I'm already in the most vulnerable position I can be in, which is: naked and alone. I'm in the shower washing my hair on the evening before Halloween, unaware that there is a pair of eyes watching me. Attached to the head holding that pair of eyes are a pair of fangs. And fur. I am not alone. I am just wetting my hair when I turn and see something at eye level that is absolutely horrific. My heart jumps to the ceiling and I plaster myself to the opposite side of the shower because, there, creeping on the plastic ducky shower curtain is the most gigantic hobo spider you have ever seen.
I am naked in the shower and there is a furry spider that wants to land on my head. Oh. my. god. I see its little eyes move at the end of its tentacles. What am I supposed to do? I contemplate attempting to take a shower while the spider is there, but the steam is rising and the shower curtain is getting wetter. That nasty spider will likely slip and land in my hair. I look around in the shower for something to attack the horrible creature with. I could slice it with my razor. Stomp it with a shampoo bottle. Drown it in vanilla scented body wash.
I grab the item with the most length, which happens to be a four sided foot scrubber thingy. I carefully move to the end of the shower, away from the drain. I attempt to flick the spider off of the curtain, but it sticks since there is a string of web coming out of its butt. I try again and manage to get the spider to land on the tub floor.
I am jumping barefooted, holding my breath as I watch the spider slide down to the drain. Yes! The water pours, and the spider goes down the black abyss. For the rest of my shower I do not feel as though I can take my eyes off of the drain, in fear that the hobo spider will come crawling back up from the crypt.
I am not sure if I can go to sleep now. The adrenaline is still pumping.
Tomorrow: a Halloween story of how the school I work at is HAUNTED. With the spirit of a DEAD CHILD.
Thursday, October 30, 2008
Monday, October 27, 2008
The Missed Connections Project
The next time I need to buy stamps, I am going to the Independence post office. Apparently there is a real hunk working there. As some of you know, every once in a while I like to read the missed connection ads on Craigslist for entertainment value. A certain mailman made it in there twice.
I’ve decided I may start a project, if I ever get any free time. I’ve selected several ads where the person’s place of work is identified, so with some searching, I could find them. I think it would be interesting to take their picture, interview them, and let them know someone who didn’t have a lot of guts was pining for them. My adventures would take me to the Independence post office, or course, the Chemeketa campus, Union Gospel Mission, and the Lancaster Mall. I will for sure check out the mailman, and I’ll let you know what I find. If I decide to search for the others, I’ll let you know. This has the potential to be interesting.
Independence Post Office - w4m - 26 (Independence)
I see you all the time around town. Are you single? You are tall, dark hair, work at the post office, drive an explorer(I think) and super cute! Send me an email if you see this. I would really like to get know you.
INDEPENDENCE MAILMAN - w4m - 37 (INDEPENDENCE)
you are just about the most attractive man i have ever seen, i came in to mail a package, a woman helped me, but you came around the corner behind her, our eyes met for a moment and you smiled at me, you are tall, unshaven, black hair and beautiful brown eyes, i am tall, 5'11" shoulder length blond hair, brown eyes, i cant imagine a man as attractive as you isnt married or has a girlfriend, but even so if you are interested in getting to know me, please reply
ccc - w4m - 20 (chemeketa )
You=cashier at ccc convience store.
Me=thinks you're extremely cute!
UGM.....warehouse manager BRUCE..... - w4m - 39 (salem oregon)
I have seen you many times now and dont know if you are single or even if your intrested....talking to you today in the parking lot was AWESOME, I think about you all the time, I see your smile in my mind daily....I feel like a schoolgirl writting this and thats a cool feeling, you know who I am, if you read this or if anyone else knows him that is reading this and knows if he is single....??? PS...I look alot diff when I am not a wreck! ha ha
You work at Journeys shoe store in Lancaster Mall - w4m - 23 (Salem)
I was spending the day with my mom and we wandered into your store. You inquired about my tattoos and told me you were working on a full suit. I'd like to see wha t you have done so far. :) It's too bad I live in Portland. On the off-chance you see this, maybe I can show you around my city and take you to some of the phenomenal artists we have here.
I’ve decided I may start a project, if I ever get any free time. I’ve selected several ads where the person’s place of work is identified, so with some searching, I could find them. I think it would be interesting to take their picture, interview them, and let them know someone who didn’t have a lot of guts was pining for them. My adventures would take me to the Independence post office, or course, the Chemeketa campus, Union Gospel Mission, and the Lancaster Mall. I will for sure check out the mailman, and I’ll let you know what I find. If I decide to search for the others, I’ll let you know. This has the potential to be interesting.
Independence Post Office - w4m - 26 (Independence)
I see you all the time around town. Are you single? You are tall, dark hair, work at the post office, drive an explorer(I think) and super cute! Send me an email if you see this. I would really like to get know you.
