Blog? What Blog?

Holy crapola. Really? It's been that long since I posted anything? I feel like I'm failing you all.

Life. Is. Crazy. Which is why I'm back on crazy pills, because when I started having mild panic attacks I figured I should get some help before they developed into not-so-mild panic attacks and I end up rocking back and forth in a corner somewhere. God bless modern pharmaceuticals.

My therapist and friends all agree this was actually an indication of how far I've come in the last few years, considering I asked for help BEFORE the crazy became The Crazy. Just sayin'. Also: I love my people. There's nothing like a time of high anxiety to bring home just how awesome a support structure I have these days. Not the least of which is a very, very beloved and supportive MTL. The hurricane winds may be blowing, but the foundation is holding firm.

So. My seniors are gone.

Excuse me a minute while I go do a happy dance.

[Insert holding music here]

Whew. They're gone, they're out of here, I managed to get all but two out the door to graduation, some squeaking through by mere tenths of a percentage point. One huge load is off my shoulders: only several dozen left to carry!

My juniors and sophomores have been very patient the last few weeks as I've neglected grading much of their work in order to focus on the seniors. Now I have time to wade through their essays, including their massive term papers (seven to ten pages for sophomores; ten to twelve pages for juniors: EACH). I have exams to create, quiz and test grades to enter, and a classroom to clean and organize. I can do that in the next eight school days, right?

Right.

Dammit. I left my meds at home.

Probably the biggest source of stress (now that the seniors are--GLORY HALLELUJAH--gone) is the impending shift at home. I can't go into all the details here, but there have been massive changes chez MTL's Ex, and the girls are moving in with us.

And there's an element to the situation that I can't discuss--yet--but suffice it to say: DRAMA WILL ENSUE.

So. Yeah.

Nothing to be anxious about. Nothing at all.

OH! There is one lovely new addition to my life! Are you ready for this?

I. Got. A. Smartphone.

Oh yes. I, the phone-technophobe, have officially Grown Up and gotten a phone that's more like a hand-held computer than a phone. A Droid X, to be exact. And I just may be in love. MTL says that I'm acting like a kid who's had her first ever taste of chocolate.

Angry Birds? Check.

Words With Friends? Check.

Sudden addiction to apps? Check, check, and absolutely check.

Hmm. You think they have a support group for that?

Cravings

I've been "turtling" lately: pulling my head and limbs back inside a protective shell in an instinctive effort to avoid being overwhelmed with Everything.

I don't even want to get started here, as it's all or nothing for me. Either I'm silent or I'm ranting. I normally have fairly low blood pressure--lately I can feel my heart pounding and my face flushing as a matter of course.

What's happening in this state, in this country, to educators and the regular government workers (not the politicians themselves, of course) and the middle class in general....

I'm sick to my stomach.

I need to find a career counselor. I've never had a back-up plan because, quite simply, ever since I discovered teaching I've never planned to do anything else.

What DOES a thirty-three-year-old woman with a Bachelor's in English Literature and a Master's in the Art of Teaching, with certification in English and Speech/Theatre have as a back-up plan? I'm eminently qualified to do exactly what I do. Who else is going to be knocking down my door to receive my services--especially for a wage that will continue to pay back my thousands of dollars in student loans and the other debt that I've incurred as a responsible citizen? None of which, mind you, is credit card debt or the like.

I can feel the rant rising.

We're short on "extra" money right now--not that there really is such a thing in our household lately, since pretty much every extra penny is being set aside to pay for our quite modest little wedding and honeymoon. MTL's car broke down last week and required a bit of money to repair, even though he did the repairs himself. His machine at work has also been broken, meaning his hours have been trimmed back a bit. We had a dual birthday party on Sunday for The Widget (my baby is FOUR!) and KlutzGirl (MTL's baby is EIGHT!). In three months the remaining balances are due for our ceremony and reception sites and for our honeymoon.

With all that financial stress bearing down on my mind, I can feel an age-old destructive stress mechanism kicking in. I want to buy things. I want to buy fun things, pretty things, wonderful escape-from-reality things. I want to buy books and clothes and shoes and art. I want to buy gifts for my bridesmaids. I want to buy all the accessories I want or at least need for my wedding day. I want to buy it all NOW.


I didn't give anything up for Lent this year, but I'm reminded of when I gave up chocolate a few years ago. Despite what you may think, I don't normally crave chocolate every day. I can even go a few weeks without thinking about it. Shocking, I know, but true. But when I denied myself that luscious substance, the days dragged by. I woke craving chocolate. I went to bed craving chocolate. I nearly cried when I realized that my (then daily purchase of) Cafe Mocha contained chocolate and therefore was verboten.

Impulse buys and non-necessities are off my shopping list for now--and likely for some time--and so I'm craving what I cannot have. Perhaps after a few weeks I'll find the craving wanes and leave me feeling freer, just as I did during that Lent years ago.

In the meantime, I'm staying off Etsy and Amazon and Victoria's Secret and Old Navy and every other website that urges me to indulge, treat myself, think It's only a few dollars. I have my tiny list of five necessary items which I will take to the grocery store this afternoon, and I will not buy anything except those five items. I pinkie swear.

I May Be Barefoot In The Kitchen, But I Swear I'm Not Pregnant

Today was the first day of Operation Clean House. I'm calling it that because at this point I lack the creativity to come up with an awesome name, like Operation ThunderHawk or some such shit. Besides, while the results are awesome, the process is, well, not.

Now, lest you suddenly picture me amidst a near-avalanche of trash and clutter, a la the pitiful people on my obsession of the last few months "Hoarders" and "Hoarding: Buried Alive", let me assure you that in point of fact we keep the house remarkably neat considering it regularly contains a pack of tasmanian devils kids. I've shocked my parents and former roommates with my current tidy tendencies, MTL breaks out in a rash when he sees clutter, and we gratefully employ a wonderful woman to come by every two weeks to do the deep cleaning. Not to mention that we firmly believe that one of the benefits of having children is that child labor laws do not apply at home.

Nevertheless, the house could do with a proper spring cleaning. Last weekend we put the kids to work on their domain--the bedroom and the game room--instructing them to not only put things away properly but to also put the trash in the trash bag rather than tossing it into the nearest toy box, and to fill additional boxes with the toys and clothes they no longer use.

I tell you, if there are any people with serious hoarding tendencies in this domicile, it would be the freeloaders non-rent-payers around here.

After hours of fighting and fussing decluttering and cleaning, their bedroom and game room are finally fit for human habitation, and I no longer feel like weeping when I walk through the hall. The chances of seriously injuring myself have also decreased.

This week is Spring Break, and it is also our break from children. The boylets are down in Florida with their father, being spoiled outrageously by their grandfather and other relatives on that side, and MTL's children are all with their mother this week.

NO CHILDREN FOR TEN DAYS.

Excuse me while I break out into spontaneous celebratory dancing.

----

Whew. Where was I?

Ah yes. Spring Break. Now, before you go off muttering about spoiled teachers sleeping in every day (I can hear you, MTL!!! Stop that!) take a look at my agenda. OK, fine, not really, but imagine it at least. Not only am I diving into some wedding planning and spending valuable time with my sister and her adorable if exhausting seven-month-old son, I also have major chores written in for each day. It's time to get serious about cleaning house, peoples.

So today was the kitchen. I roped DMB into the task, and he scrubbed the refrigerator while I emptied cabinets and pantries and threw things away and sorted and organized to my heart's content. Do I love doing it? Well, okay, sort of, since there's a part of me that loves doing that sort of thing every now and then. It's the same part that finds folding laundry soothing, especially when done in front of a TV watching one of those hoarding shows and patting myself on the back that I am so much better than that.

