brainxplosion

... you will stand at the In'N'Out counter with your receipt (order #3) and pleadingly look at the guy handing out food saying "three, three, three" while he is calling 89.*

I didn't actually do that, but it crossed my mind. Then, instead of saying "three, three, three" like a crazy person, I started chuckling heartily to myself. What's worse, I wonder?

*First-graders still need to learn that it won't actually make you call their table team number when they whisper it to you.

I've written this post many times in my head, so writing it in reality is pretty exciting. I'm hoping it'll be out of my head once I purge it onto the page. So here we go:

First graders move, and talk, and get so excited about stuff (like loose teeth) that they have a hard time paying attention. First graders feel like a million bucks when you call them to the board or let them use a whiteboard marker or touch the overhead projector. First graders go to great lengths when promised candy. First graders are little, and they want to play.
When teaching first graders, you have to become comfortable with dealing with humanity in a mostly unadulterated from - crying during story time, wet pants on the way to the bathroom, tattling over who did what to whom over recess, stories about going to court with ex-parents, comments about your hair and shoes. No matter what you expect, something unexpected will always happen - quite often it's even something really good.
I'm going to be telling first grade stories for a while, and here's the first one:


When I teach, I sometimes have to say the same thing approximately 27 times (note: I have 18 students). I constantly remind my students of the rules, and often enough, I feel like I'm working at a flea circus. But at other times, first grade magic happens. I might be reading a story when I notice the stillness of the classroom. Children sit with their mouths open and their eyes wide, just listening. I breathe those moments. I live for those moments. I love those moments. In those moments, the world is right, the stars are aligned, and the force is balanced. In those moments, I love my students. I love my profession.

"He's like an orange glowing tooth-head"

Last year, I was an instructional aide for three sixth-grade classes. There are some kids I considered "my" students; they were the ones I helped the most. One of those kids was a quiet, overweight boy with poor spelling and labored handwriting, math abilities, and breathing. He stayed in pretty much every lunch period to do homework with me. At some point, I learned that he had tragically lost his mother when he was in second grade. His father was overwhelmed, as was the older sister.
Fast forward to this morning, when I heard through the teacher's lounge grapevine that this weekend, that boy's father passed away.

I feel so sick.

Now that I"m done with the tags, let me tell you about writing these seven seven thing things. When Stephan tagged me, I was very excited. MY VERY FIRST TAG, I thought in all caps. YIPIEEEEE!
Then I started writing and it was HARD. I don't think about those things much, I guess. Also, I had a strong need to be funny whilst vulnerably revealing my personality. Problematic! I worked my way through the first few paragraphs and felt better. Then, doom hit with attractive males. I just know that I like my husband, okay? I even like the things he does that drive me insane. We just work together - but that's only one thing, not seven. Then I thought about his looks and started listing stuff. #3 was "imperfect teeth", and all of a sudden it hit me. Kirsten Dunst said she liked imperfect theeth in that interwiev I read with her while wasting time at the mall. What I was writing was not me!!! The only thing for me to do in order to actually help you learn about me was to erase all the stuff I'd had to pull out of my butt (not literally, of course). What you have is much more true than any seven things I could have written.

I'd have loved to tag people, but too many of the people I had in mind have already been tagged with this very same tag. So I decided to post a picture of a condom and circumvent that question, too.

So, here are seven things you learned about my personality today:
1. I want to be funny at all times. For example, right now.
2. I don't overanalyze the kinds of things other people overanalyze (but I do overanalyze - just other stuff, e.g. what I said vs. what I should have said etc.).
3. I am a dork who gets excited about being tagged.
4. I love my husband. A lot.
5. I waste time at the mall (waiting to be picked up after work-school for about 3-4 hours - the mall is just close-by...).
6. I love run-on sentences and ----- hyphens and ()()()()()() parentheses.
7. I explain things. Then I explain the explanations. Just in case something was not quite clear yet, I explain the explanation of the explanation.

Seven things I find attractive in a male:

Never thought about it. Either I feel it or I don’t, I guess.

Seven celebrity crushes?

I know I’m lame, but I don’t crush like that. I just don’t. Sorry.

