Questionable Life Choices

Fun Fact

2012-02-05T15:34:00.001-05:00

Apparently I own a necklace that looks like a sex toy.

This week, I wore a different necklace to work. Early in the day, my class was with another teacher so I stopped by to say hello to a friend, N. As we spoke, another woman walked in the room. N started laughing about something, then turned the other, said something in Arabic, and pointed at my necklace. They laughed as I looked confused. "I don't want to know." I said.
They laughed more. She lowered her voice. "That looks like a sex toy."
AND THEN I DIED. I teach 2nd grade! I do not own necklaces that look like sex toys! And if I did, I WOULD NOT WEAR THEM TO TEACH 2ND GRADE.
"Can I borrow this?" she asked. I more or less shrieked a no at her. "You stick it--" she started to say, laughing at my embarrassment before I retreated to my classroom.
However. Readers, I am stubborn. ("What? Not you!") I refused to take off my obscene necklace. I was...I don't know, proving a point? In retrospect I'm not really sure what I was trying to prove. That I can handle the inevitable mocking? At lunch, N was well behaved. Until the one man in the room got up to get something from the other room. She leaned in towards a couple others and started murmuring in Arabic, pointing towards me. (I work with a fair amount of bilingual people.)
"STOP IT!" I shrieked, reddening. "SHUT UP STOP IT STOP IT I HATE YOU."
"What's going on, Amanda?" asked the man from the other room, laughing at my spectacle.
"Nothing!" I answered too quickly. The women were laughing.
"Why are you hiding?"
"I'M NOT!"

I thought I was in the clear. I had the rest of the afternoon without any breaks, so I could easily get away with hiding in my room with my class. Later, I was in the middle of reading a chapter out of Charlotte's Web to my class. N knocked on the door. I started to open it when I realized the man was with her. But I was going to be cool.
"Um, I'm kinda busy here. You know, teaching?" I said, trying to be casual. I would not meet the man's eyes.

OH RIGHT I FORGOT PART OF THE STORY. That man? He's the only single man in the building. And you know how it goes--two single, straight people in close proximity of both age and geography must be destined for each other. Which many people have tried telling me. (And maybe him, who knows?)

Back to our story. I'm standing in my door, holding up Charlotte's Web like a shield, protecting me from having this conversation.
"Tell him the story about your necklace," N says with a smirk.

Yes, she did get a door closed on her as my face burst into flames.

Excuse me, I have a necklace to put on ebay.

so bright it'll blow your mind.

2012-02-03T23:00:00.000-05:00

My years at Smith College were the best of my life, to date. It was where I learned that sometimes it's ok to make bad decisions. (I learned a lot of other things, too, don't get me wrong.) More than anything, though, I found a second family. The Smithies surrounding me were, from day one until this very moment, my support system. They are my source for adventure, advice, hugs, rubber ducks, tea, and love. (I know, gross.) They picked me up after I fell so many times. They still do. My Smithies are the first ones I want to call when I have good news or bad news or stupid news. They are the reason I started writing here. They are the family I chose.
Like Harry Potter, I was sorted randomly into a house--but I never for one second believed it was random. The universe sent me that house, those women, that family. We were meant to find each other.

One of those women, a brilliant and caring young woman, lost her battle with cancer this week. It has been a tough reality to face. Knowing that Kirby, someone so beautiful and kind, has lost to such an ugly disease...it steals the air from my lungs. I can't pretend to understand. Kirby was a superhero walking undetected among us, making things right whenever she could. Hearing the news of her diagnosis this fall, I had to sit down. I couldn't believe what I was hearing. Last week, when news of her declining health reached me, I sobbed. The unfairness of it all. And when I saw E's name on the screen of my phone, I knew it was over.

And even through all of this, I look back at our time at Smith...and I can't help but smile. And I know that's exactly how I will remember her. I'm so proud to call her a part of my history. My whole family is.

Not really a role model.

2012-01-14T23:15:00.001-05:00

Early last week, we received a staff email about an animal assembly scheduled for Friday. I had no idea what that would entail, but dutifully scheduled it into my plans and got my class sufficiently enthused. (One of the beautiful parts about teaching 2nd grade is that you don't have to know what's going on, as long as you bill things as a "special surprise!") I could only assume we would be seeing and/or learning about some animals. I was admittedly uneasy, thinking it might include...some certain species which are neither cute nor cuddly. But come 9am, off we went! We filed into the gym, where the kindergarten, 1st, and 2nd grades were gathering. My class was last into the room and sat in the back of the group. I eyed the display warily, taking in the cages and containers concealed by cloth. Coffee cup in hand, I told my kids they would love it.
Our presenter was wonderful. He did a fantastic job with our students the entire time. They LOVED it. After telling us about himself, the presenter started to talk about what he brought with him. When he said, "I did not bring any spiders with me," I took note of his tone. I started to work it out in my head...and on instinct alone, I started my way toward the door. Quickly. I was almost there when he called me out. Our kids turned and saw me and we all had a laugh. The presenter smiled and reassured us that no one would get hurt and he would not make me come any closer. He also noted that I had figured out what was coming.
And then he brought out a tarantula. A tarantula that filled his hand. HIS HAND, you guys. Once he announced that what he brought was NOT a spider, I immediately decided that he would choose to talk about arachnids vs. spiders, and my brain went to tarantula. Caught in the act, I walked back to my class. And we were fine. I mean, I wasn't really looking that closely. But we were fine! Until he started addressing a question about tarantulas jumping. He asked my name and said I was going to help him demonstrate how far they could jump. I admit, I froze. He told me to stay in the back of the crowd and hold out my hands. I remained frozen. One of my students caught my eye and said, "You can just try!" That was too cute and encouraging and I resigned myself to my fate. I assumed it would all be ok and I trusted him, but still...stuck in the moment and all. He told me to put my coffee cup down. "You're a role model!" he laughed. Ok. Just try. Role model. Role model. Coffee cup down. Hands out. Brave face.
FUN FACT: Tarantulas can't jump! It was a teaching thing, guys. He held onto her the whole time and I remain a tarantula holding virgin. (Which I am totally comfortable with and shall remain until the end of my days.)
We had fun. We saw a snake (also not that exciting for me, but the kids loved it) and then some seriously cool things I'd never seen. The BEST part was the fennec fox. I was smitten.
FUN FACT 2: Foxes are my power animal. It's a long story.
My class honestly had an amazing time and we talked about animals (and my hesitance toward arachnids) for a good part of the afternoon. Go ahead, tell me you have a cooler job.

Well...except the tarantulas. BUT BESIDES THAT, I have the best job.

Crucial.

2012-01-08T00:21:00.000-05:00

READERS, THIS IS PROBABLY THE MOST IMPORTANT QUESTION I'VE ASKED IN DAYS. (Ok, not really. But don't you feel a sense of purpose when you read that? Go ahead, read it again. Powerful, huh?)

...Which Star Wars t-shirt do you like better?

Don't make the wrong choice. NO PRESSURE.

Since the world is ending anyway...

2012-01-04T00:39:00.001-05:00

Inspired by my friend Kevin, I've decided that setting some resolutions for the new year wouldn't be the worst thing I could do. Since I'm at my best when other people are watching and ready to make me feel inadequate in the case of my failure, I'll let you read them! Feel free to mock me openly when I don't accomplish these, ok?

1. I am going to stay on top of my inbox. This seemed like a trite resolution until I spent almost an hour clearing out my various email accounts a few days ago. (Do you realize how many sales I missed at Bath and Body Works?) So this year, I will not let things pile up. Not even my yahoo account that I reserve for newsletters, online shopping, and people I don't like.
2. Get really and truly started on my master's degree. Not in a flirting way like I've been doing, but we're going to get serious. I'm going to tell facebook about our relationship and everything.
3. I am going to be 100% more vigilant about zipping up my pants. I'm not kidding here, there were two days last month where I repeatedly discovered that my zipper was down, INCLUDING A TIME I REALIZED THAT I TAUGHT THE WHOLE MORNING IN THAT STATE. Not that my class would have noticed--I regularly have to tell kids to rebutton wonky shirts and switch their shoes to the correct feet--but it's not a good feeling.
4. I am going to get back to the workout routine that I liked best/worked best for me. I've let it fall away and since we know I need to be concerned about the size of my ass, I need to get back on it. Ask me how it's going, Internet. Not right this second, because clearly I'm writing a blog post...I mean periodically throughout the year. Like, whenever you're thinking about me (I know you do). On a similar note, if you have any music suggestions that motivate you, let me know. I'm always looking for recommendations.

You will notice nothing about men here. I am purposefully omitting this aspect of my life from resolution. I have enough weirdos, married men, men in other relationships, and emotionally wounded men in my life--I can't handle more.
Here's to a decent 2012, readers!

Probably not the intended use.

2011-12-31T00:48:00.001-05:00

My partner in crime used to have the kind of job where the whole office would receive and read those business self-help books. Since I don't have one of those jobs, I was curious and borrowed one from her shelf. I was hoping it would help me talk to men, but I'm not sure I'm the target audience for this type of book.

I chose "Fierce Conversations" by Susan Scott. I figure anything fierce can be of use to me. Part of the book is a section called "mineral rights"--a series of questions meant to get to the bottom of an issue. I posed the first question to my partner in crime and we went from there. Was it helpful? You be the judge.**

1. What is the most important thing you and I should be talking about? Coffee.
2. Describe the issue. We don't have any coffee. And we should have coffee.
3. How is this currently impacting you? Who or what else is being impacted? This is impacting us because we love coffee and have none. Coffee levels are depleting rapidly. We are both being impacted. So is the general mood around here.
4. If nothing changes, what are the implications? When you consider those possible outcomes, what do you feel? If we don't get coffee, we will still have no coffee and be totally grumpy. That makes us feel sad. And a little angry.
5. How have you helped create this issue or situation? We drank all the coffee already.
6. What is the ideal outcome? When you contemplate these possibilities, what do you feel? Ideally we would have coffee. And that would make us feel happy.
7. What's the most potent step you can take to begin to resolve this issue? What exactly are you committed to do and when? When should I follow up with you? The most potent thing would be to make coffee. We are committing to making coffee and drinking it immediately. We can follow up in 5 minutes when we have the coffee.

I mean, ultimately there was a positive outcome. I'm not sure I'm meant to be part of the business world, though.

**All questions are quotes from "Fierce Conversations" by Susan Scott.

Because it's Thanksgiving...

2011-11-23T22:03:00.003-05:00

This year, I'm thankful for...(in no particular order)...

1. Puppies, like the one I'll be seeing tomorrow at my sister's house. Because nothing seems that bad when a puppy is sleeping on your lap. Even boys who can't locate their testicles long enough to ask for your phone number.

2. Self esteem boosts from second graders. Three of my students wrote about me in their journals for Monday's "I am thankful for..." topic. TWO of them wrote that I smell good. My students are strange and wonderful. Especially when dance like robots and ask if they can come to my house and eat cupcakes.

3. The uniquely fabulous family I come from.

4. Coffee, champagne, and gin. Not all at one time, don't be gross.

5. Awesome and insanely talented friends who defend you in the face of insults, say yes to a cup of coffee regardless of the time, agree to any and all proposed adventures, position themselves between you and people you can't stand, pretend to be your boyfriend when creepy older men won't leave you alone, and wander around Target with you just because.

PS: Honorable mention to Ryan Gosling. Look at him.

A serious moment.

2011-11-08T21:23:00.002-05:00

I'm sorry I've been absent around here. Sometimes life takes over and there's too much work and drama going on to drag you all into it. And I wanted to come here and write something at least sort of entertaining. But before we try that...

This week, I've had to say goodbye to someone way too young. Someone heading into the years where things start to get really good. I had to watch her friends say goodbye and confront this reality that they shouldn't have to face yet. And it was heartbreaking. Every aspect of it.

I have a lot of teenagers in my life. And I know that most of them think I am super lame because I'm getting close to 30 and I have to ask what things mean and I don't understand the things they write in text messages sometimes and I dance like a big dork. But I'm a great listener. And I may not understand everything you're going through and I won't have all the answers. But if you need to talk or ask questions or complain or just vent about life...I'm here. Just know that I'm here and I care. It doesn't have to be me--just find someone.

Ok. Thanks for sticking around while I deal with life, guys. Tomorrow we can go back to talking about how gross it is when people make out in Starbucks.

Guess the road was bumpy.

2011-08-18T14:47:00.007-04:00

I've often written about my adventures (misadventures? you be the judge) with transportation. But I don't believe I've ever shared with you one of my favorite stories.

When I was a junior in college, I studied abroad in Ireland. The experience was truly and completely fabulous. I mean, to spend a year of one's young adult life surrounded by charming Irish accents and learning to make bad choices? You can hardly beat that. I spent many weekends traveling around the country, taking the bus from my university. That bus is where our story begins.

One such weekend was spent in Cork with my housemate. J was another American in my study abroad program and we were eager to travel whenever we could. On Sunday afternoon, we boarded our bus to return home. We headed to the back, where there were 5 seats across the row. J sat in the window seat and I took the one next to her. It's common bus courtesy not to sit next to someone you don't know until the bus fills up enough that sharing seats becomes a necessity. As our departure time drew near, we were feeling more and more confident that we'd have some space to ourselves.

And then, he appeared. It was as if a dark cloud rolled in overhead, foreshadowing things to come. Had this been a movie, ominous music would have played to warn me. But sadly, it was not a movie, and all I knew was that there was a loud man on his mobile heading my way. He found his way to the back row, placing his bag on the seat next to me, taking the one on the other side for himself. I was privy to his half of whatever conversation he was having, taking note of his accent and fondness for language I wouldn't use around children or my mother. He didn't have the charming, lilting accent I'd grown to love, letting boys tell me lengthy stories even if I didn't understand them or found it boring. This was harsh, loud, and wholly unpleasant. Shortly after we began the several hours home, three things of note happened. One, this man took a can of beer out of his bag and cracked it open. Two, his phone ran out of credit, effectively ending his phone call. And three, J "fell asleep" with her head against the window. She was clearly faking it, but I had no idea why. Until he spoke to me.

A blissful moment of silence was ended when he took note of the phone in my hand and asked if he could possibly make a call. I told him I was low on credit, not a complete lie. Ah sure, he had a beer to finish anyway.

The next hour passed by uneventfully with J sleeping and my neighbor drinking a couple beers and receiving the odd phone call. He made sure to tell every one of his callers that he had a bag full of drink and was planning on getting very pissed on the way. Somewhere along the way, a couple older teenagers got on the bus, taking the seats in front of J and me. Lucky for everyone around, my seatmate befriended these two. They prattled on about inconsequential nonsense, which for the most part was not a problem for me. Sure, a bit annoying but it could be so much worse.

And then it got so much worse. "Ugh," my neighbor complained. "I have to piss." (Are you swooning yet?) Who could blame him? He was two and a half pints in! His sidekicks didn't help the situation by telling him there was no way the bus would stop. After a few minutes, Thing 1 said, "Well sure, you could just go here."

I froze, unable to pretend I hadn't been eavesdropping. He hitched his thumb my way. "Sure, she won't mind. Just find something to go in."

"Oh," I started in, "she minds." My eyes were narrowed at him, every word laced with venom.

Apparently nobody cared about that, though, because moments later my companion found an empty Snapple bottle in the seat by the window.

"Excuse me,"he said to no one in particular. My head turned away, my eyes screwed shut. This was not happening. No. There's no way. No way that a grown man would relieve himself on the---oh shit. Ohhhh no. I could hear it. I could HEAR the urine hitting the bottle. The man was truly peeing on this bus, a foot away from me. I tried catching J's eye, hoping to have a partner in this low moment of my life, but oh no. She was going to keep up that act even though I could see her texting underneath her purse.

You'd like my story to end here, yes? Oh, if only. My now empty friend resumed his inane conversation with my new arch nemesis. I began texting my friends at home in a desperate attempt to remove myself from the situation, at least mentally.

Not twenty minutes later, he announced in his very smooth way, "Ah, I've got to go again." Fabulous. This time, he grabbed one of his empty beer cans. I instinctively turned away, knowing what vision awaited me if I opened my eyes too soon.

I heard the pee hitting the can...and then I heard him. "Oh, shit." Quite an impressive string of expletives followed.

What?? Oh shit isn't ok! What's the oh shit for??

"I got piss all over my pants," he grumbles to Thing 1 and Thing 2. Turning towards me for the first time in ages, he uttered something I'll never forget.

"I'm sorry," he began in a much calmer way than he'd been speaking. "I hate to ask this, but there are some things a lady shouldn't see. Would you mind turning away?"

He wasn't even done speaking before I replied with a hurried, "YES" and faced away from him completely. I heard him digging around in his bag, and figured out that he was changing his pants. As I sat there, wishing for a giant bird to come eat the bus or something, anything, that would put me out of this misery, I laughed at the absurdity of it. He hadn't even hesitated to pee into a beer can in front of me, but changing his pants, now that was something to shield from a lady. He was actually trying to charm me! I guess chivalry isn't dead.

With his permission, I righted myself in my seat. I couldn't help texting friends about what was happening--none of them believed me. But his troubles weren't over. Not by a long shot. I saw him, staring in front of him. In the seat pocket were four beer cans. Two were empty, one was an unfinished beer...and one was his own urine. Dilemma. He carefully picked one up. Empty. Another. Empty. Another. Sniffed it. Looking satisfied, he took a drink. Ah, yes...beer.

Finally, mercifully, by the grace of God and one very clueless Bus Éireann driver, we arrived home. I've never exited a bus so quickly in all my life. On the way off, though, he left us with a goodbye...he grabbed J's ass.

Alright, maybe chivalry is dead.

Sorry...

2011-08-13T13:05:00.000-04:00

One of my best friends is getting married soon, and it has caused no small amount of reflection on our assorted adventures together. Essentially, 26 years of adventures. One weekend probably a decade ago, we decided to have Lame Movie Weekend. We rented a couple classics...Glitter and Love Story. The former is one I don't really want to talk about, as I've blocked much of it out. Awful.

But Love Story. Wow. Have you seen it? It's this story of two Ivy League college students who fall in love and then there's something about money problems and [SPOILER ALERT] she comes down with some mysterious, unnamed illness which we assumed was cancer. I wasn't impressed. Sorry. However, somewhere along the way, Ali McGraw issues the statement, "Love means never having to say you're sorry."

What? I mean...what?? Is she for real? What sort of dreamlike trance is she living in? Maybe that's ok if you're not trying to maintain a relationship. But if you are, then love means ALWAYS having to say you're sorry! Love means saying you're sorry even if you don't think you should! Love means saying you're sorry even if you're not sure WHY. Love is what happens in between apologies. Let's be real here.

