairs at the Staples Center, so I got to see Mr. Manilow. Helen had a sick baby, so I had to go with Maury to see The Police! Whoo hoo! Hope you feel better soon, baby!



Truth be told, I don't even care about being Plan B. My love for Sting overrides any and all pride that I might have once had about being a fall-back plan. It really has worked out quite well for me.

I am a little sad that Helen wasn't able to go. She really would have loved it. She schlepped herself down to the MGM to buy the tickets in person and everything! But whaddayagunnado? Sell the sick baby to the gypsies? I actually give her a lot of credit for not taking that route. I mean, The Police reuniting? That doesn't happen every day.

I have been trying all weekend to recap my favorite part of the show. Aside from them each being absolutely amazing on their respective instruments, I think that the best part was that they looked like they were having a great time together. That made me happy, like the world was right again. Stewart Copeland was mind blowing as he hustled back and forth between various drum kits for "Every Breath You Take" and Andy Summers messing with Sting when he couldn't remember the next song in the set... hilarious. "I have no idea what comes next," followed by Andy messing around on the guitar for a bit. "You're just making that up, aren't you? You really are. You're just making crap up!"

As we were leaving we overheard one man say, "Imagine how much better the world would be if everyone listened to Sting." I think that pretty well sums up......well, that sums up just about everything.

Today, I am sad

This last week at school has been a bit of a roller coaster ride. I guess not a roller coaster ride so much as a free fall.

Monday, they found a 13 year old girls body wrapped in a carpet and dumped in an onion field right by my school. Turns out she was a student at a neighboring jr high, but don't know much about what happened to her yet. That same day we got word that one of our freshman passed away due to complications from an emergency operation. Then, later that week one of our teachers was arrested for having sex with a student. I am not even going to begin to editorialize on the details of these events, for a number of reasons, but oy vey. Rough week.

Anyhow-The freshman who died was not in my class, but I have had both of his brothers and know his family well. Such good people. Sweet, kind, thoughtful. Quality people. I am glad that I was able to go to the service today, even though I felt like a bit of a fish out of water. I've never been to a Catholic mass, let alone a mass in Spanish. I think my Mormon was showing all over the place. I understood very little of what was being said. I tried to be the quiet observer and stand at the right times, kneel when everyone else did, etc. but I must not have done a very good job. After the service, but before the precession, one of my cute little girls came over with tears in her eyes and said, "Why don't you come with us Ms King? You look confused." She was so sad, but worried about how I was feeling. Then seeing the boys say goodbye to their brother and seeing what sweet and thoughtful kids I get to work with everyday, that was right about the time I lost it. It was overwhelming to say the least.

Ughhh. Long, sad day. Burying kids is rough.

"My Priorities are JUST FINE!"

If this was my baby daddy, we'd have a real serious talk when he got home.

I Have Been Bewitched, Body and Soul

I realize that this says a lot about me, but OH MY GOSH. Two of my favorite things. Jess and Mr Darcy, that is.

Dazed and Confused

There is not a terribly large college going population at my school. Be that as it may, we work tirelessly to build a community where kids are both aware of, and able to go directly to four year universities. One of the more minor things that we do to promote awareness is wear our college sweatshirts/t-shirts on Friday's. It seems insignificant, but you would be shocked to realize how little kids know about universities that are not housed in the Greater Los Angeles area.

Usually, you can find me in some sort of BYU shirt, but today was laundry day. I'm all about being true to my school. I didn't go to SUU, but my younger brother did, so it didn't feel like I was completely pimping myself out. Loyalty is kind of a big deal to me.

While proctoring the super serious, double top secret US History AP test, I had the dubious honor of walking a group of female students to the bathroom. There I was, loitering outside the restroom, like a common miscreant, when a nice young man walked by and asked what SUU stood for.

I was sincerely pleased with his interest, and totally aware of this teaching moment I answered, "Southern Utah University," with a smile. What came next left me troubled and concerned.

He looked right at me and said, "Cool. Where's that?" This lead to what can only be described as a meeting of the minds. We stood there looking at one another, stymied by the geographic conundrum in which we now found ourselves. Some sort of mental chess match, neither of us quite sure where to go from here.

