I'm off for the next week! I'm going to the beach for a week with my family! Wahoo!
During my little sabbatical, I'm going to copy my friend CousinEddie. I copied her a few months ago with her groundbreaking Geek List game, which was really good fun. She is incredibly creative and came up with this fun game: Picture Post. I thought it was such a clever idea that it should become a blogosphere-wide game! It could change the world! Alter people's lives! Well, it should give me something fun to do when I get home anyway. But give CousinEddie props for coming up with it. I'm just copying. Her final results were cool, I even got to see her new office.
Here's what you do: You get to ask me questions about myself/my surroundings that you would like to see pictures of, and I will post the pictures in my next entry. So, ask away! Get creative. Do keep it clean, please. :o)
Fun, huh? You should do it too!
Friday, June 24, 2005
Thursday, June 23, 2005
Sigh. Tagged again.
I do like a good meme every now and then. Especially if they're short, like this one. This one's from good 'ol CousinEddie. Here we go:
5 Things I Miss About My Childhood
1. Playing outside every day until it was dark outside. We were never inside. We made up games, played bizarre versions of tag (Toilet Tag was a favorite, you had to "flush" the person to unfreeze them, we also liked TV Tag), we played on the swings, caught lightning bugs, made up obstacle courses, rode our bikes all over creation, went exploring in the woods, and went to the pool.
2. Staying home alone with my sister when we were little. It was the time for a little debauchery. The best game was the aforementioned Don't Touch the Floor. If we made it all the way around the perimeter of the den and the kitchen, we won! Katie was so short I had to build stacks of mom and dad's old college books for her to stand on so she could clambor over the fridge. It was touch and go sometimes when that stack would slip. We were always careful to wipe the footprints off the kitchen table. When we lived in Ohio, we would sneak out to go sledding in the backyard then come inside and blowdry our snowsuits with the hairdryer. One of the favorites was playing with mom's old crutches. The hole that I left in the wall at the bottom of the stairs was pretty tricky to explain. Turns out you should NOT try crutches that are too tall for you while going down a set of stairs. Could be very very dangerous.
3. I miss being the student in a classroom. I loved school. I loved doing my homework as neatly as I could, I loved making A's, I took pride when the teacher picked me to do things. Running a note to the office was awesome. At least I still get to order from Scholastic book orders. Otherwise, I would certainly miss that too. Oh, and recess! We would eat as fast as we could to have more time for practicing Penny Drops and other flips on the bars. Also very, very dangerous. Kids aren't allowed to do that anymore. Bygones.
4. Slumber parties. Those are only acceptable while you are still in school. I'm sure I could do it now, if I so felt the urge...but I'm certain it wouldn't be the same. Planned slumber parties with multiple people were the best. When we were younger, there were always tons of games, often scary games that we played outside like Ghost in the Graveyard. Sometimes there were scavenger hunts. When we were older, there was the prank calling of the boys (ah, the days before *69 and Caller ID...). At any age, there was always the doing of one another's hair. Good times.
5. The right to participate in things and not look like a fool. Trick or Treating (cousineddie and I made that one last as long as we possibly could - 9th grade?), telling Santa what you want, kid's menus, being short enough to play on the sprayground at the Natatorium, not exceeding the weight limit for a Slip 'N Slide, or water toys, Tooth Fairy, all that good stuff. Oh, and skating rinks before in line skates were the way to go. I'm still terrible at those and if I wear the old four-wheeled kind, I'm that old person. Shame.
So, those are mine. I tag Katie Bug, Meredith, Post-hip Chick, Leesepea, and Janet Go!
5 Things I Miss About My Childhood
1. Playing outside every day until it was dark outside. We were never inside. We made up games, played bizarre versions of tag (Toilet Tag was a favorite, you had to "flush" the person to unfreeze them, we also liked TV Tag), we played on the swings, caught lightning bugs, made up obstacle courses, rode our bikes all over creation, went exploring in the woods, and went to the pool.
2. Staying home alone with my sister when we were little. It was the time for a little debauchery. The best game was the aforementioned Don't Touch the Floor. If we made it all the way around the perimeter of the den and the kitchen, we won! Katie was so short I had to build stacks of mom and dad's old college books for her to stand on so she could clambor over the fridge. It was touch and go sometimes when that stack would slip. We were always careful to wipe the footprints off the kitchen table. When we lived in Ohio, we would sneak out to go sledding in the backyard then come inside and blowdry our snowsuits with the hairdryer. One of the favorites was playing with mom's old crutches. The hole that I left in the wall at the bottom of the stairs was pretty tricky to explain. Turns out you should NOT try crutches that are too tall for you while going down a set of stairs. Could be very very dangerous.
3. I miss being the student in a classroom. I loved school. I loved doing my homework as neatly as I could, I loved making A's, I took pride when the teacher picked me to do things. Running a note to the office was awesome. At least I still get to order from Scholastic book orders. Otherwise, I would certainly miss that too. Oh, and recess! We would eat as fast as we could to have more time for practicing Penny Drops and other flips on the bars. Also very, very dangerous. Kids aren't allowed to do that anymore. Bygones.
4. Slumber parties. Those are only acceptable while you are still in school. I'm sure I could do it now, if I so felt the urge...but I'm certain it wouldn't be the same. Planned slumber parties with multiple people were the best. When we were younger, there were always tons of games, often scary games that we played outside like Ghost in the Graveyard. Sometimes there were scavenger hunts. When we were older, there was the prank calling of the boys (ah, the days before *69 and Caller ID...). At any age, there was always the doing of one another's hair. Good times.
5. The right to participate in things and not look like a fool. Trick or Treating (cousineddie and I made that one last as long as we possibly could - 9th grade?), telling Santa what you want, kid's menus, being short enough to play on the sprayground at the Natatorium, not exceeding the weight limit for a Slip 'N Slide, or water toys, Tooth Fairy, all that good stuff. Oh, and skating rinks before in line skates were the way to go. I'm still terrible at those and if I wear the old four-wheeled kind, I'm that old person. Shame.
So, those are mine. I tag Katie Bug, Meredith, Post-hip Chick, Leesepea, and Janet Go!
Wednesday, June 22, 2005
Rogue Bean
It's so lovely to come home. Familiar surroundings...family...relaxation...trees. Just lovely. Mom cooks dinner every night! Tonight? Black bean quesadillas. Delish, those quesadillas. I was chewing away happily when-
Mom: You have black bean on your face.
Me: [frantically swiping at face with napkin]
Mom: Over. No, over. No....go right.
Me: [now making bold sweeps at face, forehead, shoulders. Where was that bean?]
Mom: It's up....right there! Oh. [frowns]
Me: Did I get it?
Mom: [glances down at plate] It's a zit.
Oh, well that's just great. My acne has advanced to the critical "black bean-esque" stage. I swear, it really doesn't look that bad. And if it does, I'll be the one with the veil at the beach next week.
Mom: You have black bean on your face.
Me: [frantically swiping at face with napkin]
Mom: Over. No, over. No....go right.
Me: [now making bold sweeps at face, forehead, shoulders. Where was that bean?]
Mom: It's up....right there! Oh. [frowns]
Me: Did I get it?
Mom: [glances down at plate] It's a zit.
Oh, well that's just great. My acne has advanced to the critical "black bean-esque" stage. I swear, it really doesn't look that bad. And if it does, I'll be the one with the veil at the beach next week.
Tuesday, June 21, 2005
Russ, Don't Eat the Truckster.
Ah, the joy that is travel. Yesterday I embarked upon my annual trek home. It was spiced up by the fact that I was flying the same morning as my friend's boyfriend and would have a companion. I promptly went stand by to try to get on his flight. And that is where my innate ability to foul things up took over.
When entering the airport, I realized that the line was at least a mile long. And I'm not exaggerating. Well, perhaps a little, but not much. As I followed the line back trying to find the end, I turned corner after corner and continued to face more people. Finally, my friend saw me and I cut in line with him. What luck, right? Well.
I stood and talked with him for about, oh...20 minutes as the line edged up and we started discussing self check in, which I am a strong advocate for, but - as I told him - was unable to use this morning because of standby. I was sure hoping to get stand by.
"You mean you don't have a boarding pass?" he said to me.
"Uh, noooo...hello? We're in line for that?" I gave him my most polite "duh" expression and turned back to the line.
"This is the security line," he explained. Oh no. I rolled my eyes and took off for the appropriate counter, hoping it was a short line. It was. I got my psuedo boarding pass for going standby, dropped off my 50 pound bag and darted back to the endless line, hoping he hadn't already gone through. Victory! He flagged me down just before he was headed through securtity.
Ignoring glares from other passengers in line, I ducked under the top notch security ropes; I was full of agility and poise and I was...stuck. I was hung. My tennis racket handle jutting out of the top of my backpack was now thoroughly and completely entangled in the security ropes. I was trapped in a yoga-esque sliding move hunkered way down on the floor. The people who were previously glaring were now smirking. The boarding pass checker lady was less than amused. My friend hastily untangled me and we played it casual through the security check. (Who, me? What?)
The rest of the flight was pretty uneventful. I went to the rental car counter where I had arranged for a compact vehicle to cart me around for a couple of days.
Rental Car Guy: I see here that we have you down for a compact. Is that going to be enough room for you?
Me: Yes, sir! It's just me. (and my 50 pound luggage, beach bag, and aforementioned backpack with racket sticking out top, I thought)
RCG: Can I interest you in a convertible or a PT Cruiser?
Me: No, thanks. (polite smile)
RCG: Why not?
Me: (Bah? Is no thanks not sufficient?) Because convertibles mess up my hair and I hate PT Cruisers. I got stuck with one when I went to L.A. and I really didn't like it. Thanks, though.
RCG: You could put a ponytail.
Me: No! I wouldn't use it! It's too humid! I get sweaty! [I can't believe I'm having to defend my car preferences to this guy]
RCG: [with attitude] Your loss. [saunters away to get my keys]
I relaxed and went outside with my 80 pounds of gear to meet him. Some other guy drove up with my car. RCG was nowhere to be seen. My car was a PT Cruiser. Sigh.
WHY?
