My weekend so far

I woke up at 4:32 am and realized I was not in my own bed. After remembering I was at my sister's house puppy sitting, I rolled over and went to sleep, returning to my dreams of being mauled by dogs. In case you were wondering, Cinderly has not tried to attack me. Just the opposite, really, she's trying to lick my face off.

I woke up at 11:37, surprised at how late I had slept. However, Kaitlynn came over last night and after she left, I was still up for like two more hours. I had all of these intentions of waking up at 10 am and jumping in the hot tub before taking a shower. How glorious would that be, with the sun overhead? As it was, I was anxious to go shopping. I fed Cinderly, cleaned the puppy area, ate some yogurt, and took a shower.

Shopping was rather futile, I'd rather not talk about it. I did get some stuff, but it took me like seven hours and I was limping all over the mall because my knee cap is still sore from being dislocated on Thursday. I did get a lot of good stuff at the Learning Palace, but it set me back forty-odd dollars and I won't get reimbursed for it, considering our budget's still frozen. But whatev, I'll be able to use it next year too.

When I got home there was some gross stuff I'd rather not talk about either (it's probably not what you are thinking though). I let Cinderly out and discovered that Thor had let himself out of his kennel. He was still tied up, because he's been acting as Houdini a lot recently, so even though he's in a kennel, he has a chain. I called Jess and told her what is up. Thor chewed a hole in the wire of his gate, so even if I put him back in there, he will probably squeeze through again. I seriously don't know how he fit through though. The hole is only big enough for my head to fit through.

I went inside and checked out the movie selection. I watched Stomp the Yard. The beginning was rather ridiculous. I laughed even though they were having a dance battle and Chris Brown's character got shot. I mean really.

After the movie was over, I checked on the dogs again and attempted to rescue Thor from his stupidity, because he was all tangled up. Truth be told, I try to rescue a lot of people from their stupidity, only they never listen.

Britt is supposed to be coming over and we're taking advantage of the hot tub. Hopefully Thor won't completely escape, and the puppies won't chew a hole in their box and disappear.

Don't wear a thong to the gym

I am actually taking more than 1.2 hours of sick time tomorrow. Whooppee! I have to go to a physical therapy type class at 9:30 in South Salem, and it should last about an hour. Technically I could be back by about 11, but when you hire a sub they have to work for either a full day or a half day, and a half day is considered 8-11:45. So of course I won't be back until 11:43. Suckers. Have fun teaching math. You know what else is great? My sub is going to have 1 hour of prep time, and I left a huge stack of papers for her to grade. I'm kind of sad about losing my whole hour, but I'll be happy as long as she (or he, I don't want to be sexist) makes a dent in the grading. I hate grading.

Because my appt isn't until 9:30, I also get to sleep in. And make breakfast and eat it at my house as opposed to in the car while driving. I also plan on making 4 phone calls that I can never make because they are only open from 8-5, and I never remember to call right after the kids leave. I might even wake up in time to watch Lost on-line before leaving. I wish I had TV so I could watch it now.

Not to sound like a creeper or anything, but I highly advise against wearing thongs to the gym. Especially if you are male. I understand that these women are worried about VPL (visible panty lines) with their stretchy pants, but when you wear a thong something happens that you are probably not aware of. But the people behind you are. If you start to sweat a lot, then gradually, over the course of an hour, you will get a really nasty sweaty triangle on your butt and in your crack, outlining your thong. It's pretty gruesome. I don't want to tell these strangers this, but I figured I could tell you. You decide what's worth it. No panty lines and a sweaty butt triangle, or slight panty lines?

BTW, I looked really cute today. I should have taken a picture. You know what else? If my therapy class gets done early and I have time, I am totally going shopping before going to work.

Attacked by a canine, no joke!

The left sleeve of my jacket is currently suffering from bite marks and a hole. This is because I was viciously attacked by a Rottweiler named Thor today. It was unexpected, considering I've been around Thor on more than one occasion. My sister, Jess, asked me on Sunday if I would stop by so she could show me what to do with the puppies and so "we can make sure Thor won't bite your arm off." Her very words. This made me hesitant because like I said, I'd been around Thor before and he was fine.

