A Cougar on the Prowl

My cougar dating streak continues.

A boy from my church asked me out via Facebook. It was my first Facebook date proposition, so of course I said yes. Plus he’s an adorable little 24 year old, and senior at the college right around the corner, AND on the basketball team. Score…double up…bonus!

These are the texts on the day of our date:

Boy: Have you ever been to Wingers before?

(note- Wingers is a chicken wing joint)

Me: Yes, but it’s been a while. (Like 10 years ago, when I was in college)

Boy: Yea, that’s probably too many calories for you. How about Red Robin?

Me: (Slightly insulted. Then I realized that he probably assumed I was so in shape that I must be a workout nut. Yes, this is my own delusion that I’m running with, so don’t take it from me.) Red Robin sounds great.

My date showed up to pick me up in a red, t-top Firebird with an actual firebird painted on the hood. He affectingly called his car the Dirty Bird. SWEET!

We took the Dirty Bird to Red Robin and stood in line with a bunch of other students from the local college to get our booth. I think, while standing in line for a booth at the Red Robin, I had one of those out-of-body moments of self-awareness where I wondered what poor choices I had made that led me to that exact moment. Where had I gone wrong? I like to refer to these types of moments as Reflective Snapshots.

After my healthy hamburger, I went home to contemplate life while trying to decide if the bonus points my date earned during dinner conversation would be able to cover the deficits caused by the Dirty Bird and the age gap.

It's Complicated

{This happened several weeks ago, but I’m just getting around to posting it.}

Sunday: A boy asked for a Thursday date. Yay! I get to follow “the rules” since he gave enough notice and say “yes, I would love to go out with you.”

Tuesday: Boy changes his profile status to “in a relationship” but doesn’t list the girl he is in the relationship with. I assume this must be a joke because we have a date on Thursday.

Wednesday: “in a relationship” status still stands. I begin to wonder if I still have a date.

Thursday: Boy never calls to confirm date or plans. I get stood up with only a facebook clue as to what has happened.

Friday: I suddenly realize that if this is how dating is going to be, then I’m going to start investing in kitty sweaters and scrapbooking materials.

The Breast Billboards EVER

(I know that I should stop with the dumb puns/alliteration in my titles, but I honestly can't help myself)

Since my commute to work is about 40 minutes every day, I’ve taken to noticing every billboard along the highway and formulating some opinions about Utah based on their signs. I’ve noticed that there are lots of good-clean-living billboards that encourage parents to spend time with their families, stop drunk driving, and help out the community. I love the messages on these, but the ones I simply adore are the ones that have anything to do with breast enlargement...and there are lots of them.

Here are my top three breast augmentation campaigns in no particular order:

(I don’t have pictures of all three because I’m terrified to pull off on the highway and take a picture with the combo of snow drifts and crazy Utah drivers all around.)

1. “Finally, getting a “D” is a good thing” This is the actual slogan on the billboard! It shows a woman standing in front of a green chalkboard wearing the hot-for-teacher outfit and glasses. SERIOUSLY Utah, did you have to go straight to a “D”? I’m pretty sure that most people I know should have stopped at a “C”. Very few women can pull off a classy fake “D” boob job.

2. The ad shows a bunch of babies looking up and the caption reads “Be the Talk of the Neighborhood”. First, I’m not sure if I’d like to get my boobs so large that everyone in the neighborhood is talking about them. Second, why are there a bunch of babies looking up? Are they supposed to be looking up in awe of someone’s awesome rack? Do fake boobs make babies salivate? Do you want your boobs so large that even neighborhoods babies are whispering among themselves “Can you believe that Nancy thought those gallon-sized water balloons were a good idea? Even we know they're fake and they've got no milk in them.”

3. The last one was this Christmas themed ad. Need I say more. Feel free to comment on it. Nothing says you complete me like a gift that boldly declares, “I love you so much that I’ll pay to change you”.

What?...What?

My little brother set me up on a date with a cute guy who lives in Provo. He showed up and was very handsome, but he kind of sounded like a dumb jock when he spoke.

