April 18th, 2010. A day that will live in...infamy? The day I started writing my blog. The day I pressed the "publish post" button for the first time and got a little anxious about what would happen next. I, of course, had the far off dream of being rich and famous and being able to travel the globe while "motor" home-schooling our children. In the short term I was hopeful that someone, somewhere, would read my odd ramblings and send me greetings from afar. In the very short term I was hopeful that there wasn't some sort of fee that would be involved in the publishing of a free blog. Well, meeting short term goals is good. Right?
There are indeed no fees involved in the writing of this blog. Unless you are an IRS agent and then I totally remodeled the front of our house to make it into a home office. The cost was astronomical...and all of the leftover supplies and materials we donated to several local charities whose records have all mysteriously disappeared. But I digress...
I have made several steps in the blog writing process. I have gone from the initial hope and excitement to more realism but I am still excitable. Not quite as much as an over-caffeinated chihuahua but I can get a little silly at times. I remember the day that I ventured into the tabs along the top of this website. I mean what were these things that I never even really noticed before? Comments? Settings? Design? Stats? I have to say that I was pleased when I figured out that people in other countries were clicking onto the site. (Pleased will be defined as: jumping and running around the house yelling, "Germany, Poland, Canada, Slovenia!" over and over again.) It was a little thrilling (frightening) for the kids but they are resilient, right?
In writing I also wanted to make a statement about the human condition and its tendency toward the blurring of geo-political boundaries in an existential co-mingling of ... Who am I trying to kid...I wanted to write about my whacked out family, friends, and the occasional weird sign they hang in Safeway.
When I started writing I thought it would be really cool to be interviewed by Bonnie Hunt. I have already declared her as my "celebrity girlfriend" so you have to understand that there was an ulterior motive involved. But additionally I think that she was just about the only talk show I had a shot of getting on. Leno would have made fun of the fact that I was a teacher and wasn't good at geography. Kimmel would have made a joke about hitting on my wife. (understandable) Letterman would have made a joke about hitting on my daughter. (eww) Miss Hunt would have seen me, regular guy, teaches kindergarten, sister who's a nurse, just trying to make people smile...for free...that is the type of person she had on her show. I miss it. And that is one goal that shall not be met.
I also went from saying, "It's silly but you could check out my writing." to "You think that was funny? You should read my blog!" I actually wrote myself out of conversations. I would be talking to a friend and begin a story only to have them say, "Yeah, I read all about that." Which, unfortunately for me, meant that I had nothing more to say and usually ended up talking about how the Bears were doing. Not the team, the animals in Jellystone...I have an affinity for Yogi and Boo Boo.
But ultimately I was hoping that my little corner of the internet might net me a profit and maybe even get picked up into a newspaper. And while I have not heard anything from the Times, the Post, or the Argus (our local paper where it was good enough for Ray Orrock so it would be good enough for me) so I have nothing more than to hope for the best in the money department. I should be completely honest and say that I hadn't heard from the newspapers mostly because I hadn't contacted them, ever. And this is when I tell you that I have made it to achieve one of my goals. I have just received a letter, in the real mail, that asked me for information regarding how to send me my first check resulting from the blog. I have always said that I would not call myself an author until I got paid to write...I may just be able to do that soon. Of course there are those who say that in order to consider yourself being paid as an author you should be able to make a living at it. The best I can figure is that I will be getting a check for approximately $9.23 after only ten months of writing. I'm not sure I can make stretch that enough to live on but it will make for an interesting decoration to hang on the wall. My first check! Well it'll be a copy of my first check. I'm cashing that sucker as soon as it arrives. Papa wants to go to the movies!
My supportive family has been helping me along with my dream. They allow me to zone away while I write and I try to only do that while they are otherwise engaged. They provide me with endless good humor and plenty of material to write about (some of which has self-imposed statutes of limitations so keep reading for years and I can write about the kids when they move out) My sister and my dad have even gotten me books that deal with the subject of writing. Dad got me one about writing fiction. Publishing ideas. Sis got me one that was essentially, "How to make money with your blog." Cool! Problem is, when I opened the book it said something like, "Step one: Have a point."... Crap...I guess I can try again tomorrow.
Playing with words is fun. I hope you enjoy reading them as much as I do writing them!
Friday, February 18, 2011
Saturday, February 12, 2011
I Slept With A What?
Now before my loyal readers, either of you, get worried about the title and cancel their plans to make a pilgrimage to my hometown this summer...to see where the magic happens of course, let me assure you that I have not taken a turn for the bawdy. My blog is, and will forever be, "G" rated. Although there was that time I got a little testy with the TSA over people being unclothed, photographed, and/or groped while traveling to see grand-ma-ma. But even then I only dipped into the "PG 13" range..."PG 11" if you get right down to it. But I digress...
This is a story that, again, I love to tell. I usually drag it out when I am camping with the scouts or the youth group at my church but this last weekend with junior highers in the snow the situation didn't arise. Now the story is just itching to be told. It is a story of courage, heart, true friendship, and undergarments.
Way back when I was in junior high I was lucky enough to go to camp with my friend for a week. It was a Christian camp named Alliance Redwoods and it was a blast. It was where I spent the first nights away from my family. It was where I saw my first shooting star. It was where I learned what a true friend would do when it came right down to it.
Mike was my buddy. It was on the condition that Mike was going that I agreed to go to camp at all. He was more adventurous and had gone the year before and survived. I guessed I could try it. We were always together, Mike and I. This was back in the day when boys were allowed to ride miles to their friends' houses in the morning and not be seen, or heard from, again until the streetlights came on. And even then it was only to check in, show that we were alive, and then go out again until goodness knows when. This was who I would be relatively comfortable with when I went to camp.
At Alliance Redwoods there was the usual camp stuff. There were rustic cabins, hiking trails, swimming pool, and one night when they "let" us sleep outside in the woods. I grew up with practical joker cousins. I had heard stories about mythical creatures that roamed the woods looking for little boys who step outside the ring of light from the lantern, to water a tree, and are never heard from again. But I couldn't let anyone know, so off we went marching into the woods. Carrying our sleeping bags we hiked for what seemed like an eternity, but in reality was probably about 300 yards from our cabin.
This is the point in the story where one of my ever-helpful children will remind me, "Isn't this when you tripped over a stump?"
"Yes, kids, this is where I tripped over a stump. It was a stump that was about two feet wide and three and a half feet tall and everyone laughed because only a moron would not see a stump in the path that was that big...ha ha ha...can I get back to the story now?" My kids are always so helpful.
We set up "camp" right there on a hillside in a clearing that was just big enough for eight boys and one counselor to lay side by side, in only their sleeping bags, for the night. The counselor talked about this and that. The other boys tried to talk about girls and mythical boy-stealing creatures but the counselor steered them, thankfully, away from that. I had no actual experience with either at this point in my shy little life...and couldn't imagine any in the foreseeable future.