...So maybe I'll leave this story out of conversations at the wedding.

Participants on the Run!

2011-07-26T22:52:00.002-04:00

That's what I heard every night for three weeks, during my time directing a summer camp. We were using a local high school for our camp, and had plenty of space. This is excellent for activities, but a big huge worry after lights out. Smitten fourteen year olds sneaking off to make out? Not on my watch! (If you think I'm overreacting, you haven't met anyone who gave it up at summer camp.) Luckily, we had some motion detectors in storage! My staff and I pulled them out and strategically placed them in hallways and stairwells. Each one was set to announce a different message, alerting us to the whereabouts of our escapees. A home base, in the staff room, went off anytime someone passed by a detector.

One of my staff members was almost excited at the prospect of catching a camper sneaking out. The first few times the detectors went off, he took off in glee, running towards the scene of the crime. We were not messing around.

Until one day when a leader heard some of the kids talking about moving the detectors. That night, after lights out, we had an impromptu meeting in the hallway. Could they move the detectors without us knowing? That would be disastrous, should the kids figure it out before us! THINK OF THE CONSEQUENCES.

Time for action. We moved one farther down the hall, deciding to run some tests. Picture 13 adults in pajamas, well past midnight, crowding around a motion detector like it held the secrets of the universe. It was quite a brainstorming session.

Alright, what if you tried to crawl past it?

Participants on the run!

Ok, good. What about slithering on the floor like a snake? Could it sense you then?

Oh no. She's getting there. She's very nearly past--Participants on the run!--oh good.

What about jumping? Could you vault over it?

Participants on the run!

Check. What about slowly? Can you inch your way up to it, all sloth-like?

Ok, so far so she's making it...but you'd have to really commit to a sloooow pace and let's be serious, they're 14 and there is no way they'd have this much patience--Participants on the run!

Excellent. What if you plaster yourself against the wall and sneak by that way?

Participants on the run!

Sweet, that doesn't work either. What about...

This continued for the better part of an hour. The good news? NOBODY WAS GETTING PAST US. Anyone wanting to get by our security would have to be so sneaky that in the end, we figured they deserved it.

It was a busy month.

Clearly she's never heard of Sir Mix-a-Lot.

2011-06-17T23:02:00.002-04:00

I’ve been holding back on this topic for a while, since it was born in my classroom. But now it’s summer vacation

I will preface all of this by saying that I adore my students. I find them funny and interesting and oddly charming. I have an awesome job, 97% of the time. That being said, I pretty much found myself with a pack of Mean Girls. Each and every one of my students this year had a strong, dominant personality. It makes for a colorful class, but there were a lot of girls fighting to be Regina George.

Some weeks ago, I was going through their writing notebooks. My students have two notebooks—one for directed writing and the other for free writing. I don’t go through the latter all the time, just flip through it from time to time. As I pulled out M’s notebook, a sheet of paper fell from it. It looked well worn.

Two things struck me as I skimmed over the words. One, this paper was a conversation between two people using two different colored pens with very different handwriting. (This was troubling, not only because this writing time is a strictly independent work time, meaning no freaking conversations of any kind, but also because my students didn’t figure out to at least use the same color pen! At least TRY to be sneaky, girls!!) Two, this conversation was about me!

M and her partner in crime, S, had a lot to say about me. I’ll give you the summary: M doesn’t like me, which S assumes is because I’m mean. M informs her that no, it’s because I’m fat. S, bless her, thinks I’m skinny! Oh no, M insists. “Look at her butt no boy will love her that’s why she’s not married.”

WHAT? I’m single because of my big butt?? Thank goodness M was around to let me know! Here I’ve been walking around, huge ass and all, asking the heavens WHY ME? But now I know!

I’ll have you know, M, that my butt has nothing to do with it! This ass has been complimented by many a sketchy, intoxicated gentleman in the past! I’m single because I’m judgemental and emotionally closed off! My myriad personality flaws are to blame, not my ass. HAHA, M, the joke is on you!

Sigh.

Because a catchy song isn't enough anymore?

2011-06-05T01:20:00.003-04:00

While in line at Target today, I noticed that the Mentos package looked different. Not that I eat Mentos a lot. I guess we went through a lot of them when the Foo Fighters did that parody video? Anyway, I examined the new packaging for mint Mentos. And what did I see? A red heart and the words, "Kiss Me."

SERIOUSLY? Are you kidding me, Mentos?? What are you now, the candy for couples? Kissing mints? Explain yourself here. Am I not allowed to eat Mentos unless I'm planning on doing some kissing? Or is it strictly the mint kind? Am I still allowed to get the fruit flavored ones? Joke's on you, Mentos--I always liked those better! What if I was enjoying the strawberry flavored ones and decided that kissing was on the agenda--will those do in a pinch? Or are you advising against mixing kissing with non-mint Mentos?

I'm just looking for clarity here. Jerks.

Lazy dating.

2011-05-21T21:29:00.002-04:00

Dating has become a lazy endeavor.

Seriously, consider how it's done today. The whole ordeal can be arranged largely in our sweats, in front of a computer. It is not uncommon for relationships to blossom after a casual, unspecific routine of hanging out. It has become acceptable to shoot someone a text or facebook message. This is followed by meeting up somewhere, sometimes with other people.

I'm not saying the old school system of chaperones and calling on a girl should be brought back, but at least then you knew who was truly into you. A guy had to make an effort! He had to come and visit you and speak to the appropriate people. He had to choose a time and location for a date, then come and pick you up. There was none of this "hanging out" nonsense.

And as if this all wasn't lazy enough, someone out there is catering to and encouraging further apathetic dating habits. During some recent research, I stumbled across a shameful website called "Text My GF." I just HAD to check it out. I now wish I hadn't. According to the common douchebags who run this site, women judge the quality of their relationships on how many text messages they receive from their boyfriends. This is simply too much work for the average man! Who has the kind of time and energy required to maintain a relationship??

If you're nodding in agreement, fear not. For a monthly subscription fee, you can have a third party send trivial, saccharine text messages to your girlfriend! Don't worry, they'll all look like they come from your phone, and you can schedule the times and how often. But after you fix your settings, you don't have to worry about silly things like feelings and what to say to your girlfriend. And for the gentleman courting several ladies? Well, just set up another account! Easy!

Seriously? This is what dating has come to? Why not just hire someone to hang out with your girlfriend, too? Think how much time you'd save there! Come on, America (this service is unavailable outside the US)--is this something we're comfortable with?

Let's bring our standards back up.

Sentimental Drivel

2011-05-19T19:41:00.003-04:00

An Open Letter to Recent College Grads, on the Occasion of my 5 Year Reunion:

I understand. I watch you standing uncomfortably in your cap and gown, unsure of the outfit and all that it means. I see the frenzied packing, having a million things you'd rather do instead of cram four years into boxes and suitcases. You're excitedly introducing your parents to a favorite professor, showing them all the places you had classes, met friends, found your way. And I remember it fondly. It was five years ago--long enough to merit a bit of nostalgia, but not so long that I've forgotten it all.

And then. The end. It's all different on Sunday afternoon, after you've flipped that tassel to the left. As I walk around my beloved campus, I witness countless goodbyes. They run the gamut--some are loud, laughing, spinning hugs full of excitement and proclamations about visiting. Others are still, quiet, tearful. They all break my heart because I understand. None of this will help, but trust me--I get it. I was you, remember? And I know you're sad for so many reasons--your whole life is changing. You're leaving this life you've created, only to create a new one. Scary. But you'll do it. You'll do it well, too. Because even though it's terrifying, that's the best part. I was scared shitless because I didn't even know where to start on that new journey.

I remember feeling like I was parceling out my heart, leaving a bit of it with each goodbye. My college friends were my family--the family I chose, who could easily (and probably should have) left me at any time. But they stayed. So to leave them, knowing that tomorrow they would be across the country and not across the hall? Was not ok.

But here's the dirty little secret, the part no one tells you: it's not over. No, you won't have dinner together every night and Sunday brunch. But you'll see each other. You'll travel. You'll meet up. You'll find the time. And if you're lucky, like me, every time you're together it'll feel like no time has passed. You'll pick right up where you left off. You'll remember what each other orders to eat, make fun of the same things, and go home with a plastic Spongebob Squarepants in your luggage.

You won't believe me now, because you're a Graduate now and you don't need the wisdom of an alum--and it all sounds crazy anyway. But trust me on this--the world is not ending.**

It's just starting.

**It's not ending because you graduated, anyway. It's ending because of the Rapture, but that would have happened no matter what. You shouldn't be blamed for that one, guys.

Clarity.

2011-05-07T19:11:00.002-04:00

I just read an article about the top baby names for 2010. Are you ready? Jacob and Isabella. Now, in case you don't know any preteens and never read People Magazine, it would seem that Twilight fans are having a lot of babies.

But this leaves me perplexed. I was under the impression that more people were on Team Edward than Team Jacob. (I won't lie to you, I'm Team Edward all the way. But that's partially because I think both of them would be pretty terrible boyfriends. My recent viewing of a few episodes of True Blood has led me to the opinion that any vampire, really, would be a terrible boyfriend. Hey, stop getting off track. I'm just saying, it's Pattinson over Lautner.)

If you trust Google (and I do) then Team Edward is more popular, with nearly twice as many results showing up than when you search for Team Jacob. I'm not planning on doing any more research into the popularity of Edward vs. Jacob, so we're trusting this data.

So. Edward is more popular and dreamy. Then why is Jacob a popular baby name? Why didn't Edward take the top spot?

I'm reminded of one of my standby arguments about men--they fall into two categories. Han Solo and Luke Skywalker. Han Solo is maybe not the best choice you could make, on the surface. He's a little too full of himself and definitely wouldn't call you when he promised he would. He likely won't notice your haircut and probably doesn't want to have dinner with your friends. But dammit if he doesn't somehow charm you with that smirk and make you consider all the bad choices you could make together. Now Luke Skywalker...he doesn't exactly make you consider bad choices. Luke does call when he says he will, he is totally down with escorting you to that family reunion where he'll sit with your aunts and charm them. He's devoted and loyal and, just like Han, charming, but in a very different way.

Not to make anyone cringe too much, but Edward and Jacob are a bit like this, in their own way.** Edward is moody and possessive, sulky and prone to temper tantrums. But he's got that sexy vampire staring thing going on and then you're all sucked up in Bad Decisions. Jacob is the nice guy and reliable and your parents would like him so much more and he also has non-human issues but whatever.

So back to baby stuff. (Sentences I never thought I'd construct.) Edward isn't a top baby name of the past year. (Or probably the past few decades? You think?) I can only think of one explanation--demographics. The baby-having group of Twilight fans must fall more into Team Jacob territory than Team Edward. I mean, think about it! If you're having a baby, you're (probably) more stable, settled. You're looking for Good Choices! You're looking for Dependable Jacob.

And then you're going to name your baby.

So, readers...do you prefer Han or Luke? Edward or Jacob?

**It should be noted that Han Solo and even Luke Skywalker will always be 100% more awesome than Edward and Jacob. Don't even worry about it.

They can't all be charming...

2011-04-29T20:35:00.003-04:00

Lately I've been learning more about body language, in the hopes that knowing how to send closed off signals will cut down on the amount of time I spend ignoring men talking at me. It's been quite interesting, although I think being aware of my own body language has led to me hiding it a bit more. (Not a terrible side effect, when I think about it.)

Last week, I stole away from my real life and spent the week in Denver with a good friend. M and I went to a brewery for a tour, which I totally recommend. (Boulder Brewery, look it up.) Post-tour, guests are seated at a table with pitchers of beer--it's a family style beer tasting. The three of us--M, A (another Colorado friend) and myself--were chatting with those around us, until A took a phone call. When he vacated his seat, the man at the far end decided to shake things up.

"Is anyone sitting here?"

"Um...yeah. My friend? Who just got up? 15 seconds ago?"

"Oh, ok." He pushed my friend's glass aside and sat down. Oh. O...k...

I'm introduced to Craig. Craig compliments my Boston Red Sox t-shirt (who can blame him there?) and tells me he's from Massachusetts. After no more than 45 seconds of benign conversation, I decide that's plenty long enough to be trapped and I turn my body away, towards M. As Craig continues to not get the hint, my body turns more and more, fully facing away from him. A comes back and Craig hands him his glass.

Craig keeps trying. He eavesdrops and throws comments in whenever he can. "What?? Amanda's never been ice skating? How is that possible? Come on, Amanda!" He is loud and uses my name so much I tire of the sound. I stop any contact with Craig other than throwing a "Stay out of this!" his way.

Every single aspect of my body language is saying, "Stop talking to me. I am uninterested." But Craig doesn't get that. My head, arms, torso, and legs are firmly pointed away from him. I don't even turn my head to ask him to stay out of our conversation. There is no eye contact AT ALL. Craig, evidently, likes a challenging woman. (This is why Craig likely has terrible luck with women. )

Craig, I promise you I was not playing hard to get. Ignoring you was NOT code for "please try harder." Men, if you read this and thought, "Well, she should have given Craig a chance!" then you also suck at reading body language and would do well with a quick google search.

**the more you know**

Movie Review: Sanctum (Spoiler Alert!)

2011-04-20T14:13:00.003-04:00

Last night, I sat through the movie Sanctum with some friends. Hmm. This oddly paced, James Cameron-produced movie would be more appropriate if it carried the title Sanctum: Or, John Garvin and Andrew Wight Hate Women.
Wight and Garvin, responsible for the choppy screenplay, must have been seriously burned by women in their lives. Probably women who considered diving a hobby. I mean, that's the only excuse for their treatment of women in this movie.
There are three women in Sanctum. Three. Alright, fine. Maybe there really weren't a lot of women present at the cave dive that inspired this movie. I'm comfortable with that. But really..it's the way these women progress throughout the movie that bothers me. (Here's the whole spoiler alert part, in case you're planning on seeing it.)

This movie is not a feel-good movie. Just about everybody dies. (Not terribly surprising, considering how most "based on a true story" movies go.) It's an unexplored cave dive gone wrong. There are bound to be casualties. The men who die go in a heroic way, or a manner they deserve. (Less than heroic.) The women?
Let's start with the woman who dies during a dive because "her heart wasn't in it." That's what they say. They lament her death with, "her heart wasn't in the dive." At least her body is brought back to the base. And then there were two. The next one to die goes in such a casual manner that I can't recall any single detail concerning her death. (This speaks volumes, considering this made for 3D movie relies heavily on gory and somewhat disturbing images.) I've got nothing. She's a bit like a glorified extra. One minute she's there, on the dive team, and the next...down to one lady.
This last one...oh man. She spends the movie flirting, playing by her own rules, screwing up, and throwing temper tantrums. (Lovely.) She's a tag-along girlfriend thrown into the crisis. An unexperienced diver, she first screams about refusing to wear a dead girl's wetsuit, then bitches about wishing she had a wetsuit. (In her near-hypothermic state, they strip her down to her underwear and cuddle her for warmth. But she's hot, so nobody minds.) Some stressful scenes later, she doesn't listen to timely advice and dies because she gets her hair stuck in a carabiner and pretty much scalps herself. ...What? As a friend put it, she might as well have died because of her menstrual cycle. (Not to mention, the scene was hugely traumatic for anyone with long hair.)

Thanks, Sanctum. What a special movie-watching experience. You may have just inspired this girl to write a screenplay! Now, off to recall the potentially dangerous hobbies of my exes...

A word on douchebags.

2011-03-02T22:23:00.002-05:00

Let's talk about douchebags.

I am, as you might imagine, not in favor of douchebags. However, there are varying levels of douche. If one must spend time in their company, I recommend The Harmless Douchebag. These are the charming sort. You see right through them; you're not under any illusions but they are generally cute and fun to flirt with in social settings. They're not getting anywhere with you, but they either haven't noticed that or don't care.

The Malicious Douchebag is to be avoided at all costs. These are the sorts of men (and women, I suppose, although I find there is a whole separate hierarchy in the female realm) are the ones who do things that are intentionally mean-spirited and pretty much terrible. These are the men who break up with you at your grandmother's funeral; bring a date to your birthday party even though you were under the impression he was dating you. Steer clear of this breed.

This brings me to The Common Douchebag. There is nothing remarkable about this sort of man. They will wreak havoc on your life, but not really in any truly awful ways. The Common Douchebag is, at best, an annoyance to be dealt with.

This week, I have found myself dealing with the remnants of when a particular man was more or less in my life. Until now, I was unaware of the label he deserved. I had suspicions, but my knowledge of this manchild was not comprehensive enough to accurately judge. He was someone I spent a bit of time with many months ago, who has occasionally popped up in my life. It serves as a constant reminder of what a weird situation we were in. Because he pops up in the conversations of others, in my inbox, at my table during dinner out, it has been rather difficult to delete him from memory--valuable brain space as I age. He never remains in my space for long, just long enough to muck things up a bit.

Several encounters in the past week have left me wondering what the hell? But no more. Ohh, no longer, dear readers.

Please use the following as a cautionary tale.

I said it was a weird situation, right? A big part of the weird is that this guy knows my father. Like, they see each other with a disconcerting regularity. However, I have kept my father in the dark on any and all details--a wise move, whether you know my father or not. Today I learned that Dad decided to get involved.

"I asked him why he never called you." Oh sweet Jesus. "He said, 'Well she can call me.' And I told him that attitude wouldn't get him very far with women." Dad's got the right idea. "But he said "it's a new era" and told me his girlfriend calls him and comes to his place all the time."

Well. I think that's all I need to know. You? That's what I thought. This attitude renders him a Common Douchebag--generally clueless and unthinking. Not worth putting on eyeliner and changing out of your pajamas. The Common Douchebag considers himself Quite a Catch and thus doesn't put forth much effort. This automatically drops them several points on the attractive scale. For the sake of having an example, let's say some guy is a 6. A 6 who doesn't call women and says they can call him? Well, he's a 3 now. To call feminism into it and suggest that because women are allowed to vote and wear pants they should also be the pursuer in a relationship? That dude is now a 1. And I think it goes without saying that having that whole conversation with a woman's father? Yeah.

Kanye may be toasting all the douchebags, but I'm not encouraging any of this behavior. It's time for guys to act like Men.

Douchebags like needlepoint now?

2011-02-21T22:36:00.005-05:00

Found myself in Jo-Ann Fabric this week, working on a project for work. As I wandered around, I noticed this book.

Now...I'm all for people winding down with a little embroidery project now and again. Whatever makes you happy. But...I can't help but wonder if Ed Hardy really needed to make this happen. Here, I made you a little graph to match my thoughts.

I don't know...maybe I'm wrong. Maybe the kids on Jersey Shore would like a decorative throw pillow or wall hanging but Ed Hardy does not yet make those. Maybe this is the perfect solution for them! What do you think?