When entering the airport, I realized that the line was at least a mile long. And I'm not exaggerating. Well, perhaps a little, but not much. As I followed the line back trying to find the end, I turned corner after corner and continued to face more people. Finally, my friend saw me and I cut in line with him. What luck, right? Well.
I stood and talked with him for about, oh...20 minutes as the line edged up and we started discussing self check in, which I am a strong advocate for, but - as I told him - was unable to use this morning because of standby. I was sure hoping to get stand by.
"You mean you don't have a boarding pass?" he said to me.
"Uh, noooo...hello? We're in line for that?" I gave him my most polite "duh" expression and turned back to the line.
"This is the security line," he explained. Oh no. I rolled my eyes and took off for the appropriate counter, hoping it was a short line. It was. I got my psuedo boarding pass for going standby, dropped off my 50 pound bag and darted back to the endless line, hoping he hadn't already gone through. Victory! He flagged me down just before he was headed through securtity.
Ignoring glares from other passengers in line, I ducked under the top notch security ropes; I was full of agility and poise and I was...stuck. I was hung. My tennis racket handle jutting out of the top of my backpack was now thoroughly and completely entangled in the security ropes. I was trapped in a yoga-esque sliding move hunkered way down on the floor. The people who were previously glaring were now smirking. The boarding pass checker lady was less than amused. My friend hastily untangled me and we played it casual through the security check. (Who, me? What?)
The rest of the flight was pretty uneventful. I went to the rental car counter where I had arranged for a compact vehicle to cart me around for a couple of days.
Rental Car Guy: I see here that we have you down for a compact. Is that going to be enough room for you?
Me: Yes, sir! It's just me. (and my 50 pound luggage, beach bag, and aforementioned backpack with racket sticking out top, I thought)
RCG: Can I interest you in a convertible or a PT Cruiser?
Me: No, thanks. (polite smile)
RCG: Why not?
Me: (Bah? Is no thanks not sufficient?) Because convertibles mess up my hair and I hate PT Cruisers. I got stuck with one when I went to L.A. and I really didn't like it. Thanks, though.
RCG: You could put a ponytail.
Me: No! I wouldn't use it! It's too humid! I get sweaty! [I can't believe I'm having to defend my car preferences to this guy]
RCG: [with attitude] Your loss. [saunters away to get my keys]
I relaxed and went outside with my 80 pounds of gear to meet him. Some other guy drove up with my car. RCG was nowhere to be seen. My car was a PT Cruiser. Sigh.
WHY?
Sunday, June 19, 2005
Delayed Reaction to 100 Things
I didn't have time to do this little game back when everyone else was doing it, so I'm a late participant. Unless you've never seen it done before, in which case I'm the first one to do it. It was all my clever little idea.
1. I've lived in 4 states and 6 cities.
2. I have one sister.
3. No one may touch my feet ever.
4. When I was little, my favorite food was fried chicken livers.
5. I hate going to the grocery store.
6. I also hate emptying the dishwasher.
7. My favorite place is the beach.
8. Cheese is my all time favorite food.
9. If I didn't have scoliosis, the doctor said I'd be two inches taller.
10. I am terrified of spiders.
11. My dad wouldn't let us eat candy or dessert until I was about 12.
12. I got my first cavity when I was 12.
13. I was the editor-in-chief of my college newspaper.
14. I thrived on writing editorials to stir things up.
15. My car is named Lucy. She is a Toyota RAV4.
16. I once got hit in the face with a raw egg while rollerskating.
17. I can walk on stilts.
18. I read incessantly.
19. I've watched Days of Our Lives since 4th grade.
20. I still watch The Real World.
21. When I used to babysit, I always ate junk food from their pantry.
22. I worked at Pizza Hut for 2.5 years in high school.
23. I went to a women's college.
24. I have a garden with tomatoes and peppers.
25. I am legally blind.
26. My hearing and sense of smell are incredible.
27. I took bowling for a PE credit in college. I'm still terrible.
28. I once had a mouse named Ralph.
29. I took Spanish for five years, but I learned most of my Spanish teaching.
30. I can't see those 3D pictures in the comics and it drives me insane.
31. I was on the diving team in high school. I wasn't fabulous.
32. I also ran hurdles for track. I had long, gangly legs.
33. I majored in psychology and accidentally became a teacher.
34. I don't like snakes, but I'm not really scared of them.
35. I like the way new rafts smell.
36. I've never caused a car accident, but two of my cars have been totaled. (Hmmm...)
37. I'm a terrible gambler.
38. I'm highly allergic to cats. Cats like me.
39. I have the most spoiled beagle in the world.
40. I'm terribly uncoordinated.
41. The first thing I ever had psuedo-published was a modern day version of a fairy tale: Little Pink Punky Hood. She had pink hair and carried a boombox on her shoulder.
42. I played the piano for 8 years. Now I can only play Rudolph the Red-Nosed Reindeer.
43. I think I may have seen every episode of Friends. And I quote it way too much.
44. I still remember where all the hidden money is on Super Mario Brothers.
45. I don't really like going to concerts. Unless they are outside and I can lounge on the grass.
46. I broke a finger and a toe in the same door on different occasions.
47. I drive 18 hours straight through to go home for Christmas every year with Gus in the car.
48. I really like reading chick lit in the summer.
49. I reread my favorite books over and over again.
50. Some of my favorite kid's books include: Anne of Green Gables, The Last of the Really Great Whangdoodles, Holes, Harry Potter, The Phantom Tollbooth, and Maniac Magee.
51. I've won two trophies playing tennis that I am ridiculously proud of.
52. My backyard overlooks a Texas cornfield. We get a lot of snakes.
53. I think it's weird that armadillos are roadkill here.
54. I just got Caller ID this past year. I think I was the last person ever.
55. I am obsessed with getting mail, checking email, and checking my mailbox at school.
56. I've trained my dog to howl and celebrate when we tell him it's Friday.
57. I can teach you about all of the North Carolina lighthouses.
58. I am a good cook and I enjoy cooking. And eating what I cook.
59. I am a major cheapskate. I clip coupons for fun and get a high off of sales.
60. My dad called my sister and I "boys" our whole lives. No one is really sure why.
61. We came out relatively normal anyway.
62. Despite my tales of woe, I really love teaching. It's never, ever boring.
63. My favorite movies are Shag, When Harry Met Sally, and Christmas Vacation.
64. My best friend and my husband can both quote pretty much all of Christmas Vacation.
65. I really like to name things.
66. I'm good at keeping plants alive. I like to name them too.
67. I didn't brush my hair for most of fifth grade.
68. I always like the book better than the movie. Except for Charlie and the Chocolate Factory. I think Roald Dahl put some weed in there.
69. I get really attached to inanimate objects and feel bad when I have to give them away.
70. My second toe is longer than my big toe, which my mom says means I am bossy.
71. I once went through a car wash with the window open. It was a mistake.
72. The word spigot gets on my nerves.
73. I am a spelling nazi. It does matter and spellcheck is not everything.
74. I really like filling out forms.
75. I buy new washcloths every year because I'm paranoid that they might get sour.
76. I had a roommate for 3 years who didn't realize she had sour towels.
77. I love to color with Crayola crayons and to write with Crayola markers.
78. My obsession with school supplies is part of why I became a teacher.
79. I played in a handbell choir in 7th grade.
80. I am really good at remembering numbers.
81. I am skeeved out my touching my own collarbones or the back of my bellybutton.
82. When my sister and I were left home alone, we used to play Don't Touch the Floor. It involved walking on the kitchen table and climbing over the refrigerator. This was not safe.
83. I love anything Reese's.
84. Santa Claus still comes to my house at Christmas.
85. I am 29 years old.
86. Part of my bachelorette party involved singing karaoke in a double wide trailer that was a bar at the beach. I wore a coconut bra and received a t-shirt which read "I got trailor trashed at KoKoMo's." The misspelling is intentional.
87. When cliff jumping on my honeymoon, I tripped while going off the edge and had to spend the ride down regaining my balance.
88. I love to talk on the phone.
89. I have a genetic predisposition to gossip.
90. I have three chin hairs named Larry, Darryl, and Darryl.
91. I have one wild kinky hair that grows out of the top right corner of my head. I call him Mustafa and mail him to my mom everytime I pull him out with a note that says, "Who's My Daddy?"
92. People watching and eavesdropping are two of my favorite sports.
93. My favorite pair of shorts came from Goodwill. They were men's Wranglers and they have a dip ring on one pocket and a wallet mark on the other. My mom hates them.
94. The paint in my office is called Squirrel.
95. I love margaritas, frozen with salt.
96. I have been married for four years.
97. I love boiled peanuts and Bud Light, especially at football games.
98. I think that little kids should dress like little kids and not like Britney Spears.
99. I love writing on my blog, but wish I knew how to make it look prettier.
100. I really like making lists.
1. I've lived in 4 states and 6 cities.
2. I have one sister.
3. No one may touch my feet ever.
4. When I was little, my favorite food was fried chicken livers.
5. I hate going to the grocery store.
6. I also hate emptying the dishwasher.
7. My favorite place is the beach.
8. Cheese is my all time favorite food.
9. If I didn't have scoliosis, the doctor said I'd be two inches taller.
10. I am terrified of spiders.
11. My dad wouldn't let us eat candy or dessert until I was about 12.
12. I got my first cavity when I was 12.
13. I was the editor-in-chief of my college newspaper.
14. I thrived on writing editorials to stir things up.
15. My car is named Lucy. She is a Toyota RAV4.
16. I once got hit in the face with a raw egg while rollerskating.
17. I can walk on stilts.
18. I read incessantly.
19. I've watched Days of Our Lives since 4th grade.
20. I still watch The Real World.
21. When I used to babysit, I always ate junk food from their pantry.
22. I worked at Pizza Hut for 2.5 years in high school.
23. I went to a women's college.
24. I have a garden with tomatoes and peppers.
25. I am legally blind.
26. My hearing and sense of smell are incredible.
27. I took bowling for a PE credit in college. I'm still terrible.
28. I once had a mouse named Ralph.
29. I took Spanish for five years, but I learned most of my Spanish teaching.
30. I can't see those 3D pictures in the comics and it drives me insane.
31. I was on the diving team in high school. I wasn't fabulous.
32. I also ran hurdles for track. I had long, gangly legs.
33. I majored in psychology and accidentally became a teacher.
34. I don't like snakes, but I'm not really scared of them.
35. I like the way new rafts smell.
36. I've never caused a car accident, but two of my cars have been totaled. (Hmmm...)
37. I'm a terrible gambler.
38. I'm highly allergic to cats. Cats like me.
39. I have the most spoiled beagle in the world.
40. I'm terribly uncoordinated.
41. The first thing I ever had psuedo-published was a modern day version of a fairy tale: Little Pink Punky Hood. She had pink hair and carried a boombox on her shoulder.
