Yes Virginia, there is a Santa Claus.

This weekend I was visiting a friend in Palo Alto. I was awakened Saturday morning with the sentence, “We have to get up and go buy our Santa costumes so we can be at the bar by 11am!” Huh? I had been informed the night before, when I arrived, that I would be participating in something called SantaCon. It is an elaborate bar crawl full of people wearing Santa suits. I just never assumed that there would actually be people awake, wearing Santa suits, congregating at a bar before the 5pm hour. I was sorely mistaken. We got there and found over a hundred people dressed in a variety of Santa and Christmas costumes in the bar and dozens pouring out into the street. I learned that there were several meeting places all over the city and then we would steadily be bar crawling towards each other.

Each area was organized under different authority groups. Our leaders were the Gingerbread Militia. (Please see the attached photo) They were in charge of bringing several meeting areas together at a central park around noon.

The other group was led by Jesus and the Secret Service Elves. They were said to be more militant, secretive, and larger than our Gingerbread Militia. I was jealous when I learned this.

I quickly realized that there were a variety of Santas and Christmas costumes and was quite upset that I didn’t have proper time to plan a better costume. Here is a catalog of the various Santas I came into contact with.

Me Santa. How excited am I?!

Grinch Santa. His tongue kind of creeps me out!

Santa Banana (He had a girlfriend that never left his side. We had to cut her out of the photo.)

Gay-DominatraSanta Couple- Both sporting tights, cod pieces, and thongs (my neighbor would have liked these two Santas)


Streaking Santa- Wearing only underwear and a painted on costume. Apparently it looked sexy in the Sports Illustrated Magazine and he hoped to pull it off. Sadly, body paint isn't nearly as sexy on the opposites sex.

Santa on Stilts ( He offered to t-bag me for the photo, but I politely declined)

Bin-Santa (He was fully strapped with dynamite. He even let me hold his detonator, but boys usually aren't that choosy when it comes to letting people hold their Ds)

And ton of other variations of people dressed up as Santa that I didn’t want to have my picture taken with.

About 6 hours into the bar crawl we were shoved into the hole-in-the-wall bar (this is not a euphemism for a gay bar) where they were serving fifty-cent cans of Pabst Blue Ribbon beer. Yes, we had sunk that low. My Santa Date went off to find me a Diet Coke, and I was left as lonely Santa. A drunk Santa, we’ll call him Eyebrow Ring Santa or EBR, came up and started the following conversation.
EBR Santa- Heeyy, where are you from?
Me Santa- (thinking, that’s a new pick up line) I live in Utah.
EBR Santa- Are you some kind of Mormon? Ha ha ha. (He thinks he made a really funny joke calling me a Mormon)
Me Santa- Actually, I am.
EBR Santa- (looking sheepish and beginning to slurr his words) You’re hot!
Me Santa- Thanks (frantically looking around for my Date Santa only to find him coming up right behind me)
EBR Santa- Who is that? (pointing to Date Santa)
Me Santa- That is called Boyfriend Santa
EBR Santa- (turns to Date Santa and says slurringly) You’ve got the hottest Mormon Santa here!
Date Santa- (laughs) I think I have the only Mormon Santa here. (he brushes EBR off and cock blocks him from my view)

Later, outside the bar, we were congregation and deciding if it was time to leave, when EBR Santa found me again. He was hanging on me and proceeding to tell me again of my Santa hotness when Date Santa turned around and spotted him. Date Santa became hostile and we almost ended up with a Broken Santa. We decided to leave after that.


Top 3 favorite moments/conversations from the Santacon:

#1 – They pulled up a truck full of snow into a park and a huge snowball fight broke out. There was one guy dressed up as a giant blue dreidel. He quickly became the target for most of the Santas. I thought it was a hate crime, but I’m not sure how it would all play out in court. (you can see the driedel coming up the escalator in the picture to the right)

#2 – Three guys were standing around a dude wearing a red-plaid flannel shirt and a Santa hat and jeans, obviously not up to par with the costume requirements. One of the guys looks at him and says, “You’re the worst Santa ever. What are you, LL Bean Santa? You SUCK!”

