o how vile a stench springs from thou, angelic beast

THINGS THAT I WOULD LIKE TO STOP HAPPENING:

- music videos that are a big long story with a bunch of talking at the beginning
- people using the words "ironic" and "literally" incorrectly
- classroom teachers thinking they are making my day easier by having it be a project work day ALL DAY
- being unable to differentiate between bored and hungry
- feeling like I need seventeen naps just to get through the day because my iron pills aren't filled with enough iron apparently
- the commercial to song ratio on the radio being like 3:2
- my ears keenly listening for the disgusting sounds people make when they eat, and then fixating on them for the entire meal until I hate everyone
- my dog's farts, especially when his bum is right by my face

dentist woes

This is another thing that happened that demonstrated to me that I am a terrible grown-up. I went to the dentist in March, and my dentist was like, "Here are some issues. You seem to grind and/or clench your teeth at night, so you need a mouth guard. Also, some old fillings are falling out, so you need replacements." My response is, "Mmhm, yeah. I've just been to the dentist for the first time in several years. I've done my duty by my teeth."

At the time of this dental visit, I had dental coverage from my job in Campbell River. The coverage extended until August, and the dentist recommended I get all this sorted by then. But I'm all, "Nah. I don't like the dentist, so I'm just not going to go back."

I went back this week. And the dentist said to me, "So, your teeth are sort of breaking each other apart with the whole grinding thing. Also, there are these fillings, remember the ones I told you about? They're still falling out. Plus, you have a chip in your tooth, which I think is from the grinding."

I said, "No, that's from my dog." Because one time Charlie was like, "Surprise!" and whipped his head back into my teeth and his little skull chipped my tooth. I thought this was an important detail.

The dentist and the hygienist both gave me a look. "Okay," he said, "but you still need to fix it."

So now I have to pay for all these things, with no dental coverage, because I didn't feel like going when I had dental coverage. Do you know how much all these things cost? So much! Right now I'd really rather spend that money rebuilding my collection of nail polish, because did you know that when nail polishes get old they become goopy and difficult to apply? True story.

a really long rant about bias

I spent a lot of money to get a Psychology degree at Trinity Western University. For five years of my life mostly I just read and took notes and listened to people talk about different psychologists, theories, methods, and so on, so one would imagine that I have a lot of knowledge kicking around in my brain about this topic, right? Apparently the time I spent zoned out and/or playing Solitaire on my laptop and/or skipping class to go to movies interfered with the transfer process from short term to long term memory, because I can only remember like three or four things from my entire degree.

One of these things is BIAS. The one thing that I recall from my awful Statistics course is that there is bias in everything. In dog food commercials they say, "90% of people prefer this brand to grocery store brands," but they don't tell you that basically nobody buys their dog food from grocery stores, they buy their dog food from pet stores, so of course most people are going to prefer some crap from a pet store than some weird stuff from the grocery store.

In toothpaste ads they tell you that "9 out of 10 dentists recommend this toothpaste," but they don't tell you how many people they asked (was it only 10?), who they were (were they the buddies of the guy who makes the toothpaste?), or what exactly the question was (Survey Guy: "Would you recommend this toothpaste over brushing your teeth with icing sugar?" Dentist: "Why yes. Yes I would." Survey Guy: "Bam! 9 out of 10.")

Basically what this means is that I don't trust anything. On Tuesday I went to a Bible study I'd never been to before, and somehow the topic of Bible translations came up, and this one guy showed me a chart his church had done, ranking the translations in order of what is best/most accurate (King James) to what was the worst/why even bother (The Message). Another guy said that he uses the ESV because his church had researched it and said it was the best.

What I thought in my brain but didn't say out loud because I was new and they were both really nice and possibly right after all was, "Yeah, right." Because, one time when I was paying attention in a RELS class at TWU, the prof said that the King James Version is called such because King James was all, "Hey, make me a translation of the Bible." Now, Wikipedia tells me that he wanted everything to be accurate and as close to the original text as possible, but he was the king. If he had a particular view of what he thought should be in the Bible, and some dude is the guy in charge of translating the Bible, might he not be desirous of translating it in such a way as reflects what the king wishes it to say? Because otherwise he might become murdered or something?

