Brushing the Luggage

My dad just came back from his honeymoon a week and a half early because he threw out his back. My dad said that he was moving luggage and pulled it out. His bride claimed that he threw out his back while brushing his teeth. Hmmmm
These are the possible reasons for the lies:
A- My dad did hurt his back brushing his teeth and tried to lie to cover it up. (I can't imagine how vigorously someone would have to brush their teeth in order strain their back.)
B. My dad hurt his back doing something else and they didn't have the time or forethought to work on their story. (This would make his wife an idiot if the best lie she could come up with is him brushing his teeth.)
C. My dad is telling the truth and Tanna misunderstood him...toothbrush and luggage do sound similar. (This is the least likely of the three.)

Honestly, I wish I didn't know my dad strained his back on his honeymoon. The only thing worse than knowing your parents are sexually active is knowing that they are breaking themselves in the act of copulation.

I'll Be Back...

I have piles of grading to do before tomorrow, which means that it’s time to procrastinate and write another blog.

One of my New Year’s resolutions was to start making myself go to the gym a minimum of 4 days a week. Yes, this was one of my more shallow goals. I promise that all my other goals were about giving money away and helping needy children.
Anyways, back to the gym. There is a guy at the gym that makes it near impossible for me to attend 4 days a week. I know what you all are thinking, and no, this isn’t because Virginia embarrassed herself in front of yet another guy. This is a guy that I affectionately refer to as The Juice Monkey. You’ve all probably known a guy just like him at the gym. I’ll describe him to you so you can get a better picture. He’s tall, freakishly large muscles, creates his own tank tops using old t-shirts and scissors, walks around like the owns the gym, has horrible weight lifting form, and grunts when he lifts anything over 50lbs. There’s always at least one or two of these guys at every gym I’ve been to, and, up in till now, I’ve been able to politely ignore them. The problem with The Juice Monkey is that he doesn’t just grunt, he practically screams when he starts lifting heavy weights. It is so loud, I kid you not, that I can hear him 20 yards away over my death-metal music on my iPod. (Okay, I don’t listen to death metal, but it sounds better than saying that I’m listening to Brittany Spears or Beyonce at top volume. Don’t judge me!) I’ve met people at parties, church, and on airplanes (okay just one plane) that find out I work out at the Trolly Square 24-hour Fitness and they ask me if I’ve seen the guy that screams when he works out. He is famous around here.

So now when I work out, I can’t stop obsessing about him. When he screams, I want to hit him in the face because it is so annoying. It interrupts the only de-stressing time I get in my whole day. I once even got the courage up to walk by him and put my finger to my lips and shush him. I think he called me a bitch under his breath and went on screaming. I’ve taken to thinking up various ways that I can silence him. I’ve become really obsessive about it.

Possible Juice Monkey Silencers:

1. The Nice Approach: Tell him I’ve noticed that he’s really big and working hard and I’d appreciate it if he’d just tone it down a little. (This is my least favorite)

2. The Peer Pressure Approach: Tell him that his behavior is so outrageous that everyone is constantly talking about what a tool he is. People call him The Juice Monkey behind his back and some even go to the other 24-hour fitness to avoid his screams.

3. The Cheerleader Approach- Make small posters for everyone in the gym that say SHUT UP on them. When he screams, I’ll give the go-ahead and everyone in the whole gym will stop what they are doing and raise their signs in his direction. (This one will take a lot of planning and convincing, but I think it would totally work.)

4. The Modeling Behavior Approach- Get a bunch of really small guys to go lift the exact same amount of weight he is doing, but have them all do it quietly right next to him.

5. The Copycat Approach- When he is on a machine screaming, I’ll go up and ask if I can work in a set with him. I’ll set my weight at something like 10 or 20lbs and then scream really loudly, just like he does. I’ll also try to make the veins pop out in my neck while I’m lifting and screaming. (This is my favorite!)

Please let me know if you can think of any other suggestions that I’ve overlooked. I’m seriously going to do one of these in the next few weeks. It is driving me beyond distraction at the gym and I must get skinny before spring break.

Here Comes the Bride........reluctantly

Do you know how shocked we all were when Brittany Spears went crazy? Okay, I wasn’t that surprised about her going crazy. What astounded me was that Brittany went SO nuts that she made Kevin Federline look like the normal one in the relationship. That is kind of what happened at my dad’s wedding this past weekend.

