The Beast that is Internet Dating in Your Late 20's

HEY.  CARL.  GOOD TO SEE YOU.  That's my way of saying, welcome back.  It's an homage to the last good Adam Sandler comedy, in case you were wondering.  Sorry Adam.  Don't worry about whether or not I can refer to him on a first name basis.

I seem to only post things during pivotal moments in my life, that most of you that read this already know anyway.  With that being said, I'm going to skip over that whole E! True Hollywood Story "Where Are They Now?" of my life and move on to a new topic that has been of particular interest, agony, and complete and total humor lately.  Dating.  But not just any dating....internet dating.

Before I divulge what many of you may find to be entirely outlandish and will surely be muttering, "Oh my god, I can't believe she's admitting to this", just simmer down nah and appreciate the struggle.

I had a conversation with one of my best friends tonight reflecting upon how the hell we both ended up nearly 30, beyond single, and on our own.  Women's Lib supporters, please, extinguish the brassiere fueled flame for a moment.  I get you.  I take pride in being independent, as successful financially as a new educator can be, and don't need a man to inform me of my daily duties and requirements as a woman.  It's super and I'll be the first one in line to kick a guy in the back of the knee for making a generalized, misogynistic comment towards me.  However, with that being said, BEING SINGLE SUCKS ASS.  Please excuse my outburst...it's been a while since the only companion in my bed hasn't been my giant-hearted oaf of a dog. I mean, the seasons have changed nearly 3 times since.  You understand.  If you don't, I suspect you have often been accused of hating fun, babies, and junk food.  I wish my mother wasn't reading this.

I know many of you are thinking I should count my blessings, or the remaining pieces of pizza in my refrigerator that are just for me, whatever--same thing, and figure I have just saved myself from the misery and heartache of being with the wrong person.  Next, you're going to tell me, "Be patient, it will happen when you least expect it."  Then after I refute that, you will tell me, "You just haven't met the right guy yet." Or you'll wonder if maybe I'm actually a lesbian--not that there's anything wrong with that.  Trust me, I've spent many a night considering all of these possibilities.  They all have one thing in common. They make me hate you for saying them to me repeatedly over the years (get some new material), as if they're some kind of profound solution that will suddenly pull me from the ashes of the nearly 30 singleness in which I currently dwell.  I secretly kind of want to slap you in the teeth actually so you understand how NOT helpful these well-intended sentiments are.  You've been telling me (or someone you know like me) this same load of mummified manure for years.  I'm not angry, despite my fantasized act of aggression.  I love you for trying; I sincerely do.  But you're likely the person that has been in only long term relationships since middle school and have never really been single for longer than six months.  Nothing knowers.  

My issue isn't with all of you happily coupled up people.  You are a delight for me to be the 7th wheel on nights out on the town with.  It's not really an issue at all.  It's a matter of opportunity. Opportunity which my current life does not always--no, rarely--affords me.  It is a reality to which I have accepted. My mother continues to urge me to join clubs and groups for single professionals to open up a doorway into how normal people meet other people of the opposite sex, or so I've heard.  But, uh, I don't want to go these weird clan meetings alone.  I can just imagine myself wandering around in a business casual outfit that looks more professional than what I wear to work, trying to not-weirdly worm my way into conversations with strangers who already know each other...and then walking away feeling positive I seem weirder than when going in.  This was my exact experience in my 20's going out with my friends who always promised me we wouldn't end up at a dance club.  You know who you are, you Judas Priests.  It's super awkward because it's not an environment I would ever take pleasure in being in.  This is what led me to internet dating. 

I've worked in 99% married, female dominated environments since graduating high school.  You'd think that someone would know someone who knows someone's sister's brother's friend who would be a total catch.  Not once.  Not once did this ever happen.  Friends and Seinfeld have fed the public lies (can you tell what I watch on Netflix?). So, I've been taking matters into my own hands on and off since I was maybe 23 and being proactive about dating.  When dating sites first appeared and crept into the hearts of lonely single people alike. I've been on them all.  Match.com (which I only pay for when there is a Groupon), Plentyoffish.com, Okcupid.com.  Ok, so maybe I've just been on 3.  Eharmony wants your retirement fund and inheritance. Tinder is the Showgirl I of the Bleu Diamond--which for any of you non Fort Wayners means it's pretty terrible all around.  For years, I refused to believe I needed to pay for dating.  It felt a little like...prostitution.  Until I realized that all of the guys on the free sites just wanted to bang anyway, so then those became the equivalent of Craiglist's "Casual Encounters" (if you've never read these ads, you haven't lived).  Seriously.  That shit, that shit being free dating sites, is almost always guaranteed to be weird.  

I have been on probably 10 internet dates since 2008, it's not something I share with my diary--even she has standards.  I sign up maybe 1-2x a year when I get bored. You don't know this level of boredom.   I used to get all creative and deeply honest about my hopes and dreams as well as perception about who I was as a person, hoping that the man of my dreams was reading my profile and saying, "YES.  The woman I have been waiting for is just on the other side of the interweb being amazing."  No.  It attracted some strange ass mofo's.  The first guy I ever went on a date with, I made my friend go with me.  In hindsight, that was probably bad form, but, I wasn't going to get murdered during my first experience.

When I say I've dated some characters, I mean Wes Anderson couldn't have developed a character as layered.  Tim Burton, sure.  I met a guy who shaved his legs due to self-conciousness about his hairiness, yet neglected his advancing periodontal disease.  Another guy inexplicably showed up with a mouth full of braces and a leather coat, who took me to a shooting range for our first date, but later told me he didn't appreciate my sarcasm (fart noise).  One fellow showed up an hour and a half late, squabbled with me over the bill, made me pay for tickets to the Haunted Cave, admitted he was 32 and still lived at home, was a beekeeper, built wooden triangles with LED lights that were supposed incense burners and then boasted about his fantastic skills as pianist.  We went to a bar where I knew people.  He played.  He lied. And then tried to sell my bartender friend his stupid triangles. I was mortified.   One chap made me wait a week before he told me about his very unusual upbringing and non-paralleled thrilling life of travel. First of all, he looked like a blast from the past from the boys I knew in 6th grade--nothing like his picture.  THAT'S ANOTHER THING.   They NEVER look like their pictures.  Avoid any and all guys who show no teeth or always wear a hat in pictures.  I'm really not shallow, but I mean, come one, there has to be a level of attraction.  I'm going to figure it out. Lesbihonest.  His big back life story was that he lived with his mom and grandma growing up....and that he once flew to Utah by himself to meet a friend who lived there.  Needless to say, my clothes fell off immediately.  When I got home and into bed and wondered what I was doing with my life.  A recent date seemed completely awesome and too good to be true.  He started talking about how much fun we were going to have and all of the places we were going to go.  It was charming at first, because I do want that.  But then, on our first date, he was dressed like Mr. Rogers when he put on his good cardigan, accused me of looking at other guys in the bar, told me how much his mom and friends were going to love me, and then invited me on a weekend away to a mother f-ing RAVE in Cincinnati the following weekend.  Can we maybe drop some X, hula hoop while spinning glow sticks...and then die later?  JIMINY CRICKET.  On these dates, I always find myself admitting the worst qualities about myself hoping I won't have to be the one that breaks the news, but it only seems to make them like me more.   I have received a lot of angry voicemails and text messages.  And not ONE of them has ever been funny.  I must have funny.  

These were just some of my more memorable dates.  They were always what led me to immediately delete my dating profile and swear off the strange act of trafficking myself.  So, when I do internet date, I basically just make jokes throughout my entire profile (yeah, it's just like a resume).  Here, enjoy this little literary snack, which is an actual excerpt from my profile (which I'm now just too lazy to delete because I can't do it on my phone):

My Self Summary

**Disclaimer: If you are expecting sweet, mushy "I'll tell you everything you want to hear from a woman" statements, including, but not limited to, my immense love and seriousness for/regarding working out and a strict dietary regimen, immediately stop reading. However, if you enjoy humor and you know, reality, by all means, please enjoy. I have zero qualms about who I am, and at this point, why not make this fun, and frank.**

I'd love to tell you I'm really athletic and am super into highly coordinated sports, but I'm afraid it just isn't so. Will I try? Sure, absolutely. Will I yell at someone because they're not helping the team win? No, because talking to yourself is weird.