Seven people who have nothing better to do than to get tagged:

Errr, I’m sorry. This seven things tag is spreading like an STD and I’m going to protect you. Consider yourself tagged if you’d like to share – I’d love to read it.
And please don't hate me for weaseling my way out of answering, ok?! ;o)

Seven things I can do:
1 laugh hysterically with VERY LITTLE outside encouragement

2 make lemonade when life deals me lemons

3 use humor to avoid being real

4 make my husband laugh

5 sulk and pout

6 read stories to kids

7 procrastinate (I’m so good, I put off putting things off)

Seven things I cannot do:
1 get over it

2 get started

3 wear high heels on a regular basis even though I’m short enough to need them

4 plan it and stick to it

5 stop crying once I started

6 lie

7 get my neighbor to zip it

Seven things I say a lot:
1 Stop and no, both at school

2 boys and girls, also at school

3 please and thank you

4 poophead

5 hang on just a minute

6 I’ll do it tomorrow

7 excellent

Seven things I want to do before I die:
1 Have a baby.

2 Travel to New Zealand

3 Live in a motor home and drive around (before I retire!)

4 Get enough sleep on a regular basis

5 Dress well

6 Be athletic

7 Have peace

I've been tagged. I'm working on it. Remeber, I have no social life because I'm ALWAYS AT SCHOOL, the school where computers don't do what I want them to because they're Apples and they must be able to smell the PC on my fingers or clothes or something.

But. I'm working on it.

Oh, and also, scroll down and read the HOLY ROLLER post. It's more exciting than this. Maybe.

The piece of quiet I had for the last week or so is definitely over. Here's a play-by-play account of what happened last night:
8:00 pm watch Horse Whisperer on TV while squeaking and yelling floats from her window to mine. She has friends over (1 male, 1 female methinks).
10:30 pm Horse Whisperer finally wraps up (after more commercials than movie and with all kinds of vital scenes cut out). All is quiet next door.
11:00 pm Hit the pillows and be out cold (took Benadryl).
1:45 am Jolt awake. Squeaking, squealing and YELLING LOUDLY comes from Holy's apartment. It drifts in through the open bedroom window. The sound bounces back and forth between the houses' concrete backyards and is probably louder in my bedroom than it is in hers.
1:50 am IT'S NOT STOPPING! WHAT THE HECK??? D. goes to office window, opens it, and calls "Keep it down, it's 2 o'clock in the morning!" NO BLOOMING REACTION WHATSOEVER!!!
1:55 am D. gets dressed to go knock on the door. I tell him to call the cops instead because I don't want him beaten and/or shot. D. makes the call and we go back to bed. The squealing prevails. LOUDLY, oh ever so loudly.
2:20 am Drifting off to sleep. Police isn't coming. The stupid neighbors leave to get food. Unfortunately, police doesn't show up as they're getting into the car - a DUI would make me feel a little better about the missed beautysleep.
2:22 am It's quiet. Resolve to blog about it and go to sleep.
2:45 am Jolt awake. THE SQUEAKING AND LAUGHING AND YELLING HAS RETURNED!!! Gleefully go and get keychain with teacher whistle. Open office window, blow whistle. Call "Shut up over there!" into the stunned silence. Silence lasts for about 3 seconds, then squeaky squealing and insipid laughing continues LOUDLY.
2:47 am Call police. They apologize for not coming out earlier. They went to the wrong city. BOY AM I GLAD THIS WASN'T SOME SORT OF EMERGENCY (like" I have a burglar in my house" or something like that). Go back to bed.
3:15 am Police has not shown up yet, yelling has not stopped. D. closes bedroom window. I go to sleep.


For all I know, the police never showed up. D. says he could still hear them at 4 am - through the closed window, thankyouverymuch.

Dear Internet.
Sorry I haven't written to you in so long. I know it's a lame excuse, but I have been really busy. Last week was my last week of college classes. Everything was due. I stayed up all night one night doing homework, and then napped in unlikely places for the rest of the week.
Last Saturday was my 5 year wedding anniversary. We had grand plans of going to the Wild Animal Park in San Diego. Then we changed our minds and ended up going out for breakfast (yum), then headed over to a pumpkin patch where we bought the three most perfectest pumpkins that now grace our fireplace with their perfect perfection. On the way home, we went to the movies, and then we shared a $4 cup of cappucino at a book store*.
This week is my first week of student teaching. This means that I go to my class (first grade) every day and start teaching one subject (social studies in my case). For the next seven weeks, I go and take over one additional subject each week, so that I teach EVERYTHING, yes, EVERY LITTLE TINY THING for two weeks. So far, it's been good. Of course we only do social studies once a week, so... I'm not exactly overworked. I also get to do morning opening with calendar and caterpillar counting and tooth chart (more details to come) and later, I read stories. I spell words for kids and I count blocks and I listen to the endless litany of "He pushed me." "They're moving the table." and "Can I go to the bathroom?". I sometimes eat my recess snack with my kids, which never fails to make me smile - and they feel so special. I also read notes that say "To Mrs. European. You are the best." "I love Mrs. European." and "I'm vry sroy i was tacen.**"
I love it.
I will be better about updating, I swear.
From your friend,
Mrs. European.