I went to Jess's house and Thor was chained up outside. Travis was holding on to his collar so Thor wouldn't run and attack me. I got closer slowly, held out my hand to pat him on the head, and then Thor growled menacingly and lunged at me, teeth tearing my coat sleeve as I pulled away.

This has caused me to rethink the puppy sitting. I told Jess and Travis I probably would not let Thor out of his kennel. I will get a tube and siphon his dog food in through the chain link fence. He won't get to exercise. He deserves it after trying to maul me. I told Thor if he tried that again, I would take him to the dentist and have every last one of his teeth pulled. Then he would be all gums and have to eat applesauce.

I'm not worried about Cinderly. Good thing too, since she will be staying inside the house with her puppies. I've known Cinderly since she was 6 weeks old, and she is a very aggressive Rottweiler. On the other hand, Thor was recently adopted from another home. Plus he is male and still has all his man parts. Hence the puppies.

I am still kinda mad about my coat. But I guess I should be thankful Thor didn't get any skin. However, if he did, then I totally could have texted Jeff (our assistant principal) and been all "I'm not coming to work on Wednesday because I lost part of my arm and I'm at the hospital losing blood." And then he would be like "well, it's a good thing you've only used 1.2 hours of your sick leave." Speaking of taking time off, I found out today that I have 2 personal days that I need to use up by the end of May or they disappear forever. I have no idea what to use them for, but I definitely need to use them. What sort of fun things could I do instead of going to work?

Right now I am eating the chocolate cross that my mom got me for Easter. It's not as satisfying as bunny ears, and a bit strange as well. I mean, essentially I am eating a chocolatized version of the murder weapon that killed Jesus Christ. It's not like they sell chocolate handguns. But they do make delicious death trees that the savior of the world perished on.

Criminal Intentions

Noelle has got a record, and we’re not talking about a Grammy award winning album. She and her sister, Amy, are trying to escape their criminal past, but habits and finances prevent them from walking the straight and narrow. Here she gives you the details.

The characters and events portrayed in this story are fictitious. Any similarity to real persons, living or dead, is highly coincidental.

I have to be extra careful when I engage in criminal activity, due to the fact that the FBI has my fingerprints on file. Most of my criminal acts include things like stealing extra ketchup from Wendy’s, breaking the speed limit, smuggling jelly beans into movie theaters, or cutting tags off of mattresses. You know, small stuff.

I got involved in a life of crime at the tender age of 14, when my father insisted to the ticket seller at an amusement park that I was 12 so that I could get in for free.

Since then, my criminal activity has grown exponentially. Take last Friday, for example. I wanted to go to the county fair, as I have done every year since the fourth grade. I have never had to pay to get into the county fair. This is because I was involved with 4-H for nine years and pretty much lived at the fairgrounds every summer for a week while I showed horses or did performing arts. 4-H is only for people grade 12 or younger. The year after I graduated from 4-H, my sister (who is also a criminal) and I snuck in to the fair via a hole in the fence. This hole is located near some remote horse stables and the only reason that I knew about it was because it was there when I was in 4-H. So this year, I assumed my sister and I would do the same thing as we had done before. We would drive back to where the 4-H camp is set up and casually walk through the hole in the fence. But nothing ever happens the way it should, even for criminals.

When we arrived, we found out that the hole was missing. They put up a brand new chain link fence, as if they were trying to keep a pack of rabies infected Great Danes out. This was the one day I left my grappling gear at home, so climbing the fence was out of the question. I was raised to be determined and stubborn. I am rarely ever stubborn (unlike my sister and father) but I am determined to think of alternative solutions should a problem arise. It’s called being resourceful. My sister, Amy, and I walked the perimeter of the fence. Like the criminals that we were, we cased the place. It reminded me of a job we pulled in Houston a few years back. We discovered a small slit in the fence where the gate connected. We considered pulling a Stalingrad and waiting outside the fence for six months until we starved and reached the necessary weight of 60 pounds to be skinny enough to slip through. After thinking about elephant ears and cotton candy, we quickly dismissed the idea.

