GraduateGirl

I HATE BEING LIED TO

2006-12-14T17:41:00.000-07:00

Well, long time no see, blog.
Long story short, Mr. S and I are probably on the outs. It's a long story. I had to pull out the stops, even though we love each other very much. It just wasn't meant to be forever, even though we both want it to be so. Sometimes, Patty Smythe sang, love just ain't enough. Truer words were never spoken.

So while I'm still reeling from all that pain, more heartache comes in. I just have to write to purge; purge to write. This is not for the masses to read necessarily, just for me to pour out what I know about myself right now, here, in this moment.

I have a semester exam to write but I can't focus. I'm so FRUSTRATED!

So the new "boy" comes waltzing into my life and convinces me that he would be worth taking a chance on in the distant future- once the dust settles. We agree to remain friends and to let things happen as they might. God- why are you doing this to me? I WASN'T LOOKING FOR ANYONE NEW. But he was persuasive-- and ALLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLL the things I would normally want in a "mate."

I'm so glad I didn't do anything with him, that I kept my boundaries and was honest. BUT now I'm sick to my stomach that he knows that there could be a chance in the distant future and he has the power to turn me on and off as he pleases. I gave him that power and I'm disgusted with myself.

And what is with his silence? What is this stupid, stupid, stupid childish game that he's playing with me? Warm one minute and cool the next? Why can't he just come out and tell me if he's dating someone or if he saw a booger in my nose one day and decided he was done. Aren't I a big girl? Can't I handle it? I HATE THE GAME, AND I HATE THE DECEITFULNES OF IT ALL.

Maybe I'm angry because I feel as though I broke up with Mr. S to be with Mr. D. But I know I didn't. He was a catalyst and Mr. S. and I were going to break up anyway. I would never, never, never want to cheat on Mr. S. Never. Mr. D. and I even discussed it- there was no way that Mr. D could be the sole gravitational pull for me leaving Mr. S. We didn't even know each other, and I wasn't even sure I was attracted.

Maybe my vanity is doing a number on me- wanting to be admired and pursued and now that he's stopped...maybe my self-worth has been so wrapped up in how many times a day he emails me or calls or says he's thinking about me. I fucking hate it. I'm stronger than this and I want nothing more than to just forget about him. But I feel snubbed, and my pride is injured. I'm angry that I let him into my world and let him walk away thinking there was a possiblity. I should have snubbed him first.

For one, I am way too young for him. What business does he have coming after ME? Was this all about the chase? That fucking horny idiot- faking to be Christian, faking to be polite, and gentlemanly, faking to be soooooo fucking interested in my music. What a joke.

What could have possibly gone wrong between Friday and now? What did I DO to make this so awkward? HE'S THE ONE MAKING THIS AWKWARD. Does he think he is so important, running around here with his guitars, and his keys, and his precious building? Does he think his title should make me bow down in respect? You lost my respect, Mr. D., when you yanked at my heart strings, convinced me to get to know you as a friend, hoping that I would fall and eventually be yours. YOU'RE AN IDIOT! You have single-handedly taken my mind off of work, my classes, Mr. S., and now you just walk away from the wreckage? You're insulting to me! This is EXACTLY what I didn't want. I told you this in all our long conversations about the "what ifs!" How could you have not seen this was my fear? Yet you preyed on me anyway-

God, I've been a fool. Wanting things that can never be in this life. Here I stand, looking over my shoulder and all I see is a cat-and-mouse chase of what I thought would make me happy. It's been a stupid loop all my life. Never, ever, ever, satiated. Why did you give me this hole in my heart if you knew who I would turn out to be and what I would do with it? Gabe is right! If you know the outcome, why do you torture us like this? If you've always known I would be weak in trusting you...why did you leave me crusts of bread to follow you "all the days of my life?"

My portion forever? You better make the time to show up, then. Because nothing you have given me or force fed me or punished me with is MAKING ANY SENSE. I am tired of wrestling you and what your will is for my life. If you really do show up on time in everybody else's life then where are you in mine? Do you understand me? I'm so close to giving up hope on you and the plans you have for my life to "prosper"- this all seems like crap. I'm sorry to seem so disrespectful but ...come on!

How long will i have to wait on you? Haven't I looked to the Hills long enough? haven't I cried long enough? Haven't I wanted long enough? IS DESIRE UNSPOKEN, CEASELESS PRAYER? If so, then where are YOU?

...and why are you so silent?

OHIO

2006-01-06T16:17:00.000-07:00

Every so often the stars align and the powers of this universe deem me worthy of a small treat. Such was the case shortly after I wrote my last post: Mr.S actually asked me out on a date again, which caused a delightful turn of events in my life. We began to reconnect in what I can only describe as a painfully candid but surprisingly refreshing way. He broke down a lot of walls that he had put up to safeguard his heart, and I was able to finally convey how deeply this action had hurt us both. It was difficult to hear him confess of all the times he deliberately sabotaged the relationship only because (his words)things were going so well they scared him. I began to wonder if I wanted a man in my life who couldn't recognize a good thing. There was nothing wrong with the relationship until he viewed it as "too perfect."

Men.

Nevertheless, the culmination of our reconnection was an invitation to go home with him for a very white Christmas-- to meet (gulp) the family. I believe his exact words were: "It's time." I can't quite tell you how many revolutions my heart did within the confines of this body, but I can tell you there was a powerful feeling of vertigo.

Frantic phone calls and ticket purchases were made and within 24 hours I had a plane ticket to and from Dayton, Ohio. Looking back, I personally cannot think of one thing that could have gone wrong this Christmas. From the plane ride to meeting the fam, to the bland white covered scenery that is Dayton, Ohio, I loved every moment of it. I even (gasp) began to find my way back to liking Christmas again.
Finally, I got to see the place where my Mr. S grew up and put a visual location to the coming of age stories I have heard him tell many times- the bowling alley behind which he did very naughty things with a young lady in junior high; the woods where he would ride his motorcycle to meet his friends and walk his dog; the junior high and high school where he took his football and baseball teams to glory as team captain; the scene of an accident where he almost lost his life... there was too much to see and not enough time.

I loved his family and I was sad to leave. I think they loved me right back- if his mother's note to me was anything to go by. Who has ever heard of a thank you note for a thank you note? I have- she sent it. In her own handwriting, filling the card with a tender, heartfelt invitation to "come and visit any time I like." The note made me feel...triumphant, like I had won a prize. But that's how I feel simply being around Mr. S, anyway- so it's natural that I would feel that way about his family.

We had both been so worried- what didn't we worry about? I worried about where would we sleep: on one hand, I thought it would be hot to sleep in his old bedroom, preferably in his old bed. On the other hand, I thought his mother might have a problem with us sleeping in the same room, not being married and all (there was actually no need to worry after all). I worried about saying the right thing at the right time (Mr. S had told me his parents can be critical and hard to befriend.) I worried that his sister wouldn't like me- we were actually more alike than we may have imagined. Talking to her kids was a snap: since I teach teenagers it was easy to get them out of their shells (they're pretty quiet). But the thing we worried about the most was the color issue. Being an interracial couple is tricky in Ohio, I am told. Thus his hesitation to invite me sooner. I guess he needed time to visualize it all, and time to tell his family about...me. He has done a great job, for someone so timid. He'd told his family bits and pieces about me, until finally they saw a picture last Christmas and then met me in person at this holiday.

It's funny how you can get an idea in your head that is a fleeting thought, which turns into an obsessive part of your belief system. This whole time I thought he had been reluctant to tell his family about me because of the color issue. When we got home and debriefed over a lazy morning breakfast, he told me had been worried about introducing me to the family because he didn't want them to get his hopes up- in case we didn't stay together.

I'll let you interpret that comment. I know how I received it and I'm going to stick to it. :)

MY CHALLENGE

2005-12-14T19:03:00.000-07:00

So here we are again. Christmas around the corner and I haven't even bothered. This year I cannot bring myself to put up a tree or lights. I haven't scribbled out Season's Greetings on card stock, I have not purchased candy canes for all my students. I have not circled the mall,searching for the perfect gifts. I have not paused to admire the neighborhood Christmas lights. The most I have done is hum along to a Christmas carol while shopping at Safeway. I also RSVP'd to the Christmas brunch for work, but I don't see how I will be able to make it through an hour and a half of chatting with other teachers donned in their gay apparel (typically gaudy bas-relief Christmas sweaters and jingle bell earrings- if anyone was wondering).

I cannot explain my brusque/indifferent/complacent attitude toward the holidays. The meaning of Christmas and the way we celebrate it has always posed such ambiguity to me. I have known the bliss of family, warmth, memories, and abundance of food and gifts. Yet, I have also known the absence of family and friends or gifts, warmth, memory making moments, as well as the bland taste of holiday food in troubling times. These two very different childhood memories have left a bitter taste in my mouth. Sometimes I simply wonder if the only reason I loved Christmas as a young child is that it was the one day of the year my parents were actually in a good mood for a full 24 hours.

I have no idea what I will do this year. And I'm really not concerned. My family lives overseas and we are estranged anyway. Still- I'll probably use the holidays to make my once-every-two-years obligatory phone call. Most of my friends don't know I will spend it alone and I don't want them to know. Charity or pity is the last thing I need or WANT from anyone. Moreover, I rather like the idea of facing the day alone. It's like a challenge. I revel in knowing that few have done it and few will. I think of it as an exercise in courage and inner strength. "What doesn't kill you...yadda yadda yadda..."

I have considered volunteering- feeding the homeless and what not. I think that will get my mind off of me and the bleakness of my apartment and enable me to focus on the spirit of the season, which TO ME is recognizing the birth of Christ and the need to give to others as we have so been so generously blessed. In addition, it will get me out of the house- an event that has occurred less and less since Mr. S and I "took a break."

This holiday would be a good time for me to focus on another aspect of the words "peace and love." I have spent/wasted so much time on the "eros" aspect of love and maybe need to have a balance by focusing on the "agape" part. I really do need more of this in my life, after all. Still, this will be hard to do, when I feel so empty and drained myself.

I like a good challenge. Christmas sans Mr. S will be just that. I know I'll come out alright. I'm not afraid.

I'm going to eat my fear; I'll consume it...before it consumes me.

Help Me

2005-12-14T07:26:00.000-07:00

Hello party people:
I don't know if anyone reads this damn blog anymore, but I got a comment this morning or last night from someone. You know who you are, girl. We need to talk. I just googled my blog name and found an interesting site with mine and your site's name on it. I want to send you the link, so email me back with a real addy so that we can discuss.
Ta.

BACK WITH A VENGEANCE

2005-12-13T18:25:00.000-07:00

New Posts Are Coming.
I'm back.
I've got an axe to grind.
I think that's the expression I will need.
Ta.

DEPRAVED

2005-01-14T16:13:00.000-07:00

I have a very dirty secret to confess.

I have some very dirty magazines at my house filled with fictional stories and pictures. I purchased them from an old boyfriend who thought a gift certificate to "Castle Boutique" would be the quintessential birthday gift. At the time, I thought it was a funny gift, if odd. I remember giving him a birthday hug and making one of those fake faces we all give when we over exaggerate our "thanks" for a gift we loathe. I wish now that I hadn't been so convincing.

Shortly after my birthday dinner, he drove us to the sex toy store to spend the certificate. Did I mention he gave me $50 worth? We looked around the store and all I could think to myself was how this gift was so terrible, and that we were spending my birthday in a goofy store. Any other day, fine- but my birthday? I couldn't see anything I NEEDED, so I purchased something I thought would be, at the very least, interesting.

Steamy Erotica.

Later, at home, I ripped away the cellophane wrapper and discovered pages of awkward looking black-and- white photos of men and women from the 70s in various poses and mullets. Fat women, skinny women, punk men, bearded men, hairy-chested men....all naked. I laughed my ass off.

The stories were inanely entertaining. Girl is the tour guide for a vacation tour bus, three guys are checking her out, they start touching her, she invites them for a lunch break snack on the bus while the others are out, she likes one of them in particular, and he does her in the back of the bus.

Highly unrealistic. What woman in her right mind would want to do it on a bus? Have you seen a tour bus? The seats usually fit only two people, and there would have to be all kinds of awkwardness involved.

The thing that bothers me the most, however, is that many of these sexually starved, nymphomaniac characters seem to be having sex all over the place (elevators, the back of a van, "downstairs with the taxi driver, while my husband is upstairs taking a shower," etc, and none of the authors seem it prudent to add a word or two about the characters using condoms. (Never mind that they cheat on each other, swap husbands, go through several men a night, and do it with strangers. That is another issue for another day). If one is going to be a sexual addict, shouldn't one at least do it safely?

After reading every last filthy story (WHAT?!! I WAS CURIOUS....LEAVE ME ALONE) I didn't know what to think. Shortly afterwards, I broke up with that stupid loser, and since I hadn't spent the entire gift certificate, I thrust it in an envelope with a letter outlining all the reasons I wanted to end it and put the entire thing in his mailbox.

Now I have these 3 magazines (they came in a set....WHAT?!) and I haven't thrown them out because... well, they are funny to look at and entertaining to read. But what if I drive home tonight and get in an accident? And friends come to clean out my possessions to send home to my parents. My good-girl image would be tarnished, and they would think I was a sex-fiend that liked to read and stare at porn. This can't be my family's last memories of me!

I should throw them out tonight.

MISSING IN ACTION

2005-01-13T19:38:00.000-07:00

So my blogs have been.... scarce, to say the least.

What can I say?

I so often think of penning my thoughts here, but feel tired and drained before I get to it. It's just one more thing to do.

I used to write so often before Mr. S came into my life. That was because I was melancholy and sometimes lonely. Now that he is in my life, there is no need or time to complain or examine the difficulties and challenges of my life via a journal.

Perhaps the greatest reason for this is that we talk often, Mr. S. and I. He listens to many of my woes (and can respond, unlike a journal). We understand each other on many levels and ours is a spiritual connection as much as it is a romantic or affectionate one. Never before has someone understood the complex layers of my personality. Never before have I wanted to please and serve and adore someone so much. Some might say that last statement sounds subservient. It isn't. You can't understand if you don't know him. Or how I feel when I am with him. How many times have I thought to myself that I would gladly devote the rest of my days to working hard to make his life easy and comfortable?

1 year and two months. And it still feels new.

This week we had our first altercation. It was awkward, and I felt so vulnerable. Like a small child in trouble with his or her parents. I couldn't yell at him. I couldn't raise my voice to match his. I didn't want to be angry. I only wanted to love him, and assure him that whatever stressful situation we were in, there was a solution. I wanted to slow the conversation down and ask him to remember that at the center of my heart is the principal desire to love him and connect.

The altercation occurred on the phone, and I was caught off guard. His complaints were so unusual, so uncharacteristic! I cried, in spite of myself. Even though I tried so hard not to- I was so shocked... after all, what differences of opinions have we ever had that we haven't been able to discuss in calm and easy going tones? I felt so unprepared and felt so foolish. He asked me not to cry, and the altercation subsided.

I saw him an hour later at a restaurant where we were to meet with some friends. Upon meeting us, he embraced me with a warm smile, and a tender kiss. He put his arm around me as we pondered the menu and appetizers. He smiled often, and it was a "I-know-you-think-I'm-mad-but-I'm-not" smile; I knew then that it would be okay. And it was.

I know some would say that a lack of altercations in a relationship spells disaster. I have to argue that point. Mr. S and I are intrinsically determined to work things out with conversation and understanding- to raise our arguments and not our voices- to communicate with patience. I know it won't always be this way, but we can try.

And should the day arrive that we cannot come to a compromise or solution, we have promised to remember that although we may not understand the actions of the other person, we will try to fall back on what we know of his/her character and go from there.

Mr. S- Je t'aime beaucoup!

WELCOME HOME, TODD

2004-11-18T13:37:00.000-07:00

Todd, my bloggfather, is back.

During his blogging hiatus, he became- no shit- a cop.

I don't know which I am more thrilled about.

Either way, all I know is that I am so turned on by this recent turn of events that I need to wring my panties out in the sink.

Catch you later.

ME

2004-10-01T16:00:00.000-07:00

I borrowed this from a friend's site. Fun, fun, fun.

I am:

eternally sleeply.

I know:

how to speak Swahili.

I have:

a naughty & secret love affair with Cheetoes(orange fingers)

I wish:

I could change my last name to something glamourous.

I hate:

girls who can't tell the difference between "sexy" & "slutty"

I miss:

college life/teaching college and "clubbing."

I fear:

that I will not be financially stable/have a home by 30

I hear:

that big boobs are out: woe is me.

I search:

for at least one personal item every day. I'm too absent-minded.

I wonder:

if someday I would like to have kids. I'm really not sure.

I regret:

some of the people I have dated.

I love:

Mr. S. But he will never know that, because I can't say it.

I ache:

when I am gassy. It's too much to clench my ass cheeks together. Especially if I'm teaching and weaving in and out of the students' desk, teaching. Hey- just being honest. Leave me alone. You get gassy, too.

I care:

about the people whose family name will die out if their parents don't give birth to sons. This honestly concerns me.

I always:

try to be sincere with everyone that I love. Keith, this includes you. I do love you. We're friends forever.

I am not:

punctual. I am always making excuses for being late. Sometimes, my lies are very outrageous. Lies I have told for being late to work: "There was an accident on the freeway." "My car broke down/wouldn't start." "I have food poisoning." Wow, the more I write these down, the more I am ashamed. Am I the only one that does this???