I also thought that perhaps the research the church read before endorsing the ESV may have, perhaps, been sponsored by the people who sell the ESV. Because they wish everyone to purchase their translation instead of all the other ones. In another course I took, a lady was doing a speech on healthy eating or something similar, and she said that the reason why the Heart and Stroke Foundation endorses Becel, saying it's the best for your heart etc., is because Becel sponsors the Heart and Stroke Foundation. What if someone who worked for the Heart and Stroke Foundation did some rogue research and found out that Becel is actually crap for your heart? I do not think that the H&S F would be like, "Hey, yeah! Go ahead and publish that. We totally don't care that Becel would be so mad they'd stop paying for all our stuff."

Anyway. I'm not sure why I'm so obsessed with bias all of a sudden, in such a way as that I don't really see the point in researching what kind of biblical translation is best, or why we chose some Old Testament laws to continue following and some to not follow anymore, or what kind of toothpaste to use. Because nobody tells the truth in these kinds of things anymore.

is that my heart floating up there

Today, it was stormy. I was in the middle of watching a new t.v. show about this girl who moves to Alabama to be a doctor, and she meets this super handsome, charming fellow. At one point, they are standing out on a dock and she's telling him that she's moving back to New York, and despite how cheesy the whole thing was, it was well done in that you could see that they both wished she was sticking around so they could figure out how they felt about each other. (Even though later you find out he is ENGAGED to this really mean lady. Aren't they always.)

Anyway, so I was in the middle of that when I went outside with my dog briefly. I was wearing my plaid gumboots and my ugly brown raincoat because it was stormy. Like, really stormy you guys. And I was watching the sky, with the huge dark clouds rolling by, different shades of gray and black swirling around, when I saw a strange shape flying around up there. Is that an eagle, I wondered. Could it be a heron?

I stared at it until the wind shifted and it turned out it was a big heart balloon. The red of it was a stark contrast to how black the sky was. It had a tail string, and seemed to glide and bob around leisurely despite the tumultuous wind surrounding it. I watched it until it disappeared above the clouds.

Then I thought, what is the significance of this balloon. How does it metaphorically apply to my life? Was it saying that my heart is at liberty to dance in the wind and go wherever it so chooses and I can adventure and not be encumbered by another person. Or was it saying that my heart is utterly alone in unstable and uncharted territory, because everyone I know is married and there are no boys that like me and I will die alone.

If I hadn't been watching an emotional boy-girl scene on t.v., I probably would have looked up and said, "Hey, neat. A balloon."

with my superhuman might

Yesterday while driving I thought about superpowers. My pre-existing super power is my sense of smell. If there is a smell to be smelled anywhere in the vicinity, I will smell it. (Some people have commented that perhaps I have an imaginary sense of smell, that smells all the imaginary smells that aren't actually there to be smelled, but that's a minor and untrue detail.) My super power that will develop after I'm struck by lightning is being able to eavesdrop without staring intently at the person I am eavesdropping on. That will make me less detectable than I am presently.

My outfit will naturally be a purple dress with shorts underneath, in case I need to kick someone in the face or jump off a building, plus stylish but sensible flats, a mask, and a cape! To help you visualize, I found the dress I am going to wear and pasted my head onto it.

obviously only the head belongs to me.

My super weakness is a crippling shyness in most social situations. I will come undone if a villain tries to engage me in small talk, which renders me almost useless in any scenario in which the villain can make conversation. However, I can be revived by the wind - standing outside on a windy day, or driving really fast with the windows rolled down. Things like that. If I have a sidekick, one of his or her duties will be to carry a wind-machine with us always. You know, like they use in photoshoots?

Anyway, those were my thoughts. What are your superpowers?

the key to success

Behold my all-time fantastic never-fail strategy:

I'm a pro at applying this to basically all situations.

1. Babies. Everyone gushes over babies. I don't know what to do with them and they are so soft and bendy that I worry about damaging them. Don't give me the baby. I won't even look at the baby.

2. My job. As a Teacher-On-Call, there's so much uncertainty! Sometimes I know where I'm going the day before, but you guys, sometimes I don't. It's all very unsettling. So hey! I wish the phone would never ring. I can't plan and I don't know if it's going to be a good day or not, so let's just not even try.