It didn’t matter; we would get in somehow. We decided to go visit our old 4-H leader in her camper. Actually, it was more of a gargantuan motor home that could house a small African village. There were a couple of 4-Hers resting in the motor home, and we chatted about old times. While reminiscing, we noticed a glittery show outfit draped over a wooden hanger, like a savior. It was much like Jesus hanging on the cross, except that the Christ didn’t have sequins or matching Wrangler jeans. The outfit had an entry number pinned to the back, and quite obviously, our solution was clear. We would disguise ourselves as 4-Hers. We could put on some show clothes, pin some numbers to our backs, and walk through the gate with our cowboy hats tilted inconspicuously over our faces. I didn’t know why I hadn’t thought of it sooner. I made a mental note to add a cowboy outfit to my box of costumes that I house in my car trunk.

We asked if we could borrow the clothes, but unfortunately, the person who owned the clothes had to go into a show soon and needed the outfit. Foiled again—just like two binomials in an algebra equation. All hope seemed to be lost, much like when you are stuck in the snowy mountains for seven days with nothing but a candlestick, a gum wrapper chain necklace, and a mentally unstable ski instructor named Herman.

Amy and I refused to give up. Where there’s a will there’s a way. We considered doing the honest thing and coughing up the money for tickets. We might as well have been trying to cough up diamonds. I counted the eleven tired dollars nestled comfortably in my wallet. The only cash that my sister had consisted of a pocketful of dead presidents. Thirty-two cents. Who only carries thirty-two cents in their purse? Beggars have more money.

Tickets were $7.50 each. We couldn’t even be honest if we had wanted. We were too poor. Defeated, we walked back to our cars. I dug around in every compartment and found a few emergency dollars and coins (usually reserved for parking meters). My sister was very helpful and found another nickel that she had been hoarding. We were determined. We did not waste an hour of our time thinking of ways to enter the fair to come all this way and not get in. With our money, we realized that once we paid for tickets we wouldn’t be able to buy dinner, or any other item for that matter. Amy was quick to think of an elaborate scheme. Her boyfriend’s mother is a 4-H leader and was currently at the fair. She called the woman and talked for a bit. Then she told me the plan.

“Okay, Noelle, this is what we are going to do. I’ll pay for a ticket, go inside, and meet Lynette. Lynette will give me her green bracelet, then I’ll come back outside and give it to you. That way, only one of us has to pay.” Normally, it would have sounded like a legit plan. Only, I was too nervous to go along with it. I’m a bit apprehensive now, ever since I did time in Folsom prison.

“Let’s just pay. Just pay and get it over with,” I said. Amy and I walked along the fence a bit more, just checking one last time to see if there were any openings.

My sister made another phone call. Lynette would loan us money to buy dinner. We really were beggars.

Here’s where it gets interesting. We got our money out, all ready to surrender and pay the men at the gate. But when we got there, they told us they couldn’t sell us tickets. For a moment I was afraid that they had photos of us from our warrants. But no, we had arrived at the exhibitor’s only gate. I very congenially asked “So do we need to go around to another entrance?” I was tired. I just wanted to get into the fair. The beefy guard in a blue polo told us we could buy tickets about 50 feet away at one of the other gates. To my shock, he gestured for us to follow him through the gate. It was like the Angel Gabriel inviting Satan through the pearly gates.