I'm pretty low key. I don't like, live in sweatpants or anything, but I enjoy a more calm and relaxed lifestyle--which doesn't mean I dont like to get out and do other things. It just means I'm not foaming at the mouth to take a spin class, go wall climbing, or build a shed in my back yard. I like nature and doing things in nature. Wooo nature! I'm really up for trying anything new/adventurous, within reason...my reason.

Keys constantly defeat me and I wish the technology was available that uses thumbprints as keys instead. Like in Back to the Future 2 (the best one by the way). And if it is available, you should buy it for me instead of flowers. **Addendum: Amidst apparent controversy and anarchy over this statement, I would like to specify that I enjoy 2 over 3. Original is sound. I mean Hoverboards, power laces, and a food hydrater? Let's be real.**

I spend a lot of time thinking about

Your mom. Her mom too.

On a typical Friday night I am

asleep by midnight unless a better option has been presented. Friday nights are the best nights ever to couch it up with no pants and sleep until an undisclosed time the next morning.

You should message me if

You're a good person and don't like wearing pants on the weekend.

Is it any wonder I'm still single?  I've found the response to this to be overwhelming.  But I have gotten some really, really, weird--weirder than your dad hitting on your friend-- responses.  I've responded to TWO people in the last month out of my 63 messages.  Because everyone else is that strange and leaves me not questioning at all why they are single.  I made a meme out of one--and took a screen shot of a real conversation (it should be noted that this guy also sent me an unsolicited picture of a very, uh, large, male part--which I will not include).  Here they are (notice the first miscreant's screen name): 

 I realize I spelled goatee incorrectly. 

One guy asked me to sit on his face as his first message. Again, I really, really wish my mother wasn't reading this.  Another pleaded with me to let him be my sugar daddy.  Every single guy that messages me is convinced we have a lot in common.  Really?  How in the world do you have a lot in common with what I said?  I said those things specifically so you couldn't pretend you had anything in common with me.  No, sir in a dingy wife beater, a likely arcade acquired gold chain and K-Swiss shoes smoking a blunt with an MGD in your hand, you do not have one single thing in common with me aside from the fact that you breathe oxygen. No, I would not like to listen to country music with you while you play video games in your jorts.  

I don't mean this to sound so harsh or to make such fun of others.  But, this is internet dating.  You know you would have no interest in people like this either.  And this has been my life for quite a while and I finally find it hilarious enough to share with everyone.  It gets to a point that you can't do anything but laugh and have fun with it. A lot of men are just plain creepy and probably have episodes of Law and Order SVU written after them.  

While I do not need to date anyone, you can certainly understand why at my age and being single for, I don't know, life, why I take a particular interest in being proactive about doing so.  One day, I'm sure it will all work out for the best like the world keeps guaranteeing me. These blokes just aren't cutting it, however.  But, hey, at least I show perseverance.  Admirable, right?  

The more you know.  

New Adventures and Accidents

Well well well, if it isn't me again.  Over a year later, holding true to the title of Amusing Initiatives.  So, where did I last leave you?  Oh yeah....I was a teacher.  In the public school systems.  In Fort Wayne.  In a house I had recently purchased.  And with a dog I impulsively adopted from a shelter who I contemplated adopting back out during his reign of puppyhood terror.  Another amusing initiative.

Obviously, as everyone is well aware, that is no longer my life in most regards.  I am still hopelessly clumsy, uncoordinated and experiencing freak accidents.  However, I am now a lot happier than I had been previously and can't say that I have any regrets about moving forward with life.

Relocating to Indianapolis was such a great choice.  Ever since Day 1 I have been positive that I made a good decision.  And ever since Day 1 I have also been positive that my life will continue to be full of idiotic blonde moments that amuse me (probably more than they should) and those around me that I choose to share my... short comings with, so to speak.  Where do I begin?  Oh, yes, let me share with you my experience first night here.

I had the WONDERFUL fortune of finding a rental duplex near my dear friends in Indianapolis, who will remember fondly and surely lovingly of my incessant text messages of being apprehensive that any location I chose to live I was surely to be raped, robbed or murdered.  What is it with that intense fear of moving to a big city from a smaller one that automatically signals to the brain that terrible things are bound to happen?  Maybe it is the constant oracle story telling power of my mother (God love her) who has always had first hand knowledge of a story of the most terrible misfortune that has happened to someone's aunt Gladys's third cousin once removed by divorce but rejoined by marriage in which they became the 1/1000 in the odds that the event would happen, happened to.  (I will end my sentences in prepositional phrases if I damn well please.)  Or maybe I read the news too often.  Or maybe I had developed my own mason jar full of fears that the big city is the King Koopa Castle of levels that I am unlikely to beat.  Regardless of the cause, I am now able to laugh about how small town scared I was my first few nights here.  As well as what actually happened my first night.

Relocating cities is a nightmare.  Especially when you have moved so often that nobody is willing to assist you any longer as it seems like a fruitless effort--except shout out to Terri, Jessica, Taegan and my mom (who might have considered homicide as an option at this point) .  My mother and I, thanks to her wonderful connections, had hired movers (THE BEST MONEY I HAVE EVER SPENT) to move my house.  However, I was much too impatient to wait until the day the movers were available to leave (I left on a Saturday, they were coming Monday) and decided to pack up Jude and my most essential belongings (turns out I have poor judgment about what "essential" really means and had to shower at a friend's house because I misjudged just how essential a shower curtain and soap are to daily living) and did so in a hurry.  I forgot everything.  I had no bed.  I had no food.  I had no hygiene products. Not a TV or DVD player. I didn't even f-ing bring blankets.  Poor planner.  I spent my first two nights on the floor of my new bedroom on an air mattress I had gotten on loan from a friend, with my dog, with several kitchen knives at my side.  Because I become a hibachi chef when danger arrives.  Apparently that was my thinking.  But before I get to actually sleeping.... let's go over what events took place.

So, I had been enjoying a few spirits at my wonderful new neighbors' and dear friends' house.  (Mind you this was in the middle of the polar vortex).  I came home and decided to unpack the piddly and nonsensical items I had actually decided to bring.  The garage to my duplex is a detached garage (another nightmare of stupid things I've done, you just wait) and has a remote that I had been pushing from inside the house.  However, I couldn't see if the garage had closed or not from any of the windows in the house.  Before I get into this, set the stage.  It's 3 AM, first night in my new place, Antarctica is waiting for me on the other side of the door, I'm slightly intoxicated (sorry Mom), I'm wearing a thing hoodie and leggings and am JUST READY TO SLEEP.  Next to my kitchen knives on an air mattress on the floor. I had gone through the house locking all of the windows as well as the back door. I went to shut the garage door I had left open, wasn't sure if it had closed.  I live in a house built in 1921.  The doors are authentic to the time period.  Nobody told me this.  Do you know what authentic means?  It means this solid wood door has these pin switches in the inside of the door on the side that you have to push to keep it unlocked.  Nobody told me this.  I put on my Totes furry boots and walked outside, in only the clothes I had on, to ensure that the garage was shut.  Well my spazoid, separation anxiety riddled dog got all upset that I was outside and JUMPS on the back of the door. Yeah that slight feeling of dread like "Ha OMG are you serious? No way, that is so awful" immediately set over me and I believe I actually laughed and said, "OMG are you serious? No F-ING WAY THAT JUST HAPPENED."  I for some reason didn't panic.  It was more like, "Well, of course that happened.  I half expected something of this nature.  I'll work it out."  So, I went around to every window that I had just locked, hoping I hadn't locked it, and tried to get in.  Nope.  Wasn't happening.  So I thought, ok, well it wasn't that long ago I left my friends, perhaps they're still awake.  So I walk the 3 minutes to their house.  What's that?  A beacon light of hope on on the front porch?  Win! I'm sure to have at least a warm place to stay until I can call my new landlord who is surely going to hate me immediately when I call him with tomorrow with this first issue of locking myself out of the house.  Unfortunately, nobody was on the porch.  So, I decide to knock.  It's 3 AM on the East side of Indianapolis.  Nobody is expecting or certainly welcoming a strange knock at the door at 3 am (for those of you wondering why I didn't go to the duplex neighbor's house, who I've still never seen by the way).  So I knocked gently for a while.  Trying to voice my presence and explaining how deeply sorry I am to be bothering them at this hour.  No response.  Knock louder.  No response after 5 minutes.  Decide I'll just go home vs. getting stabbed by my friends who may also sleep with kitchen shanks next to their bed and break a window.  So I walk back.  In my light hoodie, leggings, and Totes snow boots contemplating which window I'll break first.  I evaluated it upon which window would be easiest to get in.  The windows on the porch are climable (yikes) so that was my first bet.  I approach the window, Jude is still inside barking wildly at the desire for my presence INSIDE the home (I hear ya buddy) and am first presented with the obstacle of the screen.  Well of course I'll just tear that off, screens can't be that expensive to replace.  (I'd like to add I started considering monetarily, the best choice of windows to break.)  So, I start to poke a hole in the screen because that is obviously the most sensical thing to do.  It starts disintegrating with each tear and I'm pretty sure evaporating into my eye sockets and absorbing into the alevoli pockets of my lungs.  I probably have mesothelioma now.  Well, the screen was equipped with another glass pane behind it, in addition to the window which is at least 80 years old.  Might have a hefty bill replacing this.  I then remembered that the back door has the standard 4 panes of windows on it and that one pane is conveniently located next to the lock on the door.  Oh yeah.  I locked the storm door too.  What's that?  Pull it on ravenously until you break the metal piece that keeps the door shut off the frame?  Of course.  Found a rock.  Picked it up and bashed twice before break through.  (I was asked why I didn't throw it--in case you're wondering, it's now nearly 3:30 am (do you understand that it was late because I keep mentioning its importance to the story), I'm a new tenant in the neighborhood, I was trying to be as inconspicuous in my green sweatshirt and bleach blonde hair as possible.)  Reach in, unlocked the door.  Oh wait-- you locked the wooden door inside the house that goes to the main floor of the house too?  Well, of course you yank on it like it's the doorway between Heaven and Hell until you pull that lock out of that door frame and get in.  Win.