I dance:

quite well. I'm a dancing queen/maniac on the dancefloor.

I sing:

extraordinarily. I might as well toot my own horn. TOOT!

I do not always:

grade every single assignments I give. If I am behind, minor (emphasis on minor) assignments go in the trash. I recently learned that many teachers do this, actually.

I should not:

have to teach 9th graders how to use a period or capital letters or spell check or a computer keyboard or a semicolon! I mean seriously, how long have they been in school now?

I write:

-most often- when I am feeling sad or confused about life.

I win:

when it comes to having sensual, luscious lips.

I lose:

at board games constantly. But I still love them.

I confuse:

my boyfriend when I can't remember snippets of meaningful conversations we have had. It's a personal flaw and incessantly annoys him. I wish I could change it.

I listen:

to NPR and love it.

I go:

to the hair salon every 2-3 weeks.

I am happy about:having something new and fun to put in my blog.

P.S. Feel free to cut and paste and borrow.

ANNOYING

2004-10-01T14:27:00.000-07:00

When I first began searching for an apartment, I decided to the smart thing and go through an apartment locater. I deeply regret that decision. Not only were they unable to locate the fabulously priced apartment I currently reside in, they still continue to call my cell and work phone with the intent of soliciting my services. One assistant from the office will call me and I will call her back and tell her I do not need their help anymore; the very next day, another assistant will call and ask me the same exact question! This has continued for several days now, and I am not sure what it is I need to do to help this company understand that I'm breaking up with them!

Furthermore, I have been in that office. It's very small. Why they cannot communicate to one another my messages is beyond all comprehension. Can't they just shout the news from one cubicle to the next? At the very least they can email one another, or use a cup and some string...

Moving Day

2004-09-23T16:02:00.000-07:00

Well, I have mentioned before that I am moving. You should probably know that I am not happy about it. This is mostly due to the fact that I had not been expecting to move for at least a year. It all happened when my roommate, who owns the condo I live in currently, dropped a bombshell on the second day of my return to work, and change my living situation irrevocably.

I came home with my mind soley on work...this is where I was- in the throes of waking myself out of summer hibernation, getting back into the mindset of glorified babysitting, walking in the door after a grueling day of correcting the children: "No, Kyle, my name is not Mrs. ___________, it's Miss. I'm NOT married, thanks for pointing that out...AGAIN", when my roommate informed me that she would be selling the condo in thirty days.

She rambled on and on for quite some time about the decision; about feeling exploited at her job and the need to make more money elsewhere before her student loans kicked in...blah, blah, blah. My mind began to reel. What? We're moving? Where will I go? What can I afford? I thought we had a deal? (She had told me that if she ever sold the place she would give me plenty of advance warning. Is 30 days sufficient advance warning?)

I tried desperately to not let the disdain, and disappointment register on my face as she somewhat sheepishly tried her best to make it seem as if everything was still okay and that this news would in no way drastically change our lives. The best I could do in response was to refrain from saying anything. I resolved to keep a somewhat blank look on my face. At some point in her loquacious report about all of our new changes she asked me if I was mad. Slowly and emotionlessly I replied, "No." Inside, I was seething. A quiet storm of frustration, anger, and disappointment swirled inside me and I walked into my room and shut the door. I proceeded to make phone call after phone call to friends, making inquiries:

"So how much do you pay rent there? ....Uh huh...and is there a washer and dryer in the apartment?"

"Okay, so how much does it cost to actually buy a condo? I wonder if I can afford that on my pauper's salary?."

"And is that close to the freeway? Okay...Which one?"

With every new phone call, I pushed away my anger, pushed away my frustration and refused to think about the feelings that were ticking away inside. This "absence of feeling" went on for about two weeks, in which everything fell apart with my roommate.

I was stressed at work. She was stressed at work. During my free time (of which I have none)I was trying to find a new place to live between the hours of 3 and 5. During her free time she was working out the details of her move. I couldn't express my frustrated thoughts. She couldn't express how nervous she was about being forced to move back home and live in her parent's house at the age of 30.
We stopped telling each other about our days.
We stopped watching TV together.
We stopped looking at each other in our snippets of conversation.
We stopped sitting in the same room together.
We just...stopped.

The silence turned to stony silence and then... eventually... nothing. And the quiet storm of emotion in my heart turned to a chilly, icy wind that blew in her direction, with the single goal of keeping her at bay.

One day I came home- still on my "I'm not talking to you" kick, and went to the restroom to...er... do the things most people do in the restroom. Past the bathroom door, through the wall and the deafening silence of the TV (which was on at full blast to avoid meaningful conversation), I heard her voice, muffled, and in the distance: she was clearly on the phone and she was clearly talking about... me.

"She is disrespecting me..."

"We don't even talk anymore..."

"She has totally ceased all communication and shut me out."

Bits and pieces. Pieces and bits of conversation about ... me.
About me!
About...me?

It is so strange to hear yourself spoken about in the third person- especially when the party speaking of you doesn't know you can hear them. Confused, and in a daze, I finished my bathroom duties and waited for her to get off the phone and walk into the living room where, I was determined, I would confront her. If she wanted conversation she was going to have it, goddammit!

I confronted her. A motley mix of emotions flashed across her face: fear, worry, anger, determination to stand by whatever unkind words I said, and... sadness.

"I don't take it back. I'm not sorry for what I said. I meant every word. This move is hard on both of us and you have not been here for me. You don't take into account the pressure I am also under." In this fashion, I let her speak and speak and speak. Tears fell and she poured out her heart: she was afraid, she didn't want to move, she had to do it, it wasn't her choice, she didn't want to lose the friendship, she would help me move, she was going to miss me.

All of a sudden, I became aware of how silly girls are. Of how silly I am, to hold a grudge against one of my best friends; someone who - for all intents and purposes- is the closest thing I have to family. And as we talked, the quiet storm turned into a soft rain that fell in bead-like formations down my cheeks. We cried, we hugged, and we apologized.

Thinks aren't perfect, but they're better. And I, for one- am glad.

2004-09-20T16:06:00.000-07:00

BACK WITH A VENGEANCE

Hey guys! Here I am again. I am sure that my return will not be marked by the shout of trumpets or the raising of flags, and that's okay. Many thanks to IronPants, however, who coaxed me into blogging again. I can't promise much, but I will do what I can. Of course, I am also very interested in catching up on your lives (if anyone is reading this. If not, that's okay also).

There are so many things to talk about! I will quickly recap the events of my life since I last left the blog. I will do this in bullet form so as to eliminate confusion. Here goes:

I got engaged and will be married this December.
Hahaha-- gotcha.
Mr. S and I traveled a lot this summer. Highlights were San Diego; Boston, Mass; and New York.
This summer Mr. S and I also wrote 2 songs together and recorded them ( he has a recording program on his computer). At some point I will have to post a listening segment on here. I played guitar, he played the drums. They do sound good for an amateur songwriter, even I have to say so myself.
By the way, Mr. S and I are getting along famously. He has recently started signing his emails with phrases like, "love ya" and "love, S" and things like that. This is a new turn in the relationship. I don't know why, but even though I feel these things for him I can't bring myself to use the word "love" just yet. I have issues to be ironed to out, I guess. Right now he's in New York for a family reunion, and I think the absence is what has made his heart grow fonder and has also been the catalyst for the "love ya" remarks. Hmmm.
I am back in school teaching. Whole new classes and everything. They are dolls (thus far). We are almost finished with the first quarter of the year, so that should tell you we are CRUISING! No major "problem" students (except for the captain of the football team- so stereotypical), but even he is good most days.
I am moving from Tempe to Mesa. I'm scared about moving but also very excited. And no, I am not moving in with Mr. S. However, we shall live much closer to each other now.
The "X" has been sending me emails. Some are cryptic and some are not so cryptic. I guess things aren't going that well with his new girlfriend (she has a name that rhymes with "TOKYO" by the way- isn't that bizzarre) and so he's trying to crawl back into my not- so-open arms ( Ladies and Gentlemen: Journey has now left the building.) I am not sure how to handle this. Suggestions? I should really post one his emails on my blog. What a laugh that would be. Maybe I'll post some of it.

That is pretty much what's going on in my life in the moment. Rest assured I will be back with more, kids. (Again, not that anyone is reading this.) Please post/comment to my blog and let me know if you're alive! I miss you!

2004-04-28T11:02:00.000-07:00

I NEED HELP

Something is wrong with my blog. When I open it up to view the screen, I can't see my daily reads. It's upsetting me. Does anyone have any suggestions? What have I done wrong? I can't even click on the daily reads links because I can't get to them....and I haven't memorized your webaddresses...so I feel lost to the world, and lost to you.
Please please please help me, friends. Please.
GG

2004-04-19T12:21:00.000-07:00

SIX

There are only 5 more weeks of regular school left. Yay! Then comes summer school, which will hopefully fly by like a breeze. I am really looking forward to spending time at home, with Mr. S, in the gym, and by myself. I feel like I could squeeze tears out of my cheeks right now (both the ones on my face and the ones below my waist line! haha)- this is how happy I am with the idea of free time.

Working as a teacher is a lot like going to the gym. When one is at the gym, working on the machines or lifting weights, or cardio is never going to do one good unless the body is disciplined, pushed, strained, and maybe even punished again and again. A fit and tone body takes a beating voluntarily and is better for it in the long run. This is how I see teaching at this time in my life. I have learned many things in the last two years of 9th grade. I am a glutton for punishment; I only want to learn more... about the teaching process, how to write better curriculum, how to make my lessons more exciting and relevant to things in every day culture, society, and things of that nature. I want to be a grammar maven, perfect at speaking my mother tongue- total command when writing, as well. Like working out, my mind and my being must be committed to that finished product. My work each day must be as perfect as it can be, or else, like daily reps with weights, if done poorly, I will not build the "muscles" necessary to provide support (experience) to my teaching and curriculum vitae. Even worse, the kids might suffer.

I know I complain about teaching, but really I am a better person for slaving each day like this: in a thankless job, where someone as educated as I am could really just be called a glorified babysitter. It's a humbling profession, but a noble one.
_____________________________________________________________________________________________

In other news, I went to the Kid Rock concert on Friday. Normally, Kid Rock would not be my cup of tea, but let me tell you....

the man can rock.

There is a line in one of his songs that says, "You never met a motha fuckah like me."

Preach it!

Truly, this man is creative. Not only does he SINGLE HANDEDLY command the attention of the crowd, he virtually has them eating right out his hands. He not only sings, bebops (raps or whatever the kids call it these days), but he also plays the guitar, slide guitar, drums (like an animal, I might add), he can scratch records like a D.J. (which he did, by the way), play the piano (they pulled out a grand piano for one of his closing numbers), and dance like nobody's business.

That night, I told Mr. S that I had found a new love, and that he could get lost.

I did feel a mite bit uncomfortable when the pyrotechniques went on and off at various intervals...although they were breathtaking, several flags were unfurled at various points to match the beat and rhythm (sp?) of the pyro-works. One flag was the Confederate flag. Folks, I just haven't made up my mind about that, yet. What does it symbolize? Clearly, Kid Rock isn't racist (his drummer is black AND a female), but it wasn't like there was a healthy ratio of interracial couples like Mr. S and I.
I dunno...still chewing on it.

Either way, might I suggest that you all check out Kid Rock, the man the mystery the magic- when he comes to your town next. He's truly something to talk/ see/ drool about.

Later, taters.
GG

2004-04-15T10:44:00.000-07:00

KID ROCK

This friday Mr. S and I will be going to see Kid Rock in concert. I am most definitely excited. I have never thought much of Kid Rock, but after Mr. S played me a sample of his most recent CD, I found him not only palatable (Kid Rock, not Mr. S), I also found him entertaining!

Once again I am faced with the difficulty of finding something to wear. I am not sure what one wears to a Kid Rock concert. I would wear what I wore to the Prince concert but I find it unbecoming to be seen in the same outfit twice in short intervals. Sigh. I used to have so many "party" clothes. But of course, that was when I was in grad. school, and I didn't have over 100 papers to grade every weekend.

Sigh... and weren't those the days? Party til 3 in the morning, after hours at someone's house or at IHOP or Denny's because we have the munchies. I remember dancing until I couldn't stand, downing gin and juice, tequila shots, Long Islands, and occasionally-when I felt brave- some Jaegermeister. I used to love the thrill of going dancing to watch people- the thrill of people watching me doing my "thang" on the dance floor. Am I getting too old?

The last time I went "out dancing some guy put his grubby paws on my ass (while I was dancing with my man, of all things! The nerve!), and another guy managed to rub his chest all over mine- this, apparently, was his way of inviting me to dance (how didn't I figure that out?) while Mr. S had gone to visit the facillities. Mr S.- to say the least- did not appreciate this. It was so odd to see him get defensive and threaten to beat them up (by the way- he WOULD beat them up and get his dragged off to jail...I do not doubt it. He is not afraid of such confrontations when he feels they are justified). After I persuaded him to ignore them and we sat down to nurse a beer or two, I reflected upon how nice it was to not only have someone to take dancing (finally- usually guys I date are against it), and also how nice it was to have someone rise to my defense. So many guys these days confuse touching, grabbing, pawing, groping, and in some cases fingering with flirting. How they do this, I don't know- but it's true.

Yes, it's good to be dating this man. It's good to be in a secure "thing."

More later, I have to get ready for my next class coming in.

2004-03-31T12:25:00.000-07:00

PRINCE AND PURPLE RAIN

Well, tonight is the Prince concert and I can't wait. I have finally decided what to wear. I went to Express a few days ago and purchased a pair of white capris. They have ribbons that tie on the bottom hem of each pant leg, and pockets every which way. Kind of like a retro parachute pants thing but not quite as out of date. I will wear a black tank top-like blouse and a headband that has that trendy (my students tell me) Burberry print to it. Hoop earrings. Black heels. Sexy Casual, I think.

Of course, in between rushing to get home from work and getting dressed, I must do a few loads of laundry, curl my hair, take a power nap, start writing a grammar test that I promised the kids on Friday ( I love how I assign it before I have even written it. That's gutsy!), and clean up the house a little. I can tell you right now the only thing I will probably accomplish is curling my hair. Wishful thinking is so satisfying.

It's now lunch time and I"m waiting for a little 9th grade girl to come in for "help." We have a grammar test coming up, and her idea of getting "help" from the teacher translates as: (read in a whiny voice for full effect)

"I don't get verbs, and opening the grammar book to study them for myself seems far beyond my comprehension and abilities. I much prefer you reteach the entire chapter to me personally even though we have spent the entire month studyng them. If you do this, I will not only come to your help session late (so that you miss every second of your lunch period waiting for me) but I will also completely zone you out so that I can sit in the cool shade of your classroom (not in the ramada with other students), and save my energy thinking about that gorgeous piece of man-candy-on-a-stick in the 10th grade who absolutely adores me."

Teaching is so satisfying.

2004-03-28T17:42:00.000-07:00

MY SOCIAL LIFE

So Mr. S (my man) got us tickets to see both Prince and Kid Rock. We also have a jazz concert coming up and in April, I will see the musical "Hairspray" with my friend Shannon. I will be sure to blog all about it as the events happen.

Currently, my biggest dilemma is- what does one wear to a Prince concert? Lately, the entire city has been going crazy with miniskirt mania, and that has made me wonder if I should go shopping for one. I hate the fact that every girl who thinks she's trendy has to wear a trendy mini. Everyone wants to be so different but we're just all the same- wearing the same clothes, same hair styles, same shoes, same jewelry. It gets old sometimes. Could I even pull off a miniskirt? They are sooo short!! I don't remember them ever being that short before. And when did I become so worried about wearing short skirts? Am I getting old? or am I getting more practical??

I want to look sexy for this Prince concert, but I want to look sophisticated sexy. Everyone usually says I'm a very good dresser- the consensus is that I dress casual chic/ sleek- something like that. Think "Express" or "Lerners", I guess. But all the clothes I own are really for work. I don't want to wear chic work clothes to a Prince concert. I have to wear something that will "wow" Mr. S. Why do I feel the pressure to look sexy for him when I already know he likes the way I currently dress and look?

I think I just want him to be proud of me. I think I would like him to walk beside me and feel like he picked a pretty/sexy/fashionable girl.

So if I find a sexy outfit to wear to the Prince concert, should I wear the same to the Kid Rock concert or find another outfit?

My problems today seem so insignificant when I see them through the reader's eyes. But through mine, they are of the utmost importance. Sigh. Guess I'm going shopping tomorrow.

2004-03-23T17:21:00.000-07:00

SOFTLY, SUMMER APPROACHES

I have begun to feel the need to return to blogging lately. I don't know...maybe to clear my head. 8 more mondays until the last day of school. I can do it. I can do it. Just breathe in and out...one day at a time. Soon, I will be free.

I started to blog about work, but I just can't do it anymore. I'm sick of talking about it, so I'll move on to something else.

Let's see....

Well, my 10 year high school reunion is coming up (this summer- July). I have been to the 5 year one, and it was so-so. I suspect this one is going to be super duper. The only problem is that it's going to be in Pennsylvania. ?? of all places! I would consider going, buy the guy I am seeing- let us call him Mr. S for now- wants to go to New York during that weekend. Before I met him, I had already planned to go to New York for the summer (see my earlier blogs) but it just so happens that he has a family reunion coming up, and it would work out for us to go to New York together.

