August 21

My sister's getting married.

Dude, Where's My Car?

Sunday Afternoon
Villa Parking Lot

Chris, Ann-Marie and I walk out to the parking lot to attend the Deaf Ward. I lead the group to the spot where I always park my car. Except... it's not there. "What the crap? Where's my car?"
Thinking that maybe I'm just an idiot and parked my car some place else in the lot, we started wandering around looking for it. But it wasn't there. I thought that maybe somebody was just playing a prank on me and moved it. I mean, I did steal Ramos' car last year. A couple times. And moved it to make him crazy. I had it coming. So we looked around the entire Villa parking lot. No car. Ann-Marie and Chris went to my place to listen to Kat laugh about it. I went to Provo High School and the Seminary building with Lisa to see if it was over there. It wasn't.
By now, an hour has passed and there's still zero sign of my car. And I don't know anybody who would play a prank like that any more. I mean, I only know my parents. And so I came back to the apartment. A small crowd had gathered there because somebody losing a car is entertaining and new. Who loses a car? It's not like I lost the keys. I lost the whole freaking car! What's left to do? It's been an hour. I can't find it. I guess it's stolen. I don't know who in their right mind would steal my car but it's the only other thing I can think of. So, I called the police.
And they hung up on me.
So I called back.
And I reported it missing.
"I'll send an officer over."
"Okay," I said.
And I waited. The people talked and laughed about funny mission stories. I laid on the big yellow ball of happiness, sprawled over it on my back. And I just thought as I waited for the officer to arrive.
I thought about my checkbook balance. And about how I needed to repaint my toenails. And about how much I disliked police officers. And about how the school year was almost over. And about how I should probably visit my family at some point. And about how lame yesterday was because I had to be at work on a Saturday at 7am...
I shot up! I gasped! "It's at WORK!!!" I yelled. "It's at work because I had to be there at 7:30am and then I carpooled up to Salt Lake for that convention thingy but I got out an hour early and so YOU drove me home!" I pointed accusingly at Kat. The room was silent only for a split second before the laughter and mocking started. Yes, I am an idiot. I didn't forget that I parked my car a few slots away than usual... but a few blocks away from usual.
And so I called the police back.
"Hi, I'm Emily Hansen and I just reported my car stolen. But I just had an epiphany and... it's not."
"Okay, we'll cancel the call."
"Thanks."
And that was it.
I'm retarded.

Wilde

I've been helping out in Mrs. Wilde's second grade class in the afternoons lately. And trust me, it's not just a clever name. That class is WILD! And Mrs. Wilde herself is somebody I'd hate to be stuck next to on a plane. I come in right after lunch recess and every day thus far she's been late. So I'm stuck in the hallway with 33 screaming second graders trying to convince them to not spray each other with water from the drinking fountain and, by all means, not to spray each other with water from the toilets. But today, not only was Mrs. Wilde late... she decided not to show up at all. The principal met me in the doorway of the classroom and asked if I'd seen her.
"Nope, not since morning recess."
"Oh. Well... I don't think she's coming back."
"Uh, okay."
Mrs. Densley took one look around at the screaming children as they jumped off of desks, played in the closet and fought over a bouncy ball. "Hey, What do you usually do right now?"
"Well, I used to tutor but I've been an aide in this class for the past few days."
"Perfect! The class is yours."
And she walked away. She just left me there. With 33 screaming second graders.

Emily Ann Hansen

It just so happens that my name is common. All three of them. And combining them just makes it all the more common. Emily Ann Hansen is almost the equivelant of John Smith. During my years at BYU I was one of eleven Emily Hansens and one of four Emily Ann Hansens.

As a result of this common nonsense, I got an announcement in the mail today. Susana Cristin Bair and William Reed Harty will be married on May 29th in the Los Angeles Temple. I have been invited to their reception in L.A. that evening. What does this have to do with anything? I don't know Susana or William!

