Tuesday, September 22, 2009

String cheese or tampon?

I'm back to work today after what became a 3-day weekend. I stayed home yesterday calling insurance, car collision center (I hate when my little car is anywhere else than against the curb of my cement front yard!) The towing company now has poor Wanda the Honda since she doesn't even start up!

Today I return, in my rented PT Cruiser, which by the way feels like driving a really short mini-van (sans bucket seats that hold screaming children). I am feeling out of sorts, like I could re-wash a load of clothes instead of drying it! But I will attempt to focus on the day, my kids and getting some caffeine into my system!

As I reached into my messy teacher bag (don't worry, it's quasi hip, no apples or chalkboards embroidered on it) I couldn't figure out if what I held in my hand was a string cheese...or a tampon. This may be a representation of my mind today.

Here goes nothin'....

Saturday, September 19, 2009

Way to wreck my Friday!

I always start out a Friday morning with one thought...
I love my job but I love my weekends even more. I once heard a woman I "nannyed" for say something similar..."I love my son. But I love my dates with my husband more." Alrighty then. On a slightly less terrible note, I got in a car wreck yesterday!

It's one of those situations where you wonder if a small piece of the puzzle, or day rather, were different...then the mental wheels begin spinning and before I know it I've resorted to a nap.

The puzzle starts like this...I stayed an extra hour at work so that I could teach the Hip Hop class. I'm a sucker for killer dance moves as proven in the last entry. I was extremely glowing (OK sweating like a beast) and decided to go home and shower before meeting the rest of the staff for happy hour. I don't wanna brag, but my coworkers are probably cooler than yours. So yes, teachers, at my school at least, often send out an email or spread the Happy Hour plan by whispering in code to each other at recess or in the copy room. "So, uh maybe a little HH today?" Normally I'm not an avid showerer (this would be the adjective of one that showers often). It's true, I don't always shower after strenuous activity! Nine times out of ten if given the option to attend some sort of social event that begins right after my jog, you better believe I throw on a frock and a hat and am out the door sans bathing! And just as another excuse for my lack of cleanliness (a better one than the love of socializing), thick hair looks way better a little dirty ;) After my collision with a Jeep Cherokee, I wondered if I would have avoided the whole thing had I not taken the time to go home (and BATHE!), which then led me to take a different route to my destination etc etc? (I'll be back after a 20-minute power doze...)

What's the lesson here? No more showering! Probably not, but the lesson could be...pay more attention while driving, know your directions ahead of time, avoid happy hour...nah that can't be it. Well this wreck that wrecked my Friday was a very unhappy hour! Now I sit in my home, waiting for a friend to take me to the beach in an effort to avoid the issue that can't be dealt with until Monday anyway. I look out my living room window at my sweet little Civic with a jammed-in driver door (crawling over the center console to exit via the passenger door is always an adventure).  Did I tell you that my driver side mirror that is now sitting on the back seat?


Sunday, September 13, 2009

Drunk girl or just retarded?

Now let me just first say that I am well aware that saying a word like retarded is not very "PC", especially in my field of work! However there is plain and simply no other word to describe this blonde in the story you are about to read, trust me I've racked my brain and even googled...

Next month I will be doing something that I have become very good at. It will be my 6th time performing this duty. Six other gals that I will be identically dressed will be doing the same thing. I will be a bridesmaid. If that saying "Always a bridesmaid, never a Bride" just entered your mind, I just want to take a moment to remind you about KARMA. Be nice.

I am very excited about being a part of this wedding. From the hot attire (who doesn't love an eggplant cocktail dress!) to the entire wedding party and wonderful couple, it is bound to be a blast.

The fun has begun already. In the past month or so, almost all of the (surprisingly good looking) groomsmen have conveniently become single. I have been given the full background on each of them, voluntarily of course, I'm a lady after all. The fiance and my lovely friend have given me permission/warnings where appropriate and necessary. Statements like "He's totally ready to settle down," "Now that's a GOOD guy" and "I'm just not sure how great his motives are" flew across the dinner table a few nights prior. I met the soon-to-be-marrieds and most of these GMs at a laid back joint and was thoroughly enjoying myself.
Naturally, good conversation and shuffle board is formula for a good time. Everyone decided to head elsewhere so that we could dance (in reality this was decided by the one loud guy in the group who dances wherever he is, always makes the decisions the group follows and is completely loved by all he meets, you know this friend). Our herd headed to a more dance worthy location and proceeded to get our groove thangs on. I of course did NOT use the saying GROOVE THANGS (although who wouldn't want to) in an attempt to hide the fact that I'm a total nerd til a later time, like maybe the second meeting.