I don't care where I go this summer. I just want to go somewhere. I plan to make a shitload of money teaching summer school (I'm a glutton for punishment), so that I can take a nice little vacation. I wouldn't mind going alone, but Mr. S and did have a good time together in Disneyland, that I wouldn't mind taking another road trip with him.

Last summer was my very first time to understand what it means to have the summer "off" as a teacher. Everyone thinks that teachers have it so easy- we get national holidays, Christmas, and summers off (don't forget Spring Break). When people make such comments I want to sucker punch them. They clearly don't get it. Teachers bust their asses for 180+ days a year, work almost every weekend, work late almost every night, take home work in the evenings, work/supervise/ chaperone all sorts of extra curricular things, and we DO WORK DURING THE SUMMER. I, for one, do my llong term esson planning during this time. I clean my classroom, I photocopy all kinds of handouts for the first few weeks of school, and I research new things to use in my classroom.

But don't get me wrong...it is nice to know that on any given day of summer I can wake up late if I would like to. That makes up for all the days I had to wake up at 5:00 am and stay up until 11:00pm with nothing but work in between.

It feels good to sit at home on a warm summer day, munching on a popsicle watching Jerry Springer if I wish. That makes up for all the days I have wanted to watch something interesting on TV but couldn't because I had a meeting or Parent Teacher Conferences.

It feels good to eat my lunch/dinner at a slow, even pace- without having to supervise 100s of kids eating, shoving, and cutting in the lunch line; without having to run to the photocopy room to photocopy that assignment for speech class before the bell rings; without having to hear other teachers bitch about this or that in the faculty lounge. I can eat at home- with my feet on the couch, or above my head if I wanted to.

The part I love most about summer is the warm evenings. I can go anywhere! I'm free. I can go out for drinks at 9 pm on a Tuesday. No work the next day! I can take a road trip at the drop of a hat. I can play my guitar until 3 am if I wish. I love renting 4 or 5 foreign/indy movies from Blockbuster at a time and just selfishly indulging myself.

I can go as long as I want without brushing my teeth.
I can sit around in my pyjamas.
I can take a nap several times a day.
I can workout!

40 days left....40 days left....40....40....40....

2004-03-21T20:57:00.000-07:00

UPDATES

The month of March has gone by quickly- and I couldn't be more grateful. The other day a colleague mentioned that there are less than 40 days left in the school year - for the seniors, anyway. The rest of the high schoolers will have three weeks after that so the end of this long road of teaching isn't too far from the end. Of course, I am going to teach summer school (the money is too good to pass up, and I plan to go to New York this summer), but at least the hectic daily schedule of educating 95+ minds will be gone for two months.

At this point, I am doing what I can to coast. I made the decision to make the last quarter of the school year easy: we are only going to do the research paper (yawn!) and read Great Expectations (Charles Dickens). I expect that most kids will want to do neither of these two things, but since we will only be concentrating on that, I should say that they should be quite grateful!

*Is grateful spelled "grateful" or "greatful"? I must look that up soon.

In other news, the new man and I are doing very well. He is ...well, there are just no words. The best part of it all is that there are no expectations- we just kick back and take it easy, enjoying each other's company and the company of our now mutual friends. This is honestly the first time I have dated someone who actually has a decent number of friends to share and do things with. This is good in two ways: he will not feel the need to spend every waking moment with me and only me (familiarity can sometimes breeds contempt), and two- he can add to my pool of friends/acquaintances, and vice versa. I enjoy watching him interact with my friends. In many ways I feel like I am showing him off without having to use words. He glides in and out of conversations with my friends effortlessly and knows just what to say to make everyone feel at ease. I have sat back and just watched him "work" and it's truly awesome. Why does this mean so much to me, I wonder?

My last boyfriend- I met not one of his friends. I only met his cats, really. He had two- no, three- and they were nothing but terrors. He loved them like family members, lovers, best friends. He always promised that I would meet his mysterious friends, and that we would have such fun. In the eight months we dated, he had still failed to introduce me to anyone he could really call "friend." I am not sure what is more sad- the fact that he had no friends, or that I didn't see this as a serious red flag. In defense of my ignorance I must say that the times that we got to see each other were far and few between due to my work and the fact that we lived over 45 minutes away from each other. So when we saw each other we wanted to be alone- away from people and simply in each other's company. Agh. Enough about him. Clearly, nothing panned out and I am not sore or bitter about it anymore.

My man and I have many things in common. The largest one of course, is music. He plays drums in a band and he is damn good at it. As I type this, he sits a few feet away from me, practicing. It's loud, but it sounds good- especially since he is playing to some of his favorite musicians on CD. You go, baby. Most recently, we have been checking out local music scenes, practicing guitar together, and coming up with ideas for me to play "out" somewhere. We have our eyes on a local coffee shop that I wrote about some months earlier. My largest problem has been compiling original music that I am happy with. So far I have a few original numbers, (we have recorded two of them), but they need much work and I just don't have the time right now (could summer get here a littler faster, please?) Of late, I have been turning to Joni Mitchell's CD "Court and Spark" for sources of lyrical inspiration. She is truly a lyrical and musical genius. If I could only have 10 minutes with her - the questions I would ask! Joni, if you read my blog...talk to me! LOL.

The other thing we have in common is our past. My man and I have had similar childhoods in that our parents were not the best at parenting, and we have both suffered somewhat because of it. Many times we have had discussions late into the night discussing the things that went wrong, how we have recovered, and how we would do things differently were we to have kids. These conversations only add to my desire to really know him. I could go on about that, but I don't want to make this blog ultra-mushy. Interestingly enough, however, I have finally met someone who feels undecided about having children as I do. We share the same fears about bringing human beings of our own flesh and blood into the world: it helps to discuss these things that I have been mulling over for such a long time.

The other day someone asked me if I was "in love." Scratch that. She asked if I thought he was "the one." I told her I couldn't say that I knew that. I most certainly feel that I would like this to be something long term- definitely. But love? What is love? Do I feel it? There are moments when we have conversations that seem to last for hours that I think I feel it, know it, experience it, give it. There are moments, like now, when I look over at him (he doesn't know what I'm working on ) and I feel like I am in love- look at what he can do with his body, playing the drums like that. He plays the drums the way he lives his life: soulfully, with conviction, determination, sweat and effort. How can I not love that? I don't know...

Last month, while in Disneyland for Valentine's Day he told me he was falling in love with me. This excited me: it was certainly unexpected, but I was elated. We have not spoken of that day since. But we know it happened, and the memory still lingers in the air, pleasantly nostalgic. I don't think we need to speak about it... which brings me full circle to my first point. Here, there are no expectations. No mind games. Just contentment and growth (personal and as a couple). And that, for now, is all that I need.

2004-03-11T11:39:00.000-07:00

READING

Hello, all. I have just returned from a much needed hiatus. (More on that later)
The latest developments are that I have been dating the same guy I talked about earlier. We're going on 5 months and I honestly can't remember a time I have been happier with someone. Every new day holds something fascinating, compelling or inspirational. I feel like we're growing individually as well as together.

*note to self: must blog about Valentine's Day.

I just finished reading I Know Why the Caged Bird Sings by Maya Angelou. It was....well, simply put, there are very few words I can use to describe the tumultuous emotional states I experienced while reading every page in detail.

I was wondering if anyone out there in blogger land would have information on Maya Angelou's sexual orientation? The last chapter hinted at lesbian curiousity, but then she delivers a child through a series of unforeseen/unplanned events. She has a child, but she never answers the question of whether or not she's into the ladies.

Just curious.

If you know the answer, holla!

I miss my regular blogger friends. I have done you wrong my taking leave without giving you notice. I hope you can find it in your hearts to forgive me.

GG

2004-01-21T20:07:00.000-07:00

LAZY, WITH NO APOLOGIES

Well, I have not been to work in two days. That's right. I left over 100 kids at school, in the hands of a substitute teacher, to fend for themselves. Ask me if I care? I do not. I didn't even give very good lesson plans. I don't care. Tomorrow, I am returning to work. Thank God it's an abbreviated schedule- each class will be cut in half by 5 or 10 minutes (I can't remember) to accomodate an all school assembly in the middle of the day.

I should probably go and call the substitue teacher coordinator- so she can know that I'm not going to be staying home tomorrow. This is a phone call I dont' want to make, as I can't really explain where I have been the last two days. I haven't been sick, and there is nothing pressing that keeps me at home.

Wait...there is that one thing where I don't want to deal with over 100 kids and their nasty parents every day. Oh wait...there's also all the grading I can never seem to catch up with....and oh...there is also the long hours I put in that are way past my contracted hours. I'm beginning to wonder if I should find another job maybe?

But what will I do? And could I really stand not to teach in front of a throbbing, palpitating classroom with students who- despite the kind of bad day I'm having- make me laugh from time to time, and sometimes demonstrate a thirst for learning?
Something to think about, I guess.

2004-01-13T09:43:00.000-07:00

WELL SAID

"Light travels faster than sound. That is why some people appear bright
until you hear them speak."

2004-01-12T12:34:00.000-07:00

GREAT WEEKEND

Yes, people. He cooks, too. Mmm-hmm. That's right. Saturday night he made the most sumptious pot roast, while I lounged in front of the TV, grading papers. The pot roast had some delicious veggies on the side- carrots, mostly; steamed, as I prefer them. I don't dare mention what was on the menu for dessert, but suffice it to say I went back for seconds.

Last night we grilled hamburgers on the back patio- once again, my pallette was tickled in the most delectable way. On the side we had chips to dip in the most interesting dip- which he made from scratch. I have indeed struck gold. Perhaps the best part of it all was the conversation. He talked while he grilled, and poured out his heart about frustrations he was having with the band, the band members, the promotions, the tendency to be taken advantage of because he volunteers to pay for band costs, while others shy away... I felt bad that there was nothing I could do. I hope my listening skills compensated sufficiently.

As a side note, one of the most useful thing I have observed about him is that he will runs errands for me without complaint. I gave him the task of returning three library books today, since I won't be on that side of town again until after the library closes. It was important for him to drop them off, lest they be marked late and I be fined. He assured me that it would be done and that was that. I have never- no, not once- been able to delegate or entrust any guy I am dating with such menial tasks. I'm not sure if that says something about me or something about the kinds of guys I date- or both. Either way, my feelings of contenment continue to reign supreme in the quiet recesses of my mind and heart.

...and you?

2004-01-07T11:46:00.000-07:00

SANS TITLE

Give me a kiss, and to that kiss a score;
Then to that twenty, add a hundred more:
A thousand to that hundred: so kiss on,
To make that thousand up a million.
Treble that million, and when that is done,
Let's kiss afresh, as when we first begun.

Robert Herrick

2003-12-23T11:09:00.000-07:00

CHRISTMAS

I dropped S off at the airport yesterday, and began my annual shop-at-the-last-minute excursion. Ah, the beauty of tradition. Bravely, I fought my way through the milling crowds; calculatingly, I stuck to my budget for each of my loved ones- and it was rewarding. I still have adequate "free" money for my trip to Missouri- I must have planned well.

The last week of school was anticlimatic, but interesting. Many students showed their appreciation by the way of small gifts. I received the regular prodigious amount of cookies, fudge, and chocolate. I also got some other interesting gifts such as gift certificates to some fun restaurants, some lotion and bath stuff, candles, and journals. I gave them all neatly printed homework passes on Christmas card stock, with a candy cane attached. They were quite grateful, and the spirit of Christmas served its purpose. On Friday, I sat at my desk, calculating exam scores and answering voice mail after all the students left. School was empty- and for one brief moment I panicked that some of my students wouldn't come back due to deathly illnesses or tragic accidents. I know it's impossible, but I worry that I didn't say goodbye to all of them, and that I may never see some of them again. What an odd feeling.

Tomorrow I leave for Missouri. I am not particularly looking forward to it because of the snow, but I'm glad to have plans either way. I'm just worried that my friend and I might get on one another's nerves. I will be gone for 9 days, in someone else's home, with someone else's family and friends. I'll be out of my comfort zone a bit but I'm sure it will be okay. I hope to have something to report upon my return.

To all who visit my blog regularly- friends and strangers alike- I wish you the very merriest of Christmases. If I don't havea moment to blog before New Year's I hope you enjoy your day immensely. Best of luck to you in 2004!!!!

2003-12-18T09:39:00.000-07:00

HELP

Can anyone give me some tips on how to shorten my list of archives?
gg

2003-12-18T09:31:00.000-07:00

JE SUIS CONTENT

Oh Glorious Day.

There are times in my life when I actually feel as though the truculent powers of the universe are too busy to meddle in my life and make it miserable, as they are oft wont to do. Last night was such a time. For a full day it was as if the evil overseers of my life were rendered immobile, and I was released from the chain that ties me to the opaque cloud that impedes my progress as I move to and from my daily activities. I have, in the last week, witnessed a gossamer of my dreams manifest itself into reality.

S, the guy I have started seeing on a regular basis has been calling more frequently, and this much to my surprise and delight. Twice he called this week "just to say hi." Of course, the first time he called, I was careful not to call back- I didn't want to look too eager. It was after the second phone call that I realized he was not joking; in his message on my voice mail he clearly said that he missed me and wanted to talk to me, and wondered why I hadn't emailed or called him back. So I have started calling him back, and that more frequently. This has proved rewarding because (although he claims he despises talking on the phone) we talk for great lengths of time, and laugh at just about everything. He is an evocative conversationalist, and we have very balanced discussions. By balanced, I mean that he is not one of those men who has a propensity to make effete attempts at conversation by inserting sexual innuendos every which way, but he can still be very sensual when the time calls for it. His sensuality (not sexuality) is always there- lingering about him- it's very nice, but it's not over powering, thank goodness.

On Sunday he called to ask me out again. This will bring us to exactly one month of dating. And what piquant dates they have been. The word "appreciated" comes to mind when I think of the many things he does to cater to the least of my valleities. Each new date seems to be the zenith of our dating experience until we set up another one, and it far exceeds the one that preceded it. The incorrigible and austere powers of the universe have vindicated me, perhaps.

Last night we went to the Melting Pot, an establishment that serves 4-5 course meals consisting solely of Fondue. It is also renowned for its vast selection of continental wine. The food was superb, the ambience was perfection; our contentment was highly palpable. He had never eaten there, but I could tell he enjoyed it, although the bill caused my heart to palpitate with anxiety. He said it was romantic- odd, I find that he seeks to add a romantic element to all our dates. There was a surfeit of talking, laughing, and kissing, which was mostly initiated by him. Again, nothing overtly or covertly sexual- just innocently romantic.

We closed out the restaurant- we were the last two to leave. We felt bad for the waiter who probably wanted to get home to his girlfriend, as it was close to 12 am. We took the dessert portion of our meal "to go" and drove around the neighborhood for a while, looking at the pretty lights in the Foothills area. He really likes to hold hands when we drive anywhere, so we drove home that way, hand in hand, intermittently humming along to the Christmas carols on the radio.

When he dropped me off at my house, he leaned in for a good night kiss (or two, or three) that lasted for what seemed several minutes. The conversation that floated in and out of the kisses included a request to spend time together on Friday, Saturday and Sunday. And New Year's if we both came back from out of town early. I said I thought it would be possible, and that I would enjoy that very much.

Perhaps the most illuminating moment of the night came when he leaned in close to repeat what he had been saying all night long in a variety of ways: that he liked me. He really liked me. He went so far as to confess that he had been trying not to like me. Relieved to hear that I was not the only one under this duress, I confessed the same, and it felt good to say it. Reluctantly, we kissed one last time, and I retired to my bedroom in a state of bewilderment and awe.

I know that some may wonder why I choose to write about my romantic pursuits on my blog. Some may be skeptical, and say that I am experiencing the obligatory moments of euphoria that is typical of the first few months of dating. To these people, I would say that I am inclined to agree, but I would end that declarative statement with the questions: "so what?" It doesn't matter. I truly feel that even if this goes nowhere, the time I have spent with him thus far has been well spent, and well worth it.

I wish I could say more than I already have. I wish I were able to pen my thoughts more vividly, more succinctly, in a less gushy-school-girl sort of way. But that is my reality right now, and I won't apologize for it. I can only hope that 6 months from now, I am still blogging and reporting the same thoughts, the same emotions- but with more intensity and less verbosity.

Je suis content.

2003-12-15T12:23:00.000-07:00

WOMEN ARE COMPLICATED

Here is an example of why. (This is an actual short story)

http://mbhs.bergtraum.k12.ny.us/cybereng/shorts/teleycal.html

2003-12-11T19:44:00.000-07:00

LIFE IN GENERAL

So I haven't been blogging much lately, and I feel like shit for it. I want to document my life as it unfolds before me. I want to have something to come back to a year or five from now. Some words of reflection to mark my time on this earth. Something with which to comemmorate the milestones of my life.

It hasn't entirely been my fault. My computer has been down and out of whack, and susceptible to the various problems computers are known to have. So far, (greatfully) the greatest inconvenience has been my inability to check email.

To keep myself occupied I have been doing three things. One, spending time in front of the boob tube watching the final painful episodes of various reality shows. These include "The Average Joe" and the ever-pitiful "Joe Millionaire." Last night I tried to watch "Trista and Ryan: The Wedding" but gave up after almost tossing my cookies at all the pink. It's really mind numbing, it really is. I should probably also add here that I'm quite disappointed that Malena from "The Average Joe" did everything but pick an average Joe. Fox network has a lot of nerve, changing the whole goal and purpose of the show. We all know who deserved to be the last man standing.