INDEPENDENCE MAILMAN - w4m - 37 (INDEPENDENCE)
you are just about the most attractive man i have ever seen, i came in to mail a package, a woman helped me, but you came around the corner behind her, our eyes met for a moment and you smiled at me, you are tall, unshaven, black hair and beautiful brown eyes, i am tall, 5'11" shoulder length blond hair, brown eyes, i cant imagine a man as attractive as you isnt married or has a girlfriend, but even so if you are interested in getting to know me, please reply
ccc - w4m - 20 (chemeketa )
You=cashier at ccc convience store.
Me=thinks you're extremely cute!
UGM.....warehouse manager BRUCE..... - w4m - 39 (salem oregon)
I have seen you many times now and dont know if you are single or even if your intrested....talking to you today in the parking lot was AWESOME, I think about you all the time, I see your smile in my mind daily....I feel like a schoolgirl writting this and thats a cool feeling, you know who I am, if you read this or if anyone else knows him that is reading this and knows if he is single....??? PS...I look alot diff when I am not a wreck! ha ha
You work at Journeys shoe store in Lancaster Mall - w4m - 23 (Salem)
I was spending the day with my mom and we wandered into your store. You inquired about my tattoos and told me you were working on a full suit. I'd like to see wha t you have done so far. :) It's too bad I live in Portland. On the off-chance you see this, maybe I can show you around my city and take you to some of the phenomenal artists we have here.
Sunday, October 26, 2008
Pros & cons of marrying a dentist
I used my dental insurance last week. So adult, right? Plus, I am the first person in my family who has dental insurance. Give me a gold star, I know. I’ve been going to the same dentist since the day I had my first tooth. This loyalty is due to the fact that my mother used to work at the dentist office. Through out the 22 years I’ve had teeth, my dentist office location has changed once (they upgraded to this posh place overlooking a golf course). While I have my mouth worked on, I get to look out and see men in argyle socks and pom pom hats whap things with iron sticks.
When I went to the dentist on Thursday, I had to sit in the waiting room, and all of a sudden my childhood was staring right back at me. I was looking in a corner of the room at a tiny table that had a Lego board for a table top. It was yellow, red, blue, and green. In the center of the table top there is a hole where a bag full of large sized Legos are stored. I stared at the table and the tiny chair, trying to imagine myself sitting it in. Because I had before. It was the exact same Lego table that I had played with every time I came to the dentist as a tot. The table was only about a foot and a half tall, but in my mind, I feel like I had played at that table until I was at least ten. How did I ever fit? I shook my elementary memories from my mind when the dental hygienist came out and called my name.
While in the chair, looking out upon the golf course, sunglasses on my face, polishing grit in my mouth, I thought about a text book I had once read for my Drugs and Alcohol college class. It said that dentists are the number one professionals who commit suicide. I was told this is because they have access to all those gasses, like nitrous oxide, and that they abuse them. Makes you wonder how being a dentist could lead to a crappy life. I mean, you know that elf from that Christmas TV special who wants to grow up to be a dentist? And he goes to the island of misfit toys? I guess he was kind of upset, but it was mostly because he wasn’t a dentist. I’m not gonna lie, I think marrying a dentist would be a good choice for two reasons: 1) They’re rich, and 2) They’re guaranteed to have nice teeth. But if they’re going to go all suicidal on me, I think I’ll stay away.
After I was done, instead of choosing a birthstone ring or sticker out of the prize door like I did when I was little, I handed over my insurance card to pay for my bill. However, one thing has remained the same over 22 years—still no cavities! I called my mom to tell her, because I knew she’d be proud.
When I went to the dentist on Thursday, I had to sit in the waiting room, and all of a sudden my childhood was staring right back at me. I was looking in a corner of the room at a tiny table that had a Lego board for a table top. It was yellow, red, blue, and green. In the center of the table top there is a hole where a bag full of large sized Legos are stored. I stared at the table and the tiny chair, trying to imagine myself sitting it in. Because I had before. It was the exact same Lego table that I had played with every time I came to the dentist as a tot. The table was only about a foot and a half tall, but in my mind, I feel like I had played at that table until I was at least ten. How did I ever fit? I shook my elementary memories from my mind when the dental hygienist came out and called my name.
While in the chair, looking out upon the golf course, sunglasses on my face, polishing grit in my mouth, I thought about a text book I had once read for my Drugs and Alcohol college class. It said that dentists are the number one professionals who commit suicide. I was told this is because they have access to all those gasses, like nitrous oxide, and that they abuse them. Makes you wonder how being a dentist could lead to a crappy life. I mean, you know that elf from that Christmas TV special who wants to grow up to be a dentist? And he goes to the island of misfit toys? I guess he was kind of upset, but it was mostly because he wasn’t a dentist. I’m not gonna lie, I think marrying a dentist would be a good choice for two reasons: 1) They’re rich, and 2) They’re guaranteed to have nice teeth. But if they’re going to go all suicidal on me, I think I’ll stay away.