42. I played the piano for 8 years. Now I can only play Rudolph the Red-Nosed Reindeer.
43. I think I may have seen every episode of Friends. And I quote it way too much.
44. I still remember where all the hidden money is on Super Mario Brothers.
45. I don't really like going to concerts. Unless they are outside and I can lounge on the grass.
46. I broke a finger and a toe in the same door on different occasions.
47. I drive 18 hours straight through to go home for Christmas every year with Gus in the car.
48. I really like reading chick lit in the summer.
49. I reread my favorite books over and over again.
50. Some of my favorite kid's books include: Anne of Green Gables, The Last of the Really Great Whangdoodles, Holes, Harry Potter, The Phantom Tollbooth, and Maniac Magee.
51. I've won two trophies playing tennis that I am ridiculously proud of.
52. My backyard overlooks a Texas cornfield. We get a lot of snakes.
53. I think it's weird that armadillos are roadkill here.
54. I just got Caller ID this past year. I think I was the last person ever.
55. I am obsessed with getting mail, checking email, and checking my mailbox at school.
56. I've trained my dog to howl and celebrate when we tell him it's Friday.
57. I can teach you about all of the North Carolina lighthouses.
58. I am a good cook and I enjoy cooking. And eating what I cook.
59. I am a major cheapskate. I clip coupons for fun and get a high off of sales.
60. My dad called my sister and I "boys" our whole lives. No one is really sure why.
61. We came out relatively normal anyway.
62. Despite my tales of woe, I really love teaching. It's never, ever boring.
63. My favorite movies are Shag, When Harry Met Sally, and Christmas Vacation.
64. My best friend and my husband can both quote pretty much all of Christmas Vacation.
65. I really like to name things.
66. I'm good at keeping plants alive. I like to name them too.
67. I didn't brush my hair for most of fifth grade.
68. I always like the book better than the movie. Except for Charlie and the Chocolate Factory. I think Roald Dahl put some weed in there.
69. I get really attached to inanimate objects and feel bad when I have to give them away.
70. My second toe is longer than my big toe, which my mom says means I am bossy.
71. I once went through a car wash with the window open. It was a mistake.
72. The word spigot gets on my nerves.
73. I am a spelling nazi. It does matter and spellcheck is not everything.
74. I really like filling out forms.
75. I buy new washcloths every year because I'm paranoid that they might get sour.
76. I had a roommate for 3 years who didn't realize she had sour towels.
77. I love to color with Crayola crayons and to write with Crayola markers.
78. My obsession with school supplies is part of why I became a teacher.
79. I played in a handbell choir in 7th grade.
80. I am really good at remembering numbers.
81. I am skeeved out my touching my own collarbones or the back of my bellybutton.
82. When my sister and I were left home alone, we used to play Don't Touch the Floor. It involved walking on the kitchen table and climbing over the refrigerator. This was not safe.
83. I love anything Reese's.
84. Santa Claus still comes to my house at Christmas.
85. I am 29 years old.
86. Part of my bachelorette party involved singing karaoke in a double wide trailer that was a bar at the beach. I wore a coconut bra and received a t-shirt which read "I got trailor trashed at KoKoMo's." The misspelling is intentional.
87. When cliff jumping on my honeymoon, I tripped while going off the edge and had to spend the ride down regaining my balance.
88. I love to talk on the phone.
89. I have a genetic predisposition to gossip.
90. I have three chin hairs named Larry, Darryl, and Darryl.
91. I have one wild kinky hair that grows out of the top right corner of my head. I call him Mustafa and mail him to my mom everytime I pull him out with a note that says, "Who's My Daddy?"
92. People watching and eavesdropping are two of my favorite sports.
93. My favorite pair of shorts came from Goodwill. They were men's Wranglers and they have a dip ring on one pocket and a wallet mark on the other. My mom hates them.
94. The paint in my office is called Squirrel.
95. I love margaritas, frozen with salt.
96. I have been married for four years.
97. I love boiled peanuts and Bud Light, especially at football games.
98. I think that little kids should dress like little kids and not like Britney Spears.
99. I love writing on my blog, but wish I knew how to make it look prettier.
100. I really like making lists.
Saturday, June 18, 2005
Who WAS That Guy?
Before I begin this post, I have to be sure that the reader fully understands my incredibly irrational phobia of all things legged. Well, not all things. All insect-ish/crustacean-ish/creepy organisms. I'm okay with a nice legged mammal. But remove that fur? I have vivid dreams at night about creatures - generally leggy spiders or roaches with faces - with umpteen legs crawling all over me and between the covers on my bed. (At this point, I generally leap up in bed screaming and trying to high step my way out of danger, but that will have to be another story for another day) I can't watch Fear Factor, I am a very jumpy gardener, and I have my exterminator on speed dial. The movie that scared me the most was Honey, I Shrunk the Kids, because I was so incredibly skeeved by the bugs when the kids got lost in the backyard.
I gawked in amazement as long as I could stand it and then thought this situation through a bit more thoroughly. These...critters were crawfish. They dwell in mud. Some call them mudbugs. People scrape them up out of the mud and throw them live in a pot so that they will squeal and then they eat them with a nice side of potatoes. A bunch of red roaches with a side of potatoes. Huh. Here's what I want to know. Who was that first person who said, "Hey, lookit what I found here in the mud! Let's eat it!" Who was that guy? And what exactly was his IQ? I'd like to know the same thing about the first person who ate oysters. I mean, what were you thinking there?
Here's the strange part: I adore oysters. I can suck down a whole peck of oysters by myself and be just as happy as a...okay, seafood similes are a little cheesy in this story...lark. Happy as a lark. I have no problem with oysters, and let's be real: oysters are just a big 'ol booger in a shell. And sometimes they have sand in them for texture. What's great about that? And, again, why - WHY? - would that first person test that out? "Hey look, hon! Here's something slimy and grey inside this here crusty shell....wanna eat it? I picked it out the mud just for you." I just don't get it. But I will eat it. Clearly, oysters are sans legs and that makes me happy.
But, back to that first crawfish guy? I think I know what happened next. One of his close relatives then decided that it would be a real delicacy to experiment with some other parts of the crawfish. Let's be real here. This varmit is shell, pinchers, antennae and legs. Once you've eaten that little bit of meat, it's time to let go. Apparently, that's just my opinion because I watched people suck crawfish heads. "To get the good brain juices" they said. Uh huh. Okay. Yeah...no. Pass the broccoli.
Consider yourself fully backgrounded.
Last weekend, I went to my first crawfish boil. Crawfish, you might be thinking, some little guy in the fish family. So they'd like you to believe! Harumph. You know what they rolled out of that pot? Big red roaches. Roaches with pinchers. My full body shudder had to have had some effect on the Richter Scale as I quickly steered myself over to the broccoli casserole and Fritos table. Ya'll, the people at that party absolutely swarmed that table like vultures. They were not gathering to look at the little beasts....they were there to eat them. And do you know what's worse? They touched them! With their bare hands. Yes, way.
I gawked in amazement as long as I could stand it and then thought this situation through a bit more thoroughly. These...critters were crawfish. They dwell in mud. Some call them mudbugs. People scrape them up out of the mud and throw them live in a pot so that they will squeal and then they eat them with a nice side of potatoes. A bunch of red roaches with a side of potatoes. Huh. Here's what I want to know. Who was that first person who said, "Hey, lookit what I found here in the mud! Let's eat it!" Who was that guy? And what exactly was his IQ? I'd like to know the same thing about the first person who ate oysters. I mean, what were you thinking there?
Here's the strange part: I adore oysters. I can suck down a whole peck of oysters by myself and be just as happy as a...okay, seafood similes are a little cheesy in this story...lark. Happy as a lark. I have no problem with oysters, and let's be real: oysters are just a big 'ol booger in a shell. And sometimes they have sand in them for texture. What's great about that? And, again, why - WHY? - would that first person test that out? "Hey look, hon! Here's something slimy and grey inside this here crusty shell....wanna eat it? I picked it out the mud just for you." I just don't get it. But I will eat it. Clearly, oysters are sans legs and that makes me happy.
But, back to that first crawfish guy? I think I know what happened next. One of his close relatives then decided that it would be a real delicacy to experiment with some other parts of the crawfish. Let's be real here. This varmit is shell, pinchers, antennae and legs. Once you've eaten that little bit of meat, it's time to let go. Apparently, that's just my opinion because I watched people suck crawfish heads. "To get the good brain juices" they said. Uh huh. Okay. Yeah...no. Pass the broccoli.
Friday, June 17, 2005
Bubbles Revisited
Oh yeah, that's right! I'm re-publishing again! You know why, oh doubting ones? Because this one even made me laugh again because I love it so much. You can't read this and not laugh. I challenge you. This one almost makes me want to go back to school in August! Almost.
You know, sometimes things happen to me at school that I just know no one is going to believe. I can't say I blame them. If these things didn't happen to me, I wouldn't believe me either. Remember Bubbles? Anyone who read that post is probably still in disbelief. If you haven't read it, please do before you read below. Well, same kid, same teaching moment, different day. Sigh...
Having a teacher conference over a piece of a child's writing, I was interrupted again today:
Me: (to conferencee) I like the way you used dialogue in this-
A curly-headed shadow falls over my table. I look up. Bubbles is staring at me intently, as though trying to commune with me.