Hey, MTL likes cleaning the garage every now and then, too. I'm not the only weird one.

I can't say that I love the first part of this task, though, which involves pulling out all the food and finding out just how old that jar of mayonnaise actually is and how long that box of pasta mix has been hiding in the back corner. Since I'm trying to be a responsible recycler, it also involves emptying all those nauseating jars and tins down the garbage disposal.

My scented candles saw use today. I also appreciate sliding doors and stovetop fans. Just sayin'.

I won't tell you how many bags of garbage went out today on DMB's back. I'd like to keep my shame at a reasonable level.

Anyhow, I'm enjoying the ability to close the pantry door without something falling out. Not to mention opening the fridge without being forced a step back by the odor of Something Gone Off.

Tomorrow I'm tackling our walk-in closet and the master bathroom/bedroom before I head out to search for a wedding dress with my mother and sister. Wednesday the great room will submit to my ministrations. And Thursday I get to sort and organize the books that have crawled off the bookshelves and strewn themselves on every surface. Maybe I'll even find money somewhere to purchase the much-needed additional bookshelves that MIGHT brhttp://www.blogger.com/post-create.g?blogID=4078483744873792132ing our collection under the semblance of control.

Right now it's time to whip up a chicken pot pie for dinner so MTL has a nice hot dinner when he comes home from work.

Am I crazy, or am I getting positively DOMESTIC over in these here parts?

Don't answer that.

Oh, Hello

I have been notified today that apparently some of my beloved readers are concerned about my lack of posts. So I'm here, although without much in the way of Wonderful Words of Wit and/or Wisdom.

I'm okay.

But I'm tired.

I'm tired physically, with not enough sleep at night and not enough sunlight as this long and dreary winter drags on and on. I don't care what the calendar says, IT ISN'T SPRING. Not here in Michigan, at any rate. We get hints and teases here and there, but I've long since learned not to get my hopes up. Not until after Memorial Day, really, and that's a good couple of months away.

I'm tired mentally, because it's that time of year and I have seniors (oh dear God give me strength) and am teaching three core classes including one that has a brand new curriculum and please shoot me if I ever agree to do such an idiotic thing again.

I'm tired emotionally, because the grim reality of politics and society in this state and this country and this world has me threadworn.

I need a break. I need some solid time filled with rest and laughter to give me the wherewithal to fling myself back into the fray. I'm hoping I'll get some of that this next week on Spring Break. The boylets are in Florida with their father (and have been since Sunday) and won't be back until the 10th. While I do miss them, I have to admit...I can use the break from mommying as well. The Padawan will be at his mother's during the next week as well. The thought of DAYS (and nights) with no kids around at all has me and MTL doing the kind of happy dance that most parents would understand.

So...yeah. I don't have a lot to say on here right now, but I am okay. Hopefully this time next week I'll be at least good, and by the weekend I'll be great.

In the meantime, I'll keep obsessively reading the archived stories over at Etiquette Hell, alternating between horrified laughter and paranoid fear.

Carry on.

Style and Stylability

Warning: Many links to many amazing things ahead. I've already gotten a couple of other people hooked. This is fair warning. You may be as well...

****************************************

I've never felt like I have much of a sense of style when it comes to home decor. Other than the boylets' nursery, I've never even decorated an entire room. The Ex and I always had plans for the basement, when we finished it (we never even started), and for the dining and living rooms (we never moved beyond an area rug and some paint chips.) Even in my home with MTL, we never did get around to painting the bedrooms as we had planned. Time ran out, school started up, and other than choosing paint chips yet again...nothing. There are a few desultory photos and pieces of art on some walls, and decorative pieces placed on bookcases and the entertainment cabinet.

The most cohesively decorated room in our house is the downstairs half-bath, which has developed a soft seaside theme. It's nothing overwhelming.

I don't have much confidence in my ability to pull together cohesive, lovely interior design. I've doubted my instinct for it, and it's certainly never been put to the test. I was recently in the home of a friend-of-a-friend who had every room beautifully painted, with just the right decorative pieces and pillows and furniture and art. It felt pulled-together and homey and elegantly artsy. Even though I might not have made the same choices for my own home, I felt a streak of envy over her design instinct.

As I mentioned in my self-pitying moan yesterday, I've become addicted to Etsy.com, the home of many many beautiful handmade things (along with the downright bizarre and fugly, much celebrated on Regretsy.com, which I discovered first.) The brilliant and very artsy Heidi finally got me hooked on Etsy a few weeks ago, and I've been obsessed ever since.

As my list of favorite items and stores has grown, and as I've channeled my creative and obsessive urges into crafting thematic treasury lists, I've begun to recognize definite trends in what I like.

Apparently I am much drawn to stark, elegant trees and branches (like these pillows and these drawings and these incredible woodburnings and this pendant and this print collection and the breathtaking photography of a fellow Michigander). I can picture the art and pillows in my dream living room, with lots of wood and soft earthy tones in the furniture.

I knew that I like birds--at least when they're outdoors--but did not realize how much I love their images in art and jewelry until I started recognizing the trend in my Etsy picks. From stylized art to Poe-esque gothic photography to fantasy illustrations to incredible watercolors, birds appear in much of the art to which I am drawn. They even show up in some of my jewelry picks, sometimes combining both bird and tree, as in this elegant pendant.

I also love a number of quirky items, such as the work of the artists OddFauna and Kellie Schneider and Studio Lyon, as well as the slightly less weird but still left-of-center Eastwiching (check out the adorable foxes and elephants, especially!)

I'm beginning to create rooms in my head. I'd have the living room done with trees and birds. Animals and fairy tale creatures would frolic in kids' and guest bedrooms. I already have a huge gorgeous stick-and-ink drawing of three female figures in my bedroom (courtesy of my sister from her art class days), and I'd continue on that theme with work from artists like Krystyna and Kellie Schneider. (I don't think MTL would mind.) I'd increase our collection of wood carvings with work from the Natural Selection Studio and DD Wood Creations.

My dream house would be filled with rich earthy tones and soft blues and greens. Brighter colors would pop in accent decor. There would be wood everywhere, along with comfortable but streamlined furniture. It would be a place where I would be surrounded by beauty in every room, but where my heart and mind and soul would be soothed.

I have a home wherever I am with My True Love, but I can dream of a place that would our home in physical as well as emotional expression.

Now I just have to win the lottery...

Ugly

It's one of those days--a day when I wake up in a ragingly foul mood and little can shift it during the course of the day. Thankfully, they aren't too frequent, but when they do happen, the best thing I can do is shut myself away from the world so that I don't turn into the Queen of Hearts and stomp around calling for mass decapitations.

I could not get restful sleep last night. I had odd dreams that I cannot recall but that nevertheless disturbed what little sleep I did get. I woke every hour or two, unable to get comfortable. MTL was also restless, and at times I couldn't tell whether he had woken me or I him. DramaBoy came knocking on the door at Dark Ay Em to report that The Widget was crying in pain with his ongoing bout of Unmentionable Difficulties. I soothed and medicated the poor boy, then crawled moaning back into bed.

By the time MTL and I dragged ourselves out of bed this morning, bickering over who should get up first to get breakfast going before the childrens filled themselves up with cereal, my temper was at DefCon 4.

Coffee (brewed by me) and a scrumptious breakfast (cooked by MTL) eased me temporarily. So did an indulgent session with my latest obsession, creating treasury lists on Etsy.com. But then I had to oversee the boylets in taking an overdue shower, an experience that never fails to frustrate me. And then there were the dishes to wash and the kitchen to clean. I bit my tongue the entire time, knowing full well that if I opened my mouth, whoever was nearest would suffer its lash regardless of cause. MTL finally paused in his own cleaning to ask what was wrong, and I nearly burst into tears. Scratch that: tears there were, though muffled and suppressed.

