Monthly Archives: May 2009

Because I haven’t embarrassed myself enough on this blog.

A recent tweet from the lovely Metalia said this: You know what’s depressing? Walking into a salon, and employee is all, “eyebrow?” and you’re thinking, “no, bitch, pedicure! PEDICURE!”

This totally made me laugh out loud, because I had a similar experience, which was incredibly horrifying and I believe it deserves a mention here, since hey, I like to humiliate myself.

Andrew and I went for a mani-pedi. OK, he just got a pedicure, as he is wont to do because he is SUPER STRAIGHT but has giant feet that need some TLC. I was there for the double treatment, and had decided to get my brows done as well, because I freaking HATE plucking my eyebrows. I was plucking mine the other day whilst sitting in the bathtub because the steam helps me (or so I like to think) and Andrew came in to chat with me. He sat down, thinking surely I could chat and pluck, but was instead assaulted by a barrage of sneezes, which is what happens every time I pluck. One hair, one sneeze. Andrew had never witnessed this joyous routine, and I’m pretty sure he thought about breaking up with me right about then. I’m not a quiet, dainty sneezer, like some are. I find mouse-like sneezes adorable because I am straight up frightening. So frightening, in fact, that a little boy in Target recently said, “What was that, you crazy lady?” upon hearing me sneeze. His mother apologized all over herself, and I was all, “No, seriously! It sounds crazy! I don’t blame him—I’m just glad he’s not crying!” So, when I have a ridiculous stream of sneezes, it’s a horrifically scary experience for all involved. It’s like the sound of a typical sneeze crossed with a scream and the screech of a dying cat. It’s horrid.

OK, are you following along? I hate plucking my brows, therefore, when I went for a manicure-pedicure, I decided to get them waxed. I mentioned my desire for the wax to the gentleman doing my nails, and he yelled something to the woman in charge of waxing. She wandered over.

“You want your mustache done?” she said, making a mustache with her index finger over her upper lip.

“Um, no. Just my brows. I don’t really have a mustache.”

And then, instead of responding, or trying to cover it, she laughed. A knowing, evil laugh that said, “You don’t think you have a mustache? RIGHT. RIGHT. You poor, poor girl. Your mustache is freaking massive, thick and curly and it’s practically TALKING TO ME RIGHT NOW.”

I totally let her wax my upper-lip.

For the record, I don’t have hair on my upper lip, OK? Like, very little. And what I do have is blonde hair. But you know what I do have now? TOTAL PARANOIA.



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I’ve been ASSESSED..again.

Well, today was my second assessment for my gym. As I mentioned earlier this week, it’s been a crappy week where I’ve seen few results, thanks to the joys of being a girl and the shitty knee injury. I was really, really discouraged last night by the fact that I feel like I’ve seen such few results on the scale as of late.

Anyways, I refuse to post what I started at, body-fat wise and such, but I will share my number results:

Body Fat: -1.2%


Waist: -.25 inches
Hips: -1.25 inches (WOO HOO!)
Arms: same

Strength (measured in terms of how much more I could lift)

Squats: +50 lbs.
Number of Push-Ups in 2 minutes: +32 more
Number of Sit-ups in 2 minutes: +3 more
Number of Bench Dips in 2 minutes: +29 more
Number of Pull-Ups in 2 minutes: +5 more

While there were results, I must admit I am slightly disappointed. With the exception of my hips shrinking dramatically, I feel like there is much to be desired here. Andrew and I will be starting a very, very strict diet as of tomorrow and between that and the additional time I’ll have to do some extra cardio on top of our daily trek to the gym, I hope to see more.

Still, progress is progress, and as my trainer reminded me, it’s a journey, not an instant results thing.

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Crank That Stanky Jerk Legg

Today was the last day of school, and it was awesome. My students came all dressed up and looked absolutely darling…so grown up! Honestly, there are no words I can say for how much I adored my kids this year. Saying goodbye nearly shattered me and there were lots of tears on both sides. I was so honored and touched by what students had to say. I felt so loved by my kids and their parents, and so, so, so proud.