I had been bantering the evening away with my walk down the isle buddy. Note: This is key to being a successful bridesmaid. You always want to become pals with your isle buddy, not too close if he's married (usually the case) but just close enough to not feel awkward gripping his bicep as you attempt not tumbling down a grassy hill in heels. Don't worry, more tips to come in my upcoming book Bridesmaid 101, TBA after Bridesmaid adventure #10. So, only two cervezas deep (in other words, not a drunk girl) Isle buddy and I begin comparing dance moves, so that upon entering the reception we have a little jig prepared. Duh. The comparing turns into somewhat of I dunno...a dance battle, if you will. Now I've lost things before, like not making 1st chair clarinet in the 5th grade, but I REFUSE to be runner up in a dance battle. It's just not going to happen. With a look of complete confidence in my eyes, I put down my clutch and the cocktail that I've taken one swig of since we arrived. In my initial stages of the "Lawn-mower" I step onto the rim of the glass I've stupidly placed right where my dancing feet will end up, my ankle gives out and I FALL to the ground, to land in somewhat of an awkward stag position. The vodka soda has spilled to soak my rump and I am...embarrassed. Did I mention the rest of our party had formed a circle around us to watch, ya know, in a usual dance battle fashion?!

How I actually reacted is blurred by my overwhelming desire to curl into fetal position under a bar stool and slowly rock back and forth for the remainder of the evening! Can we say MORTIFIED! Hopefully later moves like "The Sprinkler" and "Drivin' the Car" made up for my little bump in the road. These two are usually only used for certain occasions but I was nothing short of desperate at this point! I can just imagine the entire wedding party thinking, "So is this girl drunk...or just retarded?" Uh...the latter, thank you.

Later I woke up in the middle of the night, and as the image crossed my mind I couldn't help but cover my face with the palm of my hand and shake my head in shame. Wow. Seriously?

Oh and my left ankle kinda hurts.
But my pride hurts even more.

Friday, September 11, 2009

Probably the best compliments I've ever received...?

"Your hair looks nice today...
...especially compared to yesterday."
-Fellow teacher
(who probably doesn't remember any of this)

"I'd pick you up if I saw you in a bar"
Me: "But I don't wanna be picked up in a bar."
"Okay. I'd pick you up if I saw you on a playground."
Me: "Creep."
-Mr. A
(Always good for a laugh...and a minor ego boost)

I love my job
and the men I work with.

My perscription weed...

Remember that Seinfeld episode where Jerry wants the pen that can write upside down (the kind they use in space) so that when he wakes up in the middle of the night with a bit, he can write it down while lying in bed and remember it in the morning?

I see where he's coming from. I have had a million and one things to write about lately and yet when I finally get the time to do so, it all escapes me. After tossing and turning for over 2 hours the other night, I finally fell asleep. I was just gettin' to those good rems when I woke up in a haze and laughed to myself about a blog-tastic idea. Then of course I went back to drooling and even with the help of an astronaut pen probably wouldn't have made it to the nightstand to write it down.

All I remembered the following morning was my half asleep creepy giggle. My lack of writing issue has been compounded by the fact that I feel like I've gone through the past 3 months completely baked. Yes, I feel high all....the...time. I mentioned this in a little ditty about an OBecian laundry sesh at the beginning of summer.

This "high" I refer to is all due to my meds. When I say that out loud, or write it in this case, I can't help but get a picture of myself in a stark white room freakishly yelling "My meds! Where are my MEDS! Someone get me my MEDS!" This actually isn't too far off at times. These little pills I take are supposed to prevent me from getting what Dr. Janine, my neurologist, calls Ocular Migraines. I don't know how confident I feel in a Doctor who has me refer to her as "Doctor" and then her first name, but I'm going to look past it, especially since when I get these "OM's" I can't look anywhere...my vision is completely blurred and my head feels like it's about to explode! I've been trying out what feels like prescription weed for the duration of the summer and now that school is back in sesh am very aware of the side effects. Apparently I didn't have too many cognitive challenges this summer...aside from counting tips and figuring out how to use a foreign vacuum.