As we were laying on our backs looking up at the sky, the conversation turned to the wonderful glory of God and how awesome the stars were and that shooting stars were cool. I said, "I've never seen a shooting starrrrr." And as my words were hanging in the air...a shooting star started on the left and moved perfectly across the entire clearing, from horizon to horizon. It was magical. I have only seen one shooting star that came even close to how perfect this amazing meteor was...but that is a story for another day. (someone remind me that I was going to write about it...ok?)
And now I am finally to what I really wanted to talk about. Ever since the first night of camp, when I got into my sleeping bag, I noticed that there was something in there with me. No problem. I knew: a) it was not alive, b) it wasn't formerly alive, and c) it wasn't coming out of the bottom of my sleeping bag for anyone else to see.
I would like to explain that I have been with enough groups of boys while camping to know that there is nothing funnier than underwear. There is also nothing more embarrassing. When I was a chaperon for Jake's science camp a few years back I was having the boys straighten up. There was a pair of tidy whiteys in the middle of the floor. Cabin, spotless...except for that. No one claimed it. We seriously threw them away because not a soul would admit that it belonged to them. I even tried the "we'll turn off the lights and you just run out and grab them" trick. Nothing. And then I told them this story.
So now I have revealed what I suspected. I figured it was a pair of underwear that I left in there accidentally when I changed clothes on one of the numerous times that I had a sleepover at Mike's house. Having everyone see this would have been torture. They would have had to call my parents to come pick me up. I spent the entire week not sleeping because of nerves and having my feet bump into something that was not coming out to see the light of day until I got home...I thought.
Back to the hillside, the other boys, and my buddy Mike. The counselor woke everyone up and said that if we didn't get moving we would miss breakfast at the camp (always a motivator). Being a hungry sleep deprived junior high school aged boy I was, almost by definition, brain damaged. We all got up and started to shake our sleeping bags to clear away the dirt, wood chips, spiders, ants, centipedes, scorpions, and unfortunately, underwear from our sleeping bags. There in the woods I lost my mind and grabbed the tail end of my sleeping bag. I brought it up once, down, up again, and down...with enough force to wriggle loose and then fling the offending nuisance out of the bag. It was as I expected...underwear. The problem was, it was far worse than I could have imagined. It was, in fact, my worst nightmare! You see, it was not mine!
In the slow motion of that moment I saw my sister's double-barreled slingshot go tumbling through the air and land softly on the ground about twenty feet away. This is where the men are separated from the boys folks. With the skill and determination of a hardened Marine, Mike dove and landed on the bra like he was protecting his platoon from a live grenade. He had seen what had happened, assessed the situation, and neutralized the offending article before anyone was even aware of what happened. I ran over with my bag, shoved it inside, and rolled up my sleeping bag all the while giving Mike eyes that hopefully said, "THANKYOUTHANKYOUTHANKYOU!!!!"
The rest of the week was awful. Had word gotten out I would have been ruined. I toyed with the idea of throwing it away. I couldn't do that to my parents...they paid good money for our things. I even considered pretending to find it and make a big joke out of it. Humor? As a defense mechanism? That'll never catch on. So I toughed it out. I had to knowingly climb into a sleeping bag with "one of those."
I am also sworn to never let my sister live it down. If you would like to comment to her directly her name is Susan and she reads this blog. I'm thinking of embroidering this story onto a pillow for her...or better! A sleeping bag!
Now for a public service announcement:
I am asking all of you to please, for the sake of your children, label your sleeping bags.
This is a story that, again, I love to tell. I usually drag it out when I am camping with the scouts or the youth group at my church but this last weekend with junior highers in the snow the situation didn't arise. Now the story is just itching to be told. It is a story of courage, heart, true friendship, and undergarments.
Way back when I was in junior high I was lucky enough to go to camp with my friend for a week. It was a Christian camp named Alliance Redwoods and it was a blast. It was where I spent the first nights away from my family. It was where I saw my first shooting star. It was where I learned what a true friend would do when it came right down to it.
Mike was my buddy. It was on the condition that Mike was going that I agreed to go to camp at all. He was more adventurous and had gone the year before and survived. I guessed I could try it. We were always together, Mike and I. This was back in the day when boys were allowed to ride miles to their friends' houses in the morning and not be seen, or heard from, again until the streetlights came on. And even then it was only to check in, show that we were alive, and then go out again until goodness knows when. This was who I would be relatively comfortable with when I went to camp.
At Alliance Redwoods there was the usual camp stuff. There were rustic cabins, hiking trails, swimming pool, and one night when they "let" us sleep outside in the woods. I grew up with practical joker cousins. I had heard stories about mythical creatures that roamed the woods looking for little boys who step outside the ring of light from the lantern, to water a tree, and are never heard from again. But I couldn't let anyone know, so off we went marching into the woods. Carrying our sleeping bags we hiked for what seemed like an eternity, but in reality was probably about 300 yards from our cabin.
This is the point in the story where one of my ever-helpful children will remind me, "Isn't this when you tripped over a stump?"
"Yes, kids, this is where I tripped over a stump. It was a stump that was about two feet wide and three and a half feet tall and everyone laughed because only a moron would not see a stump in the path that was that big...ha ha ha...can I get back to the story now?" My kids are always so helpful.
We set up "camp" right there on a hillside in a clearing that was just big enough for eight boys and one counselor to lay side by side, in only their sleeping bags, for the night. The counselor talked about this and that. The other boys tried to talk about girls and mythical boy-stealing creatures but the counselor steered them, thankfully, away from that. I had no actual experience with either at this point in my shy little life...and couldn't imagine any in the foreseeable future.
As we were laying on our backs looking up at the sky, the conversation turned to the wonderful glory of God and how awesome the stars were and that shooting stars were cool. I said, "I've never seen a shooting starrrrr." And as my words were hanging in the air...a shooting star started on the left and moved perfectly across the entire clearing, from horizon to horizon. It was magical. I have only seen one shooting star that came even close to how perfect this amazing meteor was...but that is a story for another day. (someone remind me that I was going to write about it...ok?)
And now I am finally to what I really wanted to talk about. Ever since the first night of camp, when I got into my sleeping bag, I noticed that there was something in there with me. No problem. I knew: a) it was not alive, b) it wasn't formerly alive, and c) it wasn't coming out of the bottom of my sleeping bag for anyone else to see.
I would like to explain that I have been with enough groups of boys while camping to know that there is nothing funnier than underwear. There is also nothing more embarrassing. When I was a chaperon for Jake's science camp a few years back I was having the boys straighten up. There was a pair of tidy whiteys in the middle of the floor. Cabin, spotless...except for that. No one claimed it. We seriously threw them away because not a soul would admit that it belonged to them. I even tried the "we'll turn off the lights and you just run out and grab them" trick. Nothing. And then I told them this story.