He, lovely man that he is, hugged me, reminded me that he loves me and that everyone else in the house loves me too (though sometimes I wonder), and suggested that perhaps I needed to hole up in the bedroom and rest.

So here I am. The door is firmly closed. My Emptyself station is playing on Pandora.com, I created another treasury list on Etsy, I chatted briefly with DraftQueen before she abandoned me for a trip to the fabric store, and now I'm pouring myself out here for what few readers I still have in these days of infrequent posts.

MTL is right--it's better that I shut myself away for a while, because the alternative could be ugly. It doesn't matter, though: I'm still fighting with the guilt. I can't help but think of all the things I probably should be doing right now. I can't help but be angry with myself for being in such a horrible mood in the first place. It's not like I even have a decent reason for it, other than a bit of sleep deprivation.

Argh and Grr. I need a real vacation.

More Like A Wedding Speed-Walk Than A March, Really

I've been meaning to sit down and write a post for, oh, ages now, and I haven't done so because of two reasons.

The first is gross. A fingernail cuticle became infected about three weeks ago and unlike most annoying little infections of that sort, this one did not go away but instead decided to Colonize The Nail and attempt to destroy any chance of my ever becoming a hand model, as the lovely and all-too-kind momsicle suggested I do in order to fund the wedding. Epsom salts and tea-tree oil proved limited in their defense capabilities, and so at long last (and probably later than I should have, considering the sad state of the nail itself) I filled the scrip for Keflex and started popping pills. Two days later, I can finally put pressure on that finger without feeling like my nail is about to begin the apparently painful process of zombification.

A lovely image, I know.

YOU'RE WELCOME.

I love filling you in on the beautiful little moments of my life.

The second (and more exciting) reason is that I have dived full force into Wedding Planning, and for good reason. MTL and I had originally thought we would marry next fall. This would have meant my parents would be unable to attend. At first I shrugged this off a bit. I mean, they live in Africa. They can only come here every couple of years. Scheduling is hard.

By Wednesday, however, MTL was starting to say things like, Hmmm. A year and a half is a long time. One and a half times as long as we've been together. and Are you really sure you're going to be okay with your parents not being there?

Then I chatted with one of my closest friends, the amazing and talented Heidi (she's a bridesmaid, by the way) and she started asking about how I would really feel about my parents not being there, and finally I admitted that yes, it would matter. If they weren't there, I would regret it.

I had a feeling, said MTL.

There are SO many reasons I'm marrying that man. Other than him asking, I mean.

So we sat down and looked at our finances and we talked to people and I emailed my parents and lo, behold, we were shooting for an August wedding instead. THIS YEAR August, as in. Five and half months away.

Enter panic. Would we be able to afford this? What venues would be available? How much did you say that costs?? WHY IS EVERYTHING SO DAMN EXPENSIVE???

I had already asked my closest friends to be bridesmaids, and they talked me down rallied 'round. And then MTL crunched numbers and helped me look up venues and ideas online, and then we went to tour a possible reception venue and drove by a possible ceremony venue and went to a bridal expo MTL had heard about on the radio and BAM!

Things started falling together instead of apart. We fell in love with the reception and ceremony venues, and they both offer beauty as well as budget, and we even found a bakery we love and could afford at the expo.

It's really happening. We're getting married. This August thirteenth. In five and half months. Under twenty-four weeks. One hundred sixty-five days, when you get right down to it!

So DraftQueen, oh sweet Mistress of Honor? Heidi, darling bridesmaid mine? I'm seeing you here in MICHIGAN, ladies! You better be saving your pennies!

If Wishes Were Horses, I'd Totally Sell The Horses And Get This Stuff Instead. Forget Black Beauty. I'll Take Black Boots.

There is an increasingly large gap growing between what I WANT for Christmas and my birthday (which are totally the same day so it's convenient for gift-giving, but it's NOT okay to just make one present work for both unless it's a REALLY BIG PRESENT) (just sayin') and what I NEED for Christmas and my birthday. This is one of the sadder parts of becoming terminally adult.

Well, that and all the joint creaking. You should hear me when I get up from bed or the couch or, well, pretty much any position in which my joints have to move from one angle to another. I sound like a really big bowl of Rice Krispies, or possibly a bag of microwaveable popcorn. Plus I often have to hoist myself up and then put my hand on my lower back because my back, it's lopsided and stuff. I'm 32 years old and already moving like a grandma.

It's sexy as hell, yo.

Anywho, I have a growing list of all the fun stuff I'd really like to get as gifts, as well as a growing list of all the things I actually need and don't necessarily have the money to get. And since I know you are all DYING to know what's on those lists, I'll share them with you!

You're welcome.

Here's What I Want, What I Really Really Want

1. A bunch of t-shirts from my new favorite merchandise website, ThinkGeek.com, especially these ones:

Because cookies make everything better. Especially double dark chocolate.

Because it's the Answer, of course!*

SPACE INVADERS! Now with extra destruction!

"Hello. My name is Inigo Montoya. You killed my father. Prepare to die." Seriously, I think my life would be complete if I had this.**

This just makes me giggle.

Oh yes. I am that geeky. Although Next Generation is still my favorite.***

Sheldon is my hero. Even though I think I would probably stab him to death with a hundred very sharp pencils if I actually lived with him. I don't know how Leonard handles it.****

So. Awesome.

And again, brilliance from Sheldon. I want this in poster form, too.

This is what I'm talking about. I mean, seriously. LOVE.

2. Boots. I know, I know, I have a ton already, but there are a couple kinds I really want. One is a pair of tight-fitting brown high heeled boots that will perfect several specific outfits:

Like these

Or these. I'm not picky.

And then just because I've wanted a pair for a very, very long time, a pair of thigh-high black high heeled boots (but not a pair that looks too hooker-y. Because I have standards.):

Yes. Perfect.

DON'T JUDGE ME.

3. And of course I really want an elf ranger outfit to go with my ears, only that's going to be really hard to do because even the stores/websites that sell things like this seem to have never realized that maybe WOMEN want to dress like elf rangers and would prefer something of quality rather than the stupid little Peter-Pan-ish Halloween-y crap that is the only stuff I can find. ARGH. Anyhow, an outfit that would look something like this:

Yes, the bow and arrows and bracer and boots too. 
Because I'm a total geek, that's why.

4. Also from ThinkGeek.com, I really, really, really want this USB Webcam Missile Launcher that would allow me to launch foam darts at my students without them even realizing I'm watching them on the webcam. Sleeping when you're supposed to be working? PEW PEW!!! Talking to your neighbor when you shouldn't? K-CHOW!!! Just being a general annoyance? PEW PEW K-CHOW WHAM PEW PEW PEW!!!!!!

Beware my wrath!!!! PEW PEW PEW PEW!!!!! Mwahahahahahahaha!!

5. And because I'm not totally selfish and would also like something that our entire massive family can enjoy, I'd love to get a Wii system and a bunch of fun games. I'm generous like that.

I already own both Raymond's Ravin' Rabbids Wii games, and I love them. But I can't play them. This makes me sad.

What I Need and Should Probably Get Instead

1. Four new tires for my Saturn Vue. The current ones are almost entirely bald and squeal like I'm a crazy maniac driver every time I take a corner, even if I'm going about five miles an hour. And Michigan winters are a bitch, yo, and these tires will NOT handle things. I should probably get these before Christmas, actually. Sigh.

They may be black and sleek in their own way, but they just aren't the same as those boots. SIGH.

