Suck My D*#@

Today was Halloween at our school. I have no idea why they decided to make Halloween on a Wednesday. Not only do they take a lot of fun out of dressing up by putting all kinds restrictions on students' costumes, but then they put it in the middle of the week.
We were supposed to pick one student from our 3rd period class that had the best costume and send them down for the school-wide costume contest.
We selected 4 students to vote on and they perfectly represented the 4 kinds of kids that dress up.

1. Slutty Popular Girl- Strawberry Shortcake
2. Class Clown- She dressed up as the Cat in the Hat complete with her whole face painted.
3. Annoying Boy That Thinks He's Cool- He bought costume that was a magnet with rubber ducks on it and was a "chick magnet"
4. Kid Who Cares Too Much- She made her own Beauty and the Beast yellow gown, hand sewn and perfect. (Sadly, I knew that she couldn't win because she wasn't popular enough.)

I could have told you that #2 was going to be our winner, but the other kids wanted to vote. I told the kids they could only vote once, so they should pic their favorite. Number 1 got 5 boys to vote for her (of course). Number 2 got 20 votes. Number 3 got NO votes and suddenly screamed, "You're all a bunch of DICKS!"

...Wait...I had to do a double take. Did a boy just scream a curse word in the middle of my class in the middle of Utah? I almost wanted to congratulate him, but instead I assigned him a one-page apology essay. I tried to scan it in, but I’m not too tech savy. Here is his letter, complete with misspellings and other beautiful teenage nonsense.

Opaligy Letter

Sorry about saying that word in class. I am trully sorry it just slipped. Normalley I try not to say things like that so I am truly sorry. I promise to you it will never happen again. Sometimes people say things on acsident that they did not mean to say and thats what happened to me. Please except my opaligy. I was just messing around and mint to say jerks. The next time this happens you can make me write 5 pages. I swear to you though it will never happen again. I even ment to say jerks in a mess around way and not even in a mean way. It is just that I know I had the best costome and their just being jerks for not picking me cuz I woulda totally won the hole contest. It is a terreble word that I never say and try to avoid saying all the time. Im notmally such a good kid and my parents would kill me if they knew I said that word. Please forgive me and except my opaligy

Is it wrong that I want to “except” his apology but make him rewrite this whole essay and fix his spelling. I love the part where he says that he never uses “dick” outside my classroom. I also like him trying to make sure that I won’t tell his parents because they’d probably do him bodily harm. Ahhh teenagers.

I can’t believe that part of my job is that I still have to act shocked when I hear a curse word.

My Students are SOO Sheltered

I've had several examples of my students naivete, but I'd like to share one from my 3rd period class today. This is an all 9th grade classroom.

Utah Student: Miss, do we have to use pencil on a scantron, can't I just use my pen?
Me: (internally rolling my eyes) You can you use pen, but I'm going to give you the score you get from the scantron machine.
Utah Student: Won't that mean I'll be getting a zero.
Me: Yup.
Utah Student: But all I have is a pen.
Me: Well you better beg, plead and borrow from your fellow students to get your hands on a pencil. (I try to avoid loaning out supplies because I never get them back)
Utah Student: What if no one will give me one?
Me: Stop making a simple situation hard. Just ask kids sitting around you.
Utah Student: I like making things hard.
Me: (waiting for sniggers and laughter to break out....nothing. I snicker and turn away from the student so he doesn't see me laughing)
Utah Student: Did you hear me?
Me: Yup...You said you liked making things hard. (Still no laughter)

I finally just gave him one of my pencils and realized that my sophomoric sense of humor is totally wasted on 15 year olds in this state.

First Snow

I walked outside this past weekend and realized that, not only was it colder than polar bear’s asshole, but it was actually snowing. It isn’t even Halloween yet, and snow was collecting in heaps on my car and the roof of the house. My roommate Jody said, “Isn’t is beautiful.”
I don’t think that beauty is a term I use to describe frozen condensation hitting my face. Let me remind you all that the two areas I have spent the majority of my life are Austin, Texas and San Diego, California. I’m like a lizard; I need a heat rock if drops below 60.