So now I have revealed what I suspected. I figured it was a pair of underwear that I left in there accidentally when I changed clothes on one of the numerous times that I had a sleepover at Mike's house. Having everyone see this would have been torture. They would have had to call my parents to come pick me up. I spent the entire week not sleeping because of nerves and having my feet bump into something that was not coming out to see the light of day until I got home...I thought.
Back to the hillside, the other boys, and my buddy Mike. The counselor woke everyone up and said that if we didn't get moving we would miss breakfast at the camp (always a motivator). Being a hungry sleep deprived junior high school aged boy I was, almost by definition, brain damaged. We all got up and started to shake our sleeping bags to clear away the dirt, wood chips, spiders, ants, centipedes, scorpions, and unfortunately, underwear from our sleeping bags. There in the woods I lost my mind and grabbed the tail end of my sleeping bag. I brought it up once, down, up again, and down...with enough force to wriggle loose and then fling the offending nuisance out of the bag. It was as I expected...underwear. The problem was, it was far worse than I could have imagined. It was, in fact, my worst nightmare! You see, it was not mine!
In the slow motion of that moment I saw my sister's double-barreled slingshot go tumbling through the air and land softly on the ground about twenty feet away. This is where the men are separated from the boys folks. With the skill and determination of a hardened Marine, Mike dove and landed on the bra like he was protecting his platoon from a live grenade. He had seen what had happened, assessed the situation, and neutralized the offending article before anyone was even aware of what happened. I ran over with my bag, shoved it inside, and rolled up my sleeping bag all the while giving Mike eyes that hopefully said, "THANKYOUTHANKYOUTHANKYOU!!!!"
The rest of the week was awful. Had word gotten out I would have been ruined. I toyed with the idea of throwing it away. I couldn't do that to my parents...they paid good money for our things. I even considered pretending to find it and make a big joke out of it. Humor? As a defense mechanism? That'll never catch on. So I toughed it out. I had to knowingly climb into a sleeping bag with "one of those."
I am also sworn to never let my sister live it down. If you would like to comment to her directly her name is Susan and she reads this blog. I'm thinking of embroidering this story onto a pillow for her...or better! A sleeping bag!
Now for a public service announcement:
I am asking all of you to please, for the sake of your children, label your sleeping bags.
Thursday, February 10, 2011
Perfect Timing
There are few defining moments that are instantly recognizable. Usually it takes time, distance, perspective, and years of therapy to show you the lessons of today. Seldom are you able to walk away from an occurrence with usable insight. I experienced one today...in my kindergarten class. I knew at once that a.) I was in the right place, and b.) this kid was sent by angels. I tell you, this kindergarten stuff just writes itself.
I have been having a bit of difficulty in my class lately. I attribute it to, a lack of sleep, refined sugar, MTV, poor hygiene, low self esteem, the tides, the moon being in the seventh house, irregularity, the weather, South Park, and the cancelling of Bonnie Hunt's talk show...but enough about me. The kids have also been pretty loopy lately. It seems that no matter what I try there is always a faction that is bent on not learning and taking a group of friends with them. I have to admit, there are times when the kids leave for the day and I just have to sit there and think, "for this I gave up being a crash test dummy?" I pull myself together, dust myself off, take a Silkwood shower in hand sanitizer, and get ready for the next day. I also look forward to times like I had today. They are like the little non-monetary bonuses that come with the teaching profession. They rank right up there with June, July, and August and I normally don't like to share things that happen with current students but I will make an exception for something this momentous.
Let me set the scene:
All 29 of my five and six year olds are sitting on their squares on the carpet (criss-cross-applesauce) and I am going over the calendar, the latest sentences, the newest words that we should all know, and the letter of the week ("K" if you really must know). I am on a roll and trying to keep the kids interested by moving myself from one wall to the next to the next. Each time I have the kids "scootch" to look at whatever I am pointing at now. They usually love this activity and I try to stay one step ahead of losing their interest by jumping from one spot to another. I haven't told them that they are moving in 90 degree increments (that comes later...right after we memorize the first act of Othello) but they have fun doing the scootching.
This morning I was moving back and forth and jumping and I had them in the palm of my hand for about ten minutes. When it happened. This is the kind of thing that changes lives. I was there. It was great. I understood the importance of this immediately. I was moved by the magnitude of the event.
So, back to the class. Like I said, I was moving from place to place and trying to keep the majority of the kids looking at me and not at the giant gob of bodily fluid that invariably enters into the class whenever I have some momentum going. Seriously, I should have t-shirts printed that say, "We are one snot bubble away from pandemonium!" I would sell one to every teacher on the planet! But I digress...
So here I am, moving my overfed frame as agilely as I dare and pointing my little plastic pointer at various things on the walls (it's shaped like a gloved hand on the end of a stick...that's the kind of guy I am) when all of a sudden I misjudged my final step. My foot caught on one of the many racks that grace my room and I started to fall. Seeing as I have an extensive history in ballet, gymnastics, kung fu, and yoga I started to go down like a stone. Picture the dancing hippos from Disney's Fantasia, only not nearly as graceful...but I did have on the tutu In my extreme desire to not squish a child beyond recognition I lifted the offending foot and slammed it down as hard as I could. So now we have a giant (compared to the average kinder) teacher falling toward the class and then bringing his size fourteen orthopedic shoe slapping down to the ground. Let's just say, there was a noise and the kids did notice.
Now I have tripped, fallen, stomped and barely saved myself from having to explain why one of my students was now flat. And one of my little darlings, without missing a beat, says, "That's gonna leave a mark."
Dude!! Are YOU in the right class! You made the blog! Gotta love em!
I have been having a bit of difficulty in my class lately. I attribute it to, a lack of sleep, refined sugar, MTV, poor hygiene, low self esteem, the tides, the moon being in the seventh house, irregularity, the weather, South Park, and the cancelling of Bonnie Hunt's talk show...but enough about me. The kids have also been pretty loopy lately. It seems that no matter what I try there is always a faction that is bent on not learning and taking a group of friends with them. I have to admit, there are times when the kids leave for the day and I just have to sit there and think, "for this I gave up being a crash test dummy?" I pull myself together, dust myself off, take a Silkwood shower in hand sanitizer, and get ready for the next day. I also look forward to times like I had today. They are like the little non-monetary bonuses that come with the teaching profession. They rank right up there with June, July, and August and I normally don't like to share things that happen with current students but I will make an exception for something this momentous.
Let me set the scene:
All 29 of my five and six year olds are sitting on their squares on the carpet (criss-cross-applesauce) and I am going over the calendar, the latest sentences, the newest words that we should all know, and the letter of the week ("K" if you really must know). I am on a roll and trying to keep the kids interested by moving myself from one wall to the next to the next. Each time I have the kids "scootch" to look at whatever I am pointing at now. They usually love this activity and I try to stay one step ahead of losing their interest by jumping from one spot to another. I haven't told them that they are moving in 90 degree increments (that comes later...right after we memorize the first act of Othello) but they have fun doing the scootching.