2. Also for my poor overworked Vue, a rear wheel hub assembly. It's only the fourth one needing replacement in the last few months. It's bizarre: that car is awesome and reliable, but apparently at around 130,000 miles all the wheel bearings start screaming. And, um, I mean that pretty literally. They're LOUD, people.

Oooh, shiny. Still not exciting, though.

3. And because that's not enough, I should get those brakes replaced soonish too. Geez, you'd think I was working as a chauffeur these days. Oh wait. I AM.

Why do all the repairs happen all at once? Thank God MTL can do a lot of that car stuff. Makes him handy to have around.

4. Oh, and speaking of those cold Michigan winters? It would be pretty awesome to have an electric blanket. Not exactly exciting, but awesome.

Now with extra snuggles.

5. Finally, even though MTL and I have a walk-in closet, I don't exactly have room for all my Stuff. Especially the stuff that doesn't hang up. Like socks. And underwear. You know, things like that. I have exactly one drawer in MTL's dresser that is mine. And while I totally <3 MTL for giving me a drawer (of his own free will, mind you, and without my badgering or even hinting), it's not quite enough. This is why I need a dresser. Preferably one of those long low ones, because then I can also put things like my jewelry chest(s) and Other Girly Things on top instead of on the floor/bathroom counter/random surfaces as I have to now.

Like this, only cheaper, because I'm pretty sure it's an antique. Which mostly is just another word for "It's been sitting around here for a few generations and it isn't completely broken."

Sigh.

Sometimes being a low-maintenance, practical, responsible adult Sucks the Big One.

And to think: for the sake of brevity, I'm not including all the piddly stuff I gaze at wistfully, like dozens of books and CDs and movies and that really cool necklace I saw at Aldo's the other day and things like that.

I'm not really all that materialistic. Really. But a girl can dream.

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*From The Hitchhiker's Guide to the Galaxy series by Douglas Adams. If you don't get this joke, I'm deeply disappointed in you. Also, you need to go read the first three books. NOW. Forget about the last two in the series. He only wrote them because he was pressured into it and you can tell.
**From The Princess Bride--both book and movie. Again, ditto above if you don't get it.
*** STAR TREK, people. /facepalm
****From The Big Bang Theory, which is currently just about the only half-hour TV sitcom worth watching. LOVE IT.

Me, My Elf, And I

So it turns out that if you wear a pair of realistic elf ears into a Meijer at around eight o'clock on a Sunday night, just long enough to grab a jar of maraschino cherries*, you won't get that much attention. Well, other than from the old man waiting for his wife to finish checking out the fab Meijer clothing. He will look quite surprised and a touch alarmed.

However, if you wear that pair of realistic elf ears into an El Patio Mexican restaurant so that you can nom some nomilicious chili rellenos and tacos, well, you will get some attention. Hilariously, it will come in the form of sidelong stares and en espagnol asides and surreptitious giggles from the (all male) staff. And possibly the customers, according to MTL, though I couldn't see them. NO ONE WILL SAY ANYTHING.

I love society.

Also, MTL now realizes to what an extent his social anxiety has faded over the years, because he was amused rather than bothered in the least by sitting next to an elf-in-human's-clothing in a public area. You know, other than the Renaissance Festival, where such things are blase and normal.

The attention being the potential issue, not the ears. He LOVES the ears. Trust me. *ahem*

Yes, peoples, I am a geek.

You want to know just how much of a geek I really am? The ears (purchased and custom skin-tone blended at the aforementioned Renaissance Festival, where I could easily spend thousands and thousands of dollars if I had them) (the dollars, not the ears) are my first step towards assembling a kickass Elf Ranger costume.

Oh yes. THAT MUCH OF A GEEK.

Next thing you know, I'll be LARPing.

Because, peoples, Geeks are Teh Awesome. Don't let anyone ever tell you otherwise.

Or I'll nail 'em in the ass with an arrow.**

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*This purchase is less odd than it may appear. But that's not the point of the story, so I'll leave it to your imagination.
**Well, I will once I have some. And a bow. And a quiver. Anyone have a few hundred dollars to spare?

Jam On It

I have a confession to make.

I may have mentioned it before. It's entirely possible. I have lost track of how many little pieces of shame I've posted here for your amusement judgment absolution.

But it's that time again. So it's time for my confession.

Forgive me, Dear Readers, for I have committed the sin of mindless mass media mastication.

It's true.

I'm addicted to "So You Think You Can Dance."

*ducks head in shame*

But really, what's not to love?!?! All the DANCING! The HOOPLA!! The FABULOSITY!!! The HOT TAMALE TRAINS!!!!

(I know. You won't get that last one unless you actually watch the show. And the third one is totally made up. So sue me.)

Anyhow, Season 7 just started and I had a backlog of recorded shows on the DVR. Yesterday I parked myself in front of the TV and plowed through over 200 pages of student essays in a matter of an afternoon, all while semi-watching seven hours' worth of SYTYCD auditions/Vegas week. They were perfect company for the daunting task: music and background noise without the distraction of a plot, with the added bonus of an occasional really fascinating performance to give me a break from the endless words words words words words.

At one point The Widget was cuddled up next to me, and a very talented break dancer performed his audition. I heard a little gasp from my snuggler. He leaned forward, eyes riveted to the screen, then pointed and turned to me.

Wow! Look at him! he lisped. Oh COOL!!!

(If you can imagine this said in just about the sweetest, squeakiest voice possible, you might get an idea of how adorable he is, by the way. MTL says it's because he's such a sweet little guy that it comes through in his voice. /melt)

Then The Widget crawled forward on the bed and turned a somersault.

Is that cool, Mama? he asked.

Yes, honey, it's very cool! I replied.

Mama! Watch this too! he demanded, and he lay on his back and attempted what I can only believe was one of the back-spin thingies (I know, I'm so technical) the performer was doing on screen.

Apparently a bed is not the best location for such stunts. He didn't get very far.

For the next half an hour, he wandered in and out of the room, saying Mama! Look at this one! and performing various somersaults and spins and moves that apparently were his idea of break dancing.

ADORABLE. TEH CUTE, peoples, TEH CUTE.

I just might have a little B Boy on my hands. Heck, he's cute enough that he'd probably bring in plenty of cash performing on street corners, technique or no technique.

Maybe I could buy a laptop of my very own AND get him some Bakugan!

It's not child labor if he's just having fun, right?

It's My Gift To You. You May Thank Me With Brownies. OF EITHER SORT.

I've mentioned before that I'm lazy, yes? Considering I have a label for that, pretty sure I have. And while I have a couple posts brewing (which can mean anything from Coming Soon to a Blog Near You! to Will Never See the Frickin' Light of Day, depending on my level of togetherness and follow-through-edness during any given time period), I'm taking the easy way out AGAIN and posting a meme. Just because. I wasn't even properly tagged this time, because Fraught Mummy Pants with Names (girl, you not only had to change your blog, you had to change your name?!?!?) decided not to tag me. Well, directly, though she kindly says anyone can play along, since she wasn't exactly tagged for it either. This is quite possibly her passive-aggressive way of saying Screw You since I didn't tag her for Saturday's meme, though I was totally going to until I realized that if I was to tag her, then her second post on her new blog would be the first post from her first blog, and that's just odd.

Anywho, the meme involves posting Ten Things I Bet You [My Faithful Readers] Didn't Know About Me. Which at first sounded easy, and then I realized as I started brainstorming that there is far less to write than I thought. First of all, I tell you folks a lot about myself. I'm self-centered generous like that. Second of all, there are plenty of things most people don't know about me, but if I posted them here I'd have to start rating my blog Mature. Also, my parents, sister, grandparents, and various other readers would probably have to gouge out their eyes and scrub their brains, and that's just mean. Uh, DraftQueen? NO TELLING.