3. Handsome fellows. Is there a handsome fellow in the vicinity? He probably won't be interested in me. I can't think of anything to say. Don't make eye contact with the fellow. If he tries to speak to me (which he won't), politely answer in as few words as possible, a la conversation with old person who remembers you from when you were this tall but you have no idea who they are.

4. Junk that needs to be cleaned up. Is there crap in a room that is causing a tripping hazard? Might it be somewhat important crap, or something I might need in five years or possibly never? Shove it in a box and shove the box in the closet. Bring it along when I move because there's nothing else to do with it. Bring it along again when I move again.

5. Talking to people. I am so bad at this. Even with my own family! Everybody got together for my grandma's birthday last week, and instead of talking to people I sat in a chair with my uncle and we both eavesdropped on other people's conversations. 

You should all try it.

shades of yellow (citrine and/or barfy banana)

Once upon a time, there lived a nice, middle-class family. They had a small home conveniently close to schools and parks. Their street was quiet, and populated by other nice, middle-class families, who gardened in the afternoons and taught their children to ride bikes in the evening. Those who drove through the neighbourhood commented to one another on the peaceful atmosphere that lingered around the houses they passed by. There was nothing unusual about the community, or that one family in particular. All was well.

Or so they thought.

(DUN DUN DUUUUUUUUUUUUN.)

Two people - a little girl, and a little boy - knew the secret of the house. They never spoke of it, not even to each other; instead they stood very close together in the living room and silently peered out through the curtains in the unlikely direction of the carport. For you see, housed in that carport was a car. Some sort of old car. Maybe like a Dodge or something, I don't know. Anyway, there were two important details about this car. The first was that it was a sort of brownish-yellow, like if someone barfed up bananas. The second was that it was haunted.

Oh yes, haunted. Not everyone knew it or believed it but these two children swore up and down that there was something devilish about that particular car. It was old, it was ugly, and it just sat there except for at night time when it appeared to the little girl in her nightmares. The only time it ever drove was on an eerie night, when the little girl dreamt she was a mouse and the car had no driver but still it crept closer and closer, first to squish her little mouse body and then to crash into the house and kill all the sleeping occupants.

So the two children kept watch over the evil car, narrowing their eyes at it and curling their lips into as much of a sneer as they would dare in its direction. We're on to you, they telepathically communicated to the car. But as brave as they could be from a safe distance indoors, whenever necessity demanded they walk past the car they held their breath - haunted cars would steal the air from your lungs if you weren't careful.

Then one day, the car vanished. Maybe it was sold, maybe towed away, maybe crushed. Maybe it's haunting another little girl's dreams. I've seen it once or twice, from the corner of my eye; but maybe it was simply my imagination. As an adult, I realize that behind the wheel of nearly every haunted car is some jerk in an upholstery costume.

Like this dirty scumbag.

Nearly every haunted car.

will you please start talking

I'm thinking about becoming passionate about something so that I can hold conversations with people! These are some of the possibilities:

- caffeinated beverages
- pros and cons of different types of cheese
- cold-weather sports
- things that buzz
- historical inaccuracies in movies
- homophones
- validity of certain dictionary words
- old railroads
- underappreciated playground structures

I am also open to suggestions.

some letters

Dear Adorable Bunnies,
While I enjoy seeing you take over my neighbourhood because you're so darn cute, please move on to another street because my dogs keep eating your poo and you keep eating all the gardens.

Dear Mystery Boy Who Asked My Dad Permission to Ask Me to Coffee,
Your manners are better than your follow through. Also, very clever to intrigue me with your chivalry.

Dear itunes,
Please put The Oh Wells in your stupid store. I need some good music and you keep thwarting me because we don't like the same stuff.

Dear Sky From Last Night,
Thanks for being awesome. Let's meet up again soon.

Dear Bowl Chair,
I don't care if you permanently destroy the curvature of my spine. I will love you forever. (But actually, please go easy on my spine. I need it for a while yet.)

Dear Dishwasher,
I missed you; did you miss me?