Winter is not for dating.

2011-02-13T20:52:00.003-05:00

Gentlemen, if you're going to pop into my life and make a bit of a mess before popping back out, could you at least stay out?

Last winter, I told you about an attempted set-up. (If you're not familiar, it will help the story to read how that ridiculous situation went down.) Needless to say, I'm fairly convinced that this man will not be the great love of my life. I haven't given him any thought since then. It was not the sort of relationship one pays much attention.

Well. A mutual friend found herself in his mother's company last week--and apparently, there was nothing better to talk about. His mother said it was a pity we never got together. She said he's shy. (I've heard that before.) She said he tried to contact me and that he still doesn't have anyone in his life!

Until this guy learns how to actually contact a woman, HE WILL CONTINUE THIS STREAK. Adding a woman as your facebook friend is not, I repeat NOT an appropriate method of contacting a lady you might date. Sure, it's a start. But there has to be more to it!

And so, on my Valentine-eve rant, I ask you, readers. If facebook is your way of initiating contact, what's acceptable? He friended me--does that mean he's off the hook? Is it up to me to send some sort of message? Or, can I compare it to a phone call? He dialed and I answered--but shouldn't he start the conversation, rather than breathing into the phone like a stalker waiting for me to choose a topic?

What do you think?

Super Bowl Sunday!

2011-02-06T12:44:00.002-05:00

Yeah right, like I would blog about football. Please.

Just when you thought I blogged too much about Justin Bieber here we are again. Is it embarrassing that I borrowed his autobiography from the library? Maybe. But you know what is even more embarrassing?

Based on his book, he knows more about women than many of the men I know. (Stop rolling your eyes. Also, if you're one of the men I know and you're concerned that I mean you...well, I probably do. The truth hurts.) In Justin's books, he throws the following thought at his readers:

"A certain amount of success with the opposite sex comes down to the simple concept: don't be a jerk."

Seriously. It's so basic! He is 16 (I had to google that, not that anybody will believe me.) and he gets it. So don't be ashamed...just take his advice. You don't ever have to tell anyone where you picked it up. This will be our little secret. You're welcome.

Really Terrible Choices.

2011-01-30T22:16:00.002-05:00

During recent research for a blog post, I found myself with the usual Google dilemma--lots of sites with all the keywords I was looking for, but in an order that was the opposite of what I wanted. As I scrolled through search results, I noticed a disturbing trend.

So naturally I need to tell you all about it.

There are a ridiculous amount of articles and websites encouraging, stressing the importance of, and advising people on getting back with an ex. As in, "Here Are 12 Ways to Weasel Yourself Back Into His Life After He Dumps You!" type stuff. Advice on how to act and what to say when you're dumped so you can angle your way back into his life. (Or her life. Although I will note that these things are more geared towards women being dumped by men.) This...is not really ok, as far as I'm concerned. I am forever telling people that being with someone who doesn't want to be with you? Is absurd. You deserve better!

But the internet seems to be really in favor of "you deserve to wear him down and settle."

So what do you think, Internet Friends? What are your thoughts on getting back together with an ex?

The Blind Non-Date

2011-01-22T22:02:00.002-05:00

I didn't want to blog about this until I knew what to say. And now...I know.

Last month, my sister called me to say she had a present for me! (Yay!) A seven digit present. (Yay? Keeping an open mind, though.) D is someone she knows through work (thus confirming he is not creepy), tall and cute, and employed. These are all qualities I like in a man, so I kept listening. (Despite the hangover I had during this phone call.) Sister told me to call him.

Skeptical. I would much rather be the one answering the phone rather than dialing, which I realize is not very progressive of me but I don't care. So I didn't call. The timeline of the following days was Hangover, Skeptical, Doubt, and finally Guilt. I hate when people say they'll call...and don't. So, I called. We chatted. He seemed interesting enough and was fairly charming. We were meeting for dinner the week before Christmas. (Not that I had any clue how I would find him...when I stalked him on facebook, his picture isn't of his face! It's called FACEbook, not BACK OF YOUR HEADbook.)

The day before our date, he called. Apologetically, he told me he'd gotten the new job he'd mentioned interviewing for during our previous phone call and would have to reschedule our date because of his new schedule. He'd call me.

I assumed he wouldn't call that week, because who wants to go on a blind date at Christmas? Then I figured he wouldn't call until after New Years, because who wants to go on a blind date in those days between Christmas and New Years?

So...that was three weeks ago. And...well, I'm just going to go ahead and assume he's not calling.

(I just remembered that I had this issue LAST Christmas. We've been down this road! Let's remember this in December, ok? I'm not taking this path again. )

There's a longer story behind this.

2011-01-13T23:18:00.003-05:00

Got a text message during work today, from my brother. He was alerting me that someone from Easy Rider had died. Since I had already gotten this message when Dennis Hopper passed away, I assumed it was Peter Fonda. Sad.

Shortly after, I received the following message, which will go down in history as one of the best ones my brother has ever sent me.

"Yeah so here's the deal. I thought I read Peter Fonda was found dead in a car. But he actually found a body in a car. Soooo, my bad."

There is no part of this message that is not wonderful and hilarious.

Happy weekend, kids!

An Open Letter...

2011-01-10T20:01:00.002-05:00

To the House with Still-Lit Christmas Decorations,

I get it. You love Christmas. That became clear to me sometime around Thanksgiving when your lawn filled up with inflatables and seasonal lights. Who could blame you? I myself love the most wonderful time of the year. The drive past you as I leave work each night was a highlight for me.

But I would like to emphasize the use of past-tense in that last sentence. It was a highlight. I know what you must be thinking--that verb tense suggest that this experience is no longer a highlight! How can this be?

Because it's freaking January 10th! Christmas is over! If you're going to fly in the face of holiday decoration decency, you could at least stop turning the lights on! Stop inflating the giant waving Santa! And for heaven's sake let's lose the flashing LED CHRISTMAS COUNTDOWN. It is grossly inaccurate to suggest that Christmas is "00 days 00 hours 00 minutes" away. Christmas is now, you're saying? Right now this minute? REALLY? Because by my count it is 348 days, 3 hours, and 34 minutes away. (And by "my count" I obviously mean http://www.xmasclock.com/ .)

If you're going to keep the holiday spirit going, at least restart that damn thing.

Thanks,

Amanda

Not helping.

2011-01-08T21:23:00.002-05:00

I recently found this article about a woman in Spain who faked her own kidnapping. I know what you must be thinking--why? Why on earth would someone fake their own kidnapping? That's just madness!

To see how her husband would react. She wanted to know just how far he'd go for her. No, seriously. Police followed her car and found her shopping while she was supposedly in captivity. Now, I hate to turn on my gender, but when it comes to perpetuating ridiculous stereotypes...the rules change.

Ladies, what's up with all the games? Is there some reason we (and I use the term loosely, because I am not comfortable being lumped in here) feel the need to constantly test our relationships? Granted, this is a rather extreme example. But this test is so common in lesser forms! You know that woman's husband went to the bar with his friends and used whatever the Spanish equivalent of "batshit crazy" is. Is that a phrase we want to keep hearing? I vote no. (Unless I'm saying it, anyway.)

Wherefore...

2011-01-02T21:00:00.003-05:00

So you may have heard that I am currently reading the Justin Bieber autobiography. (Borrowed from the public library; I did not spend money on this.) Why, you may ask?

Why not?

From the second I learned that Justin was writing his own life story, I was pretty much compelled to read it. I mean, come on. There's no way this would NOT be an entertaining read. Who cares if any library employee will be able to learn that I checked this out? (Hmm...I might...) A library friend said it read like a really long tweet--and after the first 60 pages, I see exactly what she meant. There is no. way. that Justin had a ghostwriter for this--because if he did, he hired another teenage boy to do it. It reads exactly the way you'd expect Bieber to talk. Oh, and there are 400,000 pictures!

When I hit page 44, I decided that having this on my library record is totally worth it. Reaching a section entitled, "Star-Crossed Lovers," Justin tells us he was two years old in 1996 (and then I remembered how old I am) when The Cardigans released the song "Lovefool." Putting together the section title and this song reference, I decide we are about to have a Shakespeare lesson from Professor Bieber.

I am not wrong. Are you ready, readers?

"It was featured in this crazy film adaptation of Shakespeare's Romeo and Juliet, which is also dope. Any guy can relate to Romeo, who's trying really hard to be cool in front of his crew, but he can't stop looking at all these beautiful girls all over Verona, and then he falls victim to one of the killer crushes of all time."
(--Justin Bieber)

And there you have it. What William Shakespeare took the entire first act to say, Justin Bieber has summed up in one run-on sentence. Welcome to the Twitter Generation, where there is no need for extraneous descriptors--140 characters and the thing cuts you off! Say what you need to say and get out.

This is not a book to be taken seriously. It is delightfully teenaged--fun, nonsensical, yet heavy with the weight of adolescent angst. Today it will be "the best book I have ever read ohhhemgee!" but in a few years, the audience will laugh the way I do when I remember I used to read Tiger Beat pretty religiously. But perhaps Bieber's legion of lady fans will decided that Romeo sounds like a pretty awesome guy and pick up the extended version.

PS: Not to be missed: Justin tackles the word "Zamboni" on page 10. And also...page 185. I'll let you discover that gem for yourselves! Just trust me.

Christmas!

2010-12-29T22:19:00.005-05:00

With the exception of that hateful holiday kissing plant, I love everything about Christmas. I love that everyone comes back into town and I get to drink margaritas with my partner-in-crime. I love the many delicious foods. I love having two weeks off to see everyone and recharge my batteries...and log some extra time on the treadmill due to aforementioned treats.

And I love Christmas presents. Of course I do. I won't lie to you. (You wouldn't believe me anyway.) There is something deeply satisfying in choosing a gift for someone. But also? Opening a gift is a whole other delight. It's a very telling thing, to see what someone chose for you. What object made someone in your life say, "Hey now, there's something Amanda should have." (And in some cases, "Amanda will not hate this and I drew her name for Secret Santa.")

Which...makes Twin's present to me this year a bit puzzling. Twin regularly goes to the local antique store for my gifts--I have some sweet pink elephant bar glasses from one year. She selects awesome things, knowing my penchant for anything your average grandmother might have lying around. This year, she got me an awesome fortune teacup--it's covered in various symbols for reading tea leaves. This cup...is perfect. Well done, Twin.

But she also got me...this.

THE CREEPIEST PICTURE EVER.

I will let you be the judge as to what this says about our relationship. For the record, we don't know these children. We only know this is from a Detroit-based photographer. I will go on a limb and suggest that these empty-eyed children are not, in fact, near the water watching sailboats. This was probably the most popular background for photos. Similar to the lasers for anyone in elementary school during the 90s. If you do know these children and are offended by my liberal use of the word "creepy"...sorry but seriously these kids freak me out.

Weddings and whatnot.

2010-12-27T20:30:00.002-05:00

So we all know I'm not a big fan of weddings, yes? (This is despite the fact that I'm pretty much a career bridesmaid at this point in my life.) Weddings are all about a lot of stuff that I find...irritating. They're basically one big public display of affection.

I'm less annoyed by marriage itself, if one can find someone tolerable enough to spend a lifetime with. Which is the part that becomes most problematic. But for people who find someone to settle for? I'm all for it! Do your thing. (And apparently I'm happy to stand up in your wedding.)

As you might have heard, Hugh Hefner is engaged. That's. Fine. I guess. Hugh, you're an adult and your ladyfriend tells you she's over 18 and that's good enough. I'm sure that once she picks slutty bridesmaid dresses for 15 blonde friends and moves her Barbie Dream House into the main bedroom at the mansion, you'll have 3-5 really happy years together. And then you'll get a timely divorce so she can move on and find a legitimate relationship.

But don't think, Hugh, that I'm forgetting about Holly. I watched multiple seasons of Girls Next Door and watched Holly devote herself to your relationship while she not-so-secretly hoped you'd marry her. Which you never did. You were Classic Male and Weren't Looking to Get Married. You never deserved her. She had visions of babies and marriage and A Life Together. Say what you want about Playboy bunnies but nobody deserves to be the only one invested in a relationship. I'm glad Holly got out.

I don't have a clever segue here and in fact was just telling Twin I'd have to throw in an awkward transition. Because that's what my seven readers have come to expect around here, dammit!

Not long ago, I was having a casual conversation with someone, probably about something boring like the weather or my job. This person ended up letting me know how they felt about gay marriage. I don't know how the conversation got there, but the moral here is that this person was pretty much 100% against gay marriage. They told me it was offensive to the sanctity of marriage. I'm going to leave this other person out of it now. Let's just say that I do not agree.

I would like to know when we as a population are going to stop assuming every straight marriage is a sacred thing. Hugh Hefner is just a very public example of something that happens in this country all too often--marriage as a joke. It is to this generation what dating was to previous generations. Something you do that can easily be undone if things don't go as you'd like.

And there's sanctity in that?

Supporting gay marriage does not mean you personally want in on that. (I certainly wouldn't want to marry a woman...they're crazy. At least men are a kind of crazy I can deal with. But plenty of women would like to, and good for them.) When I say I support gay marriage, I support the idea that every person gets to choose who to love and have the freedom to commit on any level they want. Being in a successful relationship has nothing to do with gender. It has to do with love, lowering your standards, and ignoring the nagging feeling that you're making a mistake.

So sure. Let Hugh Hefner and Miss December get married. I wish them luck. But let's not pretend that their marriage will be automatically successful because it's between one man and one woman.

Happy Monday!

2010-12-13T13:53:00.003-05:00

My brother texted me a strange picture on Friday. Something floating in a glass bowl? After squinting at it, holding it upside down and sideways, and generally wondering out loud what the hell I was looking at, I took the bait and asked.

"What am I looking at?"

"More to the point, what is looking back at you?"

I looked at the picture once again.

No. No, no, no. He did not. He did not text that. That is not what I'm looking at. That is disgusting, even by big brother standards. There is no way he would OH MY GOD HE TEXTED ME AN EYEBALL.

I should clarify, as he did for me--it was a cornea and some surrounding conjuctiva. I never got the full story as to what they were DOING at work (in a lab...I assume there was some medical reason for this scenario) but Brother apparently decided it would be one of my more unusual texts.

He wins the prize, there.

Pre-weekend update.

2010-12-08T19:31:00.005-05:00

So. Job. Yeah, that's pretty much consuming my life. Don't get me wrong--I love it! But it's totally taking over everything while I get settled in and find a routine.

But before I get back to that...a story in three acts.

1. Went to a family Christmas party last weekend. Quite a good time--ate, drank, made merry, etc. I also played Greedy Guts which is, apparently, a family tradition. Only among the women, though! I asked the men how they felt, having been shut out of this long-standing game. My answer was a resounding, "Why the hell would we want to play the women's game??" Hmm.

Greedy Guts, for those not related to me, is basically a white elephant gift exchange after half a dozen vodka and Red Bulls. Totally insane. AND AWESOME.

Walked away with quite a few gifts. Some good (The Italian Job on DVD), some lame (corn cob holders?). Some awesome (Fossil sunglasses!) and some totally annoying. (See photo.)

HILARIOUS. You are SIMPLY HILARIOUS, family.

2. My mom loves Christmas. She also loves holiday decorations and/or seasonal decorations of any kind. So naturally, when the two come together...let's just say that our halls are decked. But this year, she's put some things in different places. And our bathroom counter is apparently now "where all the fake greenery shall live." And that's fine, except for it's not a very big counter and I put my curling iron there every morning. When I walked in that first morning, I looked from the crowded countertop to my curling iron and back again. It's not that I think she shouldn't be allowed to decorate however she sees fit, but I think maybe we need to evergreen it down before I set the house on fire because my hair needs a little body.

You should be concerned, bird.

3. Yesterday my classroom was the scene of an epic meltdown. Upon hearing the announcement that recess would be inside, one of my students began shrieking about Republicans. "WE CAN'T HAVE OUTDOOR RECESS BECAUSE THE REPUBLICAN GOVERNOR WON'T LET US!"

Whoa.

I...I don't even know what to tell you. I could not believe what was happening. I sent him down to the office to have his meltdown because he would not stop yelling about the Republican governor. Apparently he thinks that the governor sits up in Lansing and evilly ponders whether or not elementary school students will have to suffer the horrors of inside recess. As if the state of Michigan would bump that to the top of the agenda. The Republican governor who, by the way, has not yet taken office. Maybe that's the biggest decision they'll let him make pre-inauguration?

You cannot make this stuff up.

Working hard.

2010-11-21T21:36:00.002-05:00

As I write lesson plans today, I have on SoapNet to watch old episodes of One Tree Hill. (Judge me all you want, but that show is good.) But the episode that just ended, from season 5 in case you also enjoy One Tree Hill and would like to follow along with my rant, contains a major relationship mistake. (Ok, probably more than that but let's stay focused.)

Background: In an earlier episode, Lucas proposed to Peyton and she freaked out at the commitment involved. (Nothing wrong with that!) They stopped seeing each other and he got involved with another girl. (I don't want to talk about that.)

Anyway. In this episode, we learn that Lucas has proposed to New Girl! (Blech.) Using Peyton's engagement ring. Seriously. He proposed to a second girl using the first ring. Which, sure, he already had it and blah blah THAT IS NOT THE DREAM. Gentlemen, take note. If we have put up with you long enough to consider marrying you, we want our own ring! We don't want the She Said No ring from your past. We don't want the Well I Have This Ring So Maybe I Will Propose ring. We. Want. Our. Own. Ring. I think that should be very clear, in case anyone was hesitant.

Bonus: this season gets into the psycho nanny storyline.

No seriously, I'm not done with this topic.

2010-11-20T16:26:00.001-05:00

Recently saw a commercial for the Glade motion sensor unit which terrorized my house for quite some time. (A Google search tells me this is called the Sense and Spray. Do your best to avoid it.) It featured happy family members milling around a living room while the Glade hisses like mad.

I see what you're doing here, Glade. Obviously you've read my blog. And it must hurt to learn that not everybody loves your precious little Sense and Destroy. But this blatant personal attack? Is not cute. Or classy. Your unrealistic depiction of a family under the iron rule of your little minion is wholly misleading to the general public. Like I'm supposed to believe that this family isn't startled by the sudden output of noxious fumes? Like they don't mind the scent overtaking their home and threatening their safety? As if they actually ENJOY what is going on around them??

RIGHT. Better luck next time, Glade.

First Impressions!

2010-11-18T00:41:00.003-05:00

Our school calendar for the week is stupid.

I guess I should preface that. I love days off, particularly when they aren't days everybody gets off--they feel more special--and I love them even more since I have a real job now. But this week? Was stupid. Students Monday morning, then teacher duty day in the afternoon. No school Tuesday-Thursday, and back for Friday.