Dinner conversation:

Me: How many siblings do you have?
Boy: What?
Me: How many siblings do you have?
Boy: What?
Me: (Looking up from my food and getting louder) HOW MANY SIBLINGS DO YOU HAVE?
Boy: Sorry, I’m kinda deaf.
Me: No problem. It happens when we get older.
Boy: (Smiling) Yea, I forgot my hearing aid.
Me: ha ha ha ha
Boy: Seriously.
Me: Ha ha ha ha. You’re so funny.
Boy: No seriously, I’m deaf. I can’t read your lips when you’re looking down at your plate.
Me: (Silent…crickets chirping around me)

The date and I went to a movie after dinner. I was rummaging through my purse and couldn’t find my glasses. The boy turns to me and says, “I’ll tell you what’s going on, if you yell the dialogue really loud in my ear.” It was a totally redeeming comment.


Later that night I called my brother to say WTF.
Me: WHY DIDN’T YOU TELL ME HE WAS DEAF?
Ghent: Really? I just thought he had a little bit of a speech impediment.
(My brother Ghent has known him for 2 years.)

Clownin' Around

I usually have a rule that I don’t date guys that are more than 3 years younger than me, but lately I’ve loosened up my standards a little. Utah doesn’t really have much to offer right now and I’ve got boo-koos of free time. A 24 year old asked me out and I just couldn’t say no…though I probably should have. He was rather forward in a totally awkward and dry way and I liked him immediately (Okay, he was just really hot…you got me). About 5 minutes into our date I realized that things would never work out between us.

Young Boy (YB): So do you have any hobbies?

Me: I go to the gym but I wouldn’t call that a hobby. I read books and used to collect koala bears. I once took up crocheting in college. That’s all I got for hobbies.

YB: I like hobbies.

Me: What types of hobbies do you do?

YB: I was really into flying kites for a while. blaa blaa blaa kites…blaa blaa kites…kites.

Me: That sounds neat.

YB: After kites I became interested in model planes. Blaa blaa model planes blaa blaa model planes.

Me: (trying really hard to sound like I care) That sounds neat too.

YB: After model planes I built miniature ships…..blaa blaa ships… ships…ships…boring

Me: So what are you into right now?

YB: (deadpan) Right now, my new hobby is humor.

Me: Humor? Like stand-up?

YB: no more like humor conceptually

Me: Humor conceptually?

YB: You know?

Me: Nope, I’m a little lost. Like conceptual clowns?

YB: No. I’ve become fascinated with what makes people laugh. It is so intriguing the variety of things that people find humorous. Don’t you think?

Me: (visualizing the phrase “game over” flash across his forehead while he’s wearing clown make-up) Yea, that is funny…I mean interesting.

My Purrrfect Life

I was looking online a couple of months ago for Halloween ideas and I came across this site in China that will make you a full plastic leather catwoman suit for $20. I ordered one, sent them my measurements, and promptly forgot all about it. On Saturday the postman rang my doorbell with a package from China. I immediately remembered all about the catsuit and hurriedly unwrapped it. My roommate was out of town and so I was home alone. Worse than that, it was snowing, so I was basically in hibernation mode with nothing better to do than put on a catsuit in the middle of a Saturday afternoon. The catsuit is a full-body (I mean full-body because it covered my feet, hands, and head) plastic, stretchy material that doesn’t have nearly as much give as I’d hoped. I squeezed, pulled, pried, lunged, tugged, and contorted myself into that costume. At the end, against any kind of decent judgment, I zipped up the back as far as I could. I posed in the mirror for the following picture and then quickly tried to get it off because I was sweating something fierce.

I realized that there was a flap that was covering the zipper and my plasticy, gloved hand couldn’t quite reach it. Unsuccessfully, I flopped around like a fish for several minutes trying to get a hold of the zipper. Then I was really sweating and starting to freak out and hyperventilate. How was I possibly going to get this thing off? It wasn’t like I could go next door to Glen, the 75 year old man to my right, and ask for a hand. The little old lady that lives on the other side of me would be equally alarmed if I told her I needed help getting out of my plastic sex-looking costume. Plus, as an added bonus, I seriously was about to pass out from heat stroke; that plasticy stuff doesn’t breathe at ALL!

I finally went out my back door and sat on the stoop in a full pleather outfit to contemplate the predicament I was in and to cool off. While sitting on the back porch I got the giggles and couldn’t stop laughing. Seriously, who else would wind up in a full plasticy, gimp-looking, catwoman costume and not be able to get out while home alone. ME! I finally stopped sweating and went back inside. It took about ten minutes of contorting, but I managed to grab the zipper and get myself out of the outfit, still having fits of laughter. Yes, it was another wild weekend in Salt Lake City. Someone please come visit me soon.