#3 - My favorite memory was passing by a little girl on the street who was looking at the dozens of blasphemous Santas in utter confused horror. I’m pretty sure we screwed up Christmas for her for life.


Here is my favorite photo. This is what happens when you accidentally plan your wedding during SantaCon. There were so many Santas that they couldn't get in their car to drive away. Secretly I'm jealous of this couple. How amazing are their wedding photos going to be?! Maybe I should plan my next wedding around SantaCon.

Bring Us a Shrubbery

I taught my 7th graders personification a little bit ago by making them come up with a list of nouns that are objects, a list of verbs that only people can do, and then combining them into 15 sentences.
My favorite sentence was:
My mother's bush sings in the wind. (I bet it does Josh. I bet it does.)

I was teaching my 9th graders personification using the same lesson. We were making our long list of nouns on the board and a student yelled out "shrub" and then another student yelled out "bush." I immediately snickered out loud thinking of the 7th grader's Mom's bush. A student in the front asked what I was laughing about, and I decided to test my class to see if they would find the humor in the 7th grader's sentence. I told them the story about a 7th grader that wrote, "My mom's bush sings in the wind," and waited to see their response. Half of the class got it right away and cracked up. The other half of the class obviously didn't get the joke and were laughing that nervous half-laughter of naive kids who want to be included. I watched as one of my slower girls leaned over to another student and asked, " Was it a rose bush or something?"

Priceless.

The Holidate- Mormon SpeedDating

So last night I signed up for my church congregation’s version of speed dating called The Holidate. It was four dates in one night. The first date picked up at your house and drove you to the date. The second date ate dinner with you. The third date ate dessert with you. And then you were handed a set of keys to find your fourth day, who would drive you home. I only signed up for The Holidate because my blog has been lacking some of the usual bad date flair of old.

Date #1 – He showed up to the door and we both shared similar thoughts upon meeting. My thoughts, “Gosh, he’s like a tiny little man. I feel like I’m at a 6th grade dance all over again.” He thought, “Wow, I wonder if she’s going to fit in my car. I wish I would have worn my tall shoes.” (of course, I’m making his thoughts up) He was a history teacher, so we just talked shop on the way over. It wasn’t too painful at all.

I picked up my nametag… it read Virgina. I feel like the third “i” in my name is oh-so-important. I wanted to know who failed geography and was put in charge of making nametags. For the rest of the evening I introduced myself as Vir- gina just to see the shock I would get from others.

Date #2- His name was Zion. Yes, his parents named him after the promise land. Welcome to Utah. I’d like to be able to talk more trash, except I was wearing a name tag that labeled me as genitalia. He was only 23 and had moved to Utah after losing his money in a bad business deal to work for his brother. He was my best date. As we were getting ready to move to our third date, I told Zion that I was afraid to move to my third date because I knew that I was going to get the weirdo in the congregation that wears a camelpack to church. (I’m not sure how thirsty one has to be to wear a camelpack on top of his suit jacket into church, but I’m pretty sure that I’ve never been that thirsty in my whole life. In fact, I’m certain that is just a telltale sign of crazy, kind of like having more than three cats.) A girl sitting at our table overheard my comment about not wanting camelpack boy and she quickly chastised me saying, “You should try getting to know him and you may find that you like him. Part of the whole experience of The Holidate is learning to give people a chance and getting to meet new people.” So yea, I pretty much felt like a horrible human being after that. But honestly, I learned a long time ago that if you are nice to the crazies, then they misinterpret it and you end up with a stalker.

