Dear Eyes,

Aaaggghhh!! Why are you blood red? You look like something out of a horror movie. I think. I don't really watch horror movies. But I don't because I'm scared I'll see eyes that look like the ones that now reside in my own head. Why? Why? Why?

Bite me,
Emily



Dear Anonymous Kid,

I don't know who you are or where you sleep. But I'll find out. And then not another day will go by that I won't be following you around with hand sanitizer.

Watch it,
Miss Hansen



Dear Bishop,

Thanks for letting me come over last night and looking at my nasty eyes. Also, thanks for letting me dip into your personal pharmacy in an effort to heal me.

You're my hero,
Em



Dear Kat,

I'm sorry that I gave you Pink Eye. Please accept my apology and this bar of chocolate.

Condolences,
Em

Dear Lady In My Class,

Bright pink lipstick does NOT go with everything. It just doesn't. Especially orange. Or green. Or purple. In fact, it doesn't go with anything a normal human being should wear. Please, please, just stop. You're hurting me. Also, if you inerrupt lecture to ask another question about Tier 2 and how that applied to each of your students in an individual basis one more time I'm going to snap.

Thanks so much,
The Pained

Posting

Wow, I think I can post from email... I'm a freaking genius.

__________________________________
Yahoo! Mail - PC Magazine Editors' Choice 2005
http://mail.yahoo.com

Little Bunny Foo Foo

Today I went to pick up one of my students from class
and on the way to my room she asked, "Do you like
bunnies?"
"Yes, I do."
"Well, I have a dead one... here... look!"
And in her hand was a little, gray and very dead
bunny. She smooshed it and petted it's little dead
head and hid it back in her sleeve. I heard an echo
of "pretty bird... pretty bird" in the back of my head
and I tried not to heave.
"How about you go sit in my office and I'll be right
back?"
"Okay."
I went over to our psych person and brought her in to
talk about the dead bunny, where she got it and how to
deal with it. They decided that the psych person
would throw it away and that the girl would have to
forego show and tell that day.

Ew.

I made the girl wash her hands. I washed my hands
(even though I never touched it) then disinfected the
table where it sat and my desk where she set it and
then washed my hands again. And again.

Mike

I like Mike. But he's kind of fat. Does anybody know how to help Mike lose a few pounds to make room for my profile?

Mickey D's

I got up really, really early this morning in order to attend a faculty meeting at 7:15 am. But when I got there, nobody else was. There was no meeting. And I didn't have to be back to work until 8am.

So I went to McDonalds to get breakfast.

I didn't want to because I only had my debit card and I refuse to go to McDonald's unless I have cash because McDonald's charges this ridiculous "50 cent transaction fee" that I just can't be okay with. Because nobody else does it. So why would McDonald's? I'm sure they're just pocketing the extra 50 cents for each card swipe and I'll have none of that!

But I was hungry. And it was really early. And I deserved a greasy, sausage and egg McMuffin with cheese.

So I went and winced as I handed over my debit card. But guess what?

No fee.

Free at last! Free at last!

The Cute One

I overheard two people talking about me in the faculty room...
"Who's Emily?" (looking at a list)
"Oh, Emily's the young, cute one with longer brown hair..."

I was called cute by a stranger. Wow.

Wow.

It's Come To This


The boyfriend pillow. Why? The pillow was invented and is now being sold in Japan. I'm worried. Really worried. What will the company logo be? A teardrop? And what will their pitch be? "Are you alone? Do you go to sleep every night by yourself? Will you probably always be alone? Sick of crying into your regular boring-shaped pillow? Well you can now dry your eyes and pretend your life's not worthless with "I Can't Believe It's Not A Man!" in local stores today!"


And now, the lap pillow! "I Can't Believe It's Not A Woman!"














Help me.

Come What May

Kat's right. It's the beginning of a new year. I have a new job. New classes. New insurance. A new ward. A new condo. And a new opportunity to begin again.

It's time to pick a direction, make some goals and go for it. I've never been one to make New Year's Resolutions but here goes nothin'...

1. I'll drink less of this and more of this or at least substitute it more frequently with this
2. Well... let's just work on that one for now... It's going to take a lot more out of me than you know...
3. Seriously.
4. And maybe I'll try to be nicer.

It could happen...

The Return of Crazy Katie

Remember Katie?

The girl I shared a bedroom with last year?

The girl that screamed through the night?

The girl that screamed through the day?

The girl that attempted suicide twice?

The girl that made me find it necessary to live out of my car, sleep on couches and mooch off of the Manwarings?

The girl that I still have nightmares about?

Remember her?

Well... she's BACK!

She's one of the assistant janitors at the school I'm teaching at this year. I saw her. We pointed at eachother. And then I walked away. She has a key to my classroom. Has anyone seen the sequel to "Scream?" Because I haven't yet. And I feel that watching it might help me prepare for the worst.

Dry Sockets

When I got my wisdom teeth pulled, they didn't heal right. Or at all, really. Which left something oral surgeons call "dry sockets". It's a not-so-fancy word for large gaping holes in your mouth that will be there forever and will hurt for a long time.

This week I've had dry sockets of another sort. I can't cry. I want to cry. I really, really want to cry. I believe I have every right to cry right now. I'm frustrated and sad and I feel guilty and alone. All things that when mixed together by verbal battery should create tears. But yet, nothing. Nada. Dry sockets.