Me: Yeeeesss? [irritated at disruption]
Bubbles: Mrs? (No, I'm not her today. She's out. Why must children waste precious seconds asking my name?)
Me: Um hmmm?
Bubbles: I itch.
Me: Say you do, huh? [Corners of my mouth are twitching. I struggle to regain control.]
Bubbles: I feel like there's ants crawling in my butt. [stares at me intently]
Me: [massive fake choking coughing fit as laughter seeks to explode forth.]
Bubbles: I think I feel them moving, like...you know. You know? [No, sorry. I really don't.]
Me: What do you suggest you do to correct this problem?
Bubbles: Shrugs. Squirms. Makes direct eye contact. [Ants! She said ants!]
Me: I think you should go take care of your, um, little situation. Don't you?
Bubbles: Where? I had ants in my shirt today. [Now, what are the odds of that?] Now I think they're in my (looks around to make sure no one is listening) panties! [Looks at me aghast, as though I should grant her an immediate ant-free panty environment with a swish of my magic hiney stick.]
Me: [snicker] Somewhere private, I'm thinking?
Bubbles: Like the bathroom or the nurse? [scratches deftly]
Me: Look kid, you're a freak. I refuse to fill out a form for the nurse who already thinks I send too many kids who have high fevers during flu season. I'm not writing "Bubbles believes her anus to be laden with ants" on a health form. Go deal and leave me alone.
Me, really: I'm thinking the bathroom should suffice.
Bubbles: Okay! Thank you, Mrs. R! I love you! [Lunges at me with rapid-fire speed and wraps arms around my neck.]
Me: Go! Go! The ants! [Unwrap myself from her dramatic embrace. Grab for hand sanitizer.]
She scampers off. The end.
Huh??? Ants? Are you kidding me? Does this child have any form of hygiene in her backyard? Disgust.
You know, sometimes things happen to me at school that I just know no one is going to believe. I can't say I blame them. If these things didn't happen to me, I wouldn't believe me either. Remember Bubbles? Anyone who read that post is probably still in disbelief. If you haven't read it, please do before you read below. Well, same kid, same teaching moment, different day. Sigh...
Having a teacher conference over a piece of a child's writing, I was interrupted again today:
Me: (to conferencee) I like the way you used dialogue in this-
A curly-headed shadow falls over my table. I look up. Bubbles is staring at me intently, as though trying to commune with me.
Me: Yeeeesss? [irritated at disruption]
Bubbles: Mrs? (No, I'm not her today. She's out. Why must children waste precious seconds asking my name?)
Me: Um hmmm?
Bubbles: I itch.
Me: Say you do, huh? [Corners of my mouth are twitching. I struggle to regain control.]
Bubbles: I feel like there's ants crawling in my butt. [stares at me intently]
Me: [massive fake choking coughing fit as laughter seeks to explode forth.]
Bubbles: I think I feel them moving, like...you know. You know? [No, sorry. I really don't.]
Me: What do you suggest you do to correct this problem?
Bubbles: Shrugs. Squirms. Makes direct eye contact. [Ants! She said ants!]
Me: I think you should go take care of your, um, little situation. Don't you?
Bubbles: Where? I had ants in my shirt today. [Now, what are the odds of that?] Now I think they're in my (looks around to make sure no one is listening) panties! [Looks at me aghast, as though I should grant her an immediate ant-free panty environment with a swish of my magic hiney stick.]
Me: [snicker] Somewhere private, I'm thinking?
Bubbles: Like the bathroom or the nurse? [scratches deftly]
Me: Look kid, you're a freak. I refuse to fill out a form for the nurse who already thinks I send too many kids who have high fevers during flu season. I'm not writing "Bubbles believes her anus to be laden with ants" on a health form. Go deal and leave me alone.
Me, really: I'm thinking the bathroom should suffice.
Bubbles: Okay! Thank you, Mrs. R! I love you! [Lunges at me with rapid-fire speed and wraps arms around my neck.]
Me: Go! Go! The ants! [Unwrap myself from her dramatic embrace. Grab for hand sanitizer.]
She scampers off. The end.
Huh??? Ants? Are you kidding me? Does this child have any form of hygiene in her backyard? Disgust.
Thursday, June 16, 2005
Last Gus Post, I swear.
Vet's Office: May I help you?
Me: Hi! It's me again....I need some more beagle eating trauma advice.
VO: What'd Gus eat this time?
Me: A brownie. No dark chocolate. About 3 people bites' worth. I'm guessing about an hour ago. I just came home to find the evidence.
VO: Let's go hydrogen peroxide again. He should be okay.
Me: Thanks! How's your summer going? I haven't talked to you in at least a month! (etc)
Have you ever given a dog hydrogen peroxide? Have you really? It's one of the most foul and inhumane ways to retrieve things from a dog's innards. But it works. It works instantly, violently, and thoroughly. Gus is not a fan, but he was really not in a position to argue.
I dragged his fat, limp self to the dreaded bathtub of abuse and whipped out the oft-used familiar brown bottle and began to pour. This is the point at which Gus tries to run on the bathtub. Legs flailing, ears flying, nails scratching, look of panic in his eyes. It's pretty cute really. I pried his jaws open, poured in the magic potion, and waited.
The stomach lurching is the most foul part of the event, soon followed by the wicked nasty phlegm vomit, but it's a pretty regular event in our household. This tried and true technique has returned chocolate, earrings, rings, plants, and an assortment of other odds and ends over the last couple of years. I stand by it. Gus does not. He in fact will not "speak" to me for a good 2 or 3 hours after the cleansing.
Me: Hi! It's me again....I need some more beagle eating trauma advice.
VO: What'd Gus eat this time?
Me: A brownie. No dark chocolate. About 3 people bites' worth. I'm guessing about an hour ago. I just came home to find the evidence.
VO: Let's go hydrogen peroxide again. He should be okay.
Me: Thanks! How's your summer going? I haven't talked to you in at least a month! (etc)
Have you ever given a dog hydrogen peroxide? Have you really? It's one of the most foul and inhumane ways to retrieve things from a dog's innards. But it works. It works instantly, violently, and thoroughly. Gus is not a fan, but he was really not in a position to argue.
I dragged his fat, limp self to the dreaded bathtub of abuse and whipped out the oft-used familiar brown bottle and began to pour. This is the point at which Gus tries to run on the bathtub. Legs flailing, ears flying, nails scratching, look of panic in his eyes. It's pretty cute really. I pried his jaws open, poured in the magic potion, and waited.
The stomach lurching is the most foul part of the event, soon followed by the wicked nasty phlegm vomit, but it's a pretty regular event in our household. This tried and true technique has returned chocolate, earrings, rings, plants, and an assortment of other odds and ends over the last couple of years. I stand by it. Gus does not. He in fact will not "speak" to me for a good 2 or 3 hours after the cleansing.
In classic beagle retaliation, he spent the night waking me up every few hours so he could throw up and I could clean it up in my half-witted state of slumber. All is well and forgotten today. He's devoured two Kleenexes, one envelope and a dead leaf from a plant. All back to normal.
Wednesday, June 15, 2005
What are the odds?
Lounging at the pool today....a nice 108 degree heat index, a mild red ozone warning, sunny skies, a crystal clear pool, my bottle of water and a bikini. I was happy as a clam at the beach. It seems to be where I find myself nearly every other day. To the point that my tennis partner has actually requested that I not lay out on tennis match days; it seems to drain my playing abilities to even less than their usual level of crudtastically average. But, I accidentally-on-purpose found myself at the pool again today. It was simply fabulous until...
My (teacher) friend looked at me in alarm and without moving her lips said, "Dat kid is shtaring at ush" and ever-so-slightly jerked her head at approximately 2:00. I slid my eyes to the left instinctively not moving my head and hissed back, "Do we know him?" She squinted behind her sunglasses and groaned softly. "It'sh Ch-oey!" she moaned in disgust. Joey. It had to be Joey. Joey who stared at teachers' boobs. Joey who moved to our school and taught the whole class new swear words. Joey who drove me insane for six months.
Joey was apparently a water wonder. A water wonder who was fully captivated by the notion of two of his teachers in bikinis. He stared openly, daring us to say anything. We did not. However, the afternoon then lost a great deal of its charm and we reluctantly called it a day and left Joey the wonder ogler back at the pool.
What are the odds? I'm in a different city! It's supposed to be safe! These kids are everywhere. Grumble. This is supposed to be my break from them.
My (teacher) friend looked at me in alarm and without moving her lips said, "Dat kid is shtaring at ush" and ever-so-slightly jerked her head at approximately 2:00. I slid my eyes to the left instinctively not moving my head and hissed back, "Do we know him?" She squinted behind her sunglasses and groaned softly. "It'sh Ch-oey!" she moaned in disgust. Joey. It had to be Joey. Joey who stared at teachers' boobs. Joey who moved to our school and taught the whole class new swear words. Joey who drove me insane for six months.
Joey was apparently a water wonder. A water wonder who was fully captivated by the notion of two of his teachers in bikinis. He stared openly, daring us to say anything. We did not. However, the afternoon then lost a great deal of its charm and we reluctantly called it a day and left Joey the wonder ogler back at the pool.
What are the odds? I'm in a different city! It's supposed to be safe! These kids are everywhere. Grumble. This is supposed to be my break from them.
Public humiliation is good for the soul.
After my humiliating display at the dermatologist's office Monday, I dropped my coveted prescriptions off at the pharmacy and went on my merry way. Hours later, I swung back by to pick them up. After all, we mustn't tarry when we are combating adult acne. A 29 year old person should have outgrown this adolescent ailment by now. I digress.
At the pharmacy, I gave my last name and saw the ears of the pharmacist perk up on down the counter.
"Is it the ACNE CREAM?!" he shouts down the counter, into the pharmacy and across half of the grocery store. Oh, Lord. A little louder please, I don't think the folks back in the dairy section heard you. I ducked my head in embarrassment and began reading medical pamphlets with great zeal. Diabetes? High Blood Pressure? Who was I to care? I was definitely not the acne-ridden patient in question. I furrowed my brow and hid behind the Asthma and You brochure. I carefully stayed away from the Exzema leaflet. No sirree.