This morning I was moving back and forth and jumping and I had them in the palm of my hand for about ten minutes. When it happened. This is the kind of thing that changes lives. I was there. It was great. I understood the importance of this immediately. I was moved by the magnitude of the event.
So, back to the class. Like I said, I was moving from place to place and trying to keep the majority of the kids looking at me and not at the giant gob of bodily fluid that invariably enters into the class whenever I have some momentum going. Seriously, I should have t-shirts printed that say, "We are one snot bubble away from pandemonium!" I would sell one to every teacher on the planet! But I digress...
So here I am, moving my overfed frame as agilely as I dare and pointing my little plastic pointer at various things on the walls (it's shaped like a gloved hand on the end of a stick...that's the kind of guy I am) when all of a sudden I misjudged my final step. My foot caught on one of the many racks that grace my room and I started to fall. Seeing as I have an extensive history in ballet, gymnastics, kung fu, and yoga I started to go down like a stone. Picture the dancing hippos from Disney's Fantasia, only not nearly as graceful...but I did have on the tutu In my extreme desire to not squish a child beyond recognition I lifted the offending foot and slammed it down as hard as I could. So now we have a giant (compared to the average kinder) teacher falling toward the class and then bringing his size fourteen orthopedic shoe slapping down to the ground. Let's just say, there was a noise and the kids did notice.
Now I have tripped, fallen, stomped and barely saved myself from having to explain why one of my students was now flat. And one of my little darlings, without missing a beat, says, "That's gonna leave a mark."
Dude!! Are YOU in the right class! You made the blog! Gotta love em!
Saturday, January 29, 2011
"V" and the Chinese Acrobats
It is not a closely guarded secret, but it is also not something I use as a conversation starter, Sylvia and I are not having any more children. To a medical certainty. I will try to be "v"ery discrete about the reason that I am sure. I don't want to "v"iolate anyone's sensibilities. I also wouldn't want anyone to think that I employ con"v"oluted de"v"ices to introduce ideas in my blog. (ok, even I think that last one was a little forced)
Yes, for reasons that are far too personal to discuss, we decided that we would accept the blessings of two children and no more. Or as I like to put it, "Girl, Boy, Cat, Dog, done." And, being the learned people that we are, we found out that "it is far easier on the man than it is on the woman." That may be true but I have to tell you, the operation (I call it the big V) was no cake walk. And I now have a special compassion for male puppies that go under the knife...the poor things.
Since I am not a doctor, but I will play one in the movie about my blog...Howie Mandell will play me...I don't want to go into the specifics of the procedure. I also am not, listen to this women, not the guy to send your spouses to when you want someone to talk about how "it's no big deal". I have only one thing to say about that, "ouch." Well, ouch and "I didn't realize there were vise grips involved in the procedure."
But, believe it or not, that is not what I wanted to write about today. I would actually like to talk about the events directly after the procedure. This is where it gets good....
I would like to explain that I carefully planned this procedure. I took one day off work, I rested during the weekend, and was going to work the next Monday. No problem. The doc said there were people who had "it" done and finished working their shifts on the loading docks. The doc was then taken away in a funny looking very long-sleeved jacket laughing maniacally while asking if Walter Cronkite knew what the frequency was. I would like to say, men, if you are contemplating this, bags of frozen peas are your friends. Stock up. By Monday morning I was able to limp and wince my way to work. I'm a teacher after all, I can sit right? (my teacher readers know how hilarious that last statement was) And after all, there was an assembly. That means I get to watch the kids while they watch some performers, minimal stress. I'm going in.
The day went smoothly enough. Morning routine. Check. Reading. Check. Going to assembly. Check. "What are we going to watch Mr. Garrett?"
"I think it is the Chinese acrobats. We'll see."
Sure enough, the acrobats started doing a clever little juggling thing. Great. Then they balanced on a board that was balanced on a can. Clap clap clap. Then one of them did a weird kind of splits that I felt all the way in the back of the room. OooooOooo. (that made me hurt) Another one rolled out a barrel and contorted herself into it...while bending at the waist. I had to look away. Then the leader of the group explained that one of their members was in the Guinness Book Of World Records for something. Ooooh, ahhhhhh. Apparently, there is a category for people who ride on unicycles, balance bowls on their heads, balance other bowls on their toes, and then high kick them up spiraling through the air so they land in a stack on the head bowl. (it's an obscure record to be sure) This woman was the best at it, and she showed her stuff. She mounted the unicycle and then high kicked about ten bowls up to her noggin, to the obvious delight of a gymnasium full of children. Applause applause applause..."well that's our show...but wait! (uh oh) I think you might want to see more!"
"Yay!"
"Do you want to see a teacher do this?"
"YESSSSSS!!!!!HAHAHAHAHAHA!!!!!!"
This is where I break into a cold sweat. I have never, and I mean never, been at a school assembly where I was not the "volunteer." I have held giant snakes, been the dupe in a mad scientist sketch, held props for a magicians, and even been smacked in the face with a cream pie. There's just something about a six foot three man in a room full of four foot children that makes him stand out. I start to think, will they try to get me, and my freshly healing personal wound, onto a unicycle and that torturous seat? They wouldn't. I don't think I would fit into that barrel standing straight upright, let alone bent in half. That's out. Will I need to balance a bowl on my head? What about that high kick? High kick? Are you serious?! Heck! I am not even sure I can manage to negotiate the six steps to get up on the stage! "Maybe they won't pick me." never entered my brain. I was going up. It was now a matter of how foolish they wanted me to be.
Balance and high kick it was. The next few minutes went by very quickly. He balanced things on my head and then put a bowl on my toe. I was desperate for a chance to clue him in about my tender spot and limited mobility. Due to his thick thick accent, I thought there might be a language barrier anyway. And he had a microphone clipped to his shirt. I could just see me leaning in to whisper something to him and then hearing my own deep voice over the school's loudspeakers..."vasectomy." Wouldn't be my first choice. I'd hate to have to move to the Himalayas. I just wasn't going to be able to warn him while I was on the stage. SO there I was standing in front of the entire student body, balancing a bowl on my head and another on my toe, all the while trying to determine how high I could kick without needing to be taken away in an ambulance. Luckily, being known as the goofy teacher around the school helped me get away with sort of pushing the bowl off my toe, sliding it off the stage, and landing it in the audience.
"I guess he will need to work a little harder if he wants to be in the world record book. Right kids?!"
Uproarious laughter!
I limped down to my class and managed to make it through the rest of the day without any more physical challenges to my secret place. When I got home I kissed Sylvia, I hugged Kristiana and Jake, and thanked God for His sense of humor...and bags of frozen peas.