I’ve gone on ski trips with friends before, but I usually just snowboard a half day and then hang out in the lodge looking for cute guys. I’m really just there to drink hot chocolate and find a place that sells soup in warm bread bowls.

I honestly don’t know what I’m going to do this winter. I did take some initiative and invested in some footie pajamas for adults. Though my sister told me that no self-respecting person would EVER be caught dead in footie pajamas, I secretly think she’s just jealous. I can sense her envy every time I come racing around a corner of the house and slide across the wood floors to where she is standing. In fact, I’ve slept the past three nights in my footie pajamas. Laura must really be jealous because last night she turned the heat up in the house and I woke up sweating something fierce.

Here is a pic of my robot footie pjs. I'm rolling around on the ground with my neighbor, Tobin's, great dane.

Here is a photo of my brother doing his velociraptor impersonation in the snow. I wish I had an explanation for his behavior, but if you know my brother, you know that no explanation is ever required.

Free Golden Showers

Have you ever been conned by a cripple? I have.

As I mentioned before, I took a job working for a paraplegic guy. I spent two whole evenings being bossed around like a field hand. Somehow, I envisioned the job would be like babysitting. I would show up, feed him, put on the adult equivalent of Baby Einstein, clean up the house a little, and then go home with some tax-free cash in my pocket. Sadly, this is not how things panned out.

The first night I went and picked up dinner. I then received hundreds of instructions on how I should puree it, heat it, display it on the plate, serve it, and feed it to him. I think that if you’re in a wheelchair, you shouldn’t get to be OCD too. Only one disability at a time please. After over an hour of the feeding process, he wanted to channel surf. By channel surf, I mean he wanted me to flip through the channels until he found something he liked for about 2-3 minutes and then change it again. It is bad enough to try and watch someone else channel surf, but to be ordered to change the channel once every couple of minutes is downright exhausting and annoying. Then he wheeled around while I cleaned up things, he had me text message his friends for him using his phone, and then it was time to pee. WHAT! I knew this was one of my duties, but I had prayed that he could hold it till the night staff arrived. No such luck. I unzipped his pants, held the pee pee jug under his penis and then he demanded that I tell him a story while he urinated. WOW. Do you know how hard it is to tell a story while someone is peeing in a jar you are holding? I do. Somehow I don’t think $12 an hour was worth this. Then he told me he was finished. As I pulled the pee pee jug away, he squirtled me with urine ON MY BARE HAND! I tried not to freak out, but I still ran to the bathroom and washed my hands in the hottest water I could find. I don’t like it when I accidentally get my own pee on my own hand, much less the urine of a near stranger. Please don’t try to tell me that it is sterile because it won’t make it any less gross.

The next visit I had to his house I fed him, cleaned, helped him pee in a jar (very carefully this time), and then was commanded to file his nails while he watched Dancing with the Stars and commented on how fat everyone was.

I was supposed to take care of him that Sunday and then get paid for the week, but he called and told me he was going to his sister’s house and didn’t need my help. I haven’t heard from him since. It has been almost two weeks and I still haven’t been paid. I can’t believe that I got a golden shower for nothing. I’ve called and texted him, but he hasn’t returned my phone call or text. After all that I did for the guy. I’m so mad!

I was trying to think of reasons for being “let go” and I couldn’t come up with anything all last week. Then, I remembered one conversation we had while watching the news.
Wheelchair: Who are you voting for?
Me: McCain
Wheelchair: Me too. I don’t want a socialized nation.
Me: I completely agree. There are already way too many government handouts. It’s like we are trying to reverse social Darwinism.
Wheelchair: (Silent)
Me: (suddenly realizing what Darwinsim would mean for someone with no use of arms and legs) What I mean is…uhh…I think everyone should work to contribute.
Wheelchair: Change the channel to 52

So yea, I think I pinpointed the moment when I was “let go.” I still feel that I should have been paid for the hours I worked though. Is it wrong to drive to his house and demand payment? Should I write an email? All I know is that after being peed on by a guy, I better get paid something.