PS- I’ve decided that the costume would make the most amazing sledding suit in the whole world. Can you imagine the looks on the faces of parents and kids when I take off my ugg boots and trench coat at top of the local sledding hill to reveal a full black plastic catsuit and then proceed to body slide down the embankment? You may not have to imagine it for long because I’m pretty sure that I’ll be doing just that after the next big snow. I’m seriously that bored. Plus, who is going to recognize me and imagine how fast I’ll be?!

Here is a picture of what the catsuit was supposed to look like…if I was a tit-tacular thin Asian girl and it was made for my body. Even if I was, I'm pretty sure I wouldn't look this good in pleather.

Hey, Daddy, *I* want an Oompa Loompa!

I am so sick of girls dressing up as slutty (fill in the blank) for Halloween that I decided to go in the opposite direction. I was an Oompa Loompa. I almost chose to wear 8 inch, platform, plastic, stripper shoes with my costume and go as a Slutty Oompa Loompa, but I figured no one would find that funny but me.
(Picture- My brother and I on Halloween.)

Why is it that when you leave the house with no makeup on and wearing sweats to run to the store or decide to dress up silly instead of sexy for Halloween that you inevitably run into all the hot people that are never there when you look cute? This is some sort of Murphy’s Law. Anyway, I went out on Halloween and ran into one of the cutest boys I’ve seen since I moved to Salt Lake City. He was dressed as Freddy Krueger and he was looking at me. I looked back. He looked back. I kept glancing in his direction, and in my head, we were totally flirting. Then he caught my eye for like the 5th time and made a weird face. I suddenly had a moment of self-awareness. I realized that I wasn’t a “cute girl”; I was the creepy Oompa Loompa that was staring at the hot guy. There is no way that he could look at me, in the Oompa Loompa costume, and think that I was attractive. I almost laughed out loud at myself and then slunk back into the crowd quickly. WHY?!!

Bad Be-Hive-ior

I have a great recent date story:

I went out with someone who broke out into hives on our first two dates after dinner. I know what you’re thinking, and it was NOT an allergic reaction to the food. I know this because the first meal he cooked at his house. If you know anything about men, you know that they only know how to make like 3 meals that they use over and over again to impress women. This was definitely one of those meals. The second time he broke out was after I cooked. I gave him leftovers and told him to eat them for lunch the next day and let me know how it went.

Text at noon the next day: No hives after lunch. It is yet to be determined if you are trying to poison me.

At least he has a sense of humor. We talked on the phone and we agreed that the hives were probably a result of his nervousness around me. By “we agreed” I mean that I told him that if it wasn’t the food, then he must be allergic to me. He claims that he’s only ever had two episodes of hives in his whole life before meeting me. I explained that it must just be something about me that sets him off.

On the third date I realized that I needed to document the hives for my blog. We were eating dinner at his house.

Boy: Why is your camera on the table?

Me: Don’t worry about it.

Boy: No seriously, why is your camera out?

Me: So I could take a picture of your hives…when you break out.

Boy: Why do you want a picture of me broken out in hives?

Me: (Thinking fast) My roommate and I have a bet about the hives and I need photo documentation. (After I said this I realized that this answer wasn’t any better than “I’m taking pictures for my blog.”)

Boy: You made a BET with Jody about the hives?!

Me: Yes

Boy: What side are you on?

Me: I’m betting that you’ll break out into hives.

Boy: You bet against me!?

Me: Don’t think of it like that. I’m just following the law of averages.

Boy: Now I’m NOT breaking out in hives just to spite you.

Me: I don’t think you have that much self-control. (I tried snuggling up next to him to make him more nervous)

Conclusion: NO HIVES! I totally jinxed myself. Maybe the camera made his hives afraid. Maybe he replaced his nervous energy with annoyance instead. Who knows. All I know is that now I had to find a google picture of hives instead of having the real thing…SOOOOO disappointing.

UPDATE: I went to dinner last night with a bunch of friends and "the boy". Halfway through dinner, I looked over and realized he was broken out in hives.

Me: Are those hives?

Boy: I've been trying to hide my arms under the table for like the past 15 minutes hoping you wouldn't notice.

Me: (Reaching for my camera)

This is the result- REAL HIVE PHOTOS.

He actually let me take them; not that he really had a choice.

I apologize for the poor quality of the photos.