The second thing I have been doing is playing A LOT of guitar. It would seem that I am falling in love with my guitar as if it possessed the faculties and fringe benefits of a red-blooded male. I love that thing, and will strum it to its dying day. I purchased a new capo the other day and am living on cloud nine. I just learned "Peace and Love" by Blessed Union of Souls, and I'm sure I'm driving the neighborhood batty singing it every night at the top of my lungs. I have also ventured into a little song writing. I have always had a propensity to write music but I am finally taking it seriously because I can accompany myself. Last year, I told my blogger father, Todd, that I planned to play at open mic night at the cofee house down the street in the span of a year. I could be closer to that goal than I had imagined. I have two songs I am working on and I am most satisfied with how they are taking shape and molding into an actual polished song. I love the feeling of flowing, creative juices.

The third thing I have been doing is trying very hard not to spend time thinking about the new guy I'm seeing. People, he makes me drool like you wouldn't believe. We spent Sunday night decorating his tree at the house and putting up other Christmas decorations. He made dinner, and we sang along to various CDs, chit chatted about this, that, and the other, and kissed until I had my fill. He is a fabulous kisser. Everytime we kiss I feel like I'm in a movie- you know that very lucky girl who is unlucky throughout much of the film but finally gets her man in the end. Sort of like the girl in "Sense and Sensibility" played by Emma Thompson. He is handsome and tall and plays the drums for a band (do I go for the musicians or what?). He owns a business, he is into the things I like and most importantly- he makes me feel like I am a queen. Still, I don't want to get excited about it. I want to go so slowly. Soooo slowly. And so does he- so that's good. 5 dates and counting.

I have only 6 more school days of school left and then I'm going to walk out of my classroom and not look back. (Well, not for at least 2 weeks) I will be off to Missouri, and not sure when or how I will blog, but I will have to try.

2003-12-02T21:11:00.000-07:00

THANKSGIVING

I just got back from visiting California. I had to attend a snoozer of a conference there- with at least 9,000 other teachers of all ages, shapes, colors and sizes. Well, I did learn a few useful things. We got to stay in an awesome hotel in Anaheim, though! Compliments of the school. I estimate each room was at least $100 a night- considering that we stayed across the street from Disneyland.

After the two day conference I took off with a colleague to the city of Azusa, where we visited with her friends and drank poor coffee in a most eclectic coffeeshop. We played several rounds of "Sequence", which was fun- especially since I can get competitive at board games, and all the other girls were equal to the task. My partner and I lost, but the experience was memorable.

After Azusa we traveled 5 hours to Modesto, to said colleague's family dairy, where we stayed- in the midst of cows, mind you- for the remainder of the week. It was glorious. The only thing is that it was much too cold and I got very sick. Of course, her family doesn't believe in "wasting" money on upstairs heating, so I consequently suffered during the nights, when I was forced to clothe myself with every item of clothing I had packed in my suitcase (I learned, unfortunately, that I should learn to pack appropriate underwear in cold weather. Wearing a week's supply of thong underwear does NOTHING to keep a person warm...sigh).

My colleagues family had relatives visiting from Idaho (hicksville?) for the week, which was fun. We played several ugly and violent rounds of "Spoons" (an actual family game- and no, not sexual, goofy). Everyone- from the little 9 year old niece to the aging 50ish father- was into it. There was no end to the witty, yet combative repartee that dripped with sarcasm at every syllable. I was in my element.

On day three of the visit, I got to visit the Redwoods in Calaveras County. Yawn. Once you've seen one Redwood...well, you've seen them all. I don't care if there are 5 of them sharing one tree trunk (which is apparently, quite common)...it's boring after you've seen the third tree. Still, the walk in the chilly air was nice. My colleagues mom is one of those Henny Penny's that wants the entire family to gather around each tree and read the history and story behind each one (found in a pamphlet supplied at the entrance of the park; costs .50 if anyone is interesed). So what should have been a 3 minute tour took an hour and a half!

Thanksgiving day we went to church. They're Dutch, you know- and going to church on Turkey Day is an absolute must. The pews were hard, and everyone- I mean EVERYONE was blonde and blue-eyed. I felt quite out of place. But the people were friendly and the hymns were interesting, and I'm proud of myself for having worn a skirt- an article of clothing I rarely wear these days. I looked quiter loverly, even if I have to say so myelf.

I pigged out at Thanksgiving meal. Enough said about that. (Burp)

After the meal we went for a gander around the dairy to see what we could see. They own acres as far as the eye can see and at least 2-3000 cows! I go to pet one and milk another. That was quite an experience, lemme tell ya! I squeezed that teat like I had one day to live and was quite satisfied when I saw a stream of cream run down her leg (sounds like the beginning of a porno...ew). I was okay with the milking part, but it was when the cow gave me her number and asked me to call her that I had a problem. Those teats! Dang- they are so...human like. I found myself looking at my own and getting quite jealous.

The last day of my visit we had planned to go to San Francisco. It would be a virgin visit- as I had never been. We made earnest efforts to go to Alcatrez but damn all the humans in the world- they beat us to it. Everybody and their moms was in SanFran!!!! I saw the usual tourist-y things: the most crooked street in the world, Pier 31? (is that what it's called?) the cable cars....etc.... It was great. Saw a HOT dude at some store downtown and had to hold on to the railing on the stairs- that's how hot he was. Phew.

The trip back sucked- it was so anticlimatic and I was so sick, it hurt. Driving to California is cool (but we had a tire blow out) but the trip back SUCKS ASS.

As you can tell, I'm not myself today. Just in a hurry to get to bed, but wanted to put something out here to remember my trip by.

Next trip: MISSOURI! I'm crazy, I know. I'm going to hang with a girlfriend and her family. I have no doubts we will party hard- and I'm not sure I'm ready. I am, after all, now a seasoned teacher and propriety is of the ustmost concern. Hah.
Anyone have some suggestions for where I should go for New Years?????

2003-11-21T10:07:00.000-07:00

CHRISTMAS!?- I FART IN YOUR GENERAL DIRECTION!*

O Christmas Tree, O Christmas Tree
You truly cannot fathom
How I despise and reject thee
In diabolical fashion.

You make me sick beyond belief
Where can I run? There’s no relief
O Christmas Tree, O Christmas Tree
You make me feel despondent.

O Christmas Tree, O Christmas Tree
You know I hate this holiday
We celebrate our Lord and Christ
And sing him Happy Birthday…

We sing of peace the whole day long
But flock the malls in shameless throngs
O Christmas Tree, O Christmas Tree
You make me want to vomit.

O Christmas Tree, O Christmas Tree
You’ve completely lost your meaning
Hedonism has become your theme-
It is the “reason for the season”

That portly Santa hugs the kids
While fondling and caressing them
O Christmas Tree, O Christmas Tree
Donate your boughs to beat him...

O Christmas Tree, O Christmas Tree
How dare you be so unctuous
You promise things that can never be
You represent false notions

And though this song may shock and shame
I care naught – you protest in vain
O Christmas Tree, O Christmas Tree
I’m off to slice my wrists with rusty razor blades.

(The last line doesn’t rhyme, I know…leave me alone.)
*Monty Python Reference

2003-11-20T10:53:00.000-07:00

BLOOM'S TAXONOMY: I HAVE CONQUERED YOU THIS DAY

Another happy highlight of my teaching career occurred this week. We have been studying Archibald MacLeish's "Ars Poetica"- a somewhat confusing poem that depicts, in his opinion, all the things that make good poetry. The students have been struggling with wrapping their brains around somewhat complex concepts shrouded in ambiguous poetic stanzas- each clouded with what appears to be contradictions. Anyone who has ever read "Ars Poetica" will no doubt agree that it is not easy on the brain, the first two-three times through.

For example, the first few lines of the poem read as follows:

" A poem should be palpable and mute
As a globed fruit.
Dumb
As old medallions to the thumb."

I explained to my students that MacLeish is saying that good poetry is classic, ageless and will evoke familiar images and feelings in anyone who reads it(them). We discussed that same theme in lines # 7 + 8 of the poem:

"A poem should be wordless
As the flight of birds"

I explained how we have all seen a flight of birds- it doesn't matter if you've lived your whole life in China, or Australia- we have all witnessed this event. Then I asked the class to tell me what kinds of things came to mind when trying to describe a flight of birds. Everyone said relatively the same thing: it's graceful, it's synchronized, it's awe-inspiring. After we discussed this, I brought them back to the purpose of the poem and reminded them of what MacLeish says: good poetry is so classic (motionless in time)that you don't need a lot of words to make your point (as a flight of birds), or speak your mind. Good poetry (think Shakespeare)- allows imagery, metaphors, similes and other poetic devices to do the talking for you. People from different walks of life, with differing life experiences will connect with it- if you stick to using vivid and effective poetic devices.

To that end, a poem is dumb- it needs no words (although we have to use words - see, I told you the poem was kinda contradictory). In addition, the poem is also familiar. Think of the Olympic athlete, who, having won a very important race or event touches his/her medal(s) fondly("dumb, as old medallions to the thumb"), recollecting that priceless moment of victory. Years later, that Olympian will be able to recall the exact feel of the medallion when placed about his neck and shoulders, the exact emotion he/she experienced winning it. This is how good poetry should be- like an event or item or smell or sound or picture that brings about a feeling of familiarity. A Polariod snapshot of evocative experience.

A few days later, after I had quizzed them on the poem (24 lines!) we turned to another poem: "Silver" by Walter de la Mare. In the poem, the moon is personified as a woman, who walks silently and slowly around the earth, gazing on life below her, turning all things living and inanimate into silver (the moonlight). I asked the class: "why did de la Mare choose the color for the moon? Would gold have worked in the poem?" We all agreed that, "no", gold would not suffice.

On the board, we wrote two columns to prove why the color "gold" would not have been fitting for the poem. One column we used to describe what we think of when we think of the word "gold" and "golden". The other column we used to describe what we think of when we think of the world "silver." The class responded by saying (in summation) that the word "gold" evokes thoughts of warmth and sunlight. And they even went so far as to say they ascribe masculinity to the sun. They contrasted this with the word "silver", saying that the word "silver" conjured up images of ice, winter, frozen, and that the moon had a feminine quality to it.

WOW! I was floored. Am I really teaching 9th grade?

Then I asked them to go back to "Ars Poetica" and to tell me if the poem "Silver" could be considered good poetry in light of MacLeish's guidelines. We agreed that, indeed, the poem "Silver" was classic.

Why? Because we all (most students in the class) felt the same things about the sun, the moon, and the words "gold" and "silver." I pointed out that we had probably never discussed with ANYONE our thoughts about these words or spherical objects, but we all still had the same feelings about them. Is that cool or what? ("Dumb - As old medallions to the thumb")

The zenith of my teaching career occurred when I looked around the class, each period of the day and saw smiles on their faces. They get it. They see the connections between a very complex piece of poetry, and understand how to interpret it's meaning. Not only that- they can compare it to another poem and analyze each poem's effective use of poetic devices....

Agh! It's just too much! I can barely type this out- my excitement knows no end.

Bloom's Taxonomy: I have conquered you this day!

2003-11-05T16:03:00.000-07:00

MY DATE

Our first official "date" ended with me having ambiguous feelings about him but I decided that I would accept a second invitation if it was proffered. Ostensibly, he had also been thinking about things because the next day he sent word via email explaining that although he had wanted to kiss me outside the coffee house, he dared not, as he didn't receive what he so aptly described as "a vibe" from me. I quickly emailed him back and said in no uncertain terms that he was correct to assume so- I had not given any. I thanked him for having the ability to discern that I would not have accepted a kiss if he had offered it. I added that this didn't necessarily mean that I wouldn't send out vibes at a later time; it just so happened that I was still "feeling things out", as it were, and a kiss would not have been in accordance with what I thought was "perfect timing."

A few more days passed and we continued to email. We have emailed for at least a year or two now as acquaintances, but it's strange how our emails of late - since he expressed an interest in me- have tapered in their witty and sarcastic banter to a more tapered and supressed jocundity. I consider it a shame, and altogether not a particularly good sign.

Eventually, the second invitation for a "date"/get-together came. We arranged to have dinner and a movie at his house. After comparing schedules, dinner turned into lunch instead, and ended up being a very casual affair, for which I was grateful. It consisted of pizza from a pizzeria I had never heard of and the movie Reservoir Dogsdirected by Tarantino. The latter was picked because I had forgotten to stop by Blockbuster to rent the movie of my choice as I had initially promised. Reservoir Dogs was the default. It is necessary to point out that Reservoir Dogs is certainly not a movie to watch with a prospective lover seated on the other end of the couch. Blood, profanity, racial slurs, and scenes of unnecessary torture contribute very little to an intimate mood or romantic efforts.

As we sat on the couch- several inches away from each other- eating pizza, drinking Pepsi, keeping the pizza away from the dog and the cat, watching the anti-intimate mood movie, I peformed "The Test." The test is a process that takes but a minute and is done by casually talking to a man who has potential to become the object of my affection. I pretend to look attentively at him while making conversation and quickly examine his lips. Are they too thick? Too thin? Or are they just right for puckering? Can they go the distance? What, exactly, do his lips have to offer? The test must be done clandestinely and a pass/fail grade given accordingly. (Of course, MY lips would pass anyone's test! duh...)

He just barely passed the test. He just squeezed by. His lips were a little thin, but I was sure there was enough top lip to make up for the bottom one. Satisfied with his score, I went back to eating my pizza, watching the movie, and intermittently talking to him, convinced that, should he try to make a move, I might not resist too much.

2003-11-04T17:25:00.000-07:00

THE MONKEY'S PAW

Last Saturday night, the culmination of ½ a year's worth of event planning drew to a close. Since May of last year, I - the speech teacher- have been planning a large speech competition that would feature groups of students competing before parents, administration, teachers and students' peers. The event also included a panel of judges who were to give scores in various categories, thus awarding various groups/acts who would claim stunningly shiny trophies before we called it a night.

The weeks leading up to this event were harrowing, and there were many days when I found myself running solely on adrenaline, supplied by frequents swigs of a popular energy drink that promises to bestow one with "wings." Most mornings, by the time I got on campus, indeed, my heart would be racing, blood bubbling in my veins, and my mind would seemingly be alert. Dutifully, I would ready myself to teach 6 classes, and then stay late into the night running errands, buying trophies, or working on the stage set. More often than naught, 8 pm would find me working at my desk or computer, flushing out the behind-the-scenes details that would put my name in "lights". I suppose I was searching for my "piece de resistance"- the one thing that would help to place my name permanently in the "Who's Who" of speech teachers across the country were such a thing to exist. If it was my goal to establish myself as a quality teacher, with a renowned reputation and a flair for excellence, I did indeed achieve this task. However, much to my chagrin, this goal was obtained at an alarming price.

Allow me to explain.

On the morning of the event, my students and I gathered together to prepare the place. This included inflating a myriad of balloons with helium, using power drills and the like to firmly plant the backdrop on stage, setting up signs, a ticket booth, organizing the judges' scoreboards, photocopying the programs and folding them, and of course- dress rehearsals with the sound tech. It was a good thing that I had taken the time to flush out the minor details- the hours leading up to the event seemed easy and stress free- a place I like to be (90% preparation, %10 execution). Soon, 7 pm rolled around, the audience was seated, the opening music began, and the magic that I had so carefully orchestrated began. I took my seat like a proud momma bear admiring her little cubs as they danced and sang in simian-like fashion on stage.

Everything was going smoothly until the M.C.s (the school president and vice president) introduced a "guest" in the audience and invited said "guest" to the stage. This was, of course, supposed to have been cleared by me, but had been added to the program in the most beguiling and conniving way! As I looked in the direction of where the MCs were pointing my entire being cringed as I recognized the face of an old student who also happens to be the son of a famous country western, guitar swinging, cowboy belt buckling musician. Words such as "diabolical" "incorrigible" "deviant" "ruthless"and "SATAN" immediately came to mind, as I struggled to bring my panic attack under control. I took a deep breath and crossed my fingers; I could only hope that he wouldn't do anything stupid, which he is famous for doing. He is the kind of boy that every teacher and principal dreads, but can't kick out of the school because he's... well-he's a celebrity (by default)!

My worst fears were realized when the little shit- that uninvited guest- got on stage and began a dialogue with the M..C.s. As God is my witness, before the Lord our Savior, the parents, the students, the teachers, the adminstration, and little innocents, this goblin of a teenager -without skipping a beat- and without shame- answered the M.C.s questions while caressing and tweaking his nipples in true pornographic format! As if this was not horrific enough, he then proceeded to answer a question with the word "Yes" repeated in orgasmic fashion (as in "Yes! Oh Yes! Yeeeessssss! Oh! Oh!" repeat). Images of the superintendent and his wife seated in the back row dying of mortification engulfed me; all around me there was an air of tension and I sank low into my seat praying the principal had taken a bathroom break. Thankfully, the episode was brief and he was whisked off stage- just before I made the decision to go on stage and drag him off myself.

Over the weekend I wrote a self-deprecating letter to the principal and superintendent, in which I took total blame for the pornographic display of insolence. They emailed me Monday morning and informed me that although they had received a few complaints from parents, they would handle the situation and inform the student that he was to never darken the doorstep of this institution again.