Like I said...stupid.

However, having students in the morning only gave us the opportunity to go out for lunch. One of the teachers called me and asked if I wanted to go with some of them. I'm excited about the idea of making new friends, so of course I said yes. Panera was crowded, so we headed to On the Border. (Love it there.) The other teachers wanted to know my backstory, so I tried to make myself sound interesting and relatively normal and cool enough that they might continue to invite me to socialize. (Tough work, let me say.) Getting their life stories, I began to feel confident that these were people I could bond with! Coworkers I could sit with at meetings and CAN YOU TELL I'M EXCITED ABOUT NEW FRIENDS?

As I tried to hide my desperation for female friends and/or possible counselors for when I inevitably make bad personal choices, our waiter brought our drinks. Listening to a story, I felt a shock of cold water on my back. The table looked stunned and I tried to process what was happening. In what was a total accident, the waiter lost balance of his tray and a water and pop chose to show me some love.

So. Trying to play it cool? I should have known my coworkers would soon enough get to know me and realize that I can't really play it cool. We all had a good laugh and honestly, it could have been so so so much worse.

It could have been hot coffee. Or someone else's margarita so I spent the rest of the day reeking of tequila in my elementary school classroom. I could have been wearing white. Or on a date. Or wearing a material that required dry cleaning. (Alright let's not kid ourselves with those last two, hm?) I could have been with my boss, or heading back to teach instead of spending my afternoon alone in my classroom. The waiter could have been a douchebag. But once the floor was mopped and I began to laugh, the other ladies laughed with me and welcomed me to the staff. It was memorable, to say the least.

And so it was reinforced that I really, really cannot be taken anywhere. My favorite part was calling my mother once we got back to school. "Hey Mom..." "Hi...." she said, knowing full well that it was not a social call since I was at work. "So...I went to lunch with some of the other teachers today!" "Oh, that's nice. How was it?" "It was great! But...can you bring me some dry pants? I had an accident."

*Before I head off to get some work done today (and by get some work done I mean drink more tea, bake cookies, and then consider my lesson plans), I have to say how impressed I was with the people at On the Border. The waiter and manager, both clearly embarrassed, stopped by our table numerous times. They took good care of us, paying for my meal and bringing a couple desserts for the table. (And a voucher for a future visit! Score!) It was the best possible dining experience I can imagine after getting drenched by beverages. Thanks, OTB!

Two days late, but still.

2010-11-17T22:09:00.002-05:00

Best text of the week, from my partner-in-crime:

"So I just saw thieves steal toilet paper at target."

A solid good choice.

2010-11-14T14:24:00.002-05:00

I got a job. As in, a real, full-time, salaried, benefits job. It has been a huge challenge. I've been putting in a lot of hours just trying to find my footing. That will take a while, I'm sure. Despite feeling totally overwhelmed, it's the best thing that's happened to me in a long time. (Sorry boys...the truth hurts.) It's an exciting change.

It also means that until I can catch my breath at work, new posts will continue to be a little unreliable. Just like your boyfriend.

School of Shame.

2010-11-10T18:46:00.001-05:00

I took my new class to gym today. As I walked by, I heard music playing and wondered what they were listening to. I stopped by the door and thought, "Oh, it's the Camp Rock 2 soundtrack."

And then I realized how entirely shameful it is that I should be able to correctly** identify the Camp Rock 2 soundtrack after a moment's listening.

I have no excuse for this one, guys.

**I confirmed this with my class once we got back to the room.

Just like Michael Scott.

2010-11-07T17:45:00.002-05:00

While flipping through People Magazine, I noticed a piece about the cast of Twilight settling into Baton Rouge while they film Breaking Dawn (or as I like to call it since reading the book, Breaking Awkward). Apparently, these stars have been frequenting their favorite places for pizza and coffee, California Pizza Kitchen and Barnes and Noble, respectively.

Seriously? CPK and Starbucks? This is news? Two things about this caused enough wrath to merit a blog post. First of all, this is a headline? Twilight Cast Likes Starbucks Coffee? Because this is a rare celebrity fact? As if People isn't littered with pictures of famous people holding Starbucks cups? That should be their new name, for heaven's sake! Thanks for the info, People!

Second of all...Twilight cast, I'm disappointed in you. Way to be so neophobic, guys. You can't stretch from the comfortable bubble long enough to find local places? At least that would be worth hearing. You know, something I can't find in the freezer section at Target? (Which, I'm willing to bet, is their favorite shopping haunt in Louisiana!)

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=JaKuT3dIwfc&feature=related

Progress? Maybe not.

2010-10-30T15:36:00.004-04:00

Alright, I understand that we're living in a pretty good time, technologically speaking. Cell phones do pretty much everything except hug you when you're sad (I would totally use that app) and you can connect to the internet on airplanes now.

Whatever. (And as far as I'm concerned, technology is basically at a stand-still until I have my hoverboard.) From where I'm sitting, all this "progress" is giving our youth a grossly unfair advantage in life--for two big reasons.

1. School pictures. This week we had picture day at school. You all remember picture day, don't you? Big build up, painstakingly choosing your outfit to match whatever background color your parents had agreed to. (Bonus points if you got the lasers.) And then the prints arrived. How many years would you say you were satisfied with what came back? Because I would say there were...3 years? Maybe? This is 3 out of 14 years in public school. Your yearbook fate was in the hands of a 35 mm camera and a bored photographer.

But now? DIGITAL. Freaking digital cameras. If a kid makes a weird face, the (still sort of bored, let's be honest) photographer knows right away--and they can take another one. The number of unfortunate looking youth in a yearbook is significantly decreased. The pictures come back looking nice! What kind of character is that building, I ask you?

2. Cell phones. I'm not going to go all "why does a kindergarten student need a cell phone blah blah overprivileged youth" on you. I mean, no, I don't think a 10 year old needs a phone because come on how many people do they know? And I don't understand spending that much money on a kid.

But. These are not the reasons for my rant.

(Here is the part where, apparently, I fully transform into my grandmother. I'll put on the Johnny Mathis record and the tea kettle.) Kids today will not know the phone-related horrors that those of us old enough to order a drink in public have repressed.

Children, gather round as I tell you a tale. A long time ago, when someone asked for your number, you would recite the number your parents taught you in kindergarten. Your household phone number. A landline. And they would take out a pen and paper and write it down. Then you had to also find paper and write down their number!

Then...then things got ugly. Let's say you were going to call up this cute boy. You checked to make sure no one else in your house was using the phone and you dialed his number. (Better not lose that scrap of paper because there is no way you're going to program that number where ANYONE can dial it.) And then....

HIS MOM ANSWERED THE PHONE.

"Oh...hi, Mrs. Mom...this is Amanda....is...is Boy there?" And sometimes, he was not readily available. So let's say that maybe Mrs. Mom wasn't really a fan of yours, or maybe she wasn't really a chatty woman. So you had to make awkward small talk until Boy could get his ass to the phone.

The other dream scenario here is when someone would call your house looking for you. Let me share a true story with you. Brace yourselves.

I was brushing my teeth one day when I heard the phone ring. Moments later, I heard my father outside the bathroom door. "No, she's in the bathroom right now. She'll have to call you back." *Click*

No.

I quickly rinsed my mouth out and opened the door. "Dad, was that for me? Who was on the phone?"

"Oh, it was a boy. I told him you were in the bathroom." He said this nonchalantly, as if every teenage girl is comfortable with boys knowing about mystery bathroom trips.

"YOU DID WHAT?" I screeched. Maybe a bit dramatic? Whatever.

"Oh calm down. He doesn't know what you're doing in there."

"BUT YOU SAID BATHROOM. JUST TELL HIM I'M BUSY NEXT TIME. OR DEAD!" (I don't think I cliched it with a "why do you ruin everything" but you never know.)

This new generation? They won't have to do that. And for that, I hate them a little bit. Because you don't know awkward, kids, until you've called a boy and tried to casually slip in something about brushing your teeth, just so he wouldn't think you were doing anything unladylike. Especially knowing that he's seen all your tragic yearbook photos.

Just a quick one. (That's not what she said.)

2010-10-19T22:18:00.002-04:00

Unacceptable parts of my day, in no particular order:

1. This is day two of not having my regular voice. It peaced out sometime yesterday morning and our relationship has been on-again, off-again since then. (Mostly off.) Teaching first grade has been a blast...except not really. Mug of tea was attached to my hand all day. Oh, you want your shoe tied? Sorry, I can't do that with one hand. Hold my steaming hot beverage. (Safety first!) Man voice is a totally unfortunate side effect.

2. Ate the last of my summer Kinder Eggs brought home from European Adventure. I was planning on saving it for something special, but Tuesdays can be special too. Special because I ate a Kinder Egg and then constructed a tiny plastic sailboat! (So, really, this is unacceptable with a totally acceptable ending. Glass half full!)

3. Glee was a rerun.

4. Wondering if a boy will text you...is a "disappointed in self" kind of feeling.

5. Work has felt slightly overwhelming lately as I tally up all the things I should be doing and what should be covered. There just isn't enough time in my day or space in my classroom.

However...acceptable parts of my day include:

1. Aforementioned Kinder Egg toy.

2. Dance break in my class today...played a CD of piano music. My kids are hilarious and adorable and freaking awesome.

Blog life has been put on hold until Thursday afternoon. Real life prevails, once again.

All aboard.

2010-10-09T15:09:00.007-04:00

Anyone who ever watched Schoolhouse Rock in school learned about the importance of conjunctions. And while I agree that hooking up words and phrases and clauses is a very important grammatical function, Conjunction Junction is just no place for relationships.

I'm talking about the I Like You train. Recent events in my life have led me to the conclusion that the I Like You train really ought to be a single car operation. Adding other cars on gets to be a dangerous endeavor. The Schoolhouse Rock conductor taught us that his favorite conjunctions are and, but, and or.

Let's start with I Like You And. This should be used very judiciously. I suppose I Like You And I Would Like to Go Out Sometime would be an okay train to conduct. I Like You And I'm Wondering If You Feel the Same? That could be acceptable. That's about it, though. Better to play it safe and not crowd I Like You. I once had a man get overzealous and decided to be the engineer of I Like You And I Like Your Sister. Very, very poor usage of the conjunction car. Poor life choice right there. Nobody was particularly pleased with how that interaction went down, I have to tell you.

I Like You Or? That's just stupid and doesn't make any sense. Avoid this to avoid sounding like an idiot. (Which, of course, means I Like You Nor ought to be firmly ignored as an option.)
And of course, there is the worst conjunction for relationships: but. I Like You But is not, I repeat NOT going to go well. Nooooobody wants to ride that train. Let's all reflect on times we've heard that phrase uttered.

Not good, right? Nothing good ever comes after I Like You But. But is the harbinger of doom for any relationship, be it established or blossoming. (Perhaps the aforementioned gentleman should have used this one: I Like You But I Like Your Sister ALSO.) But crushes dreams and leads to changes in facebook relationship statuses--and not in a positive direction. But drinks too much and bitches with her girlfriends.

There are, of course, other conjunctions out there, but that gets us into the complicated issue of Yet or So, among others. That's really more for Advanced Railroad Theory so let's just focus on the Conjunction Junction favorites for the moment. Which is to say: When you're in control of the I Like You train, just leave your conjunctions at home, packed up next to your adjectives.

Lies NASA told me.

2010-10-02T11:44:00.003-04:00

As I got ready for work yesterday morning, I put on the Weather Channel to plan my attire. (Also, to answer the all-important question: Can I take my class outside for recess today?) They were interviewing some woman from NASA--I caught the end of it and they were discussing the budget cuts and upcoming projects. Apparently, NASA is very excited about the possibility of sending the first humans to an asteroid.

What?! NASA, who do you think you're fooling?? The first humans to visit an asteroid? Don't hand me that bunch of lies, I saw Armageddon. You and I (and millions of others!) know you sent plenty of people to an asteroid back in '98. Or did you forget about the sacrifice Bruce Willis made?

Well. I, for one, did not.

Now with 100% more Jonas brother references.

2010-09-28T21:51:00.011-04:00

Twin works in a library, so frequently brings home oddities she has checked in or out that I might enjoy. (Right now, for example, I have a book on drumstick spinning and an etiquette book by Emily Post's daughter--begging for a blog post.) Enter Disneymania. I don't know how many volumes of this exist, but they're essentially compilations of classic Disney songs reimagined by whatever artists are currently popular with the kids. It was Volume 3 that Twin delivered to me, along with the cryptic message, "You'll figure out why I got it."

Track 3. Ohhhh, track 3. "A Whole New World" from Aladdin...sung by Jessica Simpson and Nick Lachey. What a glorious example of Poor Life Choices in action. This album is from 2005, back when they were still together and we could watch their tv show about married life. Hearing them sing about love, knowing that things ended, was wonderfully uncomfortable. It reminds me of a phrase we used in college whenever people talked about hooking up with housemates: House booty is bad booty. We always encouraged people to look elsewhere, the idea being that you keep roommates separate from bedmates. "It will be super awkward," we used to say. "What if you break up? You still have to see her in the community bathroom!" This wisdom was handed down to the first years every September.

I think it's time to start passing this wisdom onto Hollywood. A duet with your boyfriend might seem super romantic and cute (but hello, obviously gross, stop bragging), but how will you feel once you break up? (Which, let's be honest...you will.) Sure, you can delete that song from your collection, you can throw away the CD. But what about everyone else who has it? That's on the internet forever. And it's not just music! My first graders were just talking about Camp Rock 2: The Final Jam. They always refer to it by the full name, never a shortened version, which is why I know the full name without any help from google. (Thank you, first grade friends.) And that movie is another good example of this! That Jonas brother and his ex play the male and female lead, who happen to be dating. And now, post-breakup, that must not feel like the good decision they thought it was. Hollywood, I caution you: keep your on-screen bedmates separate from your off-screen bedmates! Let Nick and Jessica be a cautionary tale for all of us. (In oh so many ways...)

PS: In other Jonas brother news, I love those waterproof tattoo band-aids that Nexcare makes. Seriously, you can take a shower and they don't move at all. I usually have non-traditional band-aids hanging around, and last summer I found the tattoo ones on clearance at Target--Camp Rock band-aids. (Who would pass that up??) Today I got to lunch and realized I spent all morning teaching with a Jonas brother on my hand. Not my finest moment.

Sometimes love is creepy.

2010-09-25T14:14:00.004-04:00

I recently received a belated birthday package from Lisa, a friend who is both awesome and insanely talented. To find a present from Lisa on my doorstep is one of the more exciting things in my life. This one contained, among other surprises, an ice cube tray that makes princess wands and dinosaur shaped silly bandz. At the bottom of the box, I found a cellophane wrapped item with a note for Bitter Amanda.
Oh my.

Lisa found these while out shopping and couldn't decide whether these were a gift for someone you loved or someone you loathed. She bought these marshmallow friends and the dilemma was passed on to me.

This...is a challenge. I can see how the hearts would sway one into thinking they were a little "I love you" gift. Cute animals usually suggest love to poor saps looking to convince everyone of their feelings. (For the bargain price of $1.29.)
However. Let's take a closer look here. These animals all have crazy eyes--which comes across, let's face it, as creepy. These are creepy animals. And the pink and orange monkey (?) has a totally lopsided smile. Something about the way his gaze won't meet mine suggests a lazy eye or something. At least the bear and frog are making eye contact. Also, the monkey's heart? Isn't quite up to par. That amorphous red sugary blog looks more like a human heart than a valentine heart. Which. Is. Creepy. But allow me to direct your attention to the body language here. (Yes, I realize that "body language" is a bit of a stretch but go with me on this.) Those hearts? Are not a gift. Those squishy animals are clutching their hearts to their little corn syrup chests. They're saying, "This is mine thank you very much. Get your own!" And that's the kind of message you want to present to your beloved? Creepy, selfish love? I don't think so.

This, readers, is a gift for someone you loathe. Perhaps a breakup gift? (You can ask one of my readers about that idea.) Lisa, thanks for sending this mystery my way.

I ripped this out of my ex's chest...just for you.

Needs some work.

2010-09-06T12:44:00.011-04:00

My BFF and her husband love to cook. I’ll tell you right now that they are good cooks. I was inspired by this on my recent visit to them…I want to be a good cook too! So when my BFF was getting rid of seldom-used cookbooks, I took her up on the offer. I came home with something called 20-Minute Meals. I thought to myself smugly, I have 20 minutes! Let’s do this!

Let’s see…what to make? Sweet-and-Sour Chicken and Rice. Meat and Potatoes Skillet Dinner. Sure, ok. Those are options. Let's keep looking.

Dinner with Sand Between Your Toes…wait, what? Do I…have to…literally have sand between my toes to eat this? And what about my meal companions? Should I provide the sand, or tell them in advance that sand is a necessary component, according to my menu for the evening? This is complicated. Keep looking.

Supper for New Neighbors. This won’t do at all! I don’t HAVE any new neighbors, cookbook! Just the same neighbors I have had for years! And what if the next ones are weird or crazy and I don't want to have them over for dinner? I guess your cauliflower soup will remain a mystery to me.

Romantic Celebration. Oh shut up.

Twilight Supper under Swaying Palm Trees…twilight as in the time of day? Or twilight like...Twilight?
Ouch. Never mind. I can’t bring myself to set that table. And as for swaying palm trees? I live in Michigan, for heaven’s sake! Palm trees? This is the best I can do.
Uh...let’s move on. 2o Minutes ‘til Cocktails? I understand that the whole idea of this book is meals in 20 minutes, but this seems kind of specific. Let’s say I’m having cocktails at 7pm. Is it necessary that I wait until 6:40 to begin this meal? If I’m not ready to start until 6:45, will I be penalized? What about starting early? Will my food still be ok once my guests arrive at 7? And what if they are late and it ends up being 27 minutes until cocktails? What then, cookbook?? And that’s not even taking early guests into consideration. Doesn’t a party start when the first guest arrives? So if my first guest shows up at 6:56, that means I will have spent sixteen minutes on my meal and YOU TOLD ME TO ALLOT TWENTY. Should I keep the door locked and lights out until 7 sharp? Seems a little rude to me, and more than a little pompous to keep my friends waiting outside like my house is some exclusive destination.

Too much stress. I can’t make this meal! And Dinner with Elbows on the Table seems like an odd request of my guests. And—I’ll say it—a boring theme! What about “dinner like t-rexes”? That might be more fun, anyway. Maybe the next edition?