Here Kitty Kitty

You know when you check out at the grocery store and they print coupons for you with your receipt? Supposedly the computer at the checkout can review your purchases and determine coupons that would be useful to you on your next shopping trip. Well, these are the coupons it printed for me today.

Tampons and Cat Food!

I’d like to add that I didn’t buy any feminine hygiene products this trip or anything that relates to cats. I bought veggies, gum, bread, and some eggs. Seriously, I don’t even know what to say. Apparently the most useful items for me on my next visit are tampons and cat food. Maybe it noted that I was buying veggies, so I’m probably a girl, and that it was a Friday evening trip, showing that I’m probably single and I have nothing to do on a Friday besides shop at the grocery store and then go home to snuggle up with Mr. Whiskers. WTF!

Looks like I picked the wrong week to quit shanking people

I just spent a wonderful Labor Day in Austin, Texas. As usual, I was racing to catch my flight home and ran into the typical holiday weekend airport crowds. I was shocked as the guy at the security point called for a bag check on my purse. I did a mental assessment of what could be the offending item and realized that, unless he found the small lip-gloss at the bottom of my bag, I was okay.

Officer: Ma’am, I’m going to need to search the contents of your purse.

Me: Sure. Go ahead.

Officer: (pulls out 5 scalpels) Are these surgical instruments?

The random guy behind me made a loud “OHHHH” noise like a bomb had just been found.

Me: (Shocked with the realization that my mother, who is a nurse, more than likely decided to slip scalpels into my purse) Yes, they are scalpels.

Officer: Ma’am, is there a reason why you have 5 scalpels in your purse?

Me: No. I assume that my mom put them in there.

Officer: Why would your mother put scalpels in your purse?

Me: Because she is a nurse and thinks that I may need to lance something.

Officer: Lance something?

Me: I have no idea why she does half the things she does. She is currently letting the guy who fixed her kitchen cabinets live in her house and drive her car. She had a pet deer all last year that went everywhere with her. She still writes her name in all of her clothing. Honestly, I can’t really come up with a good answer as to why she put knives in my purse before I left for the airport.

Officer: I’m going to need to take the scalpels.

Me: Sure

***I called my mother after I made it through security. She claims that she put them in my bag because I could use them for scrapbooking and other such crafts.

2+2= Why didn't I just stick to being a plain ole English Teacher?

I know that I've fallen off on updating this blog. I guess I haven't had any adventures lately. I started a real, grown up, job about 3 weeks ago. I am now the Educational Director of a school that operates at a girls' treatment facility. In typical Virginia fashion, I applied for the job fully realizing that I was under-qualified in terms of degrees, but overqualified in terms of experience and the general ability to BS my way into things.

One of my first duties was to find a new math teacher to replace the one that the girls can't stand. So far I have interviewed three candidates, and let me say that high school Math teachers are probably the most difficult people for me to relate to. Last week there was a prospect named Vishwanathe Harangaonker. I am not making this name up. He is from India and is working as an engineer here in the states. He claims that he would, “like to learn the girls how to computate Algebraic.” I'm not even sure what that means. I'd like to believe that he's just so smart that he's speaking nerdy math jargon, but I'm pretty sure it's just an example of the fact that English isn't his first or even his second language. Let me just say thatiIt's really hard to conduct a full interview when you know in the first two minutes that you're not going to hire them. I really wanted to just start asking really bizarre questions like, "Some of our girls have strange sexual cravings that they are trying to overcome. If one of the girls was to approach you with an outlandish request for FILL IN THE BLANK, what you say? Remember, we are trying to work on their self-esteem here, so you wouldn't want to shoot her down right off the bat."

The second candidate was basically my grandfather, if he had decided to be a math teacher. He spoke so slowly that I thought I was going to have to miss lunch if he didn't wrap it up soon. I noticed that he had not only outlined a full page of questions for me, but he had also made note of the exact mileage to the school and the travel time it took him to get from his house to us. Girls that are in a residential treatment center for emotions issues would eat him alive...if they weren't automatically put to sleep by his elderly, melodic voice trying to describe math equations.

The interview yesterday was with a young lady with a severe ponytail pulled so tight that her eyes were a little squinty. She has only taught at small prep schools and has lived in Utah her whole life, which probably means she is a little too sheltered to teach our population. I think she may have cracked a smile once as she shook my hand to leave, but I couldn't be certain.