May I make a reference to a literary work titled "The Monkey's Paw"? A story in which a small family is granted the power to wish for anything, and when they do, receive what they wish for in less than favorable circumstances. May I never again be so vain as to ask the Powers of the Universe to exalt me above my fellow teachers, lest I be humbled in a way more excruciating than what took place on Saturday!

2003-10-29T12:27:00.000-07:00

SCOTT M. PECK, M.D.

Author of the The Road Less Traveled (C.1978)wrote:

Until you value yourself, you won't value your time.
Until you value your time, you will not do anything with it.

Could this really be true? As the year wears on I find myself working later and I am more spent at close of the day. Yesterday morning, I slept through my alarm. I don't know how I did it. Usually I set one alarm for 5:00 am and the other for 5:15. Although I press snooze a couple of times, I am usually off to work by 6:30 am. But not yesterday. I had to call in to work "sick" because I was too ashamed to admit what I know to be true: I am running myself into the ground.

How did this happen? And what does it all have to do with the quote at the top of my blog?

My current situation (that is, running myself into the ground) parallels a situation that the famous (infamous) Dr. Peck illustrated in his book. The story goes that when he first began his practice, he found himself scheduling several patients a day, and then staying late to file paperwork, update his records, and other menial clerical duties. At 5:00 pm each day, he would see his colleagues pack their briefcases, close up shop and head home. Irritated, he grumbled to himself, which later led to complaints directed to his supervisor. Why were others leaving early? Didn't they have any work ethic? Why was he working so hard and others were free to leave unfinished work on their desks? Was he the only one that understood the concept of working until the job was done- and that to perfection?

His supervisor calmly reminded Dr. Peck that he was the one CHOOSING to stay until past 5 pm. The man was in charge of his schedule yet insisted on losing out on a social/family life and personal time. He was a slave to his career.

And this is how I feel. I wake up in the mornings feeling like I had no sleep at all (I'm a bit of an insomniac). I go to work, teach on my feet all day, have helps sessions after work, then grade papers, plan lessons, research subjects until 7 or 8 pm at night!!! Wistfully, I watch my colleagues leave for home with no bundle of papers to grade, and faces that register no stress or worry. How can this be?

Maybe a better question is: how can I break free from the chains of piles of homework? True, I don't always grade everything, I just check simple worksheets and pop quizzes to be sure the students grasp the concepts. I still feel guilty when I throw them in the trash (yes, teachers do that). And there is no end to the parents who intimate that we should have more writing in the classroom. There is the mom that consistently calls me to ask what we are doing in English and when will there be more writing so her "very brilliant" *rollling eyes* daughter can perfect her more than already brilliant writing skills? *rolling eyes again*? I feel like I'm being micromanaged by my administrators and the parents. I also feel like the mound of papers on my desk is going to rise up in protest one day and swallow me whole.

I wish it would.

I'm doing the best I can, but it's not good enough. So I stay late. I promise myself I will not leave this classroom until I have graded this, that, and the other. I make progress with grading on most days, but then I am too tired to make excellent lesson plans. Since I thrive on perfection when it comes to teaching and planning, the whole thing becomes one viscious cycle. Can perfection, excellence, deadlines, my social life, rest, and quality teaching coexist in this world of papers, red pens, moral and character development, and ceaseless faculty meetings?

The Department of Education has decreed that there be "no child left behind." Does this mean that my social life, well-being, and sanity be left behind in lieu of said child?

Here it is lunch time, and I'm grading 12-14 speech notebooks. I must complete them before speech class at 2 pm. They were to be finished last week so I could assign a new speech. Aggh! How do I juggle it all?

Until you value yourself, you won't value your time.
Until you value your time, you will not do anything with it.

I want to value myself. I deserve rest. I deserve a weekend out on the town with my friends. I do not need to work all day Mon-Fri and then work on Saturday and Sunday. This is ludicrous. Do I value my mental health? Do I value my friends and family? Do I value leisure time? Do I value excercise and good eating habits? Clearly not as much as I should. I must value my time by valuing myself first.

Today begins a new day.

2003-10-28T16:36:00.000-07:00

THE COST OF FREEDOM

The amount owed on my car when I drove it off the lot (last year, October)- $20,000

The amount I currently own- $17,065.20

The amount I pay on the car each month- $350.00

Two week's worth of gas - $50.00

Tri-montly oil change - $24.00

"The Works" car wash- $16.00

The ability to drive my OWN car any time of day or night; the freedom to take a road-trip at any time; the capability to give rides to at least 4 friends; the means to take a 30 minute commute to and from work; the ability to be the "designated driver" and a host of other options- Pretty Damn Pricey!!!

2003-10-23T10:38:00.000-07:00

LEITMOTIF

What is your leitmotif?

A leitmotif is often described as a short melody or phrase that is played, read, or spoken when an individual or an intangible idea re-materializes in a play or a musical.

What if we could hear or speak leitmotifs? What if we could hear words or bars of music in our heads as we interacted with friends, family, and strangers alike- throughout the course of our day? ...something like a musical?

I think I heard a leitmotif yesterday, when I had supervision duty during lunch in the junior high Courtyard area. Until Monday, I had never had such a duty, Typically, I supervise the high school Ramada or cafeteria, once a week, every three months. The junior high courtyard is a chaotic, motley, carnival-like assortment of children of all ages and sizes (there is one boy with an abnormally large shaped head..I suppose the rest of the body is still catching up?)

A few of the junior high boys are tall and lean-- but there are tell-tale signs that puberty has begun to chisel its mark on their "I'm-not-a-boy-not-yet-a-man" bodies. Most of the junior high boys are short and...well- just short. And their voices- my God! So high! So squeaky! These are the boys you have to watch out for. They know they are little, and still in the stage where "little-ness" can be a manipulative tool when confused with "cuteness." They mill and weave in and out of the lunch line, around the picnic tables, while a surreptitious"JAWS" leitmotif plays in my head. Push. Shove. Tousle. Snatch. Toss. Pelt. Insult. It begins.

"Hey! Cut it out!" I yell. "YOU!" I point and curl my pointer finger toward me, in a motion that indicates the accused should make his way to my table. He bows his head in the appropriate "I'm ashamed" position, and displays a sheepish smile. He is probably forming a sheeish excuse in his sheepish head with every sheepish step he makes. I wag my finger and recite a brief lecture that concludes with an assignment for him to pick up all the trash and wipe off all the tables. I end the decree with a brief wave of my hand to shoo him away. I feel faint. It's hot and I can see the steam rising from my forearms as the sun sizzles my life away. When will this wretched duty be over?

The junior high girls on the other hand seem to keep to themselves, holding ramdom and immaterial conversations with sisterly advice along the lines of: "Ashley, you shouldn't take that from your mom- I can't believe she said that to you." I hear snippets of how "the whole class thinks my presentation was the best." There are tall girls, and little girls. Mostly physically awkward and frighteningly skinny girls: not quite sure what to do with their hair, or their chest, or how to sit properly in a skirt. I consider asking a stick- thin 7th grader how she feels about the fact that her legs don't touch when she walks. Better not. Don't want to have to wipe away snotty tears during my lunch hour. As I eat my own lunch, and scowl at the sun, I see the girls I should really be keeping an eye on. They dare to sit with the boys, trying to make mature conversation, even though it's more than painfully obvious to the silent observer the boys are interested only in their lunch and the latest of video games.

Yesterday, a young lady walked up to a group of guys and began to talk in low tones. I began to hear familiar strains of Cindi Lauper's "Girls Just Wanna Have Fun" leitmotif. So...she's one of THOSE girls. Nonchalantly, they acknowledged her with a nod of their heads. I heard someone mock her for "practicing what you're gonna say to him." Hmmm...that's piquant. I tried to hear more but another girl sauntered up beside her and together they slid off. Arm in arm. To a corner. Whispers. Hands over mouths. Laughing. Flicking blonde-Pantene-Commercial hair. More laughing. I glanced at my watch. 10 more minutes.

The good thing is there are only two more days to go; except today I'm cramping and so help me, God- if any of those kids leave trash on the ground and I have to talk to them about it they will see the righteous anger of the demons within me. (whoa- did I just type that? It felt like satan just pushed himself inside me and possessed my innocent body. PMS. It's a bitch.)

At this moment, I am preparing myself to suffer. Through the heat. Through the mindless chatter. Through the emptiness of lunch without adult banter or witty repartee. I will suffer for 55 minutes until I hear the leitmotif for teacherseverywhere, and the sound that governs the structure of our work day.The chime of the bell. Time for 6th period.

2003-10-12T05:13:00.000-07:00

CRACKER BARREL

Today my roommate and I went for breakfast at Cracker Barrel. I enjoy eating there but the crowds! I would have skipped out on it altogether but since I had my heart set on hash brown casserole and eggs, I stuck through it. To make the pain of waiting for a table easier to bear, the store has a gift shop teeming with quintessential knick-knacks for every season and occasioon- in every size, pattern, and color. Everything is squeezed into a teeny tiny place, which makes browsing possible but damn right uncomfortable. We occupied ourselves by walking around the motley assortment of candles, Christmas tree ornaments, brooches, and stuffed animals. I confess I'm not one for knick-knacks- mostly because I try to stifle my ratpacking tendencies (everything is sentimental to me) and also because I don't have any room for shit like that. At this stage in my life, everything is about practicality.

In my perusing I did see a large cloth mat with black and gray checked squares. Even more interesting was the fact that there were large checker pieces with which to play the game of checkers. $9.99. I almost bought it- I thought my students would enjoy playing if we ever had a spare moment of freetime during class or after school. I wanted to buy it, but I didn't. I have learned that when I'm tempted to buy things I should really give myself 24 hours to think on it, so I don't become an impulse shopper. 24 hours to "think about it" helps to cut down on unecessary expenses. (Another trick I try is to only buy stuff if I can pay for it with cash. It's a great system and works out quite nicely. I recommend it to all.)

The thing that made my day at Cracker Barrel- and I hope I can brag on here without getting chastized- is that twice in one hour someone walked up to me and said "Wow- you're pretty." Before I go on, I should clear up two things. For one, this was not a situation akin to the lecherous men I discussed in a previous post. Second, the people who said this were older women. One of them asked if I had ever considered modeling.

Now, I do not have what would be considered a modeling body; furthermore, I have no interest in that profession. I also want to make it clear that I would never go up to people and say- "I'm pretty", because this is not what I typically think of myself. I actually think I have to work a little to look presentable for the public at large- and on the days when I don't try- it shows. I have always found it odd that people say things like that to me and wondered if they weren't just saying something to say something- you know, like when you pass someone in a tight hallway on your way to the restroom?

I don't think I'm pretty. I think I'm ... hmmm.. I think I'm attractive. On a good day- I think I can be pretty- but not always. I think that what people look at the most is the way I wear my hair. I have found that when I do interesting things with my hair, people look at my face more, and are prone to make such comments. Yesterday, I wore it in two braids and I think it framed my face quite nicely- thus eliciting the comments.

Another thing is I think that I take good care of my skin. I wash my face daily with Sal Ac- it works wonders. I've never had a problem with acne, but I use it anyway. The other thing is I don't wear a lot of makeup. In fact, I wear close to none. Apart from my eyeliner and some red lipstuff, that's about all I wear. I think that it could be the color of what I wear on my lips against my skin color that people find interesting.

Sigh. Maybe I should just stop analyzing the compliment and take it for what it is. A compliment. Thanks ladies. You made my day.
:)

2003-10-07T14:29:00.000-07:00

THOUGHTS THAT KEEP ME UP AT NIGHT/Chapter II

1. Why am I still up? Why do I feel nauseated?
2. Why did Stephen (close friend) stand me up for our plans tonight? What a cad.
3. Why didn't I go to the Imax tonight?
4. Should I move out of here soon? Go back to living on my own?
5. I wonder how much money is in my bank account.
6. How the hell am I going to pay the registration for my car? $285?! That's ludicrous.
7. My toe nails are beautiful!! I am beautiful because my toenails are beautiful!!! (I just got them french manicured..lalala)
8. I wasted today. I should have never agreed to go to that Speech and Debate meet! That was boring as hell.
9. I have no clean underwear for next week. I better do some laundry.
10. Agh... reading poetry is making me sleepy. Who knew?

2003-10-06T16:49:00.000-07:00

PATRICK
If I could, I would DRINK Patrick’s bath water.

That, in a nutshell, speaks volumes about how I feel about this man. You know that feeling you get when you accidentally wake up early on Saturday morning, thinking you’re late for work, but soon realize “Whee! It’s Saturday!” and you dive back under the covers for a second helping of REM? That’s what being around Patrick feels like- comfortable, and relaxing. Patrick is yummy in every way- like that sheet of warm, gooey, double chocolate chip homemade cookies that’s baking in your oven on a Saturday night just before you slip into your jammies and watch a feel-good movie. Patrick is subtle inspiration. He’s like dawn and dusk- those few hours of our lives when day and night are juxtaposed in a delightful yet enigmatic way. Patrick is aesthetically pleasing- I think I could look at his face, his body (sigh), and listen to his voice for the rest of my life- endlessly, and effortlessly.

I first met Patrick when he was just a freshman in the Great Wide World of Dentistry. I still remember our first mesmerizing discourse- a healthy volley of humble opinions and Socratic questions centered around a book we had both (coincidentally) just read. He held my attention, he got me thinking; he made me laugh. I left the conversation respecting him, curious about him... wanting him.

Unfortunately, as these things go, my attention that summer was required elsewhere. Another young man had lured me away from all that was good and wholesome in life (see " Patrick") and, because I was stupid and didn’t see all his flirtatious signs or catch all his vibes, the potential between Patrick and I remained dormant, and never came to fruition.

If my life or that summer were to be featured in a “Where Are They Now?” special, you would see Patrick as he is today- a certified dentist with a successful practice in Missouri, and you would see me- a certified teacher in Arizona. Neither of us discontent with our station in life- but ready and open to the next stage of life. You would see that Patrick and I have minimally stayed in touch. Somewhere toward the middle of the program, the musical score would turn into ominous minor chords, and you would learn of a phone call that occurred just a few weeks ago, in which Patrick-the-Dentist and I-the Teacher confessed sheepishly that we had both had mutual crushes on each other in the summer of ‘97. On that same episode, you may also see a reenacted clip of the silence that enveloped the conversation when that bit of juicy information was proffered, and you would see the chagrin manifest on our faces.

What can I now insert here about love that seems to bud and blossom out of season? What words can I logically arrange to convey the sense of loss I felt when I learned this information too late? Subsequent conversations, needless to say, have not revealed any further feelings on his part- and I'm not about to go down the well beaten path of unrequited love with which I am so familiar. In short, we’re too far away from each other to say that we could (once again) be interested in one another wholly. I suppose I have to be content to know that once upon a time, the chance was there: a delicious-piece-of-man-candy-on-a-stick (see "Patrick") was ready and willing for me to devour him with my affection and attention, but I chose instant gratification and forfeited my opportunity.

Since we last revealed this secret to each other, I have spent many an hour imagining what I would do if I could have that summer to live over again. I think the most important thing is I would turn my flirting skills up several notches- say, from “mild” to “El Scorcho”**** or “Muy Caliente.” I would be more aggressive about telling him that I am interested. I would reach out and touch him more, and not shyly keep my hands to myself like I am often prone to do when I’m around the object of my affection. I wouldn’t doubt myself so much. I wouldn’t allow myself to doubt (as I often do) that someone of his caliber, of his looks, of his potential, of his intellectual prowess could ever be interested in one like me.

****Term shamelessly stolen from Del Taco

2003-10-05T03:44:00.000-07:00

MUSCLES

I feel a word or two must be said here about muscles. It is high time that I defined for myself exactly how I feel about them. The first question that must be addressed is whether I find muscles attractive. To answer that question, I must first remind you of the movie Blue Lagoon, which is the first thing I think of when I see “man” and “muscle” in the same sentence. In this movie, Brooke Shield’s character begins to find herself staring at her friend/partner/soon-to-be-lover’s arms, as he spears fish and makes weapons, and fashions their hut with foliage and so forth. The camera closes in on shots of the youth’s sinewy, tan arms- to make it clear that they are what caught her attention. This symbolizes the first fruits of her pubertal passion.

This movie reminds me of myself, as a freshman. There was an upper classman I had a crush on that year; it was the sight of his muscular, bronze body pushed to the zenith of physical exertion on the basketball court everyday after school that made me drool with desire. To that end, I think the movie Blue Lagoon adequately portrays aspects of the opposite sex that we begin to pay attention to when our raging adolescent hormones take over. What I thought was an affinity for this upperclassman’s deft basketball skills, could have been just a sexual curiosity about his developed body- and the bas relief effect of his muscles in comparison to the other boys my age.

I suppose that there is just something about watching muscles ripple when a man is at work or play... something about running your fingertips over them gently in moments of tender affection. From the smaller muscles in the hand and forearm, to the more pronounced muscles around the legs and shoulders …what is so intriguing and appealing? Maybe this is the way men feel about breasts- they like them because they can't have them?