A “secret” thing about me is that I love to dance. Spending the night on the dance floor with a drink in hand (OK, and several empty ones sitting near me) is one of my favorite things to do. My students also LOVE to dance, and while I refuse to be that idiot teacher who makes an ass of myself on the dance floor, when kids want to teach me coordinated dances, I can’t refuse. It’s fun for them to see me be ridiculous and it’s fun for me to feel hip and stupid at the same time.

Last year, my students taught me to do this:

That, my friends, is the Soulja Boi dance, also referred to as “Crank That”. I suck at it, but it’s fun and as one of my students put it, it doesn’t matter if I screw up because “I’m old.”

Today, in honor of graduation, I was taught two new dances. First, the Stanky Legg, which is basically like the ghetto Hokey Pokey, where you stick one leg in and shake it all about:

It’s pretty easy and I guess I’m not so “stanky” because I got a lot of cheers and was told I was “doin’ it big.”

Next, I attempted to learn to dance The Jerk. Ummmm, well? Not much to say:

That video isn’t very “organized” but you get the idea. It also resembles pretty much what I see on a daily basis at lunch, before and after school, and definitely today at promotion. Dance is a big deal for these kids, and it’s so fun to watch them.

So, yes, while I may have acted a fool and will never, ever bust those moves out at any time (don’t ever ask, friends, sorry!), it was fun, and I will never, ever forget those kids teaching me how…


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Everybody Hurts

Before I met Andrew, I was quite a serial dater. I had been in two serious relationships close to one another, so I was ready for some fun, silly dates. The truth is, I could write an entire blog based on my horrid dates and the losers I encountered, many specifically thanks to one friend who shall remain nameless who was always introducing me to “someone she knows would be perfect for me!” Every time, I’d feel so excited at her description…and every time, I’d be horridly, deeply disappointed, and question how well she knows me because she set me up with some real tools.

I was reminded by one of the worst of these when I was listening to a new 90’s station that is on in my hometown, thanks to the one station that played alternative and some indie rock closing down. As the sweet voice of Michael Stipes filled my car, I suddenly remembered one of the weirdest situations I’d ever been in.

My friend claimed she’d met a perfect guy for me. Sure, he was a little older (um, ridiculously older, but she didn’t know his age) but he was very sweet and caring and nice. He liked art, played guitar and was attractive. Since I was all about the dating, I thought it sounded OK, and agreed to go out with him–we’ll call him J.

J said he loved sushi and wanted to go to Mikuni downtown for dinner. It was Halloween, so we laughed at all of the funny costumes we saw in downtown Sacramento. Our waiter was dressed as Jared from Subway, which was fun and we had a good time at dinner. The conversation was your typical first-date fare: what do you do, where are you from, etc. J had a great sense of humor and made me laugh quite a few times with his hilarious stories and deadpan sarcasm.

He drove me home, and there was a loud party going on in the apartment across the way with some shady looking characters hanging out around the front (not uncommon for where I used to live!) so he said he’d walk me up. We got to my front door and I opened it. He spotted my guitar and asked if he could see it. Let me pause here and say I KNOW, I KNOW—I doubt he wanted to “play my guitar” but I’m decidedly not that type of girl, so that wasn’t going to happen.

J sat down, and said he was going to play a song that meant a lot to him. He started strumming, and the unmistakable introduction to “Everybody Hurts” by R.E.M.

Perhaps this wasn’t the most appropriate reaction, but after some sake, I couldn’t help breaking into giggles. Partially sake-induced, but partially because who goes on a perfectly HAPPY date and then decides to bust out some moody sad music?! On a first date, nonetheless.