And now that you have all sorts of uncomfortable thoughts going through your heads and wish I had an even better filter, here's the PG list:

1. Back in college, I was the official copy editor for a small gaming and publishing company run by my then-boyfriend/now-ex and two of his high school buddies. The problem was that the main guy, a doofus by the name of Ryan, was so controlling and illogical and idiotic that we all Got The Hell Out after only a few things were published. We did put out an actual role-playing game system, though. My (maiden) name is on it as both copy editor and author of the short story in the back of the book. And no, I'm not gonna link it. Tough cookies.

(Also, this may give you further evidence of just how much of a geek/dork I really am. Heehee!)

2. I was temporarily non-geeky in high school with my one moment of Athletic Glory when I was the All Star floor hockey goalie in the high school intramural tournament. I was a lowly freshman, but I Rocked. My team won the Championship, and then I was chosen as one of the goalies for the All Star game--and my team won again!

And then my knees went kaput and any chance at fame and fortune via my athletic prowess went kaput along with them. Sigh. What might have been...

3. You'd think that with my apparent willingness to face down (literally) a hard rubber ball rocketing towards me and my daily obsession with the Intarwebz and my sensation of panic/nakedness without my cell phone (ooh, did you like that segue? I rock transitions, yo!), I'd be all excited over fancy-schmancy phones like the I-phone and Droid and whatnot. You'd be wrong. I have fought the cell phone upgrade issue tooth and nail since, well, forever. I only agreed to GET a cell phone ten years ago when my POS car broke down on I-75 just after I'd driven through that lovely 25-mile section with all the signs saying Prison Area: Do Not Pick Up Hitchhikers and then I had to walk into town to call a tow truck while thanking the God I wasn't even sure existed at the time* that the car had sputtered to a halt right by an exit to Podunkville**, Michigan. I got the most basic, barebones phone I could, and ever since then have been accepting technology upgrades with the greatest of reluctance. You have no idea what a big deal it is that my current phone has a camera. And when I tried to download some ringtones lately, my service informed me with the snottiest of possible text that my phone was simply too old for that application, thankyouverymuch you antediluvian weirdo you. I have no Intarwebz access, no *shudder* touch screen, no fancy apps. And as I watch with dismay the increasing signs that Wanda*** may not be surviving her multitudinous mishaps for much longer, I'm dreading the inevitable reality that they just don't make them like they used to. You know, CELL PHONES FOR DUMMIES.

4. So maybe I'm a technophobe in some weirdly specific way. It's not my only fear. I am afraid of heights, which I think is a very sensible fear, but not so sensible is my overwhelming terror of praying mantises (mantisi? mantisusses?). OVERWHELMING. We grow 'em BIG out in the wilds of West Africa, peoples, and many a time I would go outside at night to feed the dog, turn around, and realize that my way back in had been cut off by a monstrous alien being clinging to the screen door. IT WAS LIKE THEY KNEW. And I'd swallow a shriek (because that could have alerted it to my presence and then it could have ATTACKED OMG OMG OMG) and creep around the corner and run like hell to the front door. I remember one particularly horrible night when apparently two mantisussesses were IN A CONSPIRACY because when I got to the front door THERE WAS ANOTHER ONE OMG OMG OMG OMG. Upon which realization I threw caution to the wind and screamed for my daddy to come save me, which he did, because he's Awesome like that. He only chuckled a little bit, even.

SEE???? Terrifying!!!! And, um, I may never be able to read this post again. I couldn't even bear to make it bigger because OMG OMG and do you have ANY idea how much courage it took to LOOK for this damn photo?????

5. Now that my shuddering is subsiding--I am not all Fear and Trembling. I admit I enjoy a good adrenaline rush. Despite my fear of heights, I love rollercoasters. And I have a semi-secret lust for motorcycles. Not the monstrous practically-an-automobile-on-two-wheels types, but the FAST ones that are sleek and sexy and *swoon*. Don't get confused and think this translates to an automatic lust for bikers, mind you. It's the machine that catches my eye and makes me sigh (Ooh! poetry! Kind of. Meh. I'm not much for cheap rhymes.) I have yet to properly ride one, however. Maybe. Someday. It's a Bucket List item, that.

6. I think I have a secret desire to be a Badass. I mean, I'd totally be a Biker Chick. The hot kind who (wo)mans her own machine, mind you, not the Backseat Eye Candy or My Old Lady sort. It all goes along with my love of smartass snarkiness, I suppose. Which (ooh, another Look At Me Go segue!) translates into the classroom, too. You'd think that with my love for being the Queen and Goddess of the Classroom, I'd be all for the suck-ups and kiss-asses, but here's the truth: they annoy me. Really, they do. I just want to shake them and tell them to leave me alone, for Pete's sake! I mean, by all means bring me bribes tribute and whatnot, but do so with a bit of sly sarcasm. Learn to walk the line between Snark and Disrespect. Some of my favorite students are the ones who mouth off--but know how to do so with humor and without getting insolent. Good times.

7. I am afraid I may have, once upon a time, been the suck-up in my classes. I don't know. (Lauren? Was I?) I certainly was occasionally the Teacher's Pet. Sigh. These days, I'm the annoyingly snarky smart one who thinks she knows more (and occasionally does) than the teacher. The truth is I dislike taking most classes. I'm not like my mother or MTL, who adore learning. They're both the lifetime student sort--MTL even says that if he won the lottery, he'd quit working and just take classes full-time: not for a degree, but just to take classes that interest him. Now, it's possible there might be the occasional class that would intrigue me, but realistically I'd rather learn on my own from books. When it comes to the classroom, I'd rather teach than be taught. I'm depressingly stereotypical that way: you know, the saying Teachers make the worst students? Yeah. That's me.

8. Really, this probably just means I'm controlling. And being in front of my class, leading discussion, interacting with the students--those are my strong points as a teacher. My weakest point? PAPERWORK. Oh dear little gods and graces, I HATE PAPERWORK. And I'm very very very bad at keeping up with it. I'm almost always late getting it done. I know, the irony and hypocrisy of it all. I'm afraid I take the ostrich approach: hide my head and pretend it doesn't exist and perhaps it'll miraculously Go Away.

What I really need to do is locate some of those handy Brownies, only the kind that will do paperwork instead of housework. Anyone know where I could find some?

9. Despite this atrocious lack of paper-oriented organizational skills, I have a little bit of OCD. Just, you know, not in USEFUL areas. I can't be all OCD about getting paperwork done or cleaning the house or organizing my classroom or tidying my desk or lawnwork or anything like that. Oh no. I have to be OCD about things like at which number the radio volume is set, or whether written letters and numbers have the lines touching instead of leaving annoying little gaps OMG FINISH THEM OFF!!!!, or getting stuck cracking my shoulder/knuckles/neck/whatever until I feel like I've "completed" the process (whatever that means), or all sorts of annoying little things. Oy. And now I'm twitching all over the place because just mentioning that third one is making my various body parts need cracking and moving and ahhhhhhhhhhhh I'm such a weirdo.

10. Along with the touch of OCD comes a slight superstitious tendency. I don't like stepping on cracks in the sidewalk. When I say that I hope something doesn't happen, I knock on wood (I use my head if nothing else is available). And I carry a lucky rock. Well, when I say rock, I mean lovely rose quartz crystal, a sort of faceted cylinder with a pointed top. When I'm anxious, I'll clutch it in my fist and rub my thumb and fingers over the sharp ridges and feel it warm in my grasp. It's very soothing.

As for the lucky part...well, that would be telling. YOU DON'T DISCUSS LUCK.

I know. It's silly. But there you go.

Betcha didn't know all of that, did ya? Whew. So much for being lazy.