Yes, for reasons that are far too personal to discuss, we decided that we would accept the blessings of two children and no more. Or as I like to put it, "Girl, Boy, Cat, Dog, done." And, being the learned people that we are, we found out that "it is far easier on the man than it is on the woman." That may be true but I have to tell you, the operation (I call it the big V) was no cake walk. And I now have a special compassion for male puppies that go under the knife...the poor things.
Since I am not a doctor, but I will play one in the movie about my blog...Howie Mandell will play me...I don't want to go into the specifics of the procedure. I also am not, listen to this women, not the guy to send your spouses to when you want someone to talk about how "it's no big deal". I have only one thing to say about that, "ouch." Well, ouch and "I didn't realize there were vise grips involved in the procedure."
But, believe it or not, that is not what I wanted to write about today. I would actually like to talk about the events directly after the procedure. This is where it gets good....
I would like to explain that I carefully planned this procedure. I took one day off work, I rested during the weekend, and was going to work the next Monday. No problem. The doc said there were people who had "it" done and finished working their shifts on the loading docks. The doc was then taken away in a funny looking very long-sleeved jacket laughing maniacally while asking if Walter Cronkite knew what the frequency was. I would like to say, men, if you are contemplating this, bags of frozen peas are your friends. Stock up. By Monday morning I was able to limp and wince my way to work. I'm a teacher after all, I can sit right? (my teacher readers know how hilarious that last statement was) And after all, there was an assembly. That means I get to watch the kids while they watch some performers, minimal stress. I'm going in.
The day went smoothly enough. Morning routine. Check. Reading. Check. Going to assembly. Check. "What are we going to watch Mr. Garrett?"
"I think it is the Chinese acrobats. We'll see."
Sure enough, the acrobats started doing a clever little juggling thing. Great. Then they balanced on a board that was balanced on a can. Clap clap clap. Then one of them did a weird kind of splits that I felt all the way in the back of the room. OooooOooo. (that made me hurt) Another one rolled out a barrel and contorted herself into it...while bending at the waist. I had to look away. Then the leader of the group explained that one of their members was in the Guinness Book Of World Records for something. Ooooh, ahhhhhh. Apparently, there is a category for people who ride on unicycles, balance bowls on their heads, balance other bowls on their toes, and then high kick them up spiraling through the air so they land in a stack on the head bowl. (it's an obscure record to be sure) This woman was the best at it, and she showed her stuff. She mounted the unicycle and then high kicked about ten bowls up to her noggin, to the obvious delight of a gymnasium full of children. Applause applause applause..."well that's our show...but wait! (uh oh) I think you might want to see more!"
"Yay!"
"Do you want to see a teacher do this?"
"YESSSSSS!!!!!HAHAHAHAHAHA!!!!!!"
For this next sentence you need to read in a very deep, very slow motion voice...kind of like the "forever" scene in the movie Sandlot.
"I...need...a...vol...un...teeeeeer."
This is where I break into a cold sweat. I have never, and I mean never, been at a school assembly where I was not the "volunteer." I have held giant snakes, been the dupe in a mad scientist sketch, held props for a magicians, and even been smacked in the face with a cream pie. There's just something about a six foot three man in a room full of four foot children that makes him stand out. I start to think, will they try to get me, and my freshly healing personal wound, onto a unicycle and that torturous seat? They wouldn't. I don't think I would fit into that barrel standing straight upright, let alone bent in half. That's out. Will I need to balance a bowl on my head? What about that high kick? High kick? Are you serious?! Heck! I am not even sure I can manage to negotiate the six steps to get up on the stage! "Maybe they won't pick me." never entered my brain. I was going up. It was now a matter of how foolish they wanted me to be.
Balance and high kick it was. The next few minutes went by very quickly. He balanced things on my head and then put a bowl on my toe. I was desperate for a chance to clue him in about my tender spot and limited mobility. Due to his thick thick accent, I thought there might be a language barrier anyway. And he had a microphone clipped to his shirt. I could just see me leaning in to whisper something to him and then hearing my own deep voice over the school's loudspeakers..."vasectomy." Wouldn't be my first choice. I'd hate to have to move to the Himalayas. I just wasn't going to be able to warn him while I was on the stage. SO there I was standing in front of the entire student body, balancing a bowl on my head and another on my toe, all the while trying to determine how high I could kick without needing to be taken away in an ambulance. Luckily, being known as the goofy teacher around the school helped me get away with sort of pushing the bowl off my toe, sliding it off the stage, and landing it in the audience.
"I guess he will need to work a little harder if he wants to be in the world record book. Right kids?!"
Uproarious laughter!
I limped down to my class and managed to make it through the rest of the day without any more physical challenges to my secret place. When I got home I kissed Sylvia, I hugged Kristiana and Jake, and thanked God for His sense of humor...and bags of frozen peas.
Monday, January 24, 2011
S.E.C. and Me
I would be willing to bet that this has happened to you. Picture this. Standing in line (bank, store, amusement park...free caviar and gold ingot line at the country club...whatever) and something happens. It doesn't matter what it is, just something out of the ordinary. And then it occurs. The Shared Experience Conversation, or SEC for short. Not to be confused with the Security Exchange Commission which will just have to change their name for the sake of the common good. I'm sure more people have had these conversations than have understood what the other SEC is doing. I have a feeling they are just a fraternity prank that has gone horribly wrong. But I digress...
You've all seen it and been part of it at some point in your lives, but until now it has not been given a name. You know the signs. It all starts with a collection of people. How many times have you been in line at the grocery store when there aren't enough lanes to help everyone? Once? Ok, I can continue. Then the person at the front of the line has an issue, real or imaginary...it doesn't matter, it's an issue...SEC. They announce that the movie you have been waiting in line to see is sold out until the midnight showing...SEC. You get up and gather with a group of parents in the freezing cold at 5:30 because there was a rumor that they had a shipment of Wii game systems the week before Christmas...SEC. You can sense it. There will be a delay. And then it occurs. People start to pivot their necks, eyebrows raised. eye contact is made, perhaps a shrugged shoulder, it is inevitable...positive or negative...someone will say something.
"They never have enough checkers."
"They have all of the spaces at the window but there are no tellers."
"I can't believe I am doing this...can you not feel your toes either?"
"Is it me or is that DMV worker actually walking backward?"
I would like to point out that I am not prepared to talk about DDS (Dumbass Driver Syndrome) at this point even though there are similar characteristics. When people at a stoplight need to collectively slam on their brakes because one more clown speeds through a red light...DDS. When you have waited in the long offramp lane on the bumper to bumper freeway and someone speeds down the shoulder to jump in at the last possible moment...DDS. This I will need to save for a future posting.
Trying to be the nice, forgiving, and extremely introverted soul that I am, When faced with SEC I usually shrug and nod and try to give a look that says, "I feel your pain" or even, "I'm with you." I'm not one to initiate the conversation, usually, since I have been in these workers' shoes before, and I always hated it when people complained about things that were out of my control. But someone always falls victim to the effects of SEC and they are usually right next to me...I must have one of those faces.