Dear Skin Care Companies,
I will give you my money if you can make a tinted moisturizer with sunscreen that does NOT give me pimples. I don't want to put three things on my face. I want to put one thing on my face. Please indulge my laziness and sensitive skin.

the next step is getting over how weird my knees are

Ever since I started getting chubby, which was around grade three or four, I have extremely disliked showing any part of my body. Legs encased in pants, arms in long sleeves, torso in a jacket, and the best is when face/neck is obscured by a scarf. (Hence one of the reasons I love fall and winter. Summer is not conducive to all those clothes.) This was compounded when in grade seven I got little red spots all over my legs. My doctor said "Shave with the hair, instead of against it," which is dumb because a) then what's the point of shaving at all, and b) the spots persisted even in the winter, when I didn't shave for five or six months at a time. So I remained spotted. Chubby, too, but that was for a different reason. This conversation from School of Rock accurately sums it up:

Anyway. For lots and lots of years, I persisted with jeans through even the hottest summers. The ONLY time I would wear shorts was when I knew I was going to be at home all day and nobody was coming over. That was it.

Then, mysteriously between term 3 and term 4 of this year, I decided that I loved skirts and dresses. Skirts and dresses were my new favourite things. I discovered I could entertain myself during students' boring stories by standing with my feet together and twisting my hips, making my skirts and dresses swish around my legs. Walking down stairs became exponentially more fun, because my skirts and dresses would flip out every time I descended a step. It was fantastic. I didn't wear pants at all for the rest of the school year, except sometimes on jeans Fridays.

I still have spots on my legs, but I've begun to notice that you can't really tell unless you are staring at my legs from a really close distance, and that's not really something people do to me a lot. I haven't lost any weight, because food still tastes really good, but yesterday I bought a pair of black shorts because I have lots of tops that would look really good with black shorts.

So what I'm saying is that I wish this confidence had come to me sooner. I love my skirts and I love my dresses and I might even be on the way to loving my shorts. I'm still a modest girl, and I am aware of what is not flattering on my body, but if you don't like my spots or are grossed out by my weight, then look elsewhere because I feel pretty great. That is what I'm saying.

my next book will be called "RULES OF PARKING SPOTS FOR JERKS."

There used to be this lady who lived beside me who really shouldn't have been living beside me. She fell all the time - like I'd be walking to my car, and hear this thump and a curse word, and go investigate, and she was on the ground beside her van because she was going to drive her garbage the 10 feet to the dumpster because it was too heavy, but she lost her balance on the sidewalk and fell over. This happened ALL THE TIME. I understand that people like to be independent, but if she almost died every time she took her garbage out, maybe it was time to rethink the living arrangement. Maybe somewhere with a garbage chute, where she could be on the first floor because the elevator in my building is EXTREMELY suspect.

Anyway, so she moved out, and I was glad! Not because I hated her or anything, but for two reasons: one, I like to imagine her moving to a glorious ocean-front condo with a nice, live-in care person and a garbage chute, and two, it meant I could let Charlie play his favourite game where he chases his leash around my beside table for hours and barks at it the whole time. I never let him play it because I worry the barking is annoying to anyone who can't see how completely adorable he is while he's chasing his own leash in circles.

Then last week I noticed a truck in her former parking spot, and I became very jealous and angry. Who is this new person parking in the closest spot? I asked myself furiously. I've been here longer than this new person! I should get the spot. (I think I have a complex about parking spots.)

Then a few days ago I noticed the empty balcony where her cat and flowers used to be had some office chairs and a star. Rats, I thought, new neighbours. Because neighbours are usually crappy and loud, and also it put a kibosh on Charlie's game.