BYU Homecoming- GO COUGARS

I know you may not have guessed this about me, but I wasn’t much of a joiner in high school and college. In fact, organized dances, school functions, clubs, and other such entities I deemed as total nonsense and avoided them like Brittany Spears does birth control. I didn’t even go to prom my senior year of high school. I know you are all thinking, “Isn’t that just because you were a loser in high school and didn’t get asked?” And the answer to that is yes, but I still like to claim that I was making a stand against the man, whoever that is.
I digress…as always.

Anyway, it all started when my brother, another facebook junkie, saw that a learning disabled girl from our church back home had written “Lauren…is waiting for someone to ask her to homecoming” on her facebook profile. Lauren is a 22 year old that is mentally about 13 and attends BYU. They let her audit her classes but she only really takes dance and some art classes. Her parents just wanted to give her the college experience for a while. Soooo Ghent, my angel of a brother, sent her a message on Facebook asking her to the BYU homecoming dance. Once my sister, Laura, and I learned that he’d invited Lauren to homecoming, we knew we would have to get dates and make it a GROUP activity. My brother is sweet, but he’s not really social or the best dancer. These are both huge understatements. It is like saying that Posh Spice looks thin, when in fact she makes Ethiopians want to give her a dollar-a-day to go buy some food. So Laura, Jody, my other roommate, and I all decide to get dates and tickets to the BYU homecoming dance.

There are some major problems with this scenario. First problem is I don’t go to BYU. I graduated almost 9 years ago. Second problem is that I was going to have to convince someone to go with me, that probably also graduated a decade ago. I know that I’m a fun date, but if I couldn’t talk a guy into going to prom with me when we were both in high school, chances are I can’t talk a 30 year-old in to going to a homecoming at a college we both don’t attend.

Luckily, I found out that Roy was coming in town. I knew that if I was able to sucker him into going to a folk festival in Colorado, then a meager dance would be no problem. It ended up being a lot of fun, and I think the kids just thought we were chaperones for the event. Ghent and Lauren had a blast, and I recently noticed that Lauren has changed her Facebook picture to the cheesy one we took before we left for the dance. Awwwww.

Here is a photo of Ghent putting on the corsage he bought for Lauren.

Here is a photo of all the couples before the dance. I’ve blocked out my face (I like to be mysterious), Roy’s face (just trust me he is hot), and my sister face (because she looks like me). Okay, I’m still a little terrified that my students or possibly people I write about here will find out about this website. I like to do my smack-talking anonymously. I am aware that I’m a coward.

* I contemplated going into detail about being really freaked out at the dance that I would run into former students that would question why I was at their college homecoming with a date, but I decided not to mention it. I also left out the part where I tried to dance to Thriller in line-dance fashion and made a fool of myself.

My Dad is Engaged

I’m not sure if you know this, but my dad has been divorced for like three whole hours and now he’s engaged again. In all seriousness, he has honestly been single for probably two months and he’s ready to take the plunge again. I can’t believe we are even related. I’m more of a cat in relationships; I don’t like getting wet, much less plunging into anything. (Please insert tons of naughty jokes here using the word wet…as soon as I wrote that last line I knew my perverted friends would start formulating their racy comments) I can’t commit after 5, 8 and 10 months, and my dad has literally been on 5 dates with this girl, and he’s ready to tie the knot again. I want to say something is wrong with me, but who am I kidding- my dad is a freak!

I found out because I got a frantic phone call from my sister Fran telling me to check my email. On it, was this picture. It is my dad’s new girlfriend showing off her humongous engagement ring.