Date #3- He was shorter than my first date but just as nice. Unfortunately, to my left sat a guy that I had gone on with a date several months ago. I referred to him as Flava-flav in a previous blog. Flava-flav’s date looked at my nametag and she started laughing. She told him that he should use it in his story. His date explained that she had just learned that he was writing a story about The Holidate. I turned to Flava-flav and asked if he was writing a piece on the amazing event we were privileged to attend. I don’t remember what he said exactly, but he alluded to the fact that he was taking my blogging lead and writing stories about the “funny” things in his life. WHAT? How did flava-flav learn about my blog? I turned red immediately knowing some of the horrible things I wrote about our date. Oops. I couldn’t even concentrate on my third date because I was so mortified that he had read my blog and may pass it on to others. Luckily, the dessert date was the shortest one.

Date #4- Some girl came by during the dessert and handed all of the girls a set of car keys. You can make a lot of assumptions by studying someone’s car keys. I learned the following things about the guy that would be taking me home:
1. There was a CAT key, which meant that my date owned or operated a piece of heavy-machinery.
2. There was a motorcycle key, which I prayed didn’t mean that I was going to have to ride home on the back of a bike in the blizzard that took place last night.
3. He shops at Albertsons Grocery.
4. There was a random key that looked broken in half. I later learned that this key went to his car, which also looked broken in a variety of ways.
I can’t complain about my last date because at least the car had a heater and got me to my front door. My date walked me up to the door, where we engaged in the awkward-hug-with-a-near-stranger routine.

The Holidate only took up three hours of my time and I only got embarrassed twice. All in all, it was worth it.

Bonus photo

After reading my last blog post about my creepy neighbor, one of my dearest friends sent me the following photo.
I'm contemplating building something similar on my neighbor's lawn after the next big snow. I'll probably trade out the beard for a blonde wig, so it completes the dirty tranny look.

Won't You Be My Neighbor

I may not have mentioned this before, but I love the street I live on. I know almost everyone on the block, and people actually hang out on their porches and visit… well, at least they did before the temperature dropped to 40 degrees. We have a variety of personalities on this block and it keeps things interesting.

.

* We have the young professional boys that live together. They’re out of college with their first real jobs and have built a full walk up bar in the house, but still use a futon as a couch.

* The house near the main street is full of stoners, complete with annoying drum set and pit bull.

* We have the crazy old lady across the street that claims to have lived the longest on the block. Then again, she also claims to have a black belt in karate. Every day she walks to the Circle K to buy a 40oz can of beer (for her plants, she claims) and pack of cigarettes.

* We’ve got the fix-it-all nice guy next door that has repaired half of the stuff in my house I rent and even the one I own a few houses down. He’s amazing!

* Then there’s my best friend, the Korean Cardiologist that refuses to date Asian girls because he claims not to like his “own kind”. (his words not mine)

* The Mormon Bishop just moved last month and sold his house to a lesbian couple with a teenager.

I could go on and on, but you get the picture. This is obviously the perfect street for someone like me. No one bats and eye when I’m wearing a bath robe and galoshes to walk across the street to borrow a cup of sugar. They don’t care that our pumpkins from Halloween are still out on the porch being prominently displayed…in December.

Anyway, now that I’m officially done being ADD, let’s talk about my next door fix-it-all neighbor. We have him to dinner almost once a week and I’ve thought he was so amazing…until last night. We share an internet connection and it has been so slow lately. Last night I was on my itunes and realized he his limewire folder opens on my itunes since we’re on the same connection. I was wondering what he was downloading, since the signal is so slow. These are the titles I found downloading on his computer:

Adult Movies - Rape Japanese Soldier Girl

Shemale - Tranny Surprise - Bianca Freire(1).mpg 26:15

Shemale - Tranny Surprise - Christy.mpeg Continuous

Shemale - Tranny Surprise Kalena Rios.mpg 26:57

Shemale Strokers - Suck My Tranny Cock.mpg 21:24

Tropic Thunder.mp4 Continuous

Vivid-Bad .porno.fuck.fucking.gangbang.orgy.