I seriously have no idea what I'm supposed to do. I have one more interview tomorrow and then I have to make a decision. I also just learned that I have to fire the old math teacher next week. This is why I shouldn't be allowed to have any real responsibilities. I'm no good at this sort of thing.

*** This should show you that I have nothing funny going on in my life. I just devoted a blog to the hiring of a math teacher. KILL ME....SOFTLY....PLEASE.

My family could beat up your family

(Yes, this is an actual family photo taken circa 1990)

The older I get, the more I appreciate my siblings. The middle child in my family, Ghent, has always been the quiet one. I’m not sure if this is in his nature, or if he was just terrorized into silence by our older brother. Anyway, Ghent has become one of the most hilarious people I know. Here are two examples of why I love him so much:

1. Somehow we got on the topic of rape. Everyone in the group was saying what they would do to avoid an attacker. My brother Ghent pipes up, “I’ve thought about this. I would just scream really loud and say, ‘Don’t, I have diarrhea!’”

2. My sister Laura had this roommate that was like a little cat in heat. She was a dance major and the sultriest little redhead you’ve ever met. Her name was Kimber, which was perfect for her. If you brought a boy over, you can bet she would be prancing around trying to get attention. I brought a date over once to meet my sister. In less than 20 minutes Kimber had stuck her boobs in his face about twelve times, gotten him water and snacks, and was curled up next to him on the other side of the couch. In fact, the next day she added my date on facebook and had written him some sexy message about how much she liked older men. (He was probably 15 years older than her) Anyway, my brother Ghent was sitting on the couch at Laura’s watching TV and Kimber came in and acted like she had just had catnip shoved up her nose. She curled up on the couch next to him and began flirting. Ghent, of course, just tried to ignore her. Kimber then upped her antics and got up, moved in-between Ghent and the TV, and proceeded to claim that her back and legs were soooo sore. She folded her body in half and shoved her butt right up in Ghent’s face for a couple of minutes while she stretched, cooed, and then sat back down next to him grinning. Ghent then said, “My turn,” and stands up and shoves his butt in Kimber’s face while making exaggerated ohhhhing and ahhhing stretching noises. Kimber was humiliated and left Gent alone to watch TV.

There are dozens of other great Ghent stories I could share, but I just wanted to give you a taste of why I love my brother so much.

PS- I forgot to share the one that happened a week ago. I asked my brother if he could help me move and he showed up with a truck and two day-laborers he grabbed from Home Depot because he said he didn’t want it to take too long. I tried to remind him that I was only moving my stuff across the street, but he just shrugged.

Do you know how I know you're gay?

I’m not certain, but I believe that the guy I went out with Friday night is gay. I will give you the facts and let you be the judge.

1. He told me he wasn’t sure if he even wanted to go on a date because he didn’t think he had a decent haircut.

2. For the last year he has been modeling in China.

3. He asked me what I was wearing so that he would know how to dress.

4. Somehow we got in a conversation about hermaphrodites. This may sound like it wouldn’t normally be first-date material, but if you know me, then you know that this is a totally acceptable first date topic. Here is an actual dialogue that took place.

Boy: I’ve thought about this a lot.
Me: What…hermaphrodites?
Boy: Well…yes. I came to the conclusion that if I were dating a girl and liked her and she turned out to be a hermaphrodite, then I would be okay with it.
(Please note that I never asked him if he would mind dating a hermaphrodite. He brought this part of the discussion up out of nowhere.)
Me: What if she had a penis?
Boy: I wouldn’t mind.
Me: WAIT…Let me get this straight. You wouldn’t want her to get it removed?
Boy: I wouldn’t mind because I’d just think of it like a big clit.
Me: (By “I wouldn’t mind” you really mean “I’d prefer a penis”.) I just sat there dumbstruck after his last comment.

PS- I just noticed that the fox in this picture has a really large clit.

He Wasn't the Bee's Knees

The date with the beekeeper was a buzzst. Yea…I love me some lame puns. I could go on and on about how horrible it was, but I’ll break it down into three defining moments that drove nails into the date coffin.

He picked me up with the intention of taking me country dancing. Apparently he was trying to play up to my southern roots.