J clearly didn’t appreciate my laughter, because he immediately started rambling about how important the song was to him, and how it reminded him of the hardest time he’d ever been through. He began the longest story I’ve ever heard of sadness, depression and anxiety, and gravely told me of how he attempted suicide.

By taking 4 Tylenol PM.

OK, I’ve struggled with depression myself, and the truth is pain is serious and it’s not a joke. I’m a sensitive gal. But upon hearing his “suicide attempt” was four Tylenol PM, my reaction was less shock, and more, “Were you really tired?”

Obviously, this raised a huge red flag for me. WHO TELLS SOMEONE ABOUT THE WORST TIME IN THEIR LIFE ON THE FIRST DATE?! I don’t know. I really don’t. J obviously didn’t get the joke, and sulked out of my apartment, while I sat back and laughed myself to sleep.

Thanks to this charmer, I will never, ever be able to hear “Everybody Hurts” without laughing hysterically again.

Oh, and J and I didn’t have another date, despite repeated emails and scathing voicemails, saying I don’t know how to communicate or accept the normal ups and downs of a relationship. Guess not.


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Haha. That title is super lame, I know. But, since I got 3 1/2 hours of sleep last night and have the world’s most raging headache right now, I really don’t care.

Anyways, how’s your week going? I’ve been lost in a blur of end of the year work, yearbooks, lesson planning, summer planning and writing 103 notes to my precious students, which makes me cry and feel all sad that they will soon be gone.

In between all of this, I am still working out. Every. Single. Day. OK, except for two days last week, one of which I skipped due to work, and one because one of my best friends was in town from Washington DC, so dinner and fro-yo were definitely in order. But, I digress.

The good news is that I’m getting to that point, mentally, when I really look forward to the gym everyday. It’s an hour where I’m not making dinner or sitting in a meeting or having 13-year-olds repeat my name over and over again. I can just blow off steam, not worry and enjoy sweating my guts out. Also, I’m seeing slight improvements: running is getting easier, I can lift heavier weights and I’m able to do a bit more each day.

The bad news is that the scale is not budging this week. It’s a special time in my month, where I retain every ounce of fluid I consume, cry, act like a giant bitch and generally feel like I weigh about 50 pounds more than normal. If you’re not sure what I’m talking about, congratulations on being a boy or a totally clueless female who needs to watch a special video reserved for 4th graders.

Other big bummer of the week: I hurt my knee. Not seriously, but apparently, the impact of my fat ass hitting the ground while running makes my knee scream out in pain, leading to a nasty pain under it that my trainer calls “Runner’s Knee.” It should probably be referred to as “Huffing and Puffing At A Snail’s Pace While Looking Like An Idiot Knee” for me, but whatevs. The remedy is no running for a few days, icing the heck out of my knee, ibuprofen and rocking one of these bad boys:


Is it wrong I’m a little proud of it? I’ve never been an athlete, and therefore I’ve never ever been able to wear something like that. I mean, I’m an indoor gal, and there’s no support for wrists overworked by holding up books or anything crazy.

The other cool thing is that this whole being unable to run thing? Makes me want to run more. This should reveal a lot about me. Tell me I can’t do something, and I’ll want to do it more. Such a Taurean characteristic. But it’s true: I’ve already shared my secret dream of being a runner. Andrew and I were totally discussing how much we want to be runners, even if it kills us. I totally want to look like this:


But for now, I’ll settle for running my mile and a half for my assessment on Saturday under 20 minutes.


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Why you so wish you were my boyfriend…

Because than you, too, could be subjected to these sorts of GChat’s:

me: i just found the blog of someone so fun
i wanna be a fun girl

Andrew: 🙂

me: like, the kind that can dress up and let loose all the time and be silly
i not fun. i serious.