But in these days and times when men are pressured just as much as women to have the ideal body, what is “too much muscle”? What is “not enough”? A few years back, I was briefly interested in a man who was 250+ lbs of pure, pure, pure muscle. At least I think it was 250lbs. (You will recall that I’m not a genius with the numbers so do the calculations as needed.) Either way, he was solid muscle, and actually won a body building competition here and there. He worked out every day for hours. (Shortly thereafter, I learned that he was suffering from “little man’s disease” and that was the reason for all the hard hours at the gym.) The thing about it is I was attracted to his muscles for all of what- 24 hours?? After that, what the hell was I going to do with them? Where could I take that? If anything, his muscles were too huge to serve any real purpose. The man barely fit into his clothes-it always seemed like his pants were stretched to the breaking point, threatening to pop off at any second.

Now, I’m not sure if talking about one’s former love interests is gauche but -in stark contrast- my ex is/was thin. Well, he was lean- with just a hint of muscle to his upper arms. I can’t say that I am generally attracted to one body type when it comes to men, but I do know that I enjoyed his lean build and “baby-petit-underdeveloped-miniature-dwarflike-stunted growth-barely-there- big-as-a-twinkie-and-smooth-to-the-touch” muscles very much, and I often purrrrrrred my approval during our intimate moments, where he used said muscles to prop himself up for our demanding and athletic "nocturnal activities. "

But I digress...

2003-10-02T15:16:00.000-07:00

I DON’T HATE YOU; I HATE YOUR DISEASE
Things I wish I could tell you…

You. You try my patience. You are quite possibly the most irritating student I have ever had. I wish I could give your parents a stern talking to about their reproductive responsibilities. It is exhausting to look at you. Every day that you’re absent I breathe more easily. I do not miss you when you are ill. I do not miss you when you are tardy. At times, it's my desire to forget about you altogether.

Why do you smile that foolish, sheepish grin when you talk to me? I will never think you are funny. I will never think you are cute. You are lazy and, at the moment, utterly useless. The only way you can make decent grades is if the school made lunch and football actual subjects...seriously...why are you so lazy? Why do you rest that oversized head of yours on the desk when you should be taking notes? Why do I have to make special accommodations for you, when your only learning disability is acute LAZINESS? What do you carry in the abyss you call your backpack? Clearly, it's not your text book or your homework, as those are often strewn about my classroom once 3rd period is over. Why are the few assignments you actually turn in always shredded and crumpled- as if you chewed them up and then regurgitated them?

You mother and father empty their wallets for you every year, hoping that a private education will miraculously make you smarter. Are they also as daft as you are? You cannot keep up. You cannot read. You cannot write. You cannot think. You cannot.

My role as a teacher is to be a torch bearer- to pass on to you the intricate beauty of the language that is your mother tongue. My duty is to help you appreciate English by unlocking its mysteries; I strive to perfect your ability to use it, so that you may one day become an articulate member of society. Still, when I look at you, I fear for our collective future. I fear for your future wife and children.

Each handout I carefully prepare, each lesson I painstakingly organize, each mark I thoughtfully dab on your papers as I grade them is wasted on you. You are, metaphorically speaking, sucking the life out of my educational teats.

2003-09-29T19:04:00.000-07:00

WORST PICK UP LINES EVER
Setting:Thursday afternoon at strip mall on Baseline and McClintock.
Characters: A)Warm Friendly Girl, just got off work, shopping for a birthday card and gift for friend. (me); B) Clean-cut- "GAP" Dressed Guy- Latin looking. Nice car. Face looks like he just barely missed "handsome."
Time: 5:30 in the afternoon. Setting sun.
As the scene opens, WFG is leaving Hallmark store, headed to her car. She opens the car door and begins to drive out of the lot. Before she drives away, "GAP" Man drives up in a nice looking silver-ish car, and flags her down frantically.

WFG: (partially rolls down windows and secures car locks) Yes? Is there something I can help you with?
GAP: Oh hey, yeah (approaches car door) I was wondering if you knew where the Blockbuster was? I was supposed to meet my friend there this evening.
WFG: (shielding eyes from the sun) Uhm...there's no Blockbuster on this street.
GAP:(seemingly sincere) Oh...well do you know how to get to Rural and Baseline? I need to find this Blockbuster....
WFG: (thinks something is up) There's no Blockbuster on either of those streets, and furthermore, they run parallel to each other.
GAP: (disappointed) Oh...that's too bad. I just must be lost. You're really pretty.
WFG: (rolls eyes, and prepares to drive off)
GAP: (innocently) What? Is that wrong for me to say?
WFG: (defensively) Well, I just got off work and I look terrible. It seems odd for you to say that.
GAP: So where do you work?
WFG: (impatient- but not wanting to be rude) Well, right now I work at a funeral home, but I'm getting my Master's at ASU.
GAP: Oh wow...I'm going to get my Master's there, too- what are you studying?
WFG: Curriculum and Instruction with a Secondary Ed. emphasis.
GAP: No way! That's cool! I teach 7th and 8th graders right now.
WFG: (curious) Oh yeah? What subject?
GAP: English.
WFG: Hey, that's what I teach.
GAP: So what's the craziest thing you've ever done?
WFG: (apalled) Huh? That was random.
GAP: Well? Are you afraid to tell me? Just tell me? Aren't you wild?
WFG: Are you trying to sell me something? I don't understand the question.
GAP: So you're not wild, are you?
WFG: I think I'm spontaneous, I guess. What are you trying to sell me?
GAP: So what kind of underwear do you wear?
WFG angrily rolls up window, drives off center stage with a vengeance, and thinks about crashing into his car.
End scene.

*Note: a few months later, I saw this man at ASU, in my department, filling out an application for the Master's program. When I pointed him out to my boss I was asked to fill out a report on him that would go in his permanent record. Neener neener neener. Be careful what you do.
---------------------------------------
** Today's sorry pick up line:
Setting: Strip mall on the corner of Tatum and Cactus, outside "Michael's"
Characters: WFG and Creepy Man in white car.
Time: Noon
(As the scene opens we observe WFG getting out of her car, about to walk into the store. CM has just driven by, spotted her in his peripheral vision, and begun to reverse his car- ostensibly to speak with WFG)

CM: Hey, do you know the way to ...uh....(scratches head)...
WFG: Are you lost?
CM: Yeah- do you know the way to...well...uh...anywhere?
WFG:To anywhere? No.
CM: Oh...man....do you live around here?
WFG: Nope. (exists stage left)
CM drives away.
End scene.

2003-09-26T19:21:00.000-07:00

FRIDAY

I agreed to hang out at Barnes and Noble with "the girls" tonight. "The girls" consists of 3 or 4 single girls who also teach various subjects at the high school level. Three of us teach English (9th, 10th and 11th, respectively) and the other teaches Spanish. We are between the ages of 23 and 28(?). Having devoted our lives to the amalgamated art and science of teaching, we are- as our students are wont to remind us- without lives. We try to get together from time to time, but it can be awkward, as only one of the other girls likes to do what I do- she is the Spanish teacher. She is the only one that will go dancing, the only one that will throw back a drink or two- the only one who is not willing to give up "the fun" for something more tame, like an "I'm-throwing-a-candle-party-come-and-browse" soiree, replete with small, flaky pastries served on fine china, eaten with pinky fingers pointed heavenward.

Make no mistake, the 10th and 11th grade teachers are fine human beings, but what do we all have in common, really? (Besides our English and our students?) The 10th grade Eng. teacher occasionally comes to our department meetings crying about one thing or another; she seems to be very sensitive and delicate of the heart. She would rather write flowery poetry than mete out detentions. Her students see right through her and walk all over her. I pity her tears to her face, but remain perplexed in private.

The 11th grade Eng. teacher is a very tall woman. Very tall. She is goofy and funny. If I am outgoing, loud, and funny, she is 10x more so, and I am a little jealous that she can make anyone (i.e. administrators and such) feel at ease in her presence. I seem to intimidate first, then befriend.

And tonight we have agreed to go "out." I had major plans after work today but I decided to put them on hold for the sake of hanging out and making nice. Of course, my plans included a serene and pensive drive home, an hour or two of guitar, maybe a movie, two Benadryl and a sound sleep in between crispy, clean sheets.

There's always tomorrow.

2003-09-26T14:00:00.000-07:00

MEMO
From:The Principal
To: High School Faculty
RE:
It has come to my attention that some 9th grade boys have cut up fliers of missing children and fashioned them into "trading cards" by laminating them. The boys trade the cards amonst themselves. Apparently, this sick idea came from a boy who, on the first day of school in Biology class, when asked to come up with the name of a food that he liked to eat and which started with the first letter of his name, answered: "C-----, for 'children'."
Please be on the lookout for these hooligans and, should you catch them, send them to my office at once.
The Principal (Your Pal)

2003-09-25T17:23:00.000-07:00

RECIPROCITY

Yesterday was a long day. After I left work I was simply anxious to get home and to bed as quickly as possible without having to cook a thing. Although I normally don't frequent restaurants during the weeknights, I buckled last night and made my way through the drive-thru section of a reputable and renowned fast food joint. I was tired and just wanted to eat but as Murphy's law would have it, I found myself in a line of cars that was the complete antithesis of the phrase "fast food." Eventually, the line inched forward and I became the second car in line. My impatience was further fueled when I noticed that the lady in the car ahead of me (I could see her through her side mirror) was having a detailed conversation with the cashier. It seemed to be taking her a long time to pay for her meal. I assumed they were flirting and marveled at the nerve of the cashier: apparently he had found an efficacious way to combine his duties and dating! I briefly considered honking my horn at them. After all, they were not only holding me up with their loquacious chatter, they were holding up the people behind me. At this point, I noticed the two pointing to the back of the line- I saw them pointing at me!

Frustration turned to wonder, and I mulled over all the things that could cause them to point in my direction: I assumed that the girl had made a mistake with her order, or she had dropped something or...who knows what...all I knew was that the girl was drastically impeding the rest of us. Eventually, she pulled away from the window, and I took her place. In the universal drive-thru fashion, the cashier handed me my coke and a straw and I presented my crisp twenty dollar bill. Imagine my surprise when I was informed that the lady in front of me had just paid for my meal!?? Why? I asked. Just because, came the answer. A wave of humility washed over me as I sat in my car, mouth agape. Her one act of kindness forced me to suddenly become aware of the "It's all about me" attitude that had usurped my drive-thru escapade.

What could I do? I didn't even have a chance to say "thank you." So...having just been served a piping hot, fresh slice of humble pie I saw it only fitting that I pay for the man seated in the car behind me.

2003-09-24T16:25:00.000-07:00

BITTER? PARTY OF ONE? YOUR TABLE IS READY...

And he emailed today. Not a personal email, mind you. Just a mass email to all his “friends.” Of course, I’ll use the term loosely because I know the truth: he doesn’t have any. You may think I’m bitter when I make such a comment but I promise you, it is true. In the entire 8 months we dated, I met one friend. ONE. And he was someone who lived several states away, so it wasn’t like they were even close.

Of course, that is neither here nor there, so onwards and forwards with my consternation. The thing that bothers me is that I KNOW he sent the email to prove something to me. He, of no friends, and who lives in a constant shroud of darkness; he, who confessed to me in his weakest of moments that he is alone in this world and worries that no one will care for him when he dies; he, whose world revolves solely around the care of his three cats; he, who hides and cries in the blackness of his closet, alone and depressed for hours at a time; he, who spends hours locked in his recording studio playing sorrowful and pitiful dirges that he calls “music”; he, who refuses to answer telephone calls and abhors the normalcy of the world around him… HOW IS IT POSSIBLE THAT HE SUDDENLY HAS AN INFINITE AMOUNT OF FRIENDS TO EMAIL?

Even more puzzling is the fact that my name was on the list. I know, I know, I know he sent the email to send me a message: “See? I’m doing just fine without you. I have my friends, I have my travel, I have my music and you are not a thought in my mind.” I am quite certain that this is not the case. I am 80% sure he sent the email in the hope that I would email him back, and we could talk again, so that it wouldn't look like he was making the first move. Or maybe he's met someone new (I pity the fool!)- and hopes that I email him back so that he can drop this new information and shock me.

Why am I so angry? So passionate? So torn? So flustered? Because I have to persuade all who will hear that he is doing this to be manipulative. This is how he is. I'm worried that because you do not know his beguiling ways you'll think I’m just suffering from a case of very sour grapes; however, I assure you my words contain no hint of prevarication.

And how does he have the energy to write me an email? And from where did he muster up the superfluous good cheer and sunshine that's been splattered between the words? When did he finish crying? When did he find spare time in between the long lonely hours of sulking in the blackness of the night? When did he rise and tear himself away from his mysterious and cryptic lyric-writing to put a chink in my life? When did he get over me? Is there a magic formula he is using? And if so, where can one buy it? Why am I not also privy to the efficacious panacea of a broken and bruised heart? Why should the secrets of self-healing be revealed to him and not I? Tell me honestly, how does one shut off one's heart? One's feelings?

... perhaps his kind do not possess hearts.

Was it not just yesterday that I congratulated myself on how well I was doing? I was moving on, forgetting, licking my wounded pride and recovering from the fact that such a one as I would be duped into his abominable, manipulative cycle. As I rose from the ashes strengthened by the silver lining on that proverbial cloud of hope he reached out from the depths of his inner hell, and with his long arm of evil- cloaked in spite and self-torment- he ripped the caverns of my heart, shredding it with his scraggly talons of retribution....all in the form of his pretentious email.

When will I breathe? When I will rest? When will I stop seeing his image burned into my eyes every time I smell, taste, touch, hear anything that remotely reminds me of him? Dear God! Is there no peace to be had in my life?

Senselessly, I hate him.
Shamelessly, I hate him.
Righteously, I hate him.
I hate, and I feel no remorse.

2003-09-24T14:40:00.000-07:00

EMAIL FROM A JUNIOR

Dear Ms. X,
Im having trouble again. Two things I just noticed happened today. Firstly, my 1/2 page writing assignment about pantomimes I did not turn in. I was too worried about presenting my own pantomime today. I know you do not like excuses so I will accept the zero. But I will give it to you in the morning tomorrow before first period anyway.I am very sorry.

Secondly, before I gave my pantomime presentation, I only gave you the outline and the grading sheet. I realized at the end of class that I was supposed to give you the whole speech binder. I did put my papers in the first pocket of my binder and laid it back in the pile of notebooks. I do recall you telling us to give you the binder before we presented our speech but I thought it would be easier for me to just give you the papers you needed. Again, I am sorry for this incident also.

I ask of you to help me not to worry so much about the speeches I give and to be able to remember things more clearly then I have been. Thank you for taking your time to read this letter and I appreciate your guidance towards me as a teacher throughout this year. Thanx.

-Student XYZ, 7th hour Speech

(-there are still some good kids out there-)

2003-09-23T15:45:00.000-07:00

CLIP YOUR EAR HAIRS AND SHAVE YOUR BACK

....iron your good polyester suit.

Momma's takin' you out tonight.

I got a raise.

(incoherent squeals of joy)

2003-09-23T11:12:00.000-07:00

IN WHICH THE TEACHER IS INSULTED

So.... for two weeks now, I have scoured the Internet and my teaching materials for an exciting way to kick off my punctuation unit. After 4 or 5 weeks of Literature, the curriculum calls for a review of punctuation rules, etc. Being the brilliant teacher I am (I dare you to disagree) I found some interesting information that related to the history of punctuation! Yes, my friends, I gave an anticipatory set (teacher speak for "attention getter") in which I enlightened 9th graders with the origins of punctuation; future trends and implications of the punctuation we now use; and concluded with the out-of-this-world-amazing-fact that although punctuation has some strict rules, isn't it exciting that one fourth of the punctuation we use allows for individuality and creative expression (actual fact from an actual book)? I set them free by telling them that the more experienced they become in writing, the more creatively they can use punctuation.

Fellow bloggers- I regret to report that my weeks of fact-finding were met with blank stares. I saw two or three students' eyes roll back into their heads. I'm not certain, but I think I heard subtle snoring. Why do I bother?

I am insulted.

I beg of you, how can one not find these facts interesting:
1. Punctuation began in Ancient Greece. The word "period" comes from the Greek word "periodos", which means the mark of a cycle, or the circumference of one's thoughts. Is that clever or what???

2. The word 'comma" comes from the Greek word "komma" or "koptein", which means to cut off (as in, one part of a sentence from another). I love it! Give me more!

3. The United States was technically the first country to decide on an orderly system of punctuation, but it wasn't until the 19th century that books, magazines, and newspapers began to use it regularly. Tell me another!

4. The American Declaration of Independence is filled with erroneous punctuation marks. For example, this punctuation mark shows up 25 times: .---- (a period followed by a long dash). This punctuation mark shows up 9 times… :------ (a colon followed by a long dash). Now, are you not all filled with an unquenchable, insatiable longing and desire to learn more about using punctuation effectively in your writing?

Ingrates!
---------------------------------

In other news, four 10th grade boys asked me to homecoming. Isn't there a law against such things? After they each gave me a somewhat questionable but hysterical sample of their dancing skills (which I did not request), I emphatically gave a resounding NO. Not that I would have EVER said yes;my last name, for the record, is not LeTourneau. They unkindly responded to my rejection by taunting me about being single.

Comments began to flow that went along the lines of: "Ms. X, are you ever going to get married?" (NONE OF YOUR BUSINESS)"Ms. X, I'm a 10th grader and I have a more successful dating life than you do."(I WILL SEE TO IT THAT YOU NEVER GRADUATE HIGH SCHOOL) "Ms. X, my mom said you're cute and that you should be dating someone." (THANKS, I THINK)"Ms. X, my dad said so, too." (DISTURBING!!) "Ms. X, when you get married, we're coming to the wedding." (HELL, NO) "Ms. X, why don't you marry Mr. Soandso, the math teacher? (ISN'T THAT SOMETHING AKIN TO TRYING TRYING TO MAKE A SANDWICH OUT OF THE LAST TWO SLICES OF BREAD!?...OFF WITH YOUR HEADS!)