Strike #1- Car Conversation:
Beekeeper: How about we get some ice cream on the way. (IC is like the Mormon version of an alcoholic drink.)
Me: no thanks. I gave up sugar for lent. (I actually gave it up till my birthday, and I was waiting for him to remind me that not only am I not Catholic, but Lent had ended several weeks ago)
BK: Huh. Isn’t Lent that Jewish holiday?
Me: (dumbstruck) Nope, it is Catholic.
BK: Yea, I can never keep track of those other little religions.
Me: Catholicism and Judaism aren’t little religions.
BK: What is Judaism?

Strike #2- Car Conversation shortly after the one above.
BK: Did you know that I can sing just like Garth Brooks?
Me: I had no idea.
BK: (Turns on his Garth Brooks Hits album and begins singing “I’ve Got Friends in Low Places” at the top of his lungs)
Me: (I dial my roommate on my phone and put it down by the door jam in the car. I’m hoping that she can hear what I’m having to deal with.)

Strike #3- Conversation while dancing
Me: I don’t like being dipped because I’m terrified that the person won’t be able to pull me back up and I’ll be dropped on my head.
BK: Maybe if I dropped you on your head, we’d be the same smartness.
Me: (Did he just use “smartness” in that sentence? I don’t think there are enough head drops to make us the same smartness.)

After strike 3, I realized that I couldn’t possibly pretend that I liked this guy long enough to talk him into taking me to his honey farm. (This is not a euphemism. I really am dying to go put on a bee suit and smoke out some bees.) His company wasn’t worth the amazing pictures of me keeping bees or the free honey.

AMAZING WEBSITE

This website features some of the best awkward family photos I've ever seen. www.Awkwardfamilyphotos.com

Here are some great examples:

A Bird in the Hand...

I went to Austin this last weekend to attend the AISD (Austin Independent School District) job fair, which was a totally bust. You stand around in long lines, so that you can spend 60 seconds trying to sell yourself to someone who may not even be in a position to hire you; lots of the people working the booths we’re random Social Studies teachers or coaches. It was like speed-dating for the job world, except a low cut shirt and witty banter don’t get you anywhere…which pretty much leaves me groping for some sort of intro that doesn’t involve me bragging about what a great teacher I am or listing my qualifications like a resume recording. Anyway, I’m pretty sure no one is going to hire me.

So, I was flying back today feeling totally discouraged, when I get to my airline gate and see people wearing those hospital/hygienic/paranoid facemasks. It is a man and a woman sitting and reading books, acting like nothing is different about them. I don’t know why this pisses me off, but I’m just a little sensitive right now and the swine flu craziness is just adding to my fury. They are shutting down schools, publishing hundreds of scary stories, and now wearing masks. This is ridiculous. There has only been ONE death, ONE death of a baby that came up from Mexico! There are thousands of people that die every year from the regular flu and they don’t shut down schools. Heck, as a teacher I get a little giddy around flu season because it means that my class sizes go down. I guess the media doesn’t have anything better to report on. Brittany Spears has been on good behavior and Brangelina haven’t spit out any more children (at least I think so, though I can never keep up with them) so we’ve been at a loss for good news.

Anyway, I’m sitting at the gate waiting to board and contemplating the swine flu, when I hear several little dove coos. I continue dreaming up possible new news stories and assume that some birds have made a nest in the airport rafters. I finally get on the plane and I’m walking down the aisle to my seat and I hear the dove coos AGAIN! At first I’m thinking I’m crazy because I look around and no one else seems to have noticed. I finally turn to the guy next to me and ask, “Hey, do you hear a bird cooing?” The guy looks at me, then my boobs, and seems to be trying to figure out of this is some sort of new pick-up line. “Nope,” he replies. Then it coos again, really loudly. I turn to the lady behind me and frantically ask the same thing because I’m trying to figure out if I’ve totally lost my marbles. I’m practically yelling at this point, “Do you hear birds cooing?” A guy, the one wearing the swine flu mask that is already seated to my left, turns to me and speaks through his mask in muffled tones, “Yes, there are doves under my seat.” Great, the only other guy that hears them is the nutjob wearing the pig flu mask and he claims they're under his seat. I look at him quizzically and let my eyebrows do the talking. My facial expression should read, EXCUSE ME, WHY DO YOU HAVE DOVES UNDER YOUR SEAT?! He mutters something about being a magician and says that he needs them for his act. Of course he does…

So, I spent a three hour flight listening to the cooing of doves and trying to figure out if maybe I could get a job as a magician’s assistant because there is no way I’m getting hired in AISD and the market is in the tank and I have no other job leads and the pig flu isn’t strong enough to wipe out a large amount of people so that I could get a job and I’m sure that a low cut top and witty banter would be useful in the field of magicianry...plus I’ve read all the Harry Potter novels, so I should have a leg up on the other assistants.