And I don't even get prescription pain killers. Something is wrong with this picture.

On the plus side, I get to come home today. I'll see some of you suckers later!

NeoNerd

I hate to admit it but for the last year I've been leading a secret life. It was a year ago that I got my first run-in with kidney stones which left me stuck on my couch for several days. Julie called to check up on me and told me I should try doing what her kids do to pass the time. Play Neopets. She promised a land of lots of games. Always in search for new ways to procrastinate, I went ahead and created a Neopet and started playing games and earning points. It's been a year today that I signed on for the first time. I'm almost a millionaire in Neopia now. I'm a Neonerd. Do you still love me?

Practicum is over. Done. Complete. Fin.

And I feel overjoyed to the point that I found myself not being able to hold back the giggles as I drove myself home yesterday. And I can't wait to start teaching in a few weeks. You know what?

I think I'm happy.

Breaking Up Is Hard To Do

I've had a beautiful affair with the three-day weekend. And this makes breaking up even harder than usual. The weekend left me alone for hours at a time because the weekend understands that sometimes I just want to be alone. He just quietly sat back, letting me know he was there but didn't stay for hours talking or demand all of my time. Because the weekend understands me. He gets how important it is for me to go see a movie by myself sometimes. And he doesn't think it's strange. The weekend also knows that I need to play so he gave me two boys and the batting cages, five boys and Scera Pools and three boys and The Bad News Bears so I could run and jump and play and laugh. Oh, the weekend is so good to me. He took it particularly hard when I called him last night to say I couldn't see him tomorrow. I have to go to practicum. It's not him. It's me. I'm the one that can't help but put my responsibilities before our love. I wish I could give him my everything right now, but I can't. And even though I know we both shed a little tear when I woke up dutifully to my alarm clock this morning, I know he understands. And I know he'll wait for me until Friday and he'll bring a Coke and some chocolate. Because the weekend is my perfect man. Sigh.

I've Got Nothin'

Really. Nothing. Nothing at all.

It's only 9:30pm and I'm already ready for bed. I'm exhausted.

I'm turning into my grandma. Crazy, tired and blind.

I need some "happy soup."

And a Coke.

94

That what I got on my second (and last) observation today. Which means I'm pretty much done. All I have to do is show up and turn my day-to-day stuff and I should get an A. Hurray! I'm the practicum princess!

I Heart NY

I'm moving to New York. I mean, I have to stay in Provo for at least another year to finish up school. And I don't have enough money to move to New York. And I wouldn't even know how. But I got so bored and frustrated while doing my homework yesterday that I started searching for jobs over there. And applied for some.

Availability date: 06/2006.

99

That's how many points out of 100 I got today on my first of two formal evaluations for my practicum. The professor that used to not like me heard about what was happening and came in to observe. She gave me lots of compliments. I think we're friends now. Because I'm a genius!!

No Reason To Be Alarmed

A few minutes ago a woke up with a start. I reached for my cell phone to see what time it was. But it wasn't in its usual spot. My hand moved around more desperately searching for it. No luck. My eyes widened with alarm. This means I didn't plug my phone in its charger which means I didn't set my alarm which means I'M LATE! I overslept! I sit up and start looking around. My phone is on the other side of my computer. But I don't look at it, already out of bed running to the bathroom to get ready for work. I look at the clock on the wall. It reads 6:30am. 6:30? I'm okay. I have time for a shower. I go back in my bedroom and pick up my cell phone again. Does it say 6:30 too? It does. But it reveals some more important information. It has a little "Sunday 7/10" in front of it. What does it mean??

It means I'm stupid.

I'm going back to bed.

Salesman, Softball and Son

Today I went to Copeland Sports to buy a softball. I ended up picking out a new softball, a bat bag and a pair of baseball socks with yellow stripes. I went back downstairs to the checkout counter. The kid at the counter had his back to the line, was sitting on a stool with his feet up on the counter, talking on the phone. He was wearing a "Punk Rock" T-shirt and had spikey black hair and torn jeans. I listened for a second as he gave his friend the play by play of the night before...
"Ya... so... we like left the party and got into Mark's crappy car and started heading over to this other crappy party and I was like dude, the party's gonna blow..."
He heard me set my stuff on the counter and turned around with a face that read, "Crap! My mom caught me smoking pot!" A deer caught in headlights.
"Uh... dude? I gotta go! Hold on! Okay? Just hold on!"
He put down his cell on the counter and looked at me. "Uh... sorry!! I'm sorry! I wasn't on the phone! I was uh... just... sorry!"
"It's okay. It's not a big deal."
"Sorry!"
"Really, it's fine. I used to do it at work all the time. No biggie."
"Really? Phew! Wow. That was close."
He started ringing me up. He looks up at me and says, "You got a son that plays softball?"
Stunned silence. Maybe he noticed that the socks were size small and assumed it was for a kid...
"No... I just have small feet."
"What?"
Confused silence.
"No... I play softball."
"Oh, cool... I mean, girls that play sports are cool."
"Uh huh..."
He gave me back my debit card and I quickly walked away in a panic. What was it that made him think I had a son old enough to be playing softball? Am I dressed like an old lady? Do I have a mom voice? WHAT???

I still haven't recovered. At least he didn't call me ma'am.