I then proceeded to use packing materials (i.e. leftover puppy potty pads and bubble wrap) to cover the break, as well as tried to cover the whole window and screen door as I wanted to create the illusion that I was actually just trying to save money on heat.  And I used black electrical tape.  And ran out of puppy pads so only half of the window was ever covered.  Because that's all I had.  Yeah...it did look real hillbilly.  And still does.  I haven't bothered to fix it.  Don't worry, I have a security system.

So that, my friends, was how my first night in my new place went.  I am no longer fearful of where I live but do continue to have really stupid accidents and misfortunes.  Next blog--- broken garage doors, bones and railings.  Until then, enjoy being a normal human being.  And I don't feel like spell/grammar checking this, forgive me.

Chips and Dishes

Hello all.  Glad to see you've made it back... or perhaps for the first time.  I have been kicking the dirt around for a new idea for what to write about so as to entertain you all and I was having trouble for a long time until yesterday, when something too strange and hilarious happened to me that I finally found my idea.

For those of you that don't know, I recently bought a house near work as I was not a fan of the 30-35 minute drive every morning and the toll it was taking on my lot of potential spending money.  A house of my very own....which came with new bills of my very own.  And a new, scary downtown neighborhood of my very own.  Well, it's not so bad now that I've gotten used to it.  It's just a little hard to make an extreme transition like that from always living in the cushy comforts of the white picket fenced suburbs where police sirens are so infrequent that you often stop to pay attention to where they are coming from to living in the city where police sirens and train whistles are so common that they become background noise.  It slightly reminds me of the scene in Big where Tom Hanks just arrives at the sketchy St. Jame's Hotel in NYC and he crawls into fetal position and cries because out of fear......and then a few weeks later he can't tell the difference between the television gunshots and sirens to real life and continues to eat his Oreos like it's nothing--- yes, it's kind of like that.  I do actually enjoy it now though.  I even open my blinds during the day time now.  I'm not going to say I don't freeze and stare at my bedroom door when I hear a strange noise-- what is that reaction?  Just staring.  Like if I stare long enough maybe it won't come true.  Considering I don't have furniture, I've often contemplated what I would do were an intruder to enter.  I don't have any furniture to move in front of the door like in the movies... or weapons... maybe I could arm myself with my vanity chair and poke him in the eyes with my mascara tube?  Something to consider. 

With a new home comes a lot of financial responsibility.  I've discovered some things:

1) I am a cheapskate.  I do not decorate because I find it financially unnecessary when I have other things like a social life and vacations to think about.  I had all of these ambitious daydreams about how I would immediately paint, redo my kitchen cabinets and have amazing artwork all around my house.  Not even close-- that costs money, Jack. My house is like a bachelor pad with goofy paint colors as the only decor I've hung up is the painting I painted while I was drinking wine during a class-- hey I figure it's worth $35 and totally reeks of class and elegance.  My bedroom has a bed, a jewelry box which doubles as a TV stand and a vanity.  I do not own a dresser.  My mom spent a long time shopping around trying to find me steals and deals for dressers so I could be an adult-- but I always turned it down if it was more than say $100.  I thought I'd build one.  That I bought from Meijer.  That came in a 4' x 6"--yes that inches-- box.  Obviously this was going to be a bit of a task.  I dumped it out.  Stared at it. Observed that it looked like thick, painted plywood.  Noticed one board didn't have the required holes drilled into it and shoved it back in the box to return. And that was that.  It's still in one of my many empty rooms... unreturned.  I also don't even turn my heat up past (passed? I never know) 65 most of the time.  Why waste heat and be adequately warmed when I could throw on my gray suit (that would be a gray hoodie with matching gray sweatpants...Hanes) and go to the grocery store and buy generic foods?  If it weren't for my parents installing new windows, locks, doors and a security system (CLEARLY wasn't going to do any of that).....I would probably just shove furniture in front of the doors and nail the windows shut to keep the house secure.  Yes.  THAT much of a cheapskate.  And maybe slightly lazy.

2)   I hold my breath when I get my mail and hope that there isn't another bill in there.  I am so delighted to not get mail. 

3) Automatic payment is my favorite thing ever.  Except when it doesn't work the first time and you forget to check your accounts to see if the bills have been paid and are totally surprised when you have DOUBLED bills the following month.  That's fun.  I'm poor.

4)  Local cable really isn't all that bad once you get used to it.  Now that I have a job and am not stuck watching daytime local cable, I can't imagine wasting  $100+ on cable.  That's why you go to visit other people.   

5)  I am lazy.  I've had a new couch and chair ready for delivery since January.  However, that means I'd have to move my current giant couch and chair downstairs.  Problem?  My house was built in the 1950's.  People weren't obese back then and didn't require enormous couches  (like the one in my living room) or wide doorways.  I also have to take the railing off of the wall going into the basement in hopes that the couch would even go down the treacherous wooden steps.  SO many things are required of me to get that new couch....it also requires me finding people to help me move them.  Any takers? 

6)  I can't grocery shop.  I used to LOVE grocery shopping.  I will often go to the grocery store, spend an hour and come out with like a box of cereal, chicken tenders, yogurt, a dish brush and WD-40.  So instead of eating meals at my house-- I'll eat what's around...like a packet of oatmeal or some frozen vegetables rather than going to the store and buying real food that would make up a whole dinner.  I live next door to Kroger.  Too much effort I tell you. 