Was there some other definition for south that I was overlooking? Is Utah really just a mythical and mysterious land, only brought into existence through baptism?

Certainly, that can't be.

Ever cautious of squelching young, sincere curiosity I stammered, "Uhhhhhh, right next to Nevada? Just beyond Las Vegas?"

"Ohhh that's cool," and he was on his way.

Pssst

Today, I go to CSUN for the last time until SEPTEMBER!!! This thing makes me happier than most any other thing in todo el mundo possibly could.

Granted, the buzz is kind of killed when I think that I still have to turn in a boat-load of projects next week....but class, CLASS is over as of 9:30pm! Whoot!

Uncooperative Little Bugger!

All I wanted was for him to have a happy birthday. Is that too much to ask?

I made him a hat. My mom got him a new towel for his baths. I think she just wanted me to stop using her towels on the dog, but I am grateful nonetheless. He doesn't seem very appreciative. Spoiled brat.

I can't figure out how to get the video of him tearing apart his hat to load properly, but know that it was pretty funny. This is the closest you will come to seeing him wear his bee-utiful birthday hat. He certainly didn't appreciate all my work. He wouldn't even wear his birthday hat!


Some dogs are so touchy.

* The other title for this post was going to be, "Dear Professor, This is why my Research Design Proposal, Literature Review and Lesson Study are not finished. I hope you understand." but that seemed a little long.

Kentucky Downer

My Grandpa Young was a pretty interesting character; a relic of a time long gone by. He was nearly twenty years my grandma's senior, and depending on whom you ask, there are various explanations for that.

Maybe it is my exaggerated little girl memory of him, but I equate him to the likes of the Rat Pack, Humphrey Bogart, Frank Sinatra, Dean Martin. He always wore a fedora or golf cap tilted just a bit to the side, carried a cane that he never really used, and had the swagger and popularity of a small time rock star. They called him Shanghai. Everyone knew Shanghai. As a child, I was shocked to see how people would hop to when you started a sentence with, "Shanghai wants you to _________." Things got done. It was crazy.

However, the most notable difference between my grandpa and the Rat Pack is the fact that he was absolutely NOT a velvety voiced crooner. In fact, he had one of the worst stuttering problems that I have ever heard. Never before or since have I heard a worse stutter. The best part of it was that the only words which came out clearly were swear words. For a good portion of my life, I thought that you were supposed to drive while waving one fist out the car window and I was never quite sure if G*dD@mnS*nofaB!tch was one word or six. Pretty funny that those words came out clear and crisp as a clamoring bell. I am still convinced that if the person driving in front of you knows that they are a "lousy sh!t," they should certainly get out of your way. My mother winced and cringed; we giggled like mad and took feverish notes.

He was the sweetest old man....if you were his grandchild or wife. Otherwise, it was kind of a gamble. That's what my grandpa was, a gamblin' man.

I am not sure what his job title was, but he did something along the lines of managing a concession company. That's how we ended up spending summers running around the clubhouse and rubbing elbows with the likes of Tommy Lasorda and Vince Scully at Dodger's Stadium, and betting on the horses at Santa Anita and Del Mar Racetrack. That's also the reason we spent many a summer hanging out outside beer stands at the LA County Fair, but that's a story for another time.

My grandparents used to let us pick our own horses. Funny thing-my grandpa would always go on a campaign of disinformation if we tried to find out who he had picked to win. Betting on the horses is not like betting on a sporting event in Vegas. You split the winnings, so he would never let us know who he had put his money on. Clever old man.

We used to have picnics on the field before the races would start. The last time I remember going to the races before he died, my cousin and I got ice cream cones. On the way out to the car, my ice cream fell off the cone. Being the chubster that I am/was.....I nearly lost it. I was busy trying to choke back a mild emotional breakdown and without even a question or a moments hesitation, my grandpa, who must have been closing in on 80 at the time, shuffled back to the field house to get me a new cone. What a devoted grandpa. I can see a lot of him in my parents and how they treat their children and grandchildren. We take care of each other.

