Z. Cavariccis and Vanilla Ice Are Next

So we’re singing the Days of the Week song this morning for the 115th school day in a row. I hate the days of the week now. This is what teaching has made me: a hateful person towards the days of the week. And no one deserves an angry kindergarten teacher when it's supposed to be paste and crayons and nap time and snack and lots of stickers and warm fuzzies. But that isn't the world we live in today.

As an early childhood teacher, I can turn any simple tune into a song about a color, a season, a shape, a number, the days of the week or months of the year. Sometimes I wake up in the middle of the night singing color songs and the weather song and I hate my job. It is a sickness.

Today, I was grudgingly and unenthusiastically singing about Sunday, Monday, etc…to the tune of “The Adams Family”…and I spy something so spectacular. So spectacular that I stop, mid-Thursday, and gasp.

I tell the little girl with the spectacular item to come close. I ask her to take it off and show me. Can I hold it? She lets me and I instantly revert to the joys of 5th grade…with my boyfriend Jack Lambert, the maturation video (Julie’s Story), the United States song, the talent show and dancing with the boy I still have a crush on, learning prepositional phrases…AND THIS ITEM.

What did you love when you were in 5th grade? It was circa 1990-1992 and it brings me a joy that is unparalleled. With a slight touch of fear.

Slap-bracelets! I mean, who knew those were still a hit? Oh but they are. Do you remember having, and wearing, no fewer than three? Do you remember the fear that the thin fabric will tear and you’ll slit your wrist and die? Not me. I wasn’t scared. I was all about my slap bracelets. Well, those and wearing two pairs of socks, folding them over each other and alternating the colors on the other foot. I can see my slap bracelets now: purple with large black dots, red with tiny black dots, and the striped one that broke. I kind of want to go to my parents’ house tonight and find them because I am quite certain they are in my closet, hanging in the jewelry keeper. Quite certain. Right next to my dangle rings.

This makes me questions why a Kindergartener was wearing something as fashion-forward as a slap-bracelet. I’m willing to bet she got it from her 5th grade sister.

Let's Take Another Turn...

The revolving door of men...

MichaelKirbyBrianCarlosDominicJavierRyanMarkChrisZachPhillip.

These are just a few of the reasons I love my roommate.

Amen.

"They always call."

Whiz Kid

I promise that I won't do any more posts about my new house. Until the next one. Which may or may not be soon. Except that it probably will be soon because that's ALL I've been doing. I might even take a picture of my new refrigerator when it comes tomorrow! And of the DVR player. Or me reading the DVR Operator's Manual. Let's hope it comes in the "Dummies" version. Yeah, I'm gonna need that.

Dang. See how easily I got sidetracked from even writing a coherent blog? I blame my full belly. I ran 5 miles and then consumed my body weight in Julio's chips. That special little seasoning is something I can't resist. So to speak.

Since I'm not going to write about mi nuevo casa, I'll talk about the only other thing I do: los ninos! For you white folk out there, that means 'the children.' Specifically, the children I teach. I've had a GREAT couple of weeks. Today was really sweet with a little boy who only wanted to hold my hand and nuzzle against my hip. Because that's where his head hits people. He's really bright, possibly smarter than I'll ever be, and he has such a fun and quirky personality. And now he's taken to me. It only took seven months.

That sweet little boy was the reminder that I needed that children are not the spawn of the devil. Because sometimes I think they are deliberately trying to piss me off. But I was in a superb mood today and no one could make me angry. Not even the little boy that TALKS WITH A SHRILL AND YELLING VOICE ALL THE TIME. "HEY MISS ROSE CAN I SHARPEN MY PENCIL? HEY...NOW? NOW? CAN I?" Dude.

So, he didn't tick me off...but you know who did? The little boy that took a whiz on the playground. Y'all. I look over and see his back to me, the playground, the children, and his hands are suspiciously low and his back arched in just that certain way. I didn't want to yell or blow the whistle as to call attention to him, but all I wanted to say was, "LITTLE BOY YOU PUT THAT THING AWAY RIGHT NOW!!!"

Oh my heavens. On the playground, y'all. Taking a whiz.

It was over pretty quickly and I just sternly got in his face and told him that "the playground is NO PLACE FOR GOING PEE. You go into the toilet so you can flush and wash your hands."

To his credit, this little boy has two daddies...TWO DADDIES...who have no clue how to raise their son, and I know this because they ask me how to parent all the time. These two daddies apparently didn't tell their son not to whiz on the playground at school with 39 other children within 5 feet.

Miss Rose in the House!!!!!!!!

This is one of the few reasons I love being a homeowner...

...in my front yard! I MEAN!

And then I get to do this...

And it makes me smile and not even worry about the clutter and the fact that I don't have cable, internet, OR a refrigerator. But I have pretty roses, dangit.

Me So Sorry

I'm so sorry. Just loads and loads of sorry. If you are like me, you wait with bated breath for one reliable person to post their daily blog. I can't get enough of this blogger's love story in "From High Heels to Tractor Wheels" at http://www.thepioneerwoman.com/. Check it out. If Well Done is the blog you wait and wait and wait for, I apologize. I have failed you. I actually feel sorry for you. On several levels. 1. I am not that witty. and B. There is far better out there on the internet.