Yesterday after school I had plans to run with a fellow teacher. I went into the staff bathroom, never ceasing to make me feel like a real adult, and began to change out of my work outfit and into some running gear. In a daze, which has become my usual state, I put on my sports bra, shirt, socks and shoes. Seems like your average workout gear...except for the very important PANTS! Oh yea. Slipping those Lycra bad boys over giant Asics is fun. After catching myself on the protective toilet sheet dispenser so as not to crash to the tile floor (imagine the germs!) I open the bathroom door and walk outside only to notice that in this process of getting the pants over the shoes I have ripped what used to be a tiny hole into an extremely noticeable hole in the upper/inner thigh of my running pants, which happen to double as my yoga pants! I exhale dramatically and nod in disgust...what a stoner.
Silver lining: I didn't have to run that day.

All that to say, I have had many a story to tell...but simply have FORGOTTEN them. I guess I'll have to start writing everything down, while I'm awake at least. I'm willing to make accommodations for my less-than-lightening-quick mind, but disrupting my sleep is a whole 'nother level of commitment. Who knows, I may nerd out and become one of those teachers that has a pencil in their ear at all times. Though I often wonder about them....what is it you have to write that is so urgent it requires a writing implement that readily available? Now I know. Maybe they too are victims of prescriptions that cause side effects like those of my own...or maybe they're just high?

Friday, September 4, 2009

Miss Coffee Breath

School started back up this week. I may look 19 (without make up/my retainers in) but I'm not a student. In fact I am a teacher.
I forgot how much joy even junior highers have the ability to bring me. Usually it's the kindergarten aged children that say things like "You're a Princess!" that I think of so fondly. To these statements, I have no other choice but to respond, "Yes.  yes I am."

Being a new year, a new class, I have a new, what we special-ed educators call "case-load" of kiddos. These are the lucky students that get my undivided attention (depending on how many other kids are screaming my name) as I squat down beside their desk and provide extra help through whispered coffee breath. My caseload this year is full of students that are all so unique and intereeeeeeeesting to say the least. One of them is nothing short of brilliant. He creatively creates (oh my alliteration!) video games in his mind and has no qualms about telling me every detail about them. I fight the urge to suggestively ask, "Are you sure you wouldn't like to play kickball with the rest of the class? I'm sure your sports-induced ashma will be fine!" I'm no sports fanatic but during those times outside on the grass, Miss Sara wants nothing more than to hop out of those wedges and jump in on that kick ball game. Instead, I resist and try to follow Brilliant Child #1's video quest, although my mind so does not work like his (I don't know much about weaponry). Generally I nod and ask questions that he seems to think are totally stupid. Who's helping who now one might ask.

This week has flown by, as a whole as well as the days themselves. With my "extra curricular" activities such as yoga, Tuesday Night Fellowship and gettin in those 4-mile runs (bragging) I realize how much a 40 hour a week job cramps my schedule. I'll have to work on getting used to this again.

Thursday, September 3, 2009

Top 10 ways to get a date...brought to you by the passive aggressive blonde

The following Top 10 doubles as a list of beautiful gifts (from some very beautiful people at my "Fam Bday Bash") AND items that will apparently get you a date...well not YOU, but ME. Feel free to take notes, or in this case hit "print", to file this valuable information in your personal records.

1. Movie Tickets...this is where the birth of the comment-taken-too-far took place.
2. Cookbook
3. Earrings
4. Clutch-with seahorses on it...so in love with it!
5. A single cousin (???)
6. A pork chop tied around my neck
7. Another cookbook
8. Polk-a-dot Apron
9. Every day apron (very practical, everyone should have one)
10. Silver Cross charm bracelet

Why these items you may ask yourself (or ask me)? I don't know. Apparently once you have chuckled even a little bit, out of embarrassment (or I dunno, possibly due to the fact that there is a quasi-set up situation going on AT the party), you have allowed free reign for the family "joke of the hour" to go on for entirely and inappropriately too long. And by "you" I mean "me." Once it turned to something along the lines of "Maybe cousin Tom could take you on a date!" I knew it was all over. One word came to mind... AWKWARD!...and okay, maybe another...FRICKEN WEIRD! I guess that's two. If there were a present opening contest...something focusing on who could do it the fastest?!...even up against 5-year olds on Christmas morning, I believe I could have wooped everyone. Just get me through the gifts, and to dessert...I don't think there's a "comment" about dates (or my supposed lack thereof) that can be somehow connected to a carrot cake!

The moral of the story...the minute you feel awkwardly or even minutely attacked...casually say something to the effect of "Ok. That's enough of that." Then perhaps lighten the mood with "Now let's focus on all of my PRESENTS instead of my LOVE life!" laugh laugh laugh, spotlight off rude date-comments situation...and scene!