Aside from being borderline destitute, living alone is kind of funny.  It's funny in that you start to notice a lot of really strange habits about yourself that you've never noticed before....as you always had roommates before to help you stifle your weirdness.  And then you wonder...do other people do these things?  Like for instance, I never close the bathroom door.  Ever.   And then that behavior seems to carry out to other places, all non-public thankfully, before I realize that it is really an unacceptable behavior and is much more polite to close the door in company of others.  I rarely have guests because nobody wants to drive to the 'hood to see me...or they're just all married and/or have children and have real, normal lives for someone my age....and sometimes I'll forget to close the door then too.  My laundry room is in my basement.  It seems silly to spend all that time walking all of your laundry down the stairs and risk injury.  So... my basement door is my make shift laundry chute.  And then you have to explain to others why there is a pile of dirty laundry at the bottom of the stairs.  You really forget yourself when you live alone.  I can also never find ANYTHING.  I've always stashed it away somewhere nonsensical thinking "Oh.. Yeah... the living room side table is definitely a perfect place for the Lysol and my hair dryer to be stored."  And then there was the incident yesterday.  I went to take my dog, Jude--or as I lovingly refer to  him as "the Angel of Death" because he is a terror on four legs and while I enjoy him, I will NEVER get another puppy, on a walk yesterday.  I put on my tennis shoes, sneakers, gym shoes... whatever is the correct term here in Indiana...which were on the kitchen table to keep away the Billy Goat--the Billy Goat with baby shark teeth-- and when I started walking I heard and felt this crunching in my right shoe.  Of course I was concerned and when I took it off and dumped it out, what fell out but big pieces of a tortilla chip.  While there are several puzzling questions and assumptions to accompany this situation, I could really only focus on how an entire tortilla chip was smashed up into pieces INSIDE my shoe.  It doesn't even make sense.  I found more pieces throughout the walk-- like someone had sabotaged my walk by embedding a chip into the walls of the inside of my shoe.  I also do a lot of weird yelling when I'm playing with my dog.  No inflection-- just monotone yelling to see if I can get a reaction.  I can only imagine what the neighbors would think if they could see through the blinds I always keep closed.  Speaking of blinds-- the blinds in my kitchen also need replaced.  Every time I peek through them, one of the blades disintegrates onto the floor.  I'll just make a pattern and call myself a Hipster.   I also noticed today my cupboard is void of all coffee cups.  Well the good ones anyway.  The only ones left are the freebies your friends gave you after they got better stuff.   Occasionally I'll find one in the linen closet or that side table in the living room. Oh-- and not having a dishwasher is absolutely the most inconvenient part about living in a house with a One Butt Kitchen and also being cheap.  I also do things like... go to fill the sink and wash the dishes and not pay any attention to where the faucet is turned, walk away and end up with water all over the counter or spray the Pam on the pan without any certain direction and forget that I have a gas range and about blow my face off.  My dog has also been delighted in the act of tearing the carpet out from the floor.  Do I fix it?  Nah.  Cover it up with something.  It'll be fine.  Cripes-- who am I?  Adam Sandler in Big Daddy? 

Anywho, I woke up this morning at 5 am because ol' Jude decided he was going to paw with his sharp claws at my face until I got up. I realized I threw away my last pair of contacts last night as they weren't feeling so fresh.  Guess who doesn't want to pay the $500 deductible on my insurance?  Me.  Guess how much a year's supply of contacts costs-- $600.   Guess who is going to be wearing glasses and sporting small eyes due to the coke bottle thickness of my lenses because I'm blind for a while? Me.  Being an adult sucks.   However, I am thankful to finally have a space that is mine in which I call the-- obviously most awesome--shots all of the time and can have wild parties at all hours of the night.  Parties I've had since November-- 0.  One day I will have a party that goes beyond 11 PM.  Some day.  Someone should give me money. 

I do actually really enjoy life right now-- things are all coming together, slowly but surely and I was thinking yesterday about how these are the things I have wanted for a long time.  Of course, at 15 you imagine you'll get them all at the same time and by 25 you'd have the whole "perfect family" scenario down to a reality and your relatives wouldn't still be questioning your sexuality due to lack of ever bringing anyone to family holidays....haha.  But you know, we all get to where we need to be in life at the right time for us individually.  At least that's what single people are supposed to tell themselves on Valentine's Day right?  (Admittedly, I just wrote this whole retrospective last paragraph while imagining it was like the closing scene in Doogie Howser M.D. with that electronic keyboard music and all).  Good things are in store for me soon and I can't wait to share about it and it's hilarious ups & downs later.  Because you know I regularly do dumb/clumsy things.   

Well, that's that for now.  I don't even think I'll go back and incessantly fix every tiny grammatical error this time like I do with my Facebook statuses.  This whole living alone thing has really opened me up to a new level of laziness.  Evening. 


Side Note-- I did go back and look and this is the longest string of disconnected thoughts I've probably had since I was five.  Too bad I'm too cheap to pay for my ADD medicine. 

Kindergartners Slay Me

Dear Friends,

   Well, I have certainly been through a lot of monster sized changes since the last you heard from me.  Granted, everyone probably already knows considering the only people that read this are my Facebook friends where I regularly update you all on my life that I seem to find noteworthy for everyone else to read about. 

   1)  I am a full-blown, mediocre Kindergarten teacher.  Kidding about the mediocre part-- though sometimes it feels that way.  I had forgotten how hilarious five year olds are.  There is never a dull day nor is there ever an easy day.  Some days all day long all I hear is "Miss Overmyer!  Miss Overmyer!! MISS OVERMYER!!!!"  How I respond, "Yes, dear, what is that you need??"  What I'm thinking, "WHAT!  FOR CRIPES SAKE, WHAT IS IT THAT IS SO IMPORTANT YOU HAVE TO REPEAT MY NAME FIVE HUNDRED TIMES WITH AN INCREASING DECIBEL!!!!!"  What they usually respond with, "Jerry (yes, Jerry, I dislike the standard Billy as a name for a random child, I've never met a child named Billy--Jerrys are just as uncommon) sticked his tongue out at me and told me he's not my friend (the ULTIMATE diss for a kid)," OR "I have to pee!"  There are some days that I'd kick a bunny if it let out a squeak that sounded remotely like my name...do rabbits make noises?  At the end of the day, I'm glad to no longer be Miss Overmyer....sometimes.  Other days, I marvel at the fact that I have the incredible pleasure of teaching.  Some days are just so fantastic, I literally can't help but grin like an idiot--example: the day I discovered one of my students could read and another could count to 100 and identify every number.  It might sound like a standard feat, but for this age it's comparable to climbing Mt. Everest.

 I had had one exceptional day a couple of weeks ago, where everything in my personal and professional life was going tremendously and I was in such a great mood, that I couldn't help but sing with full expression in my car on the way home.  Music of choice: Boys II Men.  Song of choice:  I'll Make Love to You--NOT RELATED TO ANYTHING, just happens to be 1 of 3 songs I know on that CD.  I caught myself making the intense arm movements like I was pulling and shoving the air waves around as I sang as loudly as I could, killing the deep/low male speaking voice parts (ex: Baby, I'm sorry, please forgive me for all the wrong I've done) and then noticed that I was in full blown traffic and must have looked like a nutjob as I attempted to recreate the music video in the driver's seat of my car.  Singing to myself.  And then I just started crying laughing at myself as I imagined what I looked like from another's perspective--granted the laughter was partly because I've always thought that one of my friend's boyfriends is the long lost member of Boys II Men and  envisioned him in the music video performing as well.  Yes, that's how great a good day of teaching makes me feel.  But then the bad days, are bad but not because of the students.  They are because I get frustrated that I can't successfully get my students to understand something that is WAY beyond their level of thinking but they are expected to know how to do, and well.  Speaking of this, I must break and rant a minute.

Parents-- I have come to the conclusion that you need to do some reconfiguring with your genetics and produce super babies that emerge from the womb reading with expression and poise in the nursery at the hospital to all of his peers, because as the laws of what children need to know coming INTO Kindergarten as well as when they leave continue to change, that's really the only possible way to accomplish what they expect.  It is amusing in the way that one would laugh at the idea of the government telling a farmer his corn stalks need to start producing watermelons.  People forget that these kids are FIVE.  Five whole years they've been on this earth and they are expected to do things that we didn't learn until second grade-- when they finish Kindergarten.  They tell us to focus on the individual child yet they are all expected to perform on the exact same level with NO exceptions.  Who can do that? Except for maybe Bob Ross?  They are five.  I have their full attention for approximately six minutes at a time.  If someone farts or says underwear, they're in outer space for the next twenty.  But they are expected to write paragraphs-- yes that is plural-- and discriminate between formative and narrative texts when they write--and rated on a rubric that at the highest label them as being "proficient" as a writer.   These kids are just learning to write their names and we are asking them to start writing research papers and be proficient in any subject beyond the basics?  Leave the education laws to those who are actually actively involved in the classroom and schools on a DAILY basis.  Kindergarten isn't playing games, eating warm cookies and milk at snack time and no, they don't take naps.  They get 20 minutes of recess a day.  That's it.  Some days they may fall asleep due to exhaustion.  I don't always wake them up. 

All that aside, teaching isn't a job.  It's a dedication to empowering the lives of others. Now that I finally have my own classroom, I find myself wanting to do things better for those students because I know how much they deserve it.  They inspire me to be a better teacher every day.  It's amazing to work in a profession in which it's no longer about the pay check and it becomes about the work you're doing-- and being passionate about it.  My students have taught me more about life in these few short weeks than I have figured out in my 26.7.  They are also hilarious.  Here are some memorable moments:

A) Day One, Circle Time, Introductions:  One of my students stands up, pulls his shirt over his head so only his face remains, puts arms in a 90 degree angled fashion and says, "I am Cornholio and I need TP for my bunghole."  True story.  A five year old quoted Beavis & Butthead.  At circle time. 