Nubiles-Sweet Girl masturbating - small tits

Shemale - Tranny Surprise Shayene Lima.mpg 21:16

Theres Something About Miriam, Transexual, Its her or him!(shemale)

I’m not sure which phrase is more upsetting to me “Rape Japanese Soldier.” “Suck My Tranny Cock,” or

“gangbang orgy groups.” I think I’m going to go with “Suck My Tranny Cock.” What surprised me the most was the quantity of tranny porn he’s downloading. Who knew he liked trannys? I’m shocked, disturbed, and completely intrigued; I had no idea that he would watch anything like this. I would have never guessed him for this type of guy.

Part of me wants to call him out, but the other part of me says that I should leave it alone and just make sure Ikeep my blinds closed at all times. Then again, I don’t have a penis, so he’s probably not even interested in me.

PS- How awesome is the porn movie title, “ There’s Something About Miriam. Transexual”?!!

Some Diamonds Aren't Forever

Until today, I really didn't have much to talk about. I've been so bored with my own life for the past two weeks that I couldn't even muster a simple story to entertain y'all.

The best thing that happened this Thanksgiving was when my granny opened a small leather pouch filled with jewelry that she said she didn't want anymore and was going to give away to us girls. I was excited until I realized that it was jewelry that probably nobody would want...ever. There was one piece that was particularly awful. It was gold nugget necklace. The nugget was shaped like a cock and balls though. I turned to granny and said, "My my, this a little phallic."

Without skipping a beat my grandmother said in her sweet southern voice, “I like phallic.”

*This proves that we’re related.

Today I’ve been given much more fodder.

So yesterday my sister called my dad to let him know that she was going to take one more semester of college. This is her fourth year of college, and she needs a few more credits to earn her two minors to beef up her resume for medical school. My father, a man that owns a yacht and a 2 million dollar cabin, told my sister that he was, “really strapped for cash right now and can’t afford to pay another semester of her schooling.” When I cite my dad’s wealth, please understand that I’m not bragging about how rich my dad is. I fully expect to receive a bill in the mail for the casket after he dies because he’s going to spend all of his money on himself. It just made me laugh that my dad actually believes that his explanation makes a bit of sense. BYU costs under $4,000 a year, making it one of the cheapest educations available. His ex-wife gets more than that every month in alimony.

Today, in typical big-sister fashion, I called my dad to tell him that he’s a cheapskate. Since I don’t expect more than a card or a bath robe for Christmas, I know that I didn’t risk much in telling him off. My dad started listing off how poor he was right now because of the economy. When I said that I wasn’t buying it, he then divulged the fact that even the ring he gave his fiancé was a CZ. What?!!? Hold on a minute. I immediately stopped caring about my sister Laura and started wondering about the CZ. How does one get away with giving their wife-to-be a fake diamond when you’re worth as much as my dad? Does Tanna, my soon-to-be-step-mommmy, know that she is wearing a big lie on her finger? (Please notice the picture to the right. She sent this out when she announced her engagement. This doesn't look like a girl that knows she's wearing a CZ. I'd be sitting on my hand ashamed if I'd just accepted a CZ that big from a mulit-millionaire cheapskate) What would she do if I told her? Should I tell her? Should I threaten to tell her to get my dad to pay for Laura’s college?

I wasted no time in informing my sister that Tanna’s ring is a CZ. We agreed that if a boy we loved proposed with a shiny, big diamond and asked us to marry him, we’d say “YES.” If he then told us the ring was a CZ, we would look at it as if he just handed us a used tissue. I don’t consider myself a snob, but I couldn’t handle wearing that big of a deception on my finger. I’d rather have a small diamond that is real than a big one that is fake. Our neighbor, who basically live at our house because of the plethora of baked goods we have lying around, then posed the question, “Would you accept a manufactured diamond? They’re not fake, just man-made REAL diamonds.