"It just says skin cream!" replies the cashier to the pharmacist. People in line are watching them like a tennis match.
"Ma'am?" I peeked over my pamphlet and raised my eyebrows. "We don't have the acne medication in the strength your doctor requested in stock. Would you like me to call it into the Walgreens down the street?" The people in line looked at me to see if I would indeed like my acne cream transferred over to Walgreens. I nodded meekly and my acne and I slunk out of the store.
Perhaps I'll just use the drive through at the Walgreens. And maybe a veil.
At the pharmacy, I gave my last name and saw the ears of the pharmacist perk up on down the counter.
"Is it the ACNE CREAM?!" he shouts down the counter, into the pharmacy and across half of the grocery store. Oh, Lord. A little louder please, I don't think the folks back in the dairy section heard you. I ducked my head in embarrassment and began reading medical pamphlets with great zeal. Diabetes? High Blood Pressure? Who was I to care? I was definitely not the acne-ridden patient in question. I furrowed my brow and hid behind the Asthma and You brochure. I carefully stayed away from the Exzema leaflet. No sirree.
"It just says skin cream!" replies the cashier to the pharmacist. People in line are watching them like a tennis match.
"Ma'am?" I peeked over my pamphlet and raised my eyebrows. "We don't have the acne medication in the strength your doctor requested in stock. Would you like me to call it into the Walgreens down the street?" The people in line looked at me to see if I would indeed like my acne cream transferred over to Walgreens. I nodded meekly and my acne and I slunk out of the store.
Perhaps I'll just use the drive through at the Walgreens. And maybe a veil.
Tuesday, June 14, 2005
Beauty, Grace and Charm
Doctor's offices are a bizarre microcosm of society. Only I'm not sure which part of society they actually represent. I want to know who put in place the rule that you have to be so quiet in a doctor's waiting room? It's like a daggum funeral wake in there. The people who come together speak in whispers so hushed that I can't even eavesdrop and there is simply nothing else to do! And I knew I was going to be there for at least 45 minutes because the waiting room had people packed in there like sausages.
It was a dermatologist's office, so I spent a little time playing Guess the Skin Malady until people started staring back. I then perused the vast and varied magazine selection, when I actually began seriously contemplating playing with that little wire abacus-on-crack toy that exists in all doctor's waiting rooms. And the magazines! The magazines in this joint needed some serious help. I may make it a charitable giving effort to start taking my old magazines over there. Who is the person in charge of ordering magazines for a waiting room anyway? Is it whatever you can get a free subscription of for a year? Yesterday, I was presented with four choices: Automobile Today, Gun and Ammo, Field and Stream, or Hispanica. What was I supposed to do with those? Was I in a doctor's waiting room or a Klan meeting? It was torturous. Until at last, they called me up to give my license and insurance information. Goody! I trotted up to the desk enthusiastically while all of the silent mourners' eyes followed me across the room. Suckers. I had something to do!
I was going to milk this little diversion for all it was worth. I grasped my wallet from my purse and gave it quite the spirited tug when....CLANK! CLATTER! DING! SPLASH! The entire population of the waiting room jumped three feet as I interrupted the tranquil bereavement by flinging all the change from my wallet all over the counter, the fake plant, the back of the receptionist's computer, the bottom of her pencil cup, and best? Into her coffee cup.
"Heh, heh..." I chortled, embarrassed as I frantically picked up coins from every crevice of the office. Why do I keep so much change? Why did I not zip the little zipper? Why? WHY? I felt 20 pairs of eyes staring at me with keen interest. Being the smooth talker that I am, I tried to play it off. "Bet you weren't expecting a tip today, were you?" I tried to coax the receptionist out of her glare. She was busy fishing my change out of her morning coffee and ignored me with stony silence. Wrinkled, mishapen shaking fingers of the elderly patients began to point out all of the change that had escaped me beneath various pieces of furniture and patron's purses that were in close range. I got down on my hands and knees and feverishly grabbed at coins, thanking the aged ones while fighting the urge to slap away their pointing fingers. I was willing to part with up to 95 cents just to get this ordeal over with.
I scrambled back up to the desk and put myself and my purse back together. The receptionist held out her hand. "Insurance? License?" Oh, right. I had forgotten why I was here. With painstaking vigilance, I carefully slid the two cards across the counter to her, demonstrating what a good patient I could be. I smiled winningly and crossed my arms on the counter, lest I disturb anything else. I could still feel the people staring at me. I completed my transaction without further commotion and carefully stepped back to my seat. I lifted a copy of Gun and Ammo to my face and sat quietly until my name was called.
Oh, the embarrassment. At least I gave those poor people something to do in there. That place was a beating.
It was a dermatologist's office, so I spent a little time playing Guess the Skin Malady until people started staring back. I then perused the vast and varied magazine selection, when I actually began seriously contemplating playing with that little wire abacus-on-crack toy that exists in all doctor's waiting rooms. And the magazines! The magazines in this joint needed some serious help. I may make it a charitable giving effort to start taking my old magazines over there. Who is the person in charge of ordering magazines for a waiting room anyway? Is it whatever you can get a free subscription of for a year? Yesterday, I was presented with four choices: Automobile Today, Gun and Ammo, Field and Stream, or Hispanica. What was I supposed to do with those? Was I in a doctor's waiting room or a Klan meeting? It was torturous. Until at last, they called me up to give my license and insurance information. Goody! I trotted up to the desk enthusiastically while all of the silent mourners' eyes followed me across the room. Suckers. I had something to do!
I was going to milk this little diversion for all it was worth. I grasped my wallet from my purse and gave it quite the spirited tug when....CLANK! CLATTER! DING! SPLASH! The entire population of the waiting room jumped three feet as I interrupted the tranquil bereavement by flinging all the change from my wallet all over the counter, the fake plant, the back of the receptionist's computer, the bottom of her pencil cup, and best? Into her coffee cup.
"Heh, heh..." I chortled, embarrassed as I frantically picked up coins from every crevice of the office. Why do I keep so much change? Why did I not zip the little zipper? Why? WHY? I felt 20 pairs of eyes staring at me with keen interest. Being the smooth talker that I am, I tried to play it off. "Bet you weren't expecting a tip today, were you?" I tried to coax the receptionist out of her glare. She was busy fishing my change out of her morning coffee and ignored me with stony silence. Wrinkled, mishapen shaking fingers of the elderly patients began to point out all of the change that had escaped me beneath various pieces of furniture and patron's purses that were in close range. I got down on my hands and knees and feverishly grabbed at coins, thanking the aged ones while fighting the urge to slap away their pointing fingers. I was willing to part with up to 95 cents just to get this ordeal over with.
I scrambled back up to the desk and put myself and my purse back together. The receptionist held out her hand. "Insurance? License?" Oh, right. I had forgotten why I was here. With painstaking vigilance, I carefully slid the two cards across the counter to her, demonstrating what a good patient I could be. I smiled winningly and crossed my arms on the counter, lest I disturb anything else. I could still feel the people staring at me. I completed my transaction without further commotion and carefully stepped back to my seat. I lifted a copy of Gun and Ammo to my face and sat quietly until my name was called.
Oh, the embarrassment. At least I gave those poor people something to do in there. That place was a beating.
Sunday, June 12, 2005
"Hey Gus! You want to take a bath?"
I called jokingly as I scrubbed the bathtub. It's amazing how quickly my busy life wheedled down to scrubbing bathtubs and harassing the dog for a good time since school let out. I heard a frantic scramble as paws struck carpet, ID tags jangled wildly, and nails churned into the carpet as Gus made a mad scramble away from me, the one who dared use the word "bath" in his presence.
"Gus! Just kidding, Gus! Come back!" I cajoled across the house. This dog has serious emotional issues with baths. He's very anti-cleanliness in general, but particularly regarding baths. The house rang with silence. The little stinker was serious about not having a bath today. I sighed and rose from my scrubbing to go find my emotionally wounded beagle. Walking from room to room, I found no evidence of an anxious beagle stressing over the prospect of getting clean. I looked behind chairs, under pillows, no Gus. And then I spotted his nose sticking ever-so-slightly from beneath my bed. He was on guard. And very serious.
This was not a joking situation. I talked sweetly to him, explaining the concept of a little joke. (Words wasted on a beagle, all he knows is that he distinctly heard me say "bath" while I was in the room of the bathing. Enough said.) There was no convincing Gus to come out, so I just left him there and finished cleaning up the bathroom.
Ten minutes later, there was still no sign of Gus, so I checked on his again, tried some more gentle coaxing. Nope. Not coming out. Right now? He's still there:
"Gus! Just kidding, Gus! Come back!" I cajoled across the house. This dog has serious emotional issues with baths. He's very anti-cleanliness in general, but particularly regarding baths. The house rang with silence. The little stinker was serious about not having a bath today. I sighed and rose from my scrubbing to go find my emotionally wounded beagle. Walking from room to room, I found no evidence of an anxious beagle stressing over the prospect of getting clean. I looked behind chairs, under pillows, no Gus. And then I spotted his nose sticking ever-so-slightly from beneath my bed. He was on guard. And very serious.
This was not a joking situation. I talked sweetly to him, explaining the concept of a little joke. (Words wasted on a beagle, all he knows is that he distinctly heard me say "bath" while I was in the room of the bathing. Enough said.) There was no convincing Gus to come out, so I just left him there and finished cleaning up the bathroom.
Ten minutes later, there was still no sign of Gus, so I checked on his again, tried some more gentle coaxing. Nope. Not coming out. Right now? He's still there:
Poor Gus. So emotionally abused.
Saturday, June 11, 2005
Say...
Is it ever appropriate to-
a) use someone else's loofah?
or
b) eat what you caught in your teeth off of your floss since you are going to "rinse anyway"?
Just wondering.
***Editor's Note: My mother seems to think that these questions could have been about me. For the record, the very clear record, they most certainly are not. I'm just trying to prove a point about nastiness and hygiene. Your comments are very helpful in this endeavor.
a) use someone else's loofah?
or
b) eat what you caught in your teeth off of your floss since you are going to "rinse anyway"?
Just wondering.