B)  One of my students, who is very well intentioned and actually pretty sweet, had regularly been getting in trouble for being "unfriendly" to others and had told another student, "If you be friends with her, I'm going to punch you in the face."  We had a little chat about what it means to threaten people.  She swears it's not her fault she said it.  The next day she frolics in and says to me, "Miss Overmyer!  I'm not going to tell anyone I want to punch them in the face today!"  I expressed my deep gratitude.  She had a couple of more rough days and finally one day, in the morning, she came to me and said, "Miss Overmyer, you look very beautiful today.  My mom told me to say that, she said you'd like it."   It turns out I'm as big of a sucker for empty compliments as I am for the genuine.

C)  One morning, I was assessing students' knowledge in English Language Arts.  I have one child who is so hilarious that I make time to have a conversation with him every day because of how much he makes me smile and I appreciate the way his brain works.  I was asking him letters of the alphabet when he blurted out, "MISS OVERMYER DO YOU WATCH STAR WARS?"  "No, dear, I do not."  He went on to tell me all about light sabres and R2D2.

D)  I was having trouble with a student not following directions and having trouble keeping his hands to himself.  I finally had a chat with him about why he behaves this way, and here it is verbatim:

Me:  Do you like getting in trouble?
Boy:  No.
Me:  Do you act like this for your parents?
Boy: No.
Me:  Why not?
Boy:  Because they're nice.
Me:  And I'm not nice?
Boy:  Well you're not so nice, but you're kinda nice.

I have found myself trying to make this kid like me ever since. 

E)  I sometimes like to join in on the fun at recess.  It always surprises the kids and they go INSANE.  One girl turned to me and said, "Miss Overmyer!  You can't come up here-- you're too chubby."  "I'm too what?"  Quickly realizing I took slight offense she restated, "You're too tall!"  Yes, hint taken. 

I must also mention that in Kindergarten, when there isn't a bathroom in the room, going to the bathroom becomes a novelty--it also becomes contagious.  You wouldn't believe the outbreak of suddenly maxed out bladders that occur in my room when ONE kid asks to go.  I've never gone more than 10 minutes without someone asking me if they can go to the bathroom.  What they actually do when they are down there, I shall never know.  I'm almost sure it is not used for its intended purpose.  Oh, Kindergartners also like to lick things?  Like pants and tables.

More hilarities to come later.

2)  I bought a house!  I can finally be an official adult and move out of my parents' guest room and start paying bills.  It's adorable.  I gain possession Thanksgiving weekend.  I'd post a picture, but someone will probably come and murder me or tell their friends to rob my house of my Hand me Down furniture and refrigerator magnets. 

When I had first started house hunting, I had this insane vision of a brand spanking new house out Southwest, with white trim, granite counter tops, stainless steel appliances and imagined myself entertaining royalty in my living room...until I saw my paycheck with all deductions taken out.  Yikes.  I can afford to entertain... vagrants?  Kidding, it's a sweet little abode built in the 1950's with lots of character.  I've been doing nothing but "pinning" on Pinterest these last few days.  I have tens of tens of great ideas of things to do to my house, like refurbishing old furniture-- but we all know I will probably do one of those ideas, and only complete half of it because it was taking too long and I became bored.  And it will sit in my garage...until I move again in five years, where I will rediscover it, spend a day trying to finish it again and then ultimately just end up leaving it behind and hope the new homeowners take care of its disposal for me.  But, it's the thought that counts right?  I'm curious to find out if having my OWN home will encourage me to be neater. 

Probably not.  Call me before you stop by so I can shove things into closets and under the bed. 


I guess I didn't have as many new and awesome changes as I had initially thought. Regardless, I love being able to tell people I'm a Kindergarten teacher when they ask about my profession.  I no longer have to tell them I'm almost graduated or a substitute (not that subbing isn't a good job--it might be the hardest, I just like the ownership).  Hooray!

I wish for everyone to have careers and lives they love.

Sunshine Wishes,
Miss Overmyer

Florida or Bust

  Well Ladies and Gents, it was a total bust.  A fun bust, but a bust none the less.  I am out of the monetary affects required to stay afloat in this great city. 

   As many of you know, I moved to Tampa in June with the intentions of becoming the best educator folks this side of the Ohio River have ever seen.  It didn't work out quite as planned.  I had 12 interviews and sent out over 70 resumes to area schools without being presented with a single opportunity of employment. The nerve. I was unable to obtain part-time jobs for which I was clearly over qualified for but willing to do.  I don't know what the Hoosier State ever did to The Sunshine State, but they clearly took major offense.  After my 12th interview, I had sent the principal I interviewed with an eloquently written e-mail thanking him for the opportunity to apply and to hopefully consider me for future employment.  It is my belief he took pity on me when he divulged what I'm about to tell you because the conversation began with, "We don't normally call people we haven't selected for a position after an interview, but..."  My immediate thoughts were "Okay, well this slashes that last glimmer of hope circling around the notion that I may have gotten the position, but go on" and what he told me next was potentially crushing news but I was too caught up in accepting anything he told me as positive to notice it was in fact not positive news at all.  In a carefully worded summary, I was basically told that due to my lack of experience with the Florida school systems it was unlikely I would be hired over a candidate that has interred in their schools but to "research their models because they are quite different".  Generally speaking, I did not attend a Florida college therefore I wasn't going to be hired.  Ever.  I researched the models...pretty standard stuff my good sir.  While I appreciate him calling me because he certainly didn't have to and also for being so nice about my perpetual rejections, my tower of optimism began to crumble.  I've spent the last two solid weeks searching for jobs and sending resumes once more in hopes to keep hanging on but my efforts were fruitless.

  It's been a great summer-- I have had the privilege of spending it in Florida.  How would it not be great?  In case you are all dying to know exactly what it is that I did day in and day out, you are about to be amazed because I shall fill you in.

1) Woke up generally around 11 am everyday.
2)  Ate breakfast in bed-- don't worry, it was an air mattress.  One may say it is the equivalent to having plastic sheets on your mattress.
3)  Became an avid viewer of the following television shows that came in through my trusty antenna because I'm too poor to contribute to cable and Internet:
   a)  E! True Hollywood Story.  Robert Downey Jr. sure had a rough time of it.
   b)  Cold Case Files.   Case closed...see what I did there?
   c)  Eye for an Eye with Judge Extreme Akim or the Steve Wilko show.  It was when these programs came on that I suddenly had the motivation to get up, put on my classy pants and be semi-productive i.e. Go steal free Internet somewhere in order to spend the next 5+ hours job hunting.  I'm pretty sure the library employees contemplated whether or not I was a homeless person with a laptop seeking relief from the sweltering humidity.
4)  Put away my bed.  Due to laziness, I just picked up my mattress (that makes me sound awesome) and leaned it up against the wall in the hallway, which created a decorative padded wall piece.  It really just tied the room together.  Next, I would shower as I felt it was the one thing I could contribute to society at that point.  **Update** My $109.98 air mattress now has an invisible, giant leak somewhere.  Every few hours I wake up in a cocoon of thick plastic and have to reinflate.  I can't wait for a real bed.
5)  Ate my weight in seafood on a regular basis for dinner.  Sometimes on the beach.
   a) I enjoyed it. Immensely.  My pants beg to differ.
   b) Sometimes I cooked my own dinner-- which led to the, hold on let me count, 11 hot oil burns the left side of my body is wearing with pride.  I knew that was too much olive oil. 
6)  Took in everything Florida had to offer to me that day.  Rented at least two Redbox movies.  I've watched some spectacularly poorly written/directed movies these last few weeks.
7)  Came home. Removed padded wall that doubled as my bed and felt lucky when I would catch and episode of Friends, Seinfeld, or It's Always Sunny in Philadelphia.
8)   Slept. 

  And that sums up my daily life here.  It was a good ride Tampa. A big thanks go out to my dear friend Amanda for letting me bunk up and try to start a new life in Florida.  Even though it didn't work out, it was well worth effort.  I met some cool people and witnessed some amazing things.

   In conclusion, I shall be retreating home this weekend.  I'm really disappointed that I couldn't make it work.  But nevertheless, back to the Fort I go.  I now have my sights set on Indianapolis and have become proficient in the area of moving cities.  Perhaps a bit wiser as well.  I will do whatever it takes to start my life anew once more.  Have already submitted resumes like crazy.  Ideally teaching or find someone willing to hire me as a writer and pay me accordingly--which would be extraordinarily amazing.  See some of you soon! 