Andrew: you’re fun

me: also, this girl never wears pants. i think i’m going to stop wearing jeans.
i’m serious. they make me look fat, they never fit, and i love dresses and skirts. i don’t know why i torture myself. i just need to invest in tights
and cute boots
and say, screw you jeans!
plus, you yove me in dresses

Andrew: lol
screw you jeans!

me: i hate jeans
like, they never, ever fit
maybe i’ll like them again when i real lil
but even then, jeans are not made for short girls

Andrew: yeah


me: random: do you have tom petty on the lappy?
or the desky? {translation, for those of you not used to my lingo: the laptop or the desktop computers}

Andrew: no clue

me: i heard a 4 song block by him this morning: american girl, here’s comes my girl, last dance and freefallin’
and i fell in love with him once again

Andrew: i haven’t opened itunes in a while

me: he’s summer music fo sho!
i need to get on the downloading
i wanted to don a bandana headband and smoke a cigarette while wearing a wifebeater

Andrew: please no

me: haha

Yes, these are the things that fill my mind, and the sorts of thoughts I subject Andrew to.

Lucky guy, huh?


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103 Goodbyes

I’ve been in the worst mood the past few days, feeling really sad and alone and out of sorts. The same thing struck me last year at about this time, and thankfully I can be a little bit more aware of what it is. I really think that most people picture teachers celebrating at the end of the school year, completely delighted to be free of the classroom. And while there will undoubtedly be a glass of wine raised in honor of not having to hear the beckoning of the alarm each morning at 5:50 am and I am looking forward to the summer, I still feel incredibly sad and overwhelmed at the end of the school year.

There is the obvious: I will miss my kids. This year is extra special because I taught 7th grade last year, and 8th grade this year, meaning that I’ve had some of these kids for 2 years. I’ve watched them transform from wily, squirrelly, scared 7th graders to fairly mature young adults, ready for the freedom of high school. These are my first kids. The first class I learned with and loved, and laughed with. When you spend 5 days a week someone (or 103 someones) you get attached; or at least I do. It makes me sad that not only will I not see them in class again, they’ll be moving on to high school and won’t be around every day. I wonder what sort of kids will fill my classroom next year. Will they fill my room immediately after getting off the bus, the way a group of girls does this year? Will they be as funny and creative? What if we just don’t mesh the way I have with this group?

The other sadness is one that sounds overdramatic, but is something I still feel: I didn’t have enough time. I find myself regretting all of those grumpy days, or meetings I had to rush to, or the days when I just couldn’t stay for a soccer or basketball game. I think of all of the projects I dreamed about, and the things I wanted to teach them. And the truth is, there just isn’t enough time to invest in them. I’m really looking forward to the graded portion of our time together being done so that we can just hang out and enjoy the week together. I’ve planned some fun closure activities for them to reflect on their time and set goals for the year ahead. I think it will be really special.

The other sadness of this is one having very little to do with kids. As much as I hate grading and having every single second of my life planned out, I miss having a reason to get up every day, making summer a little bit sad. A place to be where I am needed and central to the success of 103 people who depend on me being there. Last summer was really rough for me, emotionally, so I’m trying to prepare for it a little more this summer, by making a list of things I want to do. Obviously, living with Andrew makes it a million times easier because I won’t be so alone, but still…it really is a hard transition. And as a person who has a history of struggling with just enjoying the moment, I’m making that my goal for the summer. To sit back, to relax and to just enjoy the 9 weeks of free time I have. Yes, I want and need to be productive, but I’m also hoping for lots of afternoon naps and lazy days spent with my favorite people.

This, combined with the possibility that 16 of our teachers may not come back next year due to budget cuts, something I can’t blog about without bawling, makes this upcoming week so bitter sweet. Yes, there is freedom at the end, but ugh. It’s gonna be rough. Truth be told, I just want to make it through the week. I have the joy of promoting my kids–reading their names and offering a personal anecdote at the ceremony, and I really need to practice. Because right now, all I can do is that really, really ugly cry when I start trying to read their names and say anything nice. I just blubber. And that’s the last thing I want them to remember: Miss E totally losing her mind when I graduate them.

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