...I don't know if I should be flattered or perturbed that they "care" so much.

------------------------------
Unintentional cuteness: there is a 9th grade boy who keeps going on and on about how he loves this other 9th grade girl's "accent."
Poor thing. I can't bring myself to tell him that it's not an accent....she has a speech impediment. She can't say her "R's."

2003-09-21T14:16:00.000-07:00

YOUR HOMEWORK:

Try to write the following words into a grammatically correct English sentence by adding the necessary punctuation. You many not change the word order, nor add or subtract any words. (Borrowed from: Punctuate It Right!, copyright 1993) Place your answers in the comments section and I will peruse them shortly. No cheating!

1. that that is is that that is not is not is that it it is

2. John while Jim had had had had had had had had had had had a better effect on the teacher

Class Dismissed....

P.S. There may be some old comments from an earlier post that I had erased. Just work around them. Thanks.

2003-09-21T12:30:00.000-07:00

A GEORGE ORWELLIAN NIGHTMARE

I just found out that if you type someone's phone number in a Google search (using dashes in between sets of numbers), the Almighty Google will pull up that person's name and provide you with a map to his or home.
Example: 480-350-5577.

...and if you think that's MY phone number you're in for a major disappointment.

2003-09-20T16:49:00.000-07:00

I ERASED THIS POST

It was rubbish and not worthy of your delicate eyes.

2003-09-19T16:22:00.000-07:00

EMBARRASSING TEACHER STORY

One of my close friends recently shared that a mutual friend of ours was attending her acupuncture class listening to the professor lecture when- all of a sudden, and quite out of nowhere- the teacher's skirt fell off.

First of all, I don't know how it's possible that one cannot tell when one's skirt does not fit snugly around one's waist, but my friends, that is not the worst part of the story.
The professor wasn't wearing any panties!!!.
Nothing! Her unmentionable swimsuit areas were out there for the world to behold! Now that's embarassing...mmmmmkay? How does one regain composure after one's students see one's privates?...what does one say?)

The moral of this story is, if one is going to wear a skirt that is a little too large, one should make sure that one is wearing panties so that one is not exposing one's bare bum!
...And you thought teaching was boring...

(Shudder) Please God, if you're really real...don't let that ever happen to me.

2003-09-18T11:43:00.000-07:00

CAR TALK

If you could have a vanity plate that could convey, in a clever arrangement of various letters and numbers, one sweeping statement about you -- what would it be?

2003-09-17T07:46:00.000-07:00

WARNING....VULGAR...MORAL DISCRETIONS STRONGLY ADVISED
This may change your opinion of me (sad face).
...(This is up for a limited time because I am momentarily insane, and I know it. Therefore, I cannot allow this vulgar post to exist for long. I will take it down when I find something not so fatuous to post.

MORNING NEGOTIATIONS WITH THE TWINS
You must stay in your place
And not jiggle about!
You must stay in your place!
Do not shove! Do not shout!

I have things I must do
I must work, I must teach!
Cease all your movement
Be good little teats!

You are bulbously lovely
Curvaceous, it's true
You are "WoW!" You are yummy
You are supple and smooth

Now sit back and relax
As I harness you in
Teat 1! and Teat 2!
Scrunch yourselves in!

I know that you grumble
And that to no end
I promise you freedom
Once the weekend begins

2003-09-16T17:41:00.000-07:00

IN LIEU OF MUNDANE CACOPHANY

What will you be doing two Fridays from now? If you are afraid you will find yourself at home, alone, and aching for something to do, might I extend an invitation for you to join me and company at a local coffee shop on the corner of Robson and Main Street in Mesa?

You will like this place. It's an old house that has been converted into an eclectic collection of mismatched paraphernalia. An old stuffy 2-story house; on the inside, it is filled to the gills, and bursting at the seams with Victorian antiques, decrepit books, old but comfy couches, and decent fare to satisfy the average caffeine-addicted palate.

I welcome you to sit outside in the cool weather once you have made your rounds about the house and and settled into the second chapter of your cafe late, or whatever it is you drink at typical coffee houses. Make your way outside and join me on the patio. It's intimate and quiet, secluded and dim, but lightly peppered with tiny white lights about the courtyard creating a romantic aura for those who are feeling amorous..

In the middle of the courtyard, there will be a small stage. Look about you, I will be there... seated in rapt attention. On the stage, there will be a small accoustic ensemble playing- two simple guys from Oregon- who left all behind to pursue a music career in the most unlikely place- Arizona. I don't know them personally, but I met them a weekend ago, at the end of their show when Shannon and I introduced ourselves and purchased an album to encourage their efforts.

They play the guitar and the bongo drum. The union of their soulful voices and instruments will produce a sound so aesthetically pleasing to the ear it will linger with you long after the night is over.

You will hear Man #1, the lead singer, sing in a deep baritone voice that will send warm rays of sun to the quiet recesses of your mind, the places we often neglect for lack of time and focus. You will be moved by his vibrato, which is rich and full; it comes from deep inside that place where our emotions lie in a microburst of ambiguity, and rises to the surface in a soothing arrangment of notes. Before you know it, you'll find yourself delightfully entangled in the mesmeric pattern of his fingers strumming.

You will see Man #2, the percussionist, mete a simple beat to Man # 1's guitar and voice. Occasionally, he will harmonize and create a milk-and-honey, cookies-and-cream-like amalgamating effect, complimenting his friend and partner.

You will close your eyes and smile deep inside you and be glad you came.

Don't be alarmed when you see they are young. 19 and 20 I am told. Listen and you will hear the wisdom of the ages woven into the tapestry of their lyrics and music and concur they are wise, and filled with a sagacity more commonly seen in men twice their age.

Won't you join me? I will be there... waiting. To make it interesting, don't purposely seek me out. Perhaps we will just unknowingly encounter each other, inhaling
-the lights
-the sights
-the sound
... and it will suffice.

2003-09-16T10:43:00.000-07:00

THOUGHTS THAT KEEP ME UP AT NIGHT

His clean, soft, tender, gentle, lily white hands contrasted against my darker, smooth skin. Touching me. Awakening me.
His kisses- gentle and warm. Inviting. Passionate. Certain.
Laughing.
His body pressed against mine.
Hours of lovemaking.
Days of lovemaking.
Lovemaking.
His fingers fluttering masterfully over the strings of his guitar.
His mind. His competence. His confusion.
His apologies. Fervent; meek; genuine; weak.
Everything aches. I want him out of my mind.

2003-09-15T17:47:00.000-07:00

FIND THE VALUE OF X; I HEART MATH

Arithmophobia- Fear of numbers.
Autodysomophobia- Fear of one that has a vile odor.
Carnophobia- Fear of meat.

Which of these do I suffer from the most?

If I have not mentioned it before, I suffer from arithmophobia. No. nothing has ever been documented, but I know it is as the disease that threatens and taunts my psyche. While many of you picture me as stunningly gorgeous, breathtakingly brilliant, genuinely gregarious and an unequivocal deft epitome of womanly substance, I hate to bring you down a notch and tell you that all is not as it should be upstairs when it comes to doing the 'rithmetic."

Case in point. Last week, after work, I took myself to the bank-in-the-box to deposit my not-so-hefty-check (it's not like I'm educating the future throngs of America or anything). Usually, I have planned out my budget before I get to the bank. "Planning out my budget" consists of drooling about what I would do with my money if it was truly mine to spend, then wiping the foolish grin off my face before I write down on a yellow legal pad excactly which funds shall be allocated to whom, depending on the date of my paycheck. Thus, I pay myself an allowance in cash for two weeks, pay my savings account, take out my weekly allowance for gas, put the rest in my checking account for the businesses that really control my life and do not return to the bank until the next paycheck.

This day, however, I did not have the "system" in place. Without thinking I rushed to the drive-through, without the yellow legal pad, without an idea of what I was to pay myself this week. I asked the cashier for a deposit slip and then sat in my car for a good 15- 20 minutes while I did math sums all over the front and back of the check envelope, trying desperately to figure out how to allocate the funds.

I realize that to most of you, my ailment seems a portentous thing to post. "Minutiae!" you cry. But it is to you that I respond, "You don't understand." I sat there for a loooooooong time. I subtracted and subtracted and added and added, and then forgot what I had added and subtracted and why. I carried the "one", I even think I managed a little bar graph with some sine and cosine action. After I looked at my Venn Diagram and had set aside my protractor I admitted I was lost without my calculator. In the interest of time, I ended up taking a superfluous amount of cash out of my paycheck, and dipped into monies that rightfully belong to others!

Okay- I know you don't think this is a sufficient example of my poor math skills so I'll titilate your minds with some more and then I'll go cry in the corner because I royally suck at math...

...First week of school I gave a speech assignment that had to be done in groups of two. One girl was sans partner, so I dutifully joined her. After all, how can I ask the kids to do something I wouldn't do? Being the fair and just teacher that I am (and humble to boot), I did the homework assignment as well. An item on the assignment required that I put down a large number. I chose "one million" (the number 1 followed by a gajillion zeros, right?) When I gave my presentation in class, everyone ignored my faux pas, except for one very tall b-baller who meekly but mockingly said: Ms. X you said "one million" but your poster reads "one billion."

Eek. Who can tell the difference after three zeroes? Ay! It's a good thing I can laugh at myself. Yes, I was laughing outside, but I was feeling mighty crunchy on the inside. I blushed a much darker shade of pale.

Still don't believe me? When I was in high school, Inthe 9th grade I had to take consumer math AND my school split my one year of Algebra into two years. How embarassing. I slept with all my math professors in college so I could graduate, and performed an infinite amount of sexual favors for extra credit.
...okay that last one's a straight out lie. I kept my legs stapled shut all through college, thank you very much. I was a good girl.

I transpose numbers. Sometimes I forget how to do long division. I fumble fractions. I can't multiply, add, or subtract any numbers in my head if they're not single digits. I still use my fingers to count! The only math related problems I can require nothing short of a simple calculator.

Number one item on my list of "must have's" for a future mate: please come equipped with an extra large... heavy duty... super strength... er... Math Degree; I need man who can work my digits.

That sounded so sick and so wrong.

Having said that.... consider this:

If Batman has been imprisoned by the Riddler, and in order to escape he must find the quickest way to move the tower of plutonium disks from one post to another so that the disks have the same arrangement as on the original post, and he may move only one disk at a time, (deep breath) what is the minimum number of moves he must make in order to move the ten disk tower and have it appear the same?
[A 5th grade math problem borrowed from:
http://www.stfx.ca/special/mathproblems/grade5.html]

I read the answer and I don't get it.

KNOCK YOURSELVES OUT.

2003-09-11T22:44:00.000-07:00

JES' KICKIN' IT - ADDENDUM

I have searched my heart to see exactly what, if anything, I need to say about September 11th in my blog. As of yet, I have no immediate reason to say anything, so I will keep my ambiguous thoughts to myself and spare you my confusion.

Meanwhile, back at the ranch…

Although I have been on a “no-white-starchy-foods” kick, I broke my rule three times in the last 2 days, a situation which is not exactly riddling me with guilt- although it should. Yesterday and today I had a bagel- sesame seed with butter. My weakness. My shame. I purchased each of them at the local Baskin Robbins which also has a Dunkin’ Donuts branch inside it. The woman who works there at 11 am, which is when I take my prep/break, has all those unique qualities that make a person intriguing and yet terrifying. I saw her a couple times last year- so I recognized her face. She’s one of those brass, borderline vulgar women, who masquerade as part of this earth’s female population, but once you hear the tenor voice could easily pass as men. She’ll talk about anything, raise her voice about anything. She takes orders, quickly, as if she can’t wait for you to get your shit and get out so she can go get her smoke on “one mo’ ‘gain.” I don't think she likes me.

This morning she was out on the patio, puffing away, yakking to some guy dressed exactly like her- same haircut, jeans, boots and everything- minus the Baskin Robbins apron. I breathed a sigh of relief when it appeared someone else would be serving me today. The other girl was pixie-cute, and she had itsy-bitsy-teeny-weeny…feet. A fleeting thought posed the question: is it possible for Quasi-Woman to have an effect on her? You know the old saying, “One bad apple…"

The patio door opened suddenly as Pixie Girl was finishing up with her customer and she-man walked in. He-she walked in with that watered down customer service attitude that SEEPS with obsequiousness. She looked fired up and ready to assist with the “morning rush.” I wondered what the urgency was as the only other customer present was yours truly. Why couldn’t pixie girl serve me?

Clandestinely, I noticed her hair because she had taken her hat off before she took her cigarette break. Although it's a pretty color, it’s one of those Mullet-For-Women hair dos, that can be found at ye ole “Ambigusex Super Cuts” store. It’s one of those hair dos that makes you want to bust out with a clever joke that begins with: “Hey, the 80s called…”

Pixie girl disappeared while Trucker lady approached the counter. Thankfully, she had taken care to wash the nicotine residue off her fingers before she pulled my bagel off the rack. The tips of her fingers are the only feminine things about her, and seemingly the antithesis of her persona because they are covered with plasticy talon-like, store-bought pink fingernails.

Gruffly she took my order. Bagel, toasted. Coffee, sugar. No, nothing else, thank you.There was an awkward pause after in between. We just sat there, staring at nothing but pretending to stare at something while my bagel rolled around the “Roto-toaster” (my word, for lack of any other).

I hope she’s there tomorrow.

2003-09-11T16:16:00.000-07:00

JES' KICKIN' IT

Hello dah-lings.
I've upated my 100 list for your entertainment and perusal.
Have a look-see.
Comments, questions, and concerns are welcome.
GG.

More later- I have to get real work done.

2003-09-10T16:40:00.000-07:00

AFTER SCHOOL MEETING, TAKE TWO

Another meeting after work today. As the meeting unfolds the mood boils down from cheerful chatter to solemnity. We have a new student; all the teachers have come together to meet with the student and the Dean of Students. The student's mother is also present. One by one, we are called upon to give any observations we have noted while teaching the student in the past few weeks. School has only been in session for 4 weeks. What could I have possibly noticed in the middle of trying to remember 125 names of kids who dress exactly alike every day of the year? I muse to myself that this seems to be my only accomplishment thus far. My turn comes. All are silent- English is a major subject, I should have something important to say. My offering of words is simple. Student X has a difficult time taking tests. The entire class finishes in 15-20 minutes; it takes the student the whole period. Whoa. I'm good at thinking on my feet. I finish my impromptu presentation, replete with words of encouragement and support. I like this kid, and I want to say something kind. The student has had a hard time fitting in, but I don't mention that; I let someone else do it.

The teachers finish their observations. Now the crux of the agenda unfolds. It seems the student suffers from a debilitating lung disease, among other physical complications. We are told the necessary measures to take if Student X should ever have an uncontrollable asthma attack. At this point of the meeting many teachers become concerned. So...this student could possibly pass away if we- the only rationally thinking adults in the room- do not act quickly enough to save him? Be sure to run to the nurse for help, they say. More confusion. Hands rise, eyebrows furrow, mouths open to speak and ask for elaboration. No, better yet, he may not make it so send a student to the nurse, they say. Heads nod slowly, indicating we have heard, but we do not understand. Somewhere I hear the words "mouth-to-mouth resuscitation" and "breathing machine." I feel my mouth go dry. I haven't taken a CPR class in 6 years.

Mother continues. Disorders are mentioned that I never knew existed: names of disorders that are as foreign to me as the transmission of my car. One large name sticks out. We are told that on a chart of diseases, this large-named disorder falls right above Down Syndrome. We conclude the meeting by learning that Student X's bones are as brittle as a person who is 103 years old. Or was it 110? After 100, do the numbers matter any more? Before the meeting ends, I steal a glance at the extremely healthy looking child I have named Student X. I don't remember reading anything about this in my education courses.

How will I give chest compressions if his bones might break?

2003-09-09T21:10:00.000-07:00

90% PREPARATION- 10% EXECUTION
Today was a satisfactory day. I can't complain. I lectured the whole period and gave notes via power point; power point makes life so much easier- I don't have to write on the board, which takes forever, and I just give the kids an outline to follow. Everyone has identical notes and there are no excuses come exam time.

Today I'm proud of myself because I timed the lecture perfectly. It ended a minute or two before the bell rang signifying the end of the period. Perfection.

Speech was the highlight of my day today. We're just taking notes this week, before the major speeches begin, but even giving note in that class is fun. I feel the class respond to what I teach. I feel their fears relieved. Finally, I see them making correlations between the textbook, the quizzes and the notes- it's rewarding. The beauty of it all is that it's nothing I'm doing. I just make sure I'm ready for class, show up, and they take the class to the zenith of feel-good fun. Every teacher should be so lucky. I love to know that I rarely have to remind them of class rules- they're upperclassmen- I treat them like young adults, command respect and they step up to the task of giving me the same respect. I trust them. This is a sign that I'm growing as a teacher; I relenquish complete and anal control, the class relaxes and 55 minutes goes by before we know it. They're smiling, they're laughing, they're making jokes, they're teasing me and I know that it's all good.