I can only assume that they have made the same mistake as numerous others who have emailed and called me to ask me about classes I'm not taking, to invite me to hang out with people I don't know and to inform me about things I don't care about because of my name. Route Y is a beautiful thing but only if you know something about the person you're looking for because just typing in Emily Hansen will get you nowhere when you're trying to find that cute girl in your chemistry class. It's not me, guys! Wrong numba!

For most girls they fear inheriting some long, odd name. Not me. I'd embrace it. I'm ready for a bit of flavor to my common name. As long as it doesn't start with with an R. Or a T. Because then my initials would be EAR or EAT. And what if I lost my hearing later or got obnoxiously obese? What then? That would just be sad. Get it? Because I'd be deaf with the initials EAR. Or really fat with the initials EAT. And we can't have that. No, no.

The Real Deal

Today Kat and I decided to leave our small yellow and orange Nerf football at home and venture into deeper waters with... a real football. So, we did what any girl in our situation would do. We borrowed the ball from our neighbor, changed our clothes and shoes, did our hair and added the necessary accessories (a backwards, tilted baseball cap) to prepare for our new adventure. And then, since we were looking pretty cute pretending to be athletic, it became obvious that pictures must be taken on this momentous occasion. So we knocked on our neighbors' door, heard boys and ran away. Then we had another neighbor take pictures of us with the football in "footballish" poses. With all that out of the way and with a few minutes of daylight left, we ventured over to the big field across the street to "play football." And by "play football" I mean we were going to see if we could actually throw it. And then, if that finally became possible, we were going to attempt to catch it.
Just outside the fence were two high school boys. I don't know why they were there. Perhaps they were waiting for their mom to pick them up after their boyscout meeting. Or they got in trouble for not putting their saw away properly in woodshop and had just gotten out of detention. In either case, there were two high school boys watching us. And this is what they saw...
They saw me "throw" the ball straight up in the air, landing halfway between Kat and I (who were standing only a few yards apart). They saw me cheer and do the Dance of Joy when I finally caught it. They saw me turn a full circle and then eye the ball suspiciously when Kat's cell phone rang and I didn't know where the sound was coming from. While Kat was on the phone they saw me focus really hard before I tried to kick the ball. They saw the ball I kicked fly backwards over my head, off the fence behind me and into the parking lot. They saw me when I put all my strength into throwing that ball and they saw that after I released it I flew around in a full circle then ended in a heap on the ground. They saw that the ball that I threw at full strength still barely made it to Kat who was still only a few yards away. They saw Kat and I look relieved when Leah called to have us come over to meet her mom. And they saw that we looked tired as we walked home. Because we were.