Julia Goolia

We had a substitute teacher show up today named Mike Butshove. Really? If you have a last name like that, I would assume that you would be smart enough to either change it, or not ever think about working around children. I feel sorry for Mr. Butshove today. The kids keep coming in high-fiving each other for their various wisecracks at this poor man. "I told him what he could shove up his butt." "ha ha ha ha."

Part of me blames him for not knowing better and part of me pities him. I love being a Scott. Then again, my first name is Virginia. This was the source of much humor in junior high and high school. I was called everything from Virgin to Vagina. The first I preferred, and the second I tolerated and pretended didn’t bother me. When you’ve got a name like Virginia, you’ve got to have some thick skin. I wonder how thick skinned Mr. Butshove is.

Fish or cut Jailbait

Yesterday I heard two students talking about a court case in which one of the boys was supposed to testify. Hmmm Of course, I made the mistake of asking what the boy was called in to testify about. Then, much to my chagrin/amazement, the kid opened up. Apparently he has to testify because his next-door neighbor, single mom of 2 kids, seduced him (I'm sure it didn't take much). His parents found out about it by reading his journal and are pressing charges. WHAT!??!! I’m not sure what is more hilarious, the fact that boy fooled around with an old lady or that he keeps a journal. I want you to picture a nerdy, 14-year-old boy telling me this story, his forehead covered with pimples while wearing an Old Navy t-shirt and skinny jeans. I can’t imagine how lonely and depressed I’d have to be to find a teenage, neighbor boy cute. I would need to be in a DEEP, dark place that even Girl Scout Cookies and make outs with ex-boyfriends couldn’t pull me out of. (I can’t imagine there being a place this dark, but I’m sure it must exist…for some people.)

Since I’m a teacher, people always feel compelled to ask me questions like, “Do you ever find any of the boys you teach cute?” Really?! I feel insulted to even have to answer this question. First, what can a teenage boy offer me? I made-out with boys in high school and the memories aren’t anything that I’d like to relive. My high school make-outs are the basis for the definitions of the words AWKWARD, BUMBLING, and UNCOORDINATED. Second, I teach kids all day long. When I date someone, I’d like to be off duty. The reason why we all went through the awkward, bumbling, uncoordinated stages of making out was so we could learn how to do it properly. (I mean a variety of the things when I use the word properly. I’m not implying a hole-in-the-sheet missionary position here, though my granny would be pleased with that insinuation.) Lastly, is there anything less attractive than a teenage boy, especially a 14-year-old one?
Problems with teenage boys:
1. They remind me of a newborn giraffe trying to walk for the first time.
2. Most smell funky and are oily.
3. Their wallets only include a student id, a subway punch card, and a few crumpled dollar bills.
4. The coolest store they can think of is Spencer’s.
5. Peachfuzz on upper lips. Need I say more?


I would also like to note that this student of mine is a hero among his friends for the simple fact that he has lost is virginity to an older lady. He is not scarred and is way more popular now than he was before the incident or incidents. I’m sure you were all worried.

It's going to BEE exciting.

Yea, it's a horribly pun, but sometimes I can't help myself.

I just agreed to go on a date next week with a real live Beekeeper. Yes, that is his actual profession. I met him online and, of course, accepted a date.

Here is a photo that he has posted of himself on facebook:
If I can get a picture of myself in a bee keeper outfit, it will totally make my year.

How awesome is this going to bee?

Just Because It's Free...

I really need to learn the concept that just because it is free, doesn’t mean you have to take/accept/or sign up for it. I even had a guy ask me out once with the line, “It may not be the best date of your life, but at least it is a free dinner.” True to his word, it was at least a free meal.

I’m almost 30 and I still get excited when I get something for free. I am the type of person to take almost any sample off a tray in the mall or Costco or sign up for any possible giveaways. These types of behavior usually wind up giving me a stomachache or loads of junk mail being sent to my house. One would think that I would have learned my lesson by now, but not me; I love free.