And since I'm curious, and I didn't tag them last time, I want to hear from

DraftQueen (Ha! Tagged you back!)
GingerB
Stone Fox
Kathleen

Although, in line with Pants with Names, any of y'all who want to join in, please feel free! Because obviously, you don't HAVE to be tagged to play along.

--------------------------------------------
*Time of quasi-belief, not time of God's existence, OBVIOUSLY, people.
**Not its real name. Come on, people, keep up with the snark!
***That's my phone's name. No, really. She's lovely and red.

Living Words

Such is the discombobulation factor of Spring Break that I realized today that yesterday was not Friday. Last night when I Flogged My Blog via MummyTime, it was, in fact, Friday over in Australia, which is where she lives. But not here. And so I flogged yesterday's post, which is probably better anyway because today's is more likely to be much in line with the posts of Monday and Tuesday and Wednesday which were less than thrilling.

Yesterday at least I had a poem. Which made some people happy and others probably not so much, since some of my lovely followers get the happies when I post poetry and others groan and sink their heads into their hands, wondering why I persist in putting my nonprosical, uncapitalized, unpunctuated whatnots up on this blog.

Oooh, you should see all the red squiggly underlining Blogger is throwing at me. THOSE ARE NOT REAL WORDS! it says, huffing about and glaring at me through all its little 1s and 0s*. It doesn't understand the concept of linguistic creativity, of creating nonwords from words and suffixes and prefixes, of conveying meaning in ways not contained by Standard English.

I am a teacher of English, yes. I instruct my students in the use of Standard English for formal and academic use. However, in my own nonformal, nonacademic writing, I find myself quasi-following the footsteps of e. e. cummings and Lewis Carroll. I love doing this. I love the playfulness of language, how meaning can be conveyed through context and the bits and pieces of recognizable vocabulary, how it changes and evolves and lives. Language is a living entity, affected by and affecting its users, its speakers and writers and creators and creations. For we are as created by the language we speak as we are its creators: our identities are shaped by the words we use to describe ourselves and others, by the words we choose in our different contexts, by the dialects and codes that mark us as members of this and that community.

My students mock me gently (and sometimes not so gently) for the use of words/phrases like y'all and all y'all. I smile and tell them it marks my history as the classmate of Texans in the long ago of my youth, a trace that lives to this day. I listen to the verbs used by my friends and family: the dialect transformation of wash to warsh by my grandmother, a friend's modification of I saw to I seen. I listen to The Widget's experimentation with syntax: his declaration that I want all by myself walk!

Look at the transformation of language by the wave of Internet communication today. Our language is changing at a speed and in ways that we've never seen before in the history of the English language. Just look at my own blog: I use webspeak like cuz and lol and Intarwebz and blogosphere....the list goes on, and I only touch the tip of what is used these days. Consider the new verb google. Just like Kleenex and Xerox back in the day, Google is now something one does. I google information all the time. Don't you?

Not all of this is marvelous. I cannot express my disgust when papers are turned in using webspeak. I cross such words out with massive, heavy marks of the pen and let my students know just how unacceptable this is. How long will this last, however? Already words that were the unacceptable slang of the Long Ago are acceptable now: cool, gay, yeah, slick...Check out the complete Webster's Dictionary--the latest edition, because they add new words every year. Oh yes. That copy that's been sitting in the bookshelf for a few decades is outdated. Chances are you'll find words in there that are no longer in regular use, and it will be missing countless words that have crept into the center of our language since.

We (technically) still speak Modern English, just as Shakespeare did. Oh yes. Didn't you know that? From the point of view of the linguistic eras, the language we speak today is the same as his. Tell my students that, however, and I receive disbelieving stares. It is true that, with some concentration, one can read Shakespeare and discern the meaning. Most of the words are still in the dictionary. For that matter, Shakespeare coined many a word and phrase for the English language.

But no, we do not speak, from a realistic and practical point of view, the identical language as Shakespeare or Benjamin Franklin or Lewis Carroll or Edgar Allan Poe. We have a different body of words, and even old words have often shifted meaning. The skeletal structure remains, but the flesh has changed.

How dull if language remained static. Life is not static. Life changes and grows and morphs and diverges. How lovely that language does as well.

And what do you know: I had something to say today after all!

-------------------------------------------------
*This is a reference to binary code for the uninitiated into the confusing world of computer code. Keep in mind, I'm clueless about how this all works, but have been around so many computer geeks for so very many years that I can't help but pick up a few things here and there.

Beware the Teachermommy, My Readers! The Eyes that Glare! The Brows that Rise!

I am a dork. I am a geek. I am even, upon occasion, a raging nerd.

Monday night I saw the new Tim Burton Alice movie, the one with Johnny Depp...

--Side note and SPOILER ALERT (kind of): this is the second Alice-based movie I've seen this year (the other being the two-part mini-series the syfy channel did this fall, which was also quite excellent) in which the Mad Hatter was selected as the love interest for Alice. Hmmm. What do you think? Make sense? Discuss!--

...and was struck very quickly by its inspiration from the marvelous Lewis Carroll poem "Jabberwocky". I do so love that poem. In fact, it is displayed in poster form on my classroom wall. I mean, how can you not adore something like this:

`Twas brillig, and the slithy toves
Did gyre and gimble in the wabe:
All mimsy were the borogoves,
And the mome raths outgrabe.

"Beware the Jabberwock, my son!
The jaws that bite, the claws that catch!
Beware the Jubjub bird, and shun
The frumious Bandersnatch!"

He took his vorpal sword in hand:
Long time the manxome foe he sought--
So rested he by the Tumtum tree,
And stood awhile in thought.

And, as in uffish thought he stood,
The Jabberwock, with eyes of flame,
Came whiffling through the tulgey wood,
And burbled as it came!

One, two! One, two! And through and through
The vorpal blade went snicker-snack!
He left it dead, and with its head
He went galumphing back.

"And, has thou slain the Jabberwock?
Come to my arms, my beamish boy!
O frabjous day! Callooh! Callay!'
He chortled in his joy.

`Twas brillig, and the slithy toves
Did gyre and gimble in the wabe;
All mimsy were the borogoves,
And the mome raths outgrabe.

Not only is it just plain FUN, the grammar geek in me LOVES that the poem is grammatically correct despite containing numerous nonsense words. I have used the poem in the past as a grammar exercise for identifying parts of speech.

And here's where I am proven a true nerd: just for fun, and because I'm a freak this way, I am in the slow and laborious process of diagramming the poem.

Oh yes. Cuz that's how I roll, peoples.

(And holy cow, it's been a while since I've diagrammed. And of course I'm doing it with something as complicated as this. THIS IS NOT EASY. I mean, there are elliptical phrases all over the place, not to mention complex sentence structure. Oy. And how crazy am I that I'm getting really excited about this? My students are mocking me. So are other teachers. And friends. IT'S OKAY. I EMBRACE MY INNER FREAK.)

Just for you, and because I love you, and because I am, after all, a teacher, I have underlined and numbered the nonsense words in the poem. My challenge to you: correctly identify the basic parts of speech used (select from noun, verb, adjective, adverb, or interjection). You get bonus points for correctly identifying additional roles in the sentences (select from subject, action verb, predicate adjective, direct object, object of the preposition)! I may even come up with some Actual Prize (TBD) for the winner.

`Twas brillig(1), and the slithy(2) toves(3)
Did gyre(4) and gimble(5) in the wabe(6):
All mimsy(7) were the borogoves(8),
And the mome(9) raths(10) outgrabe(11).

"Beware the Jabberwock(12), my son!
The jaws that bite, the claws that catch!
Beware the Jubjub(13) bird, and shun
The frumious(14) Bandersnatch(15)!"