Dream Weaver

Mr. Giles is our elementary school's janitorial custodian. Monday he came into our first grade classroom and walked to the back of the room where I was sitting grading state tests. "Hey! I had a dream about you last night!"
"What?" I asked, hoping I had misheard.
"You were in my dream last night. It was really weird!"
"Oh, yeah? Huh..."
"Yep. Let me tell you about it."
"Okay..."
"So, you and Mrs. Hannig and two other teachers and my old Bishop and his son all went to Salt Lake City to the Church Office Building to try out for the Mormon Tabernacle Choir. Do you sing?"
"No."
"Huh. Anyway, I wasn't there to try out but I was supporting you guys. And you would go in one at a time to audition and if you made it you'd come out with a patch of fabric which was half black and half gold. And you'd also wear a black robe that looked like a graduation robe. Which is weird too because the Mormon Tabernacle Choir doesn't wear robes."
"Huh."
"Ya, anyway, you were the first one to go in and you made it! Congratulations!"
"Thanks."
"You and Mrs. Hannig were the only two to get in."
"Interesting."
"Are you sure you don't sing?"
"Yep, pretty sure."
"Okay, anyway... you were so excited to get into the choir that you wanted a haircut. And since I cut hair, I offered to do it for you."
"That's cool that you cut hair. I didn't know that until about a month ago." (The guy seriously went to beauty school!)
"Ya, so, you wanted an undercut and I was willing to do it for you for your new look for the choir even though your hair was already pretty short."
"I do want an undercut."
"You do?? I'm psychic!!"
"I knew it."
"Ya! Cool! Anyway, I went to get my haircutting shears but they were so dull because somebody had used them to cut some branches off a tree."
"Weird."
"I know! It's a really weird dream! So, the scissors are really dull and I'm trying to hide that fact from you since you already seem kind of nervous about having me cut your hair."
"Sorry."
"It's okay. So I start cutting your hair but since I'm left handed, and my scissors were so dull, I accidentally scratched the back of your neck on your right side as I was coming around. And you didn't really complain but you just said ouch and when I looked at where you put your hand I noticed just a little scratch. It didn't bleed. It actually looked like an old scar... Do you have a scar on the back of your neck?"
"No."
"Oh. Anyway, you were so upset about me scratching you that I left you alone for a while so you could gather your courage to let me finish."
"I can be a pansy."
"Oh. Well, it was at that point that I realized that there were two older women kissing just inside the Church Office Building."
"Ew."
"I know! So everybody had to wait as the General Authorities who were listening to the auditions escorted the women out."
"Weird."
"I know!"
"It was also at that point that I realized that President Hinckley was there. Except he was wearing a black toupe as a disguise. Nobody recognized him but me even though it was so obvious."
"Hahaha! You had a dream about President Hinckley in a black toupe?? Hahaha!!"
"Ya ya. So I come back to you and start cutting your hair again and at that moment my wife flipped the light on in our room just in time to hear me say, "I just gotta finish her hair!" and she asked me who's hair I was cutting and I woke up and told her it was some random girl from work."
"That's officially weird."
"I know! I didn't even see you on Friday!"
"No, I was outside all day."
"And I only saw you twice on Thursday when we said hi to eachother in the hall."
"Ya, that's all I can remember, too."
"The lesbians I can explain because there are two old lesbians that Mr. Johnson was tellling me about the other day. And the other people in the dream I had just recently seen. But I can't explain why you were in my dream. Maybe I just want you to date my son."
"It's a possibility."
"Ya, that must be it."

The Miracle of the Petting Zoo

So I was at work yesterday. Nasty habit. I was coming in late from my lunch break. Another nasty habit. But fortunately for me, the children had not yet come out for their afternoon recess. I sat down on the park bench, reached into my backpack and pulled out my book. Suddenly, out of the corner of my eye, in the parking lot behind the playground I could swear I just saw... a donkey? What the crap? I blink a few times and look more closely. Yep, a donkey. And is that a freaking pony next to it? Oh, my gosh. I'm losing my mind. I have finally snapped. I'm seeing things. I'm freaking hallucinating. But if I'm going to halllucinate then why am I seeing farm animals? Why not hallucinate my very own Brad Pitt or Orlando Bloom or a new wardrobe or some ice cream? Why farm animals? WHY? And do I hear a goat? Oh dear. I'm officially crazy. We all knew it would happen eventually.

But then a child comes out. She runs for the swings but suddenly freezes in her tracks. Her jaw drops, her eyes grow wide and then she turns to me and screams, "Miss Hansen! I see a donkey!!" And then she ran for the parking lot.

I was probably supposed to stop the children from going over there. They weren't on school property, the animals were there for Oakridge (the school next door) and if all the recess children went over there it would be really overwhelming for the animals. But I didn't care. I was so relieved that the children saw the animals too that I was willing to let them do whatever they wanted.

And they did have a goat. A baby one that was less than a week old and it kept making a sound that resembled the sound of a horn on a child's bicycle. And there was an ostrich. And some rabbits. And a couple geese. I have no idea where these animals came from. But they were there. I swear. I have yet to officially crack.

Boo!