Once I was about nine feet through the gate and into the fair, I started to freak out. I grabbed my sister’s shoulder and gave her a non-verbal signal. We were really in. My brain went into a frenzy. Should I throw myself over a bale of hay and make a run for it? Dive into the goat pens? After five more steps I took action. I yelled “Lookout! A loose Longhorn bull!” The concerned guard looked to where I had pointed. My sister ran into the quickly dispersing and terrified crowd while I hurled myself into the cow pen on my right. I hid myself among the straw until the chaos died down. It didn’t take long since there wasn’t actually a loose animal. I peeked out from the hay, only to be greeted by two brown cow eyes glaring at me. The bovine started blowing its nostrils in rage. I watched as its eyes went from cow pie brown to rooster red. “MOOOOO!!!” it practically growled. Then it lunged at me…

Actually, that didn’t happen at all. Sorry. This is what really happened: I considered throwing myself into the goat pen, but quickly thought better of it. Instead, I followed the guard over to the ticket booth. He stopped leading us about half way, then turned back around and went to his post. My sister and I didn’t need any encouragement. We adjusted our steps to a sloth-like pace, glanced over our shoulder, and hid behind a blue structure while the guard wasn’t looking. We stayed there for about three minutes, using up the time it would have taken to buy tickets. We were about 20 feet from the ticket booth. Nobody noticed us. I couldn’t believe how idiotic and trusting the guard had been. Like I was really going to buy a ticket once I got in for free.

We hid for another minute. Waiting for the opportune moment, we casually joined a group of middle school boys when they strolled past us. Amy and I tried to hide behind them, walking quickly, ready to get lost among the crowd. I was terrified that the guard would remember us and seek us out to look at our tickets. Just when I thought my gut could settle down, I nearly threw up on my shoes.

“Hey! Over here!” It was Lynette. She emerged from the rabbit area and began to talk to us. The three of us were in plain sight of the guards. I half listened as Lynette babbled on, carefully watching the man in the blue polo out of the corner of my eye. Good thing too, because he soon whistled and marched over to us, not unlike the Gestapo. I thought to myself “It’s all over. Once the guard finds out I’m on parole, it’s back to prison.” Instead of handcuffing me or beating me with a large stick as I had previously experienced in other countries, he reprimanded a blond girl a mere five feet away. Apparently she hadn’t bought tickets either. I felt quite relieved, like when you’ve just drank a 64 ounce Pepsi and have been holding your bladder for three and a half hours during a showing of the musical Les Miserables and you finally get to leave and rush to the restroom. Needless to say, my sister and I quickly evacuated the area to a safer location where the guards could no longer see us. Once again, we did not have to pay overpriced fair admission. We walked away from the animal barns, feeling both clever and content.

Then I ate a greasy corn dog, a blue snow cone, an elephant ear, a raspberry shake, some pop corn, and cotton candy. I also threw up on the Ferris wheel. You get what you pay for.

If only you knew

Blah blah blah blah. Right when I got home from pumping iron I ate three marshmallow Peeps. And some little chocolate eggs, because I still had some left from yesterday. Then I ate dinner. Pretty sure the whole thing was counterproductive, but whatever. Oh yeah, and then I went grocery shopping.

I realized today that my chosen profession is really conflicting with my personality. I like to view myself as a calm, patient, caring individual. However, I feel like I am just a bitch when I'm teaching. I wasn't always, but I kind of have to be now, because not all my students are behaving in a way that I can act patient and caring. Some of them really just need spankings, or boot camp, or a swift kick in the pants. When they're not respecting me, I get a whole lot meaner. My little cousin, Morgan, who is in the 5th grade asked me to use my teacher voice and give my mean glare. Of course when I saw her I couldn't. It's not something I can fake. But like I said, I think I sound and act like a super bitch sometimes. It's not very calming on the nerves. I'm on high alert the whole day. BTW, is it bad that you are actually kind of glad that one of your students has head lice and won't be at school for the rest of the week? Because then you know you'll have less trouble? What have I become.

On Easter my relatives asked me if I would be working/teaching at all during the summer. I'm like "No, I'll be spending the whole summer in therapy." For real. They give free therapy to teachers. Did you know that?