Grecian Quail Fit for the Gods. Well..that’s a little confusing. Must my quail be Grecian? Do they even have quail in Greece? Will the poultry guy at the store know the roots of my quail? Can I maybe use the Grecian thing for myself and my guests? If we dress like gods/goddesses, can the quail be Grecian by association?
This seems like a fun theme! But I must say…the idea of quail…isn’t so appetizing. Also, seems tough for a beginner. Maybe I’ll keep looking?
Fireside High Tea. Hey, now there’s an idea! I think a high tea would be a lovely little thing to do. I love tea! Tea usually includes baked goods, which happen to be a specialty of mine. (I do not want to brag here but my baking? Is damn good.) These Welsh griddle cakes look like they might be yummy. But…hmm. I don’t have a fireplace or anything like that. Damn, and that sounded good.

I wonder…

Uh…that might get me gossiped about later. Too eccentric? Maybe.

Midsummer Sunday Lunch? No, I missed midsummer! I’ll mark the calendar for next year. Breakfast for Weekend Guests. I seldom have weekend guests..and have no plans to host them in the forseeable future. Man, this is bad luck! Menu for “Falling in Love Again” over Veal Cutlets…oh screw you cookbook. I don’t like veal anyway! KEEP LOOKING.
Trophy Winners’ Celebration Feast. I don't really have anything to celebrate at the moment. Hey, wait a second! There’s no reason that is has to be a NEW trophy! I won a trophy once…kindergarten ballet, you know that is where it’s at.
That’s not sad, is it? …It’s not not sad…

Oh, here we go! Bingo! Mardi Gras Dinner Party. Everybody loves Mardi Gras! Party!! My guests will have an amazing time if I throw a dinner party like this!
Oh. Hmm.
You know what? Whatever. I’ll just watch Top Chef or something.

Because it's been a while.

2010-08-25T14:56:00.004-04:00

After my first year at a women's college, I found that I was acutely aware of the scent of boys...a talent which has stayed with me. I'm frequently overheard saying things like, "A boy was in this room." Initially, my coed college friends found this quirky ability to be bizarre; I was a detective for non-mysteries involving the whereabouts of men. (Mainly along the lines of "There has/has not been a man present recently." It's not a terribly useful skill.)

Ever since the Christmas Miracle of 2009, I have coexisted quite happily with the reed diffuser air freshening system in our bathroom. It has been blissfully calm in there ever since I banished the "clean linen" spewing dragon to the abyss of the under-the-sink cabinet. (It was heroic...epic poems should be written in my honor.)
Because of all that, I am understandably picky when it comes to replacing the scent of our reed diffuser. I stand in the store, cautiously approaching any scent that sounds tolerable. Pretty much anything floral is generally out, as well as anything claiming to have something to do with a bonfire. It's a long process and God forbid I ever find/remember the same kind I previously purchased.

A couple days ago, as I brushed my teeth, my Axe-senses kicked in. ...Man? After 11pm? In my bathroom? Confused, I pulled back the shower curtain. (No man inside.) I checked all the bottles, finding nothing new which might result in a man-smell. Curious. Assuming it was all in my head, I went to bed.
Yesterday, I experienced the same phenomenon. "Something in here smells like a man, dammit!" I announced to no one in particular. I began my investigation in earnest. Feeling about three times crazier than I'm comfortable with, I poked around the whole room. Picking up bottles, opening up cabinets. I caught sight of the reed diffuser. I eyeballed it suspiciously. "...Are you new here?" I asked. (Yes, I did say that out loud.) Approaching slowly, I picked it up. I sniffed hesitantly. "YOU ARE! YOU SMELL LIKE A BOY!"

Moral of the story: if you're ever in my bathroom and think there might be a man nearby, don't worry. That's just the air freshener.

Things you never thought you'd hear.

2010-08-24T20:27:00.002-04:00

Alright, so here's a topic we haven't covered yet: Justin Bieber. I heard this story on the news one night...and I'll say it. Well played, Bieber. Well freaking played. I'm impressed.

Watch out nature: this isn't over yet.

2010-08-20T14:01:00.003-04:00

Regular readers are no doubt aware that I have been on the warpath recently, removing myself from the mailing lists of nonprofit organizations. For those who haven't heard about my crusade, this might sound like a hateful, heartless act. It's not that I hate the trees, endangered animals, wounded veterans, children suffering from any number of ailments, or anything else soliciting my donation. But I hate needless paperwork in my life and am really, really over finding a mailbox full of address labels, notecards, stickers, totebag offers, and other assorted crap. It's wasteful and ecologically irresponsible. (Plus: seriously, the clutter! I can't handle it!) And so, the emails have been piling up. My outbox reads like a list of "People Who Will Not Be Receiving a Donation."
Enter the huge envelope I received from The Nature Conservancy the other day. It contained, among many other things, a calendar.

Photo copyright of Scott Anderson, the second runner-up in The Nature Conservancy's 4th Annual Digital Photo Contest. It really is an awesome picture, I must say.

I feel you, Owl. That's the face I made when I opened the envelope. You don't even have a tree to live in**--it was probably knocked down to make the very calendar pages you're gracing. Not a lot of nature being conserved here, huh?
Nature Conservancy, I'm unimpressed with you. Stop spending all this money on stuff people don't want--sell the calendars on your website instead! Use the money to fulfill your mission statement or pay your interns or something. Anything.

It should also be noted, readers, that in order to email The Nature Conservancy about removing myself from their mailing list, I had to create an online account. Not really the point, is it?

**This type of owl does not actually live in a tree, but that doesn't really support my point so I'm taking a little creative license.

I got a penguin pair and a Red Sox pair.

2010-08-19T14:51:00.006-04:00

I toured a sock factory.

Don't hear that one every day, do you? But there you have it; I toured a sock factory. For Bare Feet is an Indiana-based company with several stores near my BFF. (And they actually make really great socks...well worth checking out!) As we wandered around one of them, we heard people talking about a tour. When we checked out, we asked for more information. Were we interested in touring the sock factory, we were asked? Were we ever! There's no reason not to tour a sock factory! It would be $6, an hour of our lives, and we would walk away with a free pair of socks--along with, hopefully, a wealth of wisdom about the sock-making process.

Sign us up.

The next day, waiting outside the factory felt like waiting for Willy Wonka to appear.
I will admit, though--they were punctual! The door opened at 12:50 on the dot. The BFF and I learned a great deal about the history of the company (the building used to be an elementary school!) and the steps involved in making socks. Based on the reactions of her husband and others, I will not go into detail about these things. Apparently not everyone wants to learn about the wonder of cotton footwear? (Even though some of their socks are made of recycled cotton? Or soy? Or recycled plastic bottles? ...Come on guys, that is cool!)

Whatever, it was awesome. You guys suck.

But yesterday I promised you a particular anecdote from my adventure. And even though nobody wants to hear my Sock Factory Fun Facts, --This company makes the licensed socks for pro teams! Such as my beloved Boston Red Sox, which are the socks we saw them ironing!

Come on, your life is better for knowing that.-- I will not deny you an amusing anecdote.
During our tour, we learned that (seriously stop rolling your eyes this is PART OF THE STORY, not another Fun Fact!) this company makes custom order socks. (And I can promise you that someday, for some occasion, my friends will be getting socks with my face on them.) Our tour guide picked up a pair from the nearby shelf, saying it was an example of a custom order. Those socks? Had Barack Obama's face on them. And I smiled because it's quirky and eccentric and hello I love that sort of thing.
"A group ordered these," she explained. Her tone turned snarky, her smile tighter. "I'll keep my thoughts to myself."

And everyone else in our tour group laughed. Not awkward pity laughter for our red state tour guide. Real, appreciative laughter. I froze in horror. Really? Was I...the only one in the room...who voted for that guy? Wellllll ok then.

I'm not one to bring politics into this blog much. Your decisions are just that--yours. I'm happy to judge your relationship decisions, but I'll stay out of your voting booth. However. Didn't my guide realize that by saying she'd keep her thoughts to herself...she really spoke volumes? And that she was, at that moment, a mouthpiece for this company? This proud to be an American company, welcoming visitors from all over? Guys, it was super uncomfortable. It was like witnessing a married couple fight during a dinner party. Like, sure, they're allowed to disagree and they should absolutely have that conversation. But...the timing? Is a little inappropriate? And you're forced to awkwardly drink your wine and exchange glances with the other guests until one of the contenders suggests that they are being rude to our guests now would you please go get the apple crumble, which is when you assure them that Hey, don't worry, we're not feeling weird here or anything! Yeah sure, put ice cream with mine.

I guess politics and socks don't mix. Lesson learned.

...But you know what does mix? Socks and craft projects! Did you ever make those potholders when you were--ok fine fine I get it! Nobody wants to hear Fun Facts. Losers.

Crossroads of America

2010-08-17T16:24:00.000-04:00

I love traveling. Not just going on vacation--I mean, I love the act of traveling. I find it calming to sit at an airport gate or pass hours on a train. And the people watching? It's top-notch. Especially on a bus.
Which is exactly where I found myself recently...on a bus bound for Indianapolis. At a particularly middle-of-nowhere gas station, the gentleman in front of me turned around, catching my eye. I leave my headphones on, even when not listening to music--it lets you control who you talk to. Well, this guy caught me during the only minute I had them off during the entire journey. He had just returned from buying road snacks inside, and turned to me. "Oh, did you want something to drink?" he asked, sounding a bit concerned. His tone suggested that we were friends out at the bar, rather than two strangers on a bus in middle America. "No, thanks..." I said cautiously. What, was he going to dash back inside and get me something if I said yes? I'm not ending up on the news tonight, sir!
He tried to strike up a conversation after that, and even the super sketchy guy across the aisle from him was shaking his head, as if to say, "No man, that is not happening." And when sketchy bus people think you're making a bad choice? Well, it's time to reevaluate some things.

As we made our way through Indiana, I saw a billboard advertising a casino somewhere in the state. It boldly claimed to have " Indiana's loosest slots!" ...Really? Hey, you stay classy Indiana.

I've made several trips to Indiana. My BFF resides there, and my visits have always been awesome. One nice afternoon, we headed to a nearby lake for a cookout. We were a bit crowded at our table, and saw another picnic table nearby, empty. Someone suggested we could pull it over and use both.

Ohh, the value of hindsight. We should have taken that bit of advice. Instead, we decided to work with what we had and get cozy. We're all friends here!

Then our neighbors showed up. Our formerly empty backup table was then populated by...oh god.

I can't even put it into words. Guys, I saw things that I can't unsee! These people...they were a hot mess**. There were a lot of bad decisions going on. They were loud and the women were wearing bikinis and they were not the kind of women who should wear bikinis. (There's a line between being comfortable with your body and being too comfortable with your body.) The men weren't wearing shirts and they prooooobaby should have been. One of the men was...older. And should not have been making out with that one girl quite so publicly or so fervently. And that girl should definitely have decided against dancing on their picnic table. She should have passed on letting him put his face anywhere near her breasts and she ABSOLUTELY should not have been sitting there in a way that made it look like her face was in his crotch. Because that shit was not okay. Not. Okay.
The worst decision of them all, though? That unfortunate award goes to us. My friends and I, who could not stop looking away, despite all our intentions not to. Despite logic and reasoning and good taste all telling us to turn our frigging backs to it. Ohhh no. It was a train wreck and we had to know what was happening. At least it made me feel better about my decisions in life, I guess. There's a new standard on the Poor Life Choice meter.

Indiana, it was a pleasure. See you next time!

PS: Tune in next time to hear about being the only Democrat at the sock factory!

**In defense of the state of Indiana, they did shout (to us? to the state of Indiana? to the world?) that they were from Kentucky. Not your finest representatives, Kentucky. Better luck next time.

An Open Letter

2010-08-16T17:33:00.002-04:00

To the Women Who Have a Need and/or Desire for the As-Seen-On-TV "Booty Pop" Padded Underwear, Because Apparently They Don't Have Enough Ass and Would Inexplicably Like More:

Are. You. Kidding. Me.

Shut up.
Solitarily yours,
Bitter Amanda

Banking IS exciting!

2010-08-13T16:38:00.002-04:00

Can we talk for a second, friends? I just saw a commercial for Chase's new app that allows you to take pictures of your checks to deposit them? I guess? (Really?! The future is now, guys.)
The purpose of the app isn't really my point here. It's the commercial I'm concerned with.
It's a couple who have clearly come straight from their wedding, unless she's one of those crazy women who wears a wedding dress for kicks. (I'm sure that happens--people are weird.) They're all sprawled out on a bed and the groom is talking about how he's waited all day to try this. And just when you think you've stumbled onto some painfully sappy Hallmark movie...you learn that he's ready to try his new banking app.

What?? Are you freaking kidding me, Chase? I get it...your new deposit method is awesome and high-tech. Well done, or whatever. But I'm supposed to believe it's so cool that a newlywed couple would put "deposit checks with new app!!!" on the top of their to do list? Really? Have you ever met anyone getting married, Chase? Because I have. And I must say...they were not concerned with banking.

No. Just...no. Not only do I call shenanigans on what you're trying to pull, but I call super lame.

Feel the love.

2010-08-12T14:31:00.007-04:00

A common activity at my summer camps is to have a secret friend...a bit like Secret Santa, but...not. You leave anonymous notes and gifts and it's all warm and fuzzy. (Blech, right? But there's usually chocolate involved, so it's not all bad.) At the end, when everyone reveals their secret friends, you sit in a circle and sing a cute little song and you hug and it's all well and good. Except that by "cute" I mean that it's super high on the annoying scale and it stays in your head for-freaking-ever.
Well. This summer was different. Oh sure, we did the activity and the notes and the singing. But to combat the saccharine activity, our staff planned a separate adult activity: Hate-O.
How can I describe Hate-O? I suppose secret enemy does it best.

This? Was an activity I could get behind.

Let me tell you--my camp friends EXCELLED at Hate-O. There were dead bugs left on pillows, voodoo dolls created, stalker notes written, and angry songs performed. Personal property was ruthlessly kidnapped. Each day brought new horrible little surprises.
What did my Hate-O do?
It started slowly. A "you suck" in my mailbox. "You're too old for this" on my pillow. Then, these tiny notes were everywhere. Multiple times each day. It was a barrage of notes intended to chip away at my self-esteem. (It takes more than that, Hate-O! I've been rejected by people I've never even met.) Some highlights?
The one about my "embarrassing drinking problem" delivered to me by a camper. (Accessory to the crime? Eh, I won't blame the kid too much.) The "you suck" covered entirely in clear tape and floating in my Nalgene. "I don't miss you at all" found back at home, tucked into my suitcase--long after the game had ended! And the best? The one suggesting I take a shower...which was thrown down my dress during a dance party. (Apparently a group effort...well played, you sneaky bastards.)
It was quite the campaign. That right there? That's dedication. I'm impressed.

This isn't all heartwarming, though. Despite the efforts of my Hate-O, the worst thing I was subjected to...wasn't even meant for me. I was INADVERTENTLY HATE-OED. How, you ask?

Well fine, I'll tell you.

I was going about my business, checking my paper Hate-O mailbox. From across the room, A asked if I would check hers. I stuck my hand into the envelope, expecting to find a note. Instead, I made contact with something slimy. Squishy. I quickly pulled my hand away, horrified. Figuring it was something juvenile, like chewed up food, I washed my hands in disgust.
Later in the day, we were all sitting in our meeting. A remembered her gift and our director volunteered to retrieve it. She stuck a pencil in to fish the grossness out.

CAUTION: What follows, dear readers, is maybe the grossest thing to ever happen in front of me. (And I sat next to a guy while he peed into beer cans once. That's a story for another day, though.)
YES, THAT IS A SLUG. A LIVE FREAKING SLUG. It popped its little disgusting head out, all "Hey guys...what's up?" I reacted gracefully. You know, just what you'd expect from me. With a hissy fit, rant, and just a hint of nausea. I TOUCHED THAT. It's probably crawling around the German forests with my fingerprints on it, for the love of God!

GROSS.

Full schedule.

2010-07-27T22:41:00.001-04:00

Your dreams have come true--I'm home from summer camp! I just spent the past month staying up late, getting up early, gossiping, and having Nutella for breakfast. (That last one is directly related to me spending the rest of my summer working out.) Oh, and there was some learning. Some educational goals. Some brilliant and talented 15 year olds from around the world, proving to me that the next generation is doing something right. That maybe things will be ok when they're in charge. Until they drink curry sauce on a dare and remind me that oh yeah, they're 15.
But you don't want to hear about that sappy bright future garbage. Right?
I somehow managed to weasel my way into Man Talk, a daily gossip session between three 15 year old boys from the US, Germany, and Finland. For reasons still unknown to me, I was given a standing invitation to attend Man Talk. It was gossip gold; high security clearance into their inner circle.
Between Man Talk, the occasional girl talk sessions I sat in on, and then gossip circle with the adults at camp...my days were full. It's a wonder that I was able to fit in any activities.

I love camp. :)

Stay tuned for camp highlights, including my favorite new game...Hate-O.

Abandonment issues.

2010-06-27T21:55:00.003-04:00

I have been really terrible about updating lately. Life has been...ridiculous. (In the busy way, not the story way. You'd have heard those.)
For the three of you left still checking for updates, I'll get back to writing in about a month. You know how sometimes I leave you for a month to work at summer camp? Yeah, that's happening again. Because my life is actually pretty awesome.
I'll try to live some good stories for you!

Still making friends.

2010-06-14T16:00:00.012-04:00

Readers might remember my recent quest to cut down on the junk mail (and paper) in my life. I've been shooting off emails about every catalog and donation request to find its way into my mailbox. I shop online; who needs the catalogs anyway? My sent folder is full of these emails. Including one to the National Wildlife Federation. (Their goal, you see, being to preserve nature and wildlife. A fine goal, admittedly. As previously stated, I love trees. And animals. Etc.) The automated responses always tell me they've removed my address, with the caveat that any mailings in process will still head my way. Ok. I can understand that. But how long does that take? Because I emailed the NWF around 2 months ago. And this weekend, received YET ANOTHER ENVELOPE.

This one was huge; it was the kind of envelope that suggests you've been accepted to a university. After reacting like a mature adult,** I opened it to find a wide variety of dead trees. Letters seeking my financial support, a return envelope, the ubiquitous address labels, and my personal favorite--a calendar. A freaking calendar! Are you kidding me with this, National Wildlife Federation? It's full of pictures of some of the wonders of nature we're all trying to protect. I get the idea...maybe I'm not inclined to donate money but then Wait polar bears?? OMG SO CUTE!!1! I see through your ploy, NWF.

Oh, you want to see the calendar? Ok.

Image by Tom & Pat Leeson
"Just try to cut down my tree and I will eat your face." Fair enough , Florida panther.