I left my DJ post for a minute and while I was away a few boys took over, including two creepy boys. Kat came over to me and said, "Em... I want to go over there to pick the next song but the creepy boys are over there." I didn't know what I was going to do about it but I walked over there, squeezed between them (they were really tall), just stood in front of the computer and started scrolling. The boys left without a word.

Kat came over. "Fixed it," I said.
"What did you do?"
"Nothing. I just came over here and that was enough for them to want to leave. I've got the power!"
"Wow."
"Oh yeah! The power to make boys want to leave! Hey... wait a second... that's not a good thing!"
"But just the creepy ones! That's a good thing!"
"Whatever. It's not just the creepy ones. Crap. I've got the power..."

It's true that sidekicks should have some kind of super power that really doesn't really do anything all that helpful. Apparantly mine is clearing a room of the male gender.

I Got Nothin'

I've been thinking all week about writing a new blog. Something mildly entertaining and yet informative. Some small anecdote that would also allow me to brag about my trip to Hollywood to see American Idol. But I just couldn't do it. It turns out that not only am I not entertaining, I also have nothing of value or interest in which to inform my mass audience. Go figure. And so I resort to lists of events that will be, I'm sure, about as entertaining as my grocery list.

Monday
*packed and dawdled until noon
*drove to Hollywood, CA with Liz and Camille
*stayed in sketchy hotel with a half constructed room and the risk of a construction worker barging in at any time

Tuesday
*slept in, watched the last quarter of Drumline, checked out of sketchy hotel
*drove around Hollywood, hunted for the Hollywood sign and the stars
*walked Hollywood Blvd in the 95 degree weather... ah... summer at last
*went to studio to watch American Idol, sat in the middle section, four rows behind the judges and Gloria Estefan
*watched as Simon poked Paula until Paula turned to him and said, "Stop it!" only to have Simon retort with the infamous, "What? I didn't do anything." This happened over and over. It was like watching two elementary children flirting.
*stayed longer to watch an extra taping of a special episode of American Idol that will air on Monday.
*left for Provo right after we got out, drove through the night

Wednesday
*pulled into Provo around 7am
*showered, napped, prayed for death
*got up around 11am to go to work
*did nothing as children poked me and put things on my head
*talked to Heather, had a delightful conversation. i love her.
*went to heather's birthday party, left early with intention of going to bed early
*stayed up talking until after 1am

Thursday
*woke up early and went to work
*did nothing as children poked me and put things on my head
*stayed after work for some stupid meeting, made stupid comments that made co-workers laugh and supervisor glare, still can't remember what I said.
*moved some stuff from 59 to 65
*went home early with intention of going to bed early
*threw yellow volleyball around living room and giggled my campy giggle
*stayed up talking until well after 1am

Friday
*woke up early and went to work
*did nothing as children poked me and put things on my head
*got off work at 1pm
*moved rest of stuff from 59 to 65, cleaned like mad for check-out
*ate and showered
*went to David and Brandi's wedding reception in Bountiful
*ignored crowd of people outside my apartment with intention of going to bed early
*typing this sorry excuse for a blog instead
*talked to Heather until 2am, had a delightful conversation, had me laughing so hard I couldn't breathe. i love her.

Squatter Season

It's summer time. And with the season, especially in a college town, comes the inevitable squatters. It's understandable and expected. But shouldn't there be some rules that go along with all this squatting? I mean, some of us are actually paying rent here. Although I have no squatters of my own this year (knock on wood), I feel for my friends who are paying the man and still end up sharing their precious summer space.

Rule #1: This Is Not Your Room
I take you to Turner and Hooch. A classic among cinema giants. Hooch, a canine squatter, arrives at Turner's house expecting a lot more than what he's paying for (which is, of course, nothing). Turner takes the dog by the collar and leads him into each and every room of the house. At each door he pauses and says, "This is the ____. This is NOT your room." For Hooch, he got the laundry room. For our squatters of the human nature, it's any place we can find the space. This is not your room.