Sometimes I think about how utterly fascinating a book made out of my private journal would be. Because I don't mean to brag, but I say some really funny stuff in it. Only I can't write it here because it's either inappropriate or too personal or hurtful to others. Maybe in like, ten years I could re-write it into a novel. And the main character could be Noelle and she is a teacher who thinks she's just rockin' and on top of the world. But by the end of the book you find out she almost failed college and she barely has a job and has to go to therapy in the summer time because she was emotionally traumatized by various incidents involving her students. Plus she has a secret love affair only of course it will never work out (because he's either 14 years older, or married, or from a foreign country, or all three). And then she moves on and falls in love with the guy who works at the front desk of her gym (because he's only 11 years older, or single, or has a work VISA, or all three). So she hires a private detective to follow him and tell her where the guy goes in his free time. So then Noelle goes to the same Blockbuster or bar or whatever and runs into him and says super casually, "Oh, I didn't see you there." Even though she totally planned it.

Binging on chocolate eggs

I figured I should blog because 1) I need something to distract myself from the bag of mini chocolate eggs that is sitting in front of me, 2) I don't want to do my laundry, 3) I don't want to grade papers (do I ever?) and 2) IT'S EASTER.

I'm so glad that a giant, fluffy rabbit died for my sins on a cross and delivers egg filled baskets to children everywhere so that they may have a new life through him...What's that? You mean the Easter Bunny and candy and egg hunts have nothing to do with Easter? That it is more of a marketing scheme to get those people who are not Christians to buy into the holiday? My bad.

I don't have anything profound to say about the resurrection of Jesus, so sorry. But I believe that it happened, and I believe in God, and I'm a Christian, and if I didn't have Jesus in my life then my life would totally suck. I don't even want to imagine it. I was just giving a speech to my kids last week about how there comes a point where sorry doesn't mean anything anymore. If you keep doing something and just tell me sorry afterwards, it doesn't mean anything. They can't fix the mistake because it's already been done. They can't give me back the time they wasted, or pay back materials or supplies ruined, or take back hurtful words, etc. If God were being totally fair with us, sorry shouldn't mean anything to him either. Because I don't know about you, but I make a lot of the same mistakes sometimes. Thankfully for us, God has a lot of mercy and if we ask for forgiveness, he will accept that. It's really quite amazing, because like I said with my kids, the apologies from repeat offenders just don't mean much to me anymore. But God loves us enough to continue to show mercy and give grace.

On to less serious topics...

While at Easter dinner, I confessed to my aunt that when I was young I had a really big crush on Jonathan Taylor Thomas. She was like "Who's that?" and I dropped my jaw and said "Are you kidding me?" Then I told her I secretly wanted a poster of him when I was 12, but I was slightly embarrassed and knew my mom wouldn't let me have a poster of a super hot boy in my room. My aunt said "Oh, you should have told me, I would have bought you one." But I said, "I was okay. I had a poster of The Lion King instead, because he was the voice of Simba."

This upcoming weekend I am puppy sitting for 13 dogs total. AHHH! I think that while my sister and brother-in-law are out of town I should throw a really raging party. Or at least use her hot tub. And watch her movies. And cuddle with a little puppy. I really think a pancake party is in order (rainbow dotted pancakes with whip cream) and I know that if Lenay Olsen wasn't living in California right now, she'd totally be up for it, because she loves pancakes. In fact, here is a video of Lenay selling pancakes on the side of the road for gas money.

Oh heavens. I've almost eaten the whole bag of chocolate eggs. I'm going to go into sugar shock.

45 days until school's out. Just in case you were wondering. I'm slightly considering trying to get a summer school job teaching middle school English, but more of me just wants to do nothing. During the summer I want to dye my hair pink and wear ratty jeans and screen printed t-shirts and flip flops because all of these things are inappropriate for school. And I want to wake up at 9am every morning and stay out in the sun and write and read. I will stay up super late and not do any paperwork and dance on a roof top (if I have access to one). Join me, won't you?

10 good things

Some good things about today:

1) Oreo cake at lunch time to celebrate March birthdays. I adore Oreo cake. One time, the morning after my sister's bachelorette party, I ate Oreo cake for breakfast.2) Eyeball binging on MTV. Watched a few episodes of Cribs. And maybe The Hills. Maybe not, you won't really know.