Image of Northern Gannett by Arthur Morris/BIRDS AS ART

Sea otter image by Art Wolfe

Bobcat, Image by Jurgen & Christine Sohns/FLPA/Minden Pictures
Bobcats can be so self-centered.

Wow, animals are a lot surlier than I thought. Chill out guys. This kind of attitude might be why some of you are endangered. I'm just saying. Right duck?

Mallard duckling, Image by Tom & Pat Leeson

Exactly.

It's time for another email! Guys, the good news here is that I think summer vacation is coming at a really good time for me...clearly I need MORE free time.

**By "reacting like a mature adult," I clearly mean "yelled a little bit and proceeded to rant, including commentary on every calendar page, which may or may not have led to the above pictures."

Excuse me.

2010-06-08T21:25:00.003-04:00

Guys, do babies care what their diapers look like? I mean, is this something we're legitimately concerned with? That we have even thought twice about the style factor of a diaper is such an embarrassingly first-world problem.
Diapers that look like denim? REALLY, world? Really? As if anyone would see that and think, "How fashionable. I wish it was socially acceptable for ME to crap in my jeans. Babies have all the luck!"

Gross.

Thee more minutes?

2010-06-06T01:11:00.003-04:00

For the past two hours, we've had some severe weather warnings going on around here. Thunderstorms, tornadoes, and flash floods. Which means the local weathermen jumped to action and covered it--for the entire two hours. Not one commercial break. They just went over and over and over the conditions. The poor guys sounded bored of their own voices. They sighed occasionally. (I cannot make this up.)
For added convenience, after we saw the areas where weather was the worst, a list of cities where the storm was headed was put on screen. Along with times. The time when the worst was supposed to hit.
This Timeline of Terror was hardly helpful, as it just made me sit and stare at the clock! Waiting. Calculating how bad things were and how much worse they could get. What kind of helpful tool is that??
As we're back to our regularly scheduled rerun of House, I think things are ok for now. According to the Timeline of Terror, I should be good for a while. Until the next wave comes through, anyway.

Sleep well, kids.

Holiday.

2010-05-31T11:54:00.002-04:00

I realize this is a bit of a departure from my usual writing, but I want to tell you about a man who didn't let me down.

Some months ago, I sat on an airplane next to a young man fresh from Army basic training. He didn't speak until takeoff, when he awkwardly blurted out, "This is going to be really weird." I decided to go with it and asked what he meant by that. (All the while hoping he didn't mean any kind of weird that would involve me.) It was strange, he said, because the last half-dozen times he'd been in an airplane, he'd jumped out. It was a great opening line.
For the next two hours, I learned that he'd gone through basic training and jump school. (He's now a paratrooper; clearly the most badass thing one can choose to do in the military.) We talked about a lot of things, including why he'd enlisted and his feelings about going home again. He was raised in a military family.
I have a military family too, and was raised with a respect for it. Without going into the politics of it, I don't always agree with the actions of the US military. But soldiers? That's a different story. In my family, that's something you honor and respect.
I asked how he felt about his upcoming deployment, thinking that it's a pretty scary time in the world to be facing deployment to the Middle East. He shrugged his shoulders. I got the impression that it was still quite new to him, that it hadn't fully hit him. He enlisted because he felt like it was something he should do. He said he didn't like sitting back knowing there was more he could be doing. I commented that he was doing something selfless--I'm certain I don't possess that kind of bravery. I actually felt ridiculous as the words came out of my mouth. I was sure this kid would look at me and think, "Lady, there is no need to get sentimental about this, ok? You're not going to cry, are you? It's just something I do, whatever." It didn't go that way at all, though. (Fortunately.) His attitude was really surprising, particularly for a man in his early 20s. (We all know that demographic typically sucks at life.) "Oh," he said softly. He struggled for words. "I don't...thank you. That means a lot." He spoke like I was doing him a favor.
"It's the truth," I said.

So to that kid, who never told me his name but told me plenty of funny and interesting stories, thanks for making my flight anything but boring. I sometimes think about him when there are troops on the news being deployed to Afghanistan...and I hope he's ok.
And while you're home from work today enjoying your day off, take a minute to think about why we observe Memorial Day.

It's like a fairy tale.

2010-05-30T21:15:00.002-04:00

I think the practice of going through one's phone numbers occasionally is a fine one. Useful, even. Today I got a text from someone doing just that, asking if the number was still Amanda. When he asked how we knew each other, I was not offended. When he apologized after learning the answer, I was still not offended. However. When he asked me out, I was Officially Offended.
From my perspective, the whole thing reads a little bit like, "How do I know you? Oh, right. I forgot that I sort of wanted to bang you. What do you say?" AND YOU CAN IMAGINE HOW I SWOONED.

Guys, we need a little more tact and a little less douchebaggery.

Oh, and if that isn't romantic enough for you, boy in question has a girlfriend. Major points deducted from considerable deficit.

Watch out kittens; you'll be next.

2010-05-26T19:40:00.006-04:00

Lately I've been on the warpath about organizations and non-profits sending me letters seeking a donation...along with address labels, calendars, greeting cards, and window clings. They stuff those envelopes full of crap and mail it off like money grows on trees!
Hey guys? You're a non-profit. You'd probably have more money if you stopped making presents for all your potential donors!
Don't get me wrong, I think saving animals and wetlands and American veterans and children and whatever else are all great causes. Good for you.
But oh, how I hate paperwork. Just today I spoke to my students about being ecologically responsible. Not to mention that it just clutters up my life and usually those address labels are ugly. (Seriously. I'm 45 years and 6 cats away from appreciating some of that clip art.)
I've been emailing every group to request that they remove me from their mailing list. It's liberating. I'm not sure how helpful it'll be in the long run, but it's liberating, dammit.
However, I decided to donate to the Arbor Day Foundation because hey, I love trees! We stand for the same principles! I'm all about saving the trees. And so I wrote my check.

THEY SEND ME SO MUCH PAPER. Articles and letters and catalogs and SO MUCH PAPER. It's hardly the point of the organization, don't you think? Hey Arbor Day, shoot me an email. I'll have a look.

This week was the last straw. Mere months after my membership check, I received a stuffed envelope seeking a renewal of my membership. And address labels. And greeting cards. With envelopes, of course. And a letter. And a return envelope. All made of trees, Arbor Day Foundation. You MUST have spent my $10 by now. What about the trees we were going to preserve together?? How much money did they get?
I went to their website, intent on sending a scathing email, like the evil harpy that I am. "Dear Nature Hippies, Please cease and desist." I mean, really? Who feels good writing that kind of email? (Me.) But it was time. I filled out the website's form, edited my carefully crafted note. I asked how many trees we were possibly saving, what with all the paper stuffed in my mailbox. I pointed out my appreciation for trees and my enthusiasm for their preservation. Then I said to remove my name from their mailing list. Send.

THE WEBSITE DIDN'T WORK. There was some sort of "error." I tried again today, to no avail. Arbor Day Foundation, you left me no choice.

Fishing through my bag of paper to be recycled, I pulled out one of my brand new ADF greeting cards and envelopes. I affixed my favorite leafy address label, along with a snappy little tree sticker for good measure. I hand-wrote my email on that card, and am sending it along in the morning. We'll do this your way, Arbor Day Foundation. That's just fine by me.

It's like Sex Panther but for math.

2010-05-18T18:47:00.006-04:00

(Warning: prepare yourselves for my mad skills with Paint.)

Sitting with the brilliant and fabulous women from my college days this weekend, I stumbled onto the notion that my love life (and by that I clearly mean lack thereof) could be summed up through the use of a Venn Diagram.

It happened quite by accident. But once I drew it in the air to demonstrate, it sounded accurate. We tried to poke holes in my reasoning--and failed. However, I'm sure it's just a matter of time--so I'll say that 60% of the time, it works every time. Until further notice.

And so I present to you, a real-world application of my middle school math classes:
Factors Contributing To My Single Status.
Go on, admit that you're impressed with the high-quality graphics going on here.

PSA

2010-05-08T22:28:00.002-04:00

Gentlemen of the world:

It is in no way appropriate or sexy for you to gesture for me to join you from across the room. When I shake my head no, it's even less appropriate for you to continue and then shout about it. "I'm sitting between two friends in this booth, and also we're having a conversation, thanks," will be my next line/gesture. At that point, despite what you may think, there's no need to suggest that I get out of the booth and walk to you. If you are really so interested in talking to me, you can walk 8 damn feet to me.
Should you persist in interrupting me when I'm so clearly not interested and find yourself face to face with me, I'm ready with my "Thanks but no thanks now please stop being a creeper." Maybe you didn't get the hint, but my friends are super ready to go back to enjoying our evening.
This is not an invitation to wrap your arms around me and suggest that I might be your girlfriend. No, I'm not. I'm positive I'm not. I will squirm my way out and make up a boyfriend. I will thank you for the compliments, but turn down your offer to take me out. I will confirm that no, you cannot take me anywhere. (Do these lines actually work??)

Should you be the friend of a gentleman exhibiting this behavior, it is NOT PERMISSIBLE to then attempt to put your arms around me. I will, in fact, run to my watchful friends and we will anxiously wait for your departure.

Thank you.

I didn't actually ask, thanks.

2010-05-05T21:38:00.002-04:00

Today was a new one for me: was rejected by a married man I'm not interested in. Fantastic.

Walked into work and was searching the mailbox, standing on my toes. I said hi to A as he walked by. He stopped and said he didn't know I was taller than him. I lowered myself to normal height and reassured him that no, I am not. I'm tall, but not taller than him.
I promise you I'm not withholding any part of our mundane conversation. Why does it matter, you ask? Just wait.
Then, A said, out of nowhere, "I still wouldn't date you, even if I was single."
I stared.
Had I blacked out and not realized I asked him out?
Not likely.
Did I post a poll somewhere? "On a scale of 1-10, how dateable would you say I am?"
Nope. Didn't do that either.
I stared.
"What a great start to my morning." Gathered my papers and headed out.
A called after me. "I'm just kidding, you know you're a beautiful girl!"

But it's cool because B said she'd kick him in the shin tomorrow. I'm actually coming out on top here.

Wisdom.

2010-04-27T21:06:00.002-04:00

Scene from the 4th grade on the classic boys vs. girls argument.

I warned the class that they should be reading quietly, not talking.
R, a girl, informed me: "The boys are the talkative ones."
A, unwilling to accept that kind of treatment, defended his fellow gentlemen. "No! Girls gossip."
I asked, "Girls gossip? What do boys talk about?"
A: "Cars, video games...motorcycles, bikes...game systems."
Alright, that's...a wide range of topics. "And what do girls talk about?"
He shrugged. "I don't know."

Hey, he's still stuck with a view of traditional gender roles. There's time to fix that. But at least he's honest.

Winning line.

2010-04-18T11:41:00.003-04:00

The prize-winning, tie-breaking line from R's bachelorette party last week:

(In response to "You're at the grocery store picking up some fruit. You reach for a Golden Delicious apple and a handsome man reaches for the same one. Your hands meet and you say...")

"If it turns out to be poisoned, would you kiss me awake?"

Team Amanda broke the mold, veering away from the dirty and overtly sexual. It was the only way to beat our competitors. AND IT WORKED. I have the prize to prove it.

In other news, we're having another spirit week next week at work and Monday is Jersey Day. We're assuming they mean a sports jersey, right? Not The Jersey Shore? (I can run out for a bump-it if that's the case.)

All the single ladies.

2010-04-13T14:58:00.004-04:00

I spent this past weekend in greater Chicago, celebrating the wedding of a lovely friend from high school.
The scavenger hunt during the bachelorette party on Thursday was fun. Despite temperatures in the 40s, Team Amanda (yes my teammate was also named Amanda; total score) cleaned up. The Cheesecake Factory did not disappoint (Godiva chocolate cheesecake, I'm looking at you). But the highlight?
Sketchy pickup lines. The scavenger hunt tiebreaker was to come up with the best pickup line for a given situation. The bride read it to us and chose the winner. Team Amanda. Clearly. Am I proud? Absolutely.
It turned into not only our whole evening, but our whole weekend. We took turns reading a situation and judging the best line. (Dear table of gentlemen next to us, I enjoyed watching your eyes bug out as you clearly eavesdropped. Solitarily yours, Bitter Amanda) After the bachelorette party itself, we were still texting each other lines and searching for the others during the reception when we thought of a good one.

So, allow me to share that first, tie-breaking pickup line situation. The one that started it all. Feel free to share your best lines for it!

Our tiebreaker: You're at the grocery store picking up some fruit. You reach for a Golden Delicious apple and a handsome man reaches for the same one. Your hands meet and you say...

PS: More wedding-related posts to follow.

RE: COTTON ALERT

2010-04-09T18:45:00.004-04:00

The Cotton Alert placed on a Saturday sock, missing since December 30th, has been lifted after its recovery early Thursday morning.

The Saturday pair is one of seven sets--a Day of the Week set. During a routine laundry day in late December, one of the Saturday socks went missing. One month later, the sock had still not been located. Searchers suspected the worst. The other half of Saturday's pair was put aside in grief. Each laundry day, the search was halfheartedly renewed, yielding no positive results.

However, things changed early Thursday morning, when a pair of seldom-used pajama pants were apprehended from a local closet. Upon a further search, the long-missing Saturday sock was released from captivity within the confines of the pink fabric.

There appeared to be no damage. At last report, both sock and partner were doing well.

The pair reunites after 4 stressful months.

Skanks have feelings too.

2010-04-05T22:52:00.002-04:00

So...one of Tiger's numerous mistresses (the porn star) (is it too ambiguous to say THE porn star? I'm not sure...is there just one?) has come out publicly saying that she'd like to speak to Tiger's wife. Her lawyer said she thought they could clear a lot up.

Really? What on Earth makes this woman think Tiger's wife will want to chat? "Oh, yeah, this is Elin returning a slutty phone call? I wanted to hear all about your side of the skanky affair with my famous husband! Starbucks in 20 minutes?"

Mistresses? Don't get to tell the sob story. They don't get apologies. They don't get sympathy. Not when they're the mistress of a famously married man. (You're a grown-up, you know better than that!)
They get made fun of.

Network television won't broadcast this post, I'm sure.

2010-04-01T22:25:00.002-04:00

Tampons are meant for a woman's vagina.

Oh, sorry, did I startle you there? Gentlemen, are you ok? I didn't create a panic, did I?

It just seems to me that someone ought to come out and say it. The sanitary product industry is getting a lot of attention over an ad that was brazen enough to mutter the word "vagina." The ad was rejected and some networks further denied it after vagina was substituted with "down there."
Down there? Even THAT wasn't ok? I'm sorry, are we in 6th grade? Are we going to giggle our way through sex ed during 4th period? Pass notes to each other saying we're "sooo sure that Mrs. So-and-So is qualified to teach us about THAT...it's not like SHE has sex!! LOL"? We're adults; this is hardly acceptable behavior.
It's no wonder I wouldn't buy tampons on my own until late high school. Society doesn't want us to actually talk about it. It's supposed to be our dirty little secret. We can bond over having some chocolate because of the dreaded PMS...we can commiserate when we have cramps. We can even have a public bitchfest when the men in our lives blame everything on our "time of the month." But heaven forbid we engage in an open dialogue.
For years, I've noticed something about print ads for pads and tampons: they're embarrassing. They are full of cutesy metaphors. This overnight pad is in the shape of an umbrella because it will protect you from leaks! It's a recliner because boy, are they comfortable! Then there are the forced attempts at female bonding--like those new ones about "tricking Mother Nature," as if your period is some crafty sorceress out to ruin your beach date. I recall a particularly appalling tampon ad while I was in college. A picture of a tampon surrounded by what looked like paper doll clothes--for your tampon. I believe the point was that the advertised brand of tampons were not fancy and dressed up like other brands--and if you were looking for such qualities, you could go ahead and have craft time with your magazine! One night (which may or may not have involved drinking) I actually went ahead and cut the little dresses and accessories out. A friend stated that I was perhaps the first person to do so, going as far as fitting them to a tampon. It was wholly creepy.
Making me nostalgic for my childhood is hardly a way to sell tampons. It's not like I need much convincing to buy them, or anything.
And television ads...oh my. As if my period has anything to do with riding horses. The TV spot that was discouraged from using anatomical terms was actually all about the embarrassing nature of these ads. Kotex ended up with this spot. It's awesome.

Given that society seems to be rather period-shy, I figure that maybe you just don't know much about it. Maybe you're afraid to ask. So, here we go...
Tampons go in a woman's vagina. They are for her period. Vagina is not a dirty word. (It is also only part of what is "down there" and thus is not what Jennifer Love Hewitt had "vagazzled" ohmygod do not get me started on THAT. JLH needs to stop putting on tampon puppet shows or whatever she's doing and get informed. But that is another blog post for another day.)

Sorry if that upset you, kids.

They don't appear to be in Target.

2010-03-28T21:40:00.002-04:00

Where are all the men?

This is a question I ask the universe multiple times each day. Often I'm wondering where the MEN are because I'm surrounded by boys. Toddlers with cell phones. I'm trapped in the movie Big without the giant piano duet. (Please continue to enjoy my topical references from the 1980s.) (I should get out more.)
Other times it's quite literal--where the hell are they? I've been hanging out with the same guys for years. (Who continue to insist that they don't know any tall eligible men, the lying assholes.) I work in a school; the only new men I meet are the fathers of my students. WHERE ARE THEY?