The reason all of this came rushing back to me was because of the Kentucky Derby Debacle. I love horse racing, if for no other reason but nostalgia. The horses are absolutely amazing animals. I love that they remind me of my grandparents who are both now gone. But as I grow older, I feel myself growing a little more softhearted as to how hard the animals are pushed. I wonder whether or not it is ethical to race them at all. I don't want to start a debate, or an argument, but maybe just some discussion would be appropriate. Poor Eight Belles breaks my heart. It really has kept me up at night.

I can't help but imagine how my childhood would have been different if something like this would have happened while I was hangin' out with Shanghai at the track. In fact, that bumms me out and I refuse to think about it. I'm sure he would have protected me from seeing something so sad. But me and my grandpa, we had a great time at the track and that's good enough for me. No, that's great.

I've Got Balls

I'm not what you would call an exercise fanatic. I wish I was. I really do.

Every now and then I get the idea that I am going to become a runner. Couch potato to 5k, that's me. The couch potato.

It doesn't take me very long to realize that I am just plain not built for running.

My last adventure in running, which was approximately a year ago, had me out on the road at about 5:30 am. I had my dog with me, the 23lb miniature schnauzer. A truly imposing figure, I know. Shockingly, I was actually in pretty good shape at the time, so we were moving along quite nicely.

Typically, Freddy is pretty good at staying at heel, but this morning things were different. Across the street appeared a jack rabbit straight from the depths of purgatory, who apparently, was hell bent to ruin my becoming a runner. Freddy took OFF after the stupid rabbit going roughly 75mph. To his defense, he didn't take very long to recognize that he was in the wrong and promptly corrected himself. The problem was that when he took off, he ran in front of me. When he came back, he ran behind me, effectively tying my ankles together.

It was all so quick. I was flat on my face in no time. My knees didn't buckle. My arms didn't brace my fall. Nothing. I really do wish someone had it on video. I'm sure it was hilarious, but it was 5:30 in the bloody a.m., so there's little chance of that. I dusted myself off, picked the stones from my palms and hobbled home, all the while cursing in my head, and contemplating selling my pup on e-bay.

I didn't worry about my foot too much. I've been raised with the 'walk it off' mentality. No bones or blood showing? You're fine. I got dressed, in high heels, and went to work. Around 4th period one of my students asked me what the heck was wrong with my foot. (I actually believe the F- word was involved, but that is neither here nor there. And once I saw my foot, I realized that the F-word was actually a pretty reasonable response.) I looked down and saw that my whole foot was completely misshapen, swollen out the top of my shoe and all kinds of black and blue. Turns out I re-cracked an old break along the edge of my foot...that was it for my most recent stint at becoming a runner.

Jump to today- As an act of international diplomacy, I have revisited the thought of trying to become the runner that I know deep down, I am not. Thailand is neither ready for, nor has she done anything to deserve my current swimsuit body.

A secondary part of this plan involves a sit-up or fifty. As it turns out, every time I get on this workout kick, I get it in my head to employ the aid of a workout ball. When my steam runs out and/or I get annoyed with the gigantic ball rolling around my house, I deflate it. Inevitably, the pump and the plug get lost and rather than actually look for them, I just buy another ball.

Long story.......long. I've got balls, about 7 of them.

Tick, Tick, Tock

This is the transcript from a conversation with my new doctor yesterday.

Him: So what brings you in today?

Me: Well, I have been really anemic for quite a while, and I just generally feel like crap, pretty sure there's something wrong with me, etc. So here I am. Fix me please.

Him: Are you sexually active?

Me: Actually, I'm wildly Mormon.

Him: Ahhh-that says a lot.

Me: I am aware of that.

Him: (looking back at his chart) Well you are 29. You are aware that the clock is really ticking for you, right?

Me: That's the rumbling on the street.

Him: Isn't marriage and kids like the pinnacle of success in the Mormon world? This doesn't happen very often, does it? What's the problem?

Me: I am a mystery and an enigma.

