Honesty is the Best Policy

Earlier today, I commented on how boys are ew. Girls are never ew. Ever.

Watch this.

http://www.vimeo.com/973345?pg=embed&sec=973345

Boys. Ew.

We've been in school for 155 days so far this year. I know this because we do the same, monotonous routine of couting by hundreds, tens, and ones. Every. Single. Morning. It makes me shake.

155 days does not prepare you for hearing a little boy explain how his junk is "sticky." That's right. Sticky. His junk.

I only have a certifcate and this sounds like something someone with a license should deal with.

A little boy in the class next door, (and secretly, I'm so thankful that he is not in my class), was telling his teacher and me at recess today how "here and here" -pointing to his two 'boys'- are "sticky." The other teacher has a middle school boy of her own, so this kind of talk was no surprise. I, on the otherhand, gave him the most revolting face and just walked away.

If I have a future talking to any kind of male about how "sticky" he is "here and here," then I don't want to date. Or marry. Or have children.

Ew.

Mrs. Butterworth Would Be Turned On

One of my favorite kids in the class came up to me and stuck out his wrist. I had no earthly idea what he wanted, but kids often try to communicate sans words. This is a welcome change from the ones who often talk to see how loud they can get or just to make my ears bleed.

So this kiddo with his wrist out just stands there and looks at me and I start to giggle. He's quirky, highly intelligent, and loves to hold my hand. It only took him 7 months to warm up to me, but a while back she started letting me in and I love it. He's all hard on the outside but soft in the middle. Like the perfect chocolate chip cookie. Do you see how I can always bring everything back to food?

Kiddo standing...wrist out...both giggling...7:40am...and I manage to say, "Use some words, please." and he says, "Smell." I would normally be a little wary of smelling a kid's arm -or any other part of their body, and believe me, they ask- but this kid is clean and cute so I took a whiff.

He was the perfect mixture of cologne and syrup (oddly enough). It actually smelled good. He unnecessarily told me that he put on dad's cologne and had waffles for breakfast. Mmmmm!

Coping Mechanism

No, I have not found the frickin paintbrushes. It's practically driving me insane. Or perhaps I was already driven insane by the little boy in my class today who said, "Oh snap!" at least seven times. It's hard not to chuckle when he says that. But the chuckling stops when you remember that he has two fathers and he probably picked up "Oh snap!" from the one father that works at a hair salon. I kid you not.

Here are the things that I need to do:

1. Find the frickin paintbrushes.
2. Do calligraphy on wedding invitations.
3. Email my advisor and FIGURE OUT GRADUATE SCHOOL because I am a waste of space and excellent at procrastinating in this arena.
4. Read 20 pages of the Bible study and answer all the questions before tomorrow night.
5. Give myself a pedicure and manicure before 7:20 tonight.
6. Lift weights and do crunches.
7. Read a couple of articles on gifted learners and then write a couple of paragraphs summarizing my (nonexistent) thoughts. I MUST do this tonight because I have to submit it tomorrow in order to finish my G/T Certification.
8. Finish thawing the chicken; cook the chicken and other items for dinner.
9. Put the clothes in the dryer, take them out, iron them.

Would you like to know what I'm going to do instead? Publish this post and then go to the bathroom (probably TMI). Then I'm going to crawl onto my bed in the fetal position and take a nap. This list sends me over the edge.

No Wonder Van Gogh Cut Off His Ear

For MONTHS AND MONTHS I have been planning to paint some canvases for my new little neice. I'm painting the letters of her name on 5x7 canvases. It will be spectacular. Do you know what you need to paint letters on canvases? There are a couple of essential items. Let me enumerate:

1. Correct letters. Sweet was born on Saturday and her mom and dad (my bro and SNL) finally shared her name upon her arrival! This allows me to know the exact letters, in correct order, other than, "Her name has eight letters." So, now I can paint the letters on the canvases! But you can't paint without...

2. Paint. Her room is pink and I already painted a chocolate brown ribbon on the wall. The canvases are cream (light mocha to be exact) and I'm painting brown letters with a pink trim. There will also be pink and brown accents such as dots and stripes and swirls and dashes. I have the perfect paint pens and multiple shades of pink and brown. I'm almost ready! Now all I need are...