3) Listening to late 90s music on Pandora.

4) Kickboxing class.

5) SUN!!

6) No more kids for two days.

7) French toast for dinner.

8) Banking on Excel. Yes, I actually like keeping track of money. I never balance my checkbook, mostly because I check all my accounts on-line at least once (sometimes twice) a week. And I recently just created a new spreadsheet on Excel to itemize expenses. I plan on making a graph from it at the end of the month.

9) Staying up late(er than usual).

10) Blog readers. That's right, YOU!

I'd lift my shirt but...

I considered taking a picture of my abs and posting it on here, but I decided against it for the following reasons:
1) I do not want people to think I am a skanky ho.
2) Who really knows who reads this blog? I don't.
3) What if the lines and indents are invisible to you, and you don't think it's very impressive? What I should have done is taken a before picture, but I don't have one.

If you are really interested in seeing my abs, or are a stalker, then these are the possible ways your dream may come true:
1) I get so ripped in the next few months that my ego exceeds my modesty, and so then I would take a picture and post it.
2) You go hot-tubbing with me at my sister's. But usually we go when it is dark, so good luck then.
3) You are the old person living in the room on the second floor in the retirement center across from me, because I frequently change with the blinds open.
4) You suggest a swimming excursion during the summer.

Oh....I nearly forgot another reason why I am not going to lift my shirt and snap a picture of my abs. Today in word study I was teaching my small group their new words. We were talking about the homophones "sensor" and "censor." In a brief explanation of "censor," a boy decided to give me an example. This is what he said, "It's like when a girl on TV takes off her shirt," (he motions with his hands) and they blur out her,"----"Okay, that's enough, thank you. Censoring is usually blocking out things that are inappropriate," I say. He continues real fast before I can stop him. "Or if they show a woman's vagina." Seriously? What is this kid watching at home? "Okay, you don't need to go into details," I say. I mean, obviously this kid has seen Girl's Gone Wild or something. Jerry Springer? It was just too much. The kicker? Later this week we will have sentence practice. I predict this is what Dirty Little Kid will write: "They censor vaginas on The Girl's Next Door." And then I will have to correct his spelling and say "It's not vaginas, it's vaginae." Because that's what the spell checker just told me.

You know what? I'll solve the no-show-abs-problem right now. Below is a photo of some abs that look similar to mine.Or at least, how they should look by the end of the summer.

Sydney Bristow hair

I found an empty cigarette box and stuffed teddy bear in my driveway. I ran over both. Irresponsible neighbors. The only time I ever see the neighbor lady is when she is in her pajama pants smoking on her front step. I don't think she has a job. But she is trying to get one as a bartender. Or wants to. I dunno, I only overheard 3 seconds of her conversation as I got into my car.

I think it is safe to say this here, but I will be subtle and not say a lot in case it's not. I was talking with Susan, my co-worker, today about the current state of affairs at our place of employment. We were talking about someone and I stated that "he needs to man up." Because we need someone to defend us. Or okay, not defend, but to at least act as a representative and say what needs to be said. But I guess it's not in his job description. I dunno, I'll have to check.

Natalie just got her haircut and I'm kind of jealous because I like getting my haircut. Should I....chop it? or just get it trimmed? Dye it? Darker, lighter, redder, blonder, browner? Let me know what you think.
OMG Lost tomorrow.

Read an article about Melissa Rycroft in the latest issue of People while I was at the library. Because I'm not obsessed with reality TV. I was checking out Oregon Trail books. The librarian (who I never directly told I was a teacher) sighs as she's checking out my books and says "Spring time, time for the Oregon Trail unit." Because it is.

I sort of hope I get one of those chocolate bunnies with six sets of ears to nibble on for Easter. I am a chocaholic.