He took his vorpal(16) sword in hand:
Long time the manxome(17) foe he sought--
So rested he by the Tumtum(18) tree,
And stood awhile in thought.

And, as in uffish(19) thought he stood,
The Jabberwock, with eyes of flame,
Came whiffling(20) through the tulgey(21) wood,
And burbled(22) as it came!

One, two! One, two! And through and through
The vorpal blade went snicker-snack(23)!
He left it dead, and with its head
He went galumphing(24) back.

"And, has thou slain the Jabberwock?
Come to my arms, my beamish(25) boy!
O frabjous(26) day! Callooh(27)! Callay(28)!'
He chortled(29)* in his joy.

`Twas brillig, and the slithy toves
Did gyre and gimble in the wabe;
All mimsy were the borogoves,
And the mome raths outgrabe.

GO ON. I DARE YOU.

Oh, and darling Heidi (who is also a language nerd and therefore chomping at the bit) says there should be a deadline. She's right. So let's say...submit your work before midnight on Friday (this Friday, the 2nd). And it occurs to me that you should probably NOT do so in the comments, because there may be some DIRTY DIRTY DIRTY CHEATERS out there. So EMAIL them to me: teachermommyblog [at] gmail [dot] com (or click the "Email Me!" button over on the left there), then leave a comment letting me know you entered and, well, commenting. Or you can just comment if you don't want to enter and instead want to praise and/or mock me.
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*Yes, I know we now use the word "chortle" for realsies. Here's the thing: this was the first place that word existed! It's a real-life demonstration of how literature directly affects language. Carroll created this word. Almost a century-and-a-half later, it is a legitimate part of our language. I LOVE THIS STUFF.

It's Not Like You Didn't Know Me Well Enough By Now To Be Surprised By Posts Like This

Today was a snow day which kind of messed with my head because, you know, we just had a snow day a week and a half ago and COME ON people, this is Michigan. We get snow. It's not like we're Texas or anything. And I was a little bitter because the Powers That Be in my district apparently take pride in being the VERY LAST DISTRICT IN THE COUNTY to ever call a snow day and so the phone call came while I was already in the shower and so I couldn't go back to sleep even though I spent the next four hours in bed anyway dinking around online.

Also, my eleventh graders were supposed to take a Very Important Test today that I can't administer after this week (even make-ups) because of the upcoming Michigan Merit Exam (don't ask why this is, because it's a ridiculous reason, but then we're talking a decision made by politicians here, yo) and so now my week has gotten much Shorter and More Difficult.

Although, mind you, there was a good bit of the snow, as I discovered when I finally hauled myself back out of bed and ventured forth to hunt down some coffee, all suburban Michigander style.

 

snow snow snow snow

 

AWD FTW!!! Ah Michigan, land of vehicles that can handle the snow, even if some of the drivers can't. New Englanders all seem to drive little four-door compacts with rear-wheel drive and therefore spend enormous amounts of time in the right lane with their hazard lights on. You'd think it never snows there.

I may have then taken a little trip down to Old Navy and taken advantage of their denim sale. Just possibly. (Seriously, how awesome is it that their newish styles now fit my body?!?! I can now find jeans that fit my long legs and long lower torso and cost a fraction of what other stores demand!!! WOOT!)

My whole weekend has been ridiculously and delightfully lazy lazy lazy as I have not truly been in ages. I lay in bed for hours upon end, people, and yet also got out and about and socialized Every Single Night. I am a social butterfly flitting from flower to flower. Except hopefully longer lived, because those critters don't last long, now that I think about it. Not all that fabulous a metaphor. I mean, why can't I be a social Galapagos tortoise?

Oh. Yeah. The whole speed of movement thing. It would take me forever to get from one event to another. That could be inconvenient, I suppose.

I started this post with some point and it has now been completely lost amidst all the snark. My snark quotient has been very high the last few days, probably due to the influence of the websites I have been spending all those hours and hours perusing, often laughing until tears were (quite literally) streaming down my face. Sites like Passive Aggressive Notes and Cake Wrecks and Lovely Listing and Craftastrophe and today my new favorite Regretsy*. As one person emailed the snarktastic blogger at Regretsy, Love this site. It's like LOLcats for mean people. And ZOMG, if loving that site means that I'm a mean person, slap a big red M on my bosoms and submit the pic, because I'm there.

My friends may be suffering a bit, but hopefully they love me enough to deal. I'm doing my best to keep my snark on the right side of harsh.

Also, Pandora.com has been running nonstop on my laptop to the point where I finally ran out of free hours and had to cough up the massive 99 cents it cost to have unlimited playtime for the rest of the month. I have been playing my Death Cab for Cutie and Emptyself and Iron & Wine stations endlessly. As a result, I have discovered many new songs and artists that I love love love love and I am having to restrain myself from draining my bank account buying mp3s on Amazon. Self control FTW!!!

Sigh.

Oh well. Whatever I originally meant to write, this is what you're getting. It is now time for bed, because suddenly it's actually Tuesday the 23rd instead of Monday the 22nd, which is when I started this post.

/sleepfail

My bed is calling. Well, not precisely my bed, because I'm already in it, but dreamland or whatever. Good night or good morning or whatever time it is and may your dreams be sweet and completely unhaunted by this.

You're welcome.

UPDATE: It just occured to me as I was adding links that I originally came on here TO BE SNARKY. Specifically, snarky about the random people/organizations/spammers who keep following me on Twitter even though I haven't even logged on to Twitter in months. MONTHS people, and seriously, why does it have to be the crazy spambots following me on Twitter? I would rather have real peoples follow me here. I mean, come on! Who's in charge around these here Intarwebz?!?!?

Whew. I'm glad I got that figured out. Good night/morning/whatever.

-------------------------------
*Warning: quite a few of the posts on Regretsy.com are Not Safe For Work and potentially offensive because OMG you would not believe what people try to sell on Etsy.com. It's amazing. So please don't go there and get all shocked that I would link that site because I just checked and the very front page (on the day this is posting) may involve "art" involving nekkid boobies. And pig corpses.

I kid you not. I couldn't make this up if I tried.

Because It's Not Just Kids Who Have a Sense of Toilet Humor (Warning: Not for the Overly Squeamish)

For decades people have discussed, debated, argued, and even screamed about an enormously important issue that is central to the lives of most Americans. Friends discuss it in a friendly fashion--unless they are roommates and on opposite sides of the issue, in which case the friendliness vanishes. Advice columns cover the topic once annually to address the flood of letters. Spouses seek counseling over it. For some dating couples, this crucial issue can be a deal breaker.

I speak, of course, of the Great Toilet Paper Hanging Debate.

Over or Under? Chances are you have an opinion, and it's a strong one. For many, the directionality of the toilet paper roll on the toilet paper holder is passed down from generation to generation. In peaceful households, all are in agreement, until some interloping in-law introduces riotous disfunction when he or she loads a new roll improperly. In other, less fortunate households, the debate rages on between family members, leading to sneak attacks and middle-of-the-roll alter[c]ations.

Most advice columnists say there is no Right or Wrong way to hang the roll, that the choice is ultimately up to the individual--and therefore an ongoing issue for debate. However, I am happy to inform you that there is, indeed, a Right way to hang the toilet paper roll, and I have incontrovertible support for my position.

Diagram courtesy of treehugger.com

I'm so sorry, Under people, but you are Wrong. The only Right way to hang toilet paper is Over, and there are three strong reasons for this.

Any parent who has potty-trained a child knows that the ultimate goal is for that child to be able to wipe his or her own butt. Even after the days of diapers are long past, every parent knows all too well the lilting song that issues from the bathroom, often loudest in public restrooms, of Mommy! Daddy! Come and wipe me! There may no longer be a soggy disgusting diaper of which to dispose, but for quite some time you must still place your hands into the depths and wipe off what your child cannot reach.