3. Paintbrushes. Naturally. I have a perfect set that I've accumulated throughout the years. I have old brushes for ratty shading and spotting. I have new brushes for trim work. I have thin, thick, pointy, fan, wide, narrow brushes. They are a treasure for any artist.

Okay that might be taking it a little far. But forgive me for my dramatization. I'm just a little torn up over the fact that I'VE LOST AND/OR CANNOT FIND MY FRICKIN PAINTBRUSHES!

I wrote the letters on the canvases today. It looks wonderful. The image in my head is nothing short of excellence. I can't wait to start painting! I get out the paints. And then I go to the craft box, where all essential painting items have always been stored, and I am unable to locate the brushes. I really believe the BrushBurglar came in here and swiped them to dash my hopes of pretty-pink-and-brown-baby-girl-little-miss-priss-ooooh-and-ahhh-CANVAS-PAINTING!

Okay stop right there. Perhaps something in the above paragraph is not accurate. And if you're thinking it's that the BrushBurglar did not steal the brushes, then YOU'RE WRONG, because he did. He exists. Kind of like the HamBurglar from McDonald's circa 1989. Side note: Where did all those characters go? Did Ronald take 'em out back and beat 'em because they were getting attention, too? And why can't I recall the names of any other characters? I digress. Focus. In the above paragraph I may have mentioned that all craft items are always kept in the designated craft item location. And that is very true. Except for when I throw them down wherever I please and pledge to put them away later.

Said brushes could be at my parents' house, my bro and SNL and Sweet's house, or hiding in any unseen location around my house.

If the BrushBurgler didn't get them then I bet the big purple character from McDonald's took them. I think his name was McPaintbrush McHidey.

Sports and Outdoors

I had a date on Friday night. With my dad. I love my dad for lots of reasons. He's a lot like me and we can talk about pretty much everything. He makes me laugh harder than most people can. I get most of my good and bad qualities from him. Plus, he's just plain fun.

Our date consisted of going to eat sushi and then to Academy. Because everyone likes to vomit raw fish next to new kayaks.

Before we went to eat dinner, I was at my parents' house and my dad showed me his new "tennis shoes" and sought my approval. I quickly cast disdain and scoffing at the direction of my father for two reasons: 1. for still using the term "tennis shoes." He does not play tennis and they are not shoes to be worn during the sport of tennis. They are "running shoes." Dad is not a runner, however these are aptly advertised as running shoes in the store. We will now refer to them as running shoes and no longer as tennis shoes. Case closed. 2. they were ugly. My dad has an affinity for picking the whitest, most clinical looking shoes that Academy has to offer. Perhaps even more sad is the fact that Nike made such an atrocious looking pair of footwear. (See, I'm casting disdain and scoffing.)

Back to the completely irrelevant part of the story. Dad shows me the shoes and goes into a long diatribe providing me with FAR too much information detailing the trip in which he purchased said "tennis shoes." He held the Academy bag, shoes, and reciept in his hands and asked me, "If I take all this back to a different Academy, will they let me exchange the shoes?" I was like, "Hi. I'm Earth and you've been here for 58 years. Have we met?" YES YOU CAN EXCHANGE THE DADGUM SHOES! That is, in fact, the precise way to go about making an exchange in a store. I don't understand why men lack rational thinking when it comes to shopping.

I should have known the Academy trip was going to be a fiasco from my father's experience with shoe shopping. Once, he needed a new pair of "tennis shoes" in the 80s and so he blindly walked into a place called 'Sneakers' only to find out that it was an establishment promoting the nakedness of women and not the purchasing of new "tennis shoes." Oops.

