Oops. I Did It Again.

February 3rd. That was the date of my blogiversary. Yep, I started this sucker on February 3, 2003. And I forgot. Again. My little baby has grown into a destructive toddler. I have officially closed the door on the "Terrible Twos" and have opened the door to the "Maybe Something Less Terrible Threes". Don't worry. It's a working title. I'm open to suggestions. As long as nothing in the title rhymes with the word "three" because I don't know if I can handle it. Something with the "th" sound might be appropriate. Just a suggestion.

My point is, my blog is getting older. Like me. And I think that maybe it needs a little something. Maybe an official mascot. Or a poster child. Perhaps a list of testimonials from some of my fans about how my blog has changed your life. Preferably for the better. But I'm not picky.

Or maybe, just maybe, I could start a Weekly Dear Emmy post. I'd give you the opportunity to email me with your deep-rooted very serious life questions. I would then choose one each week, post it on my blog and respond in a way that would make you wonder if I actually read your email at all and leave you to ponder placing me under professional supervision. Which would, of course, make your problems look not so deep-rooted and serious any more because at least your life is comparitively normal and you can more fully value your stronger grip on reality. See? I'm helping.

Happy Birthday, Blog!

A Carnival Ride

I went to the BYU Job Fair today and not meaning to brag or as my mom would say, "toot my own horn" I was HOT! There were seven interviews. One more scheduled for tomorrow. Three more phone interviews scheduled for next week. Two districts wanted me to sign a contract right then and there. At one point two (maybe three?) districts got in a salary/benefits/living situation battle over me and I found it necessary to leave when I was asked which one of them I thought could make me the most comfortable. Because I was creeped out. And because I never thought I'd see the day that Glendale, AZ and Los Angeles, CA would be in the same boxing ring.

But here's my point. I found out that I'm bad at making decisions. Duh. I know. But I at least thought I'd be happier with lots of options and knowing I could go anywhere. But, I'm not. I like to be told what to do.

I also found out that I'm smart. And that I have something to offer. And that any district should be damned lucky to have me!

I'm good enough. I'm smart enough. And gosh darnit... people like me!

My Mental Health

It's bad. Real bad.
Last night I discussed for over 45 minutes the lives of several?fictional characters in detail with concern and compassion I hold for?few real characters I see every day.
I swear in shock and dismay at the same time every day as I turn the?corner after my lunch break to see a spot that could easily fit two?parallel parked cars holding the same single teal Geo leaving just?enough space for my car on either end of it if my car didn't have any?bumpers forcing me to park a block away since the parking lot is also?full and this poor parallel parking displayed by the Geo is apparantly?an epidemic.
Although my teaching schedule usually runs with military accuracy I?keep picking up my students and dismissing them at random and very?wrong times leading up to today where I dismissed three young students?almost an hour early.
I whined and complained for two weeks that I didn't have any money and?saw everything I needed and couldn't afford and yet I haven't spent a?single dime since I got paid three days ago and suddenly lost all?desire to purchase anything which left me sitting in my basement alone?eating stale tortilla chips and ignoring the "refrigerate after?opening" label on the salsa I opened four days ago and left on my?basement table as I watched old seasons of the Gilmore Girls.
I have spent a great deal cussing out Old Man Winter and his stupid?snow, stupid ice and stupid cold and have even a few times shaken my?fists with rage as I pictured him on a beach drinking Martinis and?laughing with ET and a few of Santa's disgruntled elves as they?watched me scrape ice off my window.
The staggering evidence of my poor mental health leads me to only one?dash of hope. This weekend is a three-day weekend. I need heat, I?need love, I need sanity. I need, I need, I need!

Stupid Rodent!

The dumb thing saw its shadow! Six more weeks of
winter. But, really... what did we expect? Out of
the 110 recorded Punxsutawney Phil appearances he has
seen his shadow 96 times. So, 87% of the time he just
guesses that there'll be six more weeks of winter.
Jerk.

AND! Apparantly the furry freak is a Steeler's fan!

Well, at least the movie's good.

http://www.cnn.com/2006/WEATHER/02/02/groundhog.day.ap/index.html

That Time of the Month

It's that time of the month again. The time right before pay day. It's usually the week before pay day. But this month, I'm a week early. So this time I have two weeks of the purest form of poverty.

My dad sent me an email yesterday to remind me how much money I'd need to conjure up to make rent. It wasn't a small amount. But after I deposited the money from my roommates for last month's utilities and all the money I could scrounge up from my purse... well... I still came up $30 short. Oops.

I sent my dad a reply this afternoon to tell him not to worry. That I had a game plan. So please don't yell at me, offer to give me money and then think of new and inventive ways to hold it over my head. I'd rather pay the overdraft charge, thank you very much.

But then, as American Idol rolled its credits it came to me. Like a light shining down from heaven. I still haven't unpacked my suitcase from Christmas break. And inside that suitcase may or may not be some Christmas/birthday money from Grandma! And you know what? There was! $20 for my birthday + $20 for Christmas = rent!

I love you, Grandma.

I called my dad to tell him the good news. He hadn't gotten my e-mail earlier. "So... wait... you found $40?"
"Ya! My birthday and Christmas money. I'll deposit it tomorrow during my lunch break and my rent check will be covered."
"Oh, good. Wait, so that $40 is just extra?"
"Extra? No. What do you mean by extra?"
"After rent is paid, how much will you have to live off of until pay day?"
"Nothing."

My dad laughed. Really, really hard. I actually hadn't heard him laugh that hard since he made the joke about the doctor removing my eyes. This guy was really enjoying my misery.

"Nothing? Hahaha! You'll have nothing?!" He couldn't get enough! "I'm sorry. It's just the way you said 'nothing' and the idea of you having absolutely nothing. Oh, the way you kids live!"
"Ya, it's a hoot dad. Poverty is funny."

He couldn't stop laughing so I finally told him I had to go and that he was free to call me back when he caught his breath and dried his eyes. When I hung up, I laughed too. He's right. It is kind of funny that I have nothing. I really know how to live a joke.