After I was done, instead of choosing a birthstone ring or sticker out of the prize door like I did when I was little, I handed over my insurance card to pay for my bill. However, one thing has remained the same over 22 years—still no cavities! I called my mom to tell her, because I knew she’d be proud.
Monday, October 20, 2008
Breathless Reality
Imagine this: you are ten years old and backed up to the side of a house, hands clutching the gutter. Your chest is heaving because you are nearly breathless. You have to breathe, you must, but you know that every inhalation you make could give you away. She might find you. And when the witch catches you, she will whap you over the head with a bamboo stick. Game over.
It's all pretend. It's all imaginary, but it is so, so real. It's the greatest game ever played. Welcome to my childhood.
When I was young, my sister and I would get babysat at our grandma's house. Our gram is no white-haired old lady knitting on a rocking chair. No, she keeps it real. Lives it up. Our favorite game to play at Gram's was "Wicked Witch." Gram would uproot a bamboo shoot from her garden and then chase us all over her yard. If we got hit by the stick, we lost. We would be absolutely terrified. She was sneaky. The adrenaline pumped through our veins as we escaped the clutches of the witch.
My favorite memory was when she was chasing us around one of her flower beds. It was probably 5 feet by 20 feet, quite a long thing. She would chase us around, and we thought we were safe on the other side. Rule of Life #489: nothing is ever safe. Gram surprised us by leaping through her own garden bed. She didn't care if she smashed her tulips. She was going to get us no matter what. I swear that stick got longer and longer every time, and the length that she had to reach us by shortened drastically.
It was like we were fugitives. What made the game even better was the possibility of actual criminal escapees. This is because my Grandma lived right next to McLaren, a juvy center. Her husband worked at the jail whipping no-goods into shape. Every time we visited, we entertained the idea of a dangerous teenaged gangster lurking in the trees among the squirrels.
This was babysitting at its best. Going to Grandma's was an adventure every time. It was the pretend real, when imagination shaped every aspect of our lives, when making it up mattered. Much better than the real pretend.
It's all pretend. It's all imaginary, but it is so, so real. It's the greatest game ever played. Welcome to my childhood.
When I was young, my sister and I would get babysat at our grandma's house. Our gram is no white-haired old lady knitting on a rocking chair. No, she keeps it real. Lives it up. Our favorite game to play at Gram's was "Wicked Witch." Gram would uproot a bamboo shoot from her garden and then chase us all over her yard. If we got hit by the stick, we lost. We would be absolutely terrified. She was sneaky. The adrenaline pumped through our veins as we escaped the clutches of the witch.
My favorite memory was when she was chasing us around one of her flower beds. It was probably 5 feet by 20 feet, quite a long thing. She would chase us around, and we thought we were safe on the other side. Rule of Life #489: nothing is ever safe. Gram surprised us by leaping through her own garden bed. She didn't care if she smashed her tulips. She was going to get us no matter what. I swear that stick got longer and longer every time, and the length that she had to reach us by shortened drastically.
It was like we were fugitives. What made the game even better was the possibility of actual criminal escapees. This is because my Grandma lived right next to McLaren, a juvy center. Her husband worked at the jail whipping no-goods into shape. Every time we visited, we entertained the idea of a dangerous teenaged gangster lurking in the trees among the squirrels.
This was babysitting at its best. Going to Grandma's was an adventure every time. It was the pretend real, when imagination shaped every aspect of our lives, when making it up mattered. Much better than the real pretend.
Saturday, October 18, 2008
Jesus wears Abercrombie
Right now I want you to close your eyes and imagine you are in heaven, shaking the hand of Jesus. I’ll give you a minute. What does it look like? You’re floating on clouds, aren’t you? And Jesus is wearing a glorified white bath robe with a golden rope tied around the waist as a belt. He’s got brown hair and a brown beard, and he looks Caucasian, even though he was born in the Middle East. Am I right?
I don’t know why we picture Jesus dressed up in old school Bible garb. It’s not like we ever actually saw him this way. In fact, the only time I have ever seen anyone wear a “robe” was during my church’s Christmas play. For this reason, I seem to have an artificial image of him stuck in my mind like this. You know, this picture.
It was a picture my great-grandma had hanging in the hallway outside of her bathroom. Etched in my mind. Probably yours, too.
My Jesus is pretty boss, which is why I am currently trying to picture him in more contemporary clothing. I’m fairly certain he’s up on the times. He know what’s going down on planet Earth. Sudden image: Jesus on the set of What Not to Wear. Stacey and Clinton are like, “Hey, JC, we’ve got some secret footage of you. It seems you’ve been wearing the same outfit for the past 2000 years or so.”