My face, and the contents of my shopping cart, spurred an attack of SEC just last night. Jake and I were in Safeway to pick up a few things for a dinner we are making for a new mom, and we were waiting to check out when someone's bag of sugar sprang a leak. The checker called for a replacement bag, the customer started the the payment process, and the person ahead of me got a case of SEC induced swivel neck. When he turned my way he looked down into our cart and said, "I didn't know they had that here."
"Uh huh."
"Oh you have to be careful. Did you know what's in that? They do this and then that and then everything good is gone and everything bad remains. Its shocking to think. Its terrible, its awful, same as rat poison, you're gonna die."
I'm paraphrasing of course but you get the idea. And I am purposefully not telling you what the offending item was. But let me say that everyone, I mean everyone, has had it at one point in their lives. When I just nodded and smiled he continued.
"The zimafram from the waxamoop has too much zifflemix for the kooklafran and I hear the gradimenters are too ploscitudinal for the body to absorb."
Even though I knew better than to encourage him, I said, "Really?"
"Yeah, it's shameful."
Nothing was happening up front at the register..."oh?"
And then he came in with his closer..."Yup, everyone should be living to about two hundred years old but because of all this, that "they" are doing, it is keeping us from living that long."
"200? Hmm. That's something else." (when I was thinking...I have seen some 100 year olds in my day...Wouldn't want to do another hundred years of that.)
By now the sugar bag had been replaced, line started moving, and the doctor (I can only assume) paid for his large bottle of some sort of alcoholic beverage (seriously), and walked away. I think I know why his life expectency is not going to be in the 200s. Oh well, live and let live.
When he was gone, Jake came out of hiding from behind me and I tried to pay for my things as quickly as possible so the people behind me didn't start talking about my food selections as well...or felt the need to have a Shared Experience Conversation concerning my newest friend...I do have that kind of face.
You've all seen it and been part of it at some point in your lives, but until now it has not been given a name. You know the signs. It all starts with a collection of people. How many times have you been in line at the grocery store when there aren't enough lanes to help everyone? Once? Ok, I can continue. Then the person at the front of the line has an issue, real or imaginary...it doesn't matter, it's an issue...SEC. They announce that the movie you have been waiting in line to see is sold out until the midnight showing...SEC. You get up and gather with a group of parents in the freezing cold at 5:30 because there was a rumor that they had a shipment of Wii game systems the week before Christmas...SEC. You can sense it. There will be a delay. And then it occurs. People start to pivot their necks, eyebrows raised. eye contact is made, perhaps a shrugged shoulder, it is inevitable...positive or negative...someone will say something.
"They never have enough checkers."
"They have all of the spaces at the window but there are no tellers."
"I can't believe I am doing this...can you not feel your toes either?"
"Is it me or is that DMV worker actually walking backward?"
I would like to point out that I am not prepared to talk about DDS (Dumbass Driver Syndrome) at this point even though there are similar characteristics. When people at a stoplight need to collectively slam on their brakes because one more clown speeds through a red light...DDS. When you have waited in the long offramp lane on the bumper to bumper freeway and someone speeds down the shoulder to jump in at the last possible moment...DDS. This I will need to save for a future posting.
Trying to be the nice, forgiving, and extremely introverted soul that I am, When faced with SEC I usually shrug and nod and try to give a look that says, "I feel your pain" or even, "I'm with you." I'm not one to initiate the conversation, usually, since I have been in these workers' shoes before, and I always hated it when people complained about things that were out of my control. But someone always falls victim to the effects of SEC and they are usually right next to me...I must have one of those faces.
My face, and the contents of my shopping cart, spurred an attack of SEC just last night. Jake and I were in Safeway to pick up a few things for a dinner we are making for a new mom, and we were waiting to check out when someone's bag of sugar sprang a leak. The checker called for a replacement bag, the customer started the the payment process, and the person ahead of me got a case of SEC induced swivel neck. When he turned my way he looked down into our cart and said, "I didn't know they had that here."
"Uh huh."
"Oh you have to be careful. Did you know what's in that? They do this and then that and then everything good is gone and everything bad remains. Its shocking to think. Its terrible, its awful, same as rat poison, you're gonna die."
I'm paraphrasing of course but you get the idea. And I am purposefully not telling you what the offending item was. But let me say that everyone, I mean everyone, has had it at one point in their lives. When I just nodded and smiled he continued.
"The zimafram from the waxamoop has too much zifflemix for the kooklafran and I hear the gradimenters are too ploscitudinal for the body to absorb."
Even though I knew better than to encourage him, I said, "Really?"
"Yeah, it's shameful."
Nothing was happening up front at the register..."oh?"
And then he came in with his closer..."Yup, everyone should be living to about two hundred years old but because of all this, that "they" are doing, it is keeping us from living that long."
"200? Hmm. That's something else." (when I was thinking...I have seen some 100 year olds in my day...Wouldn't want to do another hundred years of that.)
By now the sugar bag had been replaced, line started moving, and the doctor (I can only assume) paid for his large bottle of some sort of alcoholic beverage (seriously), and walked away. I think I know why his life expectency is not going to be in the 200s. Oh well, live and let live.
When he was gone, Jake came out of hiding from behind me and I tried to pay for my things as quickly as possible so the people behind me didn't start talking about my food selections as well...or felt the need to have a Shared Experience Conversation concerning my newest friend...I do have that kind of face.
Saturday, January 22, 2011
You Smell That?
It feels like I haven't written in a month. I haven't had a reader from Slovenia in about a week! I need to get back to writing! Well, actually it was yesterday. It only seems like longer. I think my cheese may be slipping off of its cracker. (well a nice aged Camembert would sit comfortably above a multi grain stone ground baked wafer...but I digress)
I was trying like mad last month to write as often as I could, during the Christmas break from teaching, and I was able to write almost every morning but, whew, did it make me tired. Not the actual typing...I'm not that out of shape. "Yes doctor, I typed 20 words a minute for an hour. I'm spent! Does that count as cardio?" No, the reason that I was worn out is that I have sort of promised myself that I wouldn't take away from family time to write. Before you start saying, "Awwww, that's so sweet....I think Bill Cosby should play him in the movie they make about his life." let me stop you. I am not always able to keep that promise. And sometimes, when I've gotten up early to write, it takes me a little longer than an hour to get my ramblings written down. Here's the thing...once I've started to write, it is very hard for me to stop and do something else.
Sylvia says, "Honey, could you come take a look at this room...is it supposed to be on fire? Oh, you're writing, I'll come back."
It's not quite that bad...but it's close. There have been times when Sylvia will get up and wonder if I forgot to look at the clock since we have a half hour to be somewhere...and are the kids up? Oops. I try not to start writing unless I have a solid block of time to finish. Thanks to Fudge the wunderhund I am up early... often...too often! But I suppose it's better than spending my weekends shampooing carpets.