Now I'm nervous that all your hopes and dreams hinge on what I write right now. I have a little bit of stage fright. Nervous tummy, if you will. And I hope you do. But I'll just pony up and power through and share some pictures to disclose what I've been doing for the last week.

This is scary room #1:











This is scary room #2:











This is what I called a "good idea" at 9pm on Friday night:

This is what I call, "Oh sheet...what have I done? It's okay...I'll just lay here in the fetal position and suck my thumb."

To my credit, the room was pink. Baby girl pink. I much prefer the color now...but it was an illogical idea at 9pm at night. And the wine and fumes made for much giggling. Needless to say, we finished but I will be forced to 'touch up' the wine induced painting. We only spilled one glass, by the way.

Nothing saves a painting-gone-awry-situation like this next picture. This is what I call: Manna from Heaven at Midnight. Julio's chips, salsa, and Totino's pizza. They were $0.87. There are no words.











So that's what I've been doing. Again...I'm loads and loads of sorry.

We are the more complex, yet smarter, gender.

And by we...I mean my entire audience. I can pretty much guarantee "we" are all female. I can also pretty much guarantee that I know every single person's first and last name that reads this blog. Oh yes, I am quite the internet phenomenon.

So here are two stories that remind me of the fact of our superiority. I think you'll like them.

Conversation Between Two Men #1
Jeff: So I've been dating this girl for a while now.
Will: Cool. Good luck with that, man.
(And just so you know, this convo is probably filed under "Best conversations I've ever had with one of my closest friends" for both of these gents. I also added the "good luck" part because they are close. I don't know that it was actually said.)

My reaction to Convo #1:
(quite some time later) Me: Uh Will...I hear Jeff's dating some one new! What's her name?
Will: I don't know.
Me: Why not?
Will: I didn't ask.
Me: Weren't you with him all weekend?
Will: Yes.
Me: Did you guys talk about it? Did he tell you about her?
Will: No. Stop asking me questions.

Conversation Between Two Men #2
Gary: Debbie emailed me this week. (to clue you in, Debbie and Gary had broken up 1+ year ago)
Bill: Hmmm...I haven't heard that name in a while.

Gary: Yeah, something about how she got a wine from a vineyard we went to.

Bill: Ah. Well...how's Travis?

(Gary filled Bill in about his son Travis and the men moved on.)

Bill relayed this story to me. My reaction and Christine's reaction to this convo:
Christine: Did he email her back?
Bill: I don't know.
Me: Why'd she email?
Bill: (confused stare)
Me: Well, she didn't email to tell him about wine from a vineyard.
Bill: (DUMBFOUNED LOOK) Yes she did! That's what her email said!
Christine and Anne look at each other and laugh.
Me: Men are stupid.
Bill: You women are wind-talking again. I don't understand.


All of this is just a humorous reminder that I need every once in a while to remind me that men are stupid. Say it slowly...say it with me...men are stupid. What don't they get about the next-logical questions? These are FOLLOW-UP questions here! They are rational.

However, it helps me understand some people a little better and how I was probably never at fault and never did anything wrong. It's just that the man was too stupid to thoroughly process my phonecalls or texts. They just don't think it through. Perhaps you know what I'm talking about.

And if what I said earlier is true -that I know the first and last name of each of my readers- then I know you are all married or in a serious relationship and you'll agree. Maybe you won't use the word stupid...because you promised to love one of them through sickness and stupidity is a sickness that never goes away...but maybe dense, thoughtless, ill-thinking, or inherently flawed is more appropriate.

You be the judge.

Plagued I Am Not

Just when things are going good...when things are right in the world...when things are coming together...

I'm reminded how quickly I can be brought down. Brought down to a place where, at 27-years-old, I can not physically function on my own and must rely on my parents to feed me and make sure I'm in a safe place to sleep. As opposed to the bathroom floor of my apartment - the spot where I fainted Friday morning.

I found out today that I do not have the bubonic plague, like I had hoped. No no, it's just some accute bronchitis. Yup...a two hour trip to the urgent care clinic answered all my questions. It is at this location that I fainted twice, fell asleep on the examining table several times, and had my Mommy drive me to and fro. As I left, the office staff asked, "Is she all right?" I looked at them like, "Eat it people. You are the medical professionals here. Am I? Am I going to live?" I just don't know. It is also at this urgent care clinic that a doctor with ZERO personality determined that I needed a shot in my bum, Robitussin with CODINE, and a pill to cure something-or-other. I don't care...load me up.

I don't remember the last time I had a shot, certainly on my rear, but I was so excited to hear that he wanted to give me one. Shots mean business. Shots mean that medicine is coursing through you ASAP. Shots mean that yes, you aren't being a wuss, you really are sick. However, when a middle aged woman is groping your butt, it is very hard to do what she asks, "Relax." Mom said the needle was huge and I TOTALLY tensed up. I keep having to check to make sure my right leg is still attached because I don't feel it...and I'm dragging leg behind me as I go.

So I thought I'd blog to say that I'm still alive...barely...but these drugs should have me better in no time! I'm off to have some dinner with a side of Codine. I'll wake up sometime Sunday evening I presume.