This is what I think Jesus will be wearing when I shake his hand: some jeans, Converse sneakers, and a t-shirt from one of his favorite bands, which could be anybody since he loves everyone the same. But you know, no tees made by kids in sweatshops. Plus, the beard is gone. It’s 2008, we’ve got Gillette.
Big paradigm shift coming up. He’s not a white boy. I’m thinking he looks more like Sayid from LOST, or something. Minus the torturing experience from the Republican Guard. Maybe you’re wondering what’s the same between the Jesus wearing the robe and sandals and the Jesus in Levis and sneakers. Scars in his hands, scars on his feet. Because he still died for you.
I don’t know why we picture Jesus dressed up in old school Bible garb. It’s not like we ever actually saw him this way. In fact, the only time I have ever seen anyone wear a “robe” was during my church’s Christmas play. For this reason, I seem to have an artificial image of him stuck in my mind like this. You know, this picture.
It was a picture my great-grandma had hanging in the hallway outside of her bathroom. Etched in my mind. Probably yours, too.My Jesus is pretty boss, which is why I am currently trying to picture him in more contemporary clothing. I’m fairly certain he’s up on the times. He know what’s going down on planet Earth. Sudden image: Jesus on the set of What Not to Wear. Stacey and Clinton are like, “Hey, JC, we’ve got some secret footage of you. It seems you’ve been wearing the same outfit for the past 2000 years or so.”
This is what I think Jesus will be wearing when I shake his hand: some jeans, Converse sneakers, and a t-shirt from one of his favorite bands, which could be anybody since he loves everyone the same. But you know, no tees made by kids in sweatshops. Plus, the beard is gone. It’s 2008, we’ve got Gillette.
Big paradigm shift coming up. He’s not a white boy. I’m thinking he looks more like Sayid from LOST, or something. Minus the torturing experience from the Republican Guard. Maybe you’re wondering what’s the same between the Jesus wearing the robe and sandals and the Jesus in Levis and sneakers. Scars in his hands, scars on his feet. Because he still died for you.
Thursday, October 16, 2008
English for the Children is a load of crap
I was driving through town today and saw this blue sign that said "English for the Children." For 1.2 seconds I thought it was like an advertisement for a place that taught English for a good cause, such as so that people can get jobs. Upon a closer view, I saw smaller text saying "vote yes on measure 58."
I say, vote hell no on measure 58.
I half wanted to either pull the sign out or go up and knock on the person's door and ask them why the heck they think measure 58 is a good idea. Oh, sure "English for the Children" sounds like you're helping people out, but you're not. I'm a teacher, I should know. In case you have a very low IQ, you should know that it takes longer than 2 years to become fluent in a language. How many people do you know took their required 2 years of foreign language in high school and are now fluent? If measure 58 passes, then teachers won't be allowed to offer the support to their students that those kids need.
I have worked in several different classrooms, and believe me, there is a big difference between kids who were taught to read and write in their native language and those who did English only. English only is a load of crap. You may think it would lead to them speaking fluent English quicker, but it doesn't. As a TEACHER, I say vote no on measure 58. Don't let people who do not have a degree in education or who have not taught actual students convince you otherwise. I know my case here is very brief, but I am quite hungry for dinner after a long day of teaching. So, you know, more later most likely. Perhaps on measure 60 as well. Plus, tomorrow is picture day and I have to pick out my outfit.
I say, vote hell no on measure 58.
I half wanted to either pull the sign out or go up and knock on the person's door and ask them why the heck they think measure 58 is a good idea. Oh, sure "English for the Children" sounds like you're helping people out, but you're not. I'm a teacher, I should know. In case you have a very low IQ, you should know that it takes longer than 2 years to become fluent in a language. How many people do you know took their required 2 years of foreign language in high school and are now fluent? If measure 58 passes, then teachers won't be allowed to offer the support to their students that those kids need.
I have worked in several different classrooms, and believe me, there is a big difference between kids who were taught to read and write in their native language and those who did English only. English only is a load of crap. You may think it would lead to them speaking fluent English quicker, but it doesn't. As a TEACHER, I say vote no on measure 58. Don't let people who do not have a degree in education or who have not taught actual students convince you otherwise. I know my case here is very brief, but I am quite hungry for dinner after a long day of teaching. So, you know, more later most likely. Perhaps on measure 60 as well. Plus, tomorrow is picture day and I have to pick out my outfit.
Sunday, October 12, 2008
Twister Box Kid
While at Danny and Shoes' house playing not-at-all drunken Twister (because when have I ever been drunk? Minus that one time on Monday Funday....Zach Crowe if you are reading this I would like my cowboy hat back), we were poking fun at the Twister box. Even though the game of Twister was brand new, it still had the original Twister kids on it. From the 90s. In their bright, stripey outfits. Gotta love it. It was then that I decided to mention that I used to have a crush on the kid with the yellow hood. Yeah, I went there. I had a crush on Twister box kid. 