So 1998

I just finished listening to Savage Garden (!) and grading math papers. When I grade math, I sometimes (Okay, always) get partially aggravated because it is then that I realize at least five of my students have turned in zero assignments over the past two weeks. They have no excuse for this because we do 98% of the work in class and they have good attendance. It's at times like these that I wonder 1) am I having any impact? and 2) what the hell are these kids doing in class. Also 3) where the hell are they putting their papers, because I see them do them, they just don't turn the stuff in. Ughhhhhh.

Have you ever noticed that on people's life goals they often write "start a family" but never "finish a family"?

Have you ever wished you had about six more hours in a day?

Do you pay your bills on time?

Do you ever regret that you didn't have enough courage to do something you really should have done in your past?

Where is your best friend from 3rd grade?

The puppies have arrived!

My sister's Rottweiler, Cinderly, gave birth last Tuesday to 12 puppies. I visited them on Friday and snapped some photos. They all have different colored ribbons around their neck so my sister can keep track of them. I nicknamed the one with the orange ribbon "Beav."
On Friday I also took my class of their first field trip of the year. I am not going to go into details. We survived, only to the thanks of my wonderful volunteers, Kaitlynn, Brittany, and my mother. I seriously would have suffered from a brain embolism without you.Additionally, I went to the doctor on Friday to discuss my chronic neck pain. I was told that I am carrying a lot of "stress and tension" in my neck. However, my blood pressure has not skyrocketed, as one would imagine, especially considering the field trip that day. Instead, my blood pressure is 90/70, which is extremely low. In case you were wondering, normal blood pressure is considered at about 120/80. It is so low that I suffer from a medical condition called Orthostatichypotension, which I was diagnosed with at age 14. I just didn't know then that it was because I had unusually low blood pressure. Basically, with orthostatichypotension, if you get up too quickly from a lying or sitting position, you can become dizzy, blackout, or faint. But don't worry. If you do pass out, you will quickly regain consciousness once you hit the ground. This happens to me all the time (not the full on passing out, but the dizziness, and I feel like even though my eyes are open, I am blind and can't see anything for a few seconds). I am a bit pissed that my blood pressure is so low, because I was really hoping for medical proof that my job is a health hazard. But no, I have lots of room for rising blood pressure. Crap.

A thief stole the gas out of my car!

This may be illegal, or dishonest at least, but I definitely use my childhood address and phone number on some things. I haven't lived in my childhood home for four years, my parents haven't lived there for three, and my sister hasn't lived there for one. Still, it is the address on my library account. You might think, "Oh, why bother if you never use your library card?" Thing is, I use my library card like three times a week. But they notify you by e-mail now, so having my old address has never caused a problem. Additionally, whenever I go to Safeway (rare occasion, but still happens) and I want to save money, I tell them my old phone number because I don't have a Safeway club card. My mom has a Safeway Club account, and she opened it when we were living at the old house. The phone number is linked, so if you forget your card, you can just say your phone number. I have been using it for years, even though the phone is disconnected and nobody lives there. Safeway doesn't know. And my mom has never updated her account.

Not only do I use the phone number in the store when buying groceries, but most importantly I use it for discounts on gas. If you spend X amount of dollars on groceries per month, you can get from 3cents to 10cents off of your gas. So whenever I go to a Safeway gas station I tell them my old phone number and take advantage of the fact that my mom still buys groceries at Safeway. Essentially, I am stealing her discount.

Oh, and the blog title? Lame attempt at an April Fool's day joke. Because I am the thief. I thought about changing my relationship status on Facebook to "in a relationship," but then I figured people may comment on it, and then Tyler might see it. Then he'll get freaked out because he'll think that I think that we're dating, when so far we've only just been hanging out. I'd have to be all "Oh, no, it's a joke," but then Tyler would probably just think it's a cover. And then, because he's freaked out, would stop calling me/hanging out. And then I really would be utterly single. Unless of course, things take a turn for the better and he wants to DTR (define the relationship). Unless things take a turn for the worse and he tells me we're just friends. I didn't want any of this to happen, so I just kept my relationship status blind.