Then for yesterday and the day before and today, I smelled pot every time I left, or arrived at, my apartment. And those same nights when I am trying to sleep I hear a laundry machine going on for ever. So I imagine my new neighbours to be people who don't understand the hierarchy of parking spots, who like to do laundry when they're high. Despite my blase attitude about pot-smokers in a previous post, I am irritated by it now, maybe mostly because of the parking spot.

despite the deathly chill of winter we are alive

I use the word "hate" too often. This was brought to my attention by my wonderful grade seven students, who keep telling me, "Miss W., 'hate' is a really strong word." Sometimes I say, "I KNOW! And I HATE this!" about whatever inspired the use of the word in the first place. Sometimes I scale it back to an intense dislike. But you guys, I truly hate hockey season. I hate hockey season for the same reason why I'm a really bad hockey fan. I love the players, and they try so hard, and I can't imagine how much pressure they are under all the time, and then they make a mistake and the people who are supposed to be on their side become bitter little gremlins who suddenly know better, and can play better, and call them worthless. I am indiscriminate with my affections for hockey players, and I wish them ALL well - like, let's just end this whole thing in a giant tie. Then nobody is sad at the end. (Yes, I'm one of those people.) But somebody always has to lose, and when they lose everybody hates them, and it breaks my heart. I wish hockey fans were more steadfast. The pressure of all the minutes between when the game starts and when the game ends wear on my soul and I feel bad for somebody the entire time, because people are always making mistakes. When it's all over, somebody is always disappointed and I can't stand it.

I'm just really sad about hockey.

I SAID GOOD DAY

I dislike closing salutations. Almost every time I end an email or a phone call or a letter, the agony over what would be appropriate or suitable consumes me. At school in emails to parents, whether or not it has anything to do with supporting me, my closing line is "Thanks for your support." If I ask a question and need an answer, I usually say "Thanks" in expectation of a favourable outcome. But what about when you ask a favour and are not sure what the person is going to say? Or what if it's a composition to a family member or acquaintance who you're not REALLY close to? In those cases "Thanks" doesn't really seem adequate. Sometimes I resort to "Have a good [insert general time of day]," but even that seems to cold and distant for most correspondence. I wish we could go back to "Regards," or "Sincerely," without it seeming like we meant to be ironic, and coming across like a pretentious doof.

tuesday musings

- Sometimes I like to be ensconced in tiny places; sometimes I like to be standing in the middle of a wide open space with the wind blowing around me. Today I'm snuggled in my bowl chair with my hood on, even though it's oddly sunny outside for this time of day.

- Today in Math class a student was looking at me strangely. "What are you doing with your face?" I asked him. "What?" he said. "It's my thinking face." I'd never seen it before.

- I'm catching on to their shenanigans. A student asked me if I knew the difference between a Roman helmet and a Greek helmet. I don't. Figuring this was something to do with the Greek project due today, I said, "Of course I know the difference." "Shoot," he said, thinking he could pull the wool over my eyes with an improper helmet. He totally could have.

- I don't drink enough water. I chalk this up to laziness; my water bottle has a spout that's hidden by a magical button I have to press and hold every time I want to take a sip. I hate having to hold that stupid button down. Today I bought a bottle with a straw, and I've dranken half its contents already!

- Tuesdays are the worst. I feel like I've been awake for three days and fallen down the stairs twice. I did get punched in the collarbone by a grade seven student today, because I accidentally walked into the trajectory of his fist. He quaked beneath my glare, and figured it out on his own that he should be more aware of his surroundings.

massage therapy: a sideboob saga

I don't know if any boys read my blog, but I talk a little bit about boobs in this one here. So maybe give it a pass if you don't want to hear a tiny bit about boobs.

I have pretty much the worst posture in the world, and also I spend a lot of time on the computer. Plus I dislike holding/carrying things, so every morning I shove my purse and lunch kit into a backpack instead of hanging on to them like a fool. For some reason all these things have combined to launch an attack on various muscles in my neck/back region. This I could handle like a champ, until yesterday when my ARMPITS started to hurt. Come on! Armpits?

So I made an appointment at a massage therapist for today, because a friend of mine at work does that and it's covered by my new medical plan! Which is fantastic. Except that this morning I all of a sudden thought - am I going to have to take my clothes off? I think they sometimes do that for massages. I was too shy to ask the person who told me about the place, so I just worried about it until I got there and filled out the forms and then went into the room and met the lady. Even then it wasn't until she actually told me to take the clothes off the top half of my body that I actually knew what was actually going to happen.

"You can leave your pants on, but take everything else off and here's the blanket and this is where your knees go," the lady said. She had a lot of tattoos.

These are not the kind of instructions you want to misunderstand, so I clarified. "This comes off, and then I slide in there?"