Rule #2: This Is Not Your Food
You're not paying rent so you best be buying your own food. Actually, my cupboard is your cupboard... just please, please at least pretend to ask first. And occasionally wash your own dishes. This is not your food.

Rule #3: This Is Not Your Stuff
Squatters, depending upon their dependency, will require the use of your stuff as well as the use of your space and food. Fine, use it. But be nice to it. And by all means, please do not remove all of my things from my apartment, leaving behind only my broken computer that you broke and some random crap you didn't want any more while I was away visiting my family during a break from school and then disappear with no forwarding number. That's called stealing, my friend. And it is not a choice way to pay somebody back for squatting in their home for the past several weeks. This is not your stuff.

Squatting is an art. If done correctly and with enough flair, the squattee will not even know they're being squatted upon.

Graduation Day

Congratulations to my Caroline and Ann-Marie!
I love you!

Moving Day

Today is moving day. Again. Here is a list of places I have lived...

1. Dec 80 - Aug 99....................Parents' Home (Renton, WA)
2. Aug 99 - April 00...................58 Horne Hall (Provo, UT)
3. April 00 - Aug 00...................Parents' Home (Renton, WA)
4. Aug 00 - April 01...................Villa Apt 63 (Provo, UT)
5. April 01 - May 01...................Parents' Home (Renton, WA)
6. May 01 - Aug 01....................Faerbers' Home (Renton, WA)
7. Aug 01 - April 02....................Villa Apt 64 (Provo, UT)
8. April 02 - April 03...................Villa Apt 62 (Provo, UT)
9. April 03 - Aug 03....................Villa Apt 65 (Provo, UT)
10. Aug 03 - April 04....................Villa Apt 59 (Provo, UT)
11. April 04 - Aug 04....................Villa Apt 65 (Provo, UT)
12. Aug 04 - ????.........................No clue

I am now in the moving process between numbers ten and eleven. It doesn't matter how many times I've dragged my crap across the Villa parking lot it still sucks. I've got the process down to a fine art. An art I would have rather left undiscovered. And to make matters more entertaining, the Villa has decided not to compensate us this year for kicking us out of our apartment, forcing me to use my spring break moving everything I own into another one of their trashy apartments instead of sitting on my couch reading The Screwtape Letters and eating my giant box of Rainbow Nerds.

Comprehendo?

First Grade Teacher at Rug Time: Good job! Most First-Graders don't comprehendo that. Did you see that class? Most students don't comprehendo that and Chase did it perfect!
Annie: What does "comprehendo" mean?
Teacher: It means "understand" in Spanish... I think...
Austen the Little Spanish Speaker: (shakes his head in confusion and disgust)
Teacher: Or French... or German... (she trails off)
Annie: Why don't you just say "understand?"

Moment of Silence, Please.

On my bedroom floor lies my Washington license plates. Mt. Raineer in blue on a white background with years and years of tabs pasted into a colorful and careless pile. Bugs plastered onto the front one. They went everywhere with me. Never complained or wanted a soda. And now they lie on my floor, betrayed. In their place? Nasty orange and ugly blue Utah plates. They glisten with their brand-new quality. A shiny single layer of stickers saying that I have paid for my right to drive here.

I had been preparing my car for this moment for weeks. Apologizing. Explaining that my tabs would soon expire. That I had to do this. Pleading with her for weeks to forgive me for what I would have to do. She knew it was coming. But it didn't make it any easier. She's a Utah car now. And it's all my fault. I'm sorry, little friend. I'm sorry.

I'm the Next American Idol

On the way out of town we stopped to gas up. Okay, we were lost and were in desperate need of directions. On our way up to Hollywood to see American Idol, Heather pointed out the window and said, "That's a bad part of town! I'd rather have my bladder explode than stop there. You never want to go there!" I'm pretty sure that's where we were. Using the bathroom, gassing up, dodging homeless men adn asking for directions. At this nasty little gas station in a disgusting part of town between LA and Hollywood is where I met Mohan.