***Editor's Note: My mother seems to think that these questions could have been about me. For the record, the very clear record, they most certainly are not. I'm just trying to prove a point about nastiness and hygiene. Your comments are very helpful in this endeavor.
Friday, June 10, 2005
How to Make the Most of Your Summer Vacation: A Guide for Elementary Teachers
10. Read adult books. Enjoy not having to make up comprehension questions as you read. Try to curb the urge to share really good reading response activities with a friend.
9. Drink the actual recommended amount of water to nourish your system after ten months of dehydration due to lack of opportunity to use the restroom. Pee freely.
8. Make a good lunch everyday, one that doesn't come from a lunch box. Take more than thirty minutes to eat it while you do something mindless like - gasp! - watch TV. And not Reading Rainbow.
7. Email your friends with jobs during the day and let them know what you're doing. They always appreciate the frequent update.
6. Do your grocery shopping when all of the little old ladies do - mid-morning on a Wednesday. Engage them in conversation, they are interesting and like to visit.
5. Read all those forwards that your friends sent you during the school year from their computer jobs. You didn't have time to read them back then, but now you can even reply to the "Getting to Know Your Friends" forwards.
4. DO NOT TEACH SUMMER SCHOOL. Empathize with the people who do. Take them lunch on your way to the pool.
3. Sleep in, sleep in, sleep in. And even stay up to watch the nighttime news! Catch up on TiVo. I just watched the season finale of the OC and Desperate Housewives last night. I'm a little behind.
2. Let down the eyebrow. Relax the snapping fingers. Release your face from the Teacher Stare. It's all good now.
1. Go to the pool and laugh at the parents who are frustrated at having to deal with their own children all day. Giggle quietly behind your book. Mwah-ah-ah!
9. Drink the actual recommended amount of water to nourish your system after ten months of dehydration due to lack of opportunity to use the restroom. Pee freely.
8. Make a good lunch everyday, one that doesn't come from a lunch box. Take more than thirty minutes to eat it while you do something mindless like - gasp! - watch TV. And not Reading Rainbow.
7. Email your friends with jobs during the day and let them know what you're doing. They always appreciate the frequent update.
6. Do your grocery shopping when all of the little old ladies do - mid-morning on a Wednesday. Engage them in conversation, they are interesting and like to visit.
5. Read all those forwards that your friends sent you during the school year from their computer jobs. You didn't have time to read them back then, but now you can even reply to the "Getting to Know Your Friends" forwards.
4. DO NOT TEACH SUMMER SCHOOL. Empathize with the people who do. Take them lunch on your way to the pool.
3. Sleep in, sleep in, sleep in. And even stay up to watch the nighttime news! Catch up on TiVo. I just watched the season finale of the OC and Desperate Housewives last night. I'm a little behind.
2. Let down the eyebrow. Relax the snapping fingers. Release your face from the Teacher Stare. It's all good now.
1. Go to the pool and laugh at the parents who are frustrated at having to deal with their own children all day. Giggle quietly behind your book. Mwah-ah-ah!
Flashback Friday!
***Editor's Note: Flashback Friday has been zinged as "not interesting" by some old school readers. Flashback Friday is hereby up for debate. ***
Just so that I can continue to appreciate my summer days, it's important to remember what I am missing! I was flipping through my January posts and this one not only made me giggle, but reminded me to appreciate each summer day. Cheers!
Bell rings. Day commences. Gaggle of youth rush through door(way) (okay, big space in wall posing as a doorway) (okay, massive void directly into hall). Brace for oncoming traffic and...
Student #1: Mrs. R! Mrs. R! Guess what? I got my first pimple! [jabbed finger aggressively at white head beneath nose] Look!
Me: Wow! It's like you're a teenager now! [She beamed proudly and strutted away with her zit and her purse - a true sign of teenage-ness]
Student #2: [FreakyWeird!Kid from the other day] My molars? In my mouth? They hurt...it's like a heartbeat... [feels face]
Me: Mmmmmhmmmm.
Student #3: [hugs me with excitement] I got a fortune! Read it! Read it! It says, "You will be suc-suc-suc-cessful in all that you do." I'm gonna start collecting 'em! Isn't it awesome? They’re small.
Me: Mmmmmmmhmmmmm! [Think to self: Bless your little heart and your little 72 IQ. At least you're too dumb to know. You'll be suc-suc-something, I'm sure.]
Student #2/FWK: I think my mouth is bleeding...these molars? [Pats face]
Student #4, who has been listening: I collect cow bones.
Me: [Ya freak!?] Cool! How unique! Have you unpacked?
Student #3: Guess what else? Everybody in my family has the flu but me! [Grins proudly, heads to me for another hug. I pulled a duck and turn and spun her towards the line. Washed hands.]
Colleague rushed in, thrust a chicken-scratched note into my hand and said, "Deal with this please." I read it. Dear (William), We think you are cute! WHAT A MAN! We as in two girls. We're not telling! Love, ? and ?
Oh joy. I squinted at the handwriting, trying to place a face with the style. I narrowed it down to two possibilities. I called them over and waited expectantly while I stared at them, note in my hand. Their eyes darted toward the note and "My mom already knows!" one blurted. "Did I mention your mom?" I asked. "Oh. No. Well....I didn't write it," she changed gears lamely. "Write what?" I asked innocently. "That note to William," she gave me an innocent look. "How did you know it was to William?" I smiled. Their faces fell. "We'll talk about this later. Go unpack." They slumped away, sulking and muttering under their breaths.
Chronically disorganized disaster (CDD) of a student walked in. "Hey buddy!" I called. "Do you have everything you need for today?" He nodded enthusiastically, flopping to the floor to get in line for music. "Got your pencil?" He stood up and headed back to his locker.
Student #5: Drop it like it's hot...drop it like it's hot...
Student #6: I think I'm gonna throw up... [inexplicably moved closer to me.]
Me: Step off! Bathroom! Move! Now! Get! Clear a path! [Shoo him away, wash hands]
Student #5: Drop it like it's hot...
CDD returned. "Got your homework folder?" I reminded. He slapped himself on the forehead, grinned, and returned to locker.
Student # 6: I threw up. [groans and wipes tears from eyes]
Me: Did you make it to a toilet? [first things first]
Student #6: Mostly... he groaned miserably. [okay, details I didn't need] Sent child to nurse with other child. Washed hands again.
Student #5: Drop it like it's hot...drop it like it's hot...
The rest of the students walked in, one still wearing his bicycle helmet. I knocked on it and smiled at him. "Planning to crash?" I asked. "Aw! I always forget!" He removed chin strap and headed back to locker just as CDD walked back in with his math book. "This is language arts," I reminded him with a smile. "I know!" he said. I pointed to his math book. "Oh! Duh!" he grinned and headed back.
Student #2/FWK: Can I go to the nurse? About my molars? [He pointed to his cheeks in case I missed his earlier gestures of pain]
Me: You just got here and your molars are fine. Go get in line.
Student #5: Drop it like it's hot... [what might have been attempt at dance move]
Student #2/FWK: But they hurt! Owwwww.... [rubs face]
Me: No, they don't. Go get in line. Go! [wave him away]
Suddenly in a flurry of motion, many 4th grade girls entered, waving letters in my face, apparently for me. I felt the drama move through the room. "These are all our witness letters about what TIARA did to us! We are WITNESSES! We wrote it all down so you'll know what really happened." All five had hand-on-hip attitude stances. Clearly, they'd been very, very wronged by Tiara. I assured them that I would peruse their witness letters and give the state of affairs my full attention while they were in music. I encouraged them to get in line.
CDD returned and triumphantly sat in line. "Do you have everything now?" I asked. He nodded proudly. I gazed at his white gym sock. "Where is your shoe?" I asked pointedly. He looked at his foot as though it didn't belong to him, then turned back to me. "Your shoe? It was on your foot? Looks a lot like the one on your other foot?" I prodded. He nodded gravely. He understood that his shoe was missing. He began to look around him on the floor as though it may have wandered off.
The announcements began. Honor the Texas Flag. I pledge allegiance to thee, Texas, one and indivisible. We pledged and saluted and had our minute of silence. The line began to meander out of the room, off to music class. I felt a look of bliss take over my face. All be-pimpled, molared, half-shod, helmeted, non-vomiting, and somewhat happy. Leaving the room. I had found my happy place. Fifteen minutes done and behind me, only six hours and 45 minutes to go.
Just so that I can continue to appreciate my summer days, it's important to remember what I am missing! I was flipping through my January posts and this one not only made me giggle, but reminded me to appreciate each summer day. Cheers!
Bell rings. Day commences. Gaggle of youth rush through door(way) (okay, big space in wall posing as a doorway) (okay, massive void directly into hall). Brace for oncoming traffic and...
Student #1: Mrs. R! Mrs. R! Guess what? I got my first pimple! [jabbed finger aggressively at white head beneath nose] Look!
Me: Wow! It's like you're a teenager now! [She beamed proudly and strutted away with her zit and her purse - a true sign of teenage-ness]
Student #2: [FreakyWeird!Kid from the other day] My molars? In my mouth? They hurt...it's like a heartbeat... [feels face]
Me: Mmmmmhmmmm.
Student #3: [hugs me with excitement] I got a fortune! Read it! Read it! It says, "You will be suc-suc-suc-cessful in all that you do." I'm gonna start collecting 'em! Isn't it awesome? They’re small.
Me: Mmmmmmmhmmmmm! [Think to self: Bless your little heart and your little 72 IQ. At least you're too dumb to know. You'll be suc-suc-something, I'm sure.]
Student #2/FWK: I think my mouth is bleeding...these molars? [Pats face]
Student #4, who has been listening: I collect cow bones.
Me: [Ya freak!?] Cool! How unique! Have you unpacked?
Student #3: Guess what else? Everybody in my family has the flu but me! [Grins proudly, heads to me for another hug. I pulled a duck and turn and spun her towards the line. Washed hands.]
Colleague rushed in, thrust a chicken-scratched note into my hand and said, "Deal with this please." I read it. Dear (William), We think you are cute! WHAT A MAN! We as in two girls. We're not telling! Love, ? and ?