I had middle school birthday parties and we girls would play Twister and ogle over the hottie on the box. Just like JTT. Imagine if I had married Twister Box Kid. We could have had a polka dotted wedding and played Milton Bradley games. Alas, it was not so. Instead, my box of Twister is sitting in my sister's garage. And that kid probably married the red-headed chick dressed as a bumble bee.
I had middle school birthday parties and we girls would play Twister and ogle over the hottie on the box. Just like JTT. Imagine if I had married Twister Box Kid. We could have had a polka dotted wedding and played Milton Bradley games. Alas, it was not so. Instead, my box of Twister is sitting in my sister's garage. And that kid probably married the red-headed chick dressed as a bumble bee.
Thursday, October 9, 2008
How I could die but prob. not
You know how people who are overly stressed out can either lose a lot of weight or gain a lot of weight? Not that I am saying my life sucks way more than yours or anything, but I have to say I am a bit surprised that my physical appearance does not yet match my ragged mental state.
Because now I do things like forget to eat breakfast. I will pack it, but then misplace it when I get to school and totally forget about it till I ship my kids off to music class or whatever. Then I'll be like "Why am I so hungry. Oh wait, I forgot to eat." Then at lunch time, I'll only have 15 minutes to feed my face, so I won't always eat everything I've packed since I don't have the time.
Additionally, I think I need to be put on sleep medication. But nothing too crazy, because I don't want to have an accidental overdose like Heath Ledger (bless his soul). I cannot sleep for more than 5 or 6 hours straight anymore (minus last Saturday). I keep waking up before my alarm is supposed to go off, or I wake up in the middle of the night. Do I have bags under my eyes? Let me know.
Anyway, so physically I am feeling like I could collapse at any moment, which is why I am slightly surprised that when I look in the mirror, I appear fine. Last week I weighed myself just to see if I was on my way to really dying, or if I was still healthy. I had lost 2.6 pounds, which sort of seemed like a lot. But then I weighed myself today to see if the pattern was continuing, and if I would be deathly ill by the end of the month. But I gained 0.6 of it back, so I figured I was fine. Then I put on a sweater and weighed myself again, and I was 100%.
I have had a horrible sore throat for like a week, and I probably should go meet my new doctor, but I haven't--mostly due to the fact that I haven't picked one yet. Trying to find a new doctor is like trying to find a boyfriend, all of the good ones seem to be taken. All I know is I don't want this guy. 
He's one of my my choices, but I just don't want him poking at me. Sorry if you know this person, but I just can't do it. Mostly because I think his hair is fake. And I don't really trust that mustache.
If you know any good doctors, let me know. In the meantime, I will continue to eat cough drops like candy, sleep sporadically, and forget meals. That's just the way it is right now.
Wednesday, October 8, 2008
I am missing The Office
...due to the fact that we don't have TV. Well, we have several TVs, you just can't watch TV on them. Only movies. This could be good for me because then I wouldn't stay up late (read 10 pm). But really, there are plenty of other distractions to find around the house. And I'll just end up watching The Office online tomorrow. Oh my gosh. I just realized today is Wednesday, not Thursday. Whoops. Well, the same thing will apply, unless you invite me over to watch The Office on your TV. Now I feel silly because I seriously thought it started in like, 32 minutes. Uhhh....anyway.
I started making invitations for my sister's bridal shower (say congrats Joelle, you are getting it together!) I have to go back to the store tomorrow and buy a different kind of paper because the ink won't dry on the pearlized kind that I purchased. Then I just have to put write my return address on over 60 envelopes since I don't have those handy sticker things, address over 60 envelopes, and make over 60 invitations (well, print them and them stamp them in red ink with this floral stamp I bought). I'm going away to the beach this weekend for a Girl's Gone Wild and Totally Drunk party (okay, so it's a girl's weekend away with teachers...but only the fun ones, because I don't hang with lame peeps). They think we are going to go pick up shells, watch movies, sip margaritas, and play Apples to Apples. What they don't know is that I am going to bring over 60 blank envelopes with me to see if I can recruit some help, considering these things should've been in the mail yesterday. Suckers.
I had a meeting with a guy today about my retirement. Talk about grown up things to worry about. Let's call this guy Jim (because that's his name)is all telling me about how PERS works, and I'm all "So where does this dough sit until I'm about to kick the bucket?" Because I want to know how much interest it's going to be making. So he's telling me some answers. We start to talk about how much I should start saving. "How old are you?" Jim asks. I say "21...22." Because it hasn't really sunk in that I'm 22, even though I will be 23 next month. He starts explaing what a "return" is, and I'm like "I'm not an idiot. Just because I'm 22 doesn't mean I don't know what a return is. Everybody knows what that means." The dude starts to explain what happens when you retire, and how the district has to pay you in one lump sum. I'm not a moron, I know what would happen. The government would freakin' tax you up the whazoo unless you put that money in an IRA and withdrew it a little at a time. Then he's like "And you don't want to take out your retirement money early, because then...." And I'm all "hold up man, I watch Suze Orman, I know what's what. There's no need in recitin' the ABCs to me." So then he gives me this little quiz to see how risky I am with my money, and what kind of a portfolio I should build. But I already know the answer. I AM NOT RISKY AT ALL. I keep my money in my little pink piggy pank and kiss it every morning. So we decided to start with minimal risk stuff and work up to different types of stocks when I feel more comfortable with it. Because I know, no risk, no reward. Then I said, "Well, Jimbo, I'll catch you later, home slice." And he said "Peace out," and took his briefcase.