I know the following facts about my new soon-to-be mommy:

1. She is 45. My dad is 55, so this doesn’t seem like a mid-life crisis decision.
   
2. She has lived in Utah her whole life. I don’t know if y’all know anything about Utah, but being 45 and single in Utah is like being 75 and single here. No one, unless you are riddled with issues or riddled with acne and love handles, waits till they are 45 to get married in Utah. I’m considered a spinster there and I'm only 29.
3. She is virgin. I know that I shouldn’t know this fact, but I do. My dad is a chronic over-sharer. I don’t know what the age is when being a virgin goes from “wow, I’m so proud of you for holding out for the right man” to “Gosh, you must have some serious issues and/or no libido,” but I’m sure that 40 years-old may be the virgin limit (and that is being VERY generous!)
4. She is already trying to dress my dad like a douchebag. She bought him several dress shirts that feature golden dragons and Chinese symbols on the shoulders and back. I feel I should reiterate that my dad is 55 and has 5 children. He doesn’t need to be wearing anything with dragons on it or anything that shows off his chest and arms.
5. She is very sweet and seems really nice. She told me the engagement story and started crying. This was the moment when I knew my dad wouldn’t be sensitive enough for her. She tried to turn into his shoulder, so we wouldn’t see her crying mid-story. My dad promptly put both hands on her shoulders, turned her around to face us all teary-eyed, and made her finish the story.My dad is a nice guy, but he's never been that sensitive or "aware" of things.
6. She just sent me a “cute commercial” that featured a baby driving a car to the beach. I’m certain that I’ll get some more that have puppies and kittens doing cute things in them later this week.

I’m working on being accepting. I keep reminding myself that there is NO WAY she could be worse than my last step-mom of 13 years. We lovingly referred to her as the Megabeast.

I’ll be posting wedding pictures come December, so be on the look out for them.

No One in Utah Thinks I'm Funny

I went to a party with a bunch of people I didn’t know this weekend. This is never a good scenario because I forget that no one knows me either, and I randomly spout off and offend people without realizing it.

Case and point:

Some girl keeps telling how horrible her job is and how difficult it is to boss people around all day.

Girl: And I’m all, noooo you cannot have a two hour lunch.
Me: Where do you work again?
Girl: I’m an employee manager at the University of Phoenix.
Me: (Without thinking) Is that REALLY a college?
Girl: (Totally offended) Of course it is!!! It is a formal college. One of the biggest in the nation that allows….blah…blah…blah
Me: (Totally not paying attention and thinking that it is still a BS college)
Girl:… and it is so organized and blah…blah…blah.
Me: Oh, I had no idea.

So today at lunch I start to share this story of putting my foot in my mouth around the teacher’s lunch table. There are about 7 people in the room and I’m trying to get off the topic that is usually the focus of our lunchroom banter. I call this topic: Why My Kid Is Cuter Than Yours. I never share and have almost stopped going in the lunch room because it SUCKS. Sadly, I was so hard up for adult contact at work that I went. Plus, I needed to use the microwave. Anyway, I begin to tell my funny story about the University of Phoenix. In my head, I expected people to join in and agree with me that the University of Phoenix is some online school where you basically pay for your diploma. I get to the end of the story…

Me: …so I ask if it’s even a real college and she goes on this whole rant about it being one of the biggest colleges and I’m just sitting there thinking, Don’t you just pay and get a degree?
PE Coach at lunch table: OF COURSE IT’S A REAL COLLEGE! I got my masters there and it was really hard.
Me: (Thinking here we go again. Of course the coach got his degree there!)
PE Coach: I had to turn in every single assignment. I had classes online…Blah…blah…blah
Me: (Thinking- I HAVE TO GET OUT OF UTAH!)

So yea, I stuck my foot in my mouth twice on the same story. What are the odds? Then again, this is me, so the odds are probably pretty good.

PS- Do any of you agree with me that University of Phoenix is just a made up school that hands out degrees to anyone that pays for them?
PSS- If you did get a degree from University of Phoenix or work there, I don’t want to hear about. You have already learned that I won’t listen to you and will probably just end up making fun of you later in another blog.