So, losing track of time (and topics) is not the only reason I fear that my mental marble sack has developed a hole. I have a smelling problem lately. Ha ha, very funny...Oh yes, the body odor humor is very much appreciated sir. Haven't heard that one before. That is not what I mean. I do stink, but I am talking about something else today. My brain has been misfiring lately and I have been smelling things that just aren't there. Not unpleasant things, that would be awful, but normal things...if I wasn't sitting at a computer.
It started about a week ago when we had a spill in the computer room. An oil lamp, of sorts, tipped over and slowly leaked down a shelf. Every once in a while we (the 'we' is important at this point) would get a whiff of something chemical in the play room. (the play room, AKA the school room, and the computer room, the Wii room, and formerly known as the blue room, before the carpet was changed) The smell kept increasing and we would typically smell it while working at the computer. As the lead bug killer and chief smell finder in the house I tried everything. I crawled under the computer, I moved around the chairs, I crawled on my hands and knees sniffing and looking very much like a bloodhound trying to find a missing child. Fudge was looking at me and thinking, "I know he used to be in charge, but I think I could take him." I was stumped. I couldn't find it anywhere. That is not like me. I once was able to have the school cancel an exterminator call because I found a hidden lunch box that had begun to rot...odoriferously! That's me, and my super sniffer. This time, nothing!
It got increasingly unpleasant and I even said to Sylvia, "I know that smell. It is some sort of solvent that has spilled on plastic." I just couldn't find it. And then Sylvia did. Across the room at the base of the bookshelf an old plastic clipboard from when I coached baseball (which is a series of hysterical blogs in itself) was saturated in lamp oil. Having been bested by Sylvia in the smell finding arena I released a handful of bugs into the house...so I wouldn't seem completely obsolete. I'd hate to be replaced by Jeff 2.0. The new version with a nose that works.
After the cleanup was complete we had no more strange odors while sitting at the computer. (well, none that couldn't be explained away. Fudge!! No No!!) And then a few days ago it happened. I was sitting at the computer and I smelled pancakes. I didn't smell them cooking in the kitchen. I smelled them right here! It was like the kids were trying to coax me away from the keyboard by waving a plate under my nose. Problem was, no kids, no plate. I felt the computer desk to see if someone had eaten breakfast here and spilled a significant amount of maple syrup that didn't get cleaned up. No luck. I got back into smelling stance (eager to redeem myself) and found nothing. I smelled my clothes. "Hon! Did you buy a new laundry detergent that is made from trees?"
"Umm? No? Are you okaaaay? Come here and kill this bug."
(yessss!)
There were no pancakes anywhere. I even asked the kids, "Did you guys eat syrup this morning?"
"Nope. Can you come get this bug."
(Contract. Renewed!)
I tried to pass it off as some sort of cranial misfire and go about my day. Then I went into our bedroom to get something. Toasted marshmallows. Oh come on!! Seriously? Now I smell toasted marshmallows in the bedroom. As an aside, let me explain that we have NOT toasted marshmallows in our bedroom...for at least a month. There should not be the odor of anything resembling toasted marshmallows in our bedroom. It was like someone had secretly jammed a couple of odd smelling Jelly Bellies into my nostrils...so I checked. Nothing. Hey, anything at this point.
So now I am walking around sniffing the air, walking up and smelling everyone, slowly searching the house for a phantom...with a sweet tooth...all the while Sylvia has her hand hovering over the phone wondering if this is something the authorities might like to know about. And then it went away. No more pancakes. No more marshmallows. Sylvia took my temperature. The dog was able to stop laughing at me. All was right with the world. Until I went to work.
I got into my classroom and sat down at the computer and wham! Who the heck is chopping down pine trees behind me? Come On!! Yup, now I smell trees. Anyone have Dr. House's number? Perhaps a portable CT scan. I could use a little help over here. This is the strangest thing to have happen. Not terribly unpleasant but odd. I suppose it could be worse. I could be smelling chicken coops and roof tar. I think I'll stick with the sweets and the nature thank you very much.
My cousin Bev, who just recently found me on Facebook, suggested that my body was trying to tell me something and I should listen to it. Her theory is that my brain is trying to make me remember things that it wants me to do. Pancakes, Marshmallows, Trees? She thinks I should go camping. That is a better theory than any other I've heard. I think I might listen to my body. I'm gonna go make pancakes. Well I was going to make them. I may not need to...it smells like someone started cooking sauerkraut!
I was trying like mad last month to write as often as I could, during the Christmas break from teaching, and I was able to write almost every morning but, whew, did it make me tired. Not the actual typing...I'm not that out of shape. "Yes doctor, I typed 20 words a minute for an hour. I'm spent! Does that count as cardio?" No, the reason that I was worn out is that I have sort of promised myself that I wouldn't take away from family time to write. Before you start saying, "Awwww, that's so sweet....I think Bill Cosby should play him in the movie they make about his life." let me stop you. I am not always able to keep that promise. And sometimes, when I've gotten up early to write, it takes me a little longer than an hour to get my ramblings written down. Here's the thing...once I've started to write, it is very hard for me to stop and do something else.
Sylvia says, "Honey, could you come take a look at this room...is it supposed to be on fire? Oh, you're writing, I'll come back."
It's not quite that bad...but it's close. There have been times when Sylvia will get up and wonder if I forgot to look at the clock since we have a half hour to be somewhere...and are the kids up? Oops. I try not to start writing unless I have a solid block of time to finish. Thanks to Fudge the wunderhund I am up early... often...too often! But I suppose it's better than spending my weekends shampooing carpets.
So, losing track of time (and topics) is not the only reason I fear that my mental marble sack has developed a hole. I have a smelling problem lately. Ha ha, very funny...Oh yes, the body odor humor is very much appreciated sir. Haven't heard that one before. That is not what I mean. I do stink, but I am talking about something else today. My brain has been misfiring lately and I have been smelling things that just aren't there. Not unpleasant things, that would be awful, but normal things...if I wasn't sitting at a computer.
It started about a week ago when we had a spill in the computer room. An oil lamp, of sorts, tipped over and slowly leaked down a shelf. Every once in a while we (the 'we' is important at this point) would get a whiff of something chemical in the play room. (the play room, AKA the school room, and the computer room, the Wii room, and formerly known as the blue room, before the carpet was changed) The smell kept increasing and we would typically smell it while working at the computer. As the lead bug killer and chief smell finder in the house I tried everything. I crawled under the computer, I moved around the chairs, I crawled on my hands and knees sniffing and looking very much like a bloodhound trying to find a missing child. Fudge was looking at me and thinking, "I know he used to be in charge, but I think I could take him." I was stumped. I couldn't find it anywhere. That is not like me. I once was able to have the school cancel an exterminator call because I found a hidden lunch box that had begun to rot...odoriferously! That's me, and my super sniffer. This time, nothing!