I started making invitations for my sister's bridal shower (say congrats Joelle, you are getting it together!) I have to go back to the store tomorrow and buy a different kind of paper because the ink won't dry on the pearlized kind that I purchased. Then I just have to put write my return address on over 60 envelopes since I don't have those handy sticker things, address over 60 envelopes, and make over 60 invitations (well, print them and them stamp them in red ink with this floral stamp I bought). I'm going away to the beach this weekend for a Girl's Gone Wild and Totally Drunk party (okay, so it's a girl's weekend away with teachers...but only the fun ones, because I don't hang with lame peeps). They think we are going to go pick up shells, watch movies, sip margaritas, and play Apples to Apples. What they don't know is that I am going to bring over 60 blank envelopes with me to see if I can recruit some help, considering these things should've been in the mail yesterday. Suckers.
I had a meeting with a guy today about my retirement. Talk about grown up things to worry about. Let's call this guy Jim (because that's his name)is all telling me about how PERS works, and I'm all "So where does this dough sit until I'm about to kick the bucket?" Because I want to know how much interest it's going to be making. So he's telling me some answers. We start to talk about how much I should start saving. "How old are you?" Jim asks. I say "21...22." Because it hasn't really sunk in that I'm 22, even though I will be 23 next month. He starts explaing what a "return" is, and I'm like "I'm not an idiot. Just because I'm 22 doesn't mean I don't know what a return is. Everybody knows what that means." The dude starts to explain what happens when you retire, and how the district has to pay you in one lump sum. I'm not a moron, I know what would happen. The government would freakin' tax you up the whazoo unless you put that money in an IRA and withdrew it a little at a time. Then he's like "And you don't want to take out your retirement money early, because then...." And I'm all "hold up man, I watch Suze Orman, I know what's what. There's no need in recitin' the ABCs to me." So then he gives me this little quiz to see how risky I am with my money, and what kind of a portfolio I should build. But I already know the answer. I AM NOT RISKY AT ALL. I keep my money in my little pink piggy pank and kiss it every morning. So we decided to start with minimal risk stuff and work up to different types of stocks when I feel more comfortable with it. Because I know, no risk, no reward. Then I said, "Well, Jimbo, I'll catch you later, home slice." And he said "Peace out," and took his briefcase.
Monday, October 6, 2008
Diary Secrets Leaked
I made it over the bridge by 4:33 today. Miracle, I know. This is probably the only day this week that I will get home early, considering I have after school meetings on Tuesday, Wednesday, and Thursday. But no school Friday due to inservice, so that's a plus.
I was reading through several old journals and found some funny (and also not so much funny as intriguing) things I thought I would share. Each line is completely unrelated to the others. People I mention are all different. Names have been removed for confidentiality. Events not in chronological order. Guessing game! Make a guess about what each line has to do with. None of it has to do with you.
....Good thing I'm never going to tell her where I am.
I basically think she is a mini-bitch, but she gives me cards, so I can't hate her.
______seems nice, and he tries to be helpful, but I can't help but think he has spent some time in prison--or should have.
So basically, he's a Greek god. I'd tape in the photograph that depicts him in this manner, only I think that's a bit OCD. But it's gorgeous.
I dislike ____so much, that if you paid me $100 to hang a picture of him/her up in my house, I wouldn't do it. If____moved in next door, I'd leave. If _______had a biography written about him/herself, I'd burn it.
It has been a total of 81 days. 81 days. I could have traveled around the world in a balloon by now.
I have got what you would call SKILL.
"But it seems you are not allowed to say what is true unless you are at least 18 years of age," quoted from Clarice Bean.
This battle needs to be OVER. And I'm not surrendering, so we know who needs to get it together. I mean, effing mother it needs to be DONE.
If I was a good person, I would: 3) eat more vegetables.
Things to do to be a pissed bitch:
1) do not smile, 2) fold arms, 3) tap foot, 4) "the look", 5) clench my teeth.
I need more man power.
I've always passed every test the first time, so I didn't need to worry. The people in_______________can suck it.
I need a vacation. Or a therapist.
...under bleachers at night, or somewhere sketch.
I need more man power.