Him: Well, having talked to a lot of female patients I understand that finding Mr. Wonderful is not exactlly the easiest thing to do in the AV.

Me: I'm unclear. Are you propositioning me,throwing your hat in the ring? That I could understand. Anything else, and I'm confused as to where this is going.

Him: Anyhow- that's my two cents on that. It is what it is, just FYI I guess. Something to think about.

Me: Thank you for this new and exciting information about the ticking time bomb that is my uterus. I will take that under advisement. I have a puppy at home, would you like me to run and get him so that you can kick him too? Cause that somehow seems appropriate at this point in time.

And scene.


True Confession: Some of my more snarky comments (like the one about kicking my puppy) were really just running around in my head and didn't actually get committed to words, but some of them did. Many responses were mixed between radio silence and awkward laughter.

That was honestly, the most bizarre doctors appointment I have ever had. Everything he said was with a smile and super pleasant. He seemed pretty genuine, really concerned, yet insulting and condescending at the same time. That really threw me off.

It wasn't until I got back to my car and sat for a moment that I realized the full weight of the wierdness. Really- in which year of med school do you learn to tell a single mormon woman, flirting with 30, that she needs to start thinking about a family?


So there you have it. Gentlemen, I believe this is a call to arms. For the sake of the Future!

A Life of Leisure

I really, truly, do not know how normal people work at jobs 12 months out of the year. We are T minus-20 school days away from summer, and I think I have never been more excited about anything in my life. Right now, as I type, my eyes are welling up with tears of joy and anticipation.

Having started graduate school this year, teaching a new AP class, Senior project, etc. my mind and body have been racing nonstop, since September. I am so so tired. Exhausted, really. Deep down to my core. It doesn't help that I feel like I am doing a piss poor job at just about everything, but ehhhh what can you do?

I cannot wait for the summer. I cannot wait to be able to read a book of my choosing, to write something that doesn't involve research, to take my dog for a respectable walk, to play soccer with a freaking elephant in Thailand!

Anyhow-Kudos to you workin' folk that actually stick with jobs 12 months out of the year. I don't know how you do it.....and I never want to find out! Suckas!

Please, don't annoy the crazy person

Nonetheless, whoever it was that had the the brilliant idea to spread state testing out over a THREE WEEK PERIOD should be shot. I am seriously about three seconds from going ape guano crazy on someone.

I'm glad I don't moonlight with the postal service, cause if I did, things could get ugly.

And so it begins....

I have sacrificed my first chapstick to the gods of summer. I carelessly left it lying in the cupholder of my car, and now have a huge mess in there.

It's bitter sweet, really. Happy to have warmer weather. Angry to have lost my favorite chapstick to my own stupidity. Couldn't even have left it standing straight up. Stupid. Stupid.

It's official. Summer-Game On. HooRah!

I Love Real Dirty Things

I'm not sure which I love more, Dirty Jobs or Deadliest Catch. At this point, I think it's a toss up.

But one thing I do know...I love this commercial. That's for sure. I sometimes wish I could break into song. I have a crush on Mike Rowe, the bald guy with the big ol' gun is super hot, and sometimes I wish I had the capability to set people on fire. (I suspect I am missing the point of their ad campaign, but whatever.) I could watch the Discovery Channel all day, if stupid work didn't get in the way.

On that note, Happy Earth Day!

Slippery When Wet

I'm not one to mock, but really?

Who am I kidding? I am totally one to mock. The troubling thing is....I'm not sure if I mock because it's silly, or because I am jealous that I didn't think of it first.

After careful deliberation, I'm pretty sure I mock it because it's silly. Welcome to the Ivory Tower of Judgement. Glad you could make it.

My New Calling

I have decided that a career change is in order. After a $300 phone bill and about 62 emails, I now know exactly what I want to be when I grow up. A Customer Service Representative for AT&T. It may not sound glamorous, but it has a few great perks. A great creative outlet, as you can make stuff up at will. You get to charge people for whatever you like and you get to declare new doctrine, like a voice from on high.

"Texting and data, once charged in the same category, no longer will be. And so it was written, and so it shall be."

I would be drunk with power. It would be great.