Academy Sports and Outdoors, however, promotes all things sporty and outdoorsy (clearly) and it is therefore one of my father's favorite stores. He said that he could live there if they served food. Shortly, he'll be moving into Bass Pro Shops because they conveniently have a restaraunt! We go to Academy and mosey into the shoe section. My dad's phone rings, he answers in the LOUDEST VOICE POSSIBLE and tells the other person on the line (my mom), "I'M AT ACADEMY WITH DAUGHTER. SHE'S HELPING ME GET NEW SHOES. WE JUST HAD SUSHI. NO, I DIDN'T CALL HER! SHE CALLED ME! I AM LEAVING HER ALONE! I PROMISE I'M NOT SMOTHERING HER..." Smother....smother...smother.

After I died a quick and embarassing death, I revive in the shoe section where I pick a pair out, he tried them on, and decides they are for him. The first pair. Now tell me, how hard was that with a woman's help? So simple. He looks at me with a gleam in his eye and says, "Do you think they have Levi's here?" And then I died of embarassment once again. No one calls them 'Levi's.' Or 'denims.' Most people say 'jeans.' But not my father. No sir. He wants to "go look for the Levi's!"

We get to the jean section and he says to the woman who is hanging some clothes on the rack, "Hey Academy girl..." and I don't remember what he said next because he just called the kind woman with a job "Academy girl." Who does that? Then he looked at the wall of "Levi's" and said, "We've reached the motherload." Dad went straight for the bright blue 80s wash in the size he needed, got two pair, and announced, "Okay, let's go!" I pushed aside my desire to call him deranged and proceeded to seize the ugly jeans in exchange for cooler colors. He grudgingly went into the dressing room, after handing me his cell phone saying, "Here, hold Charlie." The trip to Academy was a success because I managed to convince him that the vintage colors were more attractive than 1986-color denim. My dad is now the epitome of cool in Levi's jeans. Not hard to accomplish when one is wearing Levi's brand jeans. No disrespect.

As we are driving home, my dad busts out with, "Daughter. Would you ever consider living with a boy before getting married?" I knitted my eyebrows and think, 'What the...?" but decide to humor him. I really wanted to be a smart-ace and tell him that I'd consider it but I'd never do it. But since I feel Father was asking more out of fear for his 27-year-old daughter, I decided not to send him into cardiac arrest and I answered with a firm "no." Furthermore, my personal opinion is that it freaks me out beyond belief to actually open myself up enough live with a male. I think I would more than consider living with a boy and might do it as long as the boy retained his previous residence (even if the previous residence was in name only). Because let's be honest...it happens. However, I might want said boy to retain his own residence after marriage so he can go live there when I wig out because that's just how I get about committment. But Father didn't need all these details and might start to shake when I begin to pour my soul out to him about all my relationship issues.

I bypassed said issues and decided I could be a mature adult and said, "Why do you ask, Dad?" I still don't know what made him ask because he began rambling about "sexual relationships" and "I'm more conservative" and "this day and age." I had an odd mixture of feelings about where this converstaion could lead and then it was all a blur and I have since blocked most of it from my permanent memory. I decided we could end the topic and said, "By the way, you're about twelve years too late with all of this." He hung his head and admitted that he was never good at knowing what to say about it all and I just laughed at my father's efforts.

And that's why I love him and why he'll always be cool in my eyes. Because he says things like, "Hey Academy girl..." and has the sexual relationship conversation well past the appropriate age. But I'll think twice about saying yes the next time he asks me on a date.

Will Power I Have None

Against warnings from the Surgeon General, I did something so idiotic today. I went grocery shopping on an empty stomach one week before my "visitor".

I can hear you groan and say, "Ohhhhh noooooooo." Oh yes.

My typical grocery list is well under one hundred dollars. I purchase items such as fat free turkey slices, Light Done Right yogurt, bags of spinach, fat free organic milk, light string cheese, ground turkey and the like.

I ate lunch today at 10:30 am and by 3:45pm, I was ready for dinner. But instead of having a healthy snack, I hopped over to the grocery store. I purchased only some of the aforementioned heart- and figure-friendly items. I bumped up the HEB bill with goodies such as a large bag of peanut M&Ms, two cans of Pringles, Stove Top Stuffing, Frosted Hot Fudge Pop-Tarts (yes, they actually make those), spinach dip, and pudding to make two more batches of Friendship Bread.

The only thing I'll be having a friendship with is my fat jeans.