Laura, who had pulled out her own diamond ring and was wearing it said, “I just love the blood diamond that I wear.” Once again, this is why I know we’re related.

Something Old...New...Crotchless...Blue

I went to my dad’s fiancé’s bridal shower this past Saturday. My sister, Laura, and I had no idea what to bring this woman that we’ve only met a handful of times. It was also a little odd because we didn’t know if this was a lingerie shower or not. Should we bring a crockpot or something sexier? Laura and I joked about showing up with a corset or some crotchless panties. (side note: how disgusting does the term “crotchless panties” sound? “Panties” is such a pretty word, but when you add “crotchless,” it just makes it sound gross.) We laughed, thinking about how awkward it would be for our new step-mommy to have us there at a lingerie shower. I could just see her virginal face looking at us horrified as she opened up edible body paint and lacy thongs. In my daydream, I yelled out really inappropriate comments like, “Get some,” and “I bet my dad will teach you so much!”

Anyway, it turned out to be a crockpot kind of shower, and I was too chicken to bring her anything more scandalous than a cookbook and photo album.

Needing Normalcy

It has been a while since I’ve had a bad date, so I was probably due. After the broken rib, I’ve kind of petered out on the dating front. However, a couple of weeks ago I met a really cool girl at the gym who wanted to set me up with her brother. I said, Why not, and threw caution to the wind.

The brother, we’ll call him Jack, picked me up on time, took me to an amazing restaurant in Park City, and was just as cute as the girl described. Sadly, it was a little bit of a painful evening due to my date’s inability to carry a conversation. I had to lug the conversation around like a broken-legged five-year-old for four whole hours. It hurt my soul to talk that much. One word answer to my questions left me grasping for more to say. I tried telling stories, but he would cut me off in the middle and ask some random question. It was horrible.

When the date was over, I assumed that I would just pull my usual maneuver and not call him if he ever called again. Jack waited the standard 3 days, called, and received no response. He then texted me that he put a bid on the house in area that he had been telling me about. I didn’t want to seem rude, so I replied congratulations. Jack texted back that actually the house he was buying was way far south, to which I replied, why would you want to live out there and not downtown. (I recognize that his “he texted” and then “I texted” conversation is getting really old fast, but remember that I now teach middle school. Keep running with me on this because it gets better…I promise) He then texted: Why would I want to live around those inbred fuckers?!
What? I was actually a little appalled that he had texted someone he’d only known four hours the phrase “inbred fuckers.” I didn’t know how to respond, so I just didn’t. Sadly, that hasn’t deterred him from continuing to appall me via text.

Here are the last two text messages I’ve received from this guy:

Wednesday: I voted for the Nigger! …kill me!

Thursday: Reminder- Shave your genitals cuz today is the last day for Bush!

If I get another text message, I’m going to have to ask him to never contact me again. I’m more than a little disturbed.

In the eloquent words of my Granny, “That boy ain’t right.” She was the same grandmother that taught me how to shoot a rifle, kept frozen snakes in her fridge, and posted pictures/articles of freak accidents on her fridge to remind us children what NOT to do. She knew what was and wasn't right, and I'm sure she would agree with me on my assessment of Jack. Gosh I miss her!

Anyway, the dry spell of normalcy continues.

Got Taste?

On my way to work I cover about 30 miles of highway. I pass dozens of billboards and have taken to overanalyzing them while driving down the road at 6am. I have my favorites though. There are quite a few marriage and family billboards that are so Utah that it hurts. Lots of them feature families playing in the backyard together or girls in really modest wedding dresses.

My favorite of all times is the "Got Autism?" one.
I tried to pull over and take a picture, but the shoulder of the road is too dangerous on our freeways here. I found a copy of it online though. The difference is that one that has been prominently displayed here in Utah says nothing about the link between milk and autism on it. The one here just has the sad bowl of Cheerios on it with no explanation. I've looked at it probably 50 times and I've never been able to figure out till now what the ad was for. Do autistic kids have sad cereal? Is breakfast a really hard time for those afflicted with autism? Is autism related somehow to Cheerios? I've come up with dozens of similar questions in a futile effort to figure out what the hell this ad was about.