P.S.  Florida, I will miss you.  Thanks for the affair.

Kind Regards,

Heather

Mushy Pondering

Hello my loyal readers, or first-time readers...or those of you who clicked on this link by accident.

It's been months since my last confession.  And I'm finally a college graduate.  Not that that is exactly news, or ground-breaking data that anybody doesn't know.  I just enjoy being able to say it without having to half-ass the truth or tell someone I'm kind of almost graduated.

After eight weeks of unemployment, I put on my big girl pants and went back to work.  Unemployment was very unpleasant after week one.  I feel for those of you who have experienced it--or are experiencing it-- for long periods of time.  However...the sympathy meals and drinks weren't so bad.  (I'll repay you all someday...after my gargantuan mountain of student loan debt stops intimidating me...)  I have been substitute teaching.  What a trip.  Is there some form of kid-safe crack out there that these kids are ingesting before they come to school in the morning that I am unaware of?  I love working with kids, don't misunderstand me, but Holy Toledo kids are insane.  I always forget how intense their energy is---they somehow manage to burgle all of mine the minute they walk in the door.  That should be a super hero power.  Energy siphon. 

 Getting started in life is hard. I can't wait for that elusive job with benefits people keep insisting I'll get and desperately need. I have a cell phone that ceases to have any of these functioning abilities: the letter "I" (Do you have any idea how many words use the letter i ?!? A bazillion.), the ability to scroll--which disables basically everything on my phone-- and it no longer has the ability to stay on by itself. My phone is on life support--essentially brain dead. I don't have Internet. I don't have cable. I essentially have nothing to do when I get off work. Although, I must say PBS is increasingly becoming my favorite channel. Thanks for the antenna Mom. April 27th can't come soon enough. I'd go get a new one, but due to the altercation my cell phone had with the toilet a few months back... I'm not sure they'd replace it. Ahh the poor life.

I have started realizing a few things though.  Since I no longer have school work to procrastinate over, I have an enormous amount of free time.  It's wonderful.  And because I'm perpetually single, I have found myself wanting to do things for others.  Just because.  I really like it.  Especially cooking, and now successfully baking, for other people.  I am so going to be that old lady that immediately offers food and beverage to anyone who steps through the door and brings it for you even when you repeatedly decline my offer.  It is curiously fun to bring simple pleasures to others. I'm not claiming to be a saint or even a wonderful human being-- but I'm enjoying becoming one, or attempting to anyway.  Maybe not the saint part-- for reasons we won't get into... and neither will any of you.  Or I'll shank you.   Look, I'm growing as a human being!  My life has been all about me up until recently.  No wonder I've been so bored. 

I have to make mention of something that has opened my world of knowledge of education and also in life.  Inner city schools face so many more challenges than I was previously aware of.  You hear about schools struggling to flourish in an impoverished society but you really never think twice about what an effect demography has on a school and its students.  These kids have faced more adversity in their short lives than I will probably ever experience during the entirety of mine.  I've been struggling lately with the type of teaching position I hope to get in the near future--- inner city school vs. wealthier school systems.  Some of my days are so unbelievably trying that I wonder if I'm in the right profession.  But, then, there are those break through days where you really get through to these kids and even if it is just for a moment, you have earned this small token of trust.  A principal once told me that so many of the kids in these schools don't care about school or their teachers because so many of their teachers become so discouraged with the challenge of teaching in the face of adversity that they quit, sometimes mid-year--the school has an incredible turnover rate for both teachers and students.  These kids can't always count on stability at home or their parents being there for them, surely, school should be the one safe place where they can feel like someone isn't going to give up on them.  I can't imagine what that must feel like as a child--to be failed time and time again by those who you are told to trust and respect.  I would have trouble respecting and trusting someone I knew wouldn't hang around to see what happens to me either.  I think some days, life will be so much easier for me to teach in the better school systems.  But, then I have days where I think about everything I've seen in the short time I've worked in inner city schools and maybe I should be finding a home in a school where I am truly needed to be that one source of stability and trust for a child.  Somewhere where I can make the greatest difference in the life of a child who will teach me more about life than I could have learned on my own. I think I want to be that person. If I could give one piece of advice to humanity thus far, it would be this:  Love your children.  Show them how to love and be compassionate.  Encourage curiosity and adventure.  Teach them to be respectful and considerate of others.  Teach them to be exactly who they are and to never apologize for it.  Never stop teaching them how to live.

Well, there's a little bit of my heart today.  That's enough--stop looking, she's shy. 

Have an excellent day everyone and enjoy this budding spring weather!

Much love.

Becoming an Adult After Already Becoming Said Adult

Greetings near and far to my faithful readers who have learned to accept the disappointment of my procrastination!  I have come to share my amusing initiatives over the last, I don't know 5 months?

I have but this to say:  Holy crap.  I am finally graduating in a few short weeks.  What am I supposed to do after that? I haven't had to be a real adult...well ever.  I've been enjoying all of the PERKS of being an adult...but have yet to really experience real adulthood...you know, like paying bills with money that isn't borrowed or obtained from another generous source.  I've been using college as that proverbial crutch to never really have to do anything important or significant as an adult-- professionally anyways. I happen to think the 8 Dave Matthews Band concerts and multiple vacations paid for by my future 30 yr old self (who will probably be a little pissed) were more than significant and borderline legendary. However, while I am more than enthusiastic and excited that I never have to write another report about why I believe Suzy punches Kenny in the back of the head at story time or why Rachel eats her boogers, I am becoming increasingly petrified as I think about the fact that someone is going to pay me to educate children.  And that I will be making some sort of mark on their lives forever.  For some reason, I envisioned footprints in wet sand as I wrote that last comment...framed on someone's wall.   Certainly not mine, the wall and surroundings were too nice.

Why would someone want to trust me with their children?  Yes, I can make sure they don't wander into the rough suburban parking lot and engage in a rumble with the Sharks and aren't rubber cement in the bathroom, but teach them?  Educate them?  This is a lot to chew.  However, I have had a wonderful student teaching experience and I feel prepared.  Sort of.  There are a few things I've regretted mentioning to my students, later, after I think about the things they go home and tell their parents they learned at school.

Exhibit A:  With Veteran's day approaching, I was talking with my students about Heroes.  The very short, broad informationless book we were reading together had examples of how we honor heroes--i.e. buildings, monuments, statues, etc,.  Oh, and let's not forget money.  And let's not forget the first thing I chose to tell the students about the coin of choice that was represented.  It was a half dollar.  With JFK.  "Miss O., what president is that?"  (As we had discussed that almost all of U.S. currency is branded with the face of a president...and honestly, this says little for me as a teacher, I couldn't remember who was on every single bill and at risk of sounding like a moron to the seasoned substitute in the room, I opted out of that discussion.  Stop judging me).  "Why, that is John F. Kennedy.  He was one our of great presidents.  But someone shot and killed him in a parade."  You should have seen the horror on their innocent faces.  The room that is usually buzzing with chatter and students either crawling on the floor or bedazzling their own t-shirts with scissors and markers was uncomfortably silent.  I tried to quickly move on but a wave of hands flew up in the air.  "Why would someone want to kill him?"  "Because they didn't like the things he had to say and stood for."  "Who shot him?"  There are times I really regret forgetting I am teaching KINDERGARTEN.  Did I mention that??  Yes, I mentioned murder to a group of kindergartners without considering the repercussions.  Great.  I will probably get a slew of e-mails from parents in the morning wondering why the only thing I taught their children about JFK is that he was ruthlessly murdered. Why couldn't I have just mentioned his name and moved on??  I did this efficiently when talking about Abraham Lincoln--the kids just thought of him as an old dude, not someone who was assassinated while enjoying the theater. These social studies lessons are killing me--the next story is comparable.