The rest is happily ever after.
I was reading through several old journals and found some funny (and also not so much funny as intriguing) things I thought I would share. Each line is completely unrelated to the others. People I mention are all different. Names have been removed for confidentiality. Events not in chronological order. Guessing game! Make a guess about what each line has to do with. None of it has to do with you.
....Good thing I'm never going to tell her where I am.
I basically think she is a mini-bitch, but she gives me cards, so I can't hate her.
______seems nice, and he tries to be helpful, but I can't help but think he has spent some time in prison--or should have.
So basically, he's a Greek god. I'd tape in the photograph that depicts him in this manner, only I think that's a bit OCD. But it's gorgeous.
I dislike ____so much, that if you paid me $100 to hang a picture of him/her up in my house, I wouldn't do it. If____moved in next door, I'd leave. If _______had a biography written about him/herself, I'd burn it.
It has been a total of 81 days. 81 days. I could have traveled around the world in a balloon by now.
I have got what you would call SKILL.
"But it seems you are not allowed to say what is true unless you are at least 18 years of age," quoted from Clarice Bean.
This battle needs to be OVER. And I'm not surrendering, so we know who needs to get it together. I mean, effing mother it needs to be DONE.
If I was a good person, I would: 3) eat more vegetables.
Things to do to be a pissed bitch:
1) do not smile, 2) fold arms, 3) tap foot, 4) "the look", 5) clench my teeth.
I need more man power.
I've always passed every test the first time, so I didn't need to worry. The people in_______________can suck it.
I need a vacation. Or a therapist.
...under bleachers at night, or somewhere sketch.
I need more man power.
The rest is happily ever after.
Sunday, October 5, 2008
This Weekend
I slept until 1:15 pm today, which is a new record for the past four months. Since August I have been waking up around 8am even if I don't set my alarm. I may have zonked out for so long because I am sick with a throat that is on fire.
I swear everytime I go to Winco they are re-
stocking the bananas. Always. Which means I have to fiddle around and wait until the person gets out of the way with their giant banana cart. Even if I go at different times on different days, they are re-stocking the bananas. Makes you wonder if monkeys come in daily and empty the supply.
I really miss watching LOST, evident by the fact that 
while I was dreaming during said extended sleeping time, I dreamt that this monster type thing would shred me and my family to bits if we didn't hide well enough in our barn. This bears resemblance to the creepy black smoke thing on LOST, I think. I would rather dream about polar bears again.
while I was dreaming during said extended sleeping time, I dreamt that this monster type thing would shred me and my family to bits if we didn't hide well enough in our barn. This bears resemblance to the creepy black smoke thing on LOST, I think. I would rather dream about polar bears again.On the way walking home from Andrew's birthday, my roommates and I almost got egged! The nerve! But the drive-by culprits missed and it just splattered on the sidewalk. Still, it makes you re-think walking home late at night.
I saw a falling star last night, but was too late to make a wish on it.
I swear everytime I go to Winco they are re-
stocking the bananas. Always. Which means I have to fiddle around and wait until the person gets out of the way with their giant banana cart. Even if I go at different times on different days, they are re-stocking the bananas. Makes you wonder if monkeys come in daily and empty the supply.Grace.
Friday, October 3, 2008
Wedding Stuff
I've decided I really need to get my ish together so I can be a good maid of honor. Mainly, I need to plan two bridal showers and a bachelorette party for my sister. Plus get my dress hemmed. I've decided to make cupcakes for at least one of the bridal showers. Decorating them will probably take like 5 hours, so for the second bridal shower I'll likely feel overwhelmed and just buy a 12.99 cake from Winco (sorry Jess). My sister has registered for four blenders and three vacuums, among other things. Don't ask me to explain it. Maybe she wants to give me one since she knows I'll never get to register for anything, unless it's for the baby shower of my illegitimate child.
I really think you should get to register for gifts when you get your first place, and not when you get married. I mean, I need stuff too. For example, my roommates and I hadn't really vacuumed our floor until this summer, when I finally bucked up and bought the cheapest vacuum I could find. And silverware? Yeah, it doesn't match. I mean, when you move to your first place you are way excited if someone gives you a cookie sheet and a spatula. Now, imagine myself at 43 when I get married. Will not be as excited about the cookie sheet.
Today my sister told me all the places they were going to go on their honeymoon. And okay, I could go to the aviation museum and look at the Spruce Goose myself (I mostly am interested in the Spruce Goose only because it made an appearance on my favorite childhood cartoon show, Tailspin. That's where I first learned about it). And okay, I could grab some friends and go to a posh resort if I really wanted. But I got really envious that I am going to miss out on the dinner train.