I'm so happy that now I know, after looking it up online to post a picture on here, that autism is related to milk! Wait, that is just silly. Everyone I know drank milk growing up and they don't all have autism. My mom fed us whole milk, which is almost the same as drinking right from a cow's teat and not a single one of her six kids have autism. I'm calling BS.

PS- I'd like to state how much I hate all the copycat ads for everything that just use "Got __________" as their campaign. Really people? You have a whole team of professional advertising agents and you can't come up with one single NEW idea. There have been copycats of that ad since I was in middle school. I think that if an ad agency ever showed a group of paying execs an ad like that, they should be fired immediately for creative retardedness.

PSS- PETA is the one sponsoring this ad. I remember when someone told me that in the late 90's when everyone was buying up all the websites that a group of funny kids bought PETA.COM and made the website People Eating Tasty Animals. They had lots of pictures of people eating different tasty animals posted. Eventually, PETA either sued them or paid them off for the rights to the website.

PSSS- I know for a fact that some sick guy bought MORMON.COM early on and made it into a porn site. I remember trying to look up something about my church and the first page featured a picture of a fat, naked Santa Claus playing with his candy cane. I'm not sure what we had to pay to get he domain name back, but it was probably worth it.

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.

Thanks for Playing.

This was written last Thursday. Sorry for the delayed posting.

Even in my weakened condition, I decided that a date last night was better than staying home. I know it is cheesy, but I met this one at the gym over a week ago…back before I broke my rib, when I could move, bend and tie my own shoes. We were in the same weight training class. I kept looking over my shoulder, thinking, I’ve met or seen this guy before. I walked up after class and said the most typical of all pick up lines, “I feel like I know you from somewhere.” I know, I’m so creative and sly. The only one less creative is, “Hey, do you know what time it is?” I was being serious though; I really did know him from somewhere. We talked briefly and he asked if he could get my number. Since we were both wearing a combo of pocketless spandex and dri-fix fabrics, we obviously had no pens. He then said “Hey, mine is easy to remember. My phone number just spells cranberry.” Not thinking twice, I went ahead and committed the word “cranberry” to my short-term memory. Only later, on my way home, did I realize that it is either not enough numbers, if you consider that you need an area code, or it’s too many numbers, if you assume it is an 801 area code. I tried dialing a variety of combos till I figured out that you need to dial 801-cra-nber. Yea, I was bored…stop judging me!

So last night we went to dinner where I learned the following facts:
1. He is 40.
a. A little old, but he still looks young. I let it slide.
2. Not a Mormon.
a. This has proven to be a big issue in the past, but I’m still intrigued by him.
3. He has two kids. One is 15 and the other is 13. His ex wife is a lesbian and has been living with her partner for the past 5 years.
a. I’m becoming a little less interested with him. Then again, I love kids. 13 and 15 are the ages I’m teaching right now.
4. We do know each other from a cruise we both went on in February called Cayamo. He was with a girlfriend on the cruise, while I was with my mom and sister.
a. See…I didn’t just make up the part about knowing him from somewhere
5. He had been dating said ex-girlfriend for four years and just broke up a month ago. He still talks to ex-girlfriend on the phone almost every day. He describes his ex as “perfect” but claims that he broke up because he felt that he never really got to “date around” after his divorce.
a. When guys say something like that, I immediately replace the words “date around” with “sleep around”.
b. We’ll call this fact the GAME OVER moment in the evening. Thank you for playing.

It's a Miracle

I loved the fact that after I wrote my last blog I was flooded with calls, texts, and emails of friends willing to ship me pain pills. You know you have a true friend when they volunteer to overnight you some hydrocodine. That is what friends are for!