Exhibit B:  We had been talking about the community, its leaders, the people who make the community work and also....Animal Workers.  We had yet another brief (now I'm figuring for good reason) book about animal helpers-- and to my surprise the second animal worker mentioned was a monkey who opens refrigerators and turns pages of phone books for people who are paraplegics.  Really?  They get monkeys to open doors and bring them things to eat?  Can I just have one to do stuff like that for me because I'm lazy and would like to pretend I'm rich enough for servants?  Anywho, aside from the llamas, donkeys and elephants that were also mentioned (no, there were no cats, because cats suck and don't do anything but make things smell bad) there was of course a couple of pages about dogs.  Guide dogs and police dogs.  We talked about what guide dogs do as well as police dogs.  "Police dogs felp sniff out bad people".  "Police dogs can smell fire".  "Police dogs can bring you your paper".  For some UNEXPLAINABLE reason, due to lack of mindfulness of the grade level, my response to all of these cute responses is, "Police dogs also help sniff out drugs."  As you can imagine, the first question is, "What are drugs?"  Great.  By mentioning the word drugs to a group of 5 and 6 year olds I have probably created at least 3 meth addicts and 5 pot smoking hippies who wind up on an episode of Intervention and have a picture of me blurred out on the screen as the gateway to their addictions--before they even get to high school.  I explained that, "drugs are things that really bad people like to have."  I tried to continue on talking about a dog's impeccable sense of smell, but the next response I got was, "Why do bad people like to have drugs?"  Of course I said, "because they do.  because they are very bad."  WHY DID I HAVE TO MENTION THIS??  I quickly dismissed the children from the alphabet rug they were sitting criss-cross applesauce on and put on a movie about Guide Dogs.  Hoping, praying that they would forget the word "drugs" and think about how awesome guide dogs are.  Ironically, I ran into a chair and a table while I was talking to them during the guide dog video and nearly broke my face.  I hope that's the most memorable experience they took home that night.

Aside from being a failure at teaching appropriate social studies topics to kindergartners, I am pretty excited to be graduating and hopefully getting the chance to be a real teacher.  I will for sure be that teacher that all the students either hope to get because it is nearly impossible for me to be serious all day-- or the teacher that students go on to write children's books about because I'm so weird...I can see it now... "My Teacher is an Alien from a Planet in Outer Space that Teaches Toddlers About Drugs."  Maybe I can get royalties. It's going to be so different teaching elementary school as compared to pre-school.  I can't EVER get away with messing up or mumbling a word.  The room can be as loud as a stadium and they will all stop and laugh at me and tell me all about the word I mispronounced.  They have eagle ears, yes eagle ears, when they want to.  Sneaky jerks.

Honestly though, I am so freaking excited.  I can't wait to share more stories of my bird-brained teaching experiences.  I am literally bounding with ideas about what I am going to do with my classroom when some poor principal takes a chance on a 25--crap I'm turning 26 soon.... 26 yr old applicant with a 7-yr bachelor's degree.  It will be amazing.  Let me tell you.  I'm sure there is a bit of naivety in my belief and hope for my career as a teacher, but I don't care.  It's going to be awesome and I'm going to be the coolest teacher on the block.  I'll work out that whole "age-appropriate" thing in due time.  I have finally reconnected with my passion for teaching and remember why I chose this career path.  I made it!  Well, almost.  I still have a test to take and a portfolio to pass...but I'm sure that's fine...I left out that I talk to my students about drugs and murder.

Well, here's to next time!  Hopefully it will be after I've graduated and get that IU diploma (that I will of course pretend came straight from IU Bloomington for street cred).

Cheers all :)

--Blanche

Life Doesn't Wait

I imagine the small amount of readers I have figured I held true to my past habits and earlier guarantee of sorts that this blog might not last and would in fact die in a brief amount of time.  It almost did.  But have no fear, my recent boredom has forced me back into writing and I'm sure you all have been dying to find out what has been going on in my life these last two weeks. 

It's the first day of Spring!  My favorite season has finally arrived and I am more than thrilled to be welcoming it again with open, pasty white- out of shape- Bingo arms.  I heard that oh so familiar and loved sound of thunder earlier today and my excitement immediately increased only to be given the hammer as I never heard it again.  Oh well, in due time I shall get my spring storm.  Anyway, my lack of writing has been attributed to the fact that those little germ incubators at work transferred strep throat into my blood stream-- no, we don't condone the sharing of needles at the daycare-- and I was hugely down and out for the count and in complete misery.  I don't know if any of you have ever had it, but it was my first time and let me just say that I've never wished I could bargain to trade for the flu or lead poisoning instead of that infectious nightmare in my entire life.  I woke up one morning feeling like someone thought it would be funny to blowtorch my throat whilst I slept and placed bets on how far they could jam an ice pick into my ears.  I can't imagine why people would ever want to make a career out of swallowing knives and swords?  I don't know about you but feeling like a steak knife is lodged into my throat every time I attempt to swallow saliva isn't my idea of thrilling.  So it of course derailed my...poor attempt at dieting as I was only able to consume bread and ice, which brings me to my next point.

I am completely and utterly a creature of habit whether or not I want to admit it-- well I suppose I try to be a creature of habit but the repetition drives me insane and those wretched excuses made their way into my brain and now it's two weeks later and my wagon was unable to forge across the river, broke a wheel and the axle snapped in half with no general store or Native Americans in sight to trade with. So, really, I guess I secretly long to be a creature of habit when it comes to certain things...which makes my previous statement null and void. I honestly think there has to be a recessive obesity gene floating around somewhere in my body whispering carbohydrate filled nothings into my ears because I find any reason to consume my favorite foods and convince myself I'll make up for it later.  I need to rid myself of this nasty gene soon.  Thank the good Lord above that the weather is getting nicer because I'll at least get outside more and probably won't end up on a Hov-a-Round to grocery shop while my butt-crack hangs out of my Fruit of the Loom maternity pants just yet.  I also don't want to disappoint you readers in thinking that I am unable to make good on a promise I made to myself-- so thanks for indirectly, unintentionally and probably unwillingly contributing to my drive to get healthy.  I've yet to go back and see what damage has been done, so unfortunately (please contain your emotions) I have no news to report with that.

Speaking of nice weather and being active, someone PLEASE help me out.  I need an adventure.  I need to go out hiking and exploring in some awesome places that I don't have to pay $300, which does not include a complimentary snack or drink anymore--cheap bastards, to get to.  Or at least give me some suggestions-- I want to visit somewhere that wouldn't be more than a weekend thing that could bring me rejuvenation and disprove the idea engrained into my soul that there aren't very many invigorating places in the Midwest.  It'd be nice if I could get people to go with me, so if you are also in dire need of an adventure and your muscles are screaming at you to get off your lazy gluteus maximus and explore the great outdoors...we need to talk.  My need for constant adventure is shouting louder than my inner fat girl does when walking by a soft pretzel vendor, so that is saying a whole heap.  Any feedback on this matter is appreciated.

Well that's all for now you crazy kids.  Enjoy the day and the new season!!!!!

My Life is Tomorrow

Hello all-- I'm pleasantly surprised to learn that some of you read this and get as much humor out of my life as I do.  I've been laying in bed tossing and turning for a while trying to sleep, but that hamster wheel of a mind of mine never seems to slow down.  Normally, I would just pop in an old VHS and call it a night (yes, VHS.  I have a dual DVD/VHS player but the DVD portion of the duo unfortunately broke and my 300 lb 20in Sanyo is too old school to hook up new DVD players to it).  However, I'm trying to rid my life of all my vices-- yeah I didn't know What About Bob? on VHS was a vice either.  It's a whole new me, what can I say.

I know you're all dying to know how this food substitute ruining my life diet is going.  Well, it's rough but I've lost 4 lbs since last week...yaaay go me.  I'm not sure how; I ate like a regular patron at Golden Corral all week bc I kept thinking of it as "my last hurrah."  I think that's how I got here.  Every week I was going to change something so every week I ate like a competitive eater.  Anyway, that phase is hopefully out of my life and food and I can start being chums instead of possible guests on Intervention.  I talked to my "counselor" when I went to get measured, weighed and judged for my decisions.  I mentioned this vegetable hatred to her and she had a simple solution-- drink V8 bc a guy she sees, professionally, has this same conundrum and has lost 50 lbs by drinking it.  Well, I thought about it for a while, even went to the gas station and bought one (it came in two flavors, regular and Hot and Spicy)...but have left it at work since Wednesday in the cooler.  Probably intentionally.  If I wanted to drink vomit, I might give it the old college try, however I prefer not to voluntarily have that terrible burning in the back of my throat that feels like I just ralphed into the bushes after doing a keg stand my freshman year of college. Cripes, can you imagine what kind of after taste the Hot and Spicy flavor would have?  Sickening.  I'll try and remember to bring it home tomorrow-- I'll let you know how it goes.