Oh joy. I squinted at the handwriting, trying to place a face with the style. I narrowed it down to two possibilities. I called them over and waited expectantly while I stared at them, note in my hand. Their eyes darted toward the note and "My mom already knows!" one blurted. "Did I mention your mom?" I asked. "Oh. No. Well....I didn't write it," she changed gears lamely. "Write what?" I asked innocently. "That note to William," she gave me an innocent look. "How did you know it was to William?" I smiled. Their faces fell. "We'll talk about this later. Go unpack." They slumped away, sulking and muttering under their breaths.
Chronically disorganized disaster (CDD) of a student walked in. "Hey buddy!" I called. "Do you have everything you need for today?" He nodded enthusiastically, flopping to the floor to get in line for music. "Got your pencil?" He stood up and headed back to his locker.
Student #5: Drop it like it's hot...drop it like it's hot...
Student #6: I think I'm gonna throw up... [inexplicably moved closer to me.]
Me: Step off! Bathroom! Move! Now! Get! Clear a path! [Shoo him away, wash hands]
Student #5: Drop it like it's hot...
CDD returned. "Got your homework folder?" I reminded. He slapped himself on the forehead, grinned, and returned to locker.
Student # 6: I threw up. [groans and wipes tears from eyes]
Me: Did you make it to a toilet? [first things first]
Student #6: Mostly... he groaned miserably. [okay, details I didn't need] Sent child to nurse with other child. Washed hands again.
Student #5: Drop it like it's hot...drop it like it's hot...
The rest of the students walked in, one still wearing his bicycle helmet. I knocked on it and smiled at him. "Planning to crash?" I asked. "Aw! I always forget!" He removed chin strap and headed back to locker just as CDD walked back in with his math book. "This is language arts," I reminded him with a smile. "I know!" he said. I pointed to his math book. "Oh! Duh!" he grinned and headed back.
Student #2/FWK: Can I go to the nurse? About my molars? [He pointed to his cheeks in case I missed his earlier gestures of pain]
Me: You just got here and your molars are fine. Go get in line.
Student #5: Drop it like it's hot... [what might have been attempt at dance move]
Student #2/FWK: But they hurt! Owwwww.... [rubs face]
Me: No, they don't. Go get in line. Go! [wave him away]
Suddenly in a flurry of motion, many 4th grade girls entered, waving letters in my face, apparently for me. I felt the drama move through the room. "These are all our witness letters about what TIARA did to us! We are WITNESSES! We wrote it all down so you'll know what really happened." All five had hand-on-hip attitude stances. Clearly, they'd been very, very wronged by Tiara. I assured them that I would peruse their witness letters and give the state of affairs my full attention while they were in music. I encouraged them to get in line.
CDD returned and triumphantly sat in line. "Do you have everything now?" I asked. He nodded proudly. I gazed at his white gym sock. "Where is your shoe?" I asked pointedly. He looked at his foot as though it didn't belong to him, then turned back to me. "Your shoe? It was on your foot? Looks a lot like the one on your other foot?" I prodded. He nodded gravely. He understood that his shoe was missing. He began to look around him on the floor as though it may have wandered off.
The announcements began. Honor the Texas Flag. I pledge allegiance to thee, Texas, one and indivisible. We pledged and saluted and had our minute of silence. The line began to meander out of the room, off to music class. I felt a look of bliss take over my face. All be-pimpled, molared, half-shod, helmeted, non-vomiting, and somewhat happy. Leaving the room. I had found my happy place. Fifteen minutes done and behind me, only six hours and 45 minutes to go.
Thursday, June 09, 2005
Good Clean Fun. By Gus.
Hey, it's me, Gus the beagle here. I haven't actually gotten to write anything since mom made me write that apology letter about that whole bunny rabbit fiasco back in April. If anybody's feeling bored, I've got some fun new ideas for you. Mom says I have a few beagle readers and fans out there. I'm in something of a "time out" right now, so I thought I'd pass the word along.
See, mom was cleaning up the carpet today. (She says that when she was in Jamaica I got mud all over it. I know nothing of this mud. She's just messing up all the good scent I got worked into it when she was gone, but whatever.) So here's the plan:
1. Just when she's finished with a particular area, throw self on back and writhe enthusiastically on fresh carpet to help work your scent back into it. She may not realize what valuable scent she's done away with during all that unnecessary cleaning. Humans just don't understand. Grunting noises during the waller should help call her attention to what you are doing. Be prepared to right self and run when she comes after you with the dish towel. Wag tail and look cute.
2. Once she busies herself with a new area, sneak over to the pieces of painter's tape she has used to mark the wet spots so that she won't step in them and re-dirty them. Pull tape off floor with teeth and eat it. (alternate plan: move tape to other location such as pillow)
3. While mom is re-affixing tape to carpet, steal rag with which she is cleaning. It has carpet cleaner on it and she will panic, thinking you are injesting toxins. Race around house with rag in mouth like victory flag, then hide under dining room table where she cannot reach you. Wait it out until she bribes you with a treat. There is a high likelihood at this point that you will get thrown outdoors.
4. Once outdoors, dig a hole. Preferably in dad's freshly seeded grass section, it's still good and muddy over there. Now don't go getting dirty enough to be obvious, just a bit under the nails so mom won't notice. The last thing you want here is for her to throw you in that wretched bathtub. Look sweet and pant to be let back in. It's hot in Texas, she won't leave you out there for long.
5. Casually get yourself some water while mom gets back to work on the floor, then race at warp speed down the hall. Dig nails into carpet to really work that mud off of them. Skid to a manic halt, then whirl around like a lunatic and charge back the other way - it's funny when your humans can't catch you. Repeat as many times as possible until a spanking becomes a possibility. At this point, put your head on your paws and wag your tail charmingly.
6. Take nap in dad's chair. Mischief making is exhausting.
See, mom was cleaning up the carpet today. (She says that when she was in Jamaica I got mud all over it. I know nothing of this mud. She's just messing up all the good scent I got worked into it when she was gone, but whatever.) So here's the plan:
1. Just when she's finished with a particular area, throw self on back and writhe enthusiastically on fresh carpet to help work your scent back into it. She may not realize what valuable scent she's done away with during all that unnecessary cleaning. Humans just don't understand. Grunting noises during the waller should help call her attention to what you are doing. Be prepared to right self and run when she comes after you with the dish towel. Wag tail and look cute.
2. Once she busies herself with a new area, sneak over to the pieces of painter's tape she has used to mark the wet spots so that she won't step in them and re-dirty them. Pull tape off floor with teeth and eat it. (alternate plan: move tape to other location such as pillow)
3. While mom is re-affixing tape to carpet, steal rag with which she is cleaning. It has carpet cleaner on it and she will panic, thinking you are injesting toxins. Race around house with rag in mouth like victory flag, then hide under dining room table where she cannot reach you. Wait it out until she bribes you with a treat. There is a high likelihood at this point that you will get thrown outdoors.
4. Once outdoors, dig a hole. Preferably in dad's freshly seeded grass section, it's still good and muddy over there. Now don't go getting dirty enough to be obvious, just a bit under the nails so mom won't notice. The last thing you want here is for her to throw you in that wretched bathtub. Look sweet and pant to be let back in. It's hot in Texas, she won't leave you out there for long.
5. Casually get yourself some water while mom gets back to work on the floor, then race at warp speed down the hall. Dig nails into carpet to really work that mud off of them. Skid to a manic halt, then whirl around like a lunatic and charge back the other way - it's funny when your humans can't catch you. Repeat as many times as possible until a spanking becomes a possibility. At this point, put your head on your paws and wag your tail charmingly.
6. Take nap in dad's chair. Mischief making is exhausting.
Wednesday, June 08, 2005
Death By Coconut: It Could Happen To You.
The following message could save your life. I came this close to being care flighted to an urgent care facility due to a critical coconut contusion during my vacation. I kid you not. Come along with me back to that fateful day. I will suffer through the retelling of that near tragic event in hopes that you, my dear reader, will gain awareness of this perilous possibility. This is my story.
There I was...walking innocently from my lounge chair in the midst of swaying palms, white sand, and turquoise waters. Having already had my morning ocean float, my early mid-morning nap, and my late mid-morning Dirty Banana beverage, it was now time for some rigorous activity. I needed some cardio. Rising from my chair, I took a long, languorous stretch and began an easy stroll across the sand to the bocce ball court.
And that's when it happened.
A positively ginormous, brown, hairy death missile plummetted from the skyward reaches of the soaring feathery branches of - okay, I hate that much description. Way too many prepositional phrases.
A daggum coconut fell out of the sky and almost whacked me in my gourd. That's what happened. The apparently suicidal coconut landed with a thunderous thud that woke my friend from his blissful slumber as it slammed into the soft sand. Right in front of my feet. Had I not taken a long stretch after my Dirty Banana....well, I might not be here with you right now.
I was clearly spared to enable me to share my story and help others avoid the dangers of considering exercise during a vacation. Let this emotional testimony be a lesson to everyone. Always stretch before participating in any sport, no matter how trivial it may seem. It could save your life.
There I was...walking innocently from my lounge chair in the midst of swaying palms, white sand, and turquoise waters. Having already had my morning ocean float, my early mid-morning nap, and my late mid-morning Dirty Banana beverage, it was now time for some rigorous activity. I needed some cardio. Rising from my chair, I took a long, languorous stretch and began an easy stroll across the sand to the bocce ball court.
And that's when it happened.
Exhibit A
A positively ginormous, brown, hairy death missile plummetted from the skyward reaches of the soaring feathery branches of - okay, I hate that much description. Way too many prepositional phrases.
A daggum coconut fell out of the sky and almost whacked me in my gourd. That's what happened. The apparently suicidal coconut landed with a thunderous thud that woke my friend from his blissful slumber as it slammed into the soft sand. Right in front of my feet. Had I not taken a long stretch after my Dirty Banana....well, I might not be here with you right now.
I was clearly spared to enable me to share my story and help others avoid the dangers of considering exercise during a vacation. Let this emotional testimony be a lesson to everyone. Always stretch before participating in any sport, no matter how trivial it may seem. It could save your life.