She nodded, and then left for me to take care of the rest. As soon as my top half clothes were off I shimmied onto the table and tried to arrange my arms so that there was NO SIDEBOOB. It was at this point that I realized that I'd forgotten to take my glasses off, even though I needed to smoosh my face into the donut thing that's designed to hold faces. I didn't want to get up in case the lady came back and saw actual boob, let alone sideboob.

I stayed put and held them until she came back and took them from me, but then I had to move my arms so she could put shoulder pillow things under my shoulders, so I had to stretch my arms by my side. It's difficult to keep arms pressed at sides with shoulder pillows and also trying to be relaxed so I wouldn't ruin all the muscle relaxing she was doing. I was trying to imagine what everything looked like from the top, where she was standing - was I effectively hiding my thunder?

(Just kidding. I don't actually think of my boobs as my thunder. I just wanted to use that line because I miss Arrested Development.)

And THEN, while battling sideboob anxiety, I was also imagining what my face looked like. I felt a bit like an idiot. Put your hands on your cheeks and pull back, so everything is tight and ridiculous, and that's what my face looked like. Then I realized that I was staring at the ground and she couldn't see my face, so all I had to worry about was my boobs hanging out for the world to see.

Until she tried to fix my armpit muscles. I don't know why I didn't think about this before, but I did not shave my armpits prior to the appointment, which I DEFINITELY SHOULD HAVE. So I was not relaxed during that portion of the thing, which might have negated the massage effects. I was going to apologize, but thought that might make things awkward. Also, when my face was smooshed in the face thing, it didn't matter if my eyes were closed or not, but when I was on my back I was suddenly conscious of should my eyes be closed or open? If my eyes are open do I look bored or creepy? If my eyes were closed would I look asleep or creepy? It was all so stressful.

In the end, I'm not sure if it was all worth it. Sometimes it didn't feel like she was doing anything at all, and other times it felt like it might be helpful. Maybe if I went again, I'd just get over the whole boob-anxiety, and also I would definitely shave my armpits.

all good things must come to this

I received a bouquet of purple tulips as a gift last week. Those things are nuts - they absolutely love the cold. I open the window a crack during the day and night to indulge them their idiosyncrasies, and even though the crack is only big enough for one or two of them to stick their heads out, the whole crew leans towards the opening, hoping to catch a breath of the wintry air. I don't keep a lot of living things in my apartment, due to my penchant for completely forgetting they depend on me wholly - a few months ago a friend gave me a plant, and every week I replay this scene:

Me: (engaged in some mindless task) Holy crap! Whoops! (run over to sink and fill up a cup with water, then pour it all over my poor, parched plant) Sorry, man. I won't forget you again! (knowing this is a lie)

It's different with my tulips, because I love them passionately. (So passionately that I am huddled in a blanket so they can enjoy their fresh air.) Also, they only need to be watered once, which I've done. At least, I think so. Maybe I should be changing their water, like with a fish?

Anyway. The point of this rambling is because today I was reading my book in the sunshine when suddenly I heard a soft thud. Like if a giant moth died mid-air and fell onto my windowsill. Imagining it was a giant moth who died mid-air and fell onto my windowsill, I looked immediately to whence the sound had come, only to realize it was something far, far more terrible.

A single purple petal lay on the sill.

My tulips are dying.

I don't know what to do besides stare at them in abject horror. There is literally nothing I can do to save them. I want to glue the petal back on, but that will make it top-heavy and the whole thing might snap, plus would glue even stick to a flower? I don't want to keep hearing tiny thumps, because each one breaks my heart, but I don't want to unceremoniously shove them in a garbage bag. I'm in a ghastly pickle.

now if only i could put vegetables in my stomach instead of the garbage

I was all gung-ho about my grown-up weekend, until I started imagining the recap I would post here, and now I'm not so sure. About a week ago I got a new book from Chapters, but for a while I've only had an internet-attention span, so I didn't start reading it until Friday night. A million times I have learned the lesson to NEVER START A BOOK AT BED-TIME, but a million times I forget so I started the book at bed-time. I read until like 2am, thinking to myself, "This would be a really good Saturday activity. Put the book down and go to bed," but I couldn't. It was a really big book and I managed to tear myself away about halfway through.