Enter "Where Are the Men?" by Bobbie Mostyn. The Twin found this at the library and thought it would be amusing. As I generally trust her judgment, I gave it a shot. And it has left me rather confused.
To entice the readers, Mostyn's introduction is chock full of statistics. As we get older, the ratio of single men to single women shifts gradually out of our favor. This is used as a scare tactic--go find them before it's too late!! (She literally tells readers that she is writing "with some urgency" because of this.) This put me on shaky ground with the book. I'm much more of the "I'd rather be alone than deal with the wrong man" school of thought. She seems to be on the side of "find a man any man any man will do as long as he will go out with you." However, I pressed on.
She throws out some generic social advice. The kind of stuff that can be located in your average issue of Seventeen magazine. (Don't stand against the wall at a party! Mingle! Talk to people!) I'm sure it's useful to some. Moving on.
Furthermore, she suggests trying new activities. I could possibly get behind this. I'm on board with a push to be social. You won't meet anyone if you don't leave the house. Fair point. Cats may be great listeners, but they don't talk back and you can't go see a movie with them. And you're really limited to how many cats you can interact with, if you think about it. Nobody ever says, "What's too bad is how many friends that woman has!" Cats, though...cats are different. You come close to the socially acceptable limit and suddenly you're the talk of the neighborhood. In a bad, hushed tones over the fence kind of way. My point? Making more friends is not a bad idea.
But the more I read, the more my jaw dropped. This was not what I expected. Oh, no. I'm supposed to do "male" things. I won't meet men doing "female" activities. Apparently it doesn't matter what I actually like...it matters that I find a man before I'm too old and all the men are dead, gay, or taken.
The author lists places "crawling with men"--and sends her readers there, even if they hate that particular activity. THERE WILL BE MEN, she seems to insist. REMEMBER THE PRIME DIRECTIVE. Faking an interest in something to snag a man...now there's a plan with no flaws.
Let's imagine an example, shall we?
Maybe you hate golf, but you know who golfs? MEN. Therefore, get thee to a golf course! Then you can have conversations like this:
Man: "What's your handicap?" (Non-golfers, this a golf term that I've heard my father say and I just googled to confirm.)
You: "Oh, differentiating bad dating advice from good dating advice, mostly."
Man: "...huh?"
Like I said, no flaws.
Why not try new things that interest you because meeting new people can't hurt, especially if you have some shared interests? Why not a wider social circle will help you meet new people? And maybe you'll want to date some of those new people, because clearly the ones you already know aren't working out? Wouldn't it make more sense to encourage single women to venture outside the dating confines they've given themselves?
Nope. GO WHERE THERE ARE MEN. It reads like a map of the zoo, with each location housing a different sort of man.
My real problem with this book is that it is an exercise in gender stereotyping. Mostyn focuses on finding men in their "natural habitat" (the sports bar! Home Depot! rustic hunting lodges!...I am not joking about that one) on the generalization that you would never think to go there, being a woman. As women, our job is to smoke them out of these man caves and glom onto whatever appears.We can't continue to troll our "feminine" haunts...unless, of course, we're ok with ending up alone.
This book was published in 1999. From where I'm sitting, it feels like it's primarily catering to those frenzied women who, just a few years earlier, desperately bought "The Rules" as they felt their ovaries drying up.
I don't like that this advice could fall into the hands of young women navigating dating for the first time. I'm lucky; I was raised surrounded by family members who insisted that I had plenty of time and that I would find someone when it was right. My aunts used to tell me that I was too young to settle down; that there was no sense in being with a man just for the sake of being with a man. To this day, they tell me that I will find someone when I'm not looking.
I was taught to hold out for someone who was worth it. And maybe that man DOES golf, but we'll have to meet on common ground.

A reminder.

2010-03-27T00:54:00.004-04:00

Today was a rough day at work. My class was extra chatty and my voice faded throughout the day. It was picture day, which takes forever and is arguably the most annoying thing ever. But yesterday...yesterday reminded me why I love my job so much. And not the pajama day reasons, but the real reasons I went into this field.

During a break from work on Thursday, I covered another teacher's class while she was in a meeting. One of her students is a boy I taught last year, in first grade. A was a mystery. English was not his first language and he seldom answered questions. He was always able to follow directions, though--he was understanding what I was saying to some degree. Super shy, when he spoke it was one or two words at a time. His writing was the biggest puzzle to me...strings of correctly spelled, nicely formed words...in no particular order and with no apparent meaning. Just words. We had meetings, observed him, tried everything we could to help A. It was so frustrating to see this little guy and not know what to do. It was like he couldn't get his thoughts out...I knew he could be doing so much better if we could help him with whatever barrier was in his way. I finally found some tools to help his writing. But he never really talked to me.
While I was covering second grade, though, my heart swelled. (My bitter, blackened heart.) A came up to me and said, "Can I use the bathroom?" A complete sentence, unprompted. He looked me in the eye when he said it. Not wanting to make him self-conscious, I answered him without making a big deal. It took huge amounts of self-control, to wait until I left the room to consider the weight of what happened. It might not be exciting for your average second grader...but for A, it's huge.

It's like Christmas Part Two.

2010-03-24T21:11:00.003-04:00

This week is Spirit Week at work. Which is my favorite. I love this kind of thing! I view it as a challenge. Some staff members opt out of participating, which I laugh at. Why work in an elementary school if you're not going to enjoy these events?
Monday was Hat Day, which was easy enough once I dug out my cowboy hat. (I didn't think my only baseball hat, a Guinness one, was appropriate.) Tuesday was Crazy Hair Day, but in the Bitter house it was also Buttons Falling Off Pants Emergency Day, so I only had time for a couple braids. (Pants are more important than hair, in a work setting.) And I was mocked! It wasn't crazy enough for some staff members! I was shamed.

I made up for it today. Today, I brought my A game. Mismatch Day. The last time we had Mismatch Day, I was so uncoordinated that one teacher laughed at me all day long. So it was kind of a personal challenge. I'm sure you can understand.

I. Was. A. Hot. Mess. There were too many colors, too many layers, too many prints. (Awesomely enough, my kindergarten friends only noticed that my earrings were different, and thought that was the extent of my participation. I heart them.) It was no problem to walk around like that all day, even though we had an assembly and I'm sure the guy on stage was like, "Wow good job guys."
Then I had to stop at the bank. And...yeah, I endured many Polite Looks. The kind that suggest someone is sort of amused but refuses to laugh because they're mildly concerned that you'll react really badly if they do? I could have tried to fit in an explanation of how I was really just doing my job, but I figured the whole transaction would be over before I finished, and also do I really care what my bank teller thinks? She knows I'm not homeless; she's seen the identification that states otherwise.

I frequently call others out on not embracing the theme. One man at work was appalled when I suggested he hadn't dressed for the occasion. "Why don't any women get it??" His outburst caused me to double back and examine his outfit. Sensing that I didn't see it, he pointed at his tie. His shirt was a light purple with thin blue stripes. His tie was diagonal stripes in purples and blues.
"...You look fine. Normal."
How dare I. "You can't wear a print with a print! They're both striped!!"
I walked away mid-rant. Silly boy.

I don't give a crap who participates tomorrow, though. Because tomorrow is the Holy Grail of Spirit Days. My favorite school day, perhaps. Pajama Day. Say it with me, everyone. Pajama Day. It's glorious. Anyone who has ever dropped by my house unannounced (or frequently, dropped by my house at all, even with a warning) knows that I change into my sweats as soon as I get home, often beginning to change as I'm closing the front door. Friends used to invite me out with the phrase, "and put on some real pants." I've changed into pajama pants in moving cars, in my seat on an airplane, on the phone, and in crowded rooms. I love pajamas.

And tomorrow? I get paid to wear them.

A classic.

2010-03-23T20:48:00.002-04:00

Alright. Not to go all When Harry Met Sally on you, but I have a question.

Is it possible to be friends with your ex?

I've debated it and mulled it over countless times. Obviously a great deal depends on the individual and the kind of relationship you had. I won't pretend that we can agree on a blanket rule here. But overall, is it possible to really and truly be friends with an ex?
I always say that I am friends with my exes. It's worn like a badge of honor while my friends hiss and spit at the mere thought of men they've dated. Ladies, I've done the impossible...we've broken up but maintained a friendship! Congratulate me! I will also freely admit that I say it with an air of superiority; a smugness that I felt I had earned by being the most freaking awesome ex-girlfriend in history. I'm like the "cool mom" but probably a lot more annoying.

However, recent developments have caused me to reexamine my relationships with exes under a harsher light. Ideally, being friends with an ex would consist of both parties maintaining the friend feelings while moving past any romantic notions, right? But what if one party hasn't moved past that? Does that count? And what about the exes you never really speak to? You know, the ones you catch up with on birthdays. It definitely fits into the friendship category...but is that a friendship to be proud of? (And by proud I mean obnoxiously boastful.)

I'll maintain that I am friends with my ex boyfriends. But it's not your average friendship--it gets a whole new category. It's different. Perhaps I will stop wearing my "World's Greatest Ex Girlfriend" t-shirt. (The back says, "No, seriously. Let's have a beer while you ask for my advice on your new girlfriend.")

So, kids, I ask you. Can you really and truly be friends with an ex?

Or you could send a letter.

2010-03-16T21:42:00.002-04:00

All those advertisements for the US Census were not kidding--it does not take long. I spent somewhere around 5 minutes on the process, from opening the envelope to sealing the return envelope.

However. I'm not here to talk about filling out the census. Was anyone else disappointed to find a pre-census letter in their mailbox last week? "Hey America, in case you missed all of our television, radio, and print ads, we just want to let you know we're doing the census! This isn't it, but it'll be here soon, from this same address! Get ready!!!" Seriously? What a ridiculous waste of resources.

On the census form, there is an email address--it's meant for your use in the event that you have concerns about the paperwork. Thanks guys--I do have concerns! Keep an eye out and maybe send an email of your own.

4th Grade Angst

2010-03-10T20:44:00.002-05:00

I spent my day with 4th graders. THE ATTITUDE IN THAT ROOM WAS STIFLING. I wanted to sit them down and say, "Look. You're not even in middle school yet, and that shit is terrible. Maybe you should save all this for 6th grade."

One boy, A, was getting on my last nerve. I encountered him twice today. He was full of attitude. He ran through a battery of surly behavior, including (but not limited to) ignoring me, defying my instructions, talking back, yelling in my face, and doing whatever the hell he wanted. When it came to the yelling in my face, treating me as though we were peers, I very politely offered him an escort to the principal's office** at the end of recess. I mean, was he serious? Since when is it appropriate to yell at an adult? About something as asinine as a football? A FOOTBALL. Nobody was dying. There was no danger whatsoever. (Except A getting a slap in the face.) I'm just saying, that did not fly when I was in 4th grade.
At least he had the good sense to look ashamed and not make eye contact when I returned the offending item and threatened to call his parents at the next hint of that tone of voice. Punk.

Another boy swore casually in conversation today. I told him it was not warm enough yet to be outside in just short sleeves. "But I'm hot like hell!" he blurted out. EXCUSE ME? He said it "just slipped out."
"You shouldn't even be thinking that." (Whatever, yeah I sound like my mother. Shut up he is 9 years old that is not appropriate.)
What I REALLY wanted to say was that he wasn't even using it correctly! I mean heaven's sake boy, if you're going to curse at least have the common decency to do it properly! Clearly we haven't covered prepositions yet.
--Oh wow. For the first time ever, I have a small appreciation for my 8th grade English teacher who made us memorize 100 prepositions and take a test on them over and over until we aced it. It was excruciating. Also a waste of time. But at least I now see a real world application. Huh. Go figure.--

On a positive note, I was the subject of a haiku poem. A, a girl I've known since her brother was in my 1st grade class last year, is wonderful. She's the kind of student you want cloned. And I would have told you all that yesterday.
But today. She brought me a sheet of paper and said, "I wrote you a haiku." Adorned with flowers and a little "I <3>
Allow me to share:

You shine like a star

Your smile brightens the room

You're very pretty

It's the best poem ever. It's a masterpiece.

My day was awesome. Kids swearing, kids giving me shit...whatever. I'm an inspiration.

**Or maybe I raised my voice a tad to suggest that one does not speak to adults in such a fashion. Which might have been followed by the offer of chatting with our administrator. I can't recall.

Backfire.

2010-03-09T19:53:00.004-05:00

Rush Limbaugh has said that if Congress passes the Health Care Reform, he's bailing and heading to Costa Rica.

Ok, so he's against it.

But...what is he hoping to accomplish with this stunt? If he goes...that's awesome, right?
What is he expecting? That we as a nation are going to collectively weep with the loss? Will we start an internet campaign to bring him home again; flee to Costa Rica in order to convince him of America's merits? Is this threat, this possibility of a society without Limbaugh, so terrible that we might let it change our minds on an issue of this importance?

Not so much.

I personally would offer to help the man pack, since his absence might mean I could sit through a family function without one particular cousin singing his praise as if Rush himself was paying by the word. One Christmas season without that special headache? Count me in.

I find it odd that Rush didn't do even a preliminary google search before selecting his destination. Considering Costa Rica has a government-run health care system and all.

PS--Hey, Costa Rica...sorry about that guy. Be sure to embrace him like we have!

New low.

2010-03-08T18:55:00.002-05:00

It has been ten days since my laptop checked out. It has been seven days since I broke down and turned on my old dinosaur laptop. He's been holding out pretty well! If I don't try to do more than one thing at a time, anyway.
Because of this, I haven't been updating my blog or my twitter nearly as much as I'd like. (I can imagine that this is deeply troubling for you.) Luckily, I've kept notes! (Nerd.)

Things I Would Have Tweeted if My Computer Hadn't Decided to Go on Vacation
-All the snow fell off the front awning of my house. Was vaguely concerned about attacks. Remembered that snow falls. #loser
-My niece and I tried on my grandmother's and mother's wedding dresses, respectively. I only freaked out a little.
-Watched When Harry Met Sally.
-The twin had NEVER SEEN the Colin Firth Pride and Prejudice. Not acceptable. Thanks to blockbuster.com, this is no longer an issue.
-I hate when the Kleenex box is almost empty and you pull way harder than necessary. #lifeishard
-20 or 30 tweets RE: the closing ceremonies of the Olympics.
-Jane Austen makes me want to sound smarter and more clever. (Good thing I tweet about Kleenex boxes, yes?)
-I missed the first showing of "The Marriage Ref"...I'll be sure to check it out next time!
-I have an exceptional talent for unclogging Elmer's glue bottles. Which is good, considering my line of work.
-Dear Children's Book Illustrators: Why must you draw naked butts of small children? It's more of a hassle than it's worth. Thanks, Amanda
-Cleaned my makeup brushes.
-My life is not very interesting, and twitter does not help to hide this in the least.
-I made cookies for work, and ended up making a huge freaking mess. I had flour and food coloring everywhere. Pink hands, anyone?
-Waiting on the phone with tech support is BORING.
-SEVEN TO NINE BUSINESS DAYS TO GET MY LAPTOP FIXED??

Right around then I decided to stop making notes about my life, as it only served to damage my self esteem. There's no way I could keep it up for another week and still feel good about putting all that nonsense on the internet. (You're welcome.)

Would you like to know my favorite feature of the dinosaur laptop? It won't stay open by itself anymore, so I have to prop the screen against something. It makes the laptop considerably less mobile. I'm facing the wall right now to type. It's just sad.

Changes.

2010-02-22T22:43:00.003-05:00

This weekend, I had a long chat with a friend from high school. L and I haven’t spoken in a while, and had a lot to catch up on. Of course, a big part of that was Boy News. Doesn’t it always come back to that, somehow? Even when there are no boys in your life…no interactions to dissect, no conversations to analyze, no hidden clues in that comment he left on your facebook…even the lack of all that leads to the Boy News update. L is a great friend for this conversation, because she and I so frequently find ourselves on the same page. The things that appall me in men cause the same reaction in her. There are certain traits that inevitably earn approval from both of us.
During our conversation, both of us cited a man as being different from our “usual type.” When she first said it, I suggested that it was a good thing. I recalled some recent examples of her type. Unimpressive, in the long run. (Flaky douchebags. Sorry, L. I’m not saying anything new, though.) When I mentioned the same thing later, she said it was also a positive change for me.
But what IS my type? When I consider it, it’s the model I used in high school. It worked for me at the time. But since then…all my marginally successful encounters have been with guys who did not fit that mold. So what’s up with all this nonsense about my type? My type is clearly not working out for me! (Granted, they’ve all ended up being disappointments somehow, but what else can you expect?) Why am I keeping myself in this tiny box of acceptable men? I mean, clearly they’re all going to have equal potential for obnoxious behavior. They’re all going to baffle me with the decisions they make. I will spend just as much time deciphering the comments from my type as I will for the average male.
I’m ready for a new type.

Favorite Things

2010-02-17T20:15:00.004-05:00

If I had to choose two kinds of candy to eat for the rest of my life (which would be a terrible decision, but let's just pretend here) it would easily be Reese's Peanut Butter Cups and Kinder Surprise Eggs. (Twizzlers, you are third place in my heart, but this isn't a blog post about you. Chill out.)

Kinder Eggs are a magical chocolate/toy combo which are impossible to find in America. At least in all the parts of America I've searched. They're a delightful chocolate egg shell with a toy inside. Most of the toys require assembly and sometimes there are stickers involved in the process. It's amazing. (But the small pieces are why, I imagine, you can't find these here. Apparently American children are more likely to swallow little pieces than European children. Or maybe Europeans just don't care and they're like, "Whatever, we love these damn things.")

Right, back to my point. They are amazing. I used to get them as an occasional treat for myself when I lived in Ireland, and came back with a small box full of toys. I've also managed to find Kinder Eggs in all the countries I've visited. Guatemala was tough, but I prevailed! Success! So naturally, I gleefully bought a couple packages of them when I was in Canada a few months ago.

Come Christmas morning, I opened a present from my mother which turned out to be The Most Amazing Present of the Year. A Kinder Ball. Imported from Canada, it was a Kinder Egg the size of my face! (...ish.)

Ok, so it's a little smaller than my face, but it made me go all crazy eyes anyway. Sorry about that.

I decided that this thing should absolutely not be eaten in one sitting. However, I know myself too well and figured it probably would be, if Twin helped. So I waited. I waited until after the holidays and all the eating that goes with them. Then I cracked it open.

Look at that. That is glorious.

It was totally worth it. The Twin and I ate it all, then could not move for a while. I steered clear of chocolate for a while, and decided it was totally worth it. My toy was a card game. An awesome animal match game in a little box. It's fabulous. (I love things that come in little boxes or little bags. You should see my luggage when I travel. Most things have their own individual bag. It makes for a labyrinthine experience, especially since I look for the luggage with the most pockets possible.)

Thanks Mom! (It totally made up for your hilarious other gift.)

Pop Quiz!

2010-02-16T16:39:00.002-05:00

Alright kids, put on your thinking caps. Time for a Tuesday pop quiz! Read the following text message.

"I was wondering when you were gonna come play with me. Pool, that is."

The author of this text message:

A.) Is a friendly guy who wanted to make sure there was no confusion! That might have been embarrassing!

B.) Awkwardly informed you that he has a girlfriend prior to this text.

C.) Is a common douchebag who happens to possess just enough charm to be initially disarming.

D.) Is trying a little too hard but hopes maybe you guessed A. and will roll your eyes but smile and reply. And come play. ...Billiards, of course.

Pencils down!

**If you guessed B, C, and D, you're correct! If you guessed A then you clearly forgot about B and were fooled by C.

A few things about men...

2010-02-09T20:40:00.002-05:00

...and the Best Dad Quote of the Week.**

You may remember me writing about B, an ill-fated set-up. While chatting with a mutual acquaintance, she asked if I'd ever met up with B.
"No, I never heard from him," I said in a manner that I hoped was casual. (Survey says: probably not.)
"Oh, that's too bad! You know, he's shy. He was probably waiting for you to contact him."
(No. Invalid. Time to man up.)
This was a delicate situation. I didn't want to get into it. I also didn't want to give the impression that I spent nights crying while I stared at my facebook homepage, willing B to write on my wall.
"Oh, that's too bad," I carefully said. "He seemed like a nice guy." (Read: It's too bad he couldn't step up and act like a man. I figured he'd be past the juvenile bullshit.)