Tanna, the bride, fainted before the ceremony backstage, causing the whole thing to start about 25 minutes late. Finally, it got underway, though Tanna couldn’t seem to stop crying. The man officiating/priest asked them the final question. My dad said “yes” and then it was Tanna’s turn. She was crying so hard that she couldn’t speak. The priest then asked again….long pause. She barely managed to squeak out a “yes,” but it felt like she wanted to say no. As everyone left the room in the church, Tanna clutched family members and friends sobbing.

We waited outside the church while she touched up her make-up and hair…for a FULL HOUR! When she finally emerged with my dad, she looked like someone had lit her house on fire right in front of her. She was shaking like a Chihuahua left in the backyard overnight. It was so pitiful to watch. I tried to hug her and welcome her to the family, but I don’t think it helped.

We went to the reception and she looked much calmer by the time she got there. I hope the Zanex had kicked in by then. All the while, my dad was shaking hands, giving speeches, graciously accepting congratulations, and hugging everyone. He looked so normal. It was amazing to see the transformation in the dynamic.

Sidenote: Luckily, my brother and sisters chose to sit in a table in the rear of the reception hall. The piano player was from Tanna’s congregation and regaled us with such tunes as “We’ve Only Just Begun”, “Lady” by Kenny Rogers, “You’re the Inspiration”, “I Want to Know What Love Is”, and “Feels Like Heaven”. It was like the movie The Wedding Singer. We had to eat and try not to look at each other or we'd break out laughing and snorting.

PS- My friend Eric said that Tanna was just afraid that my dad was going to "drop the hammer" later that night. I asked him to please NEVER refer to my dad's member as "the hammer".

New Year's Resolutions

So today I went into work about 10 minutes before the bell rang and realized that I had no lesson plan for the day. I quickly made something up. I decided that my kids were going to write New Year’s resolutions. I wrote a bunch of categories on the board to spark some ideas: service, character, talents, friendship, health, family, spiritual, school, and money.

These are some of my favorite responses:

(I have not changed any wording or spelling)

• I will start saving money for collage.
• I will enjoy nature for 1 hour every week.
• When I’m hungry, I won’t eat.
• Ill cheep my grades above a C.
• I’ll eat baked chips instead of fried chips.
• I’m going to play with the elderly.
• I’m going to stop smoking so much pot. (this from the kid that just moved into my class from Juvi)
• I’m going to be more spiritual by going to church a couple of times.
• I’ll talk to that kid that just moved in across the street unless he’s a dork or annoying.
• I won’t have a negative attitude about service, act as if I like doing acts of kindness for free.
• I’ll build up my scrapbooking talent by scrapbooking more.
• I’ll work out by playing DDR (Dance Dance Revolution) every day.
• I’ll eat a salad for the first time and lose 5 lbs.
• I will be nicer to people I personally think are pathetic and desperate.
• I want to color my hair lighter so people stop thinking I’m goth instead of just a kid that happens to have black hair.
• I will be more interactive with my passion for hunting.

I take it back. My students are hilarious!

SWF Seeks Normal Human Being

So I have been contemplating moving to California recently. I even went so far as to post an ad on Craigslist looking for a place to live in the San Francisco area. My ad mentioned that I’m a teacher, outdoorsy (as long as it isn’t cold), not a drinker or smoker, a big movie buff, clean (not counting the inside of my car), and always pay bills on time. I also posted this very professional looking picture of me in a sweater set.

I received a few dozen responses, 90 percent of which scared me into wanting to stay in Utah.

Here are clips from my top 5 favorite responses:

#1- Great picture. I have a 5 bedroom home in Menlo Park all to myself and just a couple of miles from Palo Alto, since my wife moved out this week it’s basically empty.

(Wow, I can pretty much take a guess at why his wife moved out.)

#2- I have a room just outside of my home with a private access which may be what you're looking for....I'm asking $800, so pretty close to your price range. You would have your own 1/2 bath but the full baths are on the other side of the house, so shower is shared with my kids. While the room itself doesn't have a closet, you can put one in. (I’m betting $10 that she put a bed in her garage and is calling it a room )

#3- Looking to share with responsible and openminded, drug and drama free, creative, healthy lifestyle, bicycle friendly Silicon Valley computer industry professional seeking similar. Basic house attitude is that we're each others' guests so let's keep the common areas reasonably clean and respect each other's privacy and possessions accordingly. Birds and fish are ok, cyclists and vegetarians welcomed, sorry but I'm allergic to most Republicans and 4 legged pets, and my otherwise docile cockatiel squawks louder when a cat is nearby than a tribble in the presence of a Klingon.
Open for male or female, but if female, need to state in advance I'm looking for a housemate, not a gf.