I fully anticipate some amazing speeches this year. The hardest part of speech class has been working with the guys. They're just "too cool" to practice speech techniques. But a few weeks ago we did our monologues and these boys absolutely amazed me!! They were all over the place with volume, rate, inflection (the beginning basics of public speaking). They even moved around the room a little and I never told them to. There was eye contact, enthusiasm, and almost a competitive edge that took over the room. I have never seen this before in my speech classes. This is definitely a great sign. Just thinking about the whole thing makes me giddy. Next week they will present their first speech. It's a Pet Peeve Speech. I told them I want passion, emotion; just tell us what absolutely pisses us off. Yell if you have to. I can't wait to see what they create.

My #1 rule in speech class is that everything must live up to this statement: 90% preparation, 10% execution. The word execution is synonymous with delivery and presentation, to explain a bit further. I will be able to tell in an instant who has heard me bark this rule every day and truly take it to heart.

Sigh. I outwardly and freely proclaim to all who inquire that I despise my profession, but deep down inside I know it's the beat of my heart.

Meanwhile, back at the ranch...

After school there was a faculty meeting. This is all I have to say about that:
F(*&^%%$!@#$%^&*)_)(**&^%$$#@!k!! What is wrong with people? Does every single faculty member need to accompany each point on the agenda with an anecdote and personal illustration?? This is not summer camp! Keep your kumbayah singing- marshmallow s'mores toasting- hiking boot loving- gotta badge for "archery" wearing -suck up to the camp director having- selves locked in your classrooms!

I leave you with this ever fabulous piece by my precious namesake. Chew the fat.

Because I could not stop for Death,
He kindly stopped for me;
The carriage held but just ourselves
And Immortality.

We slowly drove, he knew no haste, 5
And I had put away
My labor, and my leisure too,
For his civility.

We passed the school where children played
At wrestling in a ring; 10
We passed the fields of gazing grain,
We passed the setting sun.

We paused before a house that seemed
A swelling of the ground;
The roof was scarcely visible, 15
The cornice but a mound.

Since then 'tis centuries; but each
Feels shorter than the day
I first surmised the horses' heads
Were toward eternity.

Emily Dickinson (1830-86). Complete Poems.

2003-09-08T11:25:00.000-07:00

TEACHER’S PORTFOLIO

Every now and then, I try to save letters, awards, certificates and other noteworthy paraphernalia to add to my collection of items that I will someday put in a professional portfolio. This way, when I leave my current profession to pursue my dream job of being a tour guide at a Smithsonian Institute in D.C. (if the teaching in college thing doesn’t work out), I will have something for my future employers to look at and judge my ability by.

[For all you grammar mavens out there, I DO realize I just ended a sentence with a preposition. (rolling eyes) Bite me. Bite me hard.]

For your reading pleasure today (and because that is the only pleasure I am comfortable satisfying for you at the moment), I have decided to share a letter from a student I taught last year. To protect his identity we shall call him Grover.To protect his identity even more, we shall pronounce Grover with a French accent, "gro- vay", for added effect. Last year, a week or two before the semester exam in December, I told the students that I would help them review by posting review games and quizzes on my website. I nonchalantly mentioned that it would probably help them ace the exam. Of course, very few students took advantage of the opportunity, but for those who did, there was a little extra credit surprise waiting on each review page of the website. One of the extra credit opportunities requested each student to email me two things they liked about English class, and two things they didn’t like. I wanted to have some student feedback so that I could modify and adjust my teaching style for the students who felt I might not have been meeting their needs.

Grover (once again, that's "gro-vay") wrote me a letter, which I have kept in my email inbox for a year now. I plan to someday place it in my portfolio because it meant a lot to me for a variety of reasons. I have told both Grover and Grover's mom (Mademoiselle gro-vay) my intentions with the email, so I hope I am not violating anyone's trust by posting it. There have been no changes to the format or grammar.

I have a feeling that people who read this may have mixed reactions. I welcome any questions or comments you may have.

From: Grover@grover.com
To: Ms. Graduate Girl
Subject: Four Things About English Class

HONEST PART
Well, seeing as I'm not going to be graded on my letter composition, (I hope) I'm not really worried about the neatness of it. As you may have guessed I'm only writing this letter to get two extra credit points. However, since you don't want to know that, just scroll down and ignore this part.

STUDENT PART
I was so thrilled to be able to write you a letter that I just wanted to procrastinate and make it as long as I could. So now I will list two things that I like about your class.
I like:
#1 That you deal with the class in a strict but loving manner and always have our best interest (of this I have no doubt) in mind.
#2 You have no mercy on the underlings that don't do their work. BWHAHAHAAHHAHA, and that you keep discipline and order in your classroom.
P.S. (Can I write this? Oh well) I seem to strive on discipline and it helps that its the last class of the day and it helps even more that your always in a good mood for our class.

At this point I'm going to ask you to look above and notice that we are completely out of the honest zone and that I am not responsible for any false information given. (HAHA just kidding :-)
I don't like:
#1 All the homework!! (I know your heart must be bleeding for me right about now) and all our class does is WHINE WHINE WHINE! yada yada yada! blah blah blah--by the way I'm amazed at how much you teachers can put up with, is it mandatory to take a tolerance course to become a teacher?
#2 Uhhh...You've been the only teacher to give me a lunch detention! (not to mention 2!) How could you? (dumb question) How could I?!

Yeah that pretty much wraps it up.
Love ya-
Grover

Keep up the good work--thanks for devoting your time to ensuring the education of the next generation--Whoa did I just come up with that?

2003-09-07T15:48:00.000-07:00

Are there any women out there who despise the radio? Please contact me; I have just the man for you...

2003-09-07T15:45:00.000-07:00

IT'S A GOOD LIFE.

I will try not to talk too much about it, but I have been thinking lately about how different life is now that I am single. Of course I had the initial feelings of despair after the breakup: I cried as lovers are prone to do when they part ways. The loneliness was killing me, as well as the undeserved feeling of utter failure which had engulfed me. Thankfully, those feelings are gradually diminishing because of my small but adequate circle of quality friends.

Yes, life is different. Things have changed. I can listen to the radio.

Maybe you didn't hear me: I can listen to the radio.

The X! despised the radio and requested (several times) that we do not listen to it in the car or in the house. THE RADIO! Have you ever heard of such a thing? One day we went to the mall for dinner and a movie and some shopping. While inside the Gap, rummaging through the typical aisles and aisles of poorly made articles of clothing (admit it! it's true!), a familiar song began to play over the loudspeaker. Of course, I love to sing- and I am, from time to time, compelled to sing or hum harmony or melody to whatever tunes I hear. So...instinctively...and without malicious intent...I hummed.

Well, that made the X!'s lips purse together and his brow furrow. He wasn't just displeased, he was down right ANGRY. Suffice it to say that he refused to speak to me for the rest of the evening. When I finally couldn't take the silent treatment anymore, I confronted him. What was he angry about? He just didn't know, he began, if he could date someone like me. What do you mean? I inquired- completely oblivous to the grievous crime I had committed two hours earlier. I don't know, he continued, if I can be with someone who listens to the popular music that is played on the radio. I'm an artist, and I support starving musicians; the radio stations monopolize and manipulate the industry. I need to be with someone who understands my convictions on the matter.

@#!*?

I did, after many soothing kisses and loving hugs, manage to persuade him that I was truly sorry. I held him close to me and cooed and cajoled him into a smile, all the while convincing myself that it was these bizarre thought processes (and there were many) that made me love him so. I also tried to casually mention that it really shouldn't have been a big deal.

But it was a big deal.

2003-09-05T18:08:00.000-07:00

SINGLE GIRL, BIG CITY, BIG PLANS

Well, now that I am officially single, and have been for quite some time- I thought I would take this time to draw up my goals for the coming year. I think it's important to have some things to look forward to - especially activities that don't end with the word "boyfriend." Now I do teach, so my year has officially started and will finish the last week of May, 2004. We shall see, after that time, what I have accomplished.

In no predetermined order of appearance, my goals are to:

A. Plan a four day personal vacation to New York City for the summer. See one Broadway show.

B. Remain single and free until at least December, to ward off evil spirits from the "ex" and appease the anger of the gods.

C. Add and maintain at least one month's salary in my savings.

D. Learn at least 5 more guitar chords by Christmas (damn that Bm!).

E. Dress up on the weekend with the purpose of going out. (At least twice a month.)

F. Sign up for my third Latin dance class by summer.

G. Pay off the balance on my credit card before Christmas ($450)- yes I only own one, thank God.

H. Call the lady back from the Phoenix symphony and get trained for the volunteer program by November.

I. Look into the PhD program at ASU- just for kicks if nothing else!

J. Write or call my parents- once every two months is enough.

I think that's good for now.
Here's hoping.

2003-09-05T17:25:00.000-07:00

ODE TO TODD

You have graciously allowed me to converse with you at will, and to seek out your friendship. For that, I am most grateful.

One quiet and unsuspecting day, I pulled back the cumbersome and never ending folds of cyber space and, serendipitously, found you there.

You did not know you had a purpose in my life; unknowingly, you stepped up to the challenge anyway.

You are a master teacher and a shining example to bloggers everywhere. You are not a mere acquaintance: I call you friend.

It is only fitting that I write about you first.

Your humble tutee,
GG

2003-08-16T01:55:00.000-07:00

100 THINGS ABOUT ME

This Page Under Construction...

The very first thing that will go on my blog is, of course, my 100 list. It's taking me a while to get it up but I'm sure I will have it completed by the weekend. I appreciate your paticence!

1. I am 5'4" and love my height. Why? Because I can wear heels without feeling too tall.

2. I am almost 100% certain that if I get married I will marry someone of a different ethnicity and skin color.

3. I teach English at the high school level. Should any of my students ever discover my posts, I would be screwed. My highest aspirations right now are either to move on and teach at the college level, or to sell all my worldly possessions, move to D.C. and work full time as a tour guide.

4. In my free time, I love to dance. I love to frequent Tempe and Scottsdale clubs alike; however, I spend more time in Tempe clubs because they're less snobby and pretentious.

5. I have taken two Latin dance classes and enjoyed them very much. It is, in my opinion, one of the few remaining forms of dancing that require a partner; where the man must lead. It is truly romantic and passionate, even if you are dancing with someone you don't feel an attraction for.

6. In my free time, I also play guitar. I am a novice, but I will go ahead and say that I have learned a lot in a year. Everything I know how to play I taught myself. Guitar playing is more than a hobby now. It is a lifestyle. I do hope to someday write and perform my own music.

7. I am not close to my family members, although I wish I was. I love them dearly, but we have been through strange and mysterious times. Time and distance has created a numbness in me that is somewhat acceptable. Not being close to them has been a source of contention for me, and I realize that if I ever meet that special someone, he will be dealing mostly with me; I do not plan to make my family (my parents, rather) an integral part of my married life. It's a sad fact- but here it is.

8. I drive 30 miles to work and back. I refuse to live in Paradise Valley/Scottsdale(Snobsdale). My heart beats for Tempe, AZ. only.

9. I watch Judge Judy regularly. I fear and respect her simultaneously.

10. I'm an insomniac and a night owl. Often, it's hard for me to get to sleep before 12 pm. I wake up at 5:30 every weekday in order to make it to work by 7am.

11. I've only been drunk twice in my life.

12. When I was only in the third grade, the powers of the universe saw it fit to bless me with breasts. I think I would have appreciated it if they had waited til I was in junior high. What can a girl do with breasts in the 3rd grade????

13. I cannot stand to go to the movies very often. Going every two-three months is enough. I find it a nonsocial event. I prefer to go alone if I go at all.

14. I love to hang out at Borders or Barnes and Noble. Either bookstore would make for an ideal date.

15. I understand absolutely NOTHING about football. Until I was in the latter part of grammar school, I thought men had to be born with special shoulders to play. No matter, I just cheer for the team with the most lovely jerseys.

16. I played field hockey all four years of high school and loved it. I also played basketball and volleyball and soccer. I was a cheerleader in college. I hated cheer.

17. I am a perfectionist and workaholic. For this reason, I think it's best that I remain single, and not bear children. I am open to suggestions concerning this very touchy issue.

18. I have never broken a bone in my body.

19. I went to my first college on a vocal scholarship. That's something... right?

20. The last great book I read was Memoirs of a Geisha by Arthur Golden. It's a must read. I thought I would have to sell all my possessions (I only have three) and move to Japan forever after reading it.

21. Two movies I would recommend to anyone are A Clockwork Orange, directed by Stanley Kubrick. It was... interesting. I recommend it to all. Another great one is Farewell My Concubine. I don't recommend it if you don't like subtitled movies, which I do.

22. I have read just about every book of the New Testament except for Revelations.

23. I also teach Speech.

24. I have taught a college freshman course 3 times.

25. If I have casual plans to go out for the evening, and become displeased with my hair or the outfit I'm wearing, I have no qualms about standing up the people I have made plans with. I hate this about myself.

26. Although I am gregarious by nature, I have noticed that I tend to spend a lot of time alone. I can't decide whether this is a good thing or a bad thing. What are your thoughts?

27. I got my first period when I was 11. I just met two women who didn't get theirs until they were 17. The powers of the universe despise me, and are plotting my demise most urgently.

28. Between the ages of 7 and 18 I grew up in a foreign country.

29. I have a profound fear of dogs. I once ran out of a New Year's party screaming bloody hell because a friend's beast of a dog came bounding towards me. I knew I was overeacting but I couldn't help it. I was terrified, and angry; my entire body shook for 30 minutes afterwards.

30. There are four pieces of jewelry that I never take off. Two silver rings on either hand, and two silver toe rings.

31. I feel naked when I don't wear earrings.

32. I believe in a heaven and a hell.

33. I am an undeclared vegetarian. I don't cook beef, although I eat it fom time to time. When I cook and eat food with eggs and chicken I have to really focus so that I don't gross myself out. I prefer the meat I eat to be cleverly disguised, incognito, and deceitfully delicious.

34. I didn't get my driver's licence until after I had my first college degree.

35. I wear glasses sometimes when I have been sitting in front of the computer for a long time, or when I'm reading for extended periods of time.

36. When I was younger, I had a terrible habit of making a sweeping licking circle all the way around my mouth with my tongue, then wiping the saliva off with the collar or neck of my shirts. Often, my lips would get so chapped from the chaffing I couldn't move my lips.

37. I detest the word "belly."

38. I once spent 5 days straight frolicking in bed with theX!. We got dressed only once that week- to go out and pick up a pizza.

39. My second toe is longer than the first one. Does that freak you out? :)

40. I believe in the message of dreams, and I believe in journaling them/interpreting them.

41. I once dated a man who was 13 years older than I for 2 years. Although we never once had an argument, one day he walked out of the door, and I never saw him again.

42. I love paper. No particular reason.

43. I don't really care for ice cream.

44. I took a vacation by myself for the very first time last summer.

45. I have a love affair with black coffee. Sugar, no cream.

46. I have been on a hot air balloon ride. It wasn't anything special.

47. Even though I don't really care for swimming or water sports, I have a passion for canoeing! I volunteered to teach that at camp every day!

48. Oh yeah, when I was 23(?) I was hired as the Women's Director for a reputable high school sports camp in the midwest. I was in charge of all camp parties and social events.

49. I like to go fishing but I worry about the fish feeling pain.

50. I just passed the 50 mark on my 100 list.

51. Three weeks ago I overdosed on Excedrin. The doctor at the ER accused me of trying to commit suicide.

52. When I was younger I used to eat dirt... 3 years ago I was hospitalized for severe anemia. This was the explanation for eating dirt. It seems I have dangerously low levels of iron.

53. I took French for 3 years in high school.

54. The meanest thing I have ever done was to take a chicken's cut off head, boil it, wrap it in tin foil, and give it to this girl we all hated in junior high. I told her it was dessert my mom gave me, but I didn't want it. I can't believe I touched a chicken's head.

55. The second meanest thing I have ever done was to "flavor" an uncle's plate of food with specks of dirt. I hated him so.

56. The meanest thing ever done to me: I have a 1 inch, very thin, very faint line of a scar on my left cheek. It used to be very,very dark. I got it when I was 13.

57. My mother gave the scar to me with her fingernail when she pinched my face in a fit of inexplicable rage and anger. The one apology I did get from her was forced and sheepish. I love her, but I hope she feels a twinge of guilt every time I look at her.

57. When people first looked at the scar (when it was really dark) they thought I was crying because it looked like the trace of a tear. I was depressed and ashamed about my face being marred for a long time.

58. I told everyone at school I had been scratched by a cat. No one ever remembered I didn't own one.

59. My very first serious boyfriend (when I was 18) told me he thought it was a beautiful scar. It was a turning point.

60. I receive compliments about my skin and face everywhere I go. What an odd twist of fate.

60. I really enjoy NPR.

61. Manos Manos, Hands of Fate... need I say more???

62. After watching a movie, I must read Roger Ebert's review of it.

63. I want to write like Roger Ebert.

64. Besides my dad and my brother, I have never lived with a man. Ever.

65. I cannot stand to hang my clothes on wire hangers. Only plastic or wooden ones will do.

66. Although I am intimate in relationships, for the most part, I'm not a touchy feely person.

67. My love language is time. I like to give quality time and I like to receive it. I often equate a person's love for me with the amount of quality time they can afford. The other love languages- gifts, for example- do very little for me.

68. I play a little piano.