*We have gone away for the weekend every year to celebrate. This time around we were both so overworked that a quiet day with NO CHORES was just what we needed.

**Which of course means: I am very sorry I was talking. (This is a chatty one. I sent a note home (uhhhhh) about it and apparently, the mother talked the fear of goodness-knows-what into the kid. Not that that means a stop to the talking. But she is sroy, so that's something. And she brought me the giganticest giant candy bar ever. Chocolate makes forgiveness flow easily...)

Jef over at Thunderfish reminded me that a noisy-neighbor-update is in order, so here we go.

Well, the noise has stopped. Holy Roller seems to have been out of town for a couple of days about three weeks ago, and I haven't seen Military BF since. I have several theories as to why:

1. He shipped out. She has not yet found a replacement. (possible)
   
2. They patched things up, but she closed the window. (improbable)
   
3. They broke up. She has not yet found a replacement. (probable)
   
4. He got an apartment and they go about their business there now. (possible)
   

Whatever the reason, my heart skips with gladness at the restoration of peace and quiet. Ahhhhhh!

Fashion world phonies hang Moss out to dry

October 1, 2005

BY SUE ONTIVEROS SUN-TIMES COLUMNIST

Don't for a minute fall for the fashion industry's act that it is taking the moral high ground by firing Kate Moss. What a bunch of phonies, all of them: the muckety-mucks at Burberry, Chanel and H&M who have terminated their contracts with Moss. Oh my, they are all acting as if they are so shocked, shocked that a high-level model like Moss would be snorting cocaine. I think they should save their disbelief for the day one of those undernourished young models is caught eating a sandwich and not upchucking afterward. Now that would be news.

Kate Moss, the supermodel who is being systematically let go from every high-dollar modeling gig/deal she has, is not being fired for being a cocaine user. No, her big mistake was in getting caught and the whole world seeing the photos of her snorting a line. Moss' crime was showing the reality of the fashion world, and it's not a very pretty picture. Shame, shame, Katie girl.

If ever there was someone who was created and used by the fashion industry, it was Moss. She was only 14 when her skinny frame was photographed topless. Now, in some circles, a shot of a young girl baring her breasts, albeit tiny ones, is considered child pornography. But, if you drape at least the bottom of that same girl in some overpriced clothing, it's called fashion, and it's a billion-dollar business.

From the earliest days of her career, Moss has looked like a drug user -- an appearance the fashion industry has tried to duplicate with numerous other young things. Heck, they glibly called her look "heroin chic." And now, they are so appalled to find that she apparently truly does use drugs. Oh, please, quit with the hypocrisy.

Anyone with an ounce of sense can tell by looking at Moss and just about every other model in magazines today that those are body weights and appearances that don't happen naturally. There are a few rather unpleasant ways females get to look like that. Either a female is ingesting drugs or hugging a toilet bowl on a regular basis in order to get rid of any food she might have eaten. It's as simple as that. Drugs and cigarette smoking cut appetites or rev up a person's metabolism.

And why would these young women do that? Don't you think that every now and then they get a real hankering for food? They starve themselves or take drugs to please this now high-principled fashion industry. After all, they'll do whatever the fashion bosses ask to keep their jobs.

My main -- pardon the pun -- beef with the fashion industry is that like the entertainment field, it seems to hate what is a true woman's body. Nope, I will not buy that clothes look better on a female whose neckline is caving in, and her arms swing like teeny-tiny tree branches. If you really look at clothes in fashion magazines and ads and like the female form, you have say to yourself, that dress needs curves, or that blouse sure would look better with some real female breasts.

It's the fashion and entertainment industries that have been doing their darnedest for the last decade to kill off what real women look like. They have been nurturing a physical appearance that makes women look weak and powerless, and that bugs me big-time.

No, I am not defending Kate Moss' cocaine use. (Even without the health dangers, snorting cocaine has always seemed to me to be a step away from picking one's nose in public.) For the sake of herself and her young daughter, I hope reports that Moss has entered rehab are true.

But it gets me mad that the same industry that fostered Kate Moss' career and lifestyle is now abandoning her. So until models start looking like real women, don't be fooled into thinking the fashion industry has one ounce of morals. They are all a bunch of hypocrites.