Tuesday, June 07, 2005
Naked Nasties
As we settled into our new surroundings and met up with our friends, we began to look around us. And boy, were there a lot of things to see. People to meet, friends to make, and things to stare at. Lots of things to stare at.
It all began early one morn as we floated aimlessly in the relaxing bay waters upon gently bobbing rafts. The bar didn't open until 10am, what else were we to do? We each settled back into our floats and talked about all things mindless.
And then I looked up. An error in judgment I would repeat many times that week.
Me: ARGH! [pressed face firmly into raft]
Mike: What is it?
Me: [gestured wildly in direction of bamboo fence]
Mike: ARGH! [hides face]
Jane: [Looks over] Augh! I'm blind!
And so on. It seems that the "Nudity Is Neat" policy actually extended beyond the alleged bamboo fence barrier to affect the rest of us when we were floating in the ocean. One glance up at the shoreline and there you had it. And a lot of it. What we had all actually witnessed that time was a very, um, thorough sunscreening ritual. A naked one. There was a lot of bending and, erm, rubbing. Of things. Then the Nudie Enthusiasts processed into the water to publicly make out. Never a dull moment.
Nude sunbathing was permitted only behind the semi-permeable bamboo fence. Because as you know, a bamboo fence can really protect you from everything. Not like the Naked Junkies might come out from behind it or anything. Topless sunbathing was permitted anywhere. Do you know who sunbathes naked or topless? Do you?! That's right, only the people who shouldn't. I looked up more times during the week to be faced full on with a set of droopy old saggy boobs than I care to count. During the week we also witnessed a naked wedding complete with naked photography, a naked male sunbather spread eagle on a lawn chair, and a couple with matching leopard print thongs bending and stretching:
It all began early one morn as we floated aimlessly in the relaxing bay waters upon gently bobbing rafts. The bar didn't open until 10am, what else were we to do? We each settled back into our floats and talked about all things mindless.
And then I looked up. An error in judgment I would repeat many times that week.
Me: ARGH! [pressed face firmly into raft]
Mike: What is it?
Me: [gestured wildly in direction of bamboo fence]
Mike: ARGH! [hides face]
Jane: [Looks over] Augh! I'm blind!
And so on. It seems that the "Nudity Is Neat" policy actually extended beyond the alleged bamboo fence barrier to affect the rest of us when we were floating in the ocean. One glance up at the shoreline and there you had it. And a lot of it. What we had all actually witnessed that time was a very, um, thorough sunscreening ritual. A naked one. There was a lot of bending and, erm, rubbing. Of things. Then the Nudie Enthusiasts processed into the water to publicly make out. Never a dull moment.
Nude sunbathing was permitted only behind the semi-permeable bamboo fence. Because as you know, a bamboo fence can really protect you from everything. Not like the Naked Junkies might come out from behind it or anything. Topless sunbathing was permitted anywhere. Do you know who sunbathes naked or topless? Do you?! That's right, only the people who shouldn't. I looked up more times during the week to be faced full on with a set of droopy old saggy boobs than I care to count. During the week we also witnessed a naked wedding complete with naked photography, a naked male sunbather spread eagle on a lawn chair, and a couple with matching leopard print thongs bending and stretching:
Wow. That's right, I took a picture. Only with you, my dear readers in mind. One of our main conversations that we had over and over again was "What parts to you think would burn?" There were many theories provided, but none really proven. What do you think?
Monday, June 06, 2005
Kids? You seeing all this plight?
It seems there was no clear cut winner in the title vote off, so I am going to have to combine some topics to create some riveting reading material here.
After zipping through Jamaican customs, settling into a Red Stripe Light, and ushering our bags to the shuttle van, our adventure truly began. The reason they ply you with alcohol at the airport is so that you are able to tolerate the ride to the resort without fearing for your life. Through an alcohol induced buzz, it all seemed like good fun, if your idea of fun includes risking your life for 90 minutes. But I digress.
I watched languidly through the humid haze as no less than 6 strapping Jamaican men hurled my 47.5 pound bag (American Airlines limits you at 50 lbs) effortessly into a van and then turned to us, palms extended. "We take care of you, you take care of us." [Very white, partially toothed smiles beamed at us. It was clear which side of their mouths they put their weed in there.] We happily gave them two bucks ($120 Jamaican), knowing that it would be our last tip for the week and clambored into the van. Mike and I chose two seats together and began to plan our week excitedly until...
"You sit here!" our driver pointed Mike to a seat across the aisle from me and continued to balance the van by weight so that when he took sharp curves at 55 mph we wouldn't actually tip over. Clever, really, if you like that sort of thing. I decided to go with it if it would get me to the resort faster. That's when the driver decided to play the coveted role of Shady Tour Guide. He pointed out bars, XXX bars, and strip bars. "Lemme get a big Yah Mon from the guys!" he shouted, pumping his fist into the air as we passed several scantily clad prostitutes. "YAH MON!" roared the men, glancing surreptitiously at their wives without the driver seeing them to smile and shrug. The driver then told all the men that since they were in Jamaica, their wives couldn't call the cops on them, so they ought to do whatever they wanted. Then he told us all how to score some ganja. Really going above and beyond the duty of shuttle driver, if you think about it.
We drove through miles and miles of plight and poverty until it began to rain. It's really sad to see how poor the majority of Jamaica is. The people who work at the resorts have the best jobs and they work 13 hour days 6 days a week for just peanuts. As you pass by ramshackle structures and partially built shacks, hand lettered signs alert you to the business of a particular establishment. Some of our favorites included: COLD BEER JOINT, BRAIDS, and the best one, JERK CHICKEN "BOSTON STYLE!"
At about 4pm everyday, there is an absolute downpour that lasts for about 20 minutes. It's lovely, except when you're in a van driven by a horny maniac who is possibly high and who is flying through tight curves on the wrong side of the road and passing anyone going slower than he is despite oncoming traffic. That's when the rain is a little scary. I closed my eyes and held my breath until it all passed. At last, we arrived in rainy paradise:
After zipping through Jamaican customs, settling into a Red Stripe Light, and ushering our bags to the shuttle van, our adventure truly began. The reason they ply you with alcohol at the airport is so that you are able to tolerate the ride to the resort without fearing for your life. Through an alcohol induced buzz, it all seemed like good fun, if your idea of fun includes risking your life for 90 minutes. But I digress.
I watched languidly through the humid haze as no less than 6 strapping Jamaican men hurled my 47.5 pound bag (American Airlines limits you at 50 lbs) effortessly into a van and then turned to us, palms extended. "We take care of you, you take care of us." [Very white, partially toothed smiles beamed at us. It was clear which side of their mouths they put their weed in there.] We happily gave them two bucks ($120 Jamaican), knowing that it would be our last tip for the week and clambored into the van. Mike and I chose two seats together and began to plan our week excitedly until...
"You sit here!" our driver pointed Mike to a seat across the aisle from me and continued to balance the van by weight so that when he took sharp curves at 55 mph we wouldn't actually tip over. Clever, really, if you like that sort of thing. I decided to go with it if it would get me to the resort faster. That's when the driver decided to play the coveted role of Shady Tour Guide. He pointed out bars, XXX bars, and strip bars. "Lemme get a big Yah Mon from the guys!" he shouted, pumping his fist into the air as we passed several scantily clad prostitutes. "YAH MON!" roared the men, glancing surreptitiously at their wives without the driver seeing them to smile and shrug. The driver then told all the men that since they were in Jamaica, their wives couldn't call the cops on them, so they ought to do whatever they wanted. Then he told us all how to score some ganja. Really going above and beyond the duty of shuttle driver, if you think about it.
We drove through miles and miles of plight and poverty until it began to rain. It's really sad to see how poor the majority of Jamaica is. The people who work at the resorts have the best jobs and they work 13 hour days 6 days a week for just peanuts. As you pass by ramshackle structures and partially built shacks, hand lettered signs alert you to the business of a particular establishment. Some of our favorites included: COLD BEER JOINT, BRAIDS, and the best one, JERK CHICKEN "BOSTON STYLE!"
At about 4pm everyday, there is an absolute downpour that lasts for about 20 minutes. It's lovely, except when you're in a van driven by a horny maniac who is possibly high and who is flying through tight curves on the wrong side of the road and passing anyone going slower than he is despite oncoming traffic. That's when the rain is a little scary. I closed my eyes and held my breath until it all passed. At last, we arrived in rainy paradise:
That, my friends, should cover title numbers 9 and 10. Stay tuned for the continuing saga of my Jamaican Adventure. Tomorrow we will delve into numbers 1, 2, and 8. I know you are on the edge of your seats!
Saturday, June 04, 2005
You Can Put Your Weed In There, Man...
Laden with stories I am, about this fantabulous adventure. We went with friends and picked up some more while we were there and had the most fun I've had in a long time. It would be simply impossible to tell all the stories in one fell swoop, so I will cleverly think of a list of titles-to-be to pique your interest. Mwah-ah-ah! Help me with my title-writing skills by letting me know which one sounds best. Wait until the end of the show to vote carefully, not all stories will make it to print. The decision will be final, and only three will receive a rose tonight.
1. Death By Coconut
2. Public Naked Sunscreening: A Necessity?
3. What If Extreme Decisions: A New Way to Make Friends
4. Vacay With Ozzy
5. Rum Punch + Island Martini = Ace of Base Karaoke
6. Jamaican Bartering: Special for You!
7. Titibreast@email.com
8. The Cosmo: Not Just for Women
9. Kids? You seeing all this plight?
10. The Jamaican 500 (subtitle: Balancing the Vehicle for Tight Curves)
Decisions are hard, I know, but I trust you to make the right one. While on vacation, we had to decide every single day whether to float in the ocean or to float in the pool. You can imagine our daily duress, I'm certain. It would plague us for hours, but that's not all! There were decisions upon decisions thrust at us each and every hour! Rumrunner or Dirty Banana? Lounge chair or lounge float? Water ski or Hobie Cat? Jerk Chicken or Nacho Fiesta? And my personal demon: SPF 8 or SPF 15? Don't worry about us, though...we managed somehow.
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