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.

Testing...Testing...1 , 2, 3

I lost my voice, but I still had to come to work because I’m hoarding my sick days for a cruise in a month. I want you to picture trying to control 6 classes of 34 teenagers with a mere whisper. I am in hell! Luckily, the new school where I work installed six speakers in my classroom that work with a microphone I can wear around my neck. I’ve never really had to use this feature before because my voice booms and bounces around a normal room. Today, I cranked the volume on it, and I can hear my hoarse, scratchy whisper eco loudly throughout my classroom. One of my little 7th graders said, “Miss Scott, can you please turn that off? The loud whisper is really freaking me out.” It is so true. It sounds like I’m trying to tell really scary ghost stories around a campfire or narrate a horror movie, when I’m actually trying to explain how to use quotation marks.

My kids keep asking me how I lost my voice. Most of the boys assume that I screamed too loudly during the Superbowl. It’s wildly apparent that my students don’t know me at all. I’ve never cared about any Superbowl, in the history of Superbowls. There are only three reasons that I attend pro-football related parties:
1. Food
2. I need to leave my house occasionally during the winter months.
3. Cute boys
I put the list in order of importance.

...or are you just happy to see me.

Sorry I've been so negligent.
I've gotten tired of loaning pens and pencils to students and never having them returned. My first attempt was to tape spoons to them, so kids knew they were using my writing implements. I figure it worked in grocery stores, so it would probably work in my class. Yes, I realize now that this was faulty logic. I taped about 50 plastic spoons to a variety of pens and pencils. For weeks I was either finding plastic spoons on my classroom floor, seeing kids walking around the halls with plastic spoons taped to my pens and pencils sticking out of their pockets, or, in one case, I watched a girl eat a jello pudding snack with a spoon strapped to a pen.

I was sharing my frustration with a colleague during lunch. She said that she makes the kids trade a shoe for a pen or pencil. Yes, it's true that kids will never forget a shoe, but have you ever smelled a teenager? They are all oily and every gland seems to be working overtime to ensure that they will never procreate. I can't imagine willingly taking a shoe or any other piece of clothing from them in exchange for a pen. It would be like someone asking if they could borrow 5 bucks from you AND then punch you in the stomach to thank you for the favor.

I decided to focus on what is most important to kids. I started trading them a pen or pencil for an ipod or a cell phone. Not only does every kid have one of these, but there is no way that they would forget to trade back. I put this into place a few weeks ago, and it's worked like a charm.

Here is a recent dialogue of a trade gone awry:

Pimply boy: Ms. Scott, can I borrow a pencil.
Me: Only if I can borrow a cell phone or an ipod.
Pimply boy: But Miss, I don't have one.
(I can plainly see a perfect rectangular outline of a cell phone or ipod in his skinny jean pocket.)
Me: Really. What's with the big bulge in your jeans?
All of the kids sitting next to my desk started cracking up.
Pimply boy: At least you noticed.
He then handed me his new Iphone while laughing and getting slapped on the back by the nearby boys. His new nickname is apparently Big Bulge.

Sidenote: Why did boys think it was okay to start wearing skinny jeans? Only cowboys and little kids are allowed to wear jeans that tight. There is no reason a man should ever have to make the choice as to which side of his pants to wear his junk on. It is also distructive to our self esteem as women when you realize that your man is not only wearing designer jeans, but wearing a smaller size in the same style you have on.

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.