It got increasingly unpleasant and I even said to Sylvia, "I know that smell. It is some sort of solvent that has spilled on plastic." I just couldn't find it. And then Sylvia did. Across the room at the base of the bookshelf an old plastic clipboard from when I coached baseball (which is a series of hysterical blogs in itself) was saturated in lamp oil. Having been bested by Sylvia in the smell finding arena I released a handful of bugs into the house...so I wouldn't seem completely obsolete. I'd hate to be replaced by Jeff 2.0. The new version with a nose that works.
After the cleanup was complete we had no more strange odors while sitting at the computer. (well, none that couldn't be explained away. Fudge!! No No!!) And then a few days ago it happened. I was sitting at the computer and I smelled pancakes. I didn't smell them cooking in the kitchen. I smelled them right here! It was like the kids were trying to coax me away from the keyboard by waving a plate under my nose. Problem was, no kids, no plate. I felt the computer desk to see if someone had eaten breakfast here and spilled a significant amount of maple syrup that didn't get cleaned up. No luck. I got back into smelling stance (eager to redeem myself) and found nothing. I smelled my clothes. "Hon! Did you buy a new laundry detergent that is made from trees?"
"Umm? No? Are you okaaaay? Come here and kill this bug."
(yessss!)
There were no pancakes anywhere. I even asked the kids, "Did you guys eat syrup this morning?"
"Nope. Can you come get this bug."
(Contract. Renewed!)
I tried to pass it off as some sort of cranial misfire and go about my day. Then I went into our bedroom to get something. Toasted marshmallows. Oh come on!! Seriously? Now I smell toasted marshmallows in the bedroom. As an aside, let me explain that we have NOT toasted marshmallows in our bedroom...for at least a month. There should not be the odor of anything resembling toasted marshmallows in our bedroom. It was like someone had secretly jammed a couple of odd smelling Jelly Bellies into my nostrils...so I checked. Nothing. Hey, anything at this point.
So now I am walking around sniffing the air, walking up and smelling everyone, slowly searching the house for a phantom...with a sweet tooth...all the while Sylvia has her hand hovering over the phone wondering if this is something the authorities might like to know about. And then it went away. No more pancakes. No more marshmallows. Sylvia took my temperature. The dog was able to stop laughing at me. All was right with the world. Until I went to work.
I got into my classroom and sat down at the computer and wham! Who the heck is chopping down pine trees behind me? Come On!! Yup, now I smell trees. Anyone have Dr. House's number? Perhaps a portable CT scan. I could use a little help over here. This is the strangest thing to have happen. Not terribly unpleasant but odd. I suppose it could be worse. I could be smelling chicken coops and roof tar. I think I'll stick with the sweets and the nature thank you very much.
My cousin Bev, who just recently found me on Facebook, suggested that my body was trying to tell me something and I should listen to it. Her theory is that my brain is trying to make me remember things that it wants me to do. Pancakes, Marshmallows, Trees? She thinks I should go camping. That is a better theory than any other I've heard. I think I might listen to my body. I'm gonna go make pancakes. Well I was going to make them. I may not need to...it smells like someone started cooking sauerkraut!
Thursday, January 20, 2011
How to NOT Get Fan Mail From Supermodels (REDO)
This post has been taken away by the author.
I had a bad feeling while I was posting it and upon further reflection I decided that it just sounded mean. And that is not what I am going for. I apologize to those who read it, to those who I may have offended, and to models...who are just trying to do their best with what God has given them.
Now fair warning.
I have this post saved away and I may try to re-work it where I can talk about the absolutely ridiculous things that some people have said...without being mean. Be on your toes supermodels!
Now, just so you don't leave empty handed...
A man wanted to go ice fishing. He researched and found out the best place to do it. He outfitted himself with thousands of dollars of equipment. He took time off of work, transported all of his newly acquired things, and set out on his way. Once there he used his GPS enabled depth detector to locate the exact right place, drilled through the ice, sat in his ergonomically designed heated seat, and started to fish.
After a few hours of nothing happening, he saw a young boy with a folding lawn chair and a handmade pole come over to an abandoned hole on the ice and sat down. Almost instantly the boy yanked the largest fish the man had ever seen through the ice. "Luck." The man thought. Then again, the boy pulled another fish, nearly as big as the first, through the hole. "Fluke." said the man. When the boy pulled his third fish through the hole, the man couldn't take it anymore. He got up, marched over, and demanded that the boy tell him his secret!
"How the heck are you doing that!?"
"Mmmp mmmmp mmm mmm mum mmmmmp mmmmmp." the boy replied.
"What?"
"Mmmp mmmmp mmm mmm mum mmmmmp mmmmmp!"
"What?!"
"Mmmp mmmmp mmm mmm mum mmmmmp mmmmmp!!!"
The man had enough! "Tell me the secret!"
The boy put both of his hands to his mouth, very loudly spit everything from his mouth into them, and said,
"YOU HAVE TO KEEP THE WORMS WARM!"
Have a nice day.
I had a bad feeling while I was posting it and upon further reflection I decided that it just sounded mean. And that is not what I am going for. I apologize to those who read it, to those who I may have offended, and to models...who are just trying to do their best with what God has given them.
Now fair warning.
I have this post saved away and I may try to re-work it where I can talk about the absolutely ridiculous things that some people have said...without being mean. Be on your toes supermodels!
Now, just so you don't leave empty handed...
A man wanted to go ice fishing. He researched and found out the best place to do it. He outfitted himself with thousands of dollars of equipment. He took time off of work, transported all of his newly acquired things, and set out on his way. Once there he used his GPS enabled depth detector to locate the exact right place, drilled through the ice, sat in his ergonomically designed heated seat, and started to fish.
After a few hours of nothing happening, he saw a young boy with a folding lawn chair and a handmade pole come over to an abandoned hole on the ice and sat down. Almost instantly the boy yanked the largest fish the man had ever seen through the ice. "Luck." The man thought. Then again, the boy pulled another fish, nearly as big as the first, through the hole. "Fluke." said the man. When the boy pulled his third fish through the hole, the man couldn't take it anymore. He got up, marched over, and demanded that the boy tell him his secret!
"How the heck are you doing that!?"
"Mmmp mmmmp mmm mmm mum mmmmmp mmmmmp." the boy replied.
"What?"
"Mmmp mmmmp mmm mmm mum mmmmmp mmmmmp!"
"What?!"
"Mmmp mmmmp mmm mmm mum mmmmmp mmmmmp!!!"
The man had enough! "Tell me the secret!"
The boy put both of his hands to his mouth, very loudly spit everything from his mouth into them, and said,
"YOU HAVE TO KEEP THE WORMS WARM!"
Have a nice day.
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