Then on Saturday morning, which I usually look forward to because I can sleep in however long I want, I woke up at 8:30 and was very excited about reading my book. "The book is not going anywhere," I told myself, "go back to sleep." But I couldn't. So I got up and finished my book. Then I went and chopped all my hair off again, and did a bunch of errands, and went on a quest for a good slurpee. While I was getting my hair cut I was consumed with desire for a slurpee, even though it had been snowing all day. I tried TWO different cream soda slurpees and two different locations, and they both tasted like soap. :( Then I went back to my apartment and had a nap until 5, and then I went to a friend's house for dinner. Then before I went to bed I cleaned up my stupid room, because I couldn't find the shirt I wanted to wear today under all the clothes I'd piled on my floor. I finally threw away the wrapper that has been on my floor for a month, getting stuck to my foot EVERY STINKING DAY.

This morning I ironed my shirt that I found on the floor, and then when I came home from church I put away all my groceries from yesterday and put lasagna in my crock pot for meals this week, and now I'm about to mark students' stories from like two weeks ago that I keep putting off.

When I recount it all at once, it doesn't sound very grown-up at all. Doing a bunch of errands always makes me feel productive, and also I ironed this morning, so I think that's it. And I threw away that wrapper. Maybe I've got one leg into my grown-up pants.

civil war on my foot

Some dude in a pick-up truck has been parking in my spot. The first day when I came home from work I stopped in the middle of the road without even making sure there was nobody behind me, because I was so surprised. He remained there for two days, and at that point I called the guy in charge of the building. "Uh," I said (because I always get really awkward when talking to the guy in charge of the building), "there's been a truck in my spot for two days." I hastened to add that I met some guy by the mailbox who was new, and I thought it might be him, and he just didn't know about the spots, because I didn't want him to get towed.

(Interesting side note: I am the worst at meeting new people unexpectedly. The guy said, "Hi, I'm new." I said, "Hi! What floor are you on?" He said, "Third." I said, "Oh, I'm on the second. Well, nice to meet you!" Like, seriously, of all the things to ask a new person, I inquired as to what FLOOR he lived on? And then I think I came off like he wasn't as cool as me, because he lived on the lame third floor. I'm so terrible at people.)

Anyway, so the guy in charge of the building said he would take care of it the next day, which was Sunday, but yesterday he still didn't do anything about it. Today when I came home from work, the truck was gone, but it was GONE gone, not moved. So I parked in my spot, because it's MY SPOT, and I made sure my parking pass was displayed visibly for all to see; nevertheless, I am still worried the pick-up truck guy is a jerk and will crash into and/or key my vehicle because he thinks it's his spot.

On another note, the baby toe on my right foot is experiencing some civil conflict. The right half of the toenail would like to exit the foot, but the left half has decided to stay. The right half is catching on everything in an attempt to aid its escape. Since my baby toenails are tiny and I don't even know what job they do, I tried to help it by cutting the right half off with nail clippers. Instead of being grateful, however, the little leftover bit on the right side has become invisible so I can't see it to cut it, but it's STILL catching on things. I think what I might need to do is drop a hammer on my toe, and then the nail will FALL off and the left half and I can go on with our merry lives.

life before google: a short story in comic form

Random coincidence: I found the comic I was looking for for this post without even meaning to. Now you should look at the comic, and then go back and read the part of that post that refers to the comic, and we can all smile about how stuff works out.

instead maybe i should read a book

Today was spent writing mid-terms. I mean, I was writing the mid-terms that the students are going to write in a week. I was listening to dramatic instrumental music on my computer at work, watching the darkening sky out my window, and I felt very content. Like, I could do this kind of thing for a long time. In second block, my grade tens and I spent most of the time chatting; I have to give them up next week because they're a one-semester course only. Sometimes I have moments where I feel like a poster for BEING A TEACHER, and today was one of those moments.

Before I go to bed now I play a computer game about fish, where I match things to get points and then use points to build an aquarium. Sometimes I don't have enough points to provide my fish with all their comfort requirements, such as a heater and a filter, and then I feel bad so I race through the levels to get more points so my fish don't have to suffer. I think it's about time for a real pet.