It's Sexy Time

http://www.monkeysee.com/play/3099-full-sexy-dance

Please check out this video before you read this post. I wish I were technologically advanced enough to figure out how to download it onto my blog, but alas, I'm not. I look at other people's blogs and wonder how they can get the cool, personalized heading with their own graphics. Sadly, I think you are all stuck looking at my dark confetti configuration until I befriend someone who can figure out how to make my blog look unique.

ANYWAY, you have to check out that video. It is a woman that is teaching a sexy strip routine in a black tank top, horrible 90's heels, and legging with no panties. The music is so soft, you get to hear her breathing heavy and the noises she makes scooting around on her carpeted living room. I'm not sure which is my favorite move, the butt slap or the African-Anteater air hump. One thing is for sure- IT IS AWESOME!

Whoring Myself Out for Cash

I got my credit card bill a week ago and realized that I needed a second job. Not only did moving to Utah kill my social life, but I just figured out that I took a 10K pay cut to move to God’s country. I didn’t realize how much I needed that extra 10K. My paycheck arrived, and I shed big tears realizing that not only would I not be able to afford stylish winter boots, but I may not be able to afford to heat my house when the cold weather sets in. I immediately got on craigslist and started looking for a second job.

I applied for a job as a cook and helper for a guy in a wheelchair that lives in my neighborhood. It seemed like the perfect job. I get to cook, it is only in the evenings, and I get paid $12 an hour under the table. The guy, we’ll call him Wheelchair from now on, called me and asked me all sorts of questions about my views on politics, Mormonism, marriage, etc. None of which were really interview-type questions. My favorite dialogue went like this:

Wheelchair: So I have to ask everyone this question, so don’t get offended: How much do you weigh and how tall are you?
Me: I’m about 5’11 and I weigh about 150-155 depending on the season.
Wheelchair: So you’re a thick girl.
Me: (feeling insulted by someone that can’t even brush his own teeth) I workout a lot and I’m really tall. (I don’t know why I’m even trying to justify my weight)
Wheelchair: I just needed to know that you could put my chair back up if I fell down, and it sounds like you’re big enough to get the job done.
Me: (thinking- first I’m thick and now I’m big…maybe I don’t want this job after all)

I let the issue drop, figuring that I’d let my appearance speak for itself when I went in for the fact to face interview. I had that interview on Monday.

On Monday I learned that Wheelchair is not a quadriplegic. He has minimal use of his fingers and toes. He can’t lift his arm or his head, but be can talk longer and louder than should be allowed. He also has what I like to refer to as Wheelchair ADHD. As he asked me questions, he would wheel himself all over the room. I was sitting on the couch trying to talk to him about where I grew up, my goals and dreams while he was doing donuts around the coffee table and then wheeling himself forward and back in a sort of electric-slide sped dance. It was so distracting. He never just sat still in his wheelchair; he, like most men if they were allowed, kept playing with his little joystick.
Speaking of joystick, let me relate to you the best dialogue of the interview.

Wheelchair: I have someone come and bathe me and change me for nighttime. Your only responsibility in that personal area would be to help me go pee, if I need to. Can you do that?
Me: (thinking: what exactly does this entail?) Of course
Wheelchair: You’ll only have to unzip my pants, pull me forward, and hold a plastic container up to my penis.
Me: (WHAT?) Okay
Wheelchair: You won’t have to actually touch my penis. Can you handle that?
Me: (wanting to point out the joke of him asking if I “can handle that” but trying desperately to control my facial expressions and come across as professional) Of course. No problem.

I know that you are shocked, but I got the job. Yea me! As I write this, I’m beginning to think that I should have just gotten a job at JCrew with my roommate Jody. It is less money, but I don’t have to unzip anyone’s pants and hold a piss cup. Plus, I’d probably get a pretty good discount on clothes. Arghhh. At least this will probably produce some awesome blog material.