I guess it's time for me to jump on the Super Bowl commercial bandwagon. Underwhelming? Yeah. For sure. I did like the Google ad, though not for the reasons many women seem to be swooning. (Have a look at twitter for further proof.) There are women who would like to live in the first half of a Nicholas Sparks novel, before anyone dies tragically. They seem to have walked away from the Google ad thinking, "If only I lived in Paris, a dreamy man would fall head over heels for me and our babies would be adorable! And have dual citizenship." This sad fantasy...was not what I got from it. (Nor, I'm sure, what Google intended.) I thought it was a fantastic take on story-telling.
Lots of the ads, however...seemed like they were written by angry, scorned women intent on showing men how horrible they are. A mirror into their own stupidity. (No, I promise I did not have a hand in any of the commercials.) Which is surprising, given that a fair few men watch the Super Bowl. And advertising companies know that. Hmm.

Best Dad Quote of the Week**
In the car today with my father: "Who is Bret Michaels?...He's on that Donald Trump show about being a boss."
I cannot make this up. My father is a man in his 70s.
"Well, Dad...he's an aging former rocker from the 80s who now has a tacky dating show where he courts unfortunate women. Also, I'm pretty sure he's bald under that bandana and fake hair."

**I reserve the right to unseat this quote at any time, should something better come along.

It's complicated.

2010-02-02T15:22:00.003-05:00

I just had a rather enlightening conversation with Red Curl Girl, who always makes me laugh. I realized that I worry too much about anonymity for those who star in my stories...and really don't deserve anonymity at all. So here. I was holding out on you.

Back in early December, I ran into an acquaintance at a holiday party. During the course of our conversation, she ended up asking if I was seeing anyone. (My favorite thing to discuss, as you may know. I did not growl at her or make any unseemly faces; I was on my best behavior.) She mentioned that her son was also single! She happened to have his picture in her purse! (A happy coincidence.) I was given the pertinent details--not as tall as I might prefer in a perfect world, but 30 years old with a job and a house. These factors seemed to suggest a man who has his shit together--and that's what we should all strive for, ladies. (And gentlemen, too!) It was only a matter of time before this sort of activity attracted the other women in the room--and I soon found myself surrounded by cackling hens with matchmaking in their eyes. (Once again proving to me that women in relationships want everyone else around them to pair up.)
The room seemed to get stuffier as his photo was passed around. My eyes darted around, searching for an exit before things got too awkward.

And then, they did.

This woman pulled out her cell phone. She told me to smile, pointing it at me. I realized what her plan was; a proverbial lightbulb going off over my head. Things moved in slow motion and I was incapable of stopping them. I wished for a power outage or fire alarm. No such luck. The third picture of me was deemed acceptable, and she was gone before I could argue. I tried to be all "glass half full" about it. By my figuring, he'd say one of two things. Either, "Oh, no, Mom. Not so much. Delete that picture ASAP." Or, "Where has this divine creature been all my life? I can't believe you know such a lady and haven't mentioned it to me yet!"** and he'd buy me dinner. Can't really complain about either one, since I don't know the guy. Nothing to lose and all that garbage.

I should mention that this acquaintance is more acquainted with my mother. Because of this, I was not surprised when my mom got an email. "B is willing to meet Amanda." She suggested the Mom Plan of one mother giving the other mother her child's phone number.

I...was not thrilled. He was willing to meet me? I mean, don't do me any favors or anything. Given his lackadaisical attitude and it being late December, I set the email aside. (Does anything sound more sad than a Christmastime blind date? ...Yeah, I didn't think so.)

In early January, I received a facebook friend request from this young man. This worked much better for me, as I could stalk him before committing to a phone call. (I had actually checked facebook for him almost immediately after this ordeal started, but he has a rather common name and my search yielded no helpful results.) Continuing to feign "glass half full," I accepted. And after reading his information and checking out all his pictures, I waited. Admittedly, I wasn't planning on initiating contact. I know that's not very 21st century "We wear pants now, too!" of me, but I don't care. The ball was in his court.

I waited. And waited. And although my interest in this fellow was not high to start with, it was waning. Quickly. But I gave him the benefit of the doubt! (This...was a mistake.) Until my mother called me in the middle of January. She'd received another email. "Is Amanda still interested in meeting B? He asked."

No seriously. In case you lost track, this man asked his mother to ask my mother if I was interested in meeting. I guess maybe he was nervous about asking me to the 8th grade dance? "I kind of know what you're going to say, but how should I handle this?" was my mother's question.
"Tell her he's welcome to contact me on facebook!" I said, exasperated. "After he's located his testicles!"
"...I'll leave out that last part," said my mother primly. "But that's what I figured."

I continued to wait. It was suggested that he might be shy. EVEN SO, facebook makes it So. Freaking. Easy. to make a passive move. You can click "like" on anything a person does. You can "poke" them. You don't even have to be clever, for heaven's sake! And yet, our wall-to-wall remained blank. I wrote him off. Clearly we are not meant to be. Note to self: set-ups are awkward.

You'd like that to be the end of this tale, no? Well, you would be wrong. I was in for another surprise. A friend asked last week if I had heard anything from him. While I was on the phone, I absentmindedly went to check his facebook--I'm a perennial stalker, guys. I can't help it. AND HE WAS GONE. He unfriended me. He not only didn't want to say anything to me, but he didn't want to say anything so badly that he couldn't bear for me to pop up on his news feed.

That is cold.

**And by this I clearly mean, "Well, I don't have any other plans. She seems tolerable." Guys, it was a camera phone. And she had to have someone help her. How good could that picture have been?

I should get a pet or a hobby or something.

2010-01-31T23:37:00.012-05:00

On Christmas morning, I found two rather unique gifts with my name on them. The first, in my stocking, was a little joke from my mother. An air freshener. No, I'm not joking. It's a cute little air freshener shaped like a duck, full of innocence and childlike wonder.

The potential ruiner of Christmas.

She's hilarious, no? The best part is the scent. According to his packaging, the little guy smells like "summer linen." As if I haven't already had my fill of "linen" scented things. (I've been fooled by that before!)

I finally worked up the nerve to open my new friend.

1:57pm: Open packaging. Looks harmless enough.

1:58pm: Read directions. "Separate front and rear portions of the character." Ok!

2:04pm: Still struggling to pull apart plastic pieces.

Harder than it looks, ok??

2:05pm: Call in reinforcements. (Read: yell for father.)

2:05pm: Mission accomplished.

2:07pm: Tentatively sniff. Squint and back away quickly, preparing for worst.

2:08pm: Not dead. Positive sign. Breathing normal. Even better.

2:09pm: Still skeptical. Don't let me down, duck.

We'll see about that.

That was a couple days ago. I delayed posting this, in case he came and murdered me in my sleep or something. (I don't trust him being in the same room as My Mortal Enemy. They might talk when I'm not in there. Since I don't exactly hang out in the bathroom for fun, this gives them lots of time to plot my demise.) The good news is that his plastic smile does not seem to be masking any malicious intent. The other good news is that he really doesn't smell like anything unless you hold it up to your face, making it The Best Bathroom Air Freshener Ever. (I really am not a fan of the air being freshened, as it turns out.)

Note: Not trying to kill me.

Twin Powers Activate!

2010-01-24T01:04:00.002-05:00

Kids, The Twin is showing some of her artwork in Livonia for another week or so. For anyone sort of near there, you should definitely go check it out, because she's awesome. Her art is awesome, she's awesome, the end.

Oh, and here are the details: Livonia City Hall, from right this second until January 29th. Go go go!

In other Twin News, we decided the other day that the best twin power to have would be the ability to transfer the need to pee to the other twin. Would come in handy in lots of situations. Not very exciting or glamorous, but a very practical twin power. Just FYI.

Notes from work.

2010-01-18T13:16:00.004-05:00

Sometimes I forget how much I love teaching. It's easy to get bogged down by everything happening outside your classroom.
And then I have weeks like this past one. I assure you, I can't make up things like this. Some notes from kindergarten:

Noticed a new bulletin board by the gym. "You're not fully educated until you're physically educated." Not a bad sentiment. Get outside! Move around! Let's battle childhood obesity! But you know what? My first thought when I saw it was "Dirty."

I was teaching a lesson about volcanoes on Tuesday. (A huge hit.) N put her hand up and I called on her. "You talk beautiful." I was expecting a question about volcanoes. Or at the very least, some anecdote about N having seen a volcano in a movie and people were scared. Nope. I was way off. I'm not really sure what N meant, though. Do the dulcet tones of my voice agree with her? Or is it the way I construct sentences that she finds so pleasing? Not a very specific compliment. She's 5, guys, give her a break. Way harsh. You shouldn't be so judgemental. I, on the other hand, am duly flattered. I talk beautiful. That's a new one for me.

As the kindergarten students were lining up after lunch, shouting with the usual enthusiasm reserved for those not yet old enough for long division, our principal walked by. He put out his fist for them to bump as we walked by. He showed them how to do it, following up a fist bump with, "Then we're going to do this, and make fireworks." Yeahhh...the principal taught my class to blow it up.

After lunch, we have a little quiet time, sitting at tables. They have small containers of Play-Doh that we pull out some days to play independently. Thursday was just such a day. Some were making animals, some were making cakes, some were making cartoon characters. It was awesome. But one girl, Z, was making something totally different. She'd made two tiny Play-Doh mountains and was holding them up to her chest. I noticed this as I walked by and heard her say, "These are my boobies," giggling madly. Wow. I can't even comment on this, because what is there to say? It was supremely weird. My jaw dropped. Let's move on.

The bathroom is inside the classroom, with two stalls and a sink. The door stays propped open. I looked over on Wednesday to see S crawling out from under the boys' stall. Um...? I walked over. "Hey, S...what did you just do?" He stared at me. "S, did you lock that?" He stared more. I walked over to the door and checked. For some reason, he locked the stall door and left it that way. How helpful.
"We can unlock it," he told me.
"Yeah." I know he didn't do it with any malicious intent, but I could not keep the sarcasm out of my voice. He continued to stare. "Well, I'm not going to do it," I added. "I'm too tall."
"Oh." S crawled back under (On the kindergarten bathroom floor. Gross.) and emerged the proper way. Sometimes...the ideas are not so hot.

We had a guest come in Wednesday afternoon, and she was running a few minutes later. We had just returned from music, so we were discussing our favorite songs from class. J raised his hand and asked if it could be a favorite song from home. "Sure!" I replied enthusiastically, glad to know my class was unaware that I was killing time.
"Ice Ice Baby," J said proudly. He smiled widely at me. I could only laugh.
"Awesome." I replied. What else does one say to that?

It was a great week at work. With my freakshow class. :)

Delusion.

2010-01-08T22:31:00.003-05:00

My friends and I occasionally revel in the glory of a Bad Movie. (My personal favorite was Female Popstar Night—it was the Trinity of Awful. Gigli with Jennifer Lopez, Crossroads with Britney, and something or other with Hilary [and Haylie, but…who cares?] Duff. OH MY GOD the Duff movie JUST CAME ON MTV. It’s fate. Also, it’s Material Girls. I’ll give it a miss this time around.) We gathered last week for just such an evening. Sitting in the basement, we heard sporadic hissing.
Yes. Hissing. Not “some kind of animal is trapped in the basement and getting angry” hissing. (If only...) Oh, no. Something much worse. This kind of hissing made me sit rigidly in alarm. This kind of hissing was awfully similar to a certain “clean linen” air freshener we all know and deplore. I started to panic. Was it following me here? Was that even possible? I asked if anyone else heard that noise. I silently hoped they had. I hoped I was not alone. Was this going to haunt me? Was this to be my own personal case of a heart beating under the floorboards, refusing to be forgotten? Will I guiltily hear hissing everywhere I go until it slowly drives me mad? Does—oh. Ok. Everyone else heard it.
“Oh,” said my host casually. “That’s just the air freshener. It’s supposed to be on a 30 minute timer.” She walked over to the wall plug-in unit as if it were no big deal, as if she were confronting a harmless kitten. Thirty seconds later, she returned to restart the movie.
“Is it very angry?” I whispered, afraid to raise my voice. You can’t let it sense your fear, Amanda, I thought to myself.
“What? Oh, I unplugged it. It’s fine now.”

Yes. Yes it IS fine now. You will not follow me around, awful box. You will stay banished to the cabinet under the sink. (Until I can find a more suitable hiding place. I would bury it, but I worry about those toxins getting into the earth. Even if my mother does not worry about them getting into my lungs. It’s fine, Mom. I have two.)

Once upon a time...

2009-12-30T14:27:00.003-05:00

Gather round, children, and I'll tell you a tale of a bitter woman and how she came into existence...

A long time ago, when I was in high school, I studied German. One of our first assignments in the first year was to choose a German name. (Everyone who studied a language in American high school probably did this.) We never thought that maybe some of our real names were German? We kind of liked the idea of picking our own; doing the job our parents did years ago, but...you know...better. I ended up with Anna, which is actually not so different from Amanda. (I guess my parents did alright on that one.)
My German teacher was big on stories and skits. In the beginning, she would dictate a story using us as characters, and we would write each line down. We drew pictures to illustrate each sentence, to help us remember the story later. (We did the same with new vocabulary words. It is a wonder I learned any animals at all, considering that each picture looked the same except the shark. Which was a fin sticking out of waves. Mad drawing skills, right here.) Later, we wrote the stories ourselves or with partners. Some patterns emerged in the class; things that showed up in story after story. (She deeply regretted the day we learned "to throw up.") After writing and illustrating them, actors were selected and these scenes were brought to life.
I got talking with a friend from that class recently at a dinner party. Donning his tux and gesturing with a wine glass, he brought up these fateful stories. And thanks to that conversation and my borderline packrat tendencies, I have unearthed a very important one, featuring a character you might be interested to meet.

Anna Monster.

You may recall that I was Anna. Sometimes...Anna turned into a monster. When she was angry. And what was she usually angry about? Boys. Boys doing stupid things. (Does this sound familiar?)

In an early story our teacher created, a boy in our class under the pseudonym "Axel" received a Jaguar for his birthday and drove from Detroit to San Francisco. There, he met and fell in love with Anna. (Gross.) They drove to Las Vegas and according to my drawing, went for Chinese food. (In a castle? Damn, I cannot draw.) Axel saw Pamela Anderson and fell in love with her. (Jerk.) Anna got so angry that she turned into a monster and ate Axel for dinner instead of Chinese food. Following her meal, regular Anna came back, took Axel's Jag and drove to Detroit to see a Red Wings game. (I'm not sure why she went back to Detroit, considering she used to live in San Francisco. But here it is, in black and white.) That was Anna Monster's first appearance. A jilted lover getting a bit of revenge.

Fig. A: Anna turns into Anna Monster for the very first time.

From then on, anytime people (mainly boys) did stupid things in skits, Anna Monster came in and ate them. She always looked the same--our teacher had drawn her on the board and we stuck with that image. We eventually decided upon the noise she made--that was a heated debate. (See figure B.) She often had no role other than coming in, turning into Anna Monster, eating people, and exiting. She was the deus ex machina for our German class; plot resolution. Sometimes she got a line or two. But she always got angry. And then she got revenge. I delighted in having such an integral role. Sure, I had been typecast, but I had been typecast with such perfection that who cared?? There are many things in my life I'm proud of, but I am not ashamed to admit that Anna Monster is somewhere on that list.

So boys and girls, even though Bitter Amanda would not emerge in her current state for several years, I believe that is when she got her start. Because Axel fell so quickly out of love with her, in favor of Pamela Anderson. And that shit is just not ok.

Fig. B: Anna Monster's appearance was refined over the semesters. Note angry noise.

Breaking News.

2009-12-28T12:32:00.001-05:00

Last night a man in a tuxedo helped me remember the origins of Bitter Amanda! However, I have some research/fact-checking to do before I can share the story with you.

Stay tuned, kids...

Christmas miracle.

2009-12-23T23:48:00.006-05:00

Today is a triumphant day in the Bitter household. Why, you may ask? Because today is the day when good prevails over evil. Today is the day when things make sense; when order is restored. TODAY IS THE DAY I BANISHED THE DEMON.
How, you ask? Oh, sit down, children, and I'll tell you the tale...

Day 209: Friday
Mother home from work. Students have brought gifts. Benevolent 4 year old gives mother reed diffuser. "Fresh Linen." Tell mother what this is. Experience sympathy cough upon seeing word "linen." Tentatively sniff bottle. Breathe normally. Pause. Gag? No. Sniff bottle again. Find it to be tolerable. Begin planning for coup.

Day 213: Tuesday
Suggest that mother might enjoy reed diffuser. Green light. Set on counter for test run.

Day 214: Wednesday
Objections to new clean linen friend total zero. Clean bathroom for guests. Inquire about putting spitting monster away; cite getting rid of bathroom clutter. Lie. Feel no guilt. Green light again.
Carefully pick up gremlin. Move to cupboard under sink. (Feel delightfully like Harry Potter characters who locked him in the cupboard. Remember that Harry Potter came back with a vengeance. Decide against new nickname.) Wash hands, literally and metaphorically.
Use bathroom freely. All day. Breathe easier; walk taller. VICTORY IS MINE.

What's that, air freshener? You're lonely there under the sink? Oh well, that's a shame...

Oh, sure, I know all about that.

2009-12-22T15:08:00.002-05:00

Has anyone else seen that commercial for prescription eyedrops--Restasis? (You can watch it here if you haven't: commercial.) I don't know about you, but if I went to my doctor with that information, I would NOT be handed a prescription. She says she's been using eyedrops "several times" each day for "quite some time." She's tried "all kinds." My doctor would say, "....Well.....I'm going to need a little more information here, Amanda. How long, specifically, is "quite some time"? When you say you've tried "all kinds"...can you tell me the brand name of at least one? This cavalier attitude towards eye care might be the reason you're having a problem--which you didn't actually mention. Are there any symptoms? Can you tell me what they are? Also, are you an idiot?" He would use those obnoxious air quotes to show me just how stupid I sounded and I would come home and blog about him.
But this commercial "doctor" (yes I did use air quotes thank you for recognizing that) is all, "Oh hey I know that problem! I'm the psychic doctor! Let me just whip out my prescription pad here and we'll get you sorted out! Have a nice day!"
Not exactly a great ad campaign, Restasis.

Walking past my computer, my mother just asked what I was writing about. Hearing that it was a television commercial, her reaction was, "Well at least you're not writing about the air freshener anymore."