(I’m sorry, did you just say that your cockatiel squawks LOUDER THAN A TRIBBLE IN THE PRESENCE OF A KLINGON? Yea, I don’t think you need to worry about your housemate becoming your GF.)

#4- One small room available in a two bedroom apartment. Hoping you will be absent on weekends. No kitchen privileges. No overnight guests. I go to bed early and hope you do the same.

(Wow, are you looking for a houseplant or a roommate? I forgot to add that it is $800 to rent with this crazy person.)

#5- MY FAVORITE:

Hi,
My name is Jeff. I'm a 28-SWM. I have an offer that might work if you are interested. I have a newer, 3500sf home and am looking for someone to live with me. You would have your own bedroom (15x12) with a WIC and a private bath. You would also have full access to the rest of the house (kitchen, laundry, big screen, hot tub, etc.)

You would pay nothing to live here, in fact, I would give you $1,000 per month in 'shopping money' for your own needs.In exchange, I would ask that you spend a few hours a week with alone with me in my room.

I'm not really crazy, I just work a lot of hours and am not looking to be committed.
Anyways, if you are interested, please let me know and we can talk. If not, I apologize for bothering you.

Thanks,
Jeff

I promptly wrote back to Jeff the following letter:

I'm a teacher, not a prostitute. Thanks for the offer, but if I were selling my "services", I'd get a lot more than a free room and a $1000 a month.
I suggest you try spending your money on therapy; it would probably be a lot better spent.

After reading the responses from the posted ad, I started to feel really good about my current living situation. Yea, I live in the basement of a funky old house, but my rent is only $400, I can use the kitchen, don’t have to hear my roommates speak Klingon, and I don’t have to sleep with anyone to get my 'shopping money'.

Crossover into Crazy

Sometimes I try to explain to people that my mother is “quirky”, which is just a cute word for crazy. Quirky means crazy in a fun-loving, zany way, not a I’ll-kill-you-while-you-sleep kind of way.

The top five reasons why I know my mom is quirky:
1. I’ve seen her in the yard wearing all spandex and a tool belt while shooting grackles with a bb gun.
2. We describe her car as a Walmart on wheels. (if you need an extension chord, a suture kit, a couple lamps, or 5 sweaters, she’s got it)
3. She considers two bandaids a great bra alternative
4. She gets a package of random junk from ebay about once a week
5. She sleeps with a dog named Potatoe on her pillow. (no I didn't spell it wrong. That is the way her name is spelled on her collar.)

Recently though, I think she may have crossed the line from quirky to crazy. About 5 months ago my mom found a baby deer while mowing the lawn at the ranch. She claims that the deer had been abandoned and was dehydrated, but I’m not buying it. I think the momma deer went to go find food and left the baby in the tall brush for a couple of minutes. During that time my mom happened upon her and kidnapped her. I know this is probably true because a momma deer hung out in our yard for weeks after my mom kidnapped her baby. So my mom has raised this baby deer, now named Venisa, as her own.

Owning a deer doesn’t make my mother crazy though. The line of nuttiness wasn’t officially crossed until she sewed her deer a coat for winter. She tried explaining to me that Venisa was jealous of her other dogs’ coats and wanted one for herself.

These are three conversations that actually happened:

#1-
Me- So mom, what are you up to today?
Mom- I just got done shopping at the fabric store. I wanted to make Venisa a coat.
Me- Mom, she’s a deer; she doesn’t need a coat.
Mom- She’s cold and I found this really bright fabric. I wanted her jacket to be bright so that hunters and neighbors will know that she is owned by someone.
Me- Any deer wearing a coat is obvious owned by someone.
Mom- Hmm. I hadn9t really thought about that.

#2-
Me- Mom stop feeding the deer gummy bears; they aren’t good for her.
Mom- You’re not the boss of my deer.

#3-
Me- So mom, so what are you up to today?
Mom- I just got done going through the Sonic Drivethru with all the pets.
Me- Is Diego (our pit bull) trying to get your food.
Mom- Yes, and Venisa too.
Me- Please tell me that you don’t have the deer in the car with the pit bull and Potatoe.
Mom- Of course. Venisa thinks they are her herd. She didn’t want to be left behind at the ranch.

I would like to leave you all with that visual image. My mom driving her orange Honda Element with a Pit bull, a deer, and a French bulldog hanging out the window while driving down the highway.
The crossover to crazy has been complete

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.