Or you could just deal with some truly disgusting laundry and bad cases of rear-end rash. Your pick.

Therefore, anything that simplifies the transition to your child being able to do the wiping is all to the good. Watch a child attempt to gather toilet paper sometime. Toilet paper that hangs Over the roll is simpler by far for those chubby little fingers to grasp than the elusive end trapped behind the bulk of the roll in the Under position. Be kind to your child. Use the Over position.

A similar situation applies to adults as well. No doubt everyone has experienced middle-of-the-night bathroom adventures, usually complicated by an inability to wake fully during the experience and a reluctance to turn on any lights. In such a semi-somnolent and darkened state, the last thing anyone wants to do is fumble for the end of the toilet paper, again trapped behind the bulk of the roll in the Under position. Likewise, not all toilet paper hangers offer easy access to Under-hung toilet paper, particularly in public restrooms. Just yesterday, at a doctor's office, I found myself in the highly frustrating situation of fighting to get more than a few shreds of flimsy single-ply paper off an Under-hung roll a little too big for the limited space between hanger and wall. Granted, I would have struggled somewhat even if the roll was Over-hung, but the fight would have been far simpler to win. At the very least, the shreds of paper would have been significantly larger and more useful.

Besides the issue of easy access, however, we must acknowledge the crucial component of cleanliness. Bathrooms and toilets are already germ factories, and any reduction we can make in the general nastiness is vital. When toilet paper is Under-hung, people's hands come into contact with far more paper than necessary, especially on second and third wipings (for those of us who are thorough and therefore civilized). Just imagine the filth that is left behind for the next person to use that roll! I shudder to even think of it.

So if you have been hanging your toilet paper properly (i.e. Over), then give yourself a pat on the back--once you've washed your hands thoroughly, of course. And if you have been falling into error all this time (i.e. using the Under method)...

Repent. There is still time to mend your ways. Forgiveness is freely offered.

I'm generous like that.

thanksgiving: vicarious

sharp scent
like pencil shavings
and childhood
slick plasticked cover sliding
under fingertips until
creamy pages crease
at a touch and bend
spilling inky thoughts into my mind
dreams of other worlds
other lives
chasing each other in mad riot
as i gulp thirstily
never quenching or filling
enough
for there is always another
and i reach again
raise this tree reborn and sniff
deep
of sharp scent
like pencil shavings
and happiness

They're Awesome. I'm Brain Dead.

Oh, hai! I can haz brain today?

Because I think it's mostly gone due to the mind-numbing energy sink that is a combination Professional Development and Parent Teacher Conferences day. (That was yesterday. In case you were wondering. That's why I was only online for a split second. In case you were wondering about that too. Though you probably weren't. Whatever.)

Therefore I will take care of a couple of housekeeping chores today before I go stare at a friendly wall. Since that's about as much as I can handle today.

So. Earlier this week my dear long-ago-long-time friend Kathleen at Treasured Chapters awarded me a lovely award, because she's generous like that, and it is the Superior Scribbler Award, which makes me want to squee. Except I never squee. It's a matter of principle. Instead I will bow gravely with all the self-absorbed gracious pompousness of academia in her general direction.

Thank you very much, Kathleen! That means a great deal to me. 'STruth.

As usual, these awards come with bloggy strings attached. In this case, the strings are:
1. Each Superior Scribbler I name today must in turn pass The Award on to 5 most-deserving bloggy friends.
2. Each Superior Scribbler must link to the author & the name of the blog from whom he/she has received The Award.
3. Each Superior Scribbler must display The Award on his/her blog.
4. Each Superior Scribbler must post these rules on his/her blog.

Eek. Um. Okay. Let's see. Kathleen awarded this to her English teacher(ish) bloggy friends, and I don't dare copy her. That would be so NON-TEACHERY. (That's a word, right? No? Crap.) I also would like to award this to some people who might actually acknowledge and post the award and pass it on (You hear me, Heidi?!?! Yeah, I'm lookin' at you! Well, virtually speaking.)

So I am awarding this Superior Scribbler Award to some bloggers who consistently delight me with their writing. They may or may not have been/be teachers. I'm not going to try anything cute like Kathleen. (Yet.) And they are (dunh dunh dunh):

1. Julia at Julia {here be hippogriffs}
2. DeeDee at Fiddledeedee
3. Beck at Frog And Toad Are Still Friends
4. Mom Zombie at Mom Zombie
5. Marinka at Motherhood in NYC

These five wonderful writers are proof that writing with style Matters.

And now a new reader of mine (Heyla, Hyla! Welcome to my cuuurrrazy little world!) gave me a rather humbling award (Really? I deserve this? Okay, now I really am almost feeling a squee emerge and that would mean that my soul would wither a little. Must. Control. Voice.) called the Best Blog Award. Wow. Okay. Really? Wow. THANK YOU!!!

What makes me gulp even more than that scary word "BEST" are the rules, however, and suddenly I think I might have to cheat. (I know. My reputation as a teacher is becoming seriously tarnished.)

Apparently in order to accept the award, I must:
...post it on your blog together with the name of the person who has granted the award and his/her blog link. Pass the award to 15 other blogs that you have recently discovered and think are great! Remember to contact the bloggers you've awarded to let them know they have been chosen for this award.

ACK. 15 blogs? That I've recently discovered? Crap crap crap.

You see, while I follow a million and half blogs (not all of them are currently listed on that blogroll over at the side), I have NOT added a whopping fifteen to my follow list in recent times. I have added some, but not fifteen. This is because I know that reading blogs is an addiction. I could easily spend the majority of my day simply reading blog after blog after blog if I allowed myself to do so. As a result, I approach blog discovery much in the way that I approach my addiction to shoes and books. I limit my access. I do not enter a shoe or book store lightly.

Otherwise my bookshelves and closets would be even more out-of-control than they already are.

So I am going to have to cheat a bit (Did I mention that last night I actually encouraged DraftQueen a friend to play hooky from class and go have fun with a girlfriend instead? And that she then texted back about the irony of a teacher incouraging truancy? No? Um, forget I wrote that.) and reduce that Very Scary Number to, oh, let's say five (5) (cinq) (cinco). That I can handle.

Recently I've been branching out from MommyBloggers to reading DaddyBloggers. My follow list is slowly swelling with the brilliance of these men. You should read them too. And since I'm just that confusing, I will round it out with a very non-male but still very worth reading MommyBlogger. Because I just cannot bring myself to only list four when five is so much more RIGHT.* I'm OCD awesome like that.

And you know what's fun about that? If they follow the rules, they'll have shiny little hearts on their blogs! (mwahahahahaha *giggle*)

So I am awarding the Best (Somewhat Recently Discovered and Apparently Mostly-Daddy-Blogger Oriented) Blog Award to:

1. Jason Mayo at Out-Numbered
2. Sedg311 at Why Is Daddy Crying?
3. Mike Adamick at Cry It Out: Memoirs of a Stay-at-Home Dad
4. Mocha Dad at Mocha Dad
5. MaryMac at Pajamas & Coffee (Here's a clue: she's the one without a penis.)

Go forth and read. You'll laugh. You'll cry. You'll suddenly realize that men (and women too--don't worry, Mary! I got your back, Gurl!) are Crazy. Good times.

I apologize for any brain aneurisms confusion this ridiculously scattered somewhat rambling post may have caused you.


Now you know how I feel.

*I could include Arby here as the fifth, because he is also a brilliant DaddyBlogger, but I've been following him for much longer and he already refused to post an award I gave him because of the froofy hearts issue. So he's not getting it. So there. Nyah.