I stayed pretty immobile all weekend. The doctor that lives across the street came back from Italy late Saturday night. I was practically waiting on his doorstep when he got home. He told me to take some anti-inflammatory drugs and start alternating ice and heat packs every few hours. By Sunday afternoon I felt like a new woman. I felt so good that I talked my sister and friend Jody into going to a dessert meet and greet party. I wasn’t dying to go, but I’d been cooped up in the house for days and was going a little stir crazy. I knew I was bored when my biggest event of the whole weekend was when I took enough painkillers to walk around Ross Friday night to browse around.

My sister, Jody and I walked into the dessert party last night and of course I see the guy that broke my rib. I tried not to be noticed, but when you are almost 6 feet tall and the guy is 6’7, it is pretty much impossible. I had been avoiding his calls all weekend and said I was way too sore to move or have company over to the house. Yup, There I was…walking, talking, and wearing makeup. I tried to tell him that I felt miraculously better just hours before due to my doctor’s advice, but I think we both knew what was really going on. Awkward.

Anyway, I’m feeling better and am at work today. I don’t think those things really should go in the same sentence, but oh well.

It's Only a Date Faulker

I know it has been a long time since my last installment. Truthfully, I just haven’t been on any dates to write about. I was talking to Betsy yesterday and informed her that I finally had a date, so I’d hopefully get a good story out of it. I wish I had no story though.

My date seemed nice enough. I met him at a church party this past weekend and he got my number. We were doing the typical dinner date on a Wednesday night. During dinner he spilled his guts about his years of drug addictions and his return to church in the past year. When asked what kinds of drugs he did, he went into detail about all the pain killers, acid, coke, meth, and crack. I’ve never even known someone that did crack before, so this was a whole new world for me. How does someone keep a straight face while eating a salad when their date announces that they did crack for a certain period of time in their life?

After dinner, he said he wanted to show me his remodeled house and give me a chance to meet his dog. It seemed harmless enough. When we got to his house, we talked, shared stories and watched his little mutt do all of her tricks. At one point I got up and my date tried to tickle me. I’m not a fan of being tickled because it makes me spaz out. When he started tickling me, I tried to wrestle him off and wound up putting him in a headlock. He reared up and we both fell backwards on a chair with a metal armrest. It was one of those retro chairs and the armrest was a thick pieces of metal with a 90degree angle on it. He fell on top of me and my back hit the armrest...HARD. I’m not sure what it feels like to be stabbed, but I think I now have a pretty good idea. I had the wind knocked out of me and I lay on the floor mouthing silent screams while tears welled up in my eyes. My date panicked and started asking me if I was okay. When I finally got my breath back, I whispered, “I’m not dead yet, but I’m very badly hurt.” I tried to start moving around and it became very apparent that I had broken a couple of ribs. I consider myself pretty tough; one has to be when you’re as clumsy as I am. I’m not exaggerating when I say that this is the most pain I’ve ever been in in my whole life.

Luckily this is the only time in my entire adult life when I don’t have medical insurance. The new school I work at told me that I’d have to wait two months for the insurance to kick in. As an added bonus, I don't know a single doctor or person that could help me that lives in the area. Sooooo…I had my date bring me home crying. All I could find when I got home was a few aspirin, which would be like putting Neosporin on a broken arm. My recently recovered drug-addict of a date couldn’t even get a hold of a hydrocodine. What kind of drug addict are you when you don’t have at least a few pills lying around the house or a friendly junkie that could hook you up? Anyway, my sister’s friend was able to spot me a few pills and now here I sit, bandaged, grimacing, and telling yet another horrible date story. I’ve called a few doctors, gave them my symptoms, and they all said it was definitely a few broken or cracked ribs. The good thing is that when you wrap your lower torso tightly with an ace bandage to hold the ribs in place, it makes your boobs look huge. I know...I'm such a Pollyanna.

I hate Utah! Honestly, who breaks ribs on a first date?