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!