Mohan works at the nasty gas station in the disgusting part of town. He appears well kept, in his late thirties and he (entertainingly enough for me) looks and sounds like Apu from the Simpsons. Mags and Lisa were gassing the car and rearranging our stuff for a comfortable ride home. I went back in for directions.

"Hi," I said. "I was hoping to get some directions to I-15."
"Sure," he said. "No problem."
"Great!"
"Ya, you're going to go right at this light, turn left onto I-405... wiat... where are you going?"
"Salt Lake. I just need to get to I-15."
"You live there?"
"Ya."
"Why are you here? Vacation?"
"I went to see American Idol."
"You sing?"
"No. I went to watch it."
"But I'll bed you sing, right? I'll bet you have a beautiful singing voice."

His eyes were looking me up and down and rarely made contact with mine. I was officially creeped out and considered running out of there screaming. But there was the guy that had offered to watch my windows for a small fee standing right outside (who I had seen spit nasty green goo on my hood when I refused) and at least three other individuals that made the green spitter look like Jon Peter...

"No, I don't sing. My singing voice is actually kind of blood curdling."
"Oh, but your regular voice is real nice!"
"Uh, thanks." (I had a cold and sounded like a little boy going through puberty. My voice cracked at least three times during out conversation.)
"You know, it's getting late. How about you stay here for a few more days?"
"Uh, I don't think so. I have to get back."
"How about you just stay tonight?"
"No, I have class tomorrow."
"Well, can I have your number?"
"Uh..."
"In case you get lost and need more directions."
"How about you give me your number and I'll call you if I get lost?"
"You don't want to give me your number?"
"My mom would kill me."
"Alright, here's my number. Call me!"
"Right... thanks for the directions."
"Mohan."
"Mohan."
"What's your name?"
"Emily."
"Ah, Emily. Such a pretty name."
"Right... see ya."

Career Week

It's Career Week in the first grade. Today they had to draw a picture of themselves doing whatever it is they want to do when they grow up. Little Jackie drew her picture and then said, "Guess what I am?" She had drawn herself wearing a nice dress.
Rebekah: An actress?
Jackie: No. I'll give you a hint. I work with kids.
Annie: A teacher!
Jackie: No.
Emma: A nurse?
Jackie: No.
short pause
Henry: A probation officer!!
Jackie: YES!

Liar

"Watch out for this one! He's a liar!" Bishop warned Ashley about Tim's Fat Boy antics. So lying's... bad... but what if you do it by mistake? I used to make fun of Liz and her "accidental lying" but really, who doesn't accidentally lie? We can't be the only two here! Here are a few examples of when I accidentally lie...

Example A:
Place: The BYU Library Girls' Bathroom
Time: 10 - 11pm?
Number of Hours I had been awake: 39
I dragged myself out of the stall and while leaning on the sink for support, I washed my hands and dried them on some paper towels from above the same sink. There was another girl in there. Although she was right beside me, I didn't even notice her until she spoke. "Sorry if this is gross but I split my foot on these stupid flip-flops and if I don't clean it it's going to get nasty." I looked down at what she was doing. She was cleaning the dirt out from between her toes where the flip-flop had dug in. "Don't even worry about it. It happens to me all the time."
LIAR! That has NEVER happened to me! I don't even wear flip-flops! I hate feet! Where in the world did that come from? As I left, stumbled down the hall back to my friends working on the FHE video I thought about what could possibly be the matter with me. I could have stopped at "Don't worry about it." Why did I add the last part which is a blatant lie? Without thinking about it? Weird.

Example B:
Place: Everywhere
Time: Lots of times
This happens to me all the time. And every time I lie without even really thinking about it.
Person: So, how was school?
Em: Fine.
OR...
Person: How is school going?
Em: Fine.
OR...
Person: Is school stressing you out?
Em: No, it's fine.
Every time I lie. I don't go to school! But it would take too much effort to say, "I don't go to school." And then answer all of the questions about why and about what I'm doing instead and whether or not I'm going to go to grad school or what I'm going to do with the degree or whether or not I'm ever going to amount to anything. And so I just say, "Fine." I mean, I WORK AT A SCHOOL. Shouldn't that count?