Apparently there is this train near Hood River that you can have dinner on, and they feed you wine and cheese and crap, but they also have murder mystery dinners, which would be complete entertainment because I could kill off the irritating and non-recycling passenger who stole my extra pillow. How perfect would it
be if you went on a murder mystery dinner on your honeymoon, and then you discovered your new wife/husband was the murderer? Because wouldn't that make you just a bit leery of the rest of your trip, even though it was pretend? It would make the perfect story. This man marries this woman, finds out she is the murderer during the mystery game on the train, and the new bride laughs it off. "Oh, darling, I am just so clever. You never knew it was me." She gives a feisty little wink, and then when you wake up in your hotel room the next morning you find out that the man staying in 108B is missing. Because your wife actually did murder him since he had some dirt on her. Mainly, that your new wife is a gold digger, and only married you for your life insurance policy, because she plans on killing you too! I am getting out of control with this. I need to stop.
I really think you should get to register for gifts when you get your first place, and not when you get married. I mean, I need stuff too. For example, my roommates and I hadn't really vacuumed our floor until this summer, when I finally bucked up and bought the cheapest vacuum I could find. And silverware? Yeah, it doesn't match. I mean, when you move to your first place you are way excited if someone gives you a cookie sheet and a spatula. Now, imagine myself at 43 when I get married. Will not be as excited about the cookie sheet.
Today my sister told me all the places they were going to go on their honeymoon. And okay, I could go to the aviation museum and look at the Spruce Goose myself (I mostly am interested in the Spruce Goose only because it made an appearance on my favorite childhood cartoon show, Tailspin. That's where I first learned about it). And okay, I could grab some friends and go to a posh resort if I really wanted. But I got really envious that I am going to miss out on the dinner train.
Apparently there is this train near Hood River that you can have dinner on, and they feed you wine and cheese and crap, but they also have murder mystery dinners, which would be complete entertainment because I could kill off the irritating and non-recycling passenger who stole my extra pillow. How perfect would it
be if you went on a murder mystery dinner on your honeymoon, and then you discovered your new wife/husband was the murderer? Because wouldn't that make you just a bit leery of the rest of your trip, even though it was pretend? It would make the perfect story. This man marries this woman, finds out she is the murderer during the mystery game on the train, and the new bride laughs it off. "Oh, darling, I am just so clever. You never knew it was me." She gives a feisty little wink, and then when you wake up in your hotel room the next morning you find out that the man staying in 108B is missing. Because your wife actually did murder him since he had some dirt on her. Mainly, that your new wife is a gold digger, and only married you for your life insurance policy, because she plans on killing you too! I am getting out of control with this. I need to stop.
Wednesday, October 1, 2008
How I almost self-combusted
Yesterday I almost posted this: "I know this is way early to say, considering I've only been teaching for four weeks, but I find myself thinking about alternate careers. Because I don't know if I can really do this." But today I feel differently, because my students and I had a pretty good day. Based on the dramatic emotional change that occurred over the past 24 hours, I have since decided not to make any life altering decisions until I have taught for at least half a year. Possibly a year. That said, I am eating Lucky Charms for dinner because I got home really late and didn't feel like making anything.
Also, everyday I keep thinking I'll get fired. Even though I had good students today, I thought I might get fired because (and don't tell anyone this) I was fifteen (or maybe twenty) minutes late to work due to an unforeseen accident that was blocking a road I had to drive on. At 7:43 I broke the speed limit. The clock in my car hit 7:54 and I felt my blood pressure rise. At 7:58 I about had an aneurysm because I wasn't even over the (effing) bridge yet. I stopped looking at the clock hoping that God would stop time. I peeked at it at 8:03 and started thinking about how I could sneak into school unnoticed. 8:08 and I about rammed into the car in front of me. 8:10 my eyes bulged out. 8:11 I started to calm down. 8:15 I about wet myself. 8:17 I swerved. 8:18 I leaped from my car like it was on fire. 8:19 my stomach cringed. 8:23 I felt safe in my classroom. 8:24 I acted like I had been there for hours. 8:25 I got fired. Just kidding. I think.
Also, everyday I keep thinking I'll get fired. Even though I had good students today, I thought I might get fired because (and don't tell anyone this) I was fifteen (or maybe twenty) minutes late to work due to an unforeseen accident that was blocking a road I had to drive on. At 7:43 I broke the speed limit. The clock in my car hit 7:54 and I felt my blood pressure rise. At 7:58 I about had an aneurysm because I wasn't even over the (effing) bridge yet. I stopped looking at the clock hoping that God would stop time. I peeked at it at 8:03 and started thinking about how I could sneak into school unnoticed. 8:08 and I about rammed into the car in front of me. 8:10 my eyes bulged out. 8:11 I started to calm down. 8:15 I about wet myself. 8:17 I swerved. 8:18 I leaped from my car like it was on fire. 8:19 my stomach cringed. 8:23 I felt safe in my classroom. 8:24 I acted like I had been there for hours. 8:25 I got fired. Just kidding. I think.
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