I walked into the gym yesterday and I saw a short, Hispanic guy standing next to a massage chair. Since I go to a ghetto 24 Hour Fitness, this stood out as being out of place. I asked the guy at the front desk if we were upgrading the gym with a personal masseuse and he laughed. He said that the guy was giving away free 10-minute massages to drum up business for his company, and just like that, I was hooked. Did someone just say FREE?! Well, in that case…

I walked over and took my seat in the chair, excited for my free massage. I should have known it was going to be bad when the guy leaned down and whispered breathily in my year, “You want me make you massage, right?”
“Duh, why do you think I just sat down? Of course I want you to make me a massage!”
The guy’s cologne was almost as overwhelming as his breath. It reminded me of my 7th graders that have watched too many Axe commercials and believe that the more you wear, the more ladies you’re going to get.
Anyway, he then proceeded to “make” me a massage. He started by pinching me all over my back. I’ve never encountered this technique before, but it honestly felt like little fish were biting me everywhere. Then he proceeded to poke my muscles with his index fingers while saying, “If I make the pain, you me tell.” It felt like it was some sort of word problem, so I ignored it and tried desperately to get some enjoyment out of this “massage” I was getting. Finally, for the grand finale, he leaned over and whispered in my ear, “Don’t worry, dis is my elbow,” as he stuck his elbow directly on my spine and made me yelp. It was painfully obvious by the end of the massage why the guy was giving them away for free.; my 3 year old nephew could give me a better massage. But that’s the problem with free; you can’t complain if it was free. Right?

Please share any good tales of “free” things you’ve gotten over the years.

Ahoy

I just got back from a cruise called Cayamo, A Journey Through Song. On the cruise there were such musical greats as Lyle Lovett, Patty Griffin, Indigo Girls, and Shawn Colvin. There were also a dozen other great artists and bands playing every day. It was amazing! Most people called the cruise Gayamo because of the overwhelming numbers of lesbians and gay couples on the boat. I was a little perturbed though because not a single woman hit on me. I'm not sure what this says, but I think it's bad and I need up up my gayme a little. (sorry again for the bad pun)

Here is a picture of me. This was the thing in the kiddie zone that shot water into the kiddie pool. There was some sort of dinosaur theme that went horribly awry when they designed the water guns to look like a dino bone. (Watch out little Johnny)

Whenever I saw a decent looking guy on the cruise I played a game with myself called Gay, Married, or with the band. Almost all guys could be lumped into one of these three categories.

Luckily, I did manage to find a cute boy to hang out with in the evenings. It was one of the few things that could tear me away from the 24 hour buffet and self-serve ice cream. My sisters are lame and managed to go to bed around 8pm every night, so I was left wandering the boat looking for fun. The one cute boy that didn’t fall into the above three categories confided in me that he had given up women for lent. I know what you’re all thinking, but I honestly don’t think he was gay or a hermaphrodite. My gadar has been up and running strong since my first failed attempt at tying the knot, and he didn’t fit the mold. Maybe he did really give up women for lent…or more likely, he has a girlfriend back home. Either way, he was at least good conversation, and I was bored. He also tried to feel me up towards the end of the cruise, but I had to remind him that you can’t skip first base and steal second; it just doesn’t work that way. Plus, I think God would be more appalled by a boob grab than a kiss, and he’s always watching us…kind of like a more judgmental Santa Claus that is keeping a naughty and nice list…but he lets us slide a little if we believe in him. Hmmm…that is a topic for another day.

My sister managed to capture the eye of the Australian Cruise Director. He was one of those guys that showers you with cheesy, dirtbaggy compliments until you want to hit him in the face. He told me that I should quit teaching and become a F*#@ingVictoria Secret Model. Then he told me that Texas women are loads hotter than other women and he always wanted a hot chick from the south. He heaped on dozens of other compliments in the span of like 5 minutes that made me feel uncomfortable. Luckily Laura was his real target, but sometimes it seemed like he was trying to work his game on both of us at the same time. I understand that a threesome is every guy’s fantasy, but don’t men realize that a threesome with your sister is called incest, which is a word that takes sex appeal right out of things for me. The last night of the cruise he tried to prove to us that he wasn’t “dodgy”, his word not mine, by drunk dialing his mum in Australia while on speakerphone. Apparently this was supposed to make him seem more credible. She didn’t pick up, which was probably a good thing.

All in all, the cruise was a big hit. I got a fabulous tan, listened to some rocking music, almost got felt up by a near stranger, read some trashy novels, and hung out with my sisters, mom, and cousins. It was just what I needed to face another few months in Utah without going stir-crazy.