On another note, I think I've become so engrossed in my job that I can't let it go when I leave.  Today, my roommates and I went to Wal-mart and one of my roommates was sitting in the cart throwing a fit.  Well I just don't stand for fits, especially about nothing and especially when I had already been dealing with them for 8 hours.  So I got close enough to my roommate's face so that he could probably feel my hot breath (we had just eaten Mexcian...don't chastise me, mind your beeswax) and I pointed at him and sternly told him to, "knock it off or he was going to go straight to bed when we got home."  P.S. My roommate is 2 1/2 years old.  I'm not a control freak... Anywho, I must have said it loudly bc when I turned around I had at least 3 people staring at me like I had just clocked him with the value size bag of frozen peas or something and his mother (my other roommie, Jess) was bright red with what seemed to be embarrassment.  I'm also assuming they assumed Jess and I were lesbians as I was yelling at a child who clearly wasn't mine and I'm pretty sure I used the term we and I was walking around in a hoodie with a black and white Columbia jacket on (as Eric Rosendall *ahem* refers to it, my Raiders jacket), carrying no purse, while Jess pushed and put things in the cart.  They also probably assumed I must wear the pants in the relationship.  I can only imagine what I would have inferred had I seen the same thing.  But man, people are WAAAAY too sensitive with children these days.  I see it first hand everyday.  The next generation is going to be a huge bunch of wieners who don't know how to do anything but complain about people hurting their feelings. 

Tomorrow starts my isolation experiment.  I'm going to be super lame and stay in every night this weekend.  I find that if the temptation isn't there I have no problem telling it to get lost.  Kind of seems like cheating, doesn't it?  I'm also babysitting 9 am Saturday until 4-5pm Sunday.  So, really it kind of worked out and probably won't be that difficult.  I don't think the 6 and 2 yr old are going to be badgering me to go clubbing Saturday night.  I have been imagining all of the things I could be doing with this extra free time and money.  Well, the money I'll save for Florida in May, but the time...well here are my new amusing initiatives in no particular order:
1) Learn to play the guitar that I just had to have 5 years ago and played for a week before I lost interest.

2) Decorate my room.   I need to spruce it all up and make it look like an adult lives in my room.  A new bedding set would be nice considering this bedding I bought at Meijer last summer is already missing buttons and is faded and pretty much looks like I bought it off of the clearance rack at the Goodwill.  The headboard n' what not I have for this bed dwarfs my entire room when it is set up due to the fact that I think most standard office cubicles are bigger than my room.  So, I sleep with my mattress and box spring on the floor.  I've lived here for almost 2 years and I keep thinking it's temporary so I never bother to hang anything up.  With the rate I'm going at finishing a f-ing bachelor's degree...I should just get comfortable.  I'm here until December at the very least.

3)  Find new awesome music to put on my iPod.  I got a new laptop a few months ago...I never bothered to transfer anything...I found my iPod cord the other day....a friend gave me a few cds...that's about as far as I've gotten.  I'll seek it out for myself this time.  Oh, and on one of these CD's is a song you must listen to that I found annoyingly catchy but F-Bomb laden....it's by Lily Allen...who I've always scoffed at but really never knew anything she sang.. and it's called F**k You.  Mom, I'm pretty sure you won't find this amusing, and I don't think I want you listening to such perverse language.  I heard it on my way to work today and it was stuck in my head ALL day--after you hear it, you'll understand why it sucked having this stuck in my head while working with 3 year olds all day, I couldn't let it out.

4) Yoga-- somewhere I have a yoga DVD.  That's all.
5)  Start writing that children's book I've been meaning to write.  I wrote it for my Children's Lit class years ago-- it has a good premise, potential for a series, and is quite funny but needs major revisions.  I'm not sharing any details though with you...you might try to burgle my idea.  Kidding, but no really, I won't tell you.  See, if I become a famous author, or just a mediocre tri-state kind of famous...I could afford to travel more.  This is key.


Well, only 6 more lovely hours until I drag my hesitant arse out of bed.  I should probably try to sleep.  I think I'll have one more love affair with my VHS player which means I'll have to pick something intrepid (this was the synonym I chose for epic because I wanted to use it but I am so entirely sick of the word EPIC, I hate everything it stands for...except for intrepid, gallant, and bodacious).  You all should try finding a synonym for that word too, I know you use it.  Move on.  I think I'll go with Mrs. Doubtfire again.

Night all!

My Next "Big Thing"

It seems as though every week, if not every other day, I concoct this big idea in my head that is going to change my life for the better.  I imagine, very briefly, the work that it will take to accomplish my new spectacular feat, and then immediately jump to the end of my inevitable success that will make me popular with friends and family everywhere.  However, my great ideas (sometimes alcohol induced) rarely ever transpire further than from my mouth into my closest friends’ ears—who surely just placate me by telling me what a great idea it is but are secretly  thinking, “Yeah right Heather.  I’ve heard this before, you’re just going to go on sitting around your house not doing anything but watching your countless 80’s movies and talk about moving to North Carolina.”  I hate to admit it, but they’re right.  I do more talking and planning than executing.

Where the hell do people get that “go-getter” attitude?  Please send me directions, as I’ve been lost since 1st grade when I signed up to write a Young Author’s book only to remember the night before and produced a piss-poor (even for a 7 yr old) short story about some stupid lion and a puppy on red construction paper and a typewriter.  Needless to say, I didn’t win any high honors.

Considering this blog revolves around initiatives, let me just go on to share my new, but constantly revisited, endeavor.

I need to lose weight.  Don’t groan just yet— this isn’t one of those whiny weight loss posts by women and men alike who blame everything in their life and those around them for being overweight.  I’m posting this in hopes that my honesty with others will bar me from making excuses.
I have gained what appears to be the Freshman 50 or as I so affectionately refer to it--The Black Angel of Death.  Freshman year was…good lord…7 years ago!! Yeah—we’ll get to that whole why I am still in college thing later.  Every year I do some weight loss program for a couple months and I drop off because…oh who knows…probably partying due to the lack of much else to do around Fort Wayne and because I love all things salty and devastating to the human body…well with the exception of hard drugs.  However, I imagine if I was an avid fan of hard drugs I’d have a pretty killer body minus ravaged internal organs and a busted face.

Anyway, I am participating in a weight loss program called the Ideal Protein Diet.  This consists of consuming 3 not-so-bad-tasting packets of their magic protein powder a day.  One for breakfast, one at lunch with a salad and two heaping, delicious servings of cheese-free vegetables, a sensible dinner with that steaming 2 cups of veggies, a salad and a 5 oz of poultry or beef or 7 oz of seafood, and then another packet for dessert.  Oh and once a week I go to my gynecologists office (who volunteers to go there once a week?) to get weighed in and told how poorly I performed the week before.  It’s so far proven to be difficult for a multitude of reasons.  One being I f-ing hate vegetables.  I think I enjoy maybe 5 different vegetables at most.  About half-way through the monstrous serving, I start thinking about how awful it is and begin to gag and have to stop eating.  barf.  Second reason being I forgot how much havoc alcohol wreaks upon a diet.  Oops.  Third reason— I have terrible will power and I spend 95% of time in the company of children.  I’m a pre-school teacher, I babysit once a week and I live with a 2 1/2 yr old.  Junk food points and laughs at me at every turn, taunting me.  Jerks.  You must think I’m crazy for even wanting to try this extreme diet—but I’m in a wedding in June and I refuse to eternally live as the fat bridesmaid in my family photos which are surely going to haunt me forever.  Already been there once.

I’ve decided that this is it.  I say it all the time, but it’s time to start doing something with my life and FINISH something.  I don’t want to be that friend that everybody can trust to fail or quit.  And I’d like to not spend my summer indoors or covered up in heavy clothes in which I sweat my balls off in…well hypothetically speaking…testicles aren’t a part of my anatomy.  My last set of vacation pictures in San Francisco were upsetting but in a way motivating.  I wasn’t in many of them, thankfully, but the ones that I was in I was a little shocked.  God, no wonder I don’t get asked out on dates!  Why didn’t someone tell me I was an offspring of Jaba the Hutt?  Jiminy Crickets!

Today is a new day, and I’ve decided to start making all of them good ones.  Ones that I can feel proud of and admit that I did something myself, even with all of the hurdles that will always be present.  I should probably live in isolation for a couple of weeks until I get in a routine.  We’ll see how that goes, I get cabin fever quickly.

Wish me luck.  With any hopes, this time next week I’ll have started courting vegetables.