Example C:
Place: Lots of places
Time: Lots of times
The get out of future obligations lie.
Person: What're you up to tonight?
Me: Stuff. Lots of stuff. Ya... whew! Got lots of stuff to do.
I never have anything to do. I just didn't want to do what they wanted me to do and so instead of saying, "I don't want to do whatever it is you're going to ask me to do with you... I'm going to pretend that I have something else to do." I don't really think about it... it's kind of a defense mechanism.

Example D:
Place: On the phone
Time: A lot of times!
Every time my parents call I have the same reflex I had as a kid... LIE!
Parent: Is Emily there?
Em: Nope!
But it's me on the phone. I lied. Right there. I know they don't recognize my voice and so I reflexively lie.

I'm a liar.

So I went to campus today. My reasons were two-fold. One, I needed to reserve the giant Twister game from BYU Oudoors Unlimited (or whatever it's called) and Two, I needed to buy one more ticket to the Luau on Wednesday. I had pseudo-completed task #1 and had made my way to the Info Desk for task #2.
Me: Can I get one ticket to the Luau on Wednesday?
Guy: Sure. That's $3.
Me: Okay. (I hand him the money.)
Guy: (He takes the money and reaches in the drawer for my ticket. He takes it out and holds it.) I have a question for you.
Me: (Uh oh.) Oh, really?
Guy: Ya. Okay, here's the situation... I was on a blind date last night... (ramble, ramble, ramble)
Me: (Of course you were. And of course since I'm at BYU on a Saturday I have nothing better to do than listen to you talk about your blind date last night and I most certainly care about you and this dating situation. Please, tell me more. I want to hear all about your blind date. Yes, keep talking. Do you understand what I'm saying? You're KILLING ME! Enough with the blind date story!) Uh huh...
Guy: My friend set me up with this girl because another girl had asked him out and he wanted to double.
Me: Sure...
Guy: So, we hadn't been out long when his date was talking about my date and she said the wrong name. So my friend corrected her. And his date got all huffy and was like, "Do you even know what MY name is?" He knew the first and last syllables but he couldn't for the life of him remember her name! His date got all upset and demanded that he take her home right away. Is that weird?
Me: Yes. (Can I have my ticket now?)
Guy: Because my friend feels aweful about it but really, he didn't know her that well and SHE was the one that asked HIM out. So, I can tell him that it's weird that she got that mad?
Me: Yes.
Guy: Okay. Oh, here's your ticket. Next!

Playing By The Rules

I knew that showing up at an elementary school without any green on St. Patrick's Day would be suicide. And so I made sure that I wore a lot of green to ensure my safety. I'm not stupid. I know the rules. If you don't wear green then you're free game in the hunt and the children are armed with tiny fingers that can pinch just enough skin to really hurt. But I had totally forgotten the counter-rule. If you pinch somebody who is wearing green then that person is allowed to pinch back ten times! And I was approached with deep questions that I had never considered before like, "Are you allowed to hide your green so that people will think you don't have any green on so they'll pinch you so that you can pinch them back ten times?" and "How hard can we pinch?" and "Can I pinch them here? How about here?" and "Do you think that green is green enough or can I pinch him or would he be allowed to pinch me ten times even though that green is pretty yellow?" Deep questions. I tried to consult the St Pat's Rule Book but all I discovered from there was that it was the only day of the year that Ale was a permitted substitute for milk in the school lunches...

Top Five Signs That It's Spring

It's been continuously sunny for less than a week and yet I know it's Spring because...
5. I've seen more people in the past five days than I have all semester
4. Those people were happy, cheerful and pleasant to be around
3. I've played outside every day without a jacket
2. Slurpees have become a